by Amy Cross
I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Zen?”
“What's the alternative? Running around all the time like a headless chicken?”
“I guess there's nothing wrong with sitting still for a while,” I reply. “Food's good.”
“Most people don't know how to live without constant entertainment and stuff all happening in their faces,” he continues. “In Silverglade, we've kinda got used to a whole other pace of life. I guess over time you tend to learn that having stuff happen all the time can be exhausting and...” Again, he seems to be trying to pick the perfect word. “Dangerous,” he adds finally. “If it's a choice between this or a major racket every day, I choose this.”
“I think I'd probably go crazy if I lived here,” I tell him, “but right now it's pretty good:” Finishing the last of my breakfast, I look back across the empty diner. “Nowhere's truly boring, though, is it?” I continue. “Everywhere has something going on beneath the surface.”
“Not Silverglade,” he replies quickly. “What you see is what you get around here.” He smiles. “In films and stuff, young people are always looking to race off to somewhere big and exciting. I'm twenty years old and, I tell you, I'm happy staying here for the rest of my life, working in the garage and just sorta building a life that's solid. I guess it takes all sorts to make a world, doesn't it?”
“I might go and take a look around,” I tell him, getting to my feet. Although he seems easy to talk to, there's a part of me that bristles at anything that seems remotely like human companionship. I guess I've been running for too long to every really stop.
“Maybe I'll see you later,” he replies. “I usually come in here later for dinner.”
“Maybe,” I tell him, keen not to get too close. Without waiting to say goodbye to Debbie, I head over to the door and then out into the dusty morning. Opposite the diner, a vast field of wheat stretches as far as the eye can see, while a lazy blue hangs overhead. It's not hard to see how people around here have learned to take life at a more sedate pace, and in some ways I envy them. In fact, as I head around the side of the diner, I can't help wondering if Attaroth sent me here because he wanted to taunt me with a vision of rural normality, of the kind of life I can never have.
Walking along the dusty side-street, I quickly reach the open square surrounded by shops on all four sides, which I guess must be the 'shopping square' that Debbie mentioned. A few people are already out and about, popping in and out of various stores, and I can't help but be very much aware that I'm on the receiving end of some suspicious glances. I guess it's true: people really aren't used to seeing strangers in town, and while I don't feel threatened in any way, I'm pretty certain that people are going to be whispering about me and trying to work out what the hell I'm doing here.
Stopping in the middle of the square for a moment and looking around, I take a deep breath and try to spot something that might give me a clue. After all, Attaroth seemed very keen for me to come here, so I figure there have to be a few things I'm missing. Glancing over at the grocery store, however, I'm struck by the sheer normality of the scene. Hearing voices nearby, I turn and look at the pharmacy, where -
“I want you to go into the pharmacy and buy a packet of paracetamol with codeine.”
Staring at the pharmacy, I tell myself that I'm wrong, that I have to be wrong, that there's no way -
“Meanwhile I'll go into the grocery store and we'll meet back at the truck in a couple of minutes, okay?”
I take a step back before looking over at the grocery store. It all feels so horribly, sickeningly familiar.
“Just tell them the tablets are for your mother and that I've got a bad back. I promise, Clay, there won't be a problem. We've done this a million times before. Mr. Kenseth wants you to do this for him.”
“Hey there!”
Bumping into someone's shoulder, I turn to see a disgruntled-looking woman making her way past me. She glances back with a scowl, but I quickly turn and look across the square until I spot the exact place where my mother parked the truck all those years ago. As thoughts rush through my mind, I keep telling myself that it's just a coincidence, that this isn't what it looks like, that -
“Tom! Let's move!”
Spinning around, I spot Ben leading another guy over to a van. Glancing back at me, Ben smiles and waves.
And I run.
Racing around the side of the diner, I stop just in time to keep from clattering straight into Debbie, who has just emerged with a sack of trash.
“Where am I?” I shout.
She stares at me, clearly shocked by my outburst.
“What the hell is this place?” I shout, pushing her back against the wall.
“Hey!” she replies. “Watch it! You're in Silverglade, what's the problem?”
“But...” I pause for a moment, hoping against hope that I'll suddenly realize I'm wrong. “It's not...” I glance back toward the shopping square. “It's not called Rover's Ridge?”
She sighs.
“It's not, is it?” I ask, turning back to her.
“For God's sake,” she mutters, sounding irritated by the question, “can't people leave the past where it belongs?” She sighs again. “Yes, okay, the place was called Rover's Ridge a few years ago, but the town officially changed its name after all the...” She pauses. “Well, you know, what happened.”
“What happened?” I ask, even though I already know. “This can't be happening...”
“The siege?” she replies. “It was all over the news a decade ago, the Ruby Ridge siege where all those people died? It was just a few miles out of town. Eventually everyone got so sick of the attention, the whole place changed its name to Silverglade so we could get a fresh start.”
“But...” I stare at her, still not quite able to believe what I'm hearing.
“So yeah,” she continues, “you're in Rover's Ridge, if that's really so important to you. Why? Please, tell me you're not another one of those sick fucks who thinks some god's gonna show up for the solar eclipse.”
PART SIX
Ten years ago
“Can someone help me?” I ask, making my way along the dark street. “Please, can someone help?”
All around me, people are milling in and out of stores. I don't even know the name of this city, but it's bigger than any place I've ever been before and since running from the hospital I've been wandering the streets, desperately hoping that someone might eventually be able to see me. So far, however, all that's happening is that late-night shoppers are bustling all around me while huge, brightly-lit buildings reach up into the starless sky.
“Please,” I continue, trying to reach up and grab a woman as she walks past. My hands brush against her arm, but I can't seem to grab hold of her. “Please, can you hear me?”
She briefly glances back, as if for a fraction of a second she was aware of something, but she quickly resumes her usual pace, disappearing into the crowd.
“Mom!” I shout as I'm buffeted along by the crowd, forced to move with the general direction of the river of people as they snake from one department store to another. “Mom, it's me! It's Clay! Are you here?”
I stop for a moment on a street corner, and even though I know there's almost no chance of my mother being anywhere nearby, all I can think is to keep calling for her, hoping for a miracle.
“Mom! Please are you -”
“What do you keep doing that for?” asks a woman suddenly, leaning down at me with dark, soulless eyes. “Who do you think's coming to save you?”
I take a step back, shocked by the venom in his eyes. She quickly moves on, leaving me once again surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of fast-moving people, none of whom can hear my screams.
Today
“You don't know what it was like around here after all that stuff happened,” Debbie says, almost as if she's pleading with me to understand as she follows me along the street. “The whole town just became synonymous with that monster and all the things he did, it was lik
e we were being swallowed.”
“I don't care,” I reply as I reach the bus stop and look for some kind of timetable. “I just have to get out of here. When's the next bus.”
“Tuesday.”
I turn to her.
“There's a bus on Tuesday,” she continues. “That's all. Although sometimes it doesn't show up, I don't know why.” She pauses for a moment. “What's wrong with you, anyway? Are you seriously telling me you didn't know about the history of this place when you showed up?”
“I have to walk,” I mutter, glancing along the road, before suddenly remembering Attaroth's words to me yesterday:
“You're going to walk to Silverglade, and then you'll wait there until you understand why I want you to be there, and then you'll understand your next task.”
No matter how much I might hate the idea of being here, I have no doubt that Attaroth will follow through on his threat if I leave. Turning back to Debbie, I can see the look of confusion in her eyes, and it's clear that she already thinks I'm kind of insane. I guess maybe, just maybe, she might be right.
***
“There were reporters all over the place,” she says a few minutes later, as we sit on the steps outside the diner. “They were picking over the whole story, trying to get exclusives, fighting with each other... I mean they were physically getting into fist-fights outside people's homes. They all wanted the juicy human stories to suck in the viewers at home.”
“Figures,” I whisper, looking down at my hands.
“Even my little brother got interviewed she adds.”
“I think I...” Pausing, I can't help thinking back to that evening when I found myself wondering around the emergency room, and the footage I saw on one of the televisions. “I think I saw some of that stuff,” I add quietly. It's pretty clear that her brother Ben is the same guy who, as a kid, taunted me in the shopping square, although thankfully he didn't seem to recognize me.
“A few people wanted to really lap it up,” she continues. “There was even talk of opening a theme park. I mean, how sick is that, right? They were gonna have a museum and try to make it respectable, but they were also gonna have actors all dressed up as the various people, including the victims, and then audiences could've sat in these stalls and watched the whole thing unfolding. It would've been pretty disgusting.”
“Totally,” I reply. “I'm surprised they didn't go ahead.”
“It got voted down,” she says with a faint, sad smile. “Still, there are people round these parts who think we missed out on a golden opportunity to become a kind of tourist attraction. I guess there sure would've been some better jobs, but...” She pauses. “There were a lot of arguments, but eventually it was decided to go the other way and rename the town. Rover's Ridge became Silverglade after a competition. All the school kids got to suggest a new name and then there was a vote. Guess who came up with the winner!”
She raises a hand.
“Not many people get to name their hometown.”
“So now everyone likes to pretend that none of that stuff ever happened?”
She shrugs.
“I mean,” she says after a moment, “there's, like, a small display in the mayor's office, just to commemorate things, but apart from that... You can understand, right? People just don't want to be associated with it. The whole thing's creepy. Me and Ben and his friends went out there once and...”
Her voice trails off, and finally I turn to her.
“You went out there and what?”
“It was just after Ben got a car,” she says a little sheepishly, as if she's embarrassed. “We drove out one night and just sorta of looked around. I swear, I don't believe in ghosts, but that was the freakiest night of my life. I kept expecting to see something like... maybe dead people...”
I wait for her to finish.
“And did you see anything?”
She shakes her head. “It was dumb. All that's left is these ruined buildings, but still... When you think about how many women died out there, plus a bunch of cops, it makes you wonder. Sometimes I think they could change the name of this town a thousand times and they'd never be able to wipe away the memory of what happened.” She looks down at the ground for a moment, before turning to me. “Like I said, I don't believe in ghosts, except... maybe out there. Maybe at that compound, that's the one place I could believe there's something.” Suddenly she lets out a nervous laugh. “Listen to me, full of bullshit. There's nothing there.”
“Then why am I here?” I whisper.
“I dunno,” she replies. “Why are you here?” She waits for me to answer. “So this guy who, like, phoned and arranged for everything to be paid for you -”
“Long story.”
“But did he actually tell you to -”
“Long story,” I say again, hoping to cut the conversation off dead.
“I get it,” she replies. “It's pretty sad, though. I mean, do you know a little kid actually died out there at the compound? She was, like, ten years old I think, or maybe eleven, and she got shot in the head by one of the soldiers. Can you imagine how he must have felt, going in there to save people and then ending up killing a kid?”
“Everything about this place is evil,” I say quietly. “The whole town should've been torn down, and then someone should've come along and slated the ground.”
“That's a little extreme, isn't it?” she replies. “I mean, it's not like the people in Rover's – I mean, it's not like the people in Silverglade had anything to do with what that Kenseth guy was doing out there, is it? He was just this madman who took over some buildings beyond the outskirts of town. From what I remember, no-one here liked them very much. My brother even met some of them once, he said the little girl was this kinda... freak.”
I turn to her.
“Like she was a witch or something,” she continues. “Seriously, I know that sounds insane, but he swears it's true. He said she gave him and his best friend spontaneous nosebleeds just by looking at them. If you don't believe me, you can ask him later.”
“I believe you,” I tell her, even though I can't shake the haunting feeling that no-one here really understands the true nature of what went on, day in and day out, at Jacob Kenseth's compound. Feeling a shudder pass through my body, I glance along the road and try to imagine those ruined buildings sitting out there, still partially standing as some kind of sick testament to all the lives that were lost. I guess maybe Attaroth has brought me back here to finish the job: he wants me to destroy the place entirely, although I don't see why he doesn't just do it himself.
Poetic license, probably.
“Come on,” she says suddenly, grabbing my hand. “I want to show you something.”
“I don't think -”
“Come on,” she continues with a smile. “It's important.”
A few minutes later, having made our way across the shopping square and into a building on the far side bearing the side 'Mayor's Office', we head down a narrow staircase into a low-lit basement room lined with various large photos and displays. It takes a moment for me to realize that this is the museum she mentioned a few minutes ago.
“I thought you said people around here wanted to forget about what happened,” I mutter bitterly as I spot a large image of Jacob Kenseth on the far wall; in the photo, he's surrounded by several women, some of whom I remember from my days at the compound.
“You can't forget completely,” Debbie replies. “It'd be... dishonest, and disrespectful. The museum is here to remind us of the horrors that took place on our doorstep.”
Walking over to a cabinet, I find various innocuous items, most of which I don't recognize at all. Among them, however, are a few things that send a shiver through my soul as I think back to the times I saw them at the compound: there are a few old metal keys, as well as some of the pamphlets that Jacob Kenseth used to hand out. Just as I'm about to turn away, however, I spot something on the top shelf.
One of the lockets. For a moment, all I can think abo
ut is the sight of my mother drinking the poison we were all given.
“Spooky, huh?” Debbie says as she comes over to join me. “I don't even know if the town really has permission to have some of this stuff. It might be, like, evidence or something, but...” Her voice trails off for a moment. “It's kinda weird to think that these things were part of what happened, and now they're just gathering dust in a museum.”
“It should all be burned,” I mutter, glancing over at some of the other photos that have been blown up and mounted on the walls. Spotting a familiar face on one of them, I head over and – for the first time since I left the compound – I see my mother's face. She's staring at the camera with a nervous smile, and I swear I can see a hint of doubt in her eyes, as if somewhere deep down she realized she'd made a huge mistake by taking us to that goddamn place. Maybe I'm reading too much into the picture, but I feel as if I can also see a hint of desperation. She already knew it was too late.
And then I see myself, just a little girl in the bottom left of the group photo. I'm peering around from behind one of the women, and there's a strangely detached look in my eyes, as if I'm curious rather than afraid. That's now how I remember myself at all, but I can't deny what I'm seeing now. The craziest thing is that I vaguely remember this photo being taken, and now here it is, hanging in a museum.
“So I should get back to the diner,” Debbie says after a moment. “It'd be just my luck that the one time I lock up for a few minutes, some coachload of tourists breaks down outside.” She pauses. “I hope you're not, like, freaked out or anything.”
I shake my head.
“If you don't mind me saying this,” she continues, “you seem pretty worked up about the whole thing. Are you...” She pauses, watching my eyes for any hint of a change in my expression, and then she glances at the nearest photo. “I mean, are you somehow connected to that place? Like, did you know someone who was there?”
