The sigh Sheriff Edwards heaves when he lays eyes on me-- for the third time in a little over four days-- is audible even from my position near the door.

He offers me a small wave and points to a chair several feet to my left. He mouths the words: "Have a seat." I follow his silent commands and make myself comfortable in the plush chair.

The Sheriff is in the middle of a tense phone call. He continues to write feverishly on a piece of lined paper in front of him. Every once in a while, a word or two reaches my ears. But, for the most part, I am pretty much zoned out of the conversation. All I can think about is Tilda.

The empty house and garage. The missing spare key. The numerous unanswered calls and voicemails. My nightmare this morning. Tilda screaming from a place of darkness. All of the blood. Her blood. Tilda's boiled and splitting flesh. But mostly the screams. Tilda's blood-curdling screams. Screams I may never get out of my head. Not for as long as I live.

"Son? Son?! Boy, you hear me?"

I finally pull myself back into reality, with the help of Sheriff Edwards' gravelly voice. He towers over me, one hand resting close to his gun belt.

"Son, did you hear a word I said?"

"No. Uh, sorry, Sheriff," I admit with sheepish embarrassment. "I didn't. No, I didn't hear you. Sorry."

"I asked you...If there is something I can help you with!? We're real busy 'round here and I ain't got time ta play games. You on something? Need some kind of assistance? A ride home? Place to sleep off last night's bender? What ya need? I ain't got all day."

I am a little shocked at Sheriff Edwards' reaction. I had reckoned he'd be a little peeved to see me. But this was borderline hatred I was getting from him. With all of the patience I can muster, I meet the Sheriff's gaze.

"I came to report a missing person. Well, actually, missing persons. My wife and her mother. My wife--she left a few days ago--to take her brother to the airport. He was heading for a conference in Florida. Then, she was gonna stop by her mother's house. I haven't heard from her since. She doesn't answer my calls. Her mom's house looks like no one has been there for days. I couldn't get in, to really look around, 'cause the spare key was missing. I think something bad has happened to my wife. I want to know what can be done. I didn't know what else to do."

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Sheriff Edwards looks me over real good and then returns to his desk. Grabbing what looks like a fresh report sheet, he scribbles something on it almost peevishly. His face takes on an impatient frown.

"Okay. Well, I need dates. I need times. Addresses. Including your mother-in-law's address. What does your wife look like? How tall is she? What color are her eyes? Her hair? Is it dyed or natural? Approximate weight? Known acquaintances. The usual. We'll ask around. If we find out anything, during the course of our investigation, we'll let you know."

I climb out of the chair so fast that I nearly topple it over. The fear in my heart, for Tilda, is quickly replaced by a rising anger.

"Now, Sheriff. I don't understand why you're being so nonchalant 'bout all this. You almost sound as if you think I'm yanking your chain. I promise you, I'm not. I love my wife, Sheriff! Ain't nothin' funny about all this!"

"Why...Am I...So nonchalant? Boy, you ain't seen me nonchalant!" The Sheriff settles his large frame back in his chair and glares at me. "I'm just tryin' to figure out your angle here. What kind of game you're playin'."

"Now, Sheriff..." I start to say, but Sheriff Edwards slams one large hand on the desk. A cup of paperclips skitters to one side and falls over. Some of the spilled paperclips land on the floor.

"SHUT UP, BOY! I'm talking, now! You just sit there an' listen! I've been staring at your ugly mug almost every day this week. First time, it's 'cause you beat a young woman senseless in a grocery store..."

"Sheriff, but..."

The Sheriff points his open pen at me in a warning gesture and his brow furrows angrily.

"I believe, I done told you once to shut your mouth! You'd do good ta listen!"

I draw my mouth together in a firm line and shrug both shoulders. Sheriff Edwards continues his angry tirade.

"Second time, it's because you done pulled a gun on some fella at a gas station. Now, someone with your track record. I mean, only going off the time I've known ya...I'd say...Would appear to have a real bad temper. So, I'd be real stupid to take your word that your wife has simply gone-- As you say--Missing. So, for the sake of procedure...I'll take down all your information. I'll ask around. Find out what I can. And I'll get back to ya. In the meantime, you're going to cooperate with me. Like a good little boy. You're going to do everything I ask. You're going to answer all my questions. And you're not going to give me any lip. By the way, after I take down all your wife's info...And you tell me everything you remember about the last day you saw your wife...We're going to take a little trip out to your place. Me, and a couple of my deputies, are gonna have a real good look around. Make sure everything is--Kosher. Then, we'll go from there. That okay with you, son!?"

I swallow the lump in my throat and solemnly shake my head. I am afraid to speak even a word. With good reason. I am now a suspect in my own wife's disappearance.