BLOODlines

21: Men In Uniform

The forest lit up in strobing red and blue, cutting through the suffocating dark. Cherish clung to Frank’s arm, her heart hammering, torn between relief and suspicion. The men who had circled them had vanished into the night, but the echo of their boots still throbbed in her ears.

Frank tried to stand but faltered. His face was a mask of bruises, blood smeared across his jaw, his shirt torn. He leaned heavily against her, forcing himself upright as voices carried through the trees.

“Over here!” one officer barked. The crunch of boots drew nearer.

Cherish swallowed hard. Every muscle in her body told her to trust no one. The attackers had been too organized, too confident. What if these officers were no different?

Two figures emerged from the shadows, flashlights trained on their faces. The beams blinded Cherish, making her squint. “Hands where I can see them!” one shouted.

Frank raised his arms slowly, though he nearly buckled from the effort. Cherish followed suit, her trembling hands catching the harsh light.

“Stay calm,” she whispered to him, though her voice cracked.

The officers advanced, weapons drawn. Their uniforms were real, their badges glinting under the light—but Cherish had learned the hard way that a uniform didn’t always mean safety.

“What happened here?” the taller officer demanded. His eyes flicked between Frank’s battered face and the knife glistening in the mud nearby.

“They attacked us,” Cherish blurted out. “Men—there were at least six. They tried to take me.”

The officer lowered his gun but didn’t holster it. “Where did they go?”

“Into the woods,” Frank rasped, his voice raw. “You’ll never catch them now.”

The shorter officer’s gaze hardened on Cherish. “And why would they be after you?”

The question stung, sharp as a blade. Cherish faltered, words catching in her throat. Frank shifted, stepping slightly in front of her despite his wounds.

“That doesn’t matter,” he snapped. “She needs help.”

The taller officer crouched, lifting the knife from the mud with a gloved hand. He inspected it, then glanced at Frank. “Funny. No bodies. No signs of anyone else. Just you two, a knife, and a story.”

Cherish’s stomach knotted. “You don’t believe us?”

The officer’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a warning. “We’ll see.”

Another set of footsteps crackled through the brush. A third figure appeared, older, his cap pulled low, his presence heavier than the others. The younger officers straightened instantly.

“Captain,” one said.

The newcomer surveyed the scene with cold, assessing eyes. He lingered on Frank’s injuries, then on Cherish’s pale, dirt-smeared face. His silence pressed down on them like a weight.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re coming with us.”

Cherish flinched. “Where?”

“To answer questions.”

Frank’s jaw tightened. “She needs a doctor, not an interrogation.”

The captain stepped closer, so close Cherish caught the faint scent of tobacco on his coat. “You’ll get both. But first—you’ll tell me everything you know about why armed men would risk a fight in the middle of nowhere… for you.”

Her breath hitched. His words weren’t laced with sympathy. They were edged with suspicion, maybe even accusation.

Frank’s body tensed beside her. “We’re not criminals.”

“Maybe not,” the captain replied. “But trouble follows you. And until I know why, you’re not walking free.”

The younger officers moved in. One gripped Frank’s arm to steady him, though the touch felt more like restraint than aid. Another guided Cherish forward, flashlight beam pinned on her like a spotlight.

As they were led out of the clearing, Cherish glanced over her shoulder. The forest seemed to swallow the evidence—the trampled mud, the broken branch Frank had used as a weapon, even the knife now bagged away. It was as if their ordeal had been erased, leaving only their word against shadows.

The cruiser waited at the roadside, lights still flashing, painting the trees in relentless color. The sight should have been comforting. Instead, Cherish felt the cold fingers of dread crawl higher up her spine.

The captain opened the back door himself, gesturing for her to get in. His gaze lingered, heavy, unreadable. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “You’re safe with us.”

But the way he said it—the pause between the words, the faint curl at the edge of his mouth—made her doubt every syllable.

Cherish hesitated, her hand tightening around Frank’s. He gave her the smallest nod, his swollen eyes silently promising he’d stay with her no matter what.

Together, they slid into the backseat of the cruiser. The doors shut with a hollow thud, locking them in.

As the engine roared to life and the forest receded into darkness, Cherish pressed her forehead to the cool glass.

Safe… or trapped?

She didn’t know.