by A. I. Nasser
“I can stop coming here if it bothers you,” the man said, his gaze firm, his tired eyes locked onto hers.
“It doesn’t bother me,” Joanne said. “It makes me wonder. What’s your deal? You’re not broke, or at least not yet, so what are you doing here?”
“I’m enjoying a drink, alone,” the man mumbled. “At least, I was.”
Joanne eyed him before sighing and shaking her head with a smile. “How about this? I’ll keep the drinks coming, on the house, and you tell me what’s got you in such a mess.”
The man studied her for a moment before downing his entire drink and setting it down, pushing the glass slightly towards her. Joanne gestured for a refill, and as she waited, she matched the man’s stare with a cocked smile.
He looked down at his fresh glass and up at her again. “You certainly make a compelling proposition,” he said.
“What can I say, I’m curious.”
The man clicked his tongue and lit another cigarette, this time taking a long drag and keeping it between his fingers. “Not everything is meant to be known,” he said. “You know what they say about curiosity.”
“I’m past that,” Joanne said, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. “Everyone’s got a story, and I have a feeling yours will be very interesting.”
“And you don’t think there are stories that shouldn’t be told?” the man asked, taking another drag. “Stories that should be left in chests, up in the attic where no one can find them?”
Joanne shook her head. “So? I kept my end of the bargain,” she said. “Besides, maybe it will do you some good to share the burden that’s obviously weighing you down.”
The man seemed to mull it over before he sighed and nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said. “If you insist, although I’d like to warn you, some things can never be forgotten, even if you want to. After I’m done telling you what you want to know, you’re going to wish that weren’t true.”
“Try me,” Joanne said. “Besides, I doubt it’s worse than most of the things I hear from people who pass through here.”
The man looked at her seriously. “I highly doubt it.”
***
“I first started working in Melington twenty years ago.
I was a fresh young doctor at the time, just got my specialization, a pediatrician who wanted to work in a small town where the stress that came with the big city did not exist. I was naïve, I guess, but at the time, it seemed like a pretty good idea. Besides, a small town like Melington, what could possibly be difficult about it?
Back then, Melington was nothing like it is today. The hospital was still new, and what is now Downtown Melington, well, that was all there was to the town. It’s funny how much could change in so little time. But then again, Daniel Cole was chairman, and the Council was pushing for change faster than you can snap your fingers.
I never understood it at first. Why would anyone destroy the charm of the place, change how peaceful it was? It was like the Council wanted to turn the town into a metropolis of sorts, as if there weren’t enough big cities in the world. It made no sense to me, and to this day, I laugh every time I think about how confusing it was. If only I had known what was being planned, I probably would have packed my things and sped on out of there.
You’d laugh if I told you I was one of the people rallying against all this. We weren’t many, and I wasn’t a townie yet; hadn’t been there long enough to earn it. Still, the town felt like home, the people like family, and I didn’t want that to change.
I was barely four years in when the Chairman came to see me. It was a little strange. Not the fact that he visited the hospital; no, he did that a lot, as well as the other Council members. They had a keen interest in how well the hospital was going and how much we were expanding.
In those first four years, the town had pushed growth so much that neighboring towns had begun sending the severe cases to us instead of the city. We were well-equipped. God knows how the Council got the money, and the hospital could practically handle anything that came its way. We even had consultants from the city coming in on certain days of the week to lend us their expertise; and it was only a matter of time before they decided to gather their life and move into town.
It was just the way things were, I guess.
But yeah, the strangest thing about Daniel Cole’s visit was that he had come to see me, specifically. I was called on by name, and that should have been a red flag on its own, if I hadn’t been the naïve young doctor I was. When he offered me a promotion, talking about how the Council oversaw who ran what in Melington Hospital, I jumped for it. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. There was talk of how well I was doing, how much I had changed the hospital to the better, how my input was vital and appreciated.
All the words my ego needed to hear, so Daniel Cole could wrap me around his finger.
I was allowed to live the glory of my achievements for about a year. One year, and he was knocking on my door again, asking me to join him for a Council meeting where we would discuss the future of Melington Hospital.
I wish I had never gone to that meeting.”
The man paused, his eyes lowered as he sipped from his drink, putting out his cigarette with a sigh. Joanne watched him silently, unwillingly to break his stride, waiting for him to continue without pushing. She had refilled his glass twice so far, and she had a feeling she would be doing so a lot more before the night was over.
“Melington has secrets. Many secrets actually. Secrets that go as far back as the founding families. Secrets no one wants known, and the Council would do anything to make sure it stayed that way.
There are rumors, you see, about death and betrayal and monsters under your bed and behind your closet doors. There are stories people tell their children to scare them into eating their lunch and not watching too much television. I always thought these stories were amusing, pretty much like Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny, until that meeting.
That’s when I found out the nightmares were true.
The founding families had done something terrible, you see. Long ago, before Melington was anything more than a few houses surrounded by farmland, the founding families had condemned a man to die for a crime he had not committed. They burned him alive, and when he came back for them and their children, he came with a vengeance.
I know that look on your face. I didn’t believe it either when they first told me, but I played along. Mainly because I thought if I didn’t, I’d lose everything the Council had given me. I didn’t want that. I was enjoying my new position too much. I used it to make my friends jealous and my family proud, and if a bunch of men and women wanted me to believe there was some curse bestowed upon them and their own, then I would nod my head and smile.
It was what they wanted that bothered me. Blood, they said. They wanted samples from children, especially newborns, and explained that it had something to do with some sort of blood binding. They said the only reason their children were safe was because they were offering up the children of others. It was crazy, and I won’t lie and say the thought of skipping town didn’t cross my mind. But, like I said, I was arrogant and proud, and they had already made the whole deal sweet, far before asking for any of this.
So, I did as they asked, and that’s when everything changed.
I remember the first child clearly. The couple were a lovely pair from a town ten miles out, and I had fallen in love with them almost immediately. The woman reminded me of my sister, and I took a personal interest in their care. When I delivered their child, I cried right along with them, as if the child were my own.
That night, the Sheriff came to me and asked for the blood sample. I had forgotten all about my agreement with the Council, and the disappointed look on the Sheriff’s face scared me. I thought that in my own excitement, I had completely ignored the hand that fed me. I panicked and did the one thing I could think of. I gave him the child’s blood sample.
To this day, nothing h
urts me as much as the first one. Over the years, there have been many offerings, many samples taken, many children disappearing. I had grown numb to it all, especially after I had voiced my anger and the Council had seen to it that I was under constant surveillance. Still, that first time haunts me. I never forget it.
I had been just as confused, when the next day, the child I had just delivered disappeared. Right out of the hospital, and no one had seen anything. The Sheriff was there, making sure that no mention of a missing child ever made it out. Daniel Cole called me, told me to fake a death certificate and tell the parents the news, giving me one bullshit excuse after the other about how this would ruin the hospital, and that I was responsible for it all.
It was a dreadful experience, and it hit me like a sledgehammer. I took a few weeks off, unable to live with myself, haunted by the looks of that wonderful couple as I gave them the news. I felt terrible, disgusted at what I was doing, but unable to do anything about it.
I’d like to say it got easier, but it didn’t. After I returned, I was asked for another sample, and again a child went missing. And then another. And another. When it was obvious the Council had not been lying, when it was clear what I had to do, they had already taken precautions. The Sheriff visited me and made sure I stayed quiet, and I still have the scars to prove it. My family was threatened, my career was at risk, and every move I made was followed by scrutinizing eyes that were there to make sure I did not steer away from the path they wanted me to walk on.
It was only last winter when I finally got the courage to run away and leave it all behind. I have been running since.”
Joanne watched the man empty his sixth glass of the night and wave to the bar for more. She stared at him in wonder, confused by his story and unable to decide whether she believed him or not. It was ludicrous, like an urban legend, and a part of her felt like he was just leading her on so he could get his free drinks.
But when he looked up, his eyes meeting hers, she knew it was all true. Those were the eyes of a man that had seen too much and had survived to tell the tale. He looked like he was weighed down by guilt and sorrow, and it was obvious he was drinking himself to an early grave. It was as if he had just been waiting to share what he knew with someone willing to listen, and Joanne could see the gratitude in his eyes because she had given him that chance.
“When the news was on,” Joanne said, “those tears weren’t tears of sorrow, were they?”
The man shook his head slowly. “Tears of joy,” he said solemnly. “My only hope is that this will be the end of the Council’s horrors, and that somebody would finally stop what they’re doing to those children.”
Joanne sat back and sighed, her eyes locked on the man as he lit a cigarette and crumbled the empty pack. He took a large gulp from his glass before he put the cigarette out and stood up. She watched him pull his coat on and set his hat neatly on his head. They looked at each other for a long time.
“Thank you,” the man said. “You truly do not know how grateful I am.”
Joanne nodded, her face expressionless as the man turned to leave. “By the way,” she said, stopping him. “I never got your name.”
The man smiled weakly. “It’s because I never gave it,” he said. “Good night.”
And with that he walked out of the bar forever.
***
“Joanne Pullici?”
Joanne turned around and gazed at the woman in a two-piece suit standing on the other side of the bar.
“Yes?”
“My name is Detective Brians,” the woman said, flashing her badge.
Joanne looked at it and frowned. “A long way from Connecticut, Detective?”
“Further than I’m comfortable with, yes,” Brians replied. “I wanted to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
Joanne shrugged, gesturing at the empty bar. It was still early in the afternoon, and the guests wouldn’t start trickling in for a few more hours. “Don’t have too much on my hands right now.”
Brians smiled politely and pulled a photograph out of her back pocket, pushing it across the bar to Joanne. “Do you know this man?”
Joanne looked at the photograph and fought to maintain a poker face as she looked at the face of the man she had spent last night listening to. “Can’t say I do,” she finally said.
“Funny” Brians replied. “I was just at your bar manager’s apartment. He said the man’s a regular here.”
Joanne shrugged. “A lot of people are regulars here, Detective. Maybe Derryl knows a few I don’t.”
“Do you usually leave the bar to him?”
“It’s why my father hired him,” Joanne said. “To manage. I’m usually in the back office.”
Brians smiled at Joanne, a smile that screamed how much she didn’t believe her, and pocketed the photograph. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
Joanne sighed. “What is this about?”
“The man in the photograph, his name is Doctor Victor fanning. Have you been watching the news lately? Riots out in a small town called Melington?”
Joanne nodded.
“Well, there’s been a lot going on there, and we have a feeling that Doctor Fanning could help us piece a lot of the information together.”
“Why don’t you ask the Sheriff?”
Brians shook her head. “The woman’s missing, and the new Sheriff is too green to be of any help. Fanning was one of our best leads.”
“I’m sorry, Detective. I hope you find him.”
Brains chuckled. “No, no, that’s not it,” she said. “We’ve found him. That’s why I’m here.”
Joanne felt a chill run down her spine.
“I know you’re lying to me,” Brians leaned in and whispered. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. Your bar manager said that you were the last person Fanning talked to before he left here last night. I just want to know what he told you.”
Joanne leaned in as well so her face was only inches away from that of the Detective’s. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she said.
“I would,” Brians replied. “Only, the good doctor put a bullet through his head last night, so I’m pretty sure he won’t have anything to say to me.”
Joanne’s eyes went wide as she stood upright and stepped away from the bar.
“So, what do you say, Joanne?” the Detective winked at her. “Anything you want to share?”
Joanne bit her lip as she tried to think of her next move. The man’s death took her by surprise, and although she knew it wasn’t her fault, she felt as if she had been the one to pull the trigger. If only she hadn’t coaxed him into talking, he might still be in the same corner, sipping his drink and staring off into space.
“Some things can never be forgotten, Detective,” she finally said, remembering Fanning’s words, “even if you want to. After I tell you what you want to know, you’re going to wish that wasn’t true.”
Brians smiled. “Try me.”
* * *
Copper’s Keeper
Slaughter Series Book 3
Prologue
Every head turned when the woman walked into the small diner at the edge of the truck stop outside Melington.
If the guests were asked what it was that had drawn them to her, they would not have been able to give a direct answer. Some might say it was the long, jet-black hair that fell in waves around her shoulders. Others would tell you it was the piercing blue eyes that seemed to bore right into your soul and read you like an open book.
For Peter Anderson, it was the smile.
Standing inside the diner door, her red dress hugging her body as she captivated the imagination of every man staring at her, the woman’s smile drew him in like a moth to a flame. He had never seen beauty like that before, and her very presence in this forsaken little place made her even more attractive. Their eyes locked for a second, and her smile widened as she gracefully made her way towards him.
Peter’s jaw almost dropped as the w
oman made a beeline for him, and he felt goose bumps break out across his skin as she gently touched his arm and sat in the stool beside him. He could already feel dozens of eyes staring at him in envy, every man in the diner wondering why on God’s green earth she had chosen him.
Peter didn’t understand it. Between his oversized belly, oily skin and awkwardly cut hair, he couldn’t imagine why this walking embodiment of Aphrodite would even want to look at him.
Yet, look at him she did, and her smile made him block out the world around him as if they were the only two people in the diner. He could not pull his eyes away from her, and despite the inner voice that was screaming at him to say something, anything, he found himself at a loss for words. All he could do was stare.
“My name’s Victoria,” the woman said, giggling at the way he was looking at her. Peter could see she was used to being the center of attention, and the fact that every man in here was undressing her with their eyes didn’t seem to faze her one bit. The confidence made her even more appealing.
“Peter,” he stammered, running a sweaty hand through his unkempt hair. He could feel his heartbeat quickening, and the way she was looking at him only confirmed the fact that his infatuation was mirrored all over his face.
“I need to get somewhere, Peter,” the woman said, softly, seductively, almost as if she were whispering her words directly into his ear. “Do you think you can help me out?”
Peter gulped, a lump in his throat the size of Texas threatening to suffocate him. “I can try,” he said. “Where do you want to go?”
“Mansfield.”
Peter nodded, forgetting that driving East would be in the opposite direction of his destination. “Towards Rhode Island?” he asked.