Mystery Thriller (Fiction)

The tiny sliver of crescent moon fighting its way desperately past the clouds illuminated the lone man hurrying through the forest in a half-run. His steps were careless and shaky as he stumbled through the thick bushes, frightening nocturnal birds into a hasty flight.

The crackling of dead leaves as footsteps thudded heavily behind spurred him to run faster despite the heavy lines of fatigue etched on his face.

Fear was like one of the hungry black bears rumoured to prowl the forest in early November, threatening to devour him whole. His hunting camouflage shirt had been torn in different places by the spiky branches from the foliage he'd had to meander through in his initial escape.

The ropes binding his wrists together cut deeper into his skin with every move and he winced from the pain but didn't stop running. His life depended on how fast he found the road and sought help.

It was like being left behind on a spooky Halloween carnival ride, an unending nightmare that had gotten worse with every second that ticked past.

One moment he'd been trying to crack open a can of beer while they laughed at his less-than-stellar scout skills and the next, it had been raining arrows and bullets.

No words needed to be spoken at that moment, it was unnecessary. They'd scattered like hungry chickens let out of a coop, each trying to find cover and avoid being the first one down.

In the bracket of some minutes, it'd ceased abruptly and everywhere had gone absolutely still.

There'd been no sound then, not even the birds that'd been tittering overhead before.

It'd been thirty long minutes since he'd taken cover behind thick unruly bramble bushes from the timepiece on his wrist and he'd grown impatient.

He needed to know if they were okay and safe and he couldn't hide there forever.

Coming out in the open had been the biggest mistake he'd eventually realized as he felt the blinding impact of something at the corner of his head. The next thing he was soaring into infinite and total darkness but he wasn't going to go down without a fight.

He'd fought his way into consciousness and a dull throbbing in his head soon after in a totally unfamiliar place; a dingy-looking shack with the interior rotting itself all the way out, and enough dust mote to keep the lung in a permanent state of dysfunction.

His wrists had been bound and fastened to a wooden beam at the center of the room and no one was in sight.

It'd taken him seconds to scan his surroundings and come to a chilling realization, thanks to his inherent ability for vivid imaginations.

His heart had begun to race madly as he worried if they were safe and weren't held up like him.

Quickly, his thoughts had metamorphosed into the best line of escape before whoever had gotten him there returned. He began to jerk at the rope holding him in place and wished he could get to the pen knife inside his mud-caked boots.

He'd almost yelled in relief when the rope loosened considerably and quickly held himself back. He wiggled his bound wrist carefully out of the wide knot and hurried to peer out the crack of the shack's small window. There was a little clearing outside surrounded expertly by trees and tall thick shrubs and no one appeared to be in sight.

Carefully, he'd made his way out of the dirty construction while looking around fearfully and hurried towards a birch tree close by.

While trying to undo the ropes binding his wrist together, he'd fallen on some dead leaves on the forest ground and cursed the season viciously as he heard a gunshot immediately.

A bullet had zinged past his ears as he got up quickly from the ground, kickstarting a rush of adrenaline in his system. That was when he'd begun to run like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

It was difficult manoeuvring through the forest at night time without a flashlight, least of all running through it but his assailant obviously had no issues.

He could feel him within reach and taste the bitter bile of what was to come if he got caught.

He was bone tired and didn't know how long he'd been running but he had no choice.

He couldn't die here, not this way.

With a burning determination fueled by fear, he pushed his legs harder and increased his speed despite the prickly branches stabbing at him from all sides.

He burst out by the bank of the small river which cut roughly across the forest from the north and was almost overwhelmed with relief and hope when he saw the outcropping of hills across the river. There was a road close by.

The heavy thud of running boots behind had him plunging straight into the shallow water, missing a cluster of rocks by mere inches.

Stumbling severally, he skirted the uneven rocky pathway gingerly before missing a step unluckily and falling face down into the water.

The frigid chill of the water made his entire body stiffen considerably, sending shivers down his spine as he got up hastily and hurried out of the river to the other side.

The slap and dash of movement in the water behind prompted him to hasten down the thick bush parts, without missing a beat. He was chilled to the bones and icy cloud tendrils were making their own escape from his mouth and nose as he ran blindly.

In a moment of near panic, as he realized his assailant was gaining quickly on him, he stopped suddenly and noticed a slightly visible fork on the path ahead. Without giving it any thought, he veered to the left and hid behind clusters of shrubs with thick wide foliage, his body taut as he held tightly to his breath.

From a slight gap between the leaves overhead, he saw the undistinguishable figure of the person chasing him run down the other path and sighed heavily with relief.

Something cold and biting trailed down his face and it took him seconds to realize it was his tears.

Blinking them off almost immediately, he tried instead to concentrate on how to get to the road without getting killed and praying he found help quickly.

The man looked around the less heavily wooded ascent of the hill and tried to remember where he was.

He knew the river well, but he'd never taken the paths he'd done on his race for survival before.

Suddenly, he recollected the iPhone in his trouser's knee pocket and felt a rush of elation. He could call 911 and ask for help or call his mother. The latter was faster than the former.

No matter how he tried to scrape his bound wrist against the stem of the tree behind him, he couldn't dislodge or fray at the ropes. He squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment as frustration and helplessness came over him like rolling waves.

With a sudden fierce sense of determination, he sat down quietly and drew his knees towards his face. After a few mishaps, he managed to extract the sleek iPhone shielded by a red case with the picture of a wolf in white and switched it on. There was no cell signal.

He moved quietly around the small space shielded by trees where he was crouched down but nothing came up.

Listening intently for his assailant, he heard no sound save for a bird calling in the near distance. He peered out in the darkness and saw no movement before stepping out carefully.

While he moved around cautiously finding a low-beaten path, he searched for a cell signal without much success and tried hard to stifle his mounting hysteria.

He needed to get to the road to find a signal or maybe a passing car to rescue him, before whoever was chasing after him finally caught up.

Almost like a miracle, he saw the beam of bright light in the distance and heard the sound of a moving car. He was closer to the road than he'd thought.

Bounding as fast as his legs could carry him up the elevated earth, he yelled at the top of his voice for the rapidly approaching vehicle to stop.

He got to the edge of the road and yelled louder, waving his hands madly around to signal the driver of the car.

The sharp burning pierce of an arrow went through his right leg just then and he went down with a loud cry. He tried to brace the impact of his body as he tumbled and rolled violently down the rough slope but the sharp rap of his head on the rock below brought him to a stop.

A blinding disorientating pain streaked through his brain and his visions clouded suddenly.

As he fought a wave of unconsciousness threatening to drag him away, he heard the purr of the vehicle above and the driver asking if anyone was there.

He tried to open his mouth to answer and call out for help but no sound came out.

He heard the driver mutter about his imagination running wild and the car driving away, taking along the hope for his rescue and survival.

Footsteps approached him slowly and stealthily and he struggled to peer through the blood dripping into his eyes.

It was all futile. His vision was terribly blurry and he was rapidly sinking into the darkness that'd been pulling him since he'd hit his head.

Suddenly he felt himself being dragged by the feet down the rough bush paths but he had no strength to fight or struggle.

He gave himself over and let the persistent darkness overcome and take him away.

Walking through the trauma unit hallway of Bluespring's medical hospital, Melinda Nelson felt terribly uneasy.

She remembered clearly why she'd always hated hospitals and the feelings didn't look to have changed over the years.

Contrary to popular opinion, it wasn't the antiseptic smell of the sterilized environment or the stark white paint on the walls that made her feel that way. Compared to other hospitals in the county area, Bluespring medical had more colours and smelt a little like lemons.

It was the general notion of what it stood for she detested. The weakness and powerlessness of the human body and mind.

If she could avoid going to a hospital her entire life, she would. But wishes weren't horses and beggars still couldn't ride.

Tightening her grip on the folded newspaper and balloons she held, she hurried on down till she stopped before the room at the end of the hallway and sighed heavily.

Another secret reason she disliked hospitals greatly, was having to stand and watch her loved ones in pain without being able to do anything about it.

Taking a huge breath of air, Melinda tucked a stray blond curl behind her ear before pulling the door open with an affirming nod.

Despite her show of reining her emotions in just then, she couldn't stop the tightness in her heart as she stared at the older man lying frail on the bed.

He had an oxygen mask over his face with a tube running into his mouth and was connected to a machine beeping lightly in the background. An I.V dripped liquid steadily into his right arm which wasn't bandaged as heavily as his left's. Harsh purple bruises were visible along his exposed arms, matching the several small cuts on his face.

He'd been in a coma for some days now and everyone's fingers were crossed as they hoped and prayed for him to come out of it.

Melinda walked further into the room and dropped the red and white balloons she held on a table overflowing with "Get well, Sheriff Anderson" cards and multicoloured balloons.

They were from family and friends and the entire Bluespring police department.

Sheriff Clive Anderson was crazy about balloons, just like a child was. They brightened everything and everywhere up he'd always said.

She hoped deep in her heart they were enough to obliterate his pain and bring him out of his deep sleep.

The entire police force of Bluespring, Maryland wouldn't be the same again till he was back again at the helm of things.

More than anything else she needed him. She still had a lot to learn about the entire law enforcement of Bluespring and how it worked.

She needed his advice, kind smiles, and encouragement.

Melinda couldn't believe how much she'd come to depend on him.

He was more or less like a surrogate parent to her, like the father she'd never had. She loved him and hated to see him that way.

He was the sweetest man she'd ever met. Kind, disciplined, and extremely hilarious, he was well-loved in the entire town.

Married to his high school sweetheart, Jeanine for more than twenty years, the sheriff was like one of Bluespring's backbones.

Rumours in the early years were that he'd been offered a nice job outside of their small town in Baltimore and had turned it down.

He loved their small town of fewer than five thousand inhabitants he'd said, and would never leave it for the city with its impersonality.

Sheriff Anderson was a really remarkable man and everyone loved him for it.

Beaming a fond smile at him, Melinda settled on the chair beside the bed and unfolded the Bluespring Daily she'd brought along.

Ever since he'd been assaulted ten days ago at the highway leading out of town into the city and had gone into a coma from the head trauma, she never missed their special time.

No matter where she was or what she was doing, once it was three pm, she kept it aside and drove down to the hospital to sit with him.

She always brought the newspaper and some clippings of the most hilarious arrests in Bluespring since the year 2000.

She read the newspaper to him and then afterward played the clip, laughing at the antics of the towners and police force of Bluespring.

It sounded like a totally surprising thought from someone as practical and jaded as she was, but she felt he was there and that he could hear her.

Perhaps it was because she had an extremely soft spot for him and had known him for most of her life.

Growing up in Bluespring with her drunk mother had been quite a turbulent experience and she'd rebelled a lot in her teens.

From being burst countless times for public vandalization and assaults to shoplifting, she'd gone in and out of the police station a lot.

It was quite funny how she was now on the other side of the table and working in the same force she'd spent most of her teenage years rebelling against.

She supposed, she should never stop being glad for one thing though. The sheer luck of having people around who never gave up on her all through those times.

Although she still had a fair share of demons who still haunted her nights, she liked to think they were under a modicum of control.

Melinda flipped through the papers till she found what was looking for;

The dating/ love story column.

Sheriff Anderson loved to read the incredibly sappy love stories always written there and she loved arguing the realism of their fiction-inclined details.

Suddenly overcome by a wave of emotions and nostalgia, she squeezed his hand tightly.

"Please wake up soon, Sheriff. I really miss arguing the authenticity of true love with you." She heard herself say in a shaky voice that didn't sound like hers. "I promise I'd find the bastards who did this to you and put them away for a good long time."

Halfway to reading a particularly funny, believable love story and laughing in between, Melinda's phone vibrated from her teal blue pants pocket and she paused to get it out.

"Hi babe, when can we talk?"

It was a text message from Peter. She really didn't feel like replying because she had no idea what to say to him, not yet anyway.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and resumed reading from where she'd stopped.

It wasn't up to a minute before it vibrated again. This time it was a phone call.

Melinda got up and left the room to the hallway to answer it.

"Hello, Melinda. It's Vera Miller. Can we talk for a few minutes?"

The usually calm and musical voice of Bluespring's second-time mayor came through the line in husky gasps.

"I'm sorry, Vera. It's not a good time now, can I call you back later? "

"I don't know if I'm worrying myself for nothing but I really do need to speak to you," Vera answered with a slight edginess.

"Is everything okay, Vera? You sound a little off." Melinda asked with concern, her hackles rising considerably.

Vera was an extremely sunny woman who'd been a blessing to Bluespring the day she got elected if you asked anyone around.

She was a calm and collected person who never wavered in the midst of chaos or adversity despite having had a lot of them in recent times.

It was clear as rain to Melinda that something troubling was up and she confirmed it in the next seconds.

"I don't really know Melinda. But I feel something's greatly amiss," Vera began with a shaky voice. "Dylan told me he was going into the forest on a hunting trip with three of his friends. It's been two days now and I haven't heard anything from him, which is strange because he always calls me once a day."

"Calm down, Vera. You know how the cell reception inside the forest can be. Probably he hasn't been able to get any signal to call you." Melinda replied soothingly.

"No, Melinda. It's not about the cell reception. They were supposed to return in the evening of that same day but it's been two days already!" Vera's voice was greatly distressed now and she continued after a slight pause. "Can we meet at the station now, Melinda? The situation is really troubling because I've spoken to the parents of his friends and they aren't back either. Not even his girlfriend, Winnie, has heard from him."

It became slightly clearer to Melinda right then about the perplexity of the situation.

Dylan and his girlfriend Winnie were as close as two peas in a pod and practically lived and breathed in each other's pores. It was strange that he hadn't called her in two days or his mother who he was also very close to.

"I'll meet you at the station in thirty minutes, Vera. In the meantime try and stay calm, you're scaring me with this new side of yours, " Melinda added, trying for humour to put the woman at ease. It worked perfectly because Vera laughed just then before answering.

"Thanks, Melinda. It's been hard to succumb to worry and anxiety, trust me."

When she hung up, the smile disappeared from Melinda's face and her brows furrowed thoughtfully.

Even though she hoped it was simply a case of bad cell reception or a spur-of-the-moment decision to hang out for extra days in the forest, she highly thought it was the case.

Dylan Miller had always been a timely person, comfortable with routines and order. He wouldn't decide out of the blue to remain in the forest for extra days and if he did, he'd have found a way to call home.

With different thoughts rioting in her head, Melinda returned to the hospital room. She folded the papers and picked up her purse, planting a kiss on the sheriff's cheeks before leaving the hospital to head for the police station in a great deal of a hurry.

Warrick Ruff reached for his wife, Julia's hands and tried not to wince from hurt when she refused to give it. He quickly glanced at the thickly built male nurse who stood by the wall a few feet away but the man's face was averted from them.

Turning back to Julia who sat ramrod straight on the padded visiting bench in a grey hospital hoodie and matching sweatpants, he felt a tightness in his chest that was part sadness and repressed frustration.

Her usually rosy appearance was pale and drawn and she'd refused to comb her hair again.

Before her breakdown, Julia would never be caught dead with frazzled hair anywhere, not even inside their home. It was the first thing she did when she got out of bed in the morning.

He couldn't count the number of mornings he'd opened his eyes to see her sitting at the dresser, combing her long lustrous dark hair.

Julia had taken such great care with her appearance and even if she'd chosen not to bother, she would still be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Petite with a great deal of curves, her body complimented him to perfection.

Whenever he stood close to her, he never felt too large or brawn but perfect enough to gather her into his arms and protect her.

Her dark eyes and thick long lashes framed by an oval-shaped face and rosebud lips were in perfect contrast to his short auburn hair and full beard.

They were absolutely ideal together and the birth of their first son after ten years of a rather blissful marriage seemed to be slowly undoing every loose knot that'd held it all together.

Before they'd gotten married, Warwick knew Julia hadn't wanted a child. She'd finally conceded after his persistence and began to show more enthusiasm once she got pregnant.

After five long hours of labor and their son, Gabriel Alan Ruff had been born, she'd fallen head over heels in love with him immediately.

It'd been three months of euphoric happiness and disbelief at the perfect gorgeous life they'd both created before postpartum depression swept and enveloped her in its clutches coupled with the clinical depression she battled with in the past.

He'd returned home from work that cold evening to find Gabriel screaming tiredly on the floor like he'd been at it for a while and his wife sitting in a catatonic state in front of the wailing boy.

Warwick's attempt at getting her to focus had led to a manic episode which left him with a bruise on his forehead and sadness in his heart.

He hadn't had any choice but to call the hospital to come get her after managing to calm and comfort her while she cried.

He knew he should have gotten her intensive treatment in the early years of their marriage for the bouts of clinical depression she suffered occasionally after they got married but she'd seemed so fine in recent years.

He had been coming to visit religiously since she'd been admitted in the psyche ward of the Emerson clinic for women fifty miles away in the city of Baltimore, and hated to see what was happening to his once active beautiful wife.

Shaking his head to dispel the gloomy thoughts in his head, he tried for a smile and spoke to her instead.

"How are you doing, baby? Feeling any different today? "

Julia shrugged without meeting his eyes. "I guess I'm okay, I don't really know," she answered with a lackluster voice and started rubbing her thumbs together.

"Okay. You seem to look better than yesterday so I'd take that as progress," He said with a smile. "How about the staff, do you like them? Is the food here any good? "

She smiled just then and Warwick felt hope blossoming in his chest and his mood lifting a little.

"The staff is okay I guess, but the food is downright shitty," she replied with a grimace but her face was starting to show some color.

Things were not that bad, he thought. This would be the perfect time to talk about Gabriel.

"Julia, do you want to know how Gabriel's doing?"

Suddenly her face lost the little color it'd had and a pained expression came over her features. "No, I don't want to know, Warwick. How's the homeless shelter doing? Has anyone asked about me yet? "

Warwick felt his temper rising quickly but he tried hard to curb it and shook his head. "Baby, forget about the shelter. Let me show you what Gabriel's latest antics are. I recorded a video personally to show to you."

He tried to reach into his pocket to get out his phone but Julia's face suddenly contorted in anger and pain and she clamped her hands over her ears and started to cry really loudly.

At his absolute wit's end and fighting to control his temper, Warwick tried instead to placate and explain things to her. "Julia! You don't have to cry, I just…"

"Excuse me, but you are distressing her and need to end the conversation right now."

The nurse who'd been standing away from them stepped forward just then, his tone brisk with warning.

Warwick's temper had gotten to its boiling point and he was tired of the whole bullshit. Everything.

"What the hell is wrong with you!! You are a fucking nut job! What kind of fucking mother are you?!" he yelled at Julia as he advanced on her, anger coursing blindly through him.

She only cried harder like a pitiful broken child but he didn't care right then, she couldn't keep doing this to them.

"You don't care about how your son is doing. You don't want to see a picture of him or know about how he cries every night for you.

"For seven good days, you've not been interested in hearing about the little sad boy you brought into this world and had a breakdown conveniently when he needed you the most!"

"Stop Warwick…. "

"But you want to talk about work, about the homeless shelter instead of your own son?" Warwick continued with a sneer. "I'm not surprised, Julia. You never wanted him in the first place!"

"I'm sorry but you have to leave right now. You aren't allowed to do this. " The nurse spoke up with disapproval and stretched his hand to steer Warwick away as Julia huddled on the bench sobbing.

This only served to infuriate Warwick the more, that he slapped the nurse's hand away and raised a finger at him. "Don't you ever try to put your hand on me again!" He warned with a quiet steel and watched as the man blanched and turned instead to comfort Julia.

"Excuse me, Detective Ruff?"

Warwick turned to see a middle-aged, slender brunette wearing a lab coat standing behind him.

"I'm Dr. Valentina Sutto, the new psychiatrist handling your wife's case. Can I have a word with you?"

He sighed raggedly and nodded, glancing at Julia and the nurse once more before following the brisk walking doctor into the adjourning corridor.

"Detective, I know what you must be going through right now, " she began with a patient empathetic smile, "But you really do need to be patient. You shouldn't be losing your temper at her or yelling, rather try to put her at ease."

Warwick was tired of that same line every day, of the constraints. "I thought she's been on treatment all week, why is it not working? She doesn't even want to hear her child's name, for christ's sake! "

Dr. Valentina shook her head gently and placed a hand on his forearm

"I understand your frustration, Detective Ruff, but we've only just begun a different new treatment and we can't force the process. She's undergoing a complicated depression that could jeopardize the entire process of motherhood for her if it's not handled carefully.

"Besides, she's not been taking her antidepressants for a long time and it'd only been boiling up for a while waiting to spill. You need to understand that. "

He didn't want to understand it, he couldn't understand how this all could have happened. One moment everything had been perfect, their family had been complete and all was going well.

There had been no sign that Julia wasn't okay. No indications that things weren't as they seemed on the outside. He really thought he knew his wife well. Now he didn't seem quite sure anymore.

"You should calm down, Detective. Your wife's still adjusting to her new meds and doesn't need to be exposed to any undue stress or mental distress," Dr. Valentina was saying, "She shouldn't, because it could ruin all the progress we've been making already."

"Undue stress? You mean undue stress like her son?!" Warwick yelled before he could stop himself.

"Detective, you must know she isn't in a good frame of mind and doesn't hate her child. Her mind's just a bit scattered and needs the proper treatment to get back to its former self that's all, " The sympathetic doctor answered almost immediately. "I'm really sorry about all this and I need you to be strong for her."

"How about our son?!" Warwick exploded. "How about that little boy who has lost his mother at the crucial part of their bonding? I don't know about your treatment though but I don't think it's doing any damn thing! "

He turned and stormed away from the doctor, ignoring her as she called his name.

It was until he got to his car that he began to calm himself down. He slammed his palm on the steering wheel multiple times and cursed more violently than he'd ever done before.

The entire situation was downright sad and horribly painful.

Warwick loved Julia more than words could explain. He loved the strength, the fierce spirit she possessed, and her warm empathetic heart especially working with the homeless in the shelter downtown. His heart ached terribly because he couldn't believe this was all hellbent on destroying the happiness they once shared.

A dull throb began to build at his temple as he turned the key in the ignition and started the car, throwing it into a wild reverse.