Graveyard Shift

“Why did it have to be a dark and stormy night?” Max grumbled as she noticed a bolt of lightning streak across the black, cloud-covered sky, followed by a low rumble of thunder that soon punctuated the firebolt. She waited. Sure enough, the wind howled out of the north.

Being a single-manned patrol unit, she half-listened to the chatter from dispatch on her radio. Usually, when the wind blew, it meant that countless alarms would be going off, and all units would be tied up investigating the reports and making rounds on buildings that were ominously dark and creepy.

Maxine Harmon, also known as ‘Max,’ recently graduated from the academy and was trying to earn the respect of the squad members. As a woman police officer in a male-dominated profession in the early 1980s, she had endured considerable animosity. The disdain the male officers held for her was just beneath the surface. Still, there was no mistaking their attitudes when they referred to her as a ‘secretary with a gun.’ It was a degrading comment, but more desirable than being referred to as a “rookie.” Max had to prove to her fellow officers that brains outweigh brawn and that she was qualified for this job any day of the week.

The call had come into dispatch—a silent alarm at Mountain View Warehouse, located off Old 450 in the western part of the county. She never understood why they named it Mountainview—there were only rolling hills in the small southern Indiana town of Taylorville.”

She, along with Deputy Makowski “Ski” and Sergeant Sturgeon, was dispatched. They were thirty minutes away, but she was less than half a mile away. She would be at the east end of the building in less than three minutes.

As the newest officer on the roster, she had been assigned to work the third shift, also known as the graveyard shift. Nothing about working those hours made her smile. Out of boredom, she usually took naps in the East End Cemetery on Westlake Drive.

Calling in her arrival over the car radio, she had been trained never to enter a building without backup. Turning the volume down on her radio, she opened her car door and slid out. She tugged her Smokey the Bear hat over her forehead and made a mad dash for the service door. Instinct stopped her short. The door had been breached, and the wind was catching it, causing it to weave in the gale-force winds.

At that moment, she decided to slip inside to get out of the rain. It was bad enough that the storm had blown in, but she had just worked a part-time security job shift earlier that evening. She was working on three hours of sleep when she committed the most unforgivable faux pas and instantly regretted it.

The warehouse was a vast, open space containing racks and stacks of product parts and pieces. The shelves were made of heavy-duty metal and extended nearly nine feet in some spots and twelve feet in others. She felt like a rat caught in a maze, looking for her piece of cheese. The slightest sound echoed throughout the place, giving it a surreal and spooky feel.

Her flashlight did not illuminate very far. With all of the products stacked high up on skids and shelves, she could remain out of sight. When she rounded the corner on the north side of the warehouse, she heard it.

*Click-click.*

Her heart pounded. Adrenaline and fear filled her chest. Max crouched down and shut off her light. ‘What?’ she wondered, ‘Was that?’ She heard it again.

*Click-click*

Max’s heartbeat rapidly reverberated in her ears. Her stomach tensed into a tight knot. She’d heard that sound many times before—the sound of a .357 revolver. The perpetrator or burglar must have spotted her. Now, he was the cat chasing the mouse in the maze.

Pressing her back against a stack of boxes, she slowly slid down and squatted. Drawing her legs up to her chest, she made herself a smaller target. It was a technique that she remembered from Captain Harvey at the academy.

*Click-click.*

There it was again. Was he mentally torturing her to scare her off so he could continue his business? Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, with the only light coming through was from the emergency exit signs and an occasional lightning flash. Her thoughts tumbled and scattered in fifty different directions, and time became meaningless. All she could do was to hope and pray that her backup would arrive soon. ‘Why was it taking so long?’ she thought.

*Click-click.*

Max wondered why the triggerman hadn't said anything. Was he amused by her inexperience?

To end the maddening silence, she shouted, “Sheriff’s Department. Throw down your weapon, slowly stand, and lock your fingers behind your head.” Max’s demand was met with that menacing sound again.

*Click-click.*

Again, there was silence. Max let out a slow breath. She was sure she heard the low, mocking laughter eerily floating through the large warehouse.

‘That bastard is toying with me!’ Max thought, growing more annoyed—more so with herself than with the burglar.

Her fears heightened. She had just announced she was there. With no backup, she watched her short, quiet life pass before her eyes. At 28 years old, Max Harmon had her whole life ahead of her and did not want to die. Though she had not thought to pray much lately, she knew that this was as good a time as any. She had always tried to be a good person and good police officer.

All through her thoughts and reverie, she held up there, crouched next to the boxes. He still taunted her with that incessant *click-click* of his gun. She imagined him holding the weapon close to his ear with a wicked grin on his face as he cocked and uncocked the revolver—the cylinder slipping clockwise with each calculated cocking action and waiting for the barrel to slip around to a firing position.

Max took a silent moment to pray. “God, I have not been very faithful with my attendance in church. I could make a lot of excuses, but I won’t. I am sorry I was not more charitable.” She interlocked her fingers tightly as she bowed her head. “Father, forgive my sins and my harsh, unchristian feelings that I have about my colleagues. Stand with me, Lord, and if I die, make it a quick death.”

Throughout her prayer, the unsufferable sound continued.

*Click-click.*

When she finished her prayer, Max heard the low rumble of thunder roll across the sky, and she couldn’t help but smile, “Thank you and thank you for this being a dark and stormy night.”

At that moment, she made the decision to stand on her feet and confront the taunting bastard. Courage had filled every fiber of her being. Drawing in a deep breath, the petite, dark-haired woman with intense green eyes, took a long, cleansing breath and exhaled slowly.

Max jumped up and moved around the tall crates, shouting, “Freeze, mother...!” She suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.

The realization that she had just drawn down on a time clock anchored to the wall washed over her like the driving rain storm outside. Her knees buckled. Her strangled chuckle erupted into a long, hard, breath-taking laugh. “Oh, my God!” She whispered in between each guffaw.

Still laughing at herself, Max re-holstered her weapon, leaned her back against the crates stacked behind her, and heard another round of laughter from the rear. Reluctantly, she peered around the crates only to find the transparent figure of a security guard watching her.

“Thought I was alone until you showed up.” With a nod, he said, “The name’s Pappy—Pappy Ferguson.”

Max blinked, rubbed her eyes, and muttered, “This must be a hallucination due to my lack of sleep.”

A blast of cold air washed over Max as she passed through the figure to stand next to the time clock. Pivoting, she watched Pappy draw a time card from the rack, slip it into the slot, and stamp the current time on it. He replaced the card into its proper niche, nodded again to Max, and faded from view.

At that moment, Pappy disappeared into thin air, and she heard the shuffle of feet and the soft voices of her back-up enter the building.

“Officer Harmon?” he called out. It was the voice of her sergeant, and he sounded pissed.

“Over here, Sarge!” She followed the sound of his voice. “All clear on this end. Is Ski in the admin part of the building?” she asked, attempting to distract her sergeant with idle prattle. She knew she had a butt chewing coming for not waiting for back-up.

“No, had you stayed in your car and waited, you would have received the message. This was a ‘Signal 9’ on the prior dispatch.” His tone was coldly delivered with a stern look, and when he put his hands on his hips, she knew she was in deep crapola and that he was controlling his temper.

Her Sarge was the only one who could make her feel like a child when being called out over a misdemeanor action. She hung her head. He was right, and now she was on a run that had been cancelled. She did not blame him. She made a rookie mistake. She imagined her face was as red as her sleepless, bloodshot red eyes.

“Max, get your ass back out on the road before I consider writing you up.”

“Yes, Sir.” Max’s voice was barely audible.

A voice spoke over Sergeant Sturgeon's shoulder. “Take it easy, Tom. She did a good job, and I did not let her down. I was her backup.”

Pappy appeared to her Sergeant. Stunned, Max asked, “You two know each other?”

Tom smiled, “Pappy used to be with the Sheriff’s department. He worked it for 30 years and retired to be a security officer here—died from a heart attack while on duty, didn’t you, Pappy?”

Pappy rested his spectral hand on Tom’s shoulder, “Yes, and know what, little Missy?” There was humor in his voice. “I was Tom’s training officer, and he once did exactly what you did tonight—didn’t wait for back up, and drew down on a time clock, too.”

Tom tucked in his chin and hid his smirk, “Yes, I did, and that is why I am not going to write her up. You have a good night now, Pappy. We got some more alarm runs to make. I am sure Max will wait for backup on the next one.”

A grin came over Pappy’s grizzled, half-shaved face, and his tired-looking and a bit frayed uniform hung on his thin form. “If not, you know on nights like tonight, we have all kinds of help at these warehouses when we can come out and walk our paths to protect and serve.”

Max smiled solemnly, “Thank you for having my back, Pappy. I owe you one.” Max nodded to her Sergeant and started to walk towards the exit, stopped, and said, “The door was unlocked. It was blowing open in the wind—that might account for the alarm being set off.”

Pappy called after her, “Just slam it hard, it’ll seat shut, and thanks, Officer Max. Look forward to seein’ you again!”

Max slammed the warehouse door shut and rushed to her car. As she slid behind the wheel, she heard the dispatcher call, “Anyone in the area of 450 and Mountain View Road acknowledge.” The dispatcher repeated the call.

Max wrinkled her brow. She was confused and wondered if they were looking for her. She picked up her microphone and acknowledged, “Car 10, I am at the Mountain View Warehouse.”

“Car 10, check that intersection at the head of the drive to the warehouse. Sergeant Sturgeon advised that he was out of his car—an accident.”

‘How did Sarge leave before me and get to that location?’ Max wondered. She put her car in gear, turned the windshield wipers on high, and drove straight to the crash site. When she stopped her car, her heart sank. She saw that Tom’s squad car had veered down an embankment. Crawling out of her car, she edged her way toward the crash site. Slipping and sliding down the muddy hill, she stopped just short of his vehicle. There, she saw her Sergeant’s body slumped over the steering column.

“No, no, no … Please, God … No.”

Reaching in, she put her fingertips to his carotid artery but did not feel a pulse. Tugging at the door with all her might, she found the strength to pull the caved door open. She jerked him free and extracted him from the car.

Over her walkie-talkie, she pleaded. “I need an ambulance at this location, now! Sarge is not breathing—no heartbeat! ‘Code 3,’ ‘Code 3.’

She threw her transmitter to the ground and began to perform CPR. Max was so focused on her attempt to bring back her Sarge that she didn't notice Ski had arrived at her location. Behind him an ambulance followed. Relieved, she stood back. The rain poured over her like a waterfall, and she closed her eyes and prayed.

“Please, Father, don’t let him die. He has three kids in college, and he is retiring in four months. Please don’t let him die.”

Looking like a drowned rat on a sinking ship, she heard one of the EMTs say, “We’ve got a heartbeat. Let’s load and go!”

She watched the emergency crew load Tom into the ambulance and heard Pappy behind her say, “You did good, Girl. You saved him. If you had been a little later, he might not have made it.”

Max asked, “How was he …”

Pappy interrupted. “Strange thing about being near death and bein’ dead—he was close enough, and you pulled him back. You did good. You earned your commendation. Now, let that lazy Ski do the report, and you get to rest up.”

Max did what Pappy had told her and slid back into her car. Covered in mud and drenched to the bone, she said, “Graveyard shift on a dark and stormy night, how wonderful.”