by Matt Drabble
Michael watched as the sheriff gently put Thom into the front of the police car parked outside.
Quinn was all smiles and charm with the neighbours outside who had come out to watch the show. Quinn was nothing, if not a reassuring presence to them.
He was a huge bear of a man in a uniform that silently promised protection for the good citizens of Eden under a gleaming star badge. He seemingly offered a comforting blanket that proved why this town was different from the outside world.
The police department car pulled away from the kerb amid the tuts and headshakes of the watching public audience, thankful for the swift legal intervention.
Michael watched the car with an entirely different view of the sheriff. Only he had seen the cruelty on Quinn’s face as he manhandled a small and defenceless boy.
Whatever had been about to happen had only been stopped by his presence, and he shuddered as his thoughts ran wild with visions of just what the sheriff might have intended.
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“Let me get this straight,” Emily said later, after Michael had relayed the events of next door to her, “what exactly did he do?”
“I told you,” Michael replied.
“Yes, but you didn’t really say anything, did you?”
“You had to be there; if you’d seen the look on his face…”
“Michael, he’s the sheriff. I’m sure that it was like he said; he was just trying to give the kid a scare.”
“Jesus, Em, the kid looked petrified, and Quinn looked positively evil. He had something in his hand that I couldn’t see, but that kid was shaking like a shitting dog.”
“Oh, lovely,” Emily said in disgust.
“I know what I saw. That big ass son of a bitch was dragging that kid like a sack of meat. The kid was terrified, and Quinn was smiling like he was enjoying it.”
“Hey, aren’t you the one who was always calling for tougher action on anti-social youths? During the riots back in London, you were the one who wanted water cannons and rubber bullets.”
“This was different. This was just some bored kid nosing around an empty house looking for a ghost,”
“You spoke to him?”
“Yeah, I chased him up this afternoon. I just wanted to make sure that he got home alright.”
“What did you think was going to happen to him in a police car?” She laughed, until she saw that he was deadly serious. “Jeez, Michael, this isn’t one of your novels, you know; this is real life and that imagination of yours might be the money maker, honey, but you’ve got to get a grip.”
“This wasn’t my imagination, Em. I saw the look in Quinn’s eyes, and it scared the shit out of me.”
“Babe.” She leant forward and touched his leg. “It’s okay to be happy here, you know. You do deserve to be happy. Stop picking at the corners and waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was never your fault, the accident, losing the baby.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Bullshit,” she stated with finality. “I know that you carry the guilt. I know that you believe it was your fault. I asked you to go to the store that night, and you didn’t. I could have waited but I didn’t want to. I wanted the fresh air. I wanted to stretch my legs. I left the apartment and someone lost control of a car; they mounted a sidewalk and killed our baby. That’s who we blame, not ourselves or each other.”
“But!”
“No buts,” she snapped viciously. “No buts, babe,” she added kindly as she stroked his face gently, feeling the rough stubble coarse under her soft skin. “I think we’ve found a perfect little slice of happiness here and everything’s going great guns. It’s a new start for us and a chance to be a family. So what if the local law enforcement gets a little rough to keep things perfect! You are the last person I’d expect to have liberal, lefty leanings when it comes to crime.”
“So what would you have me do?”
“Nothing, because there is nothing to be done. Enjoy the sunshine; write if it still makes you happy, retire if it doesn’t. Find a hobby, prepare for our baby, and be happy, Michael; that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, rubbing his head, wanting to believe that it was all just rattles in his own musings, knowing that he did have trouble in being happy and that he had a self-destructive streak a mile long. Maybe it was just his own vivid imagination that had witnessed the demonic glares of the large, town sheriff. Maybe he was overreacting again, and maybe he should just junk the book he was writing and go fishing.
“I’ve read your new book, Michael.”
Emily’s voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. He looked up guiltily.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m not cross. I knew that you wouldn’t be able to leave the idea alone once it had grown roots.”
“What did you think?” he asked warily.
“I thought two things. One that it was good, and two that the town would shit a collective brick if they read it,” she giggled disarmingly.
“You think that I should junk it?”
She looked at him seriously. “Yes, I do. I think that if you finish and publish this book, then we couldn’t live here anymore; it’s that simple.”
“Not if I changed…”
She raised a hand to stop him, “It doesn’t matter what you change, Michael, and you know that. We’d have to leave; even if they never asked us, I couldn’t stand the shame of our betrayal.”
“Did you read my notes?” he asked.
“Yes, yes I did and I’ve made an appointment for you with Dr Creed on Tuesday.”
“What for?” he asked, surprised.
“Michael, you said that you lost time when you cycled out to the woods. You don’t think that might be a medical matter?” she scolded him.
“What about Darnell’s story?”
“All that vague stuff about Casper’s dim and distant relatives, tales of devil worship and human sacrifice?” She laughed. “It’s not exactly Woodward and Bernstein style deep throat research is it?”
Michael could only shrug. His wife had always been his fiercest critic, and he was often irritated by her accurate questions and suggestions.
“Some lonely old guy - who, by your own admission, was half cut - telling old wives tales and gossiping. You’re really going to take these as research facts, Michael?”
Emily stood, hoisting her increasing weight up from the garden furniture, waving his helping hands away. “I’m going to take a swim, my dear,” she said grandly, smiling as she teased. “Why don’t you join me? We’ll make a little whoopee in the water.”
Despite all of Michael’s thoughts and doubts, he shut down the factory that ran in his mind, clocking the boys out and sending them home early for the night. He joined his wife in the pool. They loved each other in the water and dozed off after, happily holding hands as they lay on the grass beneath the hot sun.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“So tell me about the woman who was here before me - Jessica, I think you said her name was,” Emily asked.
She was sitting in the outdoor seating area of Baskin-Robbins with Sarah-Jane; they were both indulging in a treat after a long day at work.
The furniture was a wicker metallic blend and the chairs were soft and comfortable.
There was no subtle seating designed to push customers on quickly and the parasols offered a welcome shade.
Emily was manfully destroying a chocolate chip cookie dough sundae whilst Sarah-Jane picked lightly at a fat-free frozen yogurt.
She definitely felt that she was eating for two now. Her pregnancy was progressing without any problems.
By now she had managed to relax into the term and had decided to go with the flow. She knew that her hormones were a little out of whack, but she figured that it was Michael’s problem if she acted a little erratically from time to time. It was, however, the first time that she had seen her friend conscious about what she was eating.
Sarah-Jane was pleasantly cu
rvy as far as Emily could tell, but she now appeared to be taking a closer look at herself. Emily wondered if the good Dr Creed had anything to do with SJ’s sudden concerns over her appearance.
“What about her?” Sarah-Jane asked.
“I got the impression that Mrs. Thirlby didn’t like her much.”
Sarah-Jane shrugged in a noncommittal gesture, “I think that they used to get on well enough, and Jess certainly seemed happy here.”
“Where did she come from?”
“Somewhere near Boston, I think. Her husband, David, was some kind of investment banker I think. I didn’t really know her all that well; she was quite private.”
“And they lived in our house, out on Fairfax?”
“Yes, that I’m sure of. Jess was good friends with one of your neighbours, Janet.”
“It seems a bit weird, don’t you think? I take over her job and move into her old house?”
“Ah, you know Eden. Everything and everyone are connected in one way or another. Just one of the traits of a small town I guess.” Sarah-Jane pushed the half eaten yogurt away.
Emily noticed the movement. “So … tell me some more about Dr Creed.”
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Michael waited patiently as Dr Creed reviewed the paperwork with genuine interest. The office was private and the door was closed. Michael didn’t like the signs. “Damn it, doc, what’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing that I can see, Michael,” Samuel replied casually.
Michael never knew how worried he had been until Dr Creed said those magical words. He had been poked and prodded for most of the day; he’d had bloods taken and tested and he’d been scanned in an iron coffin that they called an MRI machine.
Michael had met Creed in his office that morning expecting a precursory examination by the doctor, to be followed by some appointments at the small town hospital in a few weeks’ time. He’d been astounded to find himself whisked off to the hospital’s full array of state-of-the-art facilities within minutes. His natural pessimism told him that the doc had immediately spotted some terrible symptom as soon as he’d walked through the door.
The battery of tests that he’d been subjected to was staggering, and it got to a point where he’d stopped asking questions about what they might be looking for.
“Nothing?” Michael asked incredulously.
“Nope. You could stand to drop your cholesterol a little, but even that doesn’t require medication yet. Just throw some salad in with those steaks when you BBQ.”
“Then what’s with all the tests?”
“Hey, I’m like a kid in a candy store here. Look at all the shit they got.” Creed leaned and whispered with a grin, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to piss off your wife and she demanded that I made sure.”
Michael smiled; he’d been on the end of more than a few of Emily’s rants when he was in the doghouse. “So what about the blackout the day that I went out to the woods?”
“You got me,” Creed stated succinctly.
“Is that your professional opinion?” Michael laughed.
“Hey, this world can be a freaky place, Mike. You know, some guy fell 47 floors from a skyscraper in New York and lived. Some other dude was paralyzed in a motorbike accident and one day he was bitten by a brown recluse spider and walked again. Every day weird things happen in the medical world that baffles us all, and often we never get an answer. All I can tell you is that medically speaking there is nothing wrong with you.” He leafed through the thick file of freshly prepared paperwork for emphasis. “Nothing that would explain a single, solitary episode of losing some time. Has it ever happened before?”
“No, never.”
“Then I wouldn’t worry too much about it, to be honest. Stress is the mother of all killers. Just relax a little, find a hobby.”
“Yeah, that’s what Em keeps telling me.”
“How are things at home?” Creed asked casually.
Michael waited for a flinch that never came. Normally, just the idea of talking openly - especially with another man - would set his British sensibilities into overdrive.
Men, especially British men, did not open up. But somehow Creed was easy to talk to. His manner was open and inviting and he gave off an aura of welcoming friendliness. He could see just why Emily had been so taken with the doctor.
“Things are good, great even, as long as everything is alright with the baby.” He suddenly looked up, panicked.
Creed’s face was relaxed and calm and he held up a settling hand. “Everything is fine with your wife and the baby. I always take good care of my best customers. I understand that Emily is a little out of kilter with her emotions.” The look on Michael’s face confirmed the fact.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Michael sighed. “She can go from out-of-control angry, to horny, to sad and back again before breakfast.”
“Well that’s the price that you have to pay, my friend, I’m afraid. You did the crime and now you’ve got to do the time. Emily’s got to carry the load for nine months before the joy of childbirth. If you have to put up with a few mood swings then I’d suggest that you’ve got the better side of the deal.”
“Is there anything wrong with Eden?” Michael suddenly asked, deliberately off topic, wanting to see a genuine reaction.
Creed’s expression changed to a creased and puzzled one. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this town; it’s a little too Stepford, don’t you think? Everything’s a little too perfect, a little too wonderful?”
“Let me get this right. You’re concerned that everything is too good here. I gotta say, Mike, that’s kind of a strange thing to worry about.”
Michael laughed aloud. “When you say it like that, I guess I do sound a little paranoid.”
“Just a touch.” Creed joined in with the laughter.
“How long have you been here, doc?”
“About two years now, and I have to say that after paying my dues in the emergency rooms of county hospitals around LA, I was ready for a change of pace.”
“Rough?”
“Man, you have no idea.” Creed’s natural sunny disposition darkened. “There came a morning when I just couldn’t face stitching up another gangbanger throwing his life away. The faces that came through the ER were just broken and soulless, Mike - dead men walking. There’s only so many times that a man can look into the eyes of that particular monster and stay sane.”
“So how did you end up here?”
“A drop of fortune from the heavens that fell like a warm rain when I was at my lowest.”
“Hey, that’s poetic. I might steal that,” Michael smiled.
“I saw an advert for this town; it looked like everything that I’d ever dreamed of. Warm friendly people, no crime, no murders, no patch up jobs, just nice people and unheard of facilities to play with.”
“Some people nicer than others?” Michael asked cryptically.
“What do you mean?”
“Hey, you know the temper that my wife’s got; she’ll kill me if I don’t bring home the juicy gossip on you and the fair Sarah-Jane.”
Michael watched amusedly as Dr Creed’s reddening cheeks told him everything that Emily wished to know.
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Thom Bray dug through the box. The lighting in the attic wasn’t the best and the box was fusty. Damp odours filled his nose with unpleasant wafts as he turned the books over, looking for one in particular.
He held a rubber-handled torch in his mouth, using the thin beam to differentiate between titles. The taste was bitter and reminded him of the fear that the big sheriff had put in him. His senses had been as taut as cranked wire when he’d pushed open that bathroom door.
He’d taken the keys from his mom’s office as she worked for Casper Christian’s Real Estate Company and she often kept unwise items at home.
The house had been the scene for Janet Beaumont’s suicide and had been empty ever since.
He was a fourteen year old with a borderline
obsession with the macabre and it didn’t take a genius to put those two facts together. His room was a shrine to horror; posters lined the walls with faces of death and his shelves were stuffed with books from contemporary authors.
His DVD collection was filled with many volumes that his mother wrinkled her nose in displeasure over and a secret drawer that she would have blown a gasket over had she looked inside.
He didn’t consider his to be an unhealthy love for the genre. He didn’t paint his face white and fanaticize about gunning down his fellow students in a rampage.
His interest was simply borne out of a connection to his father. It was a passion that they had shared, up until he had inexplicably walked out on them, and his mother still refused to even speak his name in the house.
When he discovered that his mom had the keys to the suicide house he had been overcome with a desire to step inside the room that had witnessed death’s icy fingers.
He had not expected to see anything until he had stood outside the bathroom in the dark and deserted house.
He had driven his mind into a state of imaginative frenzy until he could stand it no longer. When he’d reached out and opened the door, he had been fully expecting to see the bloated corpse in the bathtub, reaching out to drag him to hell.
He had actually convinced himself that he was indeed seeing Mrs. Beaumont when the massive, powerful hand had clamped down hard on his shoulder from behind and he had screamed like a girl.
He shuddered as he remembered the huge sheriff bearing down on him, the real life fear suddenly expunging the imagined terrors of his mind.
He’d expected to receive a scolding of sorts and he wasn’t unduly concerned as the people of Eden had been unwaveringly friendly and nice since his arrival in town.
The sheriff might look big and scary, but he was bound to be a pussycat. His view had rapidly altered when the huge paw had squeezed his narrow shoulder with painful and malicious strength.
The big cop had damn near dragged him down the stairs faster than he could walk and all the while the big man had a frozen grin that scared Thom badly. He had watched and read enough fictitious scares to be scared in the real world.