Deathwalker

Title is only temporary...

 

Prologue

 

Russ closed his eyes and smiled as his white ‘89 Pontiac Firebird spiraled off the 3^rd Avenue bridge and down into the narrow gorge far below.   The emerald green Ford Explorer that had skidded across the median and into Russ’ way was lying on its side mere inches from the edge on the opposite side of the road. Surprisingly, no one in the Explorer was hurt, but that didn’t matter to Russ; he was about to die.

                His car’s spiraling descent seemed to take forever, but just when he couldn’t take it any more, time caught up. The Firebird smashed nose first into the railroad tracks at the bottom of the gorge. The force of the impact folded the car horizontally, crumpling metal as if it were paper. Russ was crushed between the seat and the steering wheel, breaking every bone in his torso, shredding his lungs and rupturing his heart. At some point the fuel tank cracked and the leaking gasoline was ignited by sparks from the grating metal which resulted in a horrific explosion that rocked southeastern Denver. The thick finger of gray smoke that drifted skyward from the wreckage signaled an end, of sorts.

               

1

                Russ groaned as he rolled over to turn off his cell phone’s alarm clock which unceremoniously started ringing at 8:00 that windy January morning.  He continued to lay there staring at the ceiling, running his fingers through is unruly blond hair and rubbing the sleep out of his silver-blue eyes. Man, I don’t want to get up, he thought, I need more sleep. He forced himself to roll out of bed and proceeded to shower and don the usual blue jeans and black T-shirt, thinking all the while about the events of the past few nights. I just don’t deserve her, he thought. She’s such an amazing person, and she makes me so happy, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll just have to wait and see how things play out, I guess. I can’t wait to see her on Wednesday.

                Russ finished getting ready and threw some bread in the oven as he booted up his computer. He ran through his usual routine of checking his Email and, it being a Monday, reposting ads looking for a second guitarist for his band. With all of the business taken care of, he finished his toast, brushed his teeth and headed out the door. Double checking one last time that he had everything he needed for school, he sank into his Firebird, revved his engine, and hit the road.

 

2

                Shortly after ten o’ clock that morning, Russ’ mother, Charlene was making her way back to the resource room of Alpine Elementary, straightening her long silver and brown hair, for her daily session with Wes. A very stressful home-life was negated for six hours of the day by the sweet little boy with an advanced case of Cerebral Palsy and Charlene almost couldn’t get enough of it. When she opened the door to the room, Wes turned in her direction, thrust out his arms and squealed with delight. If he had had full control of his motor functions, he would have driven his small wheelchair right up to her, but she walked over to him instead and gave him a big hug.

                “How are you doing Wes?” she asked him.

                The little boy’s response was a beaming smile and an excited gesture towards the white board.

                “Oh really? You want to learn some words and make some sentences? All right then,” she laughed as she picked him up out of his chair and held him steady on his feet. “But first we have to do your exercises.”

                Wes stuck out his bottom lip in a pout as she said that, but she affected not to notice and he quickly resumed his wide smile. He let Charlene stretch his arms and legs and walk him around a little with no complaint. While she was helping him through his exercises, Charlene made small talk with the other Special Ed teachers. Most of the conversation was about current events and children and husbands and the like, nothing fantastic or extraordinary.

                As Charlene was finishing up with Wes’ exercises, Susan, one of the school’s secretaries, poked her tiny head through the doorway. “Charlene,” she said in a sweet voice, “you have a call on line one.”

                “For me?” Charlene asked as she put Wes back in his chair and stretched herself. “Who is it?”

                “It’s a Detective Houseman from the Denver Police,” Susan told her in a slightly confused voice. “He said it was about your son, but didn’t specify anything. I hope everything’s all right.”  With a tiny shrug of her shoulders, Susan closed the door and went back to her duties.

                Charlene’s face had contracted a look of panic as she walked over to the phone and took it off hold. “Hello, this is Charlene.”

                “Mrs. Hersee, my name is David Houseman, and I’m a Detective with the Denver Police Department. I’m calling in regards to your son Russell.”

                “Russ?” she asked, a little shocked. “What’s going on?”

                “There’s been an accident, a real bad one,” Houseman replied in a deadly serious voice. “I’m afraid your son didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

                Charlene’s faded blue eyes filled with tears at the Detective’s statement. “No, no, this can’t be happening. No, it just can’t be!” she screamed. “Don’t do this to me!” she shouted at the man on the other line.

                “Calm down Mrs. Hersee. We’ll need you to come to Denver GeneralHospital as soon as you can. Your son’s being moved there now. I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.” Detective Houseman hung up after he issued that last hollow apology and left Russ’ mother to her emotions.

                The other teachers had been watching her with great interest and concern and immediately rushed to console her as soon as she dropped the phone. She continued babbling and sobbing, her speech mostly unrecognizable, but the words “no, “Russ,” and “dead,” were easily heard.

                Despite the trauma Charlene was experiencing, she calmed down just enough to remember what she had to do. Grabbing her coat and repeatedly telling her coworkers that she had to leave, she rushed out of the school to her metallic blue Chrysler mini-van and sped off towards the city, wiping streams of tears from her face as she raced through the streets.

 

3

                Tim Hersee sat at his desk in the Denver warehouse that served as a cover for the drug task force, staring at his computer screen with cold blue eyes that morning. I am not in the mood for this today, he thought to himself as he glanced at the case file sitting by his left hand. Out of all the things I could be doing, I’m filing a report on a deranged meth-head with a cat infestation. I’m a Commander on this force and this is my top priority. Just wonderful. He let out a heavy sigh and ran his fingers through his short silver hair as he went back to his typing.

                Before he’d even typed two sentences, his office phone rang three times in rapid succession, signaling a call from a number at another department. Without hesitation, Tim snatched up the phone. Finally, something that may be more interesting than this case, he thought. “This is Commander Hersee.”

                “Commander Hersee, my name is David Houseman and I’m a Detective with the Denver Police Department. I’m calling in regards to your son Russell.”

                Tim listened quietly as the man on the other end told him the same thing his wife had just heard. His mouth worked as if he wanted to speak, but no words came out. Tears clouded his vision behind his black metal glasses, but he managed to hold them in until he thanked the officer and told him that he’d be down there in about fifteen minutes. They trickled down his face as he hung up the phone and stared at it. His mind was blank except for the detective’s words playing over and over through his mind.

                Without a word, Tim stood up and grabbed his coat from the hanger on the wall. He switched off the lights and locked his office door behind him as he walked towards the stairs. No one saw him leave, which suited him just fine. He got into his Grand Am and wiped some of the tears from his face as he started the car and headed off towards the Interstate and into the city.

 

4

                Charlene pulled into the hospital parking lot just after 10:30 and ran through the front doors in a panic. A tall gangly man with salt and pepper hair and bushy eyebrows hanging over a pair of cool green eyes turned and began to move towards her as she began screaming for her son. “Where’s my son?! I want to see my son! Where’s Russ?!” she sobbed. She ran to the reception desk and pounded her fists in a mixture of anger, sadness, and frustration and screamed again. “Where is he?!”

                A few of the officers that the tall man had been talking to ran over and attempted to restrain Charlene, but she began flailing her arms and continued to scream. “Get off me! Let me see my son!” she cried.

                “Mrs. Hersee, calm down,” said the tall man in a cool voice. To his surprise, she did calm down a little bit. She simply stopped moving and began to weep with her head tilted downward. “I’m Detective Houseman, we spoke briefly on the phone,” he said as he turned his eyes to the floor and shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s never easy when we lose the ones we love,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “Come, have a seat.” He gestured to the benches in the lobby.

                Charlene made no verbal reply. She merely nodded and wiped her eyes again as she stepped over to one of the poorly cushioned benches and sat down. “Wh-what happened?” she sobbed as the detective sat down next to her, stirring a cup of fresh coffee.

                “Why don’t we wait until your husband arrives? He should be here in a few minutes, and then I’ll tell both of you at the same time.”

                As if the question was an introduction, Tim hurried in through the front doors and skidded to a halt, looking around for his wife and the detective he was to meet. He spotted them immediately and rushed over to sit by Charlene’s side. He hugged her close and kissed her cheek. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” he choked.

                “Commander Hersee, I’m Detective Houseman,” the speckle haired man said as he extended his hand.

                “It’s good to meet you Detective,” Tim replied unsteadily, shaking the taller man’s hand. “How could this have happened? Russ was a great driver, albeit a fast one.”

                “As far as we know, speed was not an issue in this accident on your son’s part,” the detective answered. “He was headed eastbound on third when another vehicle careened across the median and into his path. According the driver of the other vehicle, Russ veered sharply to the left to avoid a collision. The investigator who analyzed the crash site tells us that the small dip in the center of the median on the bridge over the Sugar Mill gorge sent your son’s car into the air at just enough of an angle to clear the guard rail into the gorge. After that, it was up to gravity. I’m sorry.”

                Russ’ parents sat in silence for a few moments, holding on to one another and staring at the floor. Houseman stood up and went to speak with one of the doctors who had helped in the case up to that point. After a few moments, the detective turned around and motioned for Tim and Charlene to join him. “The doctors here have cleaned him up as best they can. You can go in to see him now,” Houseman told them in a flat tone.

                A young black haired doctor with silver rimmed spectacles led the parents deeper into the hospital, all the while explaining the effects that the crash had had on Russ’ body in gruesome detail. The detached manner in which he relayed the information infuriated Charlene to the point where Tim had to hold her back from attacking the young doctor. After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor turned into an autopsy room where their son lay on a table beneath a large pale blue sheet.

                Charlene gasped in shock as if not believing that her son was truly dead until she had seen him with her own eyes. Tim simply stared and let tears stream down his face. Russ’ face was hardly damaged except for the large cavity on the left side of his forehead where the skull had been crushed by the impact with the windshield. It was probably best that the two didn’t see the rest of Russ’ charred and mangled body beneath the sheet or they surely would have gone hysterical. Charlene began to cry once more and buried her face in her husband’s chest.

                “This can’t be,” she sobbed. “My baby, he’s gone. No, no, oh God no!” Tim said nothing as he held his wife close and let his tears fall into her hair. Their child was gone from their world, but not forgotten.

Reviews

[Princess3Morag]

So sad! But also beautiful..