Jeremy knows enough about Denise to recognize when she means business. Therefore he makes a point of rising early himself in the morning, before the hysteria kicks in concerning her absence. He has business to conduct in Stokely, and knows that once it’s discovered Denise is gone, people will freak, most likely prevent him from leaving. So he needs to get ahead of that phenomenon.
The library doesn’t open until nine, but luckily Fairlawn Diner is already up and running. Over a cup of coffee and some breakfast, he first attempts locating the Stokely police department online, but is having no luck looking them up on his phone. Wishing he’d have thought to drive around this very small town before coming here, and search for the place, he’s now reduced to asking that adorable old lady waiting on him, Doris, where it’s located.
“There’s no Stokely police department,” she tells him, her features drooping as she shakes her head. It’s a curious expression, as though she’s both saddened and surprised by this question.
“Heh? What do you mean? What happened? I just saw a few of their cruisers a couple of weeks ago. Personally dealt with the officers, even.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible. They ain’t been any police department here that I’m ever aware of. You need you gotta call the Rowlette County Sheriff.”
“Hmm. That is weird,” he says, takes a sip of coffee and stares out the plate glass window, at the fairly active – for this locale – main drag, on this sunny yet cooler than expected morning. It’s pleasant enough outside, though a reminder that winter is hammering at their door. “Hey, you think maybe the Rowlette County folks are just using some old cars? Like maybe the PD used to be here, a long, long time ago? Like before your time?”
“Well, now, that could be, I don’t know. But yeah, I’ve been here sixty some odd years and ain’t seen a police department.”
This angle is so peculiar that Jeremy doesn’t immediately know how to process it. He checks the clock and concludes that by the time he gets in his car and zips over – or better, just walks from here – the library will be open. Plus, there’s one other call he would like to make, now that he thinks about it. So after looking up that number, paying his check, and taking off on foot, he dials it.
“Rowlette County Sheriff.”
“Uh, yeah, I’m not really sure about the proper procedure for this. But I was kind of wondering if I could get an update on some occurrences we’ve had recently out at Otherwise?”
“Otherwhat?”
“Oh, sorry. We’re at this…artist’s retreat in the country, north of Stokely. Yesterday…”
“What’s the address?”
“Hmm, you know, I guess I never did get quite around to memorizing this. Fuck! Sorry…I mean it’s on Pine Bluff Road and…”
“Nnnnn….”
“…we’ve had a bunch of disappearances, then yesterday the sheriff came out, we had what looked like a guywho blew up in his own car?”
“Okay, now you’re talkin plainly, son!” the older sounding gentleman on the other end says, softening his officious tone just a touch. “Yes, I do recall that incident. That was just yesterday? Hmm. I tell ya, where does the time…”
“Yeah, well, I was wondering if you could give me an update on this. Also about my parents. This was just a couple of weeks ago and it appears they basically just disintegrated. There were some weird stains that they were gonna run some tests on.”
“Disintegrated?
“Yes. Well, that’s what it looks like, anyway.”
“I don’t recall anything about that one. Then again I’m just the dispatch so…you’d have to ask the sheriff.”
“Is he in?”
“No, he’s out on another call right now. But if you gimme yer number, I’ll make sure he rings yer bell.”
Jeremy relays this information, then says, “okay, well let me ask you one other thing. Do you guys ever use older cars, from, like, other jurisdictions?”
“Oh, you mean, like, they been decommissioned elsewheres?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay, I think I know what yer talkin about. It’s possible. But I can’t rightly say for definite.”
“Really?” Jeremy blurts out, taken aback by this response, “how big can your operation possibly be up there?”
“It’s plenty big. It’s plenty big,” the dispatch tells him, plainly taking offense at this line of questioning. “We cover the entire county, and it might be sparse ‘s’far as the population, ya know, but it’s huge.”
“Okay. Well, just have the sheriff give me a call.”
“Mmm,” the dispatch says. Click.
Though that hadn’t quite followed the blueprint, maybe, Jeremy nonetheless feels reassured after the phone call, on a number of fronts. Rational explanations still exist for pretty much everything they’ve experienced thus far, and that’s all he was asking for. By the time he reaches the library, which has a surprisingly half-full lot, given the attendance during his other visits here, he is in pretty fine spirits. A brisk walk even alleviates the chill in the air, and he’s sweating as he enters the building.
From the looks of things, there’s some sort of children’s reading circle in progress, which would explain the influx of cars. These kids and their parents have just about sewn up the central seating area, with its short, round tables and equally short plastic chairs. This sight initially distracts him, until he glances to his left and spots Paul Hilldreth standing in his expected post behind the counter. He’s flipping through some kind of full color regional guide, which is probably a new arrival. Jeremy rounds the corner to the front of the counter and addresses him.
“Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’ve been here a couple of times. Talking to you about that artist’s retreat, up north of here?”
“Of course, of course,” Hilldreth says, giving him a genuinely warm smile. In all likelihood, Jeremy considers, thrilled by the prospect of any routine break whatsoever.
“Okay, well, this might sound like a strange request, but I was kinda wondering,” he says, holding up the sketch book he’s brought along for this mission. “You said you’re somewhat of an expert on local plants?”
Hilldreth offers an even broader smile, flattered by this notion, and blushes slightly in replying, “oh, I don’t know if I would go that far. But yes, I know a great deal about the flora in this region. At least I like to think I do.”
“Good enough,” Jeremy nods, and then flips open the sketchbook to the first drawing.
“Oh wow!” Hilldreth marvels, “that’s quite good. Did you draw this?”
“No, no, this is the work of another guy up there at the compound. He did this on the fly, even, believe it or not, while walking. Well, I think he’d do the basics walking, then fill in the rest later. That’s what I’m thinking. You ever hear of a Tom Drucker?”
Hilldreth hesitates, staring slightly upward, as he ponders this. Then shakes his head no.
“Hmm, well, he was allegedly kinda famous, and from the Carolinas somewhere. Actually I would have thought the local papers would have been all over his…well, so anyway. He was the one who drew these.”
“If this is any indication, I gather his work is quite remarkable.”
“Yeah, his stuff was – is – pretty amazing. But ah…as far as this goes: we were kind of wondering if you could name the plants for us?”
“Name them?”
“Yeah. Well I mean, tell us what they’re called. Just by looking at these sketches. Because we’ve checked them out online but it’s still kinda, you know, we’re not experts, so it’s a little murky what these actually are.”
Hilldreth begins nodding, though turning his attention to the reading circle while doing so. Jeremy figures he is most likely calculating whether he will have enough time, or possibly rather if this exercise will disturb them. Then he faces Jeremy again, with another close-mouthed smile.
“Sure. Sounds delightful!”
Without ripping the pages from the book, the motions required for flipping through them is a bit clunky. He holds up the first drawing, to which Hilldreth says, “jack pine,” and though he has this one basically committed to memory himself now, flips the back around so he can see it, then turns the page to inspect the name written on its back. Jack pine.
He moves on to the second page, and rotates the book back around for the librarian’s viewing, though Hilldreth licks his lips before tactfully, as if almost nervously, suggesting, “ah, shouldn’t you perhaps write these down?”
Jeremy reigns the sketchbook in, pulling it nearer his body as he considers this. “That’s actually a good idea,” he tells Hilldreth, and it’s true. His hesitation stems from wondering how to conduct this experiment, without its participant seeing that there are already names on the back, possibly even the same ones he’s just mentioned. “Maybe you have, like, a pen and some paper?”
Hilldreth nods and produces a pad, lightning fast, points at a writing utensil lying nearby. After numbering the first entry and writing jack pine, Jeremy picks up the sketch pad once more and they resume this little test. One thing he likes about this is it offers tangible proof, instead of relying on his own memory, as to how many answers this nerdy librarian has gotten correct. In fact he could just write down the answers now, without even bothering to check them, and let somebody tell him how accurate these answers are. But Jeremy already has a strong suspicion about the results of this exercise, and anyway, he can’t resist watching it unfold in real time.
As they work their way through these sketches, Jeremy feels his phone buzz twice, meaning someone is texting him. He’s just about certain that at least one of these has to be a freaking out Emily, and he can’t get sidetracked by that now. Soon enough, they have made their way through all 22 such sketches, the results of which, though expected, are no less baffling. Hilldreth admits he doesn’t know one of these (inkwood, according to Drucker) and differs slightly on two others, naming a different kind of willow and a different kind of pine. But the other 19 match what their dead artist friend has written.
“This is really – what’s the phrase you used – quite remarkable…,” Jeremy says, scratching his head as he attempts coming to grips with this.
“Why thank you!”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Jeremy tells him. Then, realizing how offensive this sounded, sticks out one palm in a STOP gesture and explains, “don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your effort here. And it seems like you really know your stuff. The only problem with this is…none of these species are supposed to exist around here. Like, nowhere, anywhere, in this vicinity. Somebody clued me in to that fact, and I’ve researched it myself, and it’s true.”
Hilldreth’s facial features all sag in unison, far more than Doris’s had earlier at the diner, while these words sink in. At first he registers defeat, or the accusation of not really knowing what he’s talking about, until the bigger picture apparently clicks, and he too is muttering in bafflement. He is also rocking on his heels, now, Jeremy observes.
“But those are the names of those trees! I’m nearly certain of it!” Hilldreth declares, in a spastic burst at last.
“And I believe you. They’re the same ones the artist wrote, on the backs of pages himself,” Jeremy explains, holding up one random drawing to demonstrate. As his phone begins insistently buzzing, indicating a phone call, an idea pops into his head. “Hey, tell you what. You think you could come up to the property, see for yourself? That would be a big help.”
Given his earlier enthusiasm, claiming to have visited on a couple of other occasions, Jeremy expects that the librarian will readily jump at this offer. Instead he licks his lips again, follows this up with an uncomfortable, toothy grin as he gazes out at the reading circle full of people once more.
“I’m…afraid that’s not possible,” Hilldreth explains. His tone is not unpleasant, however, only distant and circumspect. Then he flicks his eyes momentarily up at Jeremy, almost wincing as he does so, before turning his attention to some random looking paperwork on the counter to his left.
“Well why…uh…hmm…,” Jeremy says, unable to decipher this peculiar climate shift. He soon recovers, though, and counters, “what if I take some pictures and bring them to you?”
The librarian turns his attention fully to Jeremy once more, though this time his ever-changing smile conveys not quite sadness, but something close to pity. Jeremy wonders what it is he’s missing about this interaction, and peeks around his shoulder at the people behind him now, too. “Sure, sure,” Hilldreth says, sweetly, “try to bring me some pictures. That would be fine.”
Confused, yet believing this a slight victory, whatever just happened here, Jeremy nods without further comment. On his way out the door, he glances once more at the reading circle, which is paying them no mind whatsoever, the remaining scattered library patrons doing the same. He waits until he’s fully outdoors before checking the texts and the lone voicemail, all of which are from Emily, as expected. Behind the wheel of his car, he taps out a quick response of don’t freak, it’s not what you think, before starting the car for his fifteen minute drive up to the retreat.
In yet another library, that of the main house’s first floor, a teary eyed Emily confronts him as soon as he appears through that board game archway. “What do you mean it’s not what I think?” she demands, striding three quarters of the distance to intercept him. Jeremy doesn’t initially respond, taking a measured moment instead to observe that Kay, Marcus, Rebecca, Grace, and Lenny are clustered around the coffee table and furniture in this musty room’s back half.
“She…told me last night that she was leaving.”
Emily’s mouth flies open, and she whips her head around to stare at Marcus, as does everyone else. Marcus, seated in this maroon velvet easy chair and just as composed as ever, at least when not found rhapsodizing about the theories behind his performance art. “She told me that as well,” Marcus explains, for Jeremy’s benefit alone, as this is clearly something the others have already learned.
“Well what the fuck! Why didn’t you try to stop her!?” Emily demands of her boyfriend, stomping a foot as both arms fly in the opposite direction, toward the ceiling. “Or at least come get me!”
And Jeremy’s thinking that, despite the unfortunate particulars, he’s at least glad to see Emily snapping out of whatever torpor has seized her for the past two or three weeks. This could be the wake up call she needs. Possibly him as well, considering that he hadn’t even realized that the old Emily was missing, until seeing her blow up like this.
He attempts a comforting smile and tells her, “come on, you know how Denise can get. When she makes up her mind about something, you might as well forget it.”
“Forget it? Forget it, huh? What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with BOTH of you? I mean, I had to call Clay, so now he’s on his way, she didn’t even bother to tell him. Who acts like this?”
“Especially with what just happened to Tom yesterday,” Kay suggests from the couch, “it’s dangerous. We need to stick together.”
“Well, you know,” Jeremy replies, taking the time to ration out his words and remain cool headed himself, “I agree we need to stick together. But should that be here? You could make a case we’re all crazy, for not leaving.”
Like the story so far? Pick up the entire tale from your favorite store below!
The Doom Statues (paperback) from my official author bookstore!
