by Helena Shaw
It was a weak attempt at a joke, but Dawn made herself laugh to appease the man. They were all running on stress, adrenaline, and beer, and ignoring his quip would have only hurt him more.
“I hope they kill that bear,” Gabe said. “Mary had to drive the girls to school today. Not that she didn’t want to, but the bus isn’t even running. Parents don’t want to let their kids out of their sight, and no one else was using the damn thing, so they cancelled it.”
“I’d just like to see someone trying to take an attempt at it,” Jim said. “No one seems to be even looking. Fish and Wildlife haven’t been looking around much, and do we really think some FBI grunts are out in the woods hunting for it?”
“Well, let’s hope they come for a beer before they go out in the woods,” Gabe laughed. “Just not too many, of course. We need them shooting bears, not each other.”
“That’s just what we need,” Jim said as he cracked a smile behind his bushy beard. “A bear on the loose and a bunch of drunk hunters shooting each other and blaming me. Then we’ll know this town’s really gone to hell.”
As much as Dawn wanted to join in with their weird jokes that were more a product of lack of sleep and an excess of stress than they were humor, she found herself only worrying. She wanted whatever, or whoever had taken Courtney dead just as much as anyone, but if a hunter shot another hunter, well, that was just more attention that would be brought down on the little town she’d gotten used to calling home.
“Hey, Jim,” Dawn said as she pushed her chair back from the table. “Mind if I use the computer in your office for a minute?”
“Go for it,” Jim said as he took another gulp of his beer.
“Wait, still no computer?” Gabe asked as he followed the boss in drinking. “How does a girl your age get through life without Facebook and Google and what-have-you?”
“What can I say?” Dawn shrugged as she forced herself to laugh off his question. “I guess I’m a Luddite.”
“Huh?” Gabe scratched his head at the term, but Dawn didn’t feel like explaining. Instead, she made her way into the kitchen and then opened the door to Jim’s closet-turned-office.
Jim’s computer was achingly old and still ran on dial-up internet, but it provided Dawn a safe place to do the occasional browsing when the need arose. There was a time when she’d been addicted to being online. It was a refuge from her daily life, and logging on and chatting with strangers who became her friends was how she preferred to spend her time. Anonymous screen names were more real than the people she called friends when she was in school, but that was long ago.
It wasn’t aimless chatting she was after. Though her resolve was beginning to soften, she had to know more about Gavin Mosley. Her instincts, no matter how paranoid, were insisting that she not trust his story, and maybe something online was the key to figuring out just what kind of person the man was.
Normally, searching for a person online didn’t always end up with a ton of hits. One might find a link to a Facebook page, maybe a mention in their local paper, but looking up someone as famous as Gavin Mosley meant that Dawn had a lot of stuff to wade through if it meant finding out who Gavin Mosley was in his day to day life.
Even on Jim’s old computer, she had no trouble finding page after page of stats: his batting average when he was in the minors; getting scouted to the Marlins; his batting average his last year with the team; it was all cut and dry stuff that gave her no clue as to who the man was as a human being.
After some digging, she found out why he’d left the team in the first place. About a year ago, as most reports seemed to agree on, he’d slid into third base, and due to a total freak accident, he’d torn the ligaments in his shoulder. It was something called a Glenoid Labrum Tear, though that didn’t mean much to Dawn.
Then things got a little more interesting. With the right surgeon, it seemed that the injury wasn’t one that could end a career. It would put an end to a player’s season, but not his future in the majors. Even knowing that, Gavin had decided to step back and apparently return to his roots, though he was originally from Kentucky, not West Virginia.
“Why not just get it fixed?” Dawn asked herself, but it seemed Mosley hadn’t done much in the way of interviews post-retirement. He’d all but disappeared from the public view, and most reports on that said only that he was a small town boy who preferred a private life.
His pre-retirement interviews weren’t what Dawn was hoping to find. She so wanted to pin everything on him, but it was getting harder and harder the deeper she dug. Outside of the game, it seemed that Mosley was mostly involved in charity work. Personal pictures never showed him at a bar, on dates, or anything of the like. Instead, he was seen with children at charity events, always smiling and never looking anything close to upset, angry, or even annoyed. There was always the same warm smile on his face. It never faltered.
“Come on,” Dawn groaned as she started to lose hope. She keyed in phrases like “Gavin Mosley Assault” and “Gavin Mosley Violent,” but most of what came back was how badly he seemed to have injured his shoulder.
Her last attempt was “Gavin Mosley Fight,” and finally, something came up. The article was old, so old that the site it was archived on looked no better than a Geocities page, but it was something—a report from a college paper about Mosley and another player getting into a fistfight outside a bar in Louisville where Mosley played college ball. It was a lead, it was something.
But as Dawn read the article, she knew it was nothing. It was worse than nothing. The charges against Mosley were dropped entirely. It appeared that the other player was seen harassing female patrons of the bar by several witnesses. When he wouldn’t stop, Mosley stepped in to tell him to lay off. His drunk teammate threw a punch at him, and Mosley defended not only himself, but a group of young women.
“Damn it,” Dawn sighed. As much as she wanted to believe that Mosley was secretly some horrible monster, there was nothing to indicate he was anything but a perfect gentleman. He was sweet, generous, and totally, one hundred percent innocent.
Maybe you are being paranoid, Dawn’s inner voice suggested. Two years on the run will do that to a person.
Dawn never wanted to be that person, the one who could never trust anyone. Yet here she was, arguing with herself, trying to fight the realization that she had been wrong about Mosley only because she wanted so much to be right. She wanted to believe he was a bad person just so that she wasn’t paranoid, not just because she wanted to find out who had taken Courtney.
“Maybe,” she sighed to herself. “Maybe he’s actually a good guy, after all.”
It hurt her to admit it, but it made more sense than anything else had lately. Maybe he was just a victim in all this too. Maybe Dawn would never know for sure.
She was about to log off Jim’s computer when she stopped herself. She navigated back to Google and began to type once more. J-E-N-N-I... but she forced herself to stop. There was a part of her locked deep inside that sometimes dug its way out and longed to find out if she was still being looked for. Her only hints were her own suspicions and she had avoided the name Jennifer Waters for well over a year.
Dawn had never been a computer expert, but she’d spent enough time online to know that certain terms and keywords could be tracked by the right person. If she typed in “Jennifer Waters” and hit enter, there was no telling who might see it and track it back to Jim’s IP address.
No, she had to be safe, even if the curiosity gnawed at her brain.
With a click, Dawn closed the browser and pushed herself back from the tiny makeshift desk. Even if there was nothing to do at the bar, she couldn’t hide in Jim’s office all day long. The temptation of the computer screen was too much, any wrong search or click could be led back to her and that could spell disaster.
Just as she was about to stand up, she could hear Jim’s heavy footsteps as he raced into the kitchen. She was standing before he opened the door, dread knotting her insides, but there was
only excitement on his face.
“Dawn, oh, sweetie,” the big, burly man said. “They’re here. They’re finally here. Oh, thank God you came to work today. We’re going to need ya.”
He didn’t need to explain. His red face and excited rambling was enough to let her know that finally, mercifully, some hunters had arrived in town to take down whatever it was that had killed those poor women.
As Dawn excited the office, she could hear the din of the crowd. Even from behind the doors, she could hear the rabble and Gabe was behind the flat-top, preparing to make as many burgers as the hunters could stuff down their throats.
“I’ve got to get to pouring,” Jim said with an elated smile. “Those boys look thirsty!”
The crowd of men was a godsend. Not only was the bar finally going to make some money after days of throwing it away, but running from table to table kept Dawn from being able to think about anything at all. Every time a thought would bubble up, every time she would begin to debate with herself whether Mosley was a good guy, every time she feared the worse for Courtney, one of the hunters would holler at her and send her running for more food or beer.
The bar was packed to bursting, and she had to wonder if the crowd had all come together, or if their timing was just that good. There were only a few empty chairs, and Dawn found herself hoping that she would return from the kitchen with a platter of greasy food to find Agent Nash sitting in one of them.
The longer the night wore on, the less likely that seemed. Even with everything else going on, it was hard for Dawn to hide her disappointment. There was a part of her that wanted to see him, and that part was growing every day.
Stop it, her mind ordered her as she took another order for a round of beers for one of the tables. Three men in matching green camouflage jackets and Carhartt hats were on their fourth round and had started to get a little rowdy. She knew she needed to keep her focus on making them happy, not on some FBI agent who she shouldn’t be getting too close to.
The diners and drinkers were her only priorities, and she had to keep that in mind. One hunter given the wrong beer or the wrong burger could result in some ugly business, and Dawn didn’t want that on her head. They were already riled up over hunting some man-eater, and now they were all several drinks in. It wouldn’t take much for any of the more colorful folks to start a ruckus.
Not only that, but most of the drinkers hadn’t thought to leave their guns in their trucks. Half the chairs in the place had rifles slung over the backs of them, but as Dawn brought out another tray of nachos, she realized that she’d seen some of the guns before.
It was a black and silver model that caught her eye each time she passed one. In total, she thought she saw three of the same make, but the place was so busy that it was hard to keep track who was carrying what. Men were passing guns back and forth to compare makes and models, and every time a gun changed hands, Dawn would catch Jim watching warily. He couldn’t tell them to put the guns away without losing their business while they were in Goosemont, but that didn’t make any of them any less concerned about having loaded guns in the bar.
But it was the black and silver one that kept drawing her eye. As she put a tray of food down, another caught her attention, and even though he looked half in the bag, the hunter it must have belonged to took notice.
“She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” a skinny man with a shaggy beard and deep set eyes said as he slung it over the chair. “Winchester seventy, the extreme weather edition.”
“Can I see it?” Dawn asked as a weird recognition washed over her.
“Darlin’,” the man who had to be pushing fifty said with a yellowed smile, “you can see all of my rifles, if ya ask nice.” With that, he tugged at his crotch and gave her a sickening wink, but Dawn ignored it.
“Hey,” a voice cut in from another table. Dawn might have been able to ignore the advances of the old hunter, but that didn’t mean another person couldn’t. The next table over was filled with younger guys, pups to the more experienced hunters. They were all looking at the older man with intent in their eyes, but Dawn didn’t need their help.
“It’s fine,” she told them. “We’re just having a little fun.”
“You sure?” one of the younger men asked. He had a baby face, with soft cheeks and bright blue eyes. He didn’t look a day over fifteen, but she could tell that he was big and strong and looking to defend what he thought was a damsel in distress.
“Totally,” Dawn assured him. “We’re just talking, right?” she said to the slightly inebriated older hunter who had, admittedly, crossed a bit of a line.
“Yeah,” he said as he licked his lips. “Talking.”
“So, can I see the gun?” Dawn asked again.
“Sure,” the man said as he handed over the prize.
By that point, all eyes in the joint were on Dawn. The quickly defused argument was still enough to hush the bar, but she was beyond caring. There was something so familiar about having that particular gun in her hands. Its sleek body, its weight, it all brought her back to a time long ago.
Even in a bar full of drunk men, when she closed her eyes and held the gun up, she was a child again. It was the same gun her father had taught her to shoot with all those years ago. It was both familiar and cold, yet it warmed in her hands as she let herself fall back into her memories.
“Whoa there, doll.” A voice pierced through her memory and brought her back to reality. “Careful there, that bitch is loaded.”
“Sorry,” Dawn said as she handed the gun back over. “It’s a nice rifle.”
“Sure is,” the man said, but Dawn was done listening. Without looking back, she moved back behind the bar with Jim and poured herself a pint.
“I guess I owe Gabe fifty bucks,” Jim laughed while Dawn took a big gulp of the heady beer.
“Eh, I’ll bring him a beer,” Dawn said. “I’m sure he’ll call it even.”
“Yeah,” Jim laughed. “Not like I don’t give you two enough free booze as it is.”
It was nice to see Jim happy again. The stress of the last few days seemed to age him by a decade, but one night of good business had turned back the hands of time, at least a little.
Just as Dawn was about to finish her pint, the front door of the bar swung open. For a second, her heart fluttered and skipped a beat. A tall man, broad shouldered with sandy hair walked in. What really caught her eye was the faded green jacket he wore, and for a second she was elated and nervous all at once that Agent Nash was back.
But as the man stepped inside, she realized it wasn’t him. It was just another hunter who happened to be wearing a similar jacket. Nash had yet to make an appearance, and she couldn’t hide her disappointment at that.
“You okay?” Jim asked, somehow sensing her deflation.
“Fine,” she lied. “Just tired.”
“Well, when it dies down some, head home,” Jim said. “I’m sure Gabe and I can handle the stragglers.”
It was a nice thought, but never came to fruition. Dawn was there for the long haul and was serving drinks until almost two in the morning, well past Jim’s usual last call. The hunters really were thirsty, but their drunken tips and wads of cash made up for her sore feet, her aching back, and for the fact that a couple had decided they could get away with pinching her butt as she served them.
“Oh, Dawnie!” Jim said as he counted up the last of the money at the end of the night. “Oh, this is a good day, a good day indeed.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said with a feigned smile. Her entire body ached and she was tired, so very tired. The money could only act as a Band-Aid for that ache.
“Oh sweetie,” Jim said as he looked up from the register. “It’s late, head home and Gabe and I will close the place up. You look beat.”
“Thanks,” she said with a half-hearted smile. Normally she would have insisted on staying to help, but she was exhausted. All she wanted was her bed and about twenty-four hours of sleep.
The trucks and SUVs t
hat the hunters had driven up in were long gone. At two in the morning, the streets of Goosemont were empty. Not a sound pierced through the inky blackness of the cloudy night.
Shit, she thought to herself as she walked down the abandoned street. Part of her wished she’d waited until Gabe and Jim were done cleaning up. Walking home alone wasn’t her best choice, but she hadn’t realized it until she was already outside and on her way home.
A bigger part of her wished she’d called Kevin Nash before she’d left the bar. He always made her feel safe, even if it was against her better judgement. But it was two in the morning, and he was probably long asleep. Besides, she couldn’t just expect him to come running whenever she felt nervous or scared.
As she walked, she tugged her plaid jacket closer around herself. The night was cold and eerily quiet, but it took Dawn a couple blocks before she realized that it was not only quiet, but deadly silent.
Not a sound could be heard. No birds were chirping, no coyotes howling to each other in the night. No cars were moving down the distant highway. There was nothing to break the all-consuming silence, and it was starting to send chills down Dawn’s spine.
“It’s okay,” she said to herself, more to break the silence than anything else. “It’s two in the morning, everything is asleep.”
From an alleyway, a soft rustling picked up and made her jump. She wanted to believe it was just raccoons again, but she still forced herself to look.
Down the alley, she saw the figure of a man that she couldn’t quite make out. As the clouds covering the yellow-orange moon began to slip away, the shape became clearer, darker, and she almost called out to the man who was standing there, but her voice caught in her throat.
Run, her mind told her. Run!
Her feet were plastered to the ground. She couldn’t move, couldn’t flee. She could only watch as the man began to change.
Chapter Nine
The man was no longer a man. Dawn watched, frozen in fear, as his body shifted and changed and became something new. The moon slipped away again, but even without its light, she could see the creature’s shape.