by Amy Cross
Battling against the snow and wind, I finally make my way to the hotel. The steps are icy and I have to tread carefully, but soon I'm in the warmth of the hotel's lobby, where Henry Porter is sitting behind his desk.
"Dr. Collings," he says, looking a little puzzled as he checks his watch. "It's almost six o'clock in the evening. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" He hurries over and helps me remove my coat. "I hope none of my guests have reported an injury?"
"Not at all," I reply, feeling rather embarrassed by the situation. "I'm afraid..." I pause, before lowering my voice. "I have decided to dine at your establishment tonight. Catherine had, of course, prepared a fine meal for me tonight, but I told her in no uncertain terms that I should prefer to come and patronize your fine kitchen. In truth, I found her meal to be quite inadequate. I trust my presence will be acceptable?"
"Of course," Mr. Porter says, "we would be honored to have you eat with us. Rest assured, there will be no cost for your evening's entertainment, and we shall maintain the highest standards of discretion".
"Thank you, Mr. Porter," I say, nodding appreciatively, "I appreciate your generosity. Tell me, are there any guests in your dining room at this particular moment?"
"Not at all," he replies, leading me over to the doors that lead into the saloon. "Mr. Paternoster and his niece have indicated that they will be dining at eight o'clock this evening".
"Excellent," I say. "I shall ensure I am gone by that time. Tell your chef that I am happy to eat anything hearty and wholesome. I trust that he will deliver a satisfying meal. Also, please bring me a quart of red wine and a cigar. I feel that after making my way here in such dramatic weather, I must relax".
"Say no more," Mr. Porter says, showing the level of deference and respect that a man of my stature deserves. Porter can be a disagreeable man at times, but at least he knows his place and he respects his superiors. "Please," he continues with due deference, "take a seat and everything will be provided".
"Very good," I say, walking into the saloon and choosing to sit at a table over by the window. Looking out at the town square, I'm quite shocked by the ferocity of the storm. Snow is swirling through the air, and the darkening sky shows no sign of respite. It seems that we are in for some more bad weather during the night, which undoubtedly will mean that there will be more sick people in the morning. The cold tends to bring out aches and pains in even the healthiest of individuals. I shall have to add a little extra charge to my usual fee, to cover the added inconvenience that I face when making my way about in such appalling weather. There will undoubtedly be some who complain about the extra cost, but those who cannot afford the help of a professional doctor must simply make do with their own efforts. After all, I am not a charity.
"Children these days are too easily distracted," Mr. Porter says as he brings my wine through. "They neglect their duties".
"She'll learn," I reply firmly.
"I'm sure she will," Mr. Porter replies. "I hope, though, that you won't be too harsh on the poor girl. She's still young, after all".
"Her age does not come into this," I say. "She must be disciplined".
"But not too strongly," he insists. "I mean, I would hate to..." He pauses awkwardly, as if he is afraid to speak his mind.
"What is it, man?" I ask, trying to hide my annoyance. "If you have something to say, you must say it".
He pauses for a moment. "It's just that I recall that day, last summer, when she had so many bruises on her face and neck. I would hope... I would hope she doesn't require quite such strenuous discipline on this occasion".
I stare at him for a moment. "How I discipline my daughter is my own business," I tell him eventually, determined not to become angered by his impertinence. "I would hope that everyone in this town understands that I must make my own decisions in this matter".
"Of course," Mr. Porter says, backing away. "I shall go and check to see how the chef's work is going".
Taking a heavy gulp of wine from my glass, I feel the anger building in my gut. I'm quite aware that last summer, when I disciplined Catherine for her rudeness toward me, there were some people in the town who believed that I had gone too far. Even today, there are those in Devil's Briar who believe physical punishment is to be avoided. They do not understand that young girls these days require strict discipline if they are to remain obedient. Nevertheless, perhaps this time I shall instruct Catherine to stay indoors for a few days after I have punished her. The last thing I want is for ignorant souls to feel sympathy for her, merely because she has a few cuts and bruises about her person.
Henry Porter's chef delivers a fine meal, and I drink three quarts of wine before realizing that I must begin the journey home. The storm is getting worse and worse, and I feel I should get to my house before the journey becomes impossible. I should hate to end up stranded in the hotel for the night, but the weather is so bad that I fear any man who ventures out is risking his life. If I were a lesser man, I would certainly book a room, but as the town doctor I feel I must make an extra effort to get home, rest, and be ready for the morning. Besides, people know to reach me at my house; if I am here at the hotel, there might be a delay in obtaining my services, and the cost could be someone's life.
Once I have thanked Mr. Porter for his hospitality, I venture back out into the town square. The wind almost blows me off my feet as I struggle down the icy steps and back across the square. With snow howling around, I push on and trudge along the streets. Walking back to my house should usually take just a few minutes, but in these conditions it is almost a full half hour before I reach my door.
"Catherine!" I call out, and I immediately hear her scurrying through from the kitchen. She takes my coat, but she doesn't say anything. It is as if she believes that, by performing her duties and keeping quiet, I will somehow forget the mistake she made earlier. If anything, however, this meekness makes me want to add a few extra lashes to her misery.
"Fetch me a glass and some whiskey," I tell her, feeling the need to build up my strength before I get to the business of disciplining my daughter.
"Yes, father," she says, hurrying to the liquor cabinet while I head through to the study. A fire is roaring in the hearth, and she has cleaned the room thoroughly. In ordinary circumstances, I would be very satisfied with her work, but I simply cannot overlook her staggering oversight from earlier. As she comes through with my whiskey and sets it next to my chair, I feel the rage burning in my soul.
"Is there anything else?" she asks timidly.
"Yes," I say, before striking her across the face. Having clearly not expected me to hit her yet, she loses her balance and falls heavily to the ground. "You will go to the pantry," I tell her, staring down at her pitiful form. "Wait for me there. I shall take some whiskey before I come and give you the beating you deserve. Do you understand?"
"Yes, father," she replies, getting up from the floor and hurrying to the door.
"And lay out my best belts," I remind her. "I will be using them on you".
"Yes, father," she says, before leaving the room.
Taking a seat by the roaring fire, I pick up the whiskey glass and start drinking. I had hoped to be in bed by nine o'clock this evening, but it is already seven and I clearly have a long night ahead of me. First, I must enjoy my whiskey, and then I must go through and discipline my daughter. I'll be lucky to be in bed before midnight.
Chapter Two
Today.
"You okay?" Paula asks, standing in the doorway of the little shed. "Bill?"
"What?" I ask, turning to her. I guess I was so consumed by my work, I didn't hear her walking across the yard. I've spent all morning in this room, which I think must have been some kind of operating theater. There's a crude medical table fitted with manacles, and a nearby bench has various noxious-looking substances festering in old, dusty jars; on the wall, there are various surgical instruments, such as a set of scalpels and a bone-saw. Whoever worked in this place, he obviously didn't care much about
hygiene; I can't imagine what it must have been like to have come here for help.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you're cute when you're obsessed?" Paula says, smiling. It's the first time I've seen a genuine smile on her face since we arrived in Devil's Briar two days ago. I guess that's my fault; after all, she wanted to turn right around and get out of here, but I insisted we should stay. She thinks our truck got damaged and that all the gas ran out, when in fact I cut a hole in the fuel tank, and I've got the truck's spare gas can stored safely in an out-house behind the hotel. Some time after lunch today, I'm going to claim to have 'found' some gas, and finally we'll head back to Boston. Paula's put up with a lot, but I simply had to take a proper look around this dusty old town. "So what've you got?" she asks, wandering over to the bench and picking up a rusty old syringe.
"A doctor's surgery," I say. "Basic even by the standards of the 1920s. I mean, there's no way a place like this could have been kept sterile".
"I guess you had to take what you could get back then," she replies. "If this guy was the only doctor in town, he was better than nothing".
"This guy," I say, picking up a framed medical certificate and handing it to her, "was named Marshall Collings. Seems he had proper medical training, at least. God knows how he ended up here, practicing in a tin hut in the middle of nowhere".
"Maybe he was running from something," she says. "I can see how a place like Devil's Briar would be useful for people who wanted to start over and forget their old lives. Speaking of which, don't we need to start thinking about getting out of here?" She pauses for a moment. "Bill, you said we could leave today. Unless you've magically found some gas, we need to start getting ready for a hell of a walk".
"I know," I say. "We'll go in a couple of hours".
She sighs. "The sooner we get back to Boston, the sooner you can get a proper team together and come look over this place. Besides, don't you want to start doing some background research? Don't you want to find out who this Dr. Marshall Collings guy was?"
"Sure," I tell her. I've strung her along for a while now; I guess it's time to go pretend to find the gas can. "There's just one more place I want to look for gas," I say, heading to the door. "I think I spotted an old workshop behind the hotel. I figure it's -" I pause, looking out at the yard. "When did it start snowing?" I ask.
Paula turns and looks up at the sky. Snow is falling down, already blanketing the ground with a thin white layer. It's weird, but just an hour ago it seemed like a pretty decent day.
"Well this is new," she says.
"We can't hike in this weather," I point out.
"We don't have enough food and water to stay here," she says, clearly not amused. There's an awkward pause. "Bill, I'm not kidding. You have to be practical. We packed enough provisions for a two-day trip, and we've been here twice that long. We have to get out of here or we'll get dehydrated".
"We can always drink the snow," I say. "Relax," I add as she scowls at me, "I've got a good feeling about that workshop. I mean, who doesn't have gas in a workshop?"
"Let's go look," she says. "No more fucking about, okay?"
We walk in silence out of the yard, along the ramshackle little street and into the town square. It's hard to believe how heavy the snow has become so quickly, and it's settling on every surface. I guess Paula's right: we can't just hang around this place and keep poking into the nooks and crannies; we need to get back to Boston and plan a second trip properly. The only problem with that idea is that I'm not sure Paula will agree to come to Devil's Briar again. I can't shake the feeling that she's become disinterested in the place, perhaps even in me. I've known for years that she's not entirely happy in our marriage, but she seemed to have accepted our life together; lately, she seems to have become more fidgety, as if she's eying an exit strategy.
"Do you think there's a storm coming?" she asks as we walk down the side of the hotel.
"Possibly," I reply. "You know, if there is, we might be safer waiting it out in one of these buildings".
"Nice try," she says, glancing over at me.
"In here," I tell her, leading her over to the workshop entrance. This is the place where, a couple of days ago, I hid the spare can of gas, pouring it into an old container on one of the shelves. All I have to do now is feign surprise at finding the gas, and we can be on our way. I'd been planning to come up with a more elaborate and believable story to explain how I suddenly came across the gas, but I figure there's no time for any of that right now. Paula's right: there seems to be a snowstorm coming.
"This place stinks," Paula says as we enter the workshop.
"Don't breathe too deep," I remind her. "You don't know what kind of crap they kept in here". I scan the shelves, looking for the can full of gas. For a brief moment, I'm worried that it's somehow disappeared, but finally I spot it in the shadows. "Well, look at this," I say, trying to sound convincingly surprised as I reach up to grab the can, "looks like maybe we've -" I pick up the can and realize, with shock, that it feels empty.
"Is there anything in there?" Paula asks.
I quickly unscrew the lid and look inside, finding that there's nothing in the can. "What the fuck?" I mutter.
"Bang goes that idea," Paula says. "I guess we're going to be hiking".
Starting to panic a little, I double-check that I've got the right can. Turning it over, I check for any type of hole, but there's nothing. I run my hand over the shelf, but I can't find any evidence that the gas leaked out. It's as if, somehow, the contents of the can simply vanished while it was sitting in here. Taking a deep breath, and with my mind racing, I turn to Paula. No matter how shocked I might be, I can't let on that the gas has gone missing. As far as she's concerned, there was never any gas in here in the first place.
"We can't hike in this weather," I say, starting to wonder what we're going to do. All this time, I've been certain that we have gas for when we need it; suddenly, I find that we really are stranded in Devil's Briar. "We'll die out there," I add.
"Don't be so melodramatic," she replies. "It won't be pleasant, but we can make it".
"No!" I say, hurrying over to the door and looking out at the increasingly heavy snowfall. "It's getting worse and worse, Paula. It'd be suicide to go hiking back to the nearest town in this kind of weather. We're not remotely equipped for this kind of thing".
"Then what are we going to do?" she asks bluntly.
I pause, my heart racing. "We have to wait for the storm to pass," I say, running through a mental list of all the supplies we have. There's not much: a couple of sandwiches, a few small bottles of water, and some wafers. It'll get us through tonight, and at a squeeze it might even keep us going for two more days, but suddenly our situation is looking pretty perilous. After all, we've got no cellphone signal up here, no-one knows exactly where we are, and as far as I can tell there's no food or water to be found in the entire town.
"Perfect," Paula says, clearly not impressed. "You promised we'd get out of here today!"
"I didn't know there was going to be a storm!" I reply, trying to hide the fact that I'm irritated by her attitude. "I thought..." I sigh, realizing I can't tell her the truth about the gas can.
"You thought what?" she asks.
"I thought..."I turn to look at the shelf again. "I was convinced we'd find some gas," I say eventually. "I never really thought we'd actually end up hiking".
"I guess we've got no choice," she says. "We wait out the storm, and then we get moving. Deal?"
I turn to her.
"Bill?" she says. "You agree, right? That's the best thing to do?"
I nod, not really paying much attention to what she's saying. Something's seriously wrong here. Gas doesn't just vanish from a can, and there's no-one else in the whole of Devil's Briar apart from Paula and myself. Paula didn't even know about the can, which means I have no idea where the gas went. I guess there must be a leak that I haven't found yet, but there doesn't seem to be any sign of a spillage in here.
"B
ack to the hotel?" Paula asks. "At least we know the place. I figure we need to hunker down and wait for this weather to pass". As she says those words, a chill wind roars through the doorway. It's pretty clear that the storm is building rapidly. Knowing the weather patterns in this part of the country, we could be in for anything ranging from a light flurry to an avalanche, so we Paula's right: we need to pick somewhere, and stay there.
"Back to the hotel," I reply, still trying to work out what happened to the gas can.
"It won't be so bad," she says. "I've always loved storms. We just have to get ourselves nice and warm under lots of blankets, and listen to Mother Nature take her best shot at the town. I know it's a run-down old place, but I don't think we've got too much to worry about. Anyway, how many people get the chance to experience a huge storm while they're in a ghost town?"
"It's not a ghost town," I say firmly, heading to the doorway. "A ghost town implies ghosts, and there's no such thing as ghosts. Don't let your imagination run away with you".
"I was joking," she says.
"It's not funny," I insist, hurrying out into the snow and walking quickly round toward the hotel's front entrance. It's crazy to see how quickly this storm is picking up, but above us the light gray sky looks to be churning rapidly and threatening to deposit more and more snow all over this town. It's pretty clear that there's a hell of a lot more snow on the way, and we need to get into the hotel and make sure we're safe. Then we have to come up with a plan to get out of here, because right now it seems like we're genuinely trapped in Devil's Briar.
