Chapter Twenty-Seven: Places That You Need Not Be
July 20, 2010
Silver City, NM
Marc opened the door to see two men in dark suits standing in front of his door, a rental car parked in front of his cabin.
“Good morning?” Marc gave the men a confused greeting as they stood there silent for a few seconds.
“Marc Churchill?” The man in the back spoke first.
Marc looked them over. They were definitely not local. The suits were clean, pressed, and likely very uncomfortable in the warm southwest heat. Both men were caucasian, had short haircuts, and physiques and bearings that screamed military.
After scrutinizing them, Marc repeated his greeting, more confidently this time.
“Good Morning.”
“Marc Churchill,” the man repeated. This time it sounded more like an order in a fast food restaurant.
“That’s an odd greeting, but that’s okay. How can I help you?” Marc had dealt with investigators before. Some were truly intimidating people. The pair at his doorstep were decidedly not.
“Are you Marc Churchill?” the man said, his patience obviously not in abundant supply. This was the type who did not like it when people did not immediately acknowledge his authority. A thug, in other words. The other man just stood there silently, but glared at Marc with an expression that could be best described as “all chin”. He would be the muscle then.
“I was about to make some tea. Would you like to come in and have a cup?” Marc left the front door open and walked away and into the kitchen.
The two men stood there on the doorstep exchanging confused looks. Then they walked inside the cabin.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch your names,” Marc said as he put a kettle on the stove, then pulled out three mugs and placed them on the counter.
“Are you March Churchill?”
Marc ignored the question, searching a cabinet until he found a strainer. He filled it with a mix of tea leaves from a glass jar on the counter, then placed it in the kettle.
“Please have a seat,” Marc gestured to the sofa. “Tea will be ready in a moment. Then he busied himself looking for some cookies or something.
Luckily Sheila had a sweet tooth, so he always kept a box of Oreos or some snack like that around.
For the first few decades in the other world, Marc would get cravings for the treats and snacks he grew up with. Sugary cereals and candy and cookies. He eventually grew out of it, but when he returned, one of the first things he did was hit the supermarket and binge from the cookies and cakes aisle. The results were… disappointing.
The over-the-top sweetness and lack of any actual flavor cured him permanently of his nostalgic attachment to junk food. Still, he kept a supply on hand for Shiela, and the party had also demanded, and helped augment, a store of snacks that he now kept on hand.
Placing a small stack of cookies on a plate, he poured out two mugs of tea, then turned to see the two men, still standing just inside the doorway, glaring at him.
Walking around the counter, he shoved the two mugs at the men, who, after glancing at each other, reluctantly took the cups.
Marc was tempted to keep tweaking them, but he had an idea what this might be about and he just wanted it over with as soon as possible.
“I’m Marc, and you would be?” He said while going back to pour him own tea. He grabbed the cookies and walked over to the fireplace. Sitting down in his chair, he placed the cookies on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.
I am agent Henricks and this is agent Roy. We are from the Bureau of Land Management, Albuquerque District Office.
Albuquerque? That didn’t smell right, Marc thought to himself. Not only did this pair look nothing like any BLM agent he had ever met, he had worked with a few in the past, checking out survey points over some claims from a client. But all of Grant County was located in the Las Cruces District.
“Albuquerque? You guys have come quite a distance then? How can I help?”
“We are here following up on a report regarding the Cutter ranch. We understand you have some involvement.” It was a statement but phrased as a question.
Marc nodded, Then pushed the cookies to the men. They had both placed their mugs down and were staring expectantly at him. Marc did his best to brush it off.
After a few seconds of silence, the talker, Henricks, continued.
“What can you tell us about the incident?”
“Incident?” Marc asked innocently. “Did something happen?”
“Didn’t you help out with a wolf attack a couple of weeks ago?”
“Oh, yeah. That was a bad one. Big guy. You here to check on the insurance claim? That one made a big mess alright. Good thing we stopped it before it moved on, but the herd was a total loss. I’ll back up Trey on that. Nothing we could have done.”
The tension in the room was palpable. As he suspected, these men were investigating the beast attack. There were too many rumors going around now to keep it a secret. Marc had no interest in getting involved, especially with shady government officials, but there was no way he would avoid scrutiny now.
Suddenly the door opened and everyone turned to see who had come in. The silent agent, Roy, leaped to his feet but quickly relaxed when he saw who the new arrival was.
Torren sauntered into the house, took one look at the guests seated on the couch, then lazily wandered into the kitchen to sit on the floor and wait for his breakfast.
Marc wiped his face. Torren was indeed a very smart dog, but he was an incredibly lazy one.
“That dog…” Marc turned back to Agent Henricks.
“Is that a Goldenmute?”
----------------------------------------
Half an hour later, Marc watched the car as it drove off, back toward town.
Surprisingly, the arrival of Torren had completely diffused the situation. Henricks was apparently a fan of the rare breed and had been trying to find one. After a short discussion, Marc gave the man the contact information of the breeder he had gotten Torren from. As for his explanation ofthe wolf atfack, he simply gave them the story of a slightly larger-than-normal grey wolf that had attacked the sheep on the Cutter Ranch. He explained that after gorging on the sheep, the wolf had slowed down, giving him a chance to take care of it with the machete, as it had grown too wary to get it with a rifle at close range.
Marc wasn’t so naive as to believe that this would be the end of it. He doubted that the men were from the BLM to begin with, but he had no idea who else would be looking into the incident.
Well, it would be a lie to say that he had no suspicions as to their true identity, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He just hoped that he could avoid being connected to any more crossover attacks anytime soon. The thought that anyone else was investigating them sent chills down his back.
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Marc checked the time. Luckily the whole thing hadn’t taken much time. Today was going to be a busy day and he still had a lot to do.
He loaded up a few boxes full of produce onto the bed of his truck, including one that he had specially packed with items taken from his “special” freezer in the cellar. He called Torren over and opened up the door to the cab. Soon they were driving down the side-road leading to Pinos Altos.
It was less than a mile to the Lobo, and Marc would usually just walk over, but today he had a lot to bring. He was also planning be there until late, so he parked the truck on the side, then started to unpack the truck.
“Did you bring it?” A voice called out from the entrance to the restaurant.
“Morning Cyrus,” Marc yelled. “You gonna help me with the food?”
Cyrus came out, followed by his wife, Lily.
Lily rushed over and hugged Marc, shocking him into silence.
“Happy Birthday!” She squealed.
The small Asian woman clung to his arm like a koala hanging onto a tree branch and pulled him to the restaurant.
“You can come inside! Cy will bring in the groceries.”
As Torren popped his head out of the truck window another shriek filled the air.
“Torren! Good boy! Come, come! I’ve got some treats!”
She released her grip on Marc’s arm, then ran over to let the dog out of the truck. Torren barked his greeting, then waltzed into the restaurant like he owned the place. Lily pushed Marc inside while he watched the large man pulling boxes from the bed of the truck. Cyrus rolled his eyes and pointed his chin to the door, giving Marc the signal that resistance was futile.
Cyrus and Lily had moved to the area from Los Angeles back in the early 90’s. He had been a chef at a big fancy hotel, and she worked at the reception desk. After getting married, they saved up enough money to buy the Lobo from an old friend of Cyrus’s and decided to move out this way to enjoy the slow life.
They sat in the saloon, a large bar area that made up the front of the restaurant. The Lobo had been a small hotel once upon a time, but the previous owner had remodeled it into a Western theme bar/restaurant. Apart from the saloon, there was the kitchen and a couple of small private dining rooms. A large antique staircase led to the second floor where the old guest rooms used to be. Now it was a giant dining room that they could rent out for events.
Aside from Cyrus and Lily, who ran the Kitchen and the front respectively, there were also usually a half dozen seasonal staff who would come and go. Today it seemed that they had the day off as Sheila had booked the whole place for the night.
Mercifully the surprise party plan had been cancelled. After Ryan had blown the secret, Shiela had swept in quickly to ensure that Marc would not try to sneak away, instead applying her significant force of will to ensure his active participation.
Marc would be helping Cyrus out in the kitchen to prepare the food while Shiela would corral the other guests, including, apparently, live entertainment.
The whole thing made Marc’s bones twitch, but he felt both indebted to Shiela for all she had done for him over the years, as well as more than a little intimidated by her when she got into planning mode. The party would happen and he would be a happy guest of honor; whether he liked it or not.
Over the next few hours, Cyrus and Marc worked on the menu. He had to admit that he enjoyed the large-scale preparation. It reminded him of the meals he would prepare while traveling the other world. Magic made a lot of difference when it came to meal preparation on the road. Easy access to elemental magic, and storage magic could allow a camp cook to prepare meals that would require a full restaurant kitchen in this world.
While he rarely cooked for more than himself and Torren these days, Marc enjoyed cooking for others. Cyrus had offered him a job as a sous chef many times, but Marc preferred to just treat it as a hobby for now.
Shiela and her husband George showed up soon afterward, along with three men. It turned out that they were the “entertainment”, a bluegrass band that would provide music for the evening.
Marc recognized one of the men quickly. It was Gordy, the trucker he met at his father’s funeral. Matt, another trucker he met that day was also one of the band members, but his beard had grown out so much that Marc had not recognized him. They set up their equipment on the small stage at the far end of the saloon.
Ryan showed up next, dragging in several coolers full of drinks he had likely smuggled of out Walmart. He offered to play bartender tonight, but Lily made it clear that he was not allowed to touch the saloon’s booze. Besides, Selena and Leeroy were underage anyway.
The other two members of his gamer party showed up soon after, Selena came straight from her shift at the hotel, and Leeroy had brought up his boyfriend from Las Cruces for the first time to meet everyone. Marc was surprised that the boyfriend, Peter, was almost as old as himself. He brought along a nice bottle of wine as a gift. It was a nice gesture and while Marc avoided alcohol for the most part, he accepted it graciously. He was sure Shiela would take care of it eventually.
The last to arrive was Mr. Maeda and his wife, Melanie. Mr. Maeda smiled as he greeted Lily at the entrance.
“Hello Yuriko-san!”
“Maeda-sensei! So nice that you could come tonight!” She said, as they both bowed to each other.
Melanie looked over at Marc and rolled her eyes.
“The man speaks a total of ten words in Japanese, but put him near young Japanese girls and he goes all Pat Morita.”
Mr. Meada coughed.
“Hey Commie! Come! I have your gift outside. I need your help.”
“The proletariat exists but to serve.” Marc replied with a smirk.
The old professor clicked his tongue, then led the small gathered group outside to the back of his station wagon.
Opening up the rear door he revealed a statue that took up the entire cargo space.
In the end, it took Marc, Leeroy, and Peter to manage to pull the large object out of the back and place it near the entrance of the Lobo.
“That thing weighs a ton! How the heck did you get it into the car in the first place?” Marc asked.
“Man who catch fly with chopstick, accomplish anything.” He said while admiring his own work.
Melanie rolled her eyes again.
“He paid a couple of kids on the block to do it,” she said shaking her head in disgust.
Marc took a good look at the statue. It was a remarkable replica of his companion, Torren, sculpted out of pure steel. The metallic dog was frozen in mid-stride, but looked so lifelike it looked ready to trot over and sit beside him.
The real Torren approached it cautiously, giving it a confused look at first. Then he gave it a lick on the ear. Shaking his head and giving a quick bark that was a half sneeze, the dog turned to look at Marc for some kind of explanation.
Marc just shrugged. Torren gave another quick bark, then brushed his head against the side of the statue. With no response forthcoming, the dog lost interest and wandered back into the restaurant to the laughs of everyone present.
“Mr Maeda, this is truly a masterwork. Thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.” Marc said appreciatively.
“Well, You helped upgrade my furnace. I just wanted to test it out so this was just a trial run,” he said it casually, but he was obviously deeply proud of the piece.
“This unworthy student humbly accepts this gift to help me understand how far the long road ahead is for my lacking skills.”
“Hmph!” The old man smiled, pleased with the attention his work had drawn. “Now, where is the food? I heard we were going to get to try wolf burgers?”
laughing, they all went back into the saloon where music was now coming from the band.
For the first time since coming back to his home world, Marc felt utterly relaxed and happy. They spent the evening eating and laughing. He was surrounded by people he liked and respected. Most of the last decades of his other life had been marred by regrets and loss. He had spent so many years trying to atone for his mistakes, and even more trying to undo the damage he had been personally responsible for.
Surrounded by friends and people he trusted, it was more like those early years. It was strange. He felt like somehow he was getting younger, despite the fact that his body had finally started aging normally.
Then those happy thoughts were shattered by a high-pitched scream.
Everyone froze, heads turning as they looked around. Marc quickly checked to see who was missing. Torren started to bark loudly, pointing to the kitchen.
Lily. She had just gone back to get more burgers. Marc looked at Cyrus who seemed to have realized the same thing just now. They both bolted towards the kitchen.
Just outside the kitchen door, they found Lily slumped against the wall. Cyrus reached her first, and checked her, quickly determining that she was okay.
She was unhurt but terrified. Lily pointed into the kitchen, but seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Her mouth moved, but no words came out as she kept pointing. Cyrus walked over to the kitchen door and peeked in. Reaching into the door he grabbed a large cleaver from a counter.
Marc followed him, but Lily grabbed his shoulder. He looked back at her wide-open eyes as a word finally came from the back of her throat.
“Kappa…”
Not knowing what she was trying to say, Marc followed after the chef. As soon as he entered the kitchen, he saw it; hanging from the wall, stuck to it like a giant gecko lizard. Roughly the size of a toddler, with green skin and a head that looked like a giant frog with a huge mouth and dozens of razor-sharp teeth, Marc recognized it immediately.
“Goblin,” He cursed.
Cyrus was already hurtling towards it, swinging the cleaver at the grotesque monster.
“Wait!” Marc was calling after him, but it was too late, the actions had been set in motion.
The goblin saw the giant man approaching and leaped away from the wall immediately. Its powerful legs enabling an impressively quick jump. It was blurringly fast, but it was not fast enough.
Evading the large incoming knife was easy enough, but as the small beast flew off the wall, Cyrus’s other arm reached out and grabbed the thin green arm of the goblin in midair. He slammed it down on the table in the middle of the kitchen and brought down the cleaver a second time. This time the chef did not miss.
In the split second the fight had taken, Marc had only managed to move into the middle of the room. Now he was standing there as the head of the goblin shot off the table and flew out the open door to the outside.
Marc stared at the body. A goblin? Wolves, Rabbits, now a goblin. What was happening? Another thought popped into his head. It was almost like when Kira used to remind him of things, but he knew this time it was just a memory from the other world kicking in. An important fact that fought its way to his conscious mind.
Goblins only attack in groups.