by Matt Drabble
“Kurt,” Tommy’s urgent voice shocked him back. “Don’t touch anything, not a damn thing; oh, and it might actually be an idea to put those gloves on after all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“So let’s just get everything out on the table” Michael announced to the room.
Michael, Emily, Thom, Sarah-Jane, and Dr Creed were all sitting in the doctor’s office. The door was closed, his secretary was out to lunch, and the blinds were drawn. The five of them were squashed in cozily. The A/C was pumping out on full but the room was small and packed fit to burst with hot bodies.
“I’m kind of lost here,” Dr Creed said.
“Yeah, me too,” Sarah-Jane added nervously. “What is it that you’re saying?”
“That something very odd is going on in this town,” Michael stated. “Our neighbor, Janet, supposedly committed suicide after a fling with the gardener. She confessed all to her husband, Chris, and to cut a long story short, they made up and were going to move away.”
“Then why would she kill herself?” Sarah-Jane asked, puzzled.
“That is the very question,” Michael answered. “Janet and Chris were round at ours the night in question. Chris seemed happy with the idea of them moving away and making a fresh start. Next thing I know, I’m waking up to flashing blue lights and the sheriff is telling me that Chris left Janet and she’s dead at her own hands. Now, apart from the fact that only a couple of hours earlier they were still together and planning for the future, just what the hell is the town sheriff doing divulging confidential details about a death to me out on the sidewalk? Now add to those facts that I haven’t been able to contact or locate Chris since that night and the whole thing seems pretty damn peculiar.”
“Forgive me, Mike, but don’t you write peculiar for a living?” Dr Creed asked analytically. “I mean, doesn’t it stand to reason that you might see weirdness everywhere when it might not exist?”
“Sure, that’s what I - we - thought,” Michael said, indicating towards Emily. “But here’s another one: I cycled out to the woods and basically, after I went in I lost a whole bunch of time. After that, I went out to see Darnell.”
“Kevin Darnell?” Sarah-Jane asked.
“Yes, you know him?” Michael responded.
“Well, he’s kind of known as the town drunk to be honest,” she replied embarrassed.
“Well that’s as maybe, but I haven’t been able to find him since our little conversation either. And another thing, what is with this town and the Woodland Festival? It seems to be the only thing on anyone’s mind lately. Darnell even told me to stay away from it, but wouldn’t say why.”
“It’s just an annual festival. A small town tradition really. I’ve never seen anything untoward going on,” Sarah-Jane answered.
“So how many people are we talking about having disappeared?” Thom asked, intrigued. His sense of self was returning quickly after his scare. His mind may be imaginative, but it was also resistant.
“Well that’s Chris and Darnell that I know of,” Michael said.
“There’s also this,” Emily held up Jessica’s diary. “This belonged to Jessica Grady. She had my job before me and our house before us. Oh, and she was also pregnant as well. She speaks of growing more and more paranoid about the town, up until the point when she says that they are going to escape - and that is the word she uses, escape. She talks of them wanting her baby. She doesn’t say who they are, but she seems terrified. She says that her doctor was Dr Lempke. Samuel, did you know him?”
“Yeah, sure. Dr Lempke was here before I took over. I can probably dig out his old notes on Jessica, just as long as none of you leak that fact,” he said seriously.
“But Em, I told you all about Jessica. She was unstable and acting weird. She had to be dragged out of school and carted away,” Sarah-Jane interjected.
“But she also says here that someone was drugging her. She talks about suspecting Thirlby.”
“Oh, God,” Sarah-Jane suddenly said unhappily. “She tried telling me, and I wouldn’t listen. It was me that called the sheriff when she started going nuts at the school.”
Samuel put a large arm around the now crying teacher. “What do you mean, going nuts?”
Sarah-Jane trembled as she spoke; her shoulders hitched with low sobs. “She attacked Mrs. Thirlby with a pair of scissors right in front of her class. The children were screaming hysterically when I came in to see what was going on. Luckily, Jess just seemed to abruptly go weak as though she just suddenly lost her strength, and I was able to calm her enough until the sheriff turned up.”
“So what happened to Jessica Grady and her husband?” Thom asked pertinently.
The room looked at each other. “SJ?” Emily asked.
“Sorry, but I don’t know. Thirlby just told me that they’d left town unexpectedly. I asked if anyone knew where, but no one did. I wanted to make sure that they were okay, and that the baby was as well, but I couldn’t,” she sniffed.
“Anything else?” Dr Creed asked.
“What about the graffiti that keeps springing up around town?” Michael said.
“The ‘Wake Up’ signs?” Sarah-Jane asked. “What does that even mean?”
“I’ve seen them; the town’s cleanup crew get there quickly enough, but I thought that was just kids?” Creed said.
“Maybe, maybe not. We saw the first one on the day that we moved into town,” Michael answered, “and I remember thinking that it was a little weird, but at this point, we’re in danger of perhaps reading too much into everything.”
“Well, I’ve got to be honest, Thirlby always freaks me out a little,” Emily said.
“Likewise the sheriff,” Thom added. “When he caught me in the Beaumonts’ house, I didn’t know what he had planned but it wasn’t an after school special.”
“Oh, I’m sure that he just wanted to scare you straight, young man,” Samuel said, with a slight reproach.
“Oh, hey, I’m not denying that I deserved a little spook, but you didn’t see his eyes; the way he was dragging me out the door, he looked like he only had evil intentions. It was only when Michael surprised him that he stopped, and boy did he look pissed. Then there’s Mr. Stark,” Thom said in a small, quiet voice; the whole room dropped their eyes and looked down at the floor.
“So what are we saying here?” Sarah-Jane asked, a little testily. “I’ve lived here all my life and up until this morning I thought that it was a pretty perfect place to live, and now all of you …” She paused and blushed furiously, but pressed on regardless, “…I’m sorry, but outsiders move in and start tearing the place down.”
Samuel held her hand gently and looked deeply at her. “No one is saying anything, other than perhaps we should take a closer look. The last thing that I want to do is upset you, SJ, but I worry about you more than anyone else here; no offence.” He smiled at the room. “If people here are in danger then I want you to be safe more than anyone.”
Sarah-Jane looked up lovingly at Creed. “So what can we do?”
“Well, when I want to find out anything when I’m working, it all comes down to the writer’s least favourite word in the dictionary: research,” Michael said.
“Where do we start?” Emily asked.
“Well, Darnell told me quite a tale about the history of the town and of Casper’s twisted family tree. It probably doesn’t have anything to with today, but you never know. We should pull some skeletons out of some dark closets and take a look at the moldy bones. Doc, see what you can drag up on Jessica’s medical history: what she was taking, what Lempke diagnosed her with, etc? Let’s also take a look at modern Eden; how many others have died mysteriously in accidents or unlikely suicides or just plain disappeared?”
“My father!” Thom suddenly blurted. “My father just upped and left one day. My mother won’t talk about where or why; do you think…?” He looked to Michael with tears in his eyes for comfort, but Michael had none to offer.
Casper called the meeti
ng to order. The faces that greeted him were filled with eagerness and anticipation. They were waiting to be fed and led. The room positively crackled with hope and eagerness and Casper held the news that they were all dying to hear within the yellow folder. The pages held the very prosperity of the town and all of their futures and presents within the printed word; so much rested on so little and all rested upon his shoulders.
----------
Deputy Kurt Stillson hung his uniform inside the plastic body bag, ready for cleaning; the shirt and pants stared at him from across the room. The festival was only days away and his attendance in full uniform was apparently mandatory. He had given serious thought to burning the clothes as soon as he had taken them off; it was only his stubbornness that prevented him. He knew that it was only his imagination that fed him odors of death clinging to the fabric. The teacher had been hanging from the banister and although he had never actually touched him, he could feel the very presence of fatality buried in the cloth.
Kurt bristled at his own shortcomings; Tommy Ross had taken over with a natural leadership, shaping the situation into one of order amidst the chaos. Kurt, however, had stumbled around like a tourist. He had dreamt of a real crime falling across his lap for months and when one finally had, he had been found wanting. Tommy had presented the sheriff with a full rundown when he’d appeared on the scene and Quinn had taken over, quickly dismissing both of them outside to look for witnesses. For reasons that Kurt was still unsure of, Eden seemed to operate almost entirely on its own authority. There had been no state cops arriving on the scene, taking over the investigation, as you might expect - no outside interference ever seemed to breach the town walls. Quinn had quickly announced that Mr. Henry Stark, biology teacher and apparent pedophile, had taken his own life. Quinn had not deigned to furnish them with any further details. Kurt had spoken to the surrounding neighbors - surreptitiously of course. After all, this was Eden and maintaining the balance was always the priority. No one had seen or heard anything: no one coming or going from the house. Apparently Mr. Stark was a quiet, well-mannered man, pleasant to his neighbors and all round nice guy. Apart, of course, for the large stack of grotesque and highly illegal child porn material that the sheriff had pulled from the house, carefully concealed in a brown paper bag. Kurt knew that Quinn had only been searching the house for a matter of minutes before he’d emerged with the exceedingly guilty material, along with a more troubling suicide note. Kurt had stepped closer to the body than Tommy had, although he had not admitted such to the sheriff. Kurt had not seen any note, either on or near the body. Normally, Kurt was very much in favor of going with the flow as a life philosophy, and the apparent suicide of a teacher with monstrous tendencies should not alter that. But somehow it still itched inside, somewhere deep.
----------
Michael was rolling his bike out onto the road when the sheriff’s car pulled up alongside him.
“Good morning, Mr. Torrance.” The sheriff’s tone was friendly and open, but his deep voice boomed with authority.
“Sheriff,” Michael said, fighting the impulse to tip an imaginary cowboy hat. “What can I do for you?”
“Perhaps we should talk inside, sir?” The question was posed, but never really existed.
Michael led the hulking man back inside the empty house and into the kitchen. “Coffee?” he asked.
“Why not.”
Michael poured two cups from the machine; despite his usual preference for tea, he was gaining a taste for the bitter caffeine rush. He laid the cups on the counter and sat on one side on a stool facing the sheriff. Quinn eased his massive bulk onto a metal stool on the other side of the counter and used it to support his knee off of the floor with a wince.
“Old football injury,” he said catching Michael staring. “Plays up from time to time.”
“Must be tough, you know, in your line of work.”
“Well it’s not really like the TV; we’re rarely called upon to chase killers through the streets of Eden.”
“Just graffiti artists,” Michael joked.
Quinn’s face darkened. “Crime is crime, Mr. Torrance, and we take all kinds extremely seriously here in Eden.”
“Hey, me too,” Michael said in an appeasing tone. “Hang ‘em all, for all I care.”
Quinn stared for a long time and Michael was glad for once that Americans seemed to have trouble telling when he was joking or not. “Well, I wouldn’t quite go that far, sir,” he smiled.
“So what can I do for you today, sheriff, only…” Michael looked down at his watch.
“It’s about young Mr. Bray.”
“Thom?”
“Exactly. I am aware that young Thom has spoken to you and your wife about, um, his experience at school.”
“You mean when he was nearly molested or worse?” Michael snapped, annoyed at the sheriff’s tactful manner.
“Exactly.”
“Have you arrested the teacher, this Stark?”
“There was no need.”
“NO NEED?” Michael exploded. “After what he tried to do, there’s no fucking need?”
Quinn’s plastic smile faded. “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from using that kind of language, sir.”
“Are you kidding me?” Michael near shouted incredulously. “There’s a pedophile teacher on the loose and you’re worried about my language?”
“He’s not on the loose, he’s dead,” Quinn stated.
Michael was suddenly shocked into silence as he processed the information. “Dead? How?”
“Suicide; he hung himself.”
“Did he leave a note?”
“That must be the writer in you, Mr. Torrance, asking such pertinent questions.”
Michael could feel the barely suppressed anger that bubbled under the sheriff’s surface. The large man was all smiles and politeness, but it all seemed a little too forced: a little too perfect, a little too Eden. “Was there a note?”
“Yes, yes there was,” Quinn stated.
The sheriff’s face was granite. His expression was impassive and impenetrable; only his eyes seemed full of life.
“What did it say?” Michael asked snappily, growing tired of the dance.
“I’m afraid that’s confidential; suffice to say that the note was, shall we say, appropriate.”
“What happens now? What happens to Thom?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Well, I think that it would be best for the boy if he didn’t have to go through a long drawn out investigation. From what Thom says, there was only the suggestion that something might have happened. This is a small town, Mr. Torrance, and word would soon spread about the embarrassing details, and that surely cannot be good for the boy.”
Michael wanted to argue, if only for the sake of it. Something about Quinn just rubbed him the wrong way. But there was no doubt that with Stark dead, it would only bring about humiliation for Thom, however unfairly. “What about the school board, the principal? Surely someone must be responsible for employing Stark. Someone didn’t do their homework.”
Quinn’s eyes suddenly blazed as though Michael’s accusations were directed at him and Michael felt extremely nervous. The house suddenly felt very empty and deserted and his closest neighbors were gone. No-one would hear his shouts if the bear opposite him reached over and snapped his neck like a chicken bone.
“Well that is something that we will be looking into, sir, rest assured.”
Michael did not feel assured. “What exactly is it that you want from me, Sheriff?”
“Only your utmost discretion, Mr. Torrance. We’ve spoken to the boy and his mother and I have personally guaranteed them that all of the details will remain strictly confidential. I only ask that both you and your wife would honour the family’s wishes as well.”
“Then you have it.”
“Marvelous, then I will be on my way. See you at the festival, Mr. Torrance,” Quinn said as he heaved his vastness up a
nd out.
Michael walked him to the door; the sheriff walked a little too closely, seemingly enjoying his immense size and the natural intimidation that it brought. The sheriff walked with a slight limp and paused in the doorway. The sun streamed in through the gap and Michael raised his hand to shield his eyes.
“We’ve got ourselves a nice town here, Mr. Torrance. We aim to keep it that way,” the sheriff said with a friendly tone that Michael didn’t quite buy, before adding, “No matter what,” in such a tone that he did.
----------
Dr Samuel Creed sat thoughtfully at his desk. The office was quiet today and appointments were scarce. His receptionist had taken a half day with his blessing as he’d wanted the place to himself. This town was an enigma to him, much as Michael had stated to him. The whole “Heaven on earth and twice as nice” motto was wearing a little thin by now. He had been seduced by the thoughts of a town free from the horrors of the outside world. The first year or so had been a whirlwind of pleasures; calm and peace reigned over his world and he’d bathed under its warm glow. The depression of his time drowning under the yoke of the various, but always similar, emergency rooms of LA had slowly drained from his thoughts and mind. His LA days had become mired in hopelessness and self-medication. Each day had dawned darker than the last and no matter how much he slept he was always tired. Eden had indeed been true to her name; she had offered him a way out, a chance to become a doctor again rather than a pit stop mechanic. In this small, pretty town, he had found his calling once again; he was a helper and a healer. Polite and friendly people called into his office during civilized business hours and they chatted over coffee calmly and with social graces. His finances had grown, along with his peace of mind, and he’d made acquaintances rather than friends, but that suited him fine. His life was so full of people during the day that he often longed for solitude after hours. That was until he’d met Sarah-Jane. She was a bubble of happy joy, one that was far more infectious than any disease he’d ever encountered. Their dates had progressed charmingly slowly. For all of his growing desire, slowly was just fine with him. His life had been a closed book for so long now that he knew it would take time to open the pages again.
