.

     Darby County Sheriff Sam Danza awoke to the incessant ringing of his telephone.  Fumbling in the dark, he found the phone and placed it to his ear.  After a mumbled hello he was greeted by silence, and then a dial tone.
 

     “Damn fool.  Probably a wrong number.”
 

     After tossing around for awhile, he finally dozed off.  Suddenly, the phone began ringing again.  Holding the phone to his ear, he was again greeted by a period of silence and a dial tone.

     “Who in hell is that?” he scowled.  

     The phone rang a couple more times with the same result.  It was now 3 o’clock in the morning.  With sleep all but impossible now, Danza got out of bed and shuffled down the hall to the kitchen.  Switching on the light over the sink, he poured a cup of stale coffee and heated it in the microwave.  He sat at the small table and slowly sipped at the nasty tasting brew.  The coffee soon had the desired effect and he went back to the bedroom to get dressed.

The drive to the Sheriff’s office was uneventful.  The streets were totally devoid of people and traffic.  “This town is a spooky place at this hour,” Danza mumbled to himself.  

     Parking behind the office building, he entered the rear door.  Deputy Tommy Sorbo was busy at his desk, not noticing the Sheriff coming up behind him.  Seeing that Tommy was in the middle of a video game on his computer Danza thought briefly about head slapping him into next week but then, decided to have a little fun.  He quietly picked up a nearby metal waste basket and at an appropriate time in the game action, slammed it to the floor behind Tommy.  Tommy jumped, his knees banging against the bottom of the desk drawer and his coffee spilling into his lap.

     Tommy’s eyes had a look of real fear and his mouth hung open as he turned and saw Danza, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.  “Sh-sh-sheriff Danza!  I didn’t hear you come in!”

     “Obviously!” he exclaimed.  “Some wild-eyed sex perv could have walked in and took your sweet young virgin butt.”  Danza couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the stammering young Deputy, a big wet spot on the front of his pants.  

     “Go clean yourself up, Tommy.  I’d hate to have a citizen walk in and think you just sit here peeing yourself at tax payer’s expense all night.”

     Danza took some paper towels and wiped up the puddle of coffee from Tommy’s desk and the floor under his chair.  He then went to his office and began looking at old FAX’s that had come in from neighboring counties during the previous day.

     After a short while, a sheepish looking Tommy emerged from the bathroom. 

     “I’m sorry about the video game, Sheriff. There was just nothing going on tonight.  What brings you in at this hour?”

     Danza motioned to a chair.  “Sit down, Tommy.  I’ll tell you all about it.”  

     He related the story about the continuous mystery phone calls that kept him awake.  

     “I’d like to get my hands on that clown and introduce him to our jail.”

     Just then, the phone on Danza’s desk rang.  He looked at Tommy and then put the receiver to his ear.  Dead silence and then, a dial tone.  He slammed the receiver down.

     “Dammit! I want this SOB, Tommy.  It’s bad enough that he kept me up all night.  I don’t need him pulling this stunt with the department phones.  Do you have any ideas”?

     Tommy replied cautiously, “Well, I think you have what some folks call a dead ringer.”

     “What?  Is this something from one of your video games?”

     “I’m kind of surprised that you don’t know what a dead ringer is.  Way back a long time ago, maybe just a couple of years before your time,” he laughed, “people often got buried alive.  Sometimes a person would just be unconscious or in a coma and folks couldn’t detect a heartbeat.  They were thought to be dead and would be buried while still alive.  Finally, it was discovered that some actually woke up and tried to claw their way out of the casket.  It was a horrible way to die.   Someone got the idea of tying a cord to the body’s hand and running it to a bell above ground.  A watchman was left to keep watch at the grave for a few days in case the deceased woke up.  If the bell suddenly started ringing, the watchman would quickly dig up the grave and open the casket.  They used to call the event a dead ringer.”

     “Hmmm.  Good story but how does that relate to my telephone?”

     “I come from an old ethnic family where the old ladies used to insist that they would get messages from the dead.  Some insist that when the phone keeps ringing and no one seems to be on the other end, it’s a dead person trying to contact you.”

     “Just what I need.  They don’t play video games do they?”

     “I’m just sayin’, Sheriff.  Strange things happen.”

     The phone on Danza’s desk began to ring again.

     “I’m going to put it on speaker.  See if your young ears can pick-up any voices or background noise.”  Danza pressed the button.

     After a brief silence, a barely audible voice whispered “Save her……save her!----- Please save her.”   

     “This is Sheriff Danza.  Who is this?  Who should I save?”  Then, silence and a dial tone.

     Tommy’s eyes were open wide.  “Damn, Sheriff.  That was creepy.”

     “Did the voice sound familiar?  Did you hear anything else?”

     “I’m afraid not Sheriff.  I didn’t recognize anything.”

     “How can I help someone when I don’t even know where to start?”

######

     Danza was upset all morning.  “Is some idiot playing a prank or is someone actually in trouble?  This is going to drive me crazy until I find out what’s going on.”

     Around noon time a man entered the office.  Tommy Sorba had finished his shift and Deputy Ward Collins manned the front desk.  The man walked up to Ward’s desk.

     “Excuse me.  I’d like to report a missing person.”

     “Who is missing?”

     “My wife.  I work the night shift and when I got home this morning, she wasn’t there.  I called her friends and family members and no one has heard from her.”

     Danza overheard the conversation through the open door of his office.  From the sound of the man’s voice, he appeared genuinely distraught.

     “Ward, will you please bring the gentleman in here?  We can interview him together.”

     Ward picked up his note pad and the necessary forms from his desk and showed the man into Danza’s office.

     “Hello, Mister --------?”

     “Fowler.  David Fowler.  My wife Cheryl is missing.”

     “Please sit down, Mister Fowler.  How about starting at the beginning?  We’ll need to know as much as you can tell us.  Normally we don’t take action on a missing person’s report until the person has been missing for 24 hours but, maybe we can start the ball rolling.”

     “My wife left to do a little shopping yesterday evening at the Creekwood Mall before it closed.  She hadn’t gotten home before I left for work.  I didn’t think much about it.  When I got home this morning, her car wasn’t in the garage.  I checked inside the house; she apparently had not been home all night.  I called friends and family; no one had heard from her.”

     “I hate to ask this but I have to.  Have you and your wife been having any problems lately?  Has she mentioned anyone bothering her?”

     “We’ve been fine.  No problems.  She never mentioned anyone bothering her or hanging around.”

     Danza thought for a moment.  “Mr. Fowler, by chance, have you or anyone you know tried to contact me about this prior to your coming in this morning?”

     “No.  Why do you ask, Sheriff?”

     “I guess someone has been giving me a lot of crank calls.”

     “Do you think it could be Cheryl?”

     “I don’t think so, Mr. Fowler.  Probably just some jerk who thinks it’s fun to play games on the phone.”

     “Mr. Fowler, can you give us a description of your wife,” said Ward.

     “She’s about 5’-6” tall, about 120 pounds.  Kind of strawberry blonde hair.  Blue eyes.  25 years old.”

     “How about her car?”

     “2009 Honda Accord, white.  License plate number CF712.”

     “And, as far as you know, she was last at the Creekwood Mall yesterday evening?”

     “Yes sir.

     Danza stood up.  “We’re going to get started on this, Mr. Fowler.  I need you to go home and stay close to the phone in case your wife tries to contact you.  We’ll keep you posted regarding our progress.”

     David Fowler had no sooner left the Sheriff’s office than the phone on Danza’s desk began to ring.  He looked across the desk at Ward and pushed the “speaker” button.  At first, dead silence.  Then, a whispered voice, “Seven….. Seven…... Save her, Sam……. Not much time……Not much time.”  Then, silence and the familiar dial tone.

     A chill went up Danza’s spine.  As he reached for the button on the phone, he became aware that his hand had begun shaking.  Ward’s eyes were wide as saucers and his mouth opened with no words coming out.

     Finally finding his voice, Ward said “Tommy told me about the call this morning and I didn’t believe him.  What in hell’s going on?”

     “I don’t know, Ward.  I have to tell you, this is starting to mess me up.  Who do we have on patrol near the Mall?”

     “That would be John Baker.”

     “Get him on the radio and have him call you on the land line.  Give him everything we have and have him meet Tommy at the Mall.  They need to hit every store and see if anyone’s seen Cheryl Fowler.  Wake up Tommy and fill him in also.  Have him meet up with John at the Mall.  They can split up and maximize their search.”

     “Will do, Sheriff!”

     Danza sat down in his chair, his legs still trembling as he recalled the whispered words on the telephone. He was a well seasoned law enforcement officer; he had seen a lot of bad things during his police career but this was clearly getting under his skin.  Having talked to deputies Baker and Sorba and given them Danza’s instructions, Ward brought in a steaming cup of coffee.

     “Here you go, Sheriff.  I had to thin this out with a little turpentine but hopefully it’s not too bad,” he joked.

     Danza sipped at the murky liquid; he could almost feel his eyes snap to attention.

     “Thanks, Ward.  I needed this.”

     Danza walked over to the wall where a large map of the county was displayed.  He placed a pin at the location of the Creekwood Mall.  “Seven. Seven.”  He took another sip of coffee.

     “Seven,” he shouted.

     “Where?” asked Ward.

     “County Road 7.”  About five miles east of the Mall, County Road 7 headed north.  It was about fifteen miles in length, running from Creekwood Road to the Darby County line where it found its way into Preston Township in Gable County.   County 7 ran through a heavily wooded area; it was pretty much uninhabited.  Most of the traffic was through, between Preston and the Creekwood Mall.

     “Do you think that’s where she is?” asked Ward.

     “I don’t know but something tells me that I have to look.  Man the fort; I’m going out there to snoop around.  Let me know if Tommy and John find anything,” said Danza as he strapped on his service weapon and headed out the door.

######

     Danza made the turn onto County 7 and drove slowly, looking for anything that might seem to be out of the ordinary.  A few miles down the road, he saw a ramshackle wood framed building. From the various signs and logos, it was obviously a tavern.  He parked his car and walked up to the door.  It was locked.  No lights were visible and there were no vehicles.  A slight breeze came up and Danza felt something catch on his ankle.  He bent down and grasped a plastic bag.  Printed on the bag was the logo of the Creekwood Mall.  He went to the trunk of his car and placed the bag into an evidence bag and sealed it, marking it with the date, time and location.

     A careful inspection around the building yielded nothing else.  Danza returned to his car and resumed his slow ride up County 7.  He was a couple of miles from the county line when he was distracted by a reflection in his rearview mirror.  He stopped and quickly backed up.  The sun was low in the sky now and seemed to be reflecting off of a mirror.   He backed past the site, parked and turned his emergency lights on.

     Tire marks on the berm and in the tall grass indicated that a vehicle had been driven or pushed off the road.  Branches had been cut and placed around the vehicle to hide it from view.  Pulling some branches away, Danza revealed the end of a white Honda Accord, license number CF712.  He reached for the remote radio on his shoulder.

     “Ward, this is Sheriff Danza. Copy?”

     “You got me, Sheriff.  What’s going on?”

     “I found Cheryl Fowler’s car.  I need help to process the scene.”

     “John and Tommy have finished up at the Mall.  I’ll have them meet you right away.  What’s your twenty?”

     “I’m on County 7, about 2 miles from the line.”

     “Roger that.  They’ll be there in a few minutes.”

     “10-4.  I’ll also need a flat bed to bring the car in for forensic testing.  Out.”

     By the time Danza got back to the hidden car, his deputies had arrived.  They carefully removed the loose branches covering the car.  There was nothing visible inside the car.  Seeing that the keys were still in the ignition, Danza said “John, grab those keys and check the trunk.”

     The men stood at the rear of the car, hoping that Cheryl Fowler wasn’t dead inside.  As the trunk lid popped open they let out a collective sigh of relief.  Tommy crouched behind the car.

     “Sheriff, it looks as if the car has been pushed off the road by another vehicle.  This looks like dark green paint embedded in these damaged areas.  Judging by the off road elevation where the car is, there can’t be too many cars that could push a vehicle this far into the brush and still be able to make it back up to the road which is considerably higher.  I’m thinking maybe a larger truck or van.”

     “I tend to agree,” said John.  “Check out these tire prints; large aggressive off-road tread.

     “Hmm.  Maybe so.”

     “Check out the driver’s side.  Damage to the front fender and door with embedded dark green paint.  It looks as if the perp likely ran her off the road.”

     “I think you’re probably right.  Now the big question is, where is she?  Where did he take her?  Is she still alive?”

     “I hate to say it but, it’s probably close to 24 hours since she was taken.  If she’s still alive, she probably doesn’t have much time left.”

     Danza felt the shiver in his spine again. “Not much time.  Not much time,” the voice from the phone warned.

     The flat bed truck arrived.  Danza instructed, “You boys finish up here.  I still have something that I want to check out.”

     As he got back into his car, his cell phone began to ring.  He cautiously placed the phone to his ear. “Not much time……Willow…..Willow……..So cold….So cold and damp.”

     He turned the car around and headed back south on County 7.  He suddenly slammed on the brakes.  He stared at the huge willow tree on the east side of the road.  It was next to the tavern that he had seen earlier.  A neon sign in the front window now flashed ‘OPEN’.  He turned into the small parking lot.  There were less than a half dozen cars and pickup trucks in the lot.  An old Willy Nelson tune could be heard through the open door.  When Danza walked in, every head in the place turned to look at him.  He quietly walked to the bar and the patrons soon returned to their beer and conversation.  The bartender put down the beer mug he was drying and walked over to him.

     “Good evening Sheriff.  Are the woodland critters complaining about Willy Nelson again?” he smiled.

     “No, I’m looking for a young woman who was possibly abducted around this time yesterday; blonde, blue eyes?  Might have been driving a white Honda Accord.”

     “We rarely get any rice burners here.  Mainly pickup trucks, old Chevys and Fords, an occasional old Dodge.  Pretty hard to find American made anything now days.”

     “How about a dark green van or pickup truck?  Maybe something like an old Blazer or Ram Charger?  Big Tires?”

     The bartender’s eyes lit up.  “There’s a nasty looking dude that stops in here every now and then.  He’s got one of those big old hippy type vans; dark green, four wheel drive, big tires.  He has all the rear windows painted over.  Looks almost like a big old Army truck.”

     “Do you know his name or where he lives?”

     “Well, he’s not much for conversation and he’s usually got a nasty temper.  I gather that he must live around here somewhere.  I see his truck running up and down this road fairly often.”

     “Is there a place around here like an old cabin in the woods?  Nice and secluded?”

     “I haven’t thought about it since I was a young buck.  About two miles south of here there is an overgrown driveway, pretty hard to spot if you’re not looking for it.  A few hundred yards into the woods is an old shack.  It was a safe house.  It has a cellar with a tunnel that went all the way to the river.  It was part of the Underground Railroad when they were helping slaves escape to the north.  I believe parts of the tunnel collapsed over time and it doesn’t reach the river anymore.  I would bet that’s where the guy with the green truck is.”

     “Thanks, friend.  I appreciate your help.”

     Danza rushed back to his car and used the radio.  “Tommy!  Where are you?”

     “Just finishing up here.  John and I are ready to head back to the office.”

     “I may know where our perp is.  I’m going to need some backup.  Start heading south on County 7 and keep an eye out for my car.  I’ll be a couple of miles down the road past the tavern.”

     “Got it.  We’re on our way.”

     Light was fading fast and Danza wanted to find that driveway before dark.  He drove slowly, desperately looking for signs of an overgrown driveway into the woods.  Thinking he had found it, he got out and looked closely.  Sure enough, in the soft ground he could see the same tire tread pattern that he saw at Cheryl Fowler’s car.  Just then, Tommy and John pulled up.

     “John, put your car across this driveway.  Don’t let anyone out.  If we find our guy and he gets away from us, he might try to ram his way out.  Be careful.”

     “Tommy, you and I are going in on foot.  I don’t want to spook him by driving the cars in.”

     Danza and Tommy drew their weapons and made their way into the woods.  Darkness was coming fast.  Luckily, the sky was clear and the rising moon was bright.  In a clearing ahead, the moon illuminated a dark colored truck type vehicle.  Dim lights showed through the windows of the old shack behind it.  The men peered carefully through the windows, not seeing anyone inside.

     “Let’s go in easy.  Hopefully we can avoid any gunplay,” said Danza.  “Make your way to the back door, I’ll take the front.  Sixty seconds from now, we go in.”

     Strangely, the men found the doors unlocked and quietly entered the building, weapons ready.  They found no one.  The now familiar whisper went through Danza’s mind, “So cold….So cold and damp.”

     “There’s a cellar.  Look for a way into the cellar,” said Danza.

     Tommy motioned to Danza and pointed at the floor in front of a large china cabinet.  A curved scrape mark on the floor seemed to indicate that the cabinet would swing outward like a door.  After a little careful investigation, Tommy soon swung the cabinet outward, revealing a stairway into the cellar.  As they listened, they could hear a woman sobbing.  Was Cheryl Fowler still alive?  As they slowly descended into the cellar their feeling of elation vanished when they heard a gruff angry voice screaming at the woman.  Suddenly one of the rotting steps broke, tumbling Tommy to the floor.  A large form lurched out of the darkness with a shotgun and fired toward them.  Danza returned fire.  A pained grunt seemed to indicate that Danza’s bullet had struck flesh.  The figure ran into what appeared to be a corridor.

     “Tommy!  Are you OK?”

     “I’m alright.  Get that SOB, Sheriff.”

     Danza cautiously followed the figure into the dimly lit corridor.  The sound of the fugitive running suddenly stopped, followed by a single gunshot.  As he approached, he could see the figure of a large man lying on the ground. 

Tommy caught up with him.  “Nice job, Sheriff.”

     “I didn’t bring him down.”  He partially turned the man over.  “It looks like he tripped and fell on his shotgun.  The blast hit him right under the chin.  His face is gone.”

     Tommy shined his flashlight at the man’s feet to see what he might have tripped on.  

     “Holy crap, sheriff look at this.”  The bony fingers of a skeletal hand were closed tight on the laces of the man’s boot.

     “I see it but I can’t believe it,” remarked Danza.  His line of sight followed up the arm that was still attached to the hand.  The flashlight revealed the skeletal remains of a woman.

     “Looks like we have a Jane Doe,” said Tommy.

     “Go upstairs where you can get a radio signal and get an ambulance and the coroner’s wagon out here.  Have Ward call Mister Fowler and tell him we found his wife.  He can meet her at the hospital.”

     Danza found Cheryl Fowler in a small room off the main cellar, tied up and lying on a ratty old mattress.  She began to cry when she saw him.  

     “Where is he?” she asked fearfully.

     “He’s dead.  He can’t hurt you anymore.” 

     Danza cut her ropes and helped her up the rickety stairs.  The EMTs were already there when he got her into the main room of the cabin.

     “Your husband should be at the hospital when you get there.”

     Tears rolled down her cheeks.  “Thank you, Sheriff.  I didn’t think I would ever see him again.”

     Danza went back down into the cellar.  The coroner was preparing to move the dead kidnapper  while Tommy crouched over the remains of Jane Doe.  He stood up and handed Danza a heart shaped locket made of white gold. 

     “I think you need to look at this,” he said with a slight tremble in his voice.  “It was around Jane Doe’s neck.”

     Danza took the locket and slowly turned it over.  Engraved on the back was “Karen and Sam Forever.”  He opened the locket; the pictures inside were of himself and Karen.  He sat down hard on the floor as tears began to form in his eyes.

     “Tommy, the last time I saw this locket was six years ago.  My wife was wearing it the day she disappeared.  I was with the Preston Township Police Department at the time.  We found no trace of her.”

     “I’m sorry, Sheriff.  I know it sounds crazy but I think she guided you here to save that woman and then took revenge on that creep for what he did.”

     “I don’t know, Tommy.  It’s all a little more than I can deal with right now.  Can you give me a few minutes alone with her?”

     “Sure.  Take all the time you need.”

     Danza sat staring at the remains of his wife and clasped the locket to his chest.  He became aware of a warm touch on the back of his neck; he had felt it many times before as Karen would gently massage the back of his neck, chasing away all of the day’s stress.  He looked at the back of the locket again.  Strangely, the word “Forever” was now underlined.

     Danza smiled.  “Forever, honey.  Forever.”