The Copiah County jail had not been updated since 1964, fifty two years ago. While it had been a state of the art facility for the era, perfect for locking up rogue hippies or war protesters, it did not advance with the times. Though the sheriff lobbied incessantly for more funding to face the considerable problems associated with a large meth production network, the county and state continued to ignore him. By and large, in the years after the construction of the jail, the community remained rural while the rest of the world moved on. As a result, the jail continued to be a lobby, a set of four offices, two holding cells, and a larger drunk tank.
A repeat offender occupied the drunk tank. He woke long enough to peer with blurry eyes at the newcomer. The old drunk smiled with bad teeth and a wheeze of breath that made it clear that he did not have long left in this world. In the cell on the right Cedric Lambert sat on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees. Though perfectly contained within the cell, Cedric stuck out like a sore thumb. Youthful if cold, blue eyes reflected the few beams of moonlight that filtered in through a high window. He had cropped hair and a clean face. He wore clothes too big for him and shoes too small. He took slow, deliberate breaths and counted them while listening carefully to the distant voices of the officers.
Hours earlier a local farmer called to report a man in one of his cotton fields. An EMT responded first, but summoned the sheriff for several reasons. First, Cedric had trespassed on private property and done considerable damage to the crop. Secondly, Cedric was completely naked. The initial report filed by the sheriff provided a concise description of the man from the field: "Found suspect pacing in the center of Edward Wendt's field north of Highway 45. Suspect was not clothed. Medical examination shows multiple scars along the chest cavity. Additional scarring appears on back of head. Tattoo reading "Cedric Lambert" found at the base of the neck, believed to be subject's name as he responds to it. No other identification is available. Mr. Lambert is cognitive and aware, but non communicative. Mr. Lambert appears highly agitated, but otherwise entirely healthy."
The officers provided clothes and food to Cedric. Beyond simple questions about his well being, Cedric did not respond. Not knowing what else to do, the sheriff decided to hold him for twenty four hours and attempt to find someone who knew him. In the first step of this process, the sheriff consulted a list of missing persons, searching for the name of Cedric Lambert. For the first time in his long career, his search came back positive. The system spat out a file which contained very little information. A man named Cedric Lambert disappeared in 1956, fifty years before. The description matched that of the Cedric in the holding cell, and the low quality picture resembled him as well. The missing person's age listed as twenty four at the time of disappearance, meaning the vanished Mr. Lambert would be in his mid eighties.
Strangeness notwithstanding, the picture could not be coincidence, the sheriff decided. The current Cedric looked too much like the man in the photo to not at least be related. As he thought it through, the sheriff muttered to himself, "Could be grandfather. This old system is always full of errors or solved cases left open. Family history of mental illness, grandson repeats the same pattern as the grandfather. Happens all the time. The family will figure it out and come looking. Happens all the time..." A creeping feeling of unease settled in the sheriff's gut. The man in the photo looked very much like the man in the cell. Right down to a birthmark above the left eye. The sheriff considered his theory plausible and comforted himself with that. In the corner of the missing person report, someone had scribbled a phone number. On a whim, the sheriff pulled over his desk phone and dialed the number.
The phone rang twice followed by a long buzz and a sharp click. Assuming the number disconnected years ago, the sheriff went to put down the phone, but at the last moment heard a voice. The line cracked and sizzled as the voice became clearer. "Go ahead."
Many years before, the sheriff worked for the state and received an escort detail. He and two other officers had the task of transporting a man from one prison to another. The prisoner had a death sentence for some of the most heinous acts the sheriff ever came across. Through the whole drive, the man said nothing until one of the other officers wanted to ask the murderer a question. The convict replied "go ahead" with such malice and hate that the officer had not bothered to ask the question. The murderer's voice struck with the sheriff until he heard the same words on the other end of the phone call, spoken with the same malice as that man in a car decades ago. The sheriff ignored the shiver in his bones and proceeded with the call, "Yes sir, I'm calling in regards to a missing person report for Mr. Cedric Lambert from 1956. This number was on the file. You might not know anything about this, I'm just taking a shot in the dark."
"You have reached the correct place. Do you have new information?" the voice said.
"Maybe you should tell me who I'm speaking to first."
The clock on the wall ticked. Seconds passed with not a sound coming from the other end of the line. "Is the subject contained?" The voice had changed. The same man spoke, but the tone differed.
"Contained? Well, yeah, I reckon. He's locked up in the cell. Why? Is he dangerous?"
"You have a female deputy. Laura Weeks. Remove her from the building. Keep Mr. Lambert in his cell. Do not approach him. Do not allow anyone else to approach him. We will be there soon."
"Laura? Why? Hang on, who is this?" The phone clicked and went dead. The sheriff's computer screen flickered, and the file disappeared. The sheriff tried to shake off the feeling of dread knotting in his stomach. He didn't succeed.
Grabbing his hat, he checked his side arm and proceeded out into the lobby. Two deputies were watching a football game. "Mike, get the shotgun. Billy, you come with me, we're going to move Old Travis out of the tank. Mike you radio Walter have him come on back. Where's Laura?"
"Something going on, sheriff?"
The sheriff glanced out the front windows. He sucked his teeth. "Might be something. Might be nothing. Need to send Laura somewhere else, somebody might be coming for her. Mind if Walter takes her to your place?"
Mike shrugged, "No, that's fine. Molly took the kids to her mothers for the weekend, place is empty."
"Where the hell is she anyway?"
"Back checking on that John Doe."
The sheriff's eyes went wide. "Shit."
***
Emily sat on her porch, looking out at the night sky. The few weeks of spring were rapidly becoming summer. A wet, warm breeze drifted through the trees, and the cicadas roared. Emily knew the South had its problems, but coming home from a long day at work to sit on a porch with a cocktail was immeasurably better than shoveling snow and fighting traffic. She took another long sip through her straw, the stringent taste of vodka barely hidden by a mix of sweet tea and lemonade.
The melting ice inside the glass made a quiet snapping sound as Emily's attention turned to the end of her long, dirt driveway. A car had stopped. After a moment, it turned into her driveway and slowly crawled towards the house, leaving plumes of dust in its wake. Emily did not know many of the locals yet, and certainly did not expect any visitors. Her worries calmed slightly as she made out the silhouette of a sheriff's car. It rolled to a stop and a man climbed out of the driver's side. He was tall with dark hair and bright blue eyes. He smiled at her and gave a friendly wave as he walked up to her steps.
"Can I help you? Officer?" Emily called, not moving from her seat. The man wore plain clothes, but a badge clipped to his belt.
"I hope so. You own this house?"
"Um, yes." Emily smiled at him. The stranger was handsome and quite nice to look at. She wondered how strong she'd made her drink as her head swirled, and she imagined kissing the man's face. "I bought it a few weeks ago."
Cedric leaned back to get a better look at the house, "I think I lived here a while when I was a kid. I recently got back in town, and I thought I would stop by and take a look."