Sleepless Nights

by Pierre C. Arseneault

  As the family got into the Ford, Devin turned to his brother and said. “It won’t be for too long, he’s almost ready to go home.”

  “What?” questioned their Mother.

  “Nothing, Mom,” said Devin as he looked at his brother who simply looked back at him and smiled as he felt the pennies through the pocket of his pants.

  As a smiling father put his vehicle into drive and proceeded to pull out into traffic, his wife turned to look at her older son Jeffrey as he sat happily looking out the window.

  Nothing Ever Happens in Carlton

  1

  On an otherwise quiet Sunday afternoon near the center of the small town of Carlton, plain-clothed Officer Libby was bent over holding onto the police cruiser; her blood-streaked blond ponytail dangling as she vomited for the second time. Her back felt like it was covered by a cold layer of molasses making her simple v-neck blouse stick to her back. The thought of all the blood on her caused her stomach to go into spasms and rock her body making tears flow down her cheeks. Her last meal now pooled in messy blotches on the asphalt before her. Never had she seen such carnage and gore. The gruesome scene from a few moments ago would be forever burned in her memory. More blood than she had ever seen before she thought as she gagged yet again when she noticed blood dripping from the tip of her ponytail.

  2

  Three days earlier.

  A little more than a few weeks into the school year, the local kids were set in their routines already. The streets of Carlton were deserted after nine o’clock on weeknights and this evening would be no exception. After midnight, as most small towns of this stature, things got extremely quiet. So quiet in fact that few police officers were on call, all excepting one. Dwayne Adams was at his post at the station on Main Street. At least he was at his post in body to say the least. In the early parts of his shift he was always bright-eyed, fully caffeinated and ready for anything. But by the early hours in the morning he was leaning back in his chair, legs crossed with his feet up on the desk. His head slumped forward a little and just below his chin sat a spot of drool as he snored ever so slightly. His left hand wrapped loosely around his belt while his right dangled towards the floor just above his well worn hardcover copy of Needful Things by Stephen King. Three empty cans of Red Bull sat on his otherwise neatly organized desk.

  Police Chief Clovis McPhee knew exactly what he would find on such a quiet night, which is why he opened the front door of the Carlton Police Station as quietly as he possibly could. Clutching his large stainless steel ring of keys in his hand to stifle any noise they might make he held the door open as Officer Libby Terwilliger silently made her way past him carrying a tray of coffee and muffins. Giving Libby a knowing glance he watched her nudge her way past the wooden patrician gate that divided the public area from the bullpen of the station. Gently she set the tray from the local Santorene coffee shop down on her desk as Clovis followed quietly. As Chief Clovis walked past Dwayne’s desk, he held the large ring of keys up high, dropping the large clump of metal on the wooden desk with a loud clatter. When the keys struck the desk, Officer Adams jerked from his slumber as his chair kicked over sending him sprawling on the floor. Neither Clovis nor Libby even cracked a smile as a prone Dwayne quickly scrambled to his feet. The sight of Dwayne struggling to gain his composure was rather hysterically funny but they didn’t even crack a smile. The first time this happened they had laughed so hard, they both had sore stomach muscles the following day. And many times they had laughed at a sleeping Dwayne’s expense. But the joke had gotten quite old now and nobody was laughing today.

  “All’s quiet I assume?” inquired Chief Clovis.

  “Yes, Sir,” answered Dwayne as he straightened himself up, tucking his shirt in a little and wiping the drool off his chin.

  “As usual in this sleepy little town,” added Clovis. “Just the way I like it.” Clovis hung his jacket before fetching his coffee and muffin from Libby’s desk.

  “How’s the book?” asked Libby as she half-pointed with a hand that held a blueberry bran muffin. Dwayne followed her pointing to the floor next to his chair where he saw his book. He blushed as he scooped up the book, placing it on his desk.

  “Awesome. It’s my second time reading it.”

  From inside his office, Clovis spoke. “Go home, Dwayne. Maureen must be home by now.”

  “Yes, Sir,” replied Dwayne as he scooped up his jacket from a coat hook on the wall behind him. “Oh, actually I did get an email last night; from the Stonevalley Police Department.”

  “And?” asked Chief Clovis as he sat behind his desk and pushed the power button on his computer.

  Dwayne perched himself on the doorframe of the Chief’s office as he peaked inside. “They’re advising all nearby communities to be on the lookout for an escaped mental patient from Brayton.” Dwayne was referring to the Brayton Psychiatric Hospital. “And this one is dangerous too.” Dwayne glanced behind him towards Libby and grimaced as he added. “And you would know this if you had that Blackberry I suggested you get. Instead of that antique cell you carry.”

  Libby clued in about his concern for Chief Clovis’s reaction. Both of them were thinking about Clovis’s daughter in University in Stonevalley. Libby piped up from behind her coffee cup which she cradled in both hands as she sat at her desk. “Why would they be telling us this? Did they say he’s coming this way?”

  “Crazy Crandall!” exclaimed Chief Clovis confidently.

  “How’d you know that?” asked Dwayne.

  “I heard it on the radio on the way to the station,” replied Clovis. “You know. Those things they put in cars. They’ve been around longer than Blackberries or the interweb.” Clovis smiled at his own lame joke. Just the word interweb alone would piss off Dwayne.

  “You know he butchered thirteen people before getting caught. Think we should print posters or something?” asked Dwayne. “Spread them around town?”

  “No need. It’s all over the local news already.” Clovis turned off his caps-lock and typed in his password for a third time as he logged into his computer.

  “If you say so, Chief,” replied Dwayne as he turned to grab his police issue baseball cap.

  “This isn’t Castle Rock,” replied Chief Clovis who often teased Dwayne about his infatuation with stories set in small towns. “This ain’t one of your Stephen King novels. Nothing ever happens in Carlton.”

  “Funny! Real funny!” said Dwayne as he quietly slipped a folded piece of paper into Libby’s hand.

  Clovis sipped his coffee before adding. “Besides, I got the perfect person to do that for us and it won’t come out of our budget.”

  “Say hello to Maureen for me will you,” said Libby as she watched Dwayne walk away. Quietly opening the note, she could barely make out the scribbling. It read.

  Maureen. Burnett’s place tonight at 8.

  As Dwayne opened the door, he shot a backwards glance, looking for a reaction from Libby who peaked over her shoulder towards the Chief’s office. She gave Dwayne a quick thumbs-up.

  “Later!” said Dwayne as he left the building.

  Libby sipped coffee as she listened intently from her desk as she heard Clovis speak. She knew full well he was already on the phone calling Bonnie Campbell at the Carlton Gazette.

  “Bonnie? It’s Clovis. Listen; are you ready to go to print yet with this week’s edition?”

  The Carlton Gazette was the local weekly newspaper. Most residents referred to it as “a slice of fog” due to its thinning pages. It was quite small compared to other more prominent newspapers. Holding it felt more like clutching at a wisp of air.

  Libby walked over and leaned against the door frame of Clovis’s office, sipping her coffee. Clovis spoke confidently. “Anna, she’s fine. I spoke to her this morning.” The rest of Clovis’s side of the conversation was brief from there on. “Yup! Right. Perfect. Thanks, Bonnie!”


  A smiling Libby spoke. “She was already on it, wasn’t she?”

  “Yup. She heard all about it on the news late last night. She made some calls and stayed up making the changes to be ready for print this morning.” Clovis drank the rest of his coffee, dropping the empty Santorene coffee shop paper cup into his waste basket. “Good thing too, otherwise I would have called too late.”

  “Nothing gets past Bonnie Campbell,” replied Libby.

  Chief Clovis knew The Carlton Gazette would be in stores later that day. Home delivered (with flyers) on Friday morning like always. This week’s edition would not be just about the town’s business, politics and local sports with ads. The front page would have a large picture and a feature article with a headline reading “Lester Crandall, a.k.a. Crazy Crandall on the loose.” The attached article would recap how the man, mostly known as Crandall was convicted of gruesomely killing thirteen people. All within a span of six days while on a rampage in a town not so far away. The same Crandall who had lost it back then, now had escaped from the Brayton Psychiatric Hospital.

  “Has Robert called in yet?” asked Clovis as he walked out of his office startling Libby in the process.

  Libby, who was typing a message, minimized her screen when she saw Clovis stop by her desk. She quickly scooped up the note from Dwayne and crumpled it up, stuffing it through the lid of her now empty Santorene coffee cup.

  “No, not yet,” replied Libby. She had not heard anything form Officer Robert but that was not unusual.

  “Ok well, I’m gonna head out and cruise through town. See if anything is going on,” Clovis stated as he walked through the gate and towards the door.

  “You want me to call Robert and see why he hasn’t called in yet?”

  “Naw, that’s ok,” said Clovis as he opened the door. “He’s probably already parked at one of his favourite speed traps for the morning commuters and just forgot to call in again. I’ll swing by and surprise him.”

  Clovis closed the door behind him.

  Grabbing the phone, Libby quickly dialled and put the receiver to her ear.

  “Bonnie? It’s me, Libby. You didn’t say anything to Clovis about tonight did you?” A worried Libby listened as Bonnie spoke.

  Libby spoke while watching the door, as if expecting Clovis to walk in and catch her. “Good. I don’t think he suspects anything yet. But we gotta be careful or he’s liable to figure out what’s going on.” Opening her desk drawer, she pulled out a note pad with a long list of names and checked off Bonnie Campbell.

  “Ok, Bonnie. I’ll let you get back to work. But can you do me a favour. Please call Raylene for me?” She listened for a moment before speaking again. “Ok, thanks. Bye-bye.”

  Libby went back to her list and checked off Raylene McPhee and two more names before picking up the phone again. She ran her finger down her list and dialled.

  “Winston? It’s Libby.”

  3

  The Santorene diner and coffee shop had been retrofitted to look more like it did in the fifties. One could feel a sense of nostalgia just walking into the place. All the chrome rimmed stools with red patent leather cushions lining the counter perfectly matching the benches in the booths along the outer walls full of large windows.

  Everything had been restored by the new owner not so long ago. Even the old jukebox was back to its former glory and still only cost a nickel to operate. Something the new owner insisted on even though it would cost money every time someone played it. The place was full of memories for most of the town’s folk and had been the birthplace of many young romances. And even though they had the best coffee for miles, the line-up for coffee at Santorene was never extremely long at this hour in the morning. At ten thirty in the A.M. in such a small town, most everyone is at work. Either at the Sheppard’s Frozen Foods plant or at some other obscure small town job. Some are snuggled in their beds, sleeping off a graveyard shift from the Sleepy Meadows Rest Home. Only a few patrons sat at tables while the line up currently consisted of four people.

  Molly Miller was the only full time waitress at Burnett’s Place. The only real bar left in town and the only thing keeping that place in business was the gambling machines in the back. That and curvy red headed Molly’s love of flirting, which kept the men coming back.

  Lincoln Tingley was groundskeeper at the church. Part of his duties also included the two local cemeteries. His job was pretty secure since he also took care of all the equipment himself, which saved the parish a lot of money. This made Father Finnigan very content.

  Clovis McPhee, the salt and pepper haired Chief of police for the last ten years who is originally from the sleepy little town of Carlton. The town’s unofficial motto is “Nothing ever happens in Carlton” and for good reason, according to a large amount of the townsfolk. A fact that Clovis loved to remind people of every chance he got.

  Jack Ledger was the previous owner of The Carlton Gazette and now Mayor of the so-called sleepy little town. Jack was a man who acted as if he owned the town, a fact which resonated throughout the entire town as a partial truth since he did own half of it. Many knew him as their landlord since he owned nearly all the apartments in town.

  “Clovis,” said Jack. “I heard Crazy Crandall escaped from the Brayton Psych Hospital. You think he might be heading this way?”

  “Nah,” replied the Chief of police. “There’s no reason for him to come to Carlton. You can’t hide in such a small sleepy little town.”

  Scruffy looking Lincoln, in his dirty coveralls spoke up. “I was thinkun, Clovis. Crandall might come here to hide because of that. I don’t think he’s as crazy as he makes himself out to be.”

  Molly, who had been elbow deep in her purse digging for money piped up and joined the conversation. “You never know, really. That would be the perfect reason for him to come this way.” Molly smirked as she closed and clutched her purse to her waist in front of her. “Nobody, other than Lincoln anyway, thinks he will.” Molly stepped up to the register and placed her order quickly before turning back to the conversation behind her.

  Lincoln spoke. “I was thinkun, he never really was crazy you know. Just pretending so he could get away wit-it.”

  “Oh, he’s crazy all right,” said Chief Clovis. “Nobody does the sorta-things he did to people if they’re sane.”

  Molly shuddered at the mere thought of it all, grabbed her coffee and left.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Lincoln as he paid for his coffee with change from his pocket, which included bits of grass and lint. “Most people who call themselves crazy aren’t crazy at all but just want you to think that.” Lincoln shot a glance at Clovis as he walked past him and out the door.

  Jack watched Lincoln walking towards his truck as he poured a little of the black coffee on the asphalt, making room for his own additive.

  “Good old Thinking-Lincoln’s got it all figured out, huh Clovis,” Jack said with a chuckle.

  “Never underestimate Lincoln’s intelligence, Mr Mayor,” said Clovis with a tone of seriousness.

  “Yeah? Thinking-Lincoln, the high school dropout goes to spike his coffee and rake leaves in the cemetery and you think he’s a genius,” replied the Mayor as he chuckled at his own sarcasm.

  “He uses a leaf blower,” replied Clovis with a smirk of his own.

  Jack rolled his eyes and then in a serious tone, he asked. “How’s Anna?”

  “Fine. I spoke to her this morning,” replied Clovis.

  “You coming to play darts at Pinewood Lodge tonight?” asked Jack.

  Pinewood Lodge was on the outskirts of town where the dart league met every Thursday night.

  “Yup,” replied Clovis. “Can’t see why not,” he said as he grabbed his coffee and left, leaving Mr Mayor standing alone at the counter.

  Jack pulled out his cell phone. Squinting while holding it out at arms length in an attemp
t to focus on the screen to see what he was doing. Putting the phone to his ear, he paused.

  “Libby? It’s Jack Ledger.”

  4

  It was four o’clock when Molly walked into Burnett’s Place to start her shift. She had been wearing her long curly red hair down for the last week after Officer Robert told her it looked really good that way. Especially with those strategically placed curls on her forehead that gave it that careless look. What Robert hadn’t said was what half the men in town thought. That even though she didn’t have one of those stick-thin bodies that models have, she was one of the hottest women in town. The tight jeans she always wore showed her curvaceous hips and her naturally thin waistline, which accentuated her voluptuous bosom. Between these features and her bubbly flirtatious personality, she helped the place stay in business. Floyd knew this, which is why he kept her around all these years. Even if she never took shit from him or he had to break up the occasional drunken brawl. Fights usually caused by her flirting with multiple customers in the same evening. She was a flirt but not a slut after all, which is what Floyd really liked about her.

  Floyd would never admit to his bar staying afloat because he kept Molly on as eye candy to draw in the men. Or that the gambling machines in the back of the place helped with this as well. He was rather proud of his bar. He had built the bar to resemble the one in his favourite television show, Cheers. The place had the same style wood and brass mouldings all over. And here, at Burnett’s Place in a small town like Carlton, everybody really did know your name. And if you were new in town, it wouldn’t take long before they would.

  “Molly, did you hear anything about folks who might be coming by the bar tonight?” asked Floyd as he carried cases of beer from the back and placed them behind the bar for Molly to put away.

  “Floyd. It’s a bar. People come in here all the time,” replied a sarcastic Molly.

  Floyd shot her a stern look, which Molly completely ignored. “I meant people that don’t normally come in to gamble or stare at your ass.”