It wasn’t.
C
HAPTER
5
A Walk Through Nowhere Land
I’m a pacer. By that I mean that I like to walk when I think. I pace rooms, halls, just about anywhere, but I really enjoy a brisk stroll outside. I know an athlete should jog, but my knees and ankles complain now when I do that, and I like to keep them happy. Besides, I didn’t bring a jogging suit, and sweating up a flannel shirt is just plain nasty.
It was quiet outside. The air was cool, bordering on cold. A breeze rolled down Main Street, picking up leaves and bits of trash and scooting them my direction. I wasn’t interested in cleaning up the town; I was interested in cleaning up my thinking.
I strolled about fifty steps, then picked up the pace. It felt good. Legs eager to move found a decent pace and soon I was taking in deep breaths. My lungs were having as much fun as my legs.
Of course, having never been to lovely Newland I had no idea where I was going, so I headed back the way we drove in. That would give me a chance to see more of the town. I passed a barbershop, a beauty shop, hardware store, café one and café two, a bank, and just about every other kind of business you’d expect to find in a small mountain community. The storefronts were quaint but they looked untouched, as if they had been ignored for some time. Of course, what I know about storefronts would fit in a thimble, so I didn’t give it any more thought.
When I reached the end of Main Street, I noticed another smaller road. It formed a T-intersection with the main drag, ran west, and looked to be uphill all the way. I couldn’t see very far up the street, but I guessed that it led to a residential area. People around here had to live someplace. Walking uphill required more effort than walking flat, and I needed a little more challenge. Before heading up the lane I looked at the street sign. Getting lost would be embarrassing.
It was odd. The street sign topped an ornate black pole, the kind used for streetlights in the old parts of cities. The part of the sign that read Main Street looked okay, but the part indicating the street I was about to walk had been painted over. I could see that once it had read Elm Street, but the shoddy paint job of whitewash and handmade letters read NOWHERE. I wondered what the local Chamber of Commerce thought of that—if there was a local Chamber of Commerce. I had serious doubts about that possibility.
I headed up the street, my calves informing me that uphill walking hurt more than what I had been doing. No matter. I plodded on.
The sun was still fighting for this territory. I was in shade most of the way, and the shade made things cooler. Increasing my pace allowed me to create my own heat. I listened to my breathing as I hiked, and then something occurred to me. This was prime bird-singing time. Birds like the morning and usually spend some of their morning encouraging the sun on its daily climb in the sky. I hadn’t heard a single peep, chirp, caw, or anything else.
About three-quarters of a mile up the grade, I came to another street, this one perpendicular to Nowhere and parallel to Main Street. It was clearly residential. Houses, most of them small cabin-like structures, sat on large lots of an acre or more. Some of the exteriors looked well maintained, and the yards were clear of debris; others, however, looked abandoned. Fences in front of those houses looked worn, and spider webs decorated the slats. Odd. One house looked ready for guests, others looked like something the Munsters would enjoy.
I felt sad for the empty houses and those who had to leave them behind. Small towns this far away from better traveled roads tended to waste away. I’ve always thought living in a small town like Newland would be wonderful. A great place to raise kids.
That’s when something else hit me. I’d walked past a dozen houses that clearly had residents, but hadn’t heard a single voice or, worse, a single dog bark. That made me think. I hadn’t seen any dogs anywhere. Then I had another thought: I hadn’t seen or heard any children. Of course, I told myself, I had only been in town one night, so I shouldn’t get too shook up over the lack of kid and dog sightings. And when I coupled that with the weird woman at the hotel and the weirder man outside the window, I knew I was letting my imagination get the best of me. That was the story I was telling myself, but I’ve seen too much of the strange and the dangerous to believe my own rationalizations. Truth is, I was trying to convince myself that nothing was out of the norm, but even I wasn’t having anything to do with that thinking.
I kept up my pace, but my mind raced ahead of me. I started to feel that people were staring at me from their homes. I wondered if whatever lived in the abandoned houses was watching me. Jogging was beginning to look like a good idea, but I kept myself in check. I just kept walking like I was a normal person strolling a normal street in a normal mountain community. I doubted any of that was true.
I reached the end of the street, which I guessed was the same length as Main Street. I found another crossroad, this one with the nonthreatening name of Bass Street. That was something to be thankful for.
Rounding the corner, I continued my hike down the grade to the main drag and found myself at the other end of town, just as I expected. Before going back to the hotel I crossed Main Street and made my way to the pretty little church. It was a true chapel in the woods: white clapboard siding, double-hung windows with dark green trim, and a wide set of steps to the front door. A tall and pointed steeple cast a shadow on the street. The shadow of the steeple’s cross fell right in the middle of the roadway. The cross always leaves an impression.
I doubted the preacher or the secretary would be in the building this early, but being in, or in this case near, a church always eased my mind and settled my heart—something I wish my friends could experience.
At first I felt the usual peace that always came when at a church, but then I noticed something—dust. Dust on the windowsills, dust on the steps—I could see my shoeprints and the prints of someone else who had been exploring the chapel—and dust on the doorknob. And not just a faint powdering. No, sir. There was enough dust to make me think the door to the chapel hadn’t been opened in some time—maybe years—and that was depressing to a man like me. Nothing sadder than an empty, unused church. Since I hadn’t seen any other churches so far, I grew even sadder. Perhaps, the people went to church in the next town, but if Andi’s research was right—and her research was always right—the next town was at least a half hour away, maybe more on the mountain road.
I wasn’t looking at a church. I was staring at a used-to-be church, a building in church clothes. I had fought fear and depression all night. This made the depression worse. So much for an uplifting walk.
I slunk back to the hotel and unpacked the car so Andi, Brenda, and Daniel could have fresh clothes and whatnot. The way Brenda had talked last night, I’d be returning the luggage to the car later that day.
CHAPTER
6
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
It didn’t take long for me to carry the luggage into the hotel. The others were glad to see it; Jewel Tarkington wasn’t. She was standing on the first tread of the staircase. I think the little mouse was trying to keep me from taking the luggage up.
“I did a little checking for you,” Jewel said. Something happened to her face as she spoke. It took me a second or two, but I realized she was forcing a smile. She seemed well outta practice. “I can get you in one of two hotels up in Sugar Hill. It’s pretty close. Maybe an hour’s drive. I hear it’s a nice place.”
I set the last bit of luggage down near the others I had already retrieved from the car. Andi, Brenda, and Daniel were going to help cart the stuff up the two flights of stairs even though I said I was happy to do it. My guess is they thought I was moving too slow.
“You hear it’s a nice place?” Andi said. “You’ve never been there?”
“Well, no, but that doesn’t matter.” She shifted her weight as if thinking on her feet was taxing her. “I just want you to be comfortable.”
Andi wasn’t buying it. “Forgive me for such a forward question, Ms. T
arkington, but have you ever been out of this town?”
Jewel deflated like a balloon. “I-I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“It doesn’t,” Andi said, “and I hope I didn’t insult you. I’m just naturally nosy. For example, I used my smartphone to try to find the hotel’s wireless so I could check my e-mail. I couldn’t find a wireless connection.”
“We don’t have that sort of thing.”
She said it as if Andi had been talking about pornography.
“I guessed that,” Andi said, “when I didn’t see a computer behind the hotel desk. Everything seems to be recorded by hand.”
Andi’s observation superpower seemed to be in fine shape.
“I’m a little ol’ fashioned.”
Brenda gave me a look. She recognized the symptoms of Andi sleuthing. To my surprise, Brenda seemed interested, too. She jumped in. “I notice there are no televisions, no phones, and no radios. This place is a black hole.”
“You see there,” Jewel said. “That’s exactly what I mean. You two are sharp ones. I can see that.” I tried not to be offended at being left off the smart list. “That’s why you should go on up to Sugar Hill. They have all those things, and I jus’ know you’ll be much more comfortable.”
I gotta admit, I’ve never seen a businessperson try so hard to drive business away. I began to wonder if she was running a gambling den in here or worse.
“Well, we’ll talk about it,” Andi said, “and we need to change clothes and freshen up.”
“And we need to feed my boy, here,” Brenda said. “He’s a monster if he misses a meal.”
“No I’m not,” Daniel said. Then he growled.
Funny kid.
I picked up the heaviest bags and started for the stairs. I walked faster than I needed, hoping she’d fear getting run over by—wait for it—a tank. She moved, and I trudged up the stairs. The others followed carrying overnight cases.
It took only a half hour for the ladies to shower and do the stuff ladies do every morning. Daniel came to my room, sat on the bed, and fired up his video game. Personally, I think my little buddy spends too much time on those games. I guess that makes me old, even though I’m not. I didn’t say anything. He had been through enough these last few weeks, and all that was made worse by last night’s scare. I used the time to read my Bible, but I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts were bees in a bottle. African killer bees.
Thirty-five minutes later we were all seated in the nearest of the two cafés, a place called Tiffany’s.
“Just like the movie,” Andi said. “Now we can all say we had breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
Tiffany’s Café looked old on the outside and older on the inside. Tiffany herself was no spring chicken. She was short, round, and sported a double chin that swayed with each step she took. She wore a green-striped waitress uniform with a white apron and frilly collar. I knew she was named Tiffany because she wore a name tag, the kind with a white space to write a name on. It looked like the letters had been penned a long time ago. When we walked in, she was chatting up one of the two customers in the place. She was smiling. That evaporated the moment the little brass bell at the top of the door jingled. She looked at us like we looked at the Tockity Man last night.
“Charming,” Brenda said. “We’ve gone back in time sixty years.”
“Maybe it’s one of those retro places,” I said. “You know, like a fifties diner that serves burgers and malts.”
“If it is, they went out of their way to find original fixtures. Look at the booths. They have to be decades old. They have more scars, stains, and tears than I can count.” The whole place smelled of bacon grease, burnt toast, and stale tobacco.
We waited for Tiffany to seat us or at least say, “Sit anywhere.” That never came. She did telegraph a pretty mean scowl our way.
I sometimes work under the philosophy that forgiveness is easier to get than permission, so I sauntered over to one of the teal and white booths and squeezed into the bench. Clearly, it had been designed for smaller folk than me. Daniel, obviously not put off by the look of the place or the owner, took the space next to me.
“Good call.” I elbowed the kid. “Now the wimmin’ will be able to look right into our handsome faces while they eat.”
Daniel giggled. “Wimmin’.”
“The trick will be keeping our breakfast down,” Brenda said. She and Andi scooted onto the opposite seat.
Anyone listening to our conversation would think we were happy-go-lucky. We weren’t. Dark clouds hovered over us. The team felt incomplete without the professor, coupled with Brenda’s revelation about leaving the group, the scary Tockity Man, and the fact that we were in a town that made us feel like we weren’t wanted. Of course, the fact that we had no idea why we had been sent here didn’t help.
“You folks lost?” It was Tiffany. She had a three-pack-a-day voice.
“Not at all,” Brenda said. “We’re seated in Tiffany’s Café in Newland, North Carolina. Nope, not lost at all.” She was getting cranky again.
“We don’t get many outsiders in here.”
“Maybe we can start a trend.” Brenda’s face portrayed an innocent spirit I knew wasn’t there. It was an act for Miss Tiffany.
“You know, we’re just a small-town dive, but up the road—”
“—there’s a nice place in Sugar Hill.” Apparently Andi had caught the same sarcasm disease as Brenda. “We’re here, and we’re hungry now.”
“Breakfast for breakfast,” Daniel said.
Tiffany looked puzzled. I tried to explain. “We had breakfast for dinner last night at the hotel.”
“You stayed in town last night?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I figured one of the adults needed to be polite.
“At Jewel’s place?”
“Yes, ma’am. She let us use the kitchen.”
Tiffany’s face hardened. “She did, did she?”
“Yes, ma’am. I could really use some coffee. We all could.” I needed to change the subject before Brenda got in the woman’s face. “Except the boy, of course. Do you have milk?”
“We have milk. I still think—”
I could see Andi tense. Andi was sweet and smart and kind, but she had limits. I was pretty sure Tiffany was about to cross into the danger zone.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Andi said. “It seems you don’t want to serve us. Could that be because one of us is black? I’m sure that’s not it, but if it were, I think someone would want to know that Tiffany’s is still practicing segregation.”
Tiffany drew herself up as tall as she could. “Of course not. I ain’t got no problem with a person’s color. Like I said, we just don’t get new people in town, and when we do, they have the good sense to keep moving.”
“Now that sounds like a threat.” Andi was pulling out all the stops. I had no doubt she was spoiling for a fight. Too many pent-up emotions can make a person a little crazy.
“No threat, darlin’. I’m just telling you the gospel truth.”
I’ve read the Gospels many times, and I’m sure she wasn’t using the word the way the Bible does.
Andi stared at her with innocence on her face and laser beams in her eyes.
Tiffany sighed. “Coffee for three and milk for your boy.” She was speaking to me.
“He’s not my son,” I said.
The woman looked at Andi, who shook her head slowly.
“Daniel’s my son,” Brenda said.
Tiffany looked at Daniel’s white face, then at Brenda’s black skin. We get that a lot.
“I’ll get the coffee, then take your order.”
She walked away. The other two diners stared at us. I sized them up. Both looked to be well into their sixties and in no way threatening. I also noted the cook had come out. He was twice as round as Tiffany and sported the same double chin and dingy clothes.
“Girl,” Brenda said, “did you just play the race card?”
“I don’t know wha
t you’re talking about.” The slight grin on Andi’s face told me she was lying.
Brenda beamed. It was good to see a smile on her face, even if it only lasted a moment.
Tiffany brought the coffee and a milk for Daniel, we ordered, and she trudged off. I used the time to bring the girls up to date about my walk. It was a short story, but they recognized the weirdness in it. There wasn’t much to discuss, but at least they were up to speed.
The food arrived quickly. I guess Tiffany felt the sooner we ate the sooner we’d leave. I dug into a Denver omelet, Andi had a bowl of oatmeal, Brenda had scrambled eggs and hash browns. Daniel wasted no time getting to his pancakes. We ate in silence for a few minutes, then Brenda asked the question we’d all been waiting for: “What are the odds of getting me and Daniel to the Asheville airport?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to answer. I had been hoping that Brenda would change her mind. She wasn’t concerned with her safety; she was worried about Daniel. So was I.
Andi broke the silence. “Since we don’t know why we’re here, I can’t think of a reason not to leave. It’s not like our mysterious, invisible handlers have given us any direction. Telling us where to go and funding our trip, putting money in our bank accounts to live on so we can be on call isn’t enough. Every situation we walked into we walked into blind. If they want our help, our gifts, then they should give us more than crumbs to follow.”
“Amen to that,” Brenda said.
I wanted to argue the point, but I had no material to use. Everything Andi said was true. We were sent places, bizarre things happened, we’d get sucked in, we’d fight for our lives and the lives of others, then nothing. We don’t know anything about those who send us and fund us. We know they clean up after us, or so it seems. That’s it.
“Well, Cowboy?” Brenda was pummeling me with her eyes. “I can drive if you want. I know how to do that.”
“I know. I just don’t want to lose you and Daniel.”
I know it’s not possible, but I felt my heart melt. She was leaving to protect Daniel. I was being selfish by resisting her. “I’ll load up the car as soon as we’re done eating.”
The Probing: Leviathan, The Mind Pirates, Hybrids, The Village Page 24
