by G. A. Rael
"I don't," he said. "He got dealt a bad hand, but that doesn't excuse what he did. Susan would have killed him for it, but like everyone else in this town, Hank's broken and he has been ever since that damn factory closed and left us to pick up the pieces. Even those of us who didn't get sick know someone who did. Once the plant left, so did most of the jobs. People have found a way to make due like they always do, but they're desperate for hope. If they think there's an easy way out, a miracle to grasp for--"
"They'll take it," Jordan said quietly.
"No matter what it costs them."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know what you must think of me, but I never intended to cause problems. I just wanted a place to start over."
"I don't know why, but I believe you," he said, frowning. "I shouldn't. You walk into town surrounded by rumors and within a week, half the town is calling you a messiah and the other half..." He trailed off and Jordan wasn't curious enough to want to know what it was the other half were saying. "Let's just say I don't know which is worse."
"And you?" she asked, meeting his eyes for the first time. "What do you think I am?"
He held her gaze for a long while. So long, in fact, that Jordan thought she might not get an answer. Finally, he said, "At first, I thought you were a fraud.”
She laughed a little as the tension dissipated. "And now? If I'm not a fraud, what am I?"
The corner of his lip twitched. "A gullible idiot was my next best guess."
"Ah," she murmured. “I think I'd rather be a fraud, if it's all the same."
He laughed. "No, I think I was wrong about you on both counts, Jordan. You're not a fraud or an idiot. In fact, I think you're something much worse."
Her eyes widened and she leaned forward a little. "What's that?"
"A mystery," he replied, a hint of seriousness laced throughout his joking tone.
"I don't see how that's worse."
"A charlatan tells you what to believe, and you can take it or leave it," he replied. "And an idiot doesn't know what to believe. But a mystery lets you project all your ideas and hopes and dreams onto it, and it all just comes right back at you in the end."
"Well, I don't know if I'll stick around long enough for that to happen. Not after what happened with Stu Herbert."
"What exactly did happen with Stu Herbert?" he asked, frowning.
"Jenna Herbert can't keep a secret, that's what," she muttered. "Not that I blame her."
"You don't seriously expect me to believe your little magic games had anything to do with that."
She shrugged. "I don't expect you to believe anything."
Darren raked a hand through his hair, sighing. "What made you set your sights on Cold Creek, anyway?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I was just drawn to it. It's hard to explain."
"Especially to a militant atheist, I'm sure," he said, smirking.
Jordan pursed her lips to fight a smile. "If the shoe fits, Doctor."
"What are you, anyway?" he asked. "Wiccan? Druid?"
"Pentecostal, actually."
"Come again?"
She laughed. "I don't know what I am, really, or if I'm anything at all, but that's what I grew up as."
"Wow," he said, taking a long pause. "So, how does all the voodoo stuff jive with Peter, Paul and Mary?"
"You'd be surprised. Look, I know you don't believe in any of this, but I didn't choose God any more than I chose the 'voodoo stuff.' They both chose me and I just want to put it all behind me."
He arched an eyebrow. "Not off to a very good start, are you?"
"No," she said in a sullen tone. "I'm not."
"Well, I can't say I get it, but you should be careful. This is probably the worst place you could’ve chosen to start over."
"I'm starting to realize that."
"No offense, but I think your intuition needs to be recalibrated."
"Wouldn't be the first time. Is it my turn to ask a question?"
"Sure, but I'm gonna need some more coffee," he said, getting up to make a fresh pot. The small kitchen was more of an annex to the living room than a standalone.
"Why don't you believe in anything? In anything supernatural, I mean."
Darren glanced over his shoulder as he poured some fresh grounds into the machine. "Living in Cold Creek, the real question is, how could I believe in anything? Once you've seen folks you grew up down the road from die choking on their own blood, it's hard to think there's a rhyme or reason to it all." He leaned against the counter, a far-off look in his eyes. "And trust me, those were the lucky ones. The rest just withered away year after year until there was nothing left but a husk. Half the time the people who love them most don't even realize what's happening. If believing in a big family reunion in the sky gives them consolation, I'm not about to take that away from them, but as for me? If God exists, he can take his mysterious ways and his divine will and shove it where the angels don't fly."
Jordan listened in silence, flinching at a few of his more blasphemous comments. She knew she was far from the ideal preacher's daughter, but the superstition still lingered.
"Sorry," he said with a dry laugh. "Like I said, Chase wasn't far off in his assessment of me."
"Don't be sorry. I did ask, just probably not for the reason you think."
He gave her a confused look as he brought the fresh pot of coffee over and refilled their mugs. "No?"
"I guess I just envy you, that's all," she admitted.
His brow furrowed in deeper confusion. "How's that?"
"I didn't want to know why you're an atheist so I could convince you to believe," she said, blowing on the steaming cup. "I guess I was hoping you might say something that could convince me not to."
Darren stared at her in a look that seemed somewhere between bewilderment and pity. He finally shook his head, setting his mug down. "You know, Jordan Adams--or whoever the hell you really are--you're the weirdest damn person I've ever met, and that's saying a lot in this town."
"Gee, tell me how you really feel."
"I don't mean it as an insult, just an observation. You got run out of your last town for practicing witchcraft of all things, you're originally from the Bible Belt, and yet you claim you want to be an atheist," he said pointedly. "That doesn't sound at all strange to you?"
"I guess it does when you put it like that."
He laughed and for once it wasn't a short, dry laugh. It was a real laugh that made his gray eyes flash like silver. "I still think you should get the hell out of town, but I can't say I'd mind it if you stayed."
Jordan smiled. "I can't say I'd mind, either."
Darren glanced up at the clock and Jordan followed his gaze. "It's getting late," she murmured.
"It's dark anyway," he said. "Why don't you stay for another cup and then I'll walk you home?"
She hesitated. There was something refreshing about being around Darren, as if the strength of his certainty in the material world was enough to create a bubble where strange gifts and even stranger cats were easily explained away. In that bubble, she found more peace than years of prayer for deliverance had ever afforded her.
"Well," she said, "maybe just one more cup."
Eight
Ten hours and one sunrise later, Jordan stumbled into her apartment. Somehow, despite the fact that the coffee that had turned into beer, she had managed to avoid waking Mrs. Herrin on her stumbling voyage up the stairs. It had taken her awhile to convince Darren that she would be alright on her own. He was, she had determined over the course of the evening, a high-functioning alcoholic who was no worse for the wear after nine beers while she was seeing stars after three.
Despite the confirmation of her lightweight status, the evening had been one of the most enjoyable that she could remember. Darren was a fascinating man, even though he was only slightly less secretive about his past than she was. He deflected questions about his home life, but freely recounted his experiences in college and the year he had spent studying abroad in Bel
fast. He spoke passionately of his love of animals and his last-minute decision not to follow directly in his father's footsteps, dropping out of medical school in his second year to attend veterinary school instead.
What struck her most was his love for Cold Creek and the fact that Darren had turned down numerous opportunities to live in far more interesting places. He had graduated in the top one percent of his class and yet he chose to practice and live at home. The town's only hope in the wake of the industrial aftermath had been to turn to farming the land and trying to repair some of the environmental damage the factory had done, he explained. The farmers needed a veterinarian to keep their livestock healthy, and there would always be guard dogs and beloved family pets to look after. It wasn't the most exciting work in the world, but he found satisfaction in giving something back to the town that had given him so much after his parents had passed away.
He didn't say the words, of course. Whenever the conversation turned to his parents, Darren grew distant and vague, but Jordan knew they were gone as surely as if he had admitted it out loud. She also knew better than to pry.
Thankfully, so did he.
As Jordan poured herself into bed, snippets of their conversation swirled through her head. Maybe if she hadn't had so much to drink, she would have noticed that the window was open.
Jordan woke to the sound of pounding on her door. She jolted and looked around to get her bearings. Her head throbbed like she had never imagined possible and she thought briefly of braving the hospital. Then she remembered her father's lectures about the drunkards who reaped the painful rewards of their debauchery the morning after and realized with some mixed feelings of relief and shame that she wasn't dying, just experiencing the consequences of sin.
The pounding grew more insistent, driving a new spike through her temple each time. "I'm coming," she called, cradling her head as she stumbled to her feet. She finger-combed her messy hair and braced herself for an angry mob before opening the door.
Mrs. Herrin was standing there with one hand planted on her hip and a scowl on her face. Jordan decided then and there that she would much rather deal with the angry mob. The elderly woman made no attempt to hide her judgment at the fact that Jordan was wearing the same clothes as the day before.
"You been out on your balcony?"
"No?" Jordan asked in confusion, smoothing out her skirt. "I must have fallen asleep while I was working."
Mrs. Herrin gave her a knowing sneer. "I've done the walk of shame too many times in my day to have a thing to say about that, but I can't stand a liar. Especially not a bad one."
Jordan blushed. "I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I was out late with a friend."
"I know you were out with Darren St. Clair," Mrs. Herrin said with certainty. "Gave him a piece of my mind for bringing you home like that, too. His daddy raised him better than that."
"It wasn't his fault, really," she insisted. "I'm just not much of a drinker. I should have known my own limits."
"Well, you're gonna need another drink when you see what's on the balcony," she said. "I know how much you like those flowers."
"My flowers?" Alarm chased away the lingering haze in her mind. "What happened to them?"
Mrs. Herrin gestured past Jordan to the glass door. "See for yourself."
Jordan rushed outside, joined a moment later by her landlord. She surveyed the damage in horror as every pot that had been so carefully balanced on the wide balcony railing was smashed on the drive below. Jordan covered her face to stifle a mournful gasp. "Oh, no..."
Mrs. Herrin peered over the railing apprehensively. "Must have happened in the night. I sleep with the fan on and you obviously weren't around to hear it."
"Do you think it could have been an animal?" Jordan asked doubtfully.
"Big animal," she snorted. "Anyway, we don't get many wild animals around these parts. The old factory spooks 'em off and the wolves do the rest. Looks like someone was trying to spook you, too."
"You're sure you didn't see anyone around last night?" Jordan asked. Wolves didn't scare her much, but people certainly did. Strange that Darren hadn't mentioned them, though.
Mrs. Herrin shook her head. "This is the end of the road. Folks don't come around here, not unless they're looking to cut through the woods.
Jordan sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll go down and clean it up right now."
"I'll grab a couple of brooms, won't take us long," said Mrs. Herrin. "You can get some new pots at the hardware store. I'm sure most of them can be salvaged."
"Thanks, Mrs. Herrin," Jordan said with a grateful smile.
"You can call me Julia, but I know you won't," the woman said, offering a faint smile in return. Jordan was quite sure that was a rarity.
"I probably won't, but thank you all the same," she said, following her downstairs.
The damage looked even worse from the ground, but Mrs. Herrin was right. Most of the plants could be salvaged. To Jordan's relief, the little holly was one of them. Even the rarest in her collection could be grown again and clients could be assuaged, but the holly was irreplaceable. The dirt and broken pottery pieces were swept into trash bins easily enough, and Jordan began the process of planting her salvageable plants in plastic bags filled with soil until she could get to the hardware store.
"You sure you don't know who could've done this?" asked Mrs. Herrin. "I know you've made some waves in town."
Jordan thought of Hank immediately but shook her head. There had to be others in town who were at least as desperate as he was. She didn't see a point in singling him out without proof. Not after what Darren had told her about his wife. "No one in particular. I would understand if you wanted me to find another place to live, though, what with all the rumors and then this mess."
Mrs. Herrin scoffed, shoving a hopelessly mangled plant into a garbage bag. Jordan cringed but was relieved that she wasn't the one having to do it. "The day I make my decisions on account of a few nutjobs and bigots is the day I lie down and die."
Jordan smiled. "Well, thank you. And thanks for the help. I'm sure you have better things to do."
"I'll take any excuse to miss book club," she replied. "That damn Tina Long can talk your ear off."
Jordan laughed. "She does seem enthusiastic."
"She's a nuisance and a drunk, that's what she is," Julia replied, standing up straight to scowl into the distance under her visor. A moment later, Jordan recognized the outline of a man walking towards them. "Speaking of drunks. Looks like one of your suitors has arrived."
Jordan spun around, terrified that the white-haired man was making another appearance. As the outline became clear, she remembered what he had said about only being human on the full moon. "Darren?" She set aside the plant she was holding and jogged to meet him halfway. "What are you doing here?"
He glanced at the dirt on her hands. "I felt bad about last night, so I thought I'd bring you some hangover remedies on my break," he replied. As he looked past her, she could tell from the dark circles under his eyes that he hadn't slept well, either. "What happened here?"
Jordan glanced back to see that Mrs. Herrin was coming to join them. "Jordan's balcony was vandalized last night."
"We don't know that for sure," said Jordan.
"Who was it?" Darren asked, squaring his shoulders.
"That's what we've been trying to sort out," said Mrs. Herrin.
Jordan sighed, feeling ignored. "It's not a big deal, really."
"Not a big deal?" Mrs. Herrin scoffed. "You damn near cried when you saw those plants on the ground."
Darren frowned, looking down at Jordan. "Look, it was generous of you not to press charges against Hank, but this is turning into harassment.”
"Hank?" Mrs. Herrin interrupted. "Hank Thomas? What's he got to do with this mess?"
"He jumped Jordan in the alleyway," Darren muttered.
"What?" she nearly shrieked. "That's not like Hank."
"I know," he said in a somber tone. "But you've seen how he's c
hanged. All this Stu Herbert stuff has just made him worse. I should’ve gone to the police last night when it happened."
Mrs. Herrin considered his words thoughtfully. "This is getting out of hand."
"It was my responsibility to go to the police and I chose not to," said Jordan. "It's my fault all this is going on in the first place."
"Don't start taking credit for Stu Herbert," Darren warned. "That's just going to make everything worse."
"Well, did you heal Stu?" asked Mrs. Herrin.
Darren groaned. "Not you, too, Julia."
"That's Mrs. Herrin to you, boy," she snapped. "I changed your diapers."
Jordan tried to stifle a laugh as Darren's face grew red. She never would have imagined that he was capable of getting flustered, and it was a very welcome distraction from the subject matter at hand.
"Look, if anything else happens, I promise I'll go to the police," said Jordan. "I just don't want to go through all that without having good evidence that it was him. Especially not with his wife in the hospital.”
Darren watched her, as if considering whether he was going to accept her decision. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "But if one more thing happens, I'm going to the Sheriff myself."
"And I'll go with you," said Mrs. Herrin.
"I'd like to stick around at night, though. Just for a couple of nights to keep an eye out," said Darren.
Jordan frowned. "That's really not necessary."
"I insist."
"So do I," said Mrs. Herrin. "We're two women living alone out in the boonies. I'd feel safer knowing a man is around. First the wolves, now this."
"There are no wolves, Mrs. Herrin," Darren said gruffly, like the subject was one that tired him. "We've talked about this."
"I know what you say and I know what that kook from Fish and Wildlife says, but I'm telling you both, I know a wolf's howl when I hear one," she said firmly.
Darren rolled his eyes. "I'll be back tonight a little after dark."
Jordan sighed. If it made Mrs. Herrin feel safer, she could hardly argue. Not after everything the landlady had done for her. "Well, thank you."
"You can wait on the porch," said Mrs. Herrin, pointing to the screened-in room on the side of the house. "I'll leave some blankets on the swing."
