by Matt Kilby
Judge Morgan would tell her she deserved this for ignoring years of experience with Vick Hafferty. He hated Vick, but of course it made her more determined. When rebellion turned to love, he told her every night she wore blinders when it came to “that Hafferty kid.” Then, in the no-pulled-punches way that made most of Pine Haven forget his first name, he called her a common idiot when she planned to marry him. It etched on his face again when she told him it was over. He was gracious not to rub it in, the sympathy he mustered a nod as he left the room. Though he would throw it in her face if he was there, the idea of being stranded made her wish for him to drive up and take her home.
As wishes went, she’d have made another if she knew the thought would manifest headlights. She would wish for her own car instead of a stranger slowing on the side of the road. Her panic grew as she imagined the kind of person who picked up a hitchhiker so late, but any face would be suspicious at four in the morning. She was ready to run when her legs tightened, calves screaming in harmony. She managed a limp as wheels crunched into the grass. The passenger door opened and a calm voice followed.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a man said. “There’s no telling what’s out there in the dark.”
She braced for the pain of running, the metallic click of a gun’s hammer drawn back punctuating the man’s warning.
“If you need convincing, I’ll shoot you in the back before you manage a step.”
She cussed in silence for being so stupid. Fog or not, what made her so mad she risked her life like that? It didn’t matter. Whatever came over her would get her killed, maybe worse by the end of it. Defeated, she turned to face the man but found only his shadow within the dark car. She couldn’t be sure he held a gun but finding out might be the last thing she did. Still, she doubted he wanted to shoot her and leave or he would have already. No, he’d do more if she gave him a chance.
“Come here and get in,” he ordered, his tone breaking enough to prove her right. He was excited at the possibilities, and none would be pleasant for her.
She walked forward as if to do what he said but, planting one foot, pitched back as far as her sore legs took her. In the air, she made herself as horizontal as possible to give him less of a target as he fired a surprised shot. Landing on her back in a breath-stealing thud, she didn’t think the bullet hit her but didn’t waste time making sure. She sprang onto her feet and kept low as she sprinted for the woods, figuring theoretical monsters were better than a confirmed one. He fired two more shots and one stung her right arm, but she kept running, raising her left to block the branches as she shoved into the underbrush. He couldn’t follow unless he left his car and hoped no one lived close enough to hear gunshots, but she didn’t accept that as safety. She pumped her legs for as long as they listened, through a creek and up the opposite bank to a barbed wire fence. Only then did she rest, her back against a tree to see him coming.
The moon sat over the field beyond, its light pouring in as far as the forest allowed. She stuck out her injured arm to inspect her first ever gunshot wound. After all that happened in Pine Haven last summer, she met her first bullet hundreds of miles away. She pinched the shirt and tried to look through the hole, but it was too gummy with her blood. She had to pull up the sleeve and wondered how bad it would hurt, but then a branch snapped. With her hand pressed down to stop the bleeding, she breathed soft. Another stick broke, and she understood the man didn’t care if she knew he was coming. As her thoughts darted around what to do, she realized he had a gun and she had nothing. She might find a thick limb, but it was too late to hide and wait. Too risky even with time. She had to keep moving and find help or hope he gave up.
Though the trees offered cover, the barbed wire would delay him most. He had to pocket the pistol to climb over, though he could always hope a stray bullet ended the chase. It might be her best option, so she dragged herself from the tree and lay on her back. She refused to turn from him so used her elbows and feet to push under the lowest wire. When she was halfway through, he stepped out from between the trees. The shadows kept him dark, but the moonlight showed enough to tense her stomach. Tall and thin, the man had a round head with ears sprouted from the top. She couldn’t make sense of it as she scrambled, catching her sweater on a barb. She rolled over and ripped a massive tear in the fabric, scratching her side in the process, but got to her feet before the thing got off another shot. Dirt sprayed her feet and she lowered again. She resisted looking back to see him in the moonlight, at first afraid of proving an animal’s head sat on his shoulders but then because of the house across the pasture.
Desperate, she ran, waving her arms to keep her balance, even as each rotation of the wounded one drove spikes to her shoulder. She didn’t care. She was free and safe to call the police and Vick, who’d say plenty about her leaving. She didn’t slow until the section of fence at the edge of the yard, careful not to snag herself again when she climbed over. She dropped behind a post and looked across the empty field. As she thought, the man had given up. He had to hide before the police started patrolling for him. She tried to remember his car but only came up with a dark-colored sedan, hoping it would be enough to keep him from replacing her with some other girl.
She crept to the porch. There, she walked up the steps to avoid scaring some farmer into shooting her. She rang the doorbell and waited, but no one came. With the second ring, the fear found her stomach the same tight ball it left. By the third, she wanted to scream but didn’t until headlights came up the driveway from a car she recognized.
She pounded the door with her flat hand, which finally stirred someone inside. Hand throbbing, she glanced over her shoulder as the car parked and the driver got out. She should have known the head couldn’t be real, but it didn’t change the fact a man came around the car in a button-up shirt and dress pants with a rubber pig’s head over his own. He didn’t hold his pistol anymore but dipped his right hand into his pocket. Before she saw what came out, the front door opened, her fist passing through empty air.
She almost lost her footing but had to keep it and get inside. Turning, she stopped short when she saw the burly man in front of her. His eyebrows tangled under his red baseball cap, the eyes beneath hard but curious as he blocked the doorway. He held an old axe handle, the head long gone. The dark stain in its place looked like dried blood. His next step forced her backwards. He pushed her chest with the handle, and she spun to look for where to run next. The pig man stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding a syringe with some green liquid inside.
“All that running and I would have gladly driven you,” his steady voice sounded somehow polite under the mask. When he jabbed the needle into her neck, her legs went first, and the big man caught her on the way down. He eased her head to the stairs, her eyes darting to the pig’s head as it came into view and hovered over her. She should run or aim her fists at the mask’s eyes but had no will left to make her move. Even as she focused on keeping her eyes open, they closed. The darkness behind them promised no peace.
5
The morning after Suzanne left him the second time, Vick woke and rolled over to plant his feet on the floor, running a hand over his head to clear the fog. He drank too much last night, but that was an old story. The only surprise was discovering his room empty didn’t send him back to the bar for a chance to fill it. The new Vick held strong, though the belch on his way to the shower tasted more like whiskey and cheap beer than dinner.
He might have searched for her last night if he wasn’t drunk. Instead, he stood in the parking lot and debated, but nothing came of it. If he found her, they’d argue. A state trooper might happen by and know he was too drunk to drive. How angry would she be when she bailed him out of jail, if she did? In his room, he left her a message and fell asleep waiting for her call back.
As he washed and felt more human, he thought about what to say when their paths crossed again. She wouldn’t leave without Eric so would be in town or on the highway, if stubbornness didn’
t force her legs the whole way. With a smile, he imagined her head hung low as she walked the road’s shoulder and the look on her face when he pulled off the road. He saw it as if he was there—a mixture of relief and embarrassment. She’d expect him to rub it in, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she knew everything about him. He wouldn’t mention it. If she did, he’d tell her people made mistakes. He couldn’t picture her reaction to that.
Clean and dressed, he called her again.
“Hey, this is Suzanne. You know what to do.”
He didn’t bother leaving another message. He left the room and the motel, driving toward Creek Hollow with short glances along the way for a trace of her. When he gave that up, he scanned the horizon, expecting to see her silhouette ahead, her thumb out and a line of cars waiting to pick her up. The thought panicked him more, wondering how a girl like that could survive out there alone—even one tough enough to make it through last summer with a sharper focus in her eyes.
When a green sign said he was entering Creek Hollow, he glanced into his rearview mirror as if he might have missed her. With empty road behind him, he continued into town.
In a place so small, a person could be damn near impossible to find if they wanted to hide. Like Pine Haven, Creek Hollow was larger than its busiest parts—miles of swamp leading to a cluster of buildings. The first hint of civilization was a middle school and high school, restaurants and an abandoned factory another minute down the road. He went between a strip of businesses and thought of home, though this one was missing a courthouse at the end. But there was more to separate the two, becoming clearer as he drove past buildings half-crumbled to their foundations—businesses that left or went under with no one bothering to take their places. He passed a full block of them, each a reminder of Pine Haven’s Pump and Save and what Sheriff Arkin found inside. Any of those abandoned structures held the potential for a dead body to turn up among the rubble—Eric or Suzanne, even himself, given enough time. This was the kind of place that would swallow them all if they dropped their guard, a town that wouldn’t bother to rebuild if a crowd of inmates tried to burn it. Instead, it would wait for a strong enough breeze to blow away the ashes. Past the last concrete shell, the road bent right and back into wilderness before passing a dirt road blocked by a tall, chain-link gate. A sign read “Property of the Orion Group. Trespassers will be detained or shot.”
Creek Hollow turned into more swampland until another green sign marked the town border, so he turned back. He couldn’t decide if knowing the town’s layout made him feel better about finding Eric. If he did something easy, like change his name and get a job, it might take a day or two, depending on how long Suzanne decided to be difficult. If he was hiding in those woods, taking a page out of Jim Stucker’s playbook, he might never turn up. Vick sighed as he returned to the main street and set a more specific destination. If he wanted to find his friends, his best bet was the sheriff.
It took longer than Vick expected. Creek Hollow kept their sheriff further south, past neighborhoods and churches in a block that included the town police and a headquarters for the highway patrol. He couldn’t help wonder how different things would have gone for Pine Haven last summer with all that manpower in one spot.
The sheriff’s department was between the others, the deputy at the front desk reminding him of Pete. It might have been the goofy smile when he said hello or the scabs of pimples so fresh he didn’t look old enough to drive. As he went to find the sheriff, Vick stared at a bulletin board filled with flyers for people who had gone missing in the area, some Suzanne’s age but some younger. Being young and alone was the extent of what they had in common, but that didn’t keep the lump out of his throat as it grew harder to shake the idea something bad happened to her. When the sheriff came out, Vick forced a smile and shook his hand. This one looked twenty years younger than Arkin with eyes that didn’t match his smile. They stared as if he found something in Vick’s face he didn’t want to lose.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Hafferty?” he asked with a voice warmer than his expression.
“Can we talk in your office?”
The sheriff stroked his cheek.
“Sure,” he smiled again, this time showing teeth, but those eyes wouldn’t change. He led the way and called back to the deputy to hold his calls before he shoved open his office door and gestured Vick to sit. He did and waited for the man to do the same before he spoke, noting the plaque on the desk with the name Ethan Morrell.
“I’m looking for a friend,” he said when he had his attention.
“Son,” Sheriff Morrell huffed, “did you really get me in here to report someone missing? Because I’ll tell you, I’ve got better things to do today than fill out forms. Deputy Brooks is literate and capable of holding a pen, if you’re worried about that.”
“No sir,” Vick sat back. A year ago, he thought there couldn’t be a bigger asshole than Lud Arkin, but he was sure he just met him. “I was just hoping to keep this quieter.”
“And why is that?”
“I’m guessing you’ve heard of Pine Haven.”
“Of course,” Morrell said.
“We were there,” Vick said, expecting the usual reverent awe but didn’t find it.
“On which side?” Morrell raised an eyebrow.
It wouldn’t do any good to play into whatever reaction the sheriff wanted. Vick thought of Arkin’s threat to put him in a cell and understood this man would without the benefit of a warning.
“I was a deputy. My friend stopped the man responsible for what happened.”
Something changed in the sheriff’s face, though Vick had no better luck reading it. It appeared to soften him, if for nothing else then curiosity.
“Is that so?” he asked and then nodded. “I think I do recognize you. Your dad was one of the deputies who got killed. Hafferty, right?”
In Heaven, his dad was laughing, bragging to the angels about still bailing his boy out of trouble months after dying. Happy to give him that, Vick said in a breath, “That’s me.”
“But you quit?”
“A couple days ago,” Vick nodded. “Eric disappeared and I came to find him.”
“You couldn’t do that as a deputy?”
Arkin wondered the same thing, and Vick told him it was to give the search his full attention. He didn’t believe it then or now, but the truth was harder to put into words.
“I had my reasons.”
“Sure,” Sheriff Morrell shrugged. “I guess you have some for coming here too, but I bet you won’t be any more willing to share them.”
“It’s complicated, but I’m sure he’s here. If you can give me any help—”
“I’ll be happy to,” Morrell grew a warm smile Vick knew better than to trust. “Just walk over to Deputy Brooks. He’s got a form for you to fill out, and as soon as you do, we’ll start looking for your friend. Stick around town if you want or go home—doesn’t make a difference to me. If we find him, we’ll give you a call.”
Vick kept his seat, watching the man the same way he watched back. If he thought he could out stubborn a Hafferty, he should ask Sheriff Arkin if it was worth it. If he liked the guy, he might suggest getting past the posturing and work toward saving Eric. But the man was a mirror. If his dad lived or became sheriff, this might have been Vick’s legacy. In a few years, he could have been the smug son of a bitch wearing the star and giving a well-meaning traveler a hard time. Any chance of that made quitting the right choice.
“Something else I can help you with?” The sheriff stared at the door as if he could will Vick through.
“I guess not,” Vick shook his head and stood. Sheriff Morrell kept his seat as he turned toward the door. He made it in a step but then turned back, forcing a smile at the sheriff’s annoyed huff.
“One more thing,” he said. “I came with a girl, but she left me at the motel. She’ll probably stop here later today looking for the same help. When you turn her away, can you tell her to
call me?”
“She left you?” Morrell leaned over his desk. “You mean you don’t know where she is?”
“Yeah,” Vick said, the worry nagging. “We got in late last night and went out to eat. She got mad at me and left. When I got back to the room, her things were gone.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Some place outside of town,” Vick said and tried to read the sheriff, but those eyes were walls. “The Highway Inn or something like that.”
“The Waystation Inn?”
“That’s it.”
Sheriff Morrell considered, his eyes somewhere left of Vick.
“Is there something I should know?”
“Not unless you want a job application.”
“Is she in danger?” Vick came back to the desk and tried to tower over it but only got a glance for his trouble.
“I hope not,” Sheriff Morrell said, “but your small town isn’t the only one where bad things happen. Creek Hollow’s cornered that market for decades.”
Vick didn’t say another word as he left. He didn’t realize the sheriff followed until he spoke behind him.
“Brooks, get this man a missing person form—” he started but trailed off when Vick walked past the desk.
He thought he might be sick but made it to his car. Behind the wheel, he turned the air conditioning high and shivered as he took out his phone. As before, her voice mail answered.
“Please, Suzanne,” he said with eyes closed. “If you’re okay, call me. I’m in Creek Hollow, and the sheriff has me worried. Don’t come back if you don’t want to. Just call me. Please.”
He hung up and sat a moment to figure out what to do. It was useless to hold the slim hope of finding one or both strolling along the side of the street. He could canvass the town himself, knocking on doors and asking questions, but it would accomplish nothing more than pissing the sheriff off. Then again, he doubted Morrell would say much about him handing out a few flyers. He took out his phone and scrolled through pictures until he found clear headshots of Eric and Suzanne and then set out to find a print shop. On the way, he called Maribeth.