by Hazel Holmes
“Don’t mind him.”
Sarah jumped, spinning around to find a man standing behind her.
“Old man Dunst doesn’t like anything that he can’t enter into a spreadsheet.” He smiled warmly, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he walked toward her. His hair was grey and peppered with spots of white, which gave the impression of old age, but the face that was underneath was smooth and taut. A few wrinkles appeared at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He was tall with broad shoulders, and he wore a long-sleeved black-and-red flannel shirt that was open and untucked, showing a white T-shirt underneath.
“Good to know,” Sarah said, taking a few steps back to keep a comfortable distance between herself and the newcomer as he moved closer.
“Pat.” He removed his right hand from his pocket and extended it, but when Sarah didn’t take it, he returned it. “I don’t have any ID on me, but, uh…” He gestured across the street.
Sarah glanced to the other buildings across the street, finding a larger building with the name “Pat’s Tavern” painted above the door in bold white letters.
“Best watering hole in town,” Pat said.
“Not much competition,” Sarah said.
Pat laughed. “No, there isn’t. You the new help up at the Bell house?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it a house,” Sarah answered, glancing past Pat and toward the five-story structure.
“Well, I was just about to head over and open up if you’d like to have a drink. I don’t mean to brag, but I happen to be in cahoots with the owner. Could probably get you something on the house.” He added an exaggerated wink.
“Are you always this awkward, or is it just when you’re meeting new people?”
“Always,” Pat answered. “But after a while, people just stop noticing it as much. Like a mole they found on their back three years ago that just keeps growing.”
Sarah laughed, relaxing a bit as she lowered her guard. It had been a while since she could afford a drink, and she wasn’t about to turn down a free one. She nodded and then followed Pat across the road and into his tavern.
He flicked the lights on, illuminating an open space lined with square tables and chairs, a jukebox at the far end radiating neon yellows, pinks, and blues.
While Sarah examined the décor, Pat rolled up his sleeves and stepped behind the bar. “So, what’ll you have?”
“Whiskey,” Sarah answered, her eyes locked on the variety of hunting trophies along the wall. Most of them were deer, but Sarah stopped on a massive grizzly bear head.
The bear’s mouth was open, the long, yellowed teeth exposed and sharp as daggers. Judging from the head’s size, the grizzly must have been huge. The head was half the size of Sarah.
“Stood ten feet tall,” Pat said. “The paws on the bear were as wide as my chest.” He dropped some ice into a glass and then poured in a generous amount of whiskey. “Took three men to carry it back.”
“It was killed in the woods around here?” Sarah asked, turning around.
“Yes, ma’am.” Pat placed a square white napkin on the bar as a coaster for the glass. “We tried to get those Guinness World Record folks to come and look at it, but I never got a response. I read somewhere once about a polar bear around the same size, and it was marked as the biggest bear ever recorded.” He shook his head. “Shame we couldn’t get them to come up here. Might have been able to get some traffic coming into town.”
Sarah sat down on the stool closest to the drink. “You guys look like you could have used it.”
Pat’s face slackened, his expression grave. “Been slow lately.”
Sarah took a sip of her drink. The liquor flooded her veins, warming her cheeks and nose, which turned a light shade of red.
“Why not move?” Sarah asked. “Sell the bar?”
Pat smiled, and reached for a dirty glass that he wiped down with a rag. “It didn’t always use to be like this here. Once upon a time this town was a beacon for anyone wanting to make a fortune.” He gestured to the stuffed bear. “Bell was founded by a trapper over one hundred and fifty years ago. Back then the forests were overflowing with game. Deer, bears, beavers, if it crawled in the forest, we had it. Allister Bell recognized that and bought up every acre of land he could afford, and some he couldn’t. And anyone that wanted to hunt, or fish, or live on this land had to pay for it.”
“So what happened?” Sarah asked.
“A lot of things,” Pat answered. “But the nail in the coffin came a year after he dumped all of his money into the land. That was when the textile mills were born, and practically made the fur trade obsolete. He couldn’t afford the payments on the loans he used to buy the land, and those that had settled in the makeshift town were leaving by the dozens every day for work at the textile mills in the city.”
That warm sensation spread throughout Sarah’s body, and she examined her glass, finding it halfway empty. It had been a while since she’d had a drink, and she set it down, knowing she shouldn’t go too hard too fast.
“But,” Pat said, raising a finger, “a woman heard of his trouble and came to visit. She was a strange woman, an outcast who had settled the land long before Allister Bell had arrived. The townspeople whispered that she had been in league with the devil.”
Sarah snorted, spinning the drink on the napkin, watching the condensation collect on the glass. “She must have pissed off the wrong man to start those rumors.”
“At the end of his rope, Allister decided to speak with the woman. She told him that she could make him rich and powerful beyond his wildest imagination. And all it would cost was his soul.” Pat finished with the glasses and flung the white rag over his shoulder and leaned closer to Sarah. “He’d never been a religious man, and with his family starving and broke with winter on the way, he had nothing to lose.”
A combination of Pat’s storytelling and the whiskey pulled her into the tale. “And so the woman just made all of it happen.” Sarah snapped her fingers. “Just like that, huh?” She laughed and then took another sip. “Sounds like a hell of a deal. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know if that witch is still around? I could use a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
Pat smiled. “Don’t mind giving up your soul for it?”
Sarah swirled the ice and the liquor, staring down into her glass. “Not sure I ever had one to begin with.” She took another drink, this one lasting a few gulps before setting it down, and Pat’s silence brought Sarah’s face up from the cubes floating in liquor. “So what happened? Did she come and claim his soul?”
“That’s where the waters get a little muddied,” Pat answered. “The exact terms of the agreement vary, but there is one consistency to the story, and that was what happened on Allister Bell’s deathbed. The woman returned, and while he looked withered and old, the woman hadn’t aged a day. I don’t know what was said, but after she left, Allister Bell died, and the town started its slow decay into what you see now.”
Sarah arched her eyebrows. “An old man dying on his deathbed. There’s a shocker.” She drained the glass and dropped it down on the table. “And you still didn’t answer my question. Why not leave?”
Pat smiled. “Because this is my home. Been here my whole life, and while it may not be much, it’s mine.” He finished wiping down the glasses and reached for the bottle of whiskey. He freshened Sarah’s glass and then leaned onto the bar top. “But what about you, my weary traveler? What brings you to Bell?”
Sarah picked up the whiskey glass and stared at the melting ice cubes floating in the brown liquor. “Nothing good.” She took a smaller sip and then set the glass down. She reached for her cigarettes and lit one up.
“Mysterious,” Pat said.
Sarah shut her eyes and inhaled. The smoke funneled down her throat and into her lungs. She held her breath for a moment, and then exhaled through her nose, her body thankful for the hit.
“I’m glad it’s working,” Sarah said.
“And does my mysterious traveler have a
name?”
She puffed smoke, Pat’s face growing hazy from the cloud. “Sarah.”
“You running from trouble, Sarah?” Pat asked, keeping his tone innocent.
Sarah smiled and reached for the whiskey glass. “A girl never reveals her secrets, Pat.” She winked, and Pat laughed.
The door opened behind her, and she watched Pat’s reaction brighten in surprise.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal son returned home.”
“Prodigal grandson.”
Sarah turned slightly to her right, finding Kegan approaching the bar. She quickly looked away, returning her attention to the whiskey and cigarette. If she hadn’t been down to her last pack, she would have snuffed it out and left, but she wasn’t about to let some pretty boy send her running.
Pat and Kegan embraced, Pat looking at Kegan like a son. “Been a long time since I’ve seen you in here.”
“I hope you checked her ID.” Kegan sat next to Sarah while Pat poured him a drink without him ordering.
Sarah rolled her eyes, which Kegan missed when his attention turned toward the commotion at the door. A small crowd stepped inside, and Pat wiped his hands off. “I need to settle some bar tabs with Sal and Joe.” He playfully punched Kegan on the shoulder. “Good to see you, kid. Holler if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Pat.”
Kegan reached for his glass, fingering the edges before looking at Sarah. “Hi.”
Sarah ignored him, sipping from her drink and staring at the mirror across the back of the bar.
“Oh, I see,” Kegan said, nodding as he cupped his drink on either side with both hands. “You wanted to keep up your loner profile. I get it.” He sipped from his drink, facing forward. “Must be a lonely way to live.”
“You always talk this much at a bar?” Sarah tapped her cigarette, adding to the pile of ash in the tray nearby.
“People come for conversations,” Kegan answered. “Otherwise they’d just drink alone at home.”
“I should give that a try.” Sarah took another long drag on her smoke, and then snuffed it out in the ashtray. She reached for the whiskey and drank a large gulp.
“Might want to take it easy on that,” Kegan replied. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”
Sarah tilted the glass toward her lips, staring at the liquid. “You going to rat me out?”
Kegan shrugged. “Depends on what you have to offer.”
Sarah held up her hand, signaling for him to wait a minute, and then reached into her pocket. When she pulled it out, she flashed him the bird. “And that’s my final offer.”
Kegan laughed and took a sip of the whiskey. “Some guy must have burned you pretty bad.”
Without even realizing it, Sarah reached for her scarf and gently prodded the bruises underneath. “Bad isn’t the right word.”
“What was that?” Kegan asked, leaning over.
Sarah quickly shook her head, drained the rest of her whiskey, and set the glass down hard.
“You leaving?” Kegan asked.
“Yeah.” Sarah walked past him quickly before he could stop her and ignored the locals by the door as she burst outside and into the frigid night air.
The combination of the warmth from the bar and the liquor rushing through her veins harshened the cold in the air.
Sarah stood on the roadside, arms crossed, feeling lost. She turned toward the mansion on the hill, the structure a shadow against the darkened night sky. It seemed that no matter how far she ran, or how old she grew, she couldn’t escape foreign homes filled with strangers she didn’t like.
Twenty years she’d been searching for a real home. She thought she’d finally found that in New York, but it turned out to be just another shattered dream in the long trail of broken memories that had brought Sarah here.
She never wanted this life. She didn’t ask for it. She was three when her parents were killed in a car crash. She knew it wasn’t their fault, but a part of her had always been bitter about their death, and none more so than now.
Her eyes grew red and wet as she reached for her shoulder, unable to feel the scars beneath the thick fabric of her jacket. She had spent her entire life fighting for the right to live, and every time she thought she’d earned the right to happiness, the rug was pulled out from beneath her feet.
“Ma’am?”
Sarah jumped and then turned to find a man nearby.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I’m—” And then Sarah noticed the uniform, the gun on his hip, and the badge on his chest.
“Ma’am?” The deputy stepped forward, and Sarah mirrored his motion in retreat.
“I’m fine.” Sarah blurt the words in a stutter and quickly turned away, keeping a brisk pace toward the mansion.
“All right,” the deputy said. “Have a good night!”
Sarah’s heart hammered wildly in her chest, and she hugged herself tight. She didn’t turn around; she didn’t look back. The last thing she needed was to be ID’d by the police.
Deputy Dell Parker lingered in the cold, watching the young woman walk back up toward the Bell Mansion. When she finally disappeared into the darkness, Dell shrugged and then turned toward Pat’s for his regular end-of-shift drink.
The ruckus was already in full swing when Dell swung the door open, and he gave a friendly wave to the regulars in their corner, who were in the throes of an argument over the damned stuffed bear on the wall.
“Fifteen feet, I’m telling you!” Sal reached his arms high above his head. “Biggest damn thing I’d ever seen.”
“The damn bear gets bigger every time you tell the story,” Joe said, waving a dismissive hand toward Sal.
Sal plopped back into his seat, grabbing the handle of his half-full mug of beer. “Well, your wife has a few stories to tell about you in the bedroom, and they get smaaaaaaller every time she tells it.”
The other fellas busted a gut laughing, and Joe slunk back into his seat, red-faced and sipping his beer.
Dell smirked and then wandered over to the bar where he saw Pat talking to someone. “Hey, Pat, I’ll have a Coors—”
The stranger turned around, raising a glass and flashing a crooked smile. “Hiya, Dell.” Kegan sipped from the whiskey and then set the glass down.”
“Kegan,” Dell said, stunned. “I didn’t realize you were back in town.”
“Came in the other day.” Kegan widened his grin, giving Dell a look up and down. “Well look at you. Officer Dell from Bell!”
“It’s Deputy, actually.” Dell took a seat at the bar, keeping one open stool between him and Kegan as Pat handed him his beer. “Thanks, Pat.”
Kegan chuckled to himself. “Giving me the cold shoulder, huh? Seems to be going around tonight.”
Dell set his beer down. “I’m not sure what you expected, Kegan.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Kegan spread his legs wide on the stool and then drummed his fingers on the bar. “I was just hoping we could put all of that behind us. Start fresh. After all, we have our reunion next year.”
“I’ll probably skip that,” Dell said.
“Are you kidding?” Kegan asked. “Look at you! All of those girls that wouldn’t sleep with you back then would be dying to get in the backseat of your cruiser now!” He leaned over, dropping his voice to a whisper. “All you have to do is flash those handcuffs.” He cackled then retreated to his own section of the bar.
“I’m not going to have any trouble tonight am I, boys?” Pat flashed his eyes between the pair.
“Oh, c’mon, Pat!” Kegan waved a hand. “We’re just catching up. We’ll be fine.”
Dell nodded. “We’re good, Pat.”
“All right.” Pat disappeared, leaving the pair alone, aside from the raucous group still debating the bear’s size.
“How long you in town for?” Dell kept his tone polite, but kept his attention on the beer.
“Not sure,” Kegan answered. “Depends on how long Grandmother lasts.” Keg
an’s voice trailed off.
Dell looked over. “I didn’t know she wasn’t doing well. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, she’s old.” Kegan shrugged, the playfulness gone as he took another sip of his drink.
While Dell had never been fond of the old woman—she had used to treat him like roadkill she’d found on the side of the road—he knew that she had a lot to do in raising Kegan. She was more mother than grandmother. He raised his glass. “To Iris Bell.”
Kegan turned and raised his own glass. “The coldest witch this mountainside has ever known.” He tapped his glass against Dell’s and then drained the rest of the whiskey.
Dell took a more modest drink and then set his beer down while Kegan reached behind the bar and grabbed the bottle of whiskey to refill his glass. “Might want to take it easy there.”
“Relax, I’m not driving.” The glass overflowed, spilling liquor onto the bar. “I’ll leave Pat a good tip. He won’t mind.” He tossed the double shot back and then slapped the glass down hard on the counter. “Well, I better get back.” He reached into his pocket and then tossed a wad of bills next to the empty glass. “Don’t want to keep Grandma waiting for her nightly pills.” He slapped Dell on the shoulder and leaned in awkwardly close. “Always good to see you, buddy.” Two more pats and he walked away.
“Yeah, you too.” Dell watched Kegan leave and then returned to his beer. By the time he finished it, Pat stepped out from the back and wiped down the mess that Kegan had made. Pat peeled apart the wad of cash, and Dell noticed a fifty amongst the tens and fives. “He never had a problem flaunting his money.”
“It was the only thing he had,” Pat said. “You bragged about your mom a lot, but you don’t hear anyone else complaining about it.”
“That’s because my mother was a saint.” Dell aimed his thumb at the door. “He’s a clown with a trust fund.”
Pat was quiet for a minute and then looked at Dell. “You know Iris is sick.”
“He told me.” Dell pushed the glass toward Pat, which was their signal for a refill. “Think he’ll sell the place?”
