#Wattys2015 The Ghost of James Fitzpatrick

Chapter 42

Sarah knew John Zwicki was behind her and he wanted what she was holding. He had made his way very close to her and stood with his hands on his hips, still in his white dress shirt, tie and overcoat.

Sarah instinctively hugged the box close to her chest. Zwicki shook his head like he was scolding a dog who had chewed his loafers.

"I warned you that you would be sorry if you didn't leave this alone." He began to advance toward her. "Now I'm gonna end you just like I ended our pal...Fitz,"

Zwicki's voice rose suddenly when he said the name Fitz and it startled Sarah. She jumped at the sound. "Yeah, you actually got that part right you little clairvoyant freak," he laughed, "You like a witch or something? You see ghosts?"

He stopped and stood about twenty feet from her.

"Boo!" he yelled and lunged for her just as she turned to run. Seconds later she felt his weight on her as he pulled her to the ground. She let go of the box when she felt herself hit the dirt. He  stood, grabbed her right ankle and began to drag her back across the ground toward the open well.

He inadvertently pulled off her shoe, but quickly grabbed her ankle again and continued to pull.

My skeleton will only have one shoe, thought Sarah.

Her new zip-front hoodie was now up around her neck and she felt her bare skin and bra being dragged over the lumps of grass and rocks. Sarah twisted and writhed and tried to kick at him with her free leg. She felt like the old futon her father made her and Josh drag to the curb for the trash truck last week.

She  began to scream. The idea of being pulled into the well was the stuff of nightmares. She flipped herself over onto her stomach and tried to grab at anything as she saw the darkness of the well approach. Her screams only incensed him further, but Sarah suspected that between the large acreage of the lots out here, and the little used highway out front, she had little chance of being heard.

Somewhere over her own screams she heard another voice, and it wasn't Principal Zwicki's – it was a woman's. It took a second for Sarah to realize the voice was near and real, then she heard clearly:

"John Zwicki, let go o' that child and put your hands into the air."

Sarah jerked her head around to look toward the back door of the house. She squinted trying to make sense of what she saw, then recognized her immediately as the older black detective, whom she recalled had shared a workspace with Detective Sandberg at the police station.

Zwicki froze but still clung to Sarah's ankle.

"Detective Flores, SLPD, hands up, Mr. Zwicki," she repeated pointing her service revolver squarely at his back. Zwicki dropped Sarah's leg, and Sarah, happy to have it back, scrambled several feet away from the situation before her. Detective Flores had come from the other side of the house and now stood on his dilapidated back deck which was covered in debris. She began to weave her way through it, slowly making her way toward him.

Zwicki did not put his hands in the air, but instead turned to look at her. His face lit up when he saw the old woman in a knee length, tweed skirt and pumps pinning him down with a .38.

He smiled.

"The Bingo game's down the highway at the Baptist church," he said.

"Sarah," said the detective firmly, "get up and move toward the house, now."

Sarah stood and did as she was told. She began to get distance between her and Zwicki. Detective Flores repeated herself, "Put your hands above your head, sir, that's the last time I will tell you."

Zwicki slowly raised his hands into the air, then decided to take a step toward the old detective.

"I will shoot you Mr. Zwicki if you continue to advance," said Detective Flores as she took a step toward him. She leveled her gun at his chest.

It was just her secret for now, but Detective Flores had not discharged her firearm in the line of duty since 1969, and that spanned her entire forty five years on the force. At this moment, however, she could think of no one she would like to shoot more than John Zwicki. She was ready.

Sarah stood about thirty feet now from Zwicki, disheveled and missing her shoe. She felt pain along her side from being dragged over sticks and rocks, but otherwise stood transfixed by the sight before her.

She looked at Zwicki's face. He looked almost embarrassed, like a bully who got caught smacking around a little kid, only to now have to face the bad ass older brother. He pursed his lips and Sarah knew he was thinking...or more likely, plotting.

"You ain't nothing but a two bit hoodlum, all grown up, Mr. Zwicki," said the detective with disgust. "The minute I heard your name again down at the station, I remembered you, and over there, on the ground," she threw a nod at the red box, "is my grandfather's war medal you stole from his hall closet."

Zwicki turned to look at the box on the ground, and then looked over to see where Sarah stood.

"I remember the night it was stolen and it was a peculiar thing...it was peculiar because I mostly remember how he didn't even feel its loss. Do you know why he didn't feel its loss, Mr. Zwicki?"

Zwicki poked his tongue around the inside of his mouth but did not reply.

"He was overwhelmed by grief of a different kind. The kind brought on by the unfortunate death of the young man who lived across the street from him. A young man he'd grown to love like his own grandchild."

So many things happened at once that Sarah could not conceive of the order, only that she understood now it was best to run. Flee. Extricate herself immediately from the situation at hand.

Zwicki suddenly dropped his arms and felt confident he could overpower the old detective with rushing brute force and he was half correct.

As he made a sudden move toward her, Detective Flores stepped back into a police standard Weaver shooting stance, only to feel her foot hit a pile of coiled fencing. She began to lose her balance and she knew she was going down.

Zwicki  made the decision to lunge at the floundering cop.

"Lord Jesus," said Detective Flores as she began her descent. Fatal error, fatal error, she said to herself. She felt within her professional boundaries to fire upon John Zwicki as he charged her. She discharged her weapon with a loud POP. Sarah saw Zwicki's coat fly up and then watched as he, Detective Flores and her service revolver all hit the ground at the same time.

Detective Flores looked up to find Sarah.

"Run like hell girl," said the Detective. "Run your ass off and don't look back."