Stories that Haunt, Heal, and Hold on 

                                                                                                                                Chapter 19

 

    Karen and Reggie had been up all night worrying about Rebecca. She hadn’t woken once since collapsing in her father’s arms the afternoon before. They took turns moving between their bedroom and hers, checking her breathing, checking her color, checking anything they could.

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    “I told you we should’ve taken her to the doctor right after it happened, Reggie.”

Karen dropped onto the bed beside him, exhausted.

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    “Listen… if there isn’t any change, I’ll drive her to a hospital. I don’t want to take her to a small-town doctor. If she needs help, I’m taking her somewhere I know she’ll get proper treatment.”

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    “So why the hell did we move to a small town if you won’t take her to the small town’s doctor?” She stared at him, unable to understand his logic.

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    “Kay, I’ll do whatever it takes to make this better,” Reggie said, trying not to make things worse.

Karen ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm herself.

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    “What do you think she meant by that?” Reggie asked quietly.

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    “What are you talking about?” Karen looked at him.

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    Reggie exhaled, long and heavy. He knew this was going to start a fight — a big one. He stood, moved to the chair by the small work desk, and sat.

   

    “She said I didn’t kill Justin.” His voice was low, edged with accusation.

 

    “The only person in the world who knows what happened that day… is you.”

Karen whipped her head toward him, stunned. 

 

    “Are you serious, Reggie?” It was starting — the argument she’d been dreading.

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    “So, if not you, then who, Kay? Who told Becca about Justin?” His voice pressed in on her. He wasn’t joking. Not even a little.

   

    “Reggie, you don’t honestly think I would tell her something like that. Why would I ever tell a six‑year‑old something like that about her own father?”

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    “But I’ve never told anybody about Justin. Not even Aunt Jo.” Karen stood and crossed her arms, looking at him. Reggie looked embarrassed, confused, shaken by what Rebecca had said — but deep down, he knew Karen wouldn’t have told her. Karen placed a hand on his shoulder. Reggie looked up.

 

    “I’m sorry, Kay. I just… I don’t understand what’s happening.”

​

    She pulled him into her arms. He leaned into her, listening to her heartbeat, grounding himself. The sun was beginning to rise. Light crept into the bedroom, soft at first, then brighter. From where Karen stood, she could see out the window — the backyard, the forest beyond it, and the top of the massive tree that held the old tree house they’d visited yesterday. It towered over the others. Dark. Too dark, even in the morning light. Something about it made her skin crawl. For a moment, she had the unsettling thought that if the tree had eyes, it would be staring straight at her. She looked down at Reggie instead, not wanting to keep her gaze on that looming shape. She knew she should check on Rebecca, but Reggie needed her, too. She held him until he steadied.

​

    Eventually, Karen went to the kitchen and started the coffee maker. It had been a long night. Reggie joined her, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring himself a cup before sitting at the table. Karen poured her own and sat beside him. Before either of them could speak, they heard the soft patter of small feet coming down the stairs. They turned. Rebecca stood in the kitchen doorway, smiling at them.

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    “Mommy, when we go on the picnic today, can I bring Mr. Wiggly? Please?” Rebecca asked, her voice lilting with that familiar little whine. She meant her giant overstuffed frog — the one Reggie had won for her at Coney Island last summer. From that day on, she never went anywhere without him.

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    Karen looked at Reggie. He was staring at Rebecca as if she’d just spoken in another language. Then he turned to Karen, eyes wide with amazement.

   

    “Sure thing, honey — you can bring him,” Karen said slowly.

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    “Thanks, Mommy!” Rebecca chirped, then skipped out of the kitchen and went back upstairs. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

   

    “She seems perfectly fine,” Reggie said, stunned.

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    “I know… but she just asked if she could bring Mr. Wiggly. It’s like she thinks today is yesterday.” Karen’s worry deepened.

   

    They were about to talk more about Rebecca’s strange behavior when the doorbell rang — sharp, insistent.

    A man’s voice followed: “Sheriff’s Department! Open up!”

   

    Karen and Reggie exchanged a bewildered look. Reggie opened the front door. A man and woman in uniform stood on the porch.

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    “Can I help you?” Reggie asked, confused, why the police would be at his door at seven in the morning.

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    “Are you Reginald Billings?” the female officer asked. Deputy Patricia Cole glanced between Reggie and Karen.

 

    “I am. Can I help you?”

   

    "Mr. Billings, my partner and I would like you to come with us down to the station to answer some questions,” Deputy Stanley Norton said, his voice low and firm.

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    “Can you tell me what this is about?” Reggie asked. The deputy’s tone was too official, too serious for comfort.

 

    “You’ll have to come with us, sir,” Norton repeated, ignoring the question.

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    “Wait — what the hell is going on?!” Karen snapped. “Are you arresting my husband?”

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    “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to step back,” Deputy Cole said, resting her hand on the grip of her holstered Glock.

Karen froze. The gesture made her recoil instantly, but her voice stayed sharp.

   

    “You can’t do this — he didn’t do anything wrong!”

 

    “Look, the Sheriff just wants to talk to you,” Deputy Norton said, calmer than his partner. “Anything else you need to know, you can ask Sheriff Santos yourself.”

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    Reggie turned to Karen. “Listen, Kay… the Sheriff just wants to talk. It shouldn’t take long.”

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    “What about Becca?” Karen’s voice cracked. She didn’t like the way Deputy Cole was staring at her — cold, assessing. The two women locked eyes, and Karen’s scowl deepened.

 

    “Are you sure, Reggie?”

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    “Kay, it’s probably nothing. Maybe he thinks I can help with something. I’ll be back before you know it.” The deputies exchanged a quick look — one Karen didn’t miss.

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    “Okay… call me,” she said, kissing him.

   

    “I will. I’ll see you in a few.” Reggie stepped outside and walked toward the waiting squad car. He got into the backseat.

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    “You have a good day now, ma’am,” Deputy Cole said, her tone deliberately needling. It worked — Karen bristling. Cole gave her one last cold smile before shutting the passenger door. The cruiser then made a U‑turn and rolled down the street. Deputy Norton had only been driving about ten minutes when he turned onto Durham Road — and hit a wall of unmoving traffic.

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    “What the hell is this…” he muttered.

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    Cars sat bumper‑to‑bumper, not moving an inch. After a moment, Jack Parsons — a local fixture in grease‑stained coveralls — stepped out of his truck a few cars ahead and walked back toward the cruiser. Stan lowered the window.

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    “Morning, Stan — hey, Patty! How y’all doing this fine day?” Jack leaned in, then glanced at Reggie in the backseat. “I see you got yourself a perp there. Sorry to interrupt you, busy officers. I know you’re out here keeping the peace… keeping certain elements out of our fine town.”

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    Deputy Norton’s expression didn’t change. Reggie stared out the opposite window, letting the faint morning sunlight warm his face. He refused to give Jack the satisfaction of a reaction. Jack wiped his hands on his coveralls, cleared his throat, and looked at Reggie again — longer this time.

Norton pretended not to hear the comment at all. He cut in quickly, redirecting the conversation.

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    “What’s going on up there, Jack?” Stan asked, nodding toward the line of cars ahead.

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    “Funniest thing, Stan — someone parked their rig right in the middle of the road. No one can get around it.” Jack shook his head. “Crazy bastard just abandoned the truck. Must’ve taken off into the forest or something. We’ve been sitting here half an hour, hoping the son‑of‑a‑gun would come back and move it so we can get on with our day.”

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    “You serious?” Stan looked over at Patty, who stared at Jack like he might be exaggerating.

Jack jabbed a thumb toward the jam.

   

    “Dead serious.”

 

    “Okay, watch out, Jack.” Stan stepped out of the cruiser, feeling for the stranded motorists and knowing it was his responsibility to deal with the mess. Patty got out too, then leaned back into the squad car to address Reggie.

   

    “You stay here. We’ll be right back,” she said.

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    “What if something’s wrong with the truck driver? Maybe I can help,” Reggie offered, eager to escape the cramped backseat.

   

    “I don’t think the driver will be needing a lawyer, Mr. Billings — at least not yet.” Patty’s tone was clipped. “Just sit tight. We’ll be back and on our way in a few.”

​

    She shut the door and hurried after Stan, surrounded by frustrated drivers.

   

    “I’m gonna be docked pay because of this!” a heavyset woman yelled. 

 

    "Who leaves an eighteen‑wheeler in the middle of the damn road?!” another man shouted.

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    More people climbed out of their cars, voices rising, complaints overlapping. Stan looked around at the growing crowd — a small mob with one shared demand: move the truck, now. He raised both hands.

 

    “Folks, Deputy Cole and I are gonna do everything we can to get everyone moving again. But I need you all to relax and return to your cars so we can check things out.”

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    It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it worked well enough. The crowd grumbled, muttered, and slowly dispersed back to their vehicles.

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    “Well, that didn’t go so well,” Patty whispered as the last car door slammed shut. She glanced back toward their cruiser and saw the line of cars stretching farther and farther down the road.

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    "We’d better get up the road and see what this is all about.” Stan adjusted his hat and started walking between the cars along the double yellow lines. Patty followed close behind. When they reached the truck, Stan climbed the short steps and opened the driver’s door. He leaned inside, scanning the cab. Patty circled the rig, checking the tires, the trailer, the back doors — everything looked intact. The rear doors were locked, and there was no sign anyone had tried to force them open.

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    “See anything?” Stan called.

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    “Nope. Looks fine to me,” Patty replied.

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    “Same here. Nothing out of the ordinary in the cab. Tank’s almost full. Keys are still in the ignition, but the battery’s dead.” Stan shut the door and stepped back down onto the pavement.

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    Patty walked to the right side of the road and peered into the dense woods, nothing but branches and shadows.

   

    “Hey! Cole! Over here!” Stan shouted.

 

    Patty hurried across the road. Stan pointed into the trees. At first, she saw nothing — then, about fifteen or twenty feet in, she spotted a leg in blue jeans and a work boot, the rest of the body obscured by a large pine.

 

    “You think that’s the driver?” she asked.

 

    Stan didn’t answer. He was already making his way down the small embankment.

Patty glanced back. People were climbing out of their cars again, craning their necks to see what the deputies had found. She was about to bark at them to stay put when Stan called out.

   

    “Cole! You coming?!”

 

    She swallowed her irritation and followed him into the woods. As soon as she reached the bottom of the slope, the smell hit her — unmistakable, overwhelming. Stan covered his mouth and nose with his hand, waving away the insects that swarmed around the body.

Patty did the same, fighting the urge to gag. Now that they were out of sight of the road, she could see the man clearly. He had been violently attacked — the kind of damage no accident could explain.

​

    Stan crouched beside the body, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and holding it over his face. He leaned in, studying the scene with a grim, practiced eye. He’d seen terrible things overseas, but this was different. This was… wrong.

   

    “So, what do you think?” he asked quietly. “Some kind of animal?”

 

    Patty stayed a few steps back. She’d seen her share of violent deaths — car wrecks, shootings — but this was unlike anything she’d encountered. She tried to answer, but the smell rose again, sharp and sour, and she had to swallow hard to keep her stomach steady. She refused to show weakness in front of her partner.

​

    Patty was a good‑looking woman, and because of that, she was always conscious of not appearing soft on the job. Men often underestimated her — assuming she was “too pretty” to be a cop or trying to flirt their way out of a ticket. She’d heard every line in the book. None of it ever worked.

 

    She took a steadying breath and stepped closer to the body, determined to stay professional despite the knot tightening in her stomach.

 

    “I’ve never heard of a bear doing something like this,” she said quietly.

 

    Stan nodded grimly. The victim’s injuries didn’t match anything either of them had seen before. Something violent had happened here — something that didn’t fit the usual patterns of wildlife attacks.

 

    “What kind of animal could’ve done this?” Stan murmured.

 

    “A Black Bear, maybe?” Patty Speculated.

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     Black bears weren’t uncommon in the woods around Tanner, and sightings had increased across the region in recent years. But attacks were rare, and nothing about this scene felt typical.

 

    “Oh my god!”The voice came from behind them. Patty turned sharply. Stan looked up too.

Reggie stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at the body with shock and disbelief.

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    “I thought I told you to stay in the car, Mr. Billings,” Patty said, irritation flaring. He’d ignored her order completely.

 

    “What happened here?” Reggie asked, stepping forward, not even acknowledging her reprimand.

 

    “Mr. Billings, please—” Patty began, but Stan lifted a hand, stopping her.

 

    “It’s okay, Patty. I’m sure the counselor here has seen things like this before.” He paused, glancing at the body again. “Well… maybe not exactly like this.”

 

    Reggie moved beside him. The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, looking down at the scene.

 

    “So,” Stan asked, “what do you think did this, Mr. Billings? A bear attack?”

 

    “To tell you the truth, I’ve never seen anything like this before, Officer.” Reggie kept his voice steady, but the truth was clear — even with his experience as a criminal lawyer, he’d never encountered anything remotely like this, and certainly never this close.

Stan crouched again, pulling a wallet from the victim’s pocket. He flipped it open.

 

    “Says here… Sutton. Donald J. Sutton.”

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    Reggie pointed toward the man’s raised arm. “Look at his wrist. That must’ve been incredibly painful.” The hand was bent back at an unnatural angle, far beyond what any accident could explain. Reggie winced.

   

    “Bears don’t do that.”

   

    “They sure as hell don’t,” Stan agreed.

 

    “Hey, listen — you two can play CSI another time. We’ve got company,” Patty said sharply.

 

    A handful of motorists had wandered down the embankment, drawn by morbid curiosity. Some held their noses; others whispered to each other, pointing toward the body partially hidden behind the pine.

 

    “Okay, Patty,” Stan said. “I’m gonna radio dispatch. Get those folks back up on the road. This is a crime scene, not a nature hike.”

 

    “Got it. I’ll clear them out. Want me to call the Sheriff after?”

 

    “Yeah. Do that.”

 

    Patty moved toward the first cluster of onlookers, her voice firm as she ordered them back to their vehicles. Stan lifted the radio clipped to his shoulder.

 

    “Dispatch, we’ve got a situation out here on Durham Road. We need Doctor Harper from the county coroner’s office and a tow. One confirmed fatality. Repeat: one fatality and a vehicle tow.”

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    The response crackled back almost immediately. “Copy. Zero-one-nine and road assist en route.”

 

    Reggie remained where he was, studying the scene in silence. Even without saying a word, it was clear he was trying to make sense of the violence — the sheer force behind it, the unnatural angles, the signs of an attack that didn’t match any animal he knew.

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    Patty returned, a roll of police tape in hand. She passed it to Stan.

​

​

    “I just spoke to Sheriff Santos,” she said. “He wants me to bring Mr. Billings in as soon as possible.”

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Reggie looked at her, startled. Whatever the Sheriff wanted, it clearly wasn’t routine — not after everything that had already happened this morning.

Within half an hour, the tow truck had hauled the eighteen‑wheeler off the road, and traffic was moving again.

   

By the time Doctor Harper and the coroner’s van arrived to collect what remained of Donnie Sutton, the morning commuters were long gone — unaware of how close they’d come to something they couldn’t begin to understand.