Anything

DALE CALLAHAN

I arrived at Finney Park feeling an equal dose of relief and exhaustion. The relief came from knowing Dolly was no longer on my bed contaminating my sheets with her terrible cologne. I considered burning the sheets when I got back. As for the exhaustion, well you know –

Sheriff Roscoe stood by the gate with a cigar the size of a fist between his lips. The weird thing about it was that Roscoe didn't smoke.

First the sigh now this.

"It's a bloody mess, kid." He said as I approached him.

I got close enough to notice his hand shaking. This was also a first. Sheriff Roscoe got the nickname Steel Gut Roscoe for a reason.

"How bad is it?" I swallowed through the lump in my throat.

He shuddered visibly. "You'll have to see for yourself."

I wasn't sure I wanted to see the body anymore, not with the way it affected Sheriff Roscoe.

He suggested we wait for Caleb before going in. Apparently, the night guard at the park had been doing his round when he stumbled upon the body; not li