Wolf

Please note that this story contains sensitive content, including hints to sexual violence and struggles with mental health.

“Welcome to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park,” says Chief Ranger Ford, as he shakes the hand of a young man in uniform. “Ranger Dorman, this here is Ranger Reed and Terrier.” The young man greets his new colleagues with a firm handshake. “And this is our post, so make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, sir,” says Dorman.

“You’ve come a long way to work law enforcement in the trees,” jokes Ford. He crosses to the coffee station and pours himself a fresh mug.

“Yes sir,” Dorman replies with a smile, slightly embarrassed.

“Only one year in the Philadelphia Police Department and you’ve already got your wires crossed, I hear.” Ford settles into his chair and puts his feet up on his desk.

“Yes, sir. PTSD. But I’ve made a lot of progress over the past six months. Thought a move to national park service would be good for me.”

“Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place,” says Ford. He takes a sip. “Don’t think you won’t be busy though. We get a lot of hikers out here smokin’ God knows what, or takin’ their dogs down trails they’re not supposed to. Then there’s the occasional drunk runnin’ around with no clothes on.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. You’ll see every kind of crazy out here. It’s never a dull day.”

“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen?” Dorman inquires.

“Back in 2015, a man stabbed a guy to death in his trailer. Stabbed him nine times. Somethin’ about a love triangle. Anyway, that was eight years ago, and homicides are few and far between out here. We haven’t had one since.”

“Those are much better statistics than where I’m from,” remarks Dorman. “Philly’s no joke. I’m talkin’ a couple homicides a day in those streets.” He pauses. “I really am glad to be here, sir.”

“Good.” Ford gives Dorman an approving nod.

Ranger Dorman smiles as he notices something amiss with the chief’s uniform. “For my first civic duty, sir, I feel obligated to tell you, that you’re missing a button.”

Ford looks down at his uniform. “Huh. Don’t know how I missed that.”

“Those are some fancy buttons, sir.”

Ford chuckles. “Christmas present from my sister. Got the buttons stamped with the family crest. We got a lot of pride in our family history. It’s not exactly up to protocol wearin’ ‘em on my uniform, but as chief, I can bend the rules a little.”

“Understood,” says Dorman with a laugh.

BANG!

Without warning, the station’s front door flies open, crashing into the wall behind it. An unkempt woman of 45 staggers in.

“Somebody, help me!” Her speech is slightly slurred, and she smells of whiskey.

The surprise drop-in has Dorman shook, but he manages to compose himself quickly to take charge. “Ma’am, I’m Ranger Dorman, how can I help you?” He places a hand on the woman’s shoulder, partly out of compassion and partly to steady her.

“Step aside Dorman,” Ford calls from behind his desk. He passes in front of the concerned ranger and adds in a low voice, “I’ve got this.” He addresses the wavering lady: “May Windecker. What’ll it be today? Saw another sasquatch? Someone stole your moonshine?”

Rangers Reed and Terrier let out a chuckle, not even trying to hide it.

“Wait, don’t tell me,” Ford continues. “You lost your shoes.”

The laughter reaches a boyish pitch. Ranger Dorman stares at the scene before him in disbelief, waiting to see how this plays out.

“Chief,” starts May frantically. “I need your help. My daughter’s missin’. Lacey’s gone!”

“Miss Windecker, this is the third time in the past two months you’ve come into my station claimin’ your daughter’s gone missin’ in my park. You may recall that the last two times, she was found at some man’s campsite, tangled up in his sleepin’ bag – happily, I might add, and of her own accord. Now, I’ve got far more important things to concern myself with, than a woman out here cryin’ wolf. So, you have yourself a good day. Ranger Reed, please escort Miss Windecker out.”

“Wait, please! She came walkin’ here last night and said she’d be back, but –"

“I’m sure everything’s fine, May. Go on back home and get yourself another drink.”

“Miss Windecker,” Ranger Dorman interjects. “Tell me about your daughter. How old is she?” He pulls a pen and a notepad from his shirt pocket.

“She’s 21, and she has red hair,” May replies.

“And what time did she go out?”

“I don’t know. Eight o’clock.”

“Was she going to meet someone or was she planning to walk the park alone?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“That’s fine, Miss Windecker. I’m just trying to get some details,” Dorman says in as calming a voice as he can manage.

Chief Ford rolls his eyes.

“Can you tell me what she was wearing when she left the house?” Dorman continues. May shuts her eyes tight trying to recall. "It's ok if you don't remember."

"No, I got it. It was a...a white shirt - one of them little ones, with daisies all over it.”

“Great. You're doin' good Miss Windecker. What about pants?”

“I’d be surprised if she was wearin’ any,” Chief Ford chimes in.

“Chief, please,” counters Dorman, but Ford doesn’t stop there:

“Why don’t you ask her about the tramp stamp?" I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ to put that in your notes.”

“How do you know about that?” asks May.

“May, EVERYBODY knows about that! She’s got a broken heart tattoo above her a-"

“Chief!“ shouts Dorman, trying to keep things professional.

May turns to Ranger Dorman, her eyes filled with tears. “Somethin’s not right. I can feel it. There’s a predator out there. Please, please help me.”

A silence sweeps the room as Reed, Dorman, and Terrier look to each other, then to Ford for direction. Finally, the chief speaks:

“I tell you what,” he says, as he walks back around to his desk. He opens a drawer and pulls out a silver dollar. “Heads or tails.”

“What?” May asks.

“We both want somethin’ May. You want me to find your daughter," says Ford, lifting his cup of Joe and taking a sip. “And I want to sit here and drink my coffee and wait for a worthwhile cause to come across my desk. So, heads…or tails. Your call.”

Ranger Dorman stands frozen. He can’t find his words.

May stares at the coin. Shaking from desperation and alcohol, she swallows hard and tries to focus on making a good decision. Finally:

“Tails.” She stumbles to say the word.

Ford makes a fist and places the coin on top of his tucked thumb, readying himself for the flip. Suddenly, “Heads!” shouts May. “I change my mind. I want heads.” Ford grins and lets out a snuff, enjoying the part he’s playing in May’s uncertainty. He flips the coin and lets it fall onto the desk. The silver dollar lands on its rim, and spins for what seems like eternity. Finally, the coin falls over.

“Tails,” says Ford, with a sickening hint of victory. May’s eyes go wide. Her jaw begins to tremble.

“Like I said, I’m sure everything’s fine.” Ford stares May straight in the eyes, and this time, slurps his coffee. Slowly. 

Within seconds, all hell breaks loose as May lunges across the desk, knocking the coffee out of Ford’s hand and spilling the liquid down the front of his shirt. She grabs him by his throat and thrashes him about, screaming unintelligible words. Officers Terrier and Reed draw their guns.

“Hands up! Hands up!” shouts Reed.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” yells Dorman as he rushes toward May and grabs her around the waist. She spins around and claws him in the face with her ragged nails, scratching his eye and welting his cheek. Temporarily blinded, Dorman stumbles backward into a wall, and falls to the floor. Eyes closed tight, all he can do is listen to May’s screams and the sound of chaos happening all around him. “Hold her still!” he hears Ford yell above the noise. He finally recovers his eyesight just in time to catch Ford push May out of the front door and into the gravel parking lot. The chief slams the door closed and locks it. May stands outside screaming and throwing fistfuls of gravel at the windows. A few cracks, but nothing shatters. Then, just like that, she’s gone.

Ford takes a second to collect himself, then, finding his mug on the floor, picks it up and throws it at a wall; the porcelain fracturing in every direction. No one speaks. Red-faced from embarrassment and rage, Ford sweeps his hand through his hair before settling into his chair. He snatches a tissue from his desk and begins to sponge up the coffee from his shirt.

Heart racing and eye red and watering, Ranger Dorman peels himself off the floor and breaks the silence. “What just happened?!”

“Relax Dorman, everything’s fine,” assures Ford.

“Everything’s FINE? I just watched you play mind games with a woman whose daughter is missing, and then throw her out into the street!”

“Parking lot,” corrects Ford.

“I don’t know what kind of department you’re running out here, but I don’t want to be a part of it.”

“Dorman –"

“She’s a mother looking for her daughter!”          

“She’s a drunk, Dorman! And her daughter’s a prostitute!”

“Who’s still worth finding!” the ranger fires back.

“She’s worth about as much as two lap dances and a roll around in the hay,” says Ford, unapologetically. 

Ranger Dorman is suddenly overcome with dizziness, and he can feel an anxiety attack coming on. “I feel sick. I need to get some air.” He steps outside and leans against the building taking deep breaths. Glancing at the ground, he sees the indentation in the gravel where May Windecker landed after being ousted from the ranger station. The sight of it makes him nauseous, and he vomits where he stands. Needing some time to himself to process what he just experienced, Dorman climbs into a patrol car and goes for a drive through the park with no destination in mind.

BZZ! BZZ!

His cell phone rings. He can see it’s Ford, but he ignores it. He takes a left and finds a suitable place to park – a quiet spot void of visitors.

BING!

This time, a text. It’s Ford asking, “Where are you?” Dorman turns off his phone and stuffs it in the glove box before climbing out of the vehicle to explore his surroundings.

A few minutes into his walk, he spots a TRAIL CLOSED sign. “If the chief can bend the rules, so can I,” he thinks to himself. He enters the trail and encounters a stream and a small wooden bridge with a broken railing. At the foot of the bridge is another sign that reads, CLOSED FOR REPAIRS. Undeterred, he heads off-trail and takes to the bank to follow the stream. It’s a peaceful walk. The sound of the water trickling over and in between the rocks is calming. He hears birds chirping. What kind? He doesn’t know, and it’s not important. It’s just nice to hear.

Halfway up the stream, something catches his eye. There’s a log stuck in the water and there seems to be something on the other side. As he approaches the log, he can see it clearly: a body. It’s the body of a young, red-haired woman, lodged face down beneath the log. Dorman bursts into a sprint and manages to pry the woman loose. Her body is cold and stiff – rigor mortis – but he won’t let his mind go there. He turns her over in his arms, hoping for any signs of life, but the strangulation marks around her neck, and her green eyes now dimmed tell Dorman he’s not to get what he’s hoping for.

The woman’s dressed in a white crop-top patterned with daisies, but she’s nude from the waist down and her feet are bare. Dorman’s soul sinks. He knows who this is.

The body wet and unbending, Dorman wraps his arms around it and fights to lift the woman out of the water and onto the bank. He rolls her over, and there it is on her lower back: the broken heart tattoo. It's Lacey Windecker. He’s found her.

Dorman sits beside the body. Feeling defeated, he lets a few tears crawl down his face. He knows he shouldn’t, but he grabs Lacey’s hand and holds it in his – she should know that someone cares. But no sooner does he grasp her hand, does he realize that something’s off. The hand he’s holding is a tightly closed fist. Intrigued, he pries open the fist and his heart stops when he sees what’s inside: a button stamped with a crest. He’s seen this before: Chief Ford’s uniform. He remembers that it was missing a button – the very button he now holds in his hand. Everything around him starts to spin and his heart begins to beat rapidly. Unsteady as he is, he races back to the patrol car - shaking, panting, stumbling along the way.

Back at the car, he pulls his cell phone from the glove box. A nickel falls out of the compartment and onto the passenger’s seat. Instinctively, Dorman picks it up and stuffs it in his pocket. “Dang it!” he thinks to himself. “The phone’s off.” He had forgotten about this. He waits for the phone to reboot, but the mere seconds it takes to load feel like forever. By the time his phone regains consciousness, Dorman’s had 12 missed calls and 6 text messages – majority Ford, but Dorman’s certain that the two unknown numbers belong to Reed and Terrier. He bypasses their messages and dials 9-1-1.

Moments later, police vehicles arrive, accompanied by Chief Ford. Dorman leads them to the site of Lacey Windecker’s body, and watches as the officers begin to secure the crime scene. He finds a moment to pull Chief Ford aside for a private conversation.

“I found something you might be interested in, sir.”

Ford can’t imagine what it is, but he’s nervous all the same and tries to play it off. “What’d you find?”

Dorman produces the crest-stamped button from his pocket. “I found this in Lacey’s hand. You want to tell me how it got there, sir?”

Ford’s face turns red. He steps closer to Dorman and lowers his voice. “I think we both know how it got there, son. What are you fittin’ to do about it?” 

Dorman remembers the nickel. He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out the silver coin. “We both want something, Chief. I want to tell them everything I know, and watch your life fall apart as they throw you into the back of a squad car and haul you off to prison. And you want me to keep quiet, so you can keep on keepin’ on, as we say up in Philly. But I can’t keep quiet, sir. I’m a man of the law, and it’s my duty to make sure that people like you get what’s comin’ to ‘em. As far as I see it, either you tell them,” he says as he motions to the officers. “Or I will.”

Ford stands in complete silence. Glaring at Ranger Dorman, he’s at a loss for words.

“So,” Dorman continues. “Heads or tails. Your call.”