Free Bestial by Ray Garton

feel his legs, and had stood trembling on the porch for awhile. It was a warm, still summer night filled with chirping crickets and the sounds of cranky frogs. Abe had crossed the yard, got into his Navigator, and waited until he saw the lights of the Sheriff’s Department cruiser coming up the drive. He’d gotten out and squinted when the cruiser’s searchlight came on in an explosion of white. The cruiser stopped, the door opened, and a single deputy got out and slowly made his way toward Abe. He identified himself as Deputy Maurice Eckhart, a pear-shaped fellow whose khaki uniform apparently had not been let out in a while, with little crow’s-feet springing out on each side of the shirt’s buttons as they strained against his belly. The lower half of his jowly face worked back and forth on some chewing gum. He moved in that slow, unhurried, unworried manner all cops seemed to have, especially in small towns. Abe approached him, introduced himself, and explained the situation while the deputy scribbled occasionally in a little notebook in the glow of the searchlight.
    “You didn’t call an ambulance?” Deputy Eckhart said. He spoke slowly.
    “There’s nothing an ambulance can do. He’s dead, I mean he’s... well, it looks like he’s been... I don’t know, torn apart. Dismantled.”
    Deputy Eckhart looked up from his notebook and squinted one eye as he chewed his gum. “Dismantled, you say? What’s that mean?”
    “It means... well, I saw him on the floor in his upstairs hall, and he was... there was just a little pile of what was left of him. He’d been taken apart, dismembered from what I could tell, but there weren’t... it looked as if he weren’t all there.”
    “Parts of him missing?”
    “I couldn’t tell you what parts, I didn’t look long enough or closely enough.”
    “You think this was done to him intentionally?”
    Abe frowned and cocked his head to the side, thinking, No, he tore himself apart, you dolt.
    Before he could respond to the deputy’s idiotic question, two more cruisers arrived. Two deputies got out of one, and a tall, lean man in a khaki uniform and cowboy hat got out of the other. The man in the hat had a black patch over his left eye. He took the lead and walked right up to Abe, offering his hand.
    “Sheriff Irving Taggart,” he said.
    Abe introduced himself as they shook.
    The sheriff looked him up and down slowly. He had an air of supreme confidence about him, an invisible strength, a strong vibe of being... in charge. Indefinable and undeniable.
    “What happened here?” Taggart planted his hands on his hips and listened as Abe repeated the story he’d told Deputy Eckhart. The sheriff nodded gravely as Abe spoke, then asked, “Did you see anyone else here? Inside or outside the house? Hear anything at all?”
    “No. In fact, it was dead silent when I got here. Not a sign of life anywhere.
    Taggart frowned and nodded some more. “All right Dr. Din... Din... I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
    “Dinescu. Abel Dinescu.”
    Taggart turned to Eckhart and said, “Did you get that?”
    “Yep.”
    “Okay, good. Thank you, Dr. Dinescu, for calling us, and for coming outside and not wandering around the scene. I appreciate it.” He turned to Eckhart. “You get his contact information?”
    “Yep.”
    “Good. We’ll be in touch with you if necessary, Doctor. Thanks for your help.”
    “That’s... all?” Abe said.
    Taggart nodded. “Yes, that’s all.”
    “You’re sure?” Abe said. “I mean, don’t you want to—”
    ”No, that’s all, Doctor. Really. You can go. Thank you.” He nodded, then turned and walked toward the house, followed by the deputies.
    Abe had driven home, where he’d called the hospital to tell them about Seth. It had been a relief to sit down to a hot meal. He’d told Claire about Seth slowly over dinner.
    As Abe took another swallow of his drink, slumped on the couch beside Claire, he heard the glass door in the dining room