Chapter 77: Because He Has a Sick Brain
Bernie had already stepped outside the valley perimeter. He made a show of untying his belt and relieving himself, even whistling casually as if he hadn't a care in the world.
In reality, every muscle in his body was coiled tight, his senses heightened to maximum alertness.
Even so, the rope appeared around his neck like magic.
Bernie immediately grabbed the cord with one hand to prevent it from tightening while drawing his service weapon with the other, firing several shots blindly behind him. The pressure on his throat didn't change at all.
A hand emerged from the darkness and clamped onto his jaw like a steel vise.
Bernie released his gun and drove his elbow back toward where he estimated the attacker's body would be. Sharp pain lanced up his arm the next instant.
Knowing his opponent had a blade, Bernie roared and let go of the rope around his neck, dropping low to tackle his assailant into the darkness.
The two men crashed to the ground, rolling together in a desperate struggle.
The moment Bernie brought his opponent down, he drew his own knife and stabbed downward. He aimed first for the throat, but an arm blocked the strike. Without hesitation, he redirected toward the chest, landing two solid hits before releasing the blade to grab the knife that was slashing toward him.
Bernie twisted the captured arm with vicious force, snapping the wrist and disarming his attacker, then landed two brutal punches to the torso.
He was preparing to strike again when the rope around his neck suddenly tightened. He had no choice but to abandon his attack and claw at the constricting cord.
The moment gunshots echoed through the valley, Theodore and the Old County Police rushed outside.
As they emerged from the valley entrance, a dark figure flashed past and vanished into the forest depths.
Bernie scrambled to his feet and shouted for them to give chase.
His appearance shocked the four County Police officers who had followed them out.
A rope still hung around his neck, and blood mixed with sweat covered half his face. A deep gash had been opened on his arm, with blood and dirt streaming down in dark rivulets. He still clutched a blood-soaked knife in his grip.
Bernie yanked the rope from his throat and quickly briefed them on what had happened. He was certain he'd stabbed his attacker three times: twice in the torso and once in the arm.
They followed the blood trail on the ground for roughly thirty yards before the stains began to thin. After chasing another dozen yards to reach the creek, the blood trail vanished completely.
The group stood in the dark mountain forest, feeling somewhat adrift.
A mountain breeze stirred the trees, sending chills down their spines.
The round-faced young officer's lips trembled, his face pale with terror. He was beginning to suspect their adversary wasn't entirely human.
"I... we..." he started to stammer.
Bernie's voice cut him off as he prepared to continue the pursuit, but Theodore stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
Theodore pointed meaningfully at Bernie's wounded arm.
The group helped clean and roughly bandage Bernie's injury by the creek. The Old County Police winced at the gaping wound while secretly admiring Bernie, who showed no reaction to what had to be excruciating pain.
He suggested they descend the mountain immediately. Bernie's wound needed proper stitches, and their field bandaging could only slow the bleeding, not stop it entirely.
Bernie examined his arm with some confusion, strangely, he felt no pain at all.
The suggestion was unanimously endorsed by the four County Police officers, who didn't want to spend another second in these cursed mountains.
Everyone immediately returned to the valley to prepare for departure. They needed to fashion torches for the nighttime descent and bury their fallen comrades' bodies to protect them from scavengers.
During the trek down the mountain, Bernie felt a nagging sense of failure. He quietly asked Theodore if they would ever catch the killer.
He had fought the man face-to-face and could sense that their opponent was neither stronger nor a better fighter than himself. If not for the killer's intimate knowledge of the terrain, Bernie was confident he could have taken him alive.
According to their plan, he should have captured the killer, dead or alive.
Theodore glanced back at the dark mountain forest and shook his head. "No, we still have a chance."
"He won't abandon his home, not even in death."
These weren't words of comfort, Theodore meant them literally.
He explained his reasoning to Bernie: "The injury will only intensify his need to control his territory. Being wounded caused him frustration, and that frustration will transform into aggression, making his territorial instincts swell even stronger."
"Not only will he refuse to leave his domain, but he'll also retaliate against us to regain his sense of control."
Bernie didn't fully grasp the psychological mechanics Theodore was describing, but he wouldn't have to worry about understanding much longer.
The wound on his arm showed no signs of clotting. He began feeling cold, his lips turned pale, and his reactions grew sluggish. In the final stretch, he lost consciousness entirely and had to be carried the rest of the way down.
After getting Bernie to the hospital, the Old County Police and his men parted ways with Theodore, each returning to file their respective reports.
Theodore gave Wenner a concise briefing. Wenner's expression darkened as he listened, a mixture of shock and anger crossing his features.
He immediately went to consult with Chief Weideke and opened communications with the Nashville County Police Department.
The discussions dragged on until late afternoon without resolution.
The County Police Department was livid, wishing they could fly into the mountains and drag the killer out by force. But their manpower was limited, and they had no idea where to begin searching in the vast wilderness.
The County Police weren't alone in their frustration, even the West District Branch, or the entire Felton Police Department for that matter, was equally helpless.
Both agencies agreed they needed to search the mountain and apprehend the suspect, but the fundamental problem remained: how to search effectively, and how to actually catch him?
Their mission sounded like searching for a needle in a haystack.
After completing his report, Theodore went to the hospital to check on Bernie.
Bernie had been properly bandaged and stitched, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. The attending physician was preparing to administer painkillers when Theodore intervened.
He sat in the corridor for a while until Senior Police Supervisor Flores arrived in obvious haste.
Flores leaned against the window to peer into Bernie's room, then slumped into the chair beside Theodore, patting his chest dramatically.
"You have no idea how worried I was when I got the news!"
After a long exhale of relief, Senior Police Supervisor Flores asked Theodore for the complete situation report.
He had received the basic information from Chief Weideke, only that Theodore and Bernie had been attacked in the mountains and Bernie was hospitalized, so he'd dropped everything to rush over.
Theodore provided a thorough recap and stated his assessment: the killer remained within his territory and would definitely seek revenge against them.
Senior Police Supervisor Flores grew serious. After considering this for several moments, he asked, "Are you certain about this, Dickson?"
He was actively pushing for Theodore to receive a promotion to Sergeant rank, which would make both Theodore and Bernie full-fledged star detectives.
Since early September, large-scale protests against racial segregation had erupted across various locations, with conflicts steadily escalating. Felton needed two prominent detectives to capture public attention and help suppress the unrest before state or federal authorities were forced to intervene.
At this critical juncture, Theodore couldn't afford any professional missteps.
Theodore considered the question carefully, then nodded with confidence.
Senior Police Supervisor Flores maintained his serious expression as he thoroughly analyzed the potential benefits and risks this case posed for Theodore's career.
Theodore regarded him with some puzzlement and said, "I take full responsibility for the conclusions I've provided." He paused, recalling the man's name. "Mr. Flores."
Flores nodded and escorted Theodore back to the West District Police Department.
During the drive, he asked with genuine curiosity why Theodore believed the killer would remain in that territory.
Theodore thought to himself: Weren't you nodding throughout my entire explanation?
After a moment's consideration, he tapped his temple. "Because he has a sick brain."
Senior Police Supervisor Flores suddenly understood completely.
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