Sam Sawyer Chapter Seven
“A word with me, sure of course, anything to help.” Sam said, noticing his gray short -cropped gray hair and thinking drill sergeant.
“How is she,” Williams asked, his eyes softened incrementally. His tone concerned but measured like his eyes, clearly under control and always serving more than one purpose.
“Ah, she’s in pain,” Sam smiled, then wished he hadn’t. How would that look. He knew without asking these guys were cops. They were here for a homicide, not for Sarah.
“I’m Chief Detective Williams this is Detective Stover. He reached out and shook Sam’s hand. His grip was tight, his right- hand sturdy, strong. But Sam could easily pinch it right off at his wrist, but of course he did not. In fact, his return handshake was limp and loose almost insulting.
Williams eyes narrowed to slits.
“Ah great how can I help.” Sam asked, trying not to plead.
There was a waiting room just down the hall.
Williams motioned for him to go in that direction. He nodded and complied and tried to remember he was the super guy here. That he could always just fly away. Yeah and he could always play tag with jet fighters and who knows what else the government might have stashed away in some area 51 type place. Too dark to risk. He led them to the waiting area, a sun baked semicircle of reasonably comfortable chairs and took a seat nearest the window like a good little boy. They flanked him.
“Ms. Wyatt was admitted last night, and here you are bright and early.” Williams began, “you two must be close, brother? Boyfriend?”
Sam did not dare not lie. “No sir, we actually just met.”
“No sir last night. I called her parents and 911.”
“You saved her life?”
Sam heard a question, not a statement.
“Apparently.” That sounded so smart mouthed, crap!
“Do anything else,” Detective Stover asked way too casually.
“Like what?” Sam asked, looking directly into Stover’s eyes.
“I don’t know, rescue her from a very bad man.” Stover replied.
“I helped her, I heard her. I freed her and called for help. That’s what I did. Was that a bad thing.”
“No son,” Williams slid in close, “that wasn’t bad, but holding back information from the police is?”
“You said a very bad man?” Sam asked, “Where is he, what happened to him?”
Williams smiled, “You know.”
“Is he all right? Is he not, all right?” Sam asked, knowing full well, they knew his manner of death would be impossible for them to explain. That was his card. He had to play it. “I mean was he shot, stabbed, burned, ah I don’t know, do you have him in custody?”
Williams eyes widened, “He is in the morgue dripping off the table, every bone in his body is broken. His skin is split like a burst balloon. How do you imagine that happened?”
“He was hit by a train.”
“Cute.” Williams winced.
“Sir am I under arrest. If so then I’d like a lawyer.”
“We’re going to talk to Ms. Wyatt.” Williams said, pausing then continuing, “You’re a big guy…”
“Yeah, I am.” Sam interrupted, “But you said, he was burst like a balloon. How could I or anyone else do that?”
“Did you see him?” Stover asked, his voice rising.
“It was dark, I heard her. I helped her. Is that a crime?”
“No,” said Williams, shaking his head and pulling back. “You two must be the luckiest two people in the world.”
“Well I can’t disagree with that.”
“Someone killed him. Mr. Sawyer, go home, stay put.” Williams said, his eyes wide but weary now.
“Sounds like some, thing killed him. I’m not a thing.” Sam replied, rising over the men as he spoke. His tone much stronger now.
They both grunted got up and walked away.
…’they know what Sykes did…who and what he was…yet they are so concerned about his death…they should just say good riddance and move on…’
Sam thought as he watched them disappear around the corner leading to her room.
“Good luck with that.” He said under his breath…
Several days passed. The authorities scoured the garage found the bullet in the seat but could find no footprints. It appeared a strong wind had swept the floor clean. It made no sense, no more sense than Sykes’ manner of death. Curious. But the most curious finding revealed itself when they pulled down the roll door.
An ovoid shaped six-foot area of shiny new metal stood out like a sore thumb in the center of the old rusty metal. They had no idea what that meant, except it seemed to match up with the victim’s insistence that something bright and loud pushed right through the metal door as though it was vapor. And after Sykes shot it, it flew at him crushing the would -be rapist against the wall. It was frustrating for the police that her account completely cleared Sam.
DNA was also collected, but it was eventually determined it was too contaminated to make any sort of definitive identification. Of course, it was not contamination that made it useless. It was simply not quite human. It was the DNA of a thing, just like Sam had said…