From a Dead Sleep by John A. Daly Read Free Book Online

alongside County Road 2 glowed under the bright, unhindered sun. Its decor of thick pine and low-lying aspen was always a captivating sight. He saw it as one of the few perks that Winston offered that he could never find in Chicago. It was a wonder the land managed to escape being converted into winter ski resorts for all these years—the direction several of the surrounding regions had succumbed to. Winston and the land around it were like secret hideaways, untouched by major civilization. Still, the scenery was a blurry haze through eyes of remorse. The pit of Lumbergh’s stomach laid submerged deep in his body.
    He asked himself why he even cared whether or not Sean knew the truth. His brother-in-law had been nothing but a thorn in his side and a pain in his ass since the day they met. Maybe learning the truth would finally earn some respect out of that ungrateful jerk.
    Lumbergh often wondered how Sean and Diana could belong to the same gene pool. They were polar opposites. One was sweet, compassionate, and caring, while the other one was just . . . Sean. They didn’t even look anything alike. Regardless, there was no way around it. Sean Coleman would always be a part of Lumbergh’s life, like a persistent wart that can be repeatedly shaved down flat, yet keeps growing back.
    Lumbergh’s daze was abruptly broken by the unpleasant sound of Jefferson’s thick lips smacking as the officer devoured the last half of a large jelly donut as he drove. The pastry left a thin layer of powdered sugar across the big man’s freckled hand. Lumbergh’s nose crinkled in nausea as he then observed Jefferson meticulously lick his hand before dipping it into his front uniformed pocket to retrieve an undersized plastic comb. His officer used the comb to shamelessly brush the crumbs from his thick and curvy mustache onto his lap.
    “You ever think about trimming that off?” Lumbergh asked openly.
    Jefferson’s eyes widened, and he lifted his gaze from the road to glance at Lumbergh. The subordinate was noticeably concerned by the comment.
    “Why? Do you think I should?”
    “It might help your career.”
    “It might? Really?”
    Lumbergh chuckled and relaxed back in his seat. “No. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
    Jefferson nodded his head and turned his focus back to his driving before saying, “Coltraine told me Sean’s story. That brother-in-law of yours really can’t hold his liquor, can he? You don’t think there’s really anything to it, do you?”
    “Well, Jefferson, as we both know, he doesn’t have the best of track records.”
    Jefferson chuckled.
    Lumbergh’s eyes traced the path of a small brown hawk that he noticed flying above. “To answer your question though . . . No. I’m thinking this is just another Sean Coleman goose hunt.”
    He couldn’t help but shake his head. He had never used the term goose hunt before coming to Winston. The day before, he had joked with his wife that he was losing his social graces with each passing day.
    “However,” he added, “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t look into it.”
    Jefferson nodded his head and cleared his throat.
    Squinting a bit, and glancing back out his window, Lumbergh reached into his front pocket for a stick of chewing gum. “There’s only one thing that’s got me thinking, though.”
    Jefferson glanced back over at him—always an attentive listener of his boss’s insights.
    “The level of detail in his story. So many odd details. It wasn’t the regular paranoia . . . An injured hand. The way the guy shot himself.” Lumbergh folded his thin piece of gum in half and pushed it into his mouth.
    “Injured hand?”
    “Milo didn’t tell you about that?”
    “No.”
    “Bloodstained bandages wrapped around one of his hands. Sean doesn’t strike me as someone creative enough to come up with that.”

Chapter 7
    S ean felt like hell. He was dehydrated with a pounding head. The shouting match with his brother-in-law certainly