M. J. Dawson
Polaris Station
Part 1
1
Counting had never helped. At least, it has never brought sleep to him as often advertised.
He wondered if it ever worked, counting numbers to fall asleep, or any such thing people say you could do to fall asleep. What seemed truer than any of those counting suggestions was that if you can’t fall asleep, then you can’t.
It is what it is.
He folded his thick hands on the rise of his chest. Counting never worked, concluded Tom Garcia, sheriff of the small community of Baker County. He had been through a rough day at the office that day, true. A rough day which included proofreading the typed reports by 60-year-old Elma, his secretary. And then making a run down to the magistrate court a total of six times to take those he arrested — four misdemeanor offenders and one miscreant who now languishes in cell 2 down at the station, the other four being held in the other cells in the basement.
Garcia commenced counting again.
He never got past five. Betty always chose that central and epochal moment in his counting to mouth something, all the way from dreamland. Betty was Garcia’s wife of 28 years.
Betty always fell asleep after reading two paragraphs from her paperback books. Gone with the Wind, a book by some little known writer, was spread out on her chest. Her breasts rose and fell gently with every breath. Her mouth was open about half of an inch. She had just mumbled something about keeping the molasses off the countertop.
Garcia had no idea where that could have come from.
He started counting again.
This time it wasn’t his wife’s mumble that stopped him. It was the bedside phone.
Rrrrrrrrriiiiiinnng!!
“Oh, Jesus Christ!!”
He reached over and grabbed the telephone off the cradle. Silence followed.
“Hello.”
“Sheriff? Are you up?”
“Yeah, what’s the problem? It’s 1 am, am I supposed to be up?”
Betty turned in the bed, mumbled something, and went on slumbering.
Sheriff Tom Garcia listened for a moment.
“Alright, alright, Sue. I’ll come to check it out.”
He returned the phone then cursed. Tom rubbed his eyes. He looked at his wife once, before rolling his bulk off the bed.
“Who was that, Tom?”
Betty was up on her elbows.
“That was Sue,” Tom said, walking into the bathroom.
“Who?”
“Sue.” He turned on the tap. “Sue at the Baker Home.”
“Oh, has there been a fire again?”
“Go back to sleep, Betty. It’s probably nothing to worry about.”
Tom splashed cool water on his face.
Five minutes later, he was driving up the hill towards the Baker Home for the Elderly.
The idea for the Baker Home for the Elderly was conceived in ’53 by the selectmen. The site used to be one huge tract of woodlands. The first time the city came, they took a chunk of it to let Highway 11 through. What’s left of the construction crew's presence has since turned into a trailer park. Then the selectmen came and thought, what the hell, let’s take some more. The digging of the foundations began not long after.
It was completed in the fall of ’57, after constant stops and starts on account of funds, generally, and will specifically. The first spade that struck the soft silt earth of the site on the dry and windy June of '54, almost thirteen months after the thought occurred to those old selectmen, was that which was held by the geriatric hands of Edward Baker. His name was apparently chosen for the building for other reasons Tom isn’t now privy of, decades after.
Tom Garcia drove his Ford into the half-lit parking lot. He swept searching eyes across the area and back the way he had come. There was no one in sight.
He palmed his holster. Be ready old friend, he thought.
Sue, the night nurse on duty, had called earlier to report the presence of an intruder. The four-story building looked as magnificent as a war-beaten and senile senior. The home has had one or two break-ins in the past three years. Never something serious. Petty thieves mostly.
Tom sauntered his big body through the double glass doors and found Sue Jackson standing by her desk. She had been something of a secretary there for most of ten years. She took ill once or twice, went on vacation only one time. Sue was black. Tonight she looked grey with sheer fright.
Tom guided her back to her desk where there was a mess of papers, pens, and an assortment of lady things like hairpins, and a particularly huge comb.
“I need the tape for this evening.”
Visibly shaken, Sue’s hands trembled as she punched the tape to life. It made a whirring sound as it rewound. She pressed a button again and it stopped. The footage was clear enough. It showed a long lighted hallway, the floor sparkled white.
As Tom watched, a figure moved into the hall. From the angle, he looked about six feet. He wore what seemed like a soldier’s ensemble. It could also have been a cleaner’s uniform. He walked steadily, not looking back until he went out of sight.
“Okay.” Tom exhaled. “And you said he never came back that way or any other way?”
“No.”
“And he couldn’t be one of your guys, maybe a janitor, or some visitor who stayed after visiting time?”
The nurse looked at the empty hallway on the screen. She pursed her lips. Shaking her head she said, “No. I’d know him. I know everyone on the staff, Tom.”
Sheriff Garcia agreed that this was true. Sue was old, but not enough to not know a regular from a stranger. And this was a stranger.
Lost in thought, she added, “I think he’s still up there somewhere.”
“Right, I have to see that hallway.” Tom peered through the glass of the main entrance. “Come show me.”
Sue was enormous in her white gown dotted with red. She quickly waddled ahead of Tom Garcia, talking rapidly as she went.
“I was having me a cup of tea and watching me my TV show, you know the Ferry Boat show with Jerry Levine from the School Band? Yes, there I was and—”
“Sue, will you just tell me what you saw, exactly?”
They went up a step. Sue panted, supporting her knees with her hands. “I never go up that often, Tom.”
“I know.”
“So I saw the man walking on the third floor. He was tall. I didn’t see his face but he walked straight enough to be strong and young if you know what I mean.”
On the landing, Sue stopped. Her voice dropped to a whisper. Her face clouded, bulging eyes glanced at Sheriff Tom Garcia.
“He went that way.” Sue waved at a lit hallway that stretched for about thirty feet. The floor was white linoleum. Tom thought that the floor was inappropriate since this wasn’t a hospital. From where he stood behind Sue, he could see most of the doors locked. Beyond the last door, the floor seemed to plunge down a flight of stairs. It was dark there, he couldn’t see much.
“There are stairs at the end of this hallway, right?”
“Yes, Sheriff. Up to the administrative offices and the roof.”
Tom pulled the nurse gently. “Now I want you to go back down to your station. Get on the surveillance TV and watch. If you see anything, squawk into the PA, you got it?”
The old nurse nodded vigorously, gave Tom a thumbs-up, and wiggled off.
Sheriff Tom Garcia made sure Nurse Sue was out of sight before he plucked his talkie from a strap on his belt. He looked around once more. It was so quiet that if he dropped a pin it would make a crash. Still, Tom Garcia wondered if Sue was mistaken. The casual air of the man on the tape was difficult to ignore.