Chief Wescott still maintained and drove an original stock, 1980 mint-green Buick Skylark. He proudly (and then not so proudly) owned it since its premiere on some long-abandoned showroom floor. Age had not worn anymore kindly to the car than it did its driver. The vehicle’s vinyl seats were tattered away to their foam-lined innards, particularly noticeable on the driver’s side, where a few inconveniently placed springs popped through the warped cushion. The car’s exterior did not exactly spin heads for the right reasons either. Its paint had dulled, chipped, or faded to rusty spots across its entire iron and chrome surface.
Since Wescott rarely fretted about his own image, he insisted any car worth owning required an engine that started every day without compromise. In this regard, the Ol’ Lime, as it was affectionately nicknamed by Wescott, proved to be a mechanical marvel. Outside of refreshing the car’s oil, he could not remember when he last had it serviced. Its engine’s reliability, however, could not be truly assessed by this sole achievement because Wescott rarely operated it for more than three miles per day. Tonight, the Ol’ Lime needed to perform significantly better to avoid tainting its infallible record.
Wescott and Evans drove along Route 51 at a cautious pace. As they wound through the countryside, each had noticed portions of snow masking the narrow roadway. Surprisingly, Wescott navigated the car as though it came equipped with the modern accoutrements of an all-terrain vehicle. The Ol’ Lime sputtered and nearly stalled a few times during its ascent of the surrounding hillside, but more often than not it proved that youth and beauty did not always account for an object’s worth.
When it came to spouting nostalgia in Glen Dale’s realm, no one conducted the self-prescribed duties more often or willingly than the former chief. Every bend in the landscape or seemingly insignificant object jutting from the environs inspired Wescott’s memory. With such an onslaught of recollections, stories flowed from the man’s jabbering jaw like stagnant water over a riverbank. He prattled on through a series of forgettable anecdotes that were probably more exhilarating if left unspoken. Even the most frenzied listener would have been lulled into an apathetic stupor once the old chief’s mouth started to reeve into overdrive.
Despite an inevitable onset of boredom, Evans kept his chin tilted high enough to prevent himself from drifting to sleep during the thirty-minute drive. He suspected Wescott’s reminiscent blather would have eventually delivered them to the place they searched for. As the road unfurled to a tapestry of pine trees set alongside the pavement, the former chief shivered at the notion of reciting an incident that stupefied him for so many years.
“We’re getting closer,” said Wescott in a whispery voice as he slowed the Ol’ Lime to nearly a standstill along the roadway. Since snow camouflaged most of the land’s markers, Wescott had trouble locating the area he sought. Luckily, Route 51 was not a frequently traveled road, especially after nightfall in conditions that were less than favorable for commuters.
Evans smeared the fogged windshield with a swipe of his hand in order to inspect the surroundings more vigilantly. From the doctor’s vantage point within the car, he tentatively observed the pristine surroundings on both sides of the road. Nothing seemed disturbed here for many years.
“Are you sure we’re in the right spot, Chief?” Evans questioned.
“As sure as I’ll ever be,” Wescott uttered reflexively. “Hard to believe that ten years have gone by already.” Wescott paused his thoughts briefly to savor the woodland’s serenity. His eyes then squinted beyond the car’s headlights, almost as if he was staring squarely into the Sun. “It wasn’t always so quiet,” he mused. “I guess all the hoopla runs thin over time, but up until I retired six years ago, folks still ventured out here sniffing around for clues.”
“Similar to what we’re doing now,” Evans reminded his paunchy companion. Evans still cast his vision on the untouched expanses of snow trailing down both sides of the two-lane road. “I wonder why they all lost interest in this place.”
Wescott appeared increasingly confounded as he pondered the possibilities. In predictable fashion, he offered the most obvious response. “People want to be entertained, Jack. Even when they’re searching for something that might do them harm, if nothing ever happens to remind them of the original incident, they soon forget about it.”
“But there’s only been one incident, right, Chief?”
“As far as I know.”
“You never found anything else—other than what’s in the police report?”
Wescott massaged his temples as if he was trying to stimulate his brain’s memory receptors. The former chief seemed challenged when asked about the details of the incident. As clearly as all of his other stories were conveyed, the old chief’s hazy account of such facts caused the doctor some concern. “It’s funny how you can’t remember the biggest thing that’s ever happened in this town,” mentioned Evans skeptically.
“Let me tell you something, Jack. On the night of that family’s disappearance, I did everything humanly possible to make certain we’d uncover the truth. When our initial search parties came up empty, neighboring townships joined in on the hunt.”
“And you relished the hunt,” Evans reminded Wescott of his earlier words. “For better or for worse, Chief, that missing family represented a chance for your little town to capture the world’s spotlight.”
Wescott’s hands clenched the car’s steering wheel tighter as he considered the doctor’s words. He did not like the fact that Evans possessed the ability to analyze his motivations with an uncanny degree of accuracy. “It’s downright shameful on how folks get famous feeding off the hardship of others,” Wescott muttered. “But I suppose we can never escape our own vanity. No one among us can say they never dreamed of being a hero.”
Evans understood the infirmities that plagued the human soul better than most. For many, a promise of recognition—no matter how fleeting—proved to be an intoxicating agent. Once motivated by an insatiable quest for self-importance, every man unlocked his conscience to the influence of folly. In this way, Evans believed the residents of Glen Dale had been compelled to embrace an improbable premise as a reality. And when enough people believed in something, no matter how inconceivable it was, the odds of its implausibility greatly diminished in their minds.
“When you looked for the Hayden family, what did you really expect to find out there?” Evans asked Wescott as he gestured towards the pine trees. “Were you searching for bodies or perhaps for something that defied explanation?”
“Evidence of any kind would’ve suited me fine.” Wescott shuddered before issuing his next rhetorical question. “How do you tell a seven-year-old boy that his family has just completely vanished?”
“I still haven’t done that,” Evans confessed.
“I’m gonna be honest with you, Jack. I never hinted to the media that anything related to the Haydens’ disappearance was connected to an alien encounter. Personally, I’ve never seen a UFO, but I’ve met plenty of folks who are convinced they have—people somewhat like me, but more interestingly, folks who are much more like yourself.”
“What are you trying to say, Chief?”
Wescott snickered as if he was cognizant of the doctor’s attempt to intentionally feign his ignorance. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Perhaps I don’t.”
“A man in your position isn’t likely to accept anything he hears as fact unless it can be explained scientifically. Why do you suppose that it’s always the local bumpkins who seem to get whisked away aboard alien spacecrafts? This sort of thing never happens within city limits. But out here, we simple folks are only limited by our imaginations. If we can dream it, then it can occur.”
“I suspect that you think this is more complicated than a dream.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Wescott tittered. “Not long ago I might’ve been persuaded to go along with what others told me.” His voice dropped suddenly to a whisper, almost as if he rehearsed a line for a role in some B-movie.
“Soon after the family vanished, a lot of people in suits began skulking around these woods. Don’t hear me wrong, Jack, I appreciate a fine stitch of clothing as much as the next bloke, but these folks were obviously outsiders—in many ways just as alien to these parts as something that might’ve plunged from the sky.”
“Who were they?”
“Government agents, UFOlogists, university bigwigs, and others of such ilk. They were taking all those rumors a whole lot more seriously than me. A few of the powers-that-be wanted to close off these woods and set up a makeshift laboratory on the site. I kept telling them that no aliens were hiding out in Glen Dale’s old pine grove. Contrary to what others have expressed, this region isn’t the Bermuda Triangle. People don’t just disappear. They eventually learned to view things my way.”
“But the kids kept coming back,” Evans assumed for clarification. “I don’t see how anyone could’ve blamed them—a seed of discontent had already been planted.”
“Very true,” Wescott concurred, “but they all got bored in time, too. I guess the saddest part of all this is that no one ever found out what really happened to the family in the end. I was left to squelch all the half-truths and outright lies.”
At that moment it occurred to Evans that he accompanied Wescott to this destination for a similar purpose. It seemed pointless to debate the past events any longer. Evans was bent on dispelling Ryan’s misconceptions as quickly as possible, and the first action in doing so was retracing the boy’s steps.
After Evans stepped out of the vehicle, he was grateful for Wescott’s foresight in lending him his boots. Even with the footwear, the snow was deep enough on both sides of the road’s embankments to submerge the doctor’s steps over his pant’s cuff. While Evans waited for his eyesight to adjust to the darkness, Wescott retrieved a flashlight from the car’s glove compartment. He soon joined Evans on the road’s fringes, shivering as he directed a halo of light toward the appropriate area.
“We’ll have to stick close together,” Wescott indicated. “I only got one flashlight handy.”
Fortunately, the encompassing grounds had not transformed significantly in ten years. As the former chief shone the flashlight’s beam alongside the road, he attempted to envision exactly where he found Ryan. A yellow sign depicting a deer-crossing zone served as a sensible marker. Wescott recalled that Ryan’s position was about fifty yards in proximity to the sign. Of course, due to the snowfall’s abundance, it was nearly impossible to pinpoint the location as he had originally hoped.
“If I was a betting man, I’d say that we’re near the spot,” Wescott announced with a reserved confidence. He then shone the flashlight to a barely perceptible descent in the landscape. Evans’s eyes focused to this area momentarily, but his interest soon strayed to an alignment of evergreens about forty paces from where Wescott angled the flashlight’s beam.
“You stated in your report that Ryan appeared to be stumbling toward the road,” Evans reminded his companion. “So logic suggests that he was coming back from another location.”
“We checked the entire vicinity,” Wescott replied defensively.
“Shine your flashlight on those trees,” Evans directed, motioning to a cluster of white-capped spruces. Wescott followed the order reluctantly as Evans asked, “What lies beyond those evergreens?”
Wescott’s responded almost apathetically. “A clearing. Trust me, Jack, we combed these woods five miles in every direction and still found zilch—unless you count a roll of toilet paper.”
Evans paused after hearing this detail as if it should have registered with some significance to the former chief. “You didn’t mention anything about that in your original report—I would’ve remembered.”
“No,” said Wescott pensively, “I…I must’ve forgot about it at the time.”
“That’s not likely,” countered Evans, sensing a hesitation on Wescott’s part. “Why did you neglect to put that detail in your report?”
Wescott felt cornered by the question and suddenly blurted out the truth. “Okay…I didn’t exactly find the toilet paper myself—one of the suited guys brought it to my attention about three days later.”
“And you didn’t find it relevant?”
“Not really,” Wescott responded unflappably. “It was just a roll of toilet paper—not hardly as intriguing as the silver dust you’re carrying around in your pocket.”
“Maybe not,” Evans mused, “but it could tell us one thing. That tissue paper couldn’t have been outside for very long. The elements would’ve dissolved it within a week or so. In all likelihood, someone carried that roll of paper from their vehicle with them.”
“We already figured that out.”
“But did you ever ask where the person who found the paper retrieved it from?”
“It didn’t cross my mind as vital.”
“Knowing the exact spot might’ve helped us.”
Wescott never bothered to present such a question, and it had not registered as a neglected duty until now. “All I know is that the man said he found it in the clearing,” Wescott stated, feeling somewhat inferior with his investigative skills by now.
Evans seemed partially satisfied by Wescott’s response. “At least we know they made it as far as the clearing,” said Evans.
“Big deal. Anyone could’ve dropped that roll of paper out there—including one of the guys searching for them.” Wescott grinned intentionally when he tried to make light of the situation. “After all, Jack, that whole ordeal scared the crap out of all of us. A roll of paper might’ve come in handy.”
On any other occasion, Evans almost offered a chuckle to appease Wescott’s poorly timed humor, but the doctor had no desire to encourage his counterpart’s rather limited comedic talent. Evans continued with a more serious tone. “Ryan never told me very many specifics about that night. He only remembered that his father stopped the vehicle and then the boy mentioned he was searching for his family.”
“So what?”
“So,” Evans clarified, “I couldn’t figure out why the boy was left alone in the car—until now. It’s obvious to me that a member of his family had to go to the bathroom. I’m guessing his twin brother, and since he wasn’t old enough to go into the woods by himself, his mother went with him. Ryan’s father no doubt stayed at the car with him.”
Wescott appeared somewhat amused by the doctor’s speculations, but he made no effort to stifle a yawn that seemed to be lodged in his throat since Evans decided to play detective.
“I sure could’ve used a gumshoe like you on my team about ten years ago,” Wescott huffed, “but as it usually goes in such cases, Jack, you’re a day late and a dollar short to make much of a difference.”
Evans glanced at the pine trees again, this time with a motivation of doing more than just surveying the landscape. “How far beyond those trees is the clearing?” Evans’s eyebrows almost knotted together as he stood waiting for Wescott’s reply.
“Just about twenty feet or so, but you’ll just be wasting your time if you’re thinking about going in there and looking for clues now.”
“Come on, Chief, I didn’t put your stinking boots on for style.”
Wescott snickered at the doctor’s fortitude, which he ultimately found refreshing. “Maybe we’re not so different after all,” he chimed. “We’re both always hounding for clues, Jack. The only difference is mine comes from the outside, and yours from within. But the evidence delivers us to the same place.”
In this instance at least, the clues proved convincing enough to coax two unlikely hunters into the snowy backdrop of a December night. Curiously, Evans led the way, almost adopting an effortless instinct for the quest at hand. Wescott gladly exchanged the flashlight to the doctor’s control for a favor of following the trail in his footprints. They plodded through fifty yards of powdery snow before reaching an immense line of evergreens. The trees presented a dense, emerald-colored barrier across the road’s entire perimeter. Even in daylight it would h
ave been nearly unachievable to observe any point beyond the trees from the roadside.
Evans suspected that the snowdrifts became naturally deeper once they crossed under the trees and reached the clearing. But as they maneuvered beneath the trees’ massive branches, the depth of snow diminished rapidly. In a fit of confusion, Evans shone the flashlight at his feet to witness that the snowfall’s accumulations had visibly depreciated as they neared their destination. By the time the men separated themselves from the evergreens’ camouflage, the snow had completely vanished from the clearing’s entire circumference.
Neither Evans nor Wescott uttered a sound; they shuffled forward onto the open patch of earth and realized that the ground was wet and muddy—as if springtime had melted the last remnants of frost. Evans had no expression to display other than sheer astonishment. Aside from the mud, the soil appeared totally barren. The doctor had no scientific knowledge to explain this phenomenon. The affected area seemed almost deliberate in its design, stretching out in an oval pattern for almost a hundred yards from where they stood.
Evans bent to the ground, removing one of his gloves in the process. He placed his palm flatly on the soil before declaring, “It’s warm.” He then glanced up at Wescott, who stood shivering at his side; pockets of chilled air plumed all around the overweight man like smoke from a signal fire. “Do you know of anything that might’ve caused this?”
Wescott shook his head apprehensively and replied, “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Evans rose to his feet while still casting a brooding gaze at the surrounding region. He rubbed the dirt between his fingers before determining that there was nothing unusual with the soil itself, other than the fact that it should have been frozen and covered with snow like the rest of the forest.
“Something melted the snow,” Evans thought aloud, but his deduction was meant for the benefit of Wescott’s ears as well. “Has anyone ever been out here in this clearing after a snowfall?”
“I sure haven’t. I know no one has ever reported anything like this. It sort of reminds me of one of those crop circles you hear about turning up in a farmer’s field. Maybe someone is messing with our heads.”
“That might make sense, Chief, if someone else knew we were coming here tonight.”
Evans hunched down closer to the ground again, this time sensing the earth’s warmth more thoroughly. After momentarily setting his hand on the soil, he distinguished something other than heat penetrating the surface. His fingers twitched slightly, as if being pricked by tiny needles. He eventually detected a vibration emanating from the ground that barely registered on his skin. After several seconds, Evans straightened his posture with a greater level of bewilderment wedging its way into his eyes.
“What is it?” Wescott asked, observing the doctor’s perplexity with increased anxiety.
“I’m not sure. It may be nothing—at least nothing I can explain.”
“Let’s just get the hell out of here before we find more than what we bargained for,” Wescott suggested, the timidity oozing from his voice.
Evans had not yet concocted a plan to guide his steps beyond this point, but he decided that it was premature to abandon their search now. Wescott, on the other hand, already had his full of adventure for one night. The former chief decided that a safer option for him was to let Evans survey the clearing alone, while he took refuge in the Ol’ Lime. Negotiating this decision seemed more arduous than productive to the doctor. Besides, Evans deemed it easier to conduct the exploration by himself at this stage anyway. While Wescott lumbered back toward the roadside, Evans resumed his search—although he was not quite certain what the surroundings offered him next.
The sole source of illumination available to Evans tonight was extended to him from his flashlight. Too many low clouds pinched out any chance of being aided by the Moon’s silvery glow, and an absence of visible stars made his trek considerably darker than it would have been ordinarily. But Evans progressed across the clearing as sufficiently as he was capable. His footsteps eventually brought him to the fringes of the oval patch of uncovered soil. The evening’s blackness hindered his vision somewhat, but the doctor noticed something else unusual as he crouched down next to the roots of a pine tree neighboring the clearing.
After studying the tree’s roots assiduously, Evans determined that this spruce suffered from severe burn streaks along its lower portion. The tree’s trunk appeared crumbled and black in horizontal lines that seemed purposely positioned. Evans then peeled away a portion of the withered bark, widening a damaged area more clearly for his inspection. He first assumed the tree was blighted, but after examining several different evergreens in the vicinity, he gathered they had endured a similar pattern of disease or intentional abuse. Furthermore, he presumed the scorched areas were at precisely the same height and width on each tree he checked. Once Evans scouted the entire clearing’s perimeter, he realized that only the trees closest to the open land had experienced such a marking.
The doctor’s now had three peculiarities to ponder in regard to the grove, and none of them seemed remotely connected to the silver material he sought to verify. Evans suddenly felt besieged by too much information that he did not currently have the skills to process. But before his footsteps carried him out of the clearing, another enigma troubled his mind.
Evans did not lend too much of his attention to the sky at first, but the woods around him suddenly displayed an incandescent light that defied the flashlight’s limited capabilities. Although the exhibition was instantaneous, Evans plainly watched as three sphere-shaped objects hovered over the pine trees. They each appeared no larger than the face of a coin from the doctor’s vantage point, but they oscillated in an erratic pattern that rivaled the aerodynamics of modern technology. Before Evans blinked his eyes, the unknown objects dissolved behind the thickening clouds.
The doctor waited for the objects to return, but things of this nature never cooperated with an observant eye. Whatever the things were, Evans did not get a chance to view them again tonight. When Evans returned to the Ol’ Lime, Wescott immediately recognized an emergence of dread creeping into the doctor’s visage. Wescott eagerly sought an account of what he voluntarily declined to pursue, but Evans needed a few minutes to regulate his thoughts. He stood outside the car, trying to summon the peace he needed before sitting beside Wescott again. Once Evans climbed into the vehicle, Wescott wasted no time in badgering him for a confession.
“Looks like you just saw a ghost or something,” Wescott declared.
“Not a ghost,” Evans shivered, “but definitely something.”
Wescott’s voice gradually hushed when he stated, “I’m not sure how to handle any of this, Jack. Seems like we have a bigger mystery on our hands now than before we got here tonight.”
“I’m not ready to agree with that,” said Evans, but he had difficulty accepting his own logical estimations now.
“What we saw out there isn’t natural. There’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.”
“I’m not trying to convince you,” Evans sighed.
Wescott’s watched the doctor’s teeth chatter, but this was unusual since the man did not appear affected by the cold air when standing outside the vehicle a few minutes ago. The former chief presumed his passenger quivered for reasons other than a nagging chill. He pitched his voice to a near murmur and asked, “You saw something else out there, didn’t you, Jack?”
Evans’s tortured face revealed more than his lips mustered in these moments. He remained quiet while fiddling with the heater’s control knob on the car’s dashboard, but he also sensed Wescott peering at him with an accusatory glint in his eye.
“You don’t have to hide anything from me,” Wescott stated. “I’ve seen that look on a man’s face before—it’s never a good thing.”
Evans acted reserved when he spoke again. “I’m not sure what I saw, Chief, but maybe you can tell me what you viewed.” The doctor’s request caused Wescot
t to appear dumbfounded. He assumed Evans already knew the answer to this.
“I was standing right next to you,” Wescott needlessly reminded the doctor, but following a delayed reaction, he presumed that Evans had witnessed something more than what they had observed together. “You know damn well what I saw—the snow was all melted where it shouldn’t have been.”
“And that’s it—you witnessed nothing else?”
“Are you pulling my chain, Jack?” Wescott chortled. “I just told you everything I saw. Now why don’t you be so kind and return the favor?”
“What about in the sky?” Evans continued feverishly. “Did you notice anything unusual while I was in the clearing?”
Wescott scratched his index finger at his temple as if the exercise assisted him in exploring his intellect with better accuracy. After a few seconds, the old man’s rounded cheeks puffed outward to accommodate a toothy grin. “I see what you’re trying to do here,” he presumed mirthfully. “You’re testing me—hoping I might fess up to all the supposed UFO sightings around these woods.”
“I’m not trying to make you tell me anything you don’t want to reveal, Chief.”
“If you’ve come to my town thinking I’m a fool, Jack, I’d like to be the one to tell you that you’re wrong. Those big shots prancing around here in fifty-dollar suits and ties already pulled that crap with me. I wasn’t having any of it then, and I sure as hell won’t stand for it now.”
“I’m only asking for the truth.”
“The truth hasn’t changed. I went on record ten years ago stating that I’d never seen an object in the sky that I couldn’t identify. Flying saucers and alien abductions are something created for movies and dime-store paperbacks. I stand by my original statement.”
Evans nodded his head agreeably. He now realized that Wescott could not help him with what he observed in the sky five minutes ago. Once both men were satisfied with their positions, Evans removed a small pad of paper and pen from the front pocket of his jacket. He began jotting down several notes at a frenzied pace. Wescott watched the motion of the doctor’s hand tentatively.
“Are you going to report this to the media, too?” asked Wescott, almost flinching in anticipation.
“I don’t think we need to direct anymore attention to this place right now,” replied Evans humbly, while still scribbling some additional notes.
“I suppose we can leave now?” asked Wescott. He then put the car in gear without waiting for Evans’s response. “You sure you wrote enough about this place?” he continued, as the doctor tucked the notebook back into his jacket.
“We’re done here,” mumbled Evans, but his thoughts were obviously centered on more essential matters.
“Do you mind telling me what you’ve been writing about?”
Evans smirked at the former chief’s rude mannerisms, but he figured the man had never been taught to behave differently. “I have a million ideas fluttering around in my head right now, Chief, and not one of them is making any sense.”
Wescott attempted to sound apologetic when he continued. “I didn’t mean to snap off at you about that UFO business. I had my share of torment trying to keep my own head on straight, but everybody wanted to brand me as a liar. The people of this town turned on me like ravening wolves. They all started gossiping about a government cover-up. Some even went as far to say that I was consulting with officials to make certain no information leaked to the public.”
“I’m sure you did what you thought was best for the town,” said Evans, trying to comfort the man.
“But after tonight, I’m not so sure I did the right thing by refusing to look into everything further.”
“It’s too late to second guess yourself now,” Evans advised.
Before Wescott merged his vehicle back onto Route 51, he reached across the seat and opened the glove compartment. Within its contents he revealed a stack of business cards bound together with a rubber band. Most of the cards appeared yellowed and frayed at the edges. Evans watched curiously as the former chief flicked his fingers through four cards before pulling one free from the pile. Without a word, he flipped the card in Evans’s lap.
Evans picked it up and held it under the flashlight next to him on the seat. He read the name on the card once to himself and then once aloud to Wescott. “Professor Henry Collins—SETI Representative.”
“The card’s old,” Wescott mentioned, “but you still might be able to get in touch with that man. He can help you.”
Evans perused the card again, this time lending attention to the title of the organization. He then translated the acronym printed across the card’s bottom corner. “Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence.”
“That’s what SETI does,” Wescott confirmed. “That guy was one of the bigwigs I was telling you about.”
“The guy who wore a fifty-dollar suit?” Evans jested at Wescott’s expense.
“Yeah,” said Wescott, not getting the joke.
“What makes you think I’d want to speak to this so-called professor?”
Wescott offered his passenger a somewhat guileful glance before stating, “It’s none of my business what you do, Jack. But he’s dealt with this sort of stuff before. He’s the only I might’ve considered trusting.”
“I’ve heard of this organization,” Evans admitted. “But I didn’t think they actually needed to advertise for clients.”
Wescott veered the car back onto the slick roadway and drove away. “I kept his card for these past ten years,” Wescott continued. “I was hoping that I’d never really have to refer to it, but I guess everything you save you’ll eventually find useful.”
Evans did not wish to debate the point. He casually stuffed the card in his back pocket, close enough to his wallet for him to at least consider finding a more permanent place for it. The two men remained silent for the thirty-minute drive back to Wescott’s cabin. If Evans had any deeper thoughts to meditate, he did so behind closed eyelids. But if the doctor sought to embark upon any further ventures, he knew it would have to be accomplished without Wescott’s assistance. After spending a short time together, it became apparent to Evans that the former chief had mentally retired years ago. Evans suspected that something had frightened the man so terribly that he no longer retained the ability or desire to unearth the facts.
For now, the only noise along Route 51’s desolate pavement was the Ol’ Lime’s sputtering engine. But even this familiar sound echoed against Evans’s eardrums like a jackhammer. Despite displaying evidence of an excruciating headache, the doctor did nothing to alleviate his own suffering. He remained in the car with his head tilted against the window, wishing that he had never ventured to his chosen destination tonight.
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