The Hunting of Malin

by Sean Thomas Fisher

  Shifting on the barstool, she fidgeted under the heavy weight of Roscoe’s big browns. She held his eyes and took a long pull from a glass of ice water, leaving a dark ring on the straw.

  He stared blankly at her from behind the bar, drying his hands on a towel hanging from his belt. “Holly Banner?”

  She shushed him and looked around, watching a redheaded waitress named Paula whisk an oval tray of burgers and shakes to a moon-shaped booth tucked over in the corner. “For the last time, yes.”

  “The missing girl from the news?”

  Malin nodded, her skinny jeans suddenly much too skinny, sweat still running down her spine from the drive here.

  “In Mortimer Woods?”

  “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Wait, I’m confused.” Leaning against the bar, Roscoe glanced at a skinny guy in a shirt and tie three stools down inhaling a double cheeseburger and mountain of onion rings like it was a contest at Coney Island. “You walked out in the middle of a shift because you had a…dream?”

  “I told you it wasn’t a dream; it was a…”

  His eyebrows went up. “A vision?”

  Malin leaned in closer, barely noticing Roscoe sneak a peek down her tank top. “It was so terrifying and real, Ross, like I was in the woods with this girl. At night!” She blew out a slow breath and lowered her voice. “I have never experienced anything like it before and I have to go check it out. Will you come with me?”

  His face fell. “Now?”

  “Please? I’m begging you.”

  “Are you insane? I’m not going into Mortimer Woods; that place is haunted as shit.”

  “Ross, I have to know if what I saw was real or not.”

  “You know what? You’re starting to sound a lot like your mother.”

  “I know! And that’s what scares me the most. I mean, what if…” Malin swallowed thickly.

  “What if she wasn’t crazy this whole time?” He snorted and started slicing limes.

  Sighing, Malin pulled her hair back into a ponytail, patience wearing thin. “Are you going to come with me or not?”

  He checked his watch. “I can’t leave right now; it’s Saturday and we’re about to get slammed.”

  “You can do whatever you want. You own the place.”

  Stopping the knife, Roscoe softened his tone. “Look, this is our fifth weekend being open and I really don’t want to screw it up. I’ve put everything I have into this place and I don’t trust any of these hyenas in the weeds without me. Almost every one of them is a total newb.”

  “If I’m right, the police need to know and so does that poor girl’s family.”

  He smiled. “If you’re right? Come on.”

  “I could be,” she snapped, drawing the man’s eyes down the bar. “And you know I could be.”

  Roscoe stared hard at her for a long moment before running a hand through his amber-colored hair. “Are you messing with me? Because this is really kinda weird.”

  Her eyes shot icy daggers deep into his soul, chilling his insides.

  Sighing, he turned to a tall bartender with a dark mullet serving the wait staff and a spattering of early birds at the bar. “I’m sorry, May, I can’t; I’m training a new guy tonight.”

  Malin swiveled her head around. “Who?”

  The swinging door banged open behind the bar, making room for a dirty blond with two cases of Corona flexing his biceps. Roscoe nodded. “Him.”

  Malin’s breath hitched in her chest and it was impossible not to stare.

  Throwing her a doubletake, the hottie set the cases on a long cooler, giving the sleeves on his black t-shirt a serious breather. He pulled back a lid and started stocking bottles, stealing glances out the corner of his eye. Malin turned away from his playful grin and, six seconds later, looked back to catch a green glimmer in his eyes. Straightening up, he looked as if he was about to say something witty when a pretty brunette Malin didn’t recognize stopped in the wait station and had the gall to ask him for two strawberry margaritas and a Rob Roy.

  “I can’t leave him here with just Pete,” Roscoe continued, looking at the tall guy with long hair. “And I don’t have anyone else coming in. They’ll get swamped.”

  Malin turned to the sound of Roscoe’s voice, nearly forgetting he was there. “Ross, I’m not asking you to go to the Grand Canyon with me. This’ll take like forty minutes, tops!” She watched Pete poke at the touch screen behind the bar. He was tall and skinny and the biggest slacker in the place, known for pouring a little Jack in his Coke and stealing a few bucks from the register every now and again. But Pete was a hell of a bartender, knowledgeable and easy to talk with, and finding good help in the service industry was like finding a smile at the DMV.

  “Pete can take care of himself. Stop being such a baby.” Malin’s eyes gravitated back to the new guy, zeroing in on the rounded shoulders stretching his work shirt. “What’s his name?”

  “The new guy? Holden.”

  She caught Holden’s attention and waved him over, trying not to swoon beneath his eyes sparkling under the bar lights like emeralds. “Hi, can I get a brandy old fashioned, please?”

  Glancing at Roscoe, the hint of a grin brushed a corner of one cheek. “Sure thing, doll.”

  When he turned around, her eyes narrowed. “Doll? Who says that?”

  Roscoe shrugged. “The women love him. We already got two bachelorette parties scheduled because of that guy.”

  Malin leaned in closer, tapping a finger on the bar. “If he gets my drink right, you’re coming with me.”

  Roscoe watched Holden plop a sugar cube into a rocks glass and follow it with some bitters. “It’s not about that.”

  “If he can make a brandy old fashioned, he can handle anything that comes his way. Plus, there’s Google!”

  “He doesn’t know the register yet. That’s the problem.”

  She swatted at a fly buzzing around her face. “Roscoe, come on, they’re all the same and this is a big deal! I have to know.”

  “You have to know what?” he whispered, leaning closer. “If the dead girl you saw in your vision is Holly fucking Banner?”

  “Yes!”

  A burst of air flapped his lips. “Leaving your job over a vision,” he scoffed, pushing off the bar. “What the hell, May? You were about to get a management gig.”

  “Fine.” She let the deadpan look in her eyes sear him a new one, drumming black-painted nails against the bar top. “I’ll go by myself.”

  “Jesus.” Roscoe ran a hand down his face, pulling a heated breath from his lips. “You couldn’t pull this crap on a Wednesday?”

  “It won’t take long, I promise.”

  Sharp laughter shot from him like a cannonball.

  They stared at each other with Adele pouring from the recessed speakers above. Malin’s nails clicked harder against the bar, lips pressing into a thin, grim line. Click, click, click.

  “One brandy old fashioned.” Holden slid the drink across the length of the bar without spilling a drop, landing it in front of Malin. Wiping his hands on the towel tucked into his oily jeans, a shit-eating grin spread like wildfire across the scruff blanketing his handsome face.

  Looking up from the muddled orange slice and cherry, Malin cocked her head at Roscoe.

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  She coiled a lock of hair around a silver full-finger ring, face brightening with his inevitable surrender. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Hand-job?”

  “I was thinking dinner and a movie.”

  “Bummer.” He turned to Holden and Pete. “Guys, something came up and I have to take off for a minute but I’ll be right back,” he said, throwing his towel into a hamper and coming around the bar. “Call me if you need anything!”

  Hopping down from the stool, she tried keeping pace with Roscoe’s frenzied steps, apprehension unlocking a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. This was th
e craziest thing she had ever done and if she was…

  “Don’t you even want to try it?”

  Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes uncontrollably drew to Holden’s full lips. “Oh, I will!”

  Chapter3

  Malin couldn’t have been more grateful for the dark clouds that rolled in while she was inside. Her nerves were already on fire and didn’t need help from the sun. Shifting into fourth gear, she mashed her combat boot against the gas pedal, the wind yanking at her ponytail.

  “Jesus, slow down!” Roscoe wedged a hand against the dash and one against the door to keep from spilling into Malin’s lap as she took another corner way too fast.

  Letting up on the gas, she pushed a pair of big yellow sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “Sorry,” she said, entering a southern entrance into Mortimer Woods where the clouds grew almost as dark as the feeling in the pit of her stomach. Normally, she wouldn’t step foot in here under any circumstance, day or night. The stories about this place were just that: stories. But that didn’t stop the heebie-jeebies from getting under her skin.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Roscoe grumbled, sinking lower in the seat. “This is totally crazy.”

  “Hey, what’re you doing?”

  He stopped a matte black Zippo in front of the cigarette dangling from his lips. “What?”

  “Not in my car, Ross. You know this.”

  “The top is down!”

  Her eyes thinned into piercing blue flames.

  Yanking the smoke out, he flipped the Zippo shut with a sharp clack and slipped it into a pocket. Sulking, he scanned the walls of trees closing in on both sides of the winding park road, Adam’s apple nervously bobbing up and down. “This better be quick because I’m not getting caught in here after dark.”

  Her eyebrows dipped beneath her shades. “Now who sounds like my mother?”

  “When it comes to places like this, crazy Luna is right on the money. These woods are haunted as shit and we all know it.”

  “No, they’re not,” she lied, slowing for a bend and imagining old people in dingy hospital gowns standing amongst the trees, watching the car motor past.

  “You remember what happened in here during our senior year.” It wasn’t a question.

  “We were drunk and stoned.”

  “Drunk or not, I know what I saw.”

  Malin preferred not to think about it, especially right now, and gave him a double take. “Ouch! What happened to your hand?”

  Roscoe curled his right hand into a fist and examined some fresh scabs along the knuckles. “Bad keg change.” He flexed his fingers. “We need a new coupler.”

  Stomping on the brake pedal, their heads snapped forward with the abrupt stop in motion.

  “Damn Malin, where’d you learn to…” he trailed off, following her incredulous gaze to the police cruisers parked down the way. Face folding, his voice came out in a shaky whisper. “Holy shit, I don’t believe it.”

  Stomach falling, Malin eased into the gas and went closer while Roscoe sank down in the seat. The stained water tower looming in the distance sent a shudder running through her and she nearly turned around and got the hell out of there as fast as her little red Miata could go because she already had her answer. Like her mother, it was inside her and she couldn’t cut it out.

  “What’re you doing?” he whispered, knees pressed against the dash.

  “Going to see what’s happening.” Stopping next to a squad car with the driver’s side door hanging open, Malin shut off the engine and pulled on the emergency brake.

  “Damn May,” Roscoe hissed, watching the cops mill about. “I’ve got bud on me; this isn’t cool.”

  But Malin was already springing from the car and making a beeline for the squad cars. A young policeman stopped her from getting any closer, politely refusing to answer her string of run-on questions and urging her to step back. Backpedaling, she craned her neck to see around him, watching cops and medics slip in and out of the tree line, combing the area for what she knew were clues to a brutal homicide. But she needed to get closer. Needed to see the body for herself to confirm she wasn’t losing her mind.

  “Holy Jesus, this is so fucked up,” Roscoe panted, catching up as a heavyset cop cordoned off the area with yellow tape.

  Malin turned to an elderly spectator with a German Shepherd barking and pulling on its leash. “What happened?”

  The man grunted and jerked on the lead, reducing the dog’s aggressive yaps to a low growl. “Sorry,” he said, looking at Roscoe. “She doesn’t like smoke.”

  Roscoe glanced at the Marlboro Light clutched between his fingers and took a step back, trading a brooding look with the overgrown beast. “She’d get along great with my ex.”

  “What happened?” Malin repeated.

  Sighing, he pushed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose with a veiny hand dotted in liver spots. “I was out walking Penny when she started barking at something in the trees. Next thing I know, she jerked the leash from my hand, which she never does.” A dejected sigh crept from his lips. “I think it’s that blond girl they’ve been looking for on TV.”

  Malin’s heart lurched in her chest. “Holly Banner?” she blurted, pulling hair from her face.

  He replied with a glum nod of the head and Malin turned to Roscoe just in time to see the blood drain from his face. Penny started barking and pulling again, fur bristling along the spine.

  “Penny!” the old man barked back, yanking on the leash. Reluctantly, Penny settled down and the old timer’s troubled gaze drifted back into the trees. “Looked like she’d been out for a jog.” He exhaled a heavy breath, clearly unable to shake the gruesome discovery from his mind’s eye. “This is exactly why people shouldn’t come in here at night. It’s not safe. Never has been.”

  The swollen clouds thickened above, feeding the shadows and turning the early evening to an artificial dusk. Malin felt Roscoe tugging on her elbow and it irked her to no end. They didn’t come this far to turn back now. Didn’t he get what this meant? Shaking him off, she stepped closer to the yellow tape flapping in the wind. A man wearing a hazmat bunny suit carried a tackle box of some kind across a paved trail and vanished through a mouth in the trees. The shadows swallowed him whole and Malin couldn’t hear anything for the blood pounding thickly in her temples.

  Roscoe took her elbow again, making her jump.

  Swatting him away like a pestering fly, she went closer. “Maybe I should say something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Something.”

  He came around to find her eyes. “Did you see the killer in your vision?”

  “No.”

  “Okay then, what’s there to tell?”

  The gray-haired man gave them a sidelong look and Penny started up again, barking and lunging.

  Roscoe blew a stream of smoke in her direction, drawing more aggressive behavior. “I should get back to the bar.”

  Huffing out a frustrated breath, she took one last look into the woods before letting him tow her back to the car while the German Shepherd snarled and snapped. Outside the driver’s side door, Malin buried her face in her hands, bracelets jingling down her wrists as she tried to digest it all. Tears slipped through her rings and fell with the wind, sprinkling the ground around her feet. Wrapping her in his arms, Roscoe pulled her into his neck, the smell of bar food clinging to his clothing like smoke as he whispered sweet lies in her ears. Nothing was okay.

  “Why is this happening?” she sobbed into his shoulder. “I was hoping I was crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy; you’re Luna’s daughter.”

  Pulling her face from his neck, she cast another look over her shoulder to confirm this was really happening. She swallowed hard. The cops were still there. The yellow tape still flapped. The dog still barked. “I’m scared,” she whispered, smearing black mascara across her cheeks. Unlike Roscoe’s comforting words, this statement couldn’t be closer to
the truth. The grisly image of that poor girl lying dead in Mortimer Woods would forever haunt her memory and this just changed everything.

  Everything.

  “And this has never happened before? Another vision of some kind?”

  She tucked a flyaway strand behind an ear. Sunlight peeked through a gap in the clouds and winked off her many rings before slipping back behind the rolling wall of gray. “I would’ve told you if it had.”

  Fighting for words, he ran both hands through his hair and watched the police studiously amble about. “Looks like we owe your mom a serious apology.”

  Laughing sharply, Malin swiped at the tears on her cheeks like they were ants crawling about her skin.

  He turned to face her and sharpened his gaze, letting a cold silence cradle them in its arms. “What number am I thinking of right now?”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “I know it’s not funny, but obviously, your family has some kind of…sixth sense.”

  “Yeah, and my next move is to get rid of it.” Letting her car keys dangle, she tensed to mask the tremble in her fingers. “You drive.”

  Chapter4

  Sipping a brandy old fashioned, Malin barely noticed Holden watching her out the corner of his eye. Her brain shuffled from the vision of Holly to the police officers swarming about Mortimer Woods and she still couldn’t believe it. In hindsight, everything looked…grayer. Washed out.

  “So?” a smooth voice said, drawing her bloodshot eyes. “How is it?”

  Forcing as much of a smile as her lips could lift, she cheered Holden with the lowball glass. “Very good, thank you.”

  He beamed like he just found out he got a promotion. “Good,” he replied, shaking a silver shaker over his shoulder and turning to three empty martini glasses in the wait station.

  If she wasn’t so preoccupied with the day’s unexpected turn of events, she would be checking his butt out right now but she could barely look. That was the last thing on her mind. The cellphone in front of her vibrated against the bar again. Sighing, she scooped it up and read Roxanna’s text: WTF! Why won’t u answer?