Outside, the cold air hit me in the face like a slap of reality. I looked up and down the street, trying to decide where I could get some grub. I could smell a warm, spicy scent on the wind and turned to follow it, hoping it was a restaurant and not just someone cooking with the windows open. Walking along the road, I noticed another police car. I frowned a bit but shook my head.
I walked for another half mile before I saw a large painted sign that read Dotty's Kitchen, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I picked up my pace, eventually crossing the parking lot that was engulfed in that wonderful spicy scent I’d caught earlier.
I pulled the door open. The inside resembled a roadside diner that I had been in as a child, and I felt comforted by that. Behind the counter, a girl waited in a crisp white shirt with a name tag that read Ginger.
"Hi," I said, smiling as I approached the counter. "I'll have whatever that smell is."
The waitress gave a cheerful laugh, and then she nodded. "Mom's chili always brings 'em in during these cold days! Have a seat." Ginger turned and disappeared into the back.
Upon seating myself on one of the stools, I laid my hands on the counter, attempting to look relaxed. Before long, Ginger was back with a white ceramic bowl of steaming chili, which she served to me with a smile.
"Enjoy," she said warmly before she turned and wiped down the counter behind her.
I picked up the spoon warily, eating the first bite. The chili was hot, sweet, and tasted like paradise. I sighed in appreciation, which caused Ginger to toss me yet another bright smile over her shoulder.
She wasn’t bad-looking, I decided. I stole a few glances at her as I ate my lunch, judging her to be in her twenties. When I finished, she came back over to ask whether I wanted seconds.
I shook my head and said, "As good as it is, I think I might burst. What do I owe you?"
Ginger slid me the check, watching me closely as I counted out the money. I made a mental note to get some more cash out of the ATM.
"You aren't from around here, are ya?" Ginger asked, picking up the cash I’d laid down on the counter.
"Nope," I said slyly. I was used to the locals and their questions, so I readied my catalog of responses.
Ginger’s face took on a wistful expression. "You ever been to New York?"
"Only very briefly with my father,” I answered her, getting up to leave. “Keep the change."
"Hey!" Ginger said quickly as she leaned against the counter. "If you’re sticking around, why don't you look me up again?"
I blinked and then smiled. "I might just do that."
Out in the parking lot, my step had more spring to it. The girl was certainly nice-looking, and I’d enjoyed the attention. I then cursed under my breath, having no inclination at all to actually follow through and take her out. I wasn’t here on some sort of pleasurable vacation, and it wasn’t like I had the funds for a night out on the town. The trip and lodging had already left a dent in my savings.
I trudged on through the afternoon sunlight. Checking the time on my phone, I headed off toward the Mortons' bed and breakfast. Despite the sunlight, the night would be coming on soon enough as winter ate away at the daylight.
I was then caught off guard by a gust of wind determined to knock me right off my feet. A scrap of paper hit me in the face, and I batted it away. The wind fizzled, and I almost fell, as I’d been bracing myself against it. At my feet lay the offending scrap of paper with a word scrawled on it.
"What the hell?" I whispered, reaching over to scoop it up. "Thorn" was scrawled on it in sloppy handwriting.
I stared at it until flipping the scrap over, but the rest of it was blank other than what appeared to be a smudge of some sort of substance that I cringed at. Instinctively, I dropped the paper.
A movement caught my eye; looking up, I caught sight of dark green fabric disappearing around the corner of the building. Without thinking, I walked briskly to the corner. Yet when I got there, all I saw was a clean and neat street.
A police car crossed the road to my left, but there was silence otherwise. That was weird, I thought to myself. A sense of unease settled over me. I spun on my heel, checking my surroundings.
I must’ve imagined it. The scrap of paper and my frayed nerves had made me see things. I rubbed my face with my palms, sighing. Suggestion was a powerful thing, after all.
I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets aimlessly. I saw no more mysterious notes and no more phantoms. And at the end of the day, I turned toward the bed and breakfast with my shoulders slumping. I was running out of time to figure out this dream. That night I fell asleep with a resignation that this had been a wasted trip.
As I slipped off to sleep, I fell into a chasm. The darkness all around me made my chest tighten. I was falling. No, not falling. I was hanging.
Framed above me in the moonlight was the blond-haired man from earlier. He hoisted me up into a snow-covered forest. I spun around, ready to fight or run.
But there was nothing. No noise. I looked around and saw a mountain in the distance. It looked familiar. I ran toward it. I did not know why.
The trees blurred as I ran. I was desperate. The feeling that I had to get away was overpowering. There were noises then—noises coming from behind me.
Someone was after me. Something was coming to get me. I breathed in harsh, pained breaths. "No, no..." I chanted to myself as the air stung my throat.
The trees thinned. I ran out into the open. A sudden sound echoed, loud and piercing, throughout the mountain valley. I felt so cold, and the ground shifted under me.
I put my hand to my chest as I felt it tighten. Warm, wet liquid coated my fingers. I looked down, seeing the blood shining on my hand. Then the world went black.
I tried to move, but I found myself paralyzed. I lay facedown in the snow, the ice melting under me even as my breathing became shallow.
The cold finally faded; I was enveloped in warmth, and I felt so tired. I couldn’t fight it. The dream shifted, and I saw the Carver's Corner town limits sign much as it had looked when I arrived.
I awoke with a start. I sat up in bed and looked around, reorienting myself to reality.
Try as I might, I simply could not go back to sleep, so I rolled out of bed and opened my laptop. I typed in "Maiden's Peak" and hit Search. As I clicked on the first article, a gasp escaped my lips.
It was an article about a woman who had come to visit Carver's Corner but disappeared. It was later believed that she’d run off with a local man. The two had disappeared on the same night, and it was assumed she had left her husband for the man after they initiated a scandalous affair.
It was too old of a case. I’d never had a dream about something that had already occurred. I sighed in disappointment, realizing that it did prove that apparently, things did happen in Carver's Corner other than neighborly disputes.
I scrolled down and blinked. I saw—for just a second—the word Thorn. When I looked again, there was nothing easily mistaken as the word Thorn. I shook my head, rubbing my eyes. I need sleep. I shut the laptop definitively and collapsed back into bed.
When sleep overtook me, I blinked into a room that was lit dimly by colored lights. There were people all around, and I felt claustrophobic. I pushed through them. There was music—so loud that no one could hear me. By the time I made it to the door, I was out of breath. As I quickly pulled the door open, a blast of cold air and snow swirled into the room. I snuck outside, fumbling the knob while closing the door behind me. The frigid night was white.
"I hate my dreams," I said resolutely.
"Why is that?" A voice startled me. I turned in surprise and saw Thorn leaning against a gray truck that I did not recognize.
"Don’t do that," I said as I put my hand over my heart.
"Do what?" Thorn asked while walking toward me. There was a glint in the darkness, and I gazed at his hand. He was twirling a blade of some kind. I took a step backward.
"I’ve got to wake up..." I mutter
ed and then turned, only to run into a large, boorish man who was looking displeased at me.
"Hi," I said nervously, backing away, Thorn forgotten. I just knew that he had a gun; I didn’t have to see it to know.
I was running. Stumbling through tall trees. "Wake up," I whispered to myself. Then I shouted, "Wake up!" The trees wavered around me.
"Come on, come on," I murmured as I ran through the woods. I heard the sounds of pursuit behind me. I was falling into the darkness. I shut my eyes and then felt myself jerk to a halt. I looked up and saw Thorn towering above me. I was hanging over the black chasm, holding on to his hand.
The next moment, he was lifting me up. When I made it to the edge of the chasm, I frantically got to my feet, ready to fight. I saw that there were flickering lights somewhere through the trees—fire, perhaps?
Thorn was still there. His green overcoat was gone. His button-up shirt was torn, and he was bleeding from his leg. I looked around, trying to take in the scene. I knew I was in the nightmare again, but I did not recall this part.
Sometimes being able to lucid dream was a handy trick, but sometimes it was a curse. I had to wake myself up. I shouted that I needed to wake up. The dream was randomly shifting.
"Fuck!" I said in irritation.
The next moment, I was somewhere dark. Wait a minute now. Glancing around, I realized this was not the nightmare. I just knew it. Maybe I’d changed the dream after months of trying. There was a flashlight in the darkness in front of me, and I felt a hand pull me down. "Get down," Thorn hissed harshly.
My eyes popped open, seeing the ceiling of my bedroom at the bed and breakfast. I groaned at the pain in my head. I felt so dizzy and nauseated that I could do nothing but lie there until I succumbed to a blissful blackness of dreamless sleep.
TWO
The next morning, the only thing on my mind was that I really wished I had someone I could talk to. My head hurt like I’d spent the night drinking, and I cut out before Mrs. Morton could start interrogating me.
The world outside was softened with a layer of snow from the storm I’d seen blowing in last night. I nearly slipped stepping down off the front steps. An imperceptible layer of ice covered the ground.
I took a breath and walked carefully down the street. I had the urge to go back to my room and lazily sleep this day away, but I knew that my time here was ticking down. I just wanted to know what the hell was going on with my brain lately.
I had no idea where to check to find out anything else. There were no leads. The only thing I found suspect in this town was the disappearance 20 years previously. I sighed and trudged toward the newspaper office. The petite clerk who had helped me search obituaries right after I got into town looked up with a grin.
"Mr. Shelton! I didn't think I’d see you in again. What can I do for you?" she asked brightly.
My mind went blank, and my eyes flicked down to her desk, where her name was written on a plaque. "Hey, Shirley. This’ll sound odd, but I was hoping you could help me research something for the story I'm writing." I shifted, pulling from my pocket the piece of paper where I’d scribbled down the names from the article about the 20-year-old disappearance case.
"Can you help me gather information about this? I think it might help the story I'm working on."
The woman took the paper and looked at the names in surprise. "Wow. I haven't seen those names in a long time. Give me a moment," she said as she stood up.
When I nodded, she turned and ambled out of the room. I glanced out the window, raising my eyebrow at a police car that was slowly driving by.
A moment later, Shirley was back with a stack of papers. "Here you go. You can photocopy them if you want, but please leave the originals here when you get done with them." She indicated a table in the corner before she went back to typing up whatever she was working on.
Once seated at the table, I thumbed through the papers. This must be the bulk of the research and articles done by the newspaper at the time of the disappearances. Photographs dropped out of an envelope that I hadn’t seen earlier.
There were pictures of various people who were interviewed along with interview logs. There were photos of the two missing persons. The man who had gone missing was shown in a photo, grinning broadly. He was a large man with light-colored hair that was neatly combed. The woman was a striking beauty even in the old photos.
Apparently, it was believed there was foul play involved, but then people came forward with stories of how they had seen the couple. Police dropped the foul play angle fairly early on and didn’t pursue it.
I recognized immediately some of the names involved in the case as the surnames of some of the people I’d encountered in the town. It was truly a small town.
I gasped as I pushed one of the top pictures aside. There was a picture underneath of someone who looked impossibly like the man called Thorn. I picked up the black and white photo gingerly. The man in the photo had the same build and facial structure, but his hair was cut short. I flipped the photo over. The name on the back read Gabriel Durant.
Possibly a relative of Thorn, then; I made a note of the last name. I flipped back to the interviews, noting that someone named Gregory Horn had been suspected in the disappearances, but all charges had been dropped against the man. Witnesses had seen Mr. Horn talking with—and possibly threatening—the man who had gone missing. I pulled out my phone and took a quick snap of the document.
The woman had been married but had come to Carver's Corner on a trip while her husband was away on business. The man who went missing had worked as a mechanic at a local garage. I made a note to check out the garage and such.
At least my last few days in town would be interesting, I mused. I delivered the papers back to Shirley and thanked her for her help. I’d retrieved as many photos of the material as possible. Perhaps it would be enough once I had time to go back over them. I doubted this was going to help, and I felt like I was just going through the motions.
As I turned to leave, Shirley called out to me, "You know, if you’re interested in the old case, you really ought to talk to Mr. Marion, Caroline's husband. He comes here every year, bless his heart. He never loses hope that it’ll be the year they find Caroline. I believe he said he was staying at Mrs. Davison's Inn at the edge of town."
This was the lead that I’d been waiting for. "Thank you, Shirley!" I said enthusiastically. She wrote down the inn's address and phone number on a piece of paper. I took it gratefully, dipping my head to her in gratitude.
Outside, I gave the weak overhead sun a squinting glance. If the witness reports were true, the couple had been seen going in multiple directions. It didn’t seem as if it would stand up to scrutiny, but the police had found at least some of the reports credible, as the other charges were then dropped. I could not fathom how that would be the case, but maybe they knew something that I did not. Maybe Mr. Marion would be able to help piece things together.
As I went to find myself some lunch, my thoughts gravitated toward the pretty brown-haired girl at Dotty's Kitchen. I took a deep breath and made up my mind to go back to the bed and breakfast.
I was thankful that the sidewalks were much easier to navigate; even the man picking up litter was back to his normal routine as I turned down Main Street. My eyes flicked over to a building down the street where a door had just opened. The wind swept up, making me cinch my brown coat tighter around me.
Two figures exited the building as I let my strides slow. I’d either have to intersect them or go across the street, and frankly, I didn’t fancy trying to cross the slippery road. As I watched them, I realized that one of the men was Thorn. I narrowed my eyes, and flashes of my dream crossed my mind. I mentally pushed them away.
With the enigmatic young man was a short, plump man who was probably around the same age. They were chatting in low voices; I got the impression that they were friends.
They turned toward a gray truck. A flash of dream showed Thorn standing beside that same truck. I
shook my head, reminding myself to walk and pretend to not stare. I made a great effort to look at the sky, but my eyes slid back to the two men as they opened the truck doors and continued to talk.
The plump man slipped into the passenger side. I was almost to them now. Thorn was still standing by the truck, and I noticed then that he was staring at me. I gave an awkward lift of my hand. He nodded his head at me in recognition, then he, too, got into the truck.
Suddenly changing my mind about lunch, I cut through the next road and went to see whether Dotty was still serving her chili. I cannot say what truly caused me to come to such an abrupt decision, but before long, I was opening the door to the nostalgic diner. Ginger gave me a bright smile, which I returned nervously.
"Usual?" she asked, as if I had been coming there for months. I simply nodded as I sat down on the stool in front of her. Ginger vanished, and in a short time, a fragrant bowl of Dotty's chili was placed in front of me. She chatted conversationally with me about nothing much until the door jingled.
For my part, I kept my eyes on my bowl while I ate, wondering how awkward it would be when it became evident that I wasn’t going to ask her out. Then I wondered why I was not asking her out. She was a small-town girl. Maybe she’d like a simple walk and picnic; not those gaudy dates that most girls I’d been out with demanded.
I shoved the thoughts out of my head. I was not interested in pursuing it. Beside me, a large figure leaned against the counter and spoke in a rough voice, "Ging, tell your ma that we want some of 'er chili!"
I cringed away from the noise and took another bite. Ginger gave the man a smile, nodding before disappearing into the back. "Don't think I know you," the man mumbled as he turned toward me.
I looked up, preparing myself to endure another curious local with a smile. I startled when I saw the large man; I knew I had seen him before. I must’ve given him a strange look, because he asked, "Ya okay there?"
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