It took a moment to sink in before a good laugh was had. "This? I was scared of this??" Jessie self-mocked. "Oh no, I think I might do my taxes. Someone take it away before it compels me with its twisted secrets."
"Easy now, Jessie," Ramone warned playfully. "It’s safer in your hands than mine. I would have drawn attack planes and helicopters shooting at a stick figure representation of my third period gym teacher from high school."
"Assistant Coach Torgelson Dreyfuss," Simon said with a smirk. "Ramone, don’t forget the importance of regular dental hygiene AND good passing plays." It was a fairly decent impersonation of their decidedly stodgy P.E. teacher. Ramone pointed and laughed some more.
Jessie smiled and casually rummaged further in the case, but found nothing. "Well, I guess we’re no wiser to what they were up tonight. Maybe it’s for the best, I dunno- oh, food’s here. Lemme move this." He slid the suitcase back under the table as the elderly waitress approached with a full tray, no longer directly looking at it when a separate notebook slid out from behind the stashed legal notepad. It wound up spilling out between his legs onto the tiled floor. "Agh... just put the food down, I’ll get it," he mumbled, a little flustered.
He leaned down as the old waitress did her best to ignore him scraping along the floor with an arm constrained by a seat and table ratio being too tight. When he rose up again, he had the notebook from under the table, and the waitress had completed her task. While Simon and Ramone looked over dinner readily, Jessie found his appetite put on hold just a little longer.
"Hey, your fish is ready. What are you staring at? Did they scribble a phone number down or something?" Ramone asked before tearing into his chicken wrap like some bear awakening from hibernation.
"No. No, not at all. Take a look..." Jessie trailed. He turned the notebook to the back cover and demonstrated it before them.
Ramone raised a brow but continued to eat. "What about it? Looks like a bunch of lines or someone's geometry homework. Maybe a maze?" He didn't know what he was looking at.
It was passed over to Simon next. It looked like something he’d seen once, but he couldn’t place where specifically. "This is some kind of, um, occult thing?" He looked at a series of circles drawn onto the page with interconnecting lines running from each. There was a lot highly compressed stylized writing, but in a language he couldn't describe. It looked very arcane and precise though. Further pages in the back revealed more of the writing. The symbols consisted of simple shapes like half formed squares at different angles, circles variously filled and unfilled, triangles, and dot arrangements mathematically scattered throughout.
Simon looked back at Jessie with greater seriousness as he handed the notebook back, but he didn’t quite match the perplexed expression Jessie had. "What does it all mean?" Simon asked, shaking his head.
Jessie paused for a long time, thinking of what to say to his friends. "It means I’ve got extra homework this week. I’m gonna have to research this one, guys. But that image of the circles with the lines in the beginning? That’s a representation of the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, if I’m not mistaken." He paused. "Not that this explains anything... We don’t know if this was the same briefcase they were playing with or if what's inside this one is just a copy of something distinctive. Or why they kept passing it back and forth while doing nothing with it. I mean, what's the point of any of this? Ehh... I think I’ll have my food to go when the waitress comes back. I'm not feeling as hungry as I was before."
"Is it that bad?" Ramone asked, knowing nothing of the topic.
"It's hard to say, especially since we have no idea what's going on. Not outright, I'd guess, but... I think I need to check my contact on the forums about this one. Among other things."
Ramone sighed. "Yeah, maybe we should just as well wrap this night up. I gotta clean out Peterson’s Fairlane before he gets back tomorrow. Talk about mud... I did not bring the right vehicle for tonight. Still, she drives like a dream, doesn't she?"
"Works for me, too." said Simon. "I’m gonna take a nap and do the circulars tomorrow. Hopefully the rain won’t pick up again."
"Actually, I heard quite the opposite," Jessie said as he motioned for the waitress to box their food to go. "In fact, I believe the word 'buckets' was being used."
Simon, being generally polite, did his best to suppress the explosion an f-bomb in the ears of the older clientele. "Fffffffff-*cough*-antastic," he salvaged with strain. Ramone patted him on the back. He knew from past conversations that some circular distribution routes were walking only. Some vocal people got real angry when those coupons wound up only on the blacktop by their car. Wrapped dry in plastic or otherwise, they just didn’t want to go get it. It was just that much farther to the trash bin. So difficult, the life of a modern suburbanite.
Later on, Ramone dropped everyone off.
"Jessie," he said, "Keep us posted if you come across anything. But don’t let what happened tonight get to you. I’m telling you, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known and you didn’t intend for it to happen like that."
Jessie closed the car door behind him and gazed back ruefully. "That’s easy for you to say, Ra. You weren’t the one who did it. And yeah, I couldn’t have known. But suppose you wrecked Peterson’s Fairlane on a deer running across the road, one you couldn’t have known was there... do you think you still wouldn’t be responsible for driving the car?"
"Come on, that’s different. You can’t compare-"
"I have and I did. All the well wishing in the world isn’t going to erase some dead guy being out there tonight because I decided to pursue some frivolous advice. What if one of you got killed because I did something like that, unintentionally? Would the other one of you overlook it? Would the people you know rationally write it off for sake of a clear mind?"
Ramone sighed and shook his head, sitting back in his seat. He realized he wasn’t equipped to fight Jessie about this at this time or hour- and he wasn’t sure that he should.
"Look. You need to feel like shit about this for a while, go ahead. You’re entitled to do so. I’m not saying you can’t or even shouldn’t. But that asshole had a gun and it was going to be him or you, regardless of which of us was even supposed to be there," Ramone said with a slight snarl. "I don't regret seeing you here and now versus one of those pricks."
Jessie stared for several moments. He looked at the wet sidewalk outside of his little basement apartment, briefcase in hand, and dimly nodded. "Mebbe," he grunted out. "Alright. I’ll see ya."
Ramone straightened out in his seat and resumed driving to the backroads for Simon’s house. "That guy, man. That guy." Ramone sighed, turning up the metal on the radio a little. "I’d view any man I’m friends with this long as my brother- but damn, he gets under my skin sometimes. Argues about every-feckin'-little-thing, you know? Yeah, I get he’s depressed. I’d be too, if I wasted some poor slob. I’m glad I never did. But really... what were we dealing with tonight? Humans... or something that looked like human? This night was not natural in some way, I just don't know how."
Simon listened passively, assembling his thoughts about the matter, but he let Ramone continue on. He knew well enough when his friends needed to rant. Ramone continued. "Look, I’m not real versed in things like this. We’ve done enough midnight runs to convince me something is out there. I think I can handle that. Or so I’d like. That’s as far as it goes for me. I don’t know what in the flying fuck we ran into tonight. But I can accept the possibility that there isn’t an easy explanation for it, any more than there is a sane rational reason concerning mismatched left shoe wearing CIA alien reptoids playing grab ass with a briefcase in the middle of an abandoned military base at midnight."
"Reptoids?" Simon snickered. "Where did that come from?"
"Ehh. I don’t know, just go with it. Sounds like something Jessie would say. Anyway, the point being, he thinks he accidentally killed a human. How would it argue to him to consider whatever we dealt with tonight was not human?
It was something pretending to be one, like... what’s-the-word... a doppelganger. Sure, that doesn’t explain much in the long run. And it's definitely a leap in logical conclusion. But whatever they were, they sure as shit didn’t have a problem pointing a pistol at us and pulling the trigger on you. In my book? That makes whatever defense a man kicks up a helluva lot more justifiable. That tire iron I had in my hand wasn't just for show. I would have unconditionally 'caved in' one of them."
"We could go back there now and see if the body’s still there," Simon said, playing devil’s advocate for reasons he wasn’t even certain of. He really didn't want to go back and immediately regretted even bring it up.
Ramone considered it, however briefly. "Ahh, no thanks. I’ve had enough of this day. We got lucky. Period. Besides, hard to say if any locals or enforcement heard the gun shots over the storm, or if those nutters came back for their friend- if they even left him in the first place. All I know is they had the key to the front door of a military base that hasn’t seen use in a good five years. It’s quite possible I don’t want to know any further on this one."
"I’ve always found ignorance worse than the unknown," Simon offered sagely.
"Funny," Ramone quipped. "I’ve always found not being able to sleep soundly before a work day to be pretty bad. Catch me?"
"Yep. Maybe we’ll hear more about this another time. It is getting late and I am beat." nodded Simon. Under his shades, his eyes were heavy. There had been enough today. Ramone was right about that much. Maybe for the entire week.
They pulled up to Simon’s dirt lot and Simon stepped out, slamming the door behind him. Ramone opened the window. "You gonna be fine tonight? Not gonna go all haunted on me like Jessie? I don’t know why he does this stuff sometimes." In this case, he very much knew, but his thoughts were settled elsewhere on it not having been Jessie's fault, while Jessie's personalized view point said otherwise.
The sideburned young man in shades gave a passing gesture. "I’ll be fine. Too tired to care much more. But I’ll mention this about Jess, Ramone. That conspiracy and paranormal forum he follows that you tease him about?"
"Yeah?"
"He’s actually a skeptic. Jessie believes there’s an explanation to things, all things. He’s backwoods like the rest of us, but he is in his heart, there's a scientist and investigator. That forum? They don’t like him much from what I understand."
"Really?" Ramone seemed genuinely unaware despite having known Jessie for years.
Simon nodded. "He shoots down whatever they think they saw. Facts, psychology, whatever. He makes an argument, like he always does, about every suspicious looking thing and event. Just because he can’t explain something doesn’t mean he believes a pixie did it. The reality is, Ramone, he goes there and we go with him... because he wants to believe. He wants to be proven wrong. He might have a lot of denial or at least the piss in him to argue until he’s red in the face, but he wants to see something more. More than all of this." Simon made an encompassing gesture with his hands.
"Son of a gun, Simon. You’re serious. That straight laced bastard is trying to see what he thinks everyone else is seeing?"
"He wants his own opinion. He only trusts us to go with him, y’see? He doesn’t trust other people’s opinions about much. He has to see for himself. He doesn't care a whole lot for opinions he can't justify through his own examination. It's like if you brought him a clock and told him it doesn't work because of whatever you think the reason is... he's gotta open it and make sense of it on his own."
Ramone seemed a little humbled. "Why did he never tell me this? I’m his buddy, too."
Simon smiled somberly. He could sometimes see the fault lines in other people’s personalities. What defined them. And where. People who were more engaging than himself. He knew his friends well. They talked often. Sometimes to each other or just at each other. Simon always listened.
"Because you’re like him in some ways as much as you two are night and day."
Ramone just blinked, his expression suggesting he wasn’t sure what to make of that. "If you say so. Well, before I go, you’ve been pretty quiet tonight. For the most part. What do you think about all of this? What were we dealing with?"
Simon looked down the far end of the road, which grew with fog as late night chill and moisture interacted. He pursed his lips.
"I would say, I’m not certain either way. I’m just along for the ride." Simon then grinned widely.
Ramone gave him a dull unsatisfied look and threw his hands up. "Fine! Be a fence sitter. This is like every time we order pizza and you give that shrug instead of saying what topping you want. Well... least you don’t have the nerve to complain when we get you anchovies, ha ha."
Simon chuckled. It was true and he found it amusing. "Drive safe, Ra. Tell Peterson I said hi."
"Will do. And you tell that spunky lil redhead tomorrow likewise. Have a good one, Charlie Brown." Ramone chuckled and drove off, with the sound of Faith No More playing inside as the window closed. And the vehicle vanished down the road in a dull roar.
Simon flinched. It was Saturday. She’d be out there. He knew he better get some rest. John Lennon shades only cover bags under the eyes so well. It was another day in Dresden Port. And people lived their small lives.
CHAPTER 4
True to the prediction of his gadget fixing friend, Simon awoke discontentedly with a certain sound in his ears. Driving in the rain was one thing. Walking in it carrying a bulky cloth bag filled with plastic wrapped shopping deals for other town's stores was another. It was boring, physical draining, and didn’t pay any more than a driving route. That said, if one doesn’t work, one doesn’t eat. His first order of business was to dump the bucket catching the rain leaking into his house. His second order was to do a little raining of his own in the bathroom. With that in mind, it was time for Simon to get his ducks in a row for the day.
Just under an hour later, he was on road with a loaded van filled with coupon circulars. Whether he got it done in three hours or eight, the pay was despicably the same. People didn’t traditionally tip for this payload either, not like those newspaper deliveries. Although even that was fading out in the modern day, with people getting their news online.
The walking route was a good way to get a sense about town, however. Dresden Port had more to it than just a semi-glorious past as an important shipping hub. Yes, it was a backwater, backwash, less than wealthy piney town by everyone’s standards. And most of it was just surrounded by the Pine Barrens instead of being in it. It probably looked greener in centuries past when the Brierberry Canal was normally filled outside of rainstorms. Days like these were more the exception than the rule.
Pineys, at least the ones from Dresden Port, were a proud people. They didn’t need a lot, always seeming to live a couple decades behind whatever century they were in. They liked the quiet, the scent of those titular trees everywhere, and doing their own thing. People rarely moved in and similarly, rarely left. Dresden Port, especially off Main Street, was a place where people lived while few outsiders could honestly determine what anyone actually did. If anything Dresden Port seemed to attract and breed salt of the earth style people who were a bit too weird for the Midwestern states, but not metropolitan enough for the conforming scene of other places in NJ. It was their own little niche, desired by no one but them. So it remained what it was; whatever the hell that was.
Everyone here had some sort of quirk, typically speaking. And there was no easy way to tell what it was until you interacted with that particular person. Not living in one of the more densely popular burgs of New Jersey by a great margin (the population was said to be a paltry four thousand plus, which is pretty insignificant for most anywhere in NJ) let people relax here more. People weren’t stressed out heavily. A lot of them didn’t commute and the parkway was something experienced once or twice a year to see grandma or a cousin upstate. People were more or less friendly here (Jessie aside). It wasn’t uncommon to get invited over f
or a barbecue by the guy down the lane you might have waved at once or twice driving by. Good folk, really. Just, weird.
Simon, as he got around quite often, was at least familiar with the more obvious residential oddities. Down on Cooper Ave, there was the Ferkulsons, Tim and Kathleen. Tim was a heavy set man in his fifties who carried with him the look of an eternal tourist. White socks in suspenders with sandals, Elvis Costello glasses, and a Hawaiian T-shirt. He was an insurance adjuster. Kathleen was his Midwestern trophy wife who by comparison, seemed to live in the early eighties. Blond poofy permed hair worn in a stretchy sash, squat build forced into a pair of tight pink spandex leggings with leopard print heels. Pink flamingos guarded their sandlot of a lawn and reproduced yearly it seemed.
Over on Alvin Drive, there was the cowboy hat wearing Roy Cohen and local human curiosity Buck Tanner. Roy, you’d never see at home. He was no older than Simon, but he spent most of his time in the non-denominational graveyard with a huge decanter of mixed orange juice and vodka, making his Stetson the least out of place thing about him. He’d put filled shot glasses of screwdriver out on the tombstones for anyone who wanted to join him. What was he doing? He claimed it was the best sunrise and sunset to be had in town. He wasn’t depressed or anything- he was almost too friendly. Roy usually drank alone, mildly buzzed if he was ever spoken to. Of course, that depended on the time of day. The pitcher didn't stay full forever, after all.
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