The Web

Chapter Two - A Flea and a Fly in a Flue

"A flea and a fly in a flue

Were imprisoned, so what could they do?

Said the fly, “Let us flee.”

“Let us fly,” said the flea.

So they flew through a flaw in the flue" - Ogden Nash

I sigh contentedly as I look out over the glassy waters of Moosehead Lake, feeling the peace that only this place can bring begin to wrap itself around me.

We have a history, this lake and I. It was here that my heart had begun to heal, here that I first started to remember who I was before.

It was here, surrounded by the beauty of nature that I began to once more see my own, and that I began to confront the demons that haunted my dreams. It was here that I finally won that confrontation, banishing those demons to exist only where they belonged, as ghosts of the past. It was at this lake that I began to commit those demons to paper, releasing the memories so that they were no longer inside of me, threatening the life they belonged to.

A small smile flits across my lips as I remember who I was then as opposed to now. It seems like a lifetime ago. Had I only known then what that diary was to become. What was initially intended as a mere tool of catharsis, a private collection of memories put down to start my journey towards a new life somehow took on a life of it's own and became so much more. It was here that I was finally able to let go of and bury Wednesday Gray. It was here that I became W. G Walker, the New York Times best selling author.

After my first novel, the successes kept coming. Although I could conduct no interviews, or attend any signings, my fans were loyal and I had achieved what many could only dream of, anonymous financial freedom pursuing my passion.

I wrote as I now have to live, under a pseudonym.

After I testified, I inevitably had to be put into witness protection. My life was quiet here in Maine. Wednesday Gray, the Boston born and bred aspiring journalism student and the only witness to the murder of her mother was no more. In her place was Elliot Walker, the quiet, intelligent but friendly young girl who moved to Greenville in search of a peaceful life as the town librarian. The people here were lovely, welcoming and never questioned the identity Boston PD gave me.

I shake myself from my reverie and pull out my laptop. "Alright, Elliot, this book isn't going to write itself," I giggle and I settle in to work the afternoon away in happy solitude.

******************************************

"I'm telling you, Sergeant Melrose, it wasn't me! That damn monkey took that lady's purse, just like the last time! It's out of control!"

I groan inwardly and fight the urge to walk straight out of the station and to the nearest bar.

Hector, or as he is known around here between us officers, Heckler, is someone I just don't have the patience for today. He is somewhat of a regular here at the station, especially at this time of year. Boston winters are cold and hard when you are on the streets, and for an older man like Hector, a cell that is warm and dry is a far better alternative.

"Look Hector, I know you are not crazy, man. You've been in and out of this station for going on ten years now. You know I'm going to have to process you and send you over to Boston Jail for holding, right?"

"Aaaaw, c'mon Melrose! I didn't do it, I'm innocent, I tell you", Heckler states with a dramatic flourish of his hands.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. He can barely contain the glee on his face. Poor bastard. Not like I can really blame him.

"You know the drill, Hector", I sigh, shaking my head and playing along. "You can stay here tonight while we process you, then we will take you over to be held until your trial can be heard."

I pick up the phone and patch through to the front desk. "Officer Jones, you can come and take Hector down to the tank now. No, cuffs won't be necessary. Thank you".

A few moments later, Jones dutifully retrieves Heckler and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

I begin the annoyingly tedious task of processing him, trying to ignore the mounting pile of paperwork on my desk that I haven't had a moment to get to all day.

Not for the first time, I wonder what I'm doing here. I used to love it on the force, used to find fulfilment in keeping the streets safe for the community. I took pride in my job, in my uniform, in the fact that I was making the world a better place every day, even if only a little.

My dad was a cop, and a damn good one, too. I still remember the pride in his eyes when I was sworn in, still remember his words as he shook my hand, family not just by blood, but by the blues we would now both wear with pride.

"Welcome to the force, Son. God knows we need all the good ones we can get."

He wasn't wrong. Not all cops were good. In my time since that day, I've unfortunately seen that time and again. Corruption, lack of discipline, mistreatment of the perps, you name it, I've seen it. Some people just become cops for the wrong reasons. There's always those bad apples that threaten to spoil the whole bunch.

I frown as I remember the day my dad was buried, just two weeks after I had made him so proud. He was killed in action, attending an armed robbery gone bad. He was given a hero's send off by the department, all the bells and whistles fitting of a decorated Captain who had served nearly forty years. I swore that day to always try to be the officer my father was. I never took shortcuts, never participated in or condoned corruption, always treated the perps with respect and the witnesses and victims with compassion and patience.

And look where that got you, Rhys, I think as I eye off the offensive paperwork pile.

I was promoted through the ranks right up to Sergeant, and I know now that taking that promotion was a mistake. I needed to be back out on the beat, attending call outs, doing the real work.

Maybe it's time I talk to Hodges.

As if by magic, there's a knock on my door and I hear his deep voice.

"Can I come in, Sergeant?"

I smile at the formality. Hodges may be my Captain, but he is more like my second father. He was my dad's partner for twenty years, and he was the one who was with him when he was killed. I had grown up with Hodges around, he was family. He was the one who broke the news to my mum, and who held us as our grief ripped through our bodies. He had been my mentor on the force from day one.

"Of course, Sir, please come in." I grin as I echo his ceremony.

I look up and see the carefully disguised worry behind his calm features. I stay quiet as he sits down across from me and wait for him to speak.

"Rhys, there is something I need to talk to you about," he begins uncertainly. I just nod, silently inviting him to continue.

"It's about that case, you remember the one from years ago? That young girl, the one from the Harbour Hotel?"

I blink and swallow, hard. Of course I remember. I was among those first called to the scene, it was my first homicide. In fact, it was my handling of the case that lead me to my first promotion, after only two years on the force.

"Sure I remember, Hodges. How could I forget? It took all the king's horses to put that bastard away."

All the king's horses and one fearless little green-eyed Wednesday Gray, anyway.

I shake myself from my thoughts and turn my attention back to Hodges.

"Why? Has something happened?" I fight to maintain an even tone. Hodges shifts in his chair uncomfortably but holds my gaze. When he speaks next, his voice is soft and careful.

"Rhys, I think it is better if you see for yourself."

I look on in confusion as Hodges grabs my remote and turns on the wall-hung TV. He flicks through the channels until he hits the breaking news. I turn my attention to the screen, and my heart jumps into my throat as I process the scene before me.

"And in a stunning turn of events, the convicted Harbour Hotel killer Liam Harlow is set to walk free from MCI Walpole tomorrow morning after serving only nine years of his twenty-five year sentence...."

I stare back at Hodges, as the slow gnawing dread in my stomach grows at a rapid rate.

"Oh God...." I whisper, "Where is Wednesday?"