Short stories

Week Four: The Sheriff

     "Sir, the fugitive is being held in cell 5, I am suggesting you go and question him."  Clark motioned towards the right hall. I nodded slightly, and shifted myself to head in that direction. I wander down the hall, until I came across the right cell. I took a hard metal chair, and placed it in front of the cell. I took my seat, as I stared into the back of the fugitive. I was not looking forward to this.

     "I can hear you sir, you might as well make yourself known," The fugitive grabbed the window cell's bars, and continued to speak with his Australian accent, "I'm sure you want an alibi?" He scratched the back of his ear, and waited for a response. I sat, placid, unsubmissive to his rocky emotions.

     I cleared my throat, "Well, if I was asking for an alibi, you wouldn't be in a cell, you'd be in the questioning room down the left manor hall," I repositioned myself as the fugitive chuckled.

     "Then why are you here, Sheriff?" The fugitive chuckled lightly, and then continued to let me see his back side. I wondered why he was being so shy all of a sudden. Deputy Clark had informed me that he didn't comply to his cell easily. 

     "So, you told Deputy Clark that you were at a pals house at the time of the murder?" I continued to glare at the fugitive's back, hoping that he could feel it.

     "You told me you weren't here for an alibi, Sheriff Woodley." His voice sounded irritated, but you could tell he was trying to practice the ordeal of patience. He knows that if starts acting boisterous they'll add community service, even after he is technically a 'free' man. I was just hoping that he would never be considered as such, and hopefully the judge will understand that we do not need another sexual predator roaming the streets. I felt the memories pulling me back into that murky October night,

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      I was roaming through the dank alley way, with my partner Clark at my side. I had started getting static on my radio, until the voice focused in. It was Sheriff Jasmen. I listened carefully at his words. He alarmed us of a call that had happened a few minutes ago. He said that he had tried to get a hold of us both, but the connection wasn't established. I snuck around the corner, making sure to keep my flashlight and gun pointed ahead of me. 

     Clark and I stopped at the beginning of the dark alley. "You want to go first Joe?" Clark chuckled, trying to hide the falter in his voice. Clark wasn't tough, at least not yet. He was new to the force, and I was the leading sheriff. All it took was one mistake and Jasmen would be out. I shouldn't say I wanted him gone, he's a nice guy, but he's not sheriff material. 

     "You're hilarious Clark, but if I take this lead, you're buying beer later." I took a couple steps forward, taking the lead. Honestly I was frightened of the possible outcomes of terrible situations such as these. The aroma didn't feel right, the static call, the late night gig... They all didn't really add up to a bright and cheery day. 

     "I'll take you up on that one," A sudden thudding sound, and the sound of tires on asphalt woke up our senses. I ran, and then skidded to a halt once my flashlight revealed the body on the ground. I gasped, and Clark vomited on the cement. I held my nose as I looked at th torn up body. 

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     We had arrived in court on July 7th 1970, for the trial of Sheriff Richard Don Jasmen. We had discovered his DNA on the body of Sherry Wilkson. We had fabricated an eligible story, this is what was expected. The sheriff had sent us on a late night search, since we were the only agents at the station. Sherry was a client of the Sheriff's, and an unknown mistress. She had threatened to tell the world about his abusive behavior, and get him removed from his beloved job. Richard didn't like this idea, so he killed Sherry, sent us out while he did his dirty work, and paged us about the 'call'. While we were making our way toward the alley, Richard dumped Sherry's body, and sped off, so we would find the body, and suspect that the sheriff was still at the station. The sheriff was convicted 70 years to life, with no chance of parole. He has had a grudge on us ever since.

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     "Are you alright Sheriff Woodley?" The way he said my name was eerie. I had recognized the voice. I remembered the static, and the thud of Sherry's body...The fugitive turned around, revealing himself. I saw... Myself? "We aren't that different you know."