Inheritance of Death

The sun beamed down like a giant laser attacking the uncovered portions of Issac's arms and neck. He removed the sweat stained ball cap and brushed the remaining sweat form his brow. The hope of any slight breeze to wander his way faded, along with what energy he had left. He reached down and grabbed his cell phone from it's belt clip. The digital clock said 11:30 A.M, not even lunch yet. Issac was not one to complain, but he knew that if the boss kept this staggering pace up, someone was going to be sick.

Issac reached out and grabbed the old wood handled shovel from the earth, when he saw the boss walking his way. A thought of the stumpy man that always seemed to radiate a smell that resembled stale whiskey standing in front of him yelling obscenities, and flailing his hairy arms in the air flashed through his mind. Issac immediately tried to turn his eyes away, when he saw that his boss was not alone. The guy matching his boss step-for-step was wearing a black uniform with what looked like a police badge on his chest. Issac's heart immediately began to race as his mind began to race through the possibilities of what might have gone wrong. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his body as his brain sent off signals to his nervous system.

"Here's the guy your looking for officer," the boss growled.

"Thank you very much for your assistance. I can handle this from here," the officer said in a monotone voice.

Issac thought he saw a hint of disappointment in his bosses face. He figured the jerk would handcuff him personally if the cop would let him. It would be like some kind of bragging right that he could show off to his boys at the bar later that night.

The officers attention now turned to Issac. "Is it correct that your name is Mr. Issac Lester," the officer asked.

"Yes sir, it is. May I ask what the problem is," Issac said almost stuttering. He couldn't believe that he was actually beginning to shake in his shoes.

"My name is Officer Deans. I would like for you to come with me."

Sure, but I ain't done anything wrong. Is there something wrong with my family."

"Mr. Lester, this would be a lot easier if you would just come with me."

Issac couldn't remember the last time he felt this scared. He had never been in trouble in his life, but he knew that there was nothing he could say to get out of going with the officer. "Okay, I'll go. Please don't handcuff me though. I don't want to get fired for making a bad impression."

"Handcuffs won't be necessary as long as you cooperate. Keep your hands in view, and come with me."

The short ride to the police station was silent for the most part. Issac asked the officer if he could use his cell phone to call his parents and he said no, which made him even more on edge. He tried to calm himself by thinking about good memories, when he found himself in the back of his parents car on a cold December morning about twenty years ago. He was only seven years old, and was excited about going to pick out the Christmas tree. The last thing he remembered before dozing off, was his father telling him that snow was in the forecast. When he woke up, he was in a dark room strapped to a bed.

"Mr. Lester. If you don't mind waking up, we can go ahead and get started," the officer said almost loud enough to be heard in the building across the street.