“So, runnin’ through it again, you want records dating back to the eighties?” Andy asked.
Vick nodded. “Yup."
“And newspapers from the same time?”
“Any you can dig up.”
Andy scratches the back of his head. “Did they even have a paper yet back then?”
“I dunno, but as far back as you can manage to go will be helpful. I’m sure somebody did some kind of press.”
“Okay,” Andy took in a deep breath and looked forward at the looming city hall, its stained-glass eye staring down at him. It was like a gateway into his soul, gazing at his hidden intentions. He gulped—a hand was felt on his shoulder, startling him, snapping him out of whatever apprehensive state he'd found himself trapped in.
“Dude,” Vick said with a small squeeze. “It’s fine. You’re going to be fine.”
“Right, it’s not like you’re fibbing or anything. Just asking for some records.” Cici said.
“What if she asks me why I’m lookin’ into it? What do I say then?” Andy asked.
Vick shrugged. “I dunno. Make something up.”
“I’m not good at that.”
“Alright, uh…tell her you wanna know more about the town’s history since you’re gonna be staying here.”
“Classic.” Cici grunts.
“You think she’ll buy that?” Andy asked.
“Again,” Vick smiles. “You look the part.”
Cici gave the boy a salute with both left arms.
“Good luck in there, soldier!” She enthusiastically said. Andy gave her a half-hearted salute back, and turned toward the door. Looking up at its ancient oak, without a moment more of hesitation, he pushed them wide open and stepped inside.
The interior looked about the same as when Andy last saw it, Snoozie still sitting at the front, clacking away at her keyboard. Unfortunately, it seemed as though someone else was right there with her, golf bag in tow, chattering loudly about how he'd 'served that brat right’—something along those lines, anyhow. The dialogue was cut short with the abrupt opening of the building's doors. Andy could feel that intense stare once again.
“Mr. Kessler,” Hudson greeted as he polished one of his clubs. His eyes wandered out the door just fast enough to see Vick and Cici scampering away. The man’s brow quirked, his lips pursed, his club slapping repeatedly against the palm of his hand.
“Oh, what’re you up to now?” Hudson asked. “Here to get that parasite’s press back?”
“No, sir,” Andy stammered. “I’m—I’m here to learn about the town. Since I’m gonna be stayin’ here. Sir.”
Hudson quietly simmered, his eyes squinting further.
“Really?” He asked.
“Really.” Andy replied.
“Really, really!” Snoozie chirped. Hudson shushed her.
“Okay, Mr. Kessler, I’ll bite. What is it you wanted to know about? I could tell you all about it, I’m something of an expert myself.”
No, that wouldn’t work at all. They needed locations, first and foremost. Hudson couldn’t be made privy to the plan, but the way the man was already slithering over, a wide smirk on his square face, it gave Andy the feeling he had already been found out.
“That’s okay, sir, I don’t wanna take up too much of your time,” Andy started. Hudson shook his head.
“Oh, no, it’s no problem at all, really. I just so happen to have a clear schedule. Please, ask away.”
“Sir?” Snoozie waved a limb. “Your game with Mr. Moss?”
Hudson turned, once again registering the gear he’d brought down to the front desk. Right. Mr. Moss. Suppose he didn’t want to keep him waiting. He gnawed on his upper lip. Relenting, Hudson sighed and grabbed his clubs.
“Alright then, boy. She’ll show you the way. Just remember what I told you.”
“Got it,” Andy replied shakily. “I won’t make trouble for you, sir.”
Hudson gave Andy a pat on the back on his way out, slightly pushing him in Snoozie’s direction. The doors slammed behind the giant—Andy wondered, in spite, if his big fat tail had ever been caught in between them. He couldn’t help but clench his fists.
Taking a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves as he approached Snoozie's desk, Andy rested his hands on the smooth oak. The eccentric receptionist looked up at him with her bulbous eyes, mandibles twitching as she spoke.
"Good to see you again, Andy. Are ya getting used to the new home?”
The boy rocked his head back and forth and waved his hand.
“Ehh, I s’pose. It’s uh…it’s takin’ some gettin’ used to.”
“I’ll bet.” Snoozie giggled, gesturing for the boy to follow her as she slipped out from behind her desk. “C’mon. I think I know what you’re lookin’ for.”
“Huh?” Andy did a double take, doing his best to keep up with the soaring Onierovore. “Wait—what do you mean?”
Whether she was air-headed or intentionally obtuse, the creature gave little response beyond a three-eyed wink. Andy followed Snoozie down a long hallway bathed in the warm glow of lamplight. The walls were adorned with old portraits of Hudson, each iteration looking just a little older as they progressed down the corridor. Small inscribed dates and gold leaf accents illuminated their detail further.
They finally arrived at a large ornate door, marked with arcane symbols and scratches. Snoozie stretched herself to reach for an old brass lock at the top of the frame. Unlocking it, it creaked wide open, the air filling with the scent of ammonia and dried ink. The records room was like a labyrinth of information, rugged shelves towering over them, laden with thick volumes bound in worn leather. There were cabinets filled with parchment scrolls, each marked with colored ribbons. Maps littered the tables and hung on walls—some rolled and bound together while others laid flat, displaying detailed grids of past, present and planned city layouts. Globes of various sizes occupied every corner of the room, their surfaces covered in tiny hand-drawn details of land forms, seas, rivers and borders. A few of the things even included landmasses Andy was unfamiliar with—he was no geography buff, by any means, but seeing a mountainous bump near the Bermuda Triangle, or the large sinkhole in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, well, those creative additions would be remiss if they didn’t raise a few brows.
Piles upon piles of yellowed papers rested upon thick desks sporadically placed throughout the room. Although cluttered and chaotic in appearance, there was an underlying order to it all—a meticulous mess that only Snoozie seemed to understand.
“Here we are!” She called as she gathered a few dozen papers from one of the shelves. Nestled in a small corner of the room, there lay just enough open table space for her to spread out the documents. Andy approached, glancing over the articles and back to Snoozie. His brow quivered.
“Why are you doing this?” He asked.
“Hmm?”
“Why are you helping me?”
The Onierovore pondered the question for a moment, one of her mantid appendages going to scratch at her mandibles. Andy could almost see the cogs turning inside of her translucent head as she thought long and hard. Blinking once, twice, all six of her eyes again focused on Andy.
“Well, sheesh, you’ve been through enough, and I figure there’s no sense in tryin’ to stop ya,” She shrugged. “Plus, I trust you’ll make the right decision when the time comes.”
“What does that even mean? Can you stop bein’ cryptic?”
“Hmhm! A girl’s gotta have her secrets!”
Andy looked over the papers as he sighed—realizing these really were the exact documents he'd been looking for. Stories on the town's foundation, stories on how the foundations were put in place, how the Rangers were working on a ‘very exciting’ new housing project. Heck, Snoozie even laid out a big topographical map of the region, spread out over everything else, marked up all over the place with little drawings of huts and treehouses. It was all awfully convenient. Too convenient. He squinted at her again, pressure mounting in the back of his head, the boy doing everything in his power to read her intentions.
“I can read minds, Andy.” She quite suddenly filled him in.
Andy blinked. “...Oh. You can do that?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Made about as much sense as anything else in this world. Not questioning it further, Andy turned to more pressing matters. “You’re not gonna tell on me, are ya?”
Snoozie shook her head. “No, but I am gonna warn ya—Mr. Davis doesn’t really like getting surprise visitors.”
“Oh yeah?” Andy scowled. “Well, he can make time.”
“Just be sensible, okay? I know you don’t wanna get into any more trouble than it’s worth.”
She pointed to a spot in the northwestern part of the map, at one faded looking building which had been etched into the canvas.
“You’re gonna want to start here,” Snoozie explained before turning over the map. Her pointy head tilted toward the articles. “And read up, while you’re at it.”
Andy nodded, his eyes straying back to the jumble of parchment. Taking a seat, he began to pour through the old stories, minutes disappearing at a time. Snoozie certainly knew how to curate things—a concise history laid out for curiosity’s sake. Just like she could read his mind, he reckoned. The paper was cute enough, reminding the boy much of the publication his folks read back home. There was an account on how the townspeople had started utilizing the forests nearby, chopping down trees and hauling stones from the mountains until they had enough materials to start constructing their humble abodes. There were articles about a new, revolutionary way of building using alchemy and some form of temporal displacement, whatever complicated process that entailed. On another page, Andy found a breakdown of the new river highways and how the spider-webbing streams would one day connect everyone through seamless transit.
Among the many articles that he sifted through was one with a striking and familiar face—one which caught Andy’s eye just long enough for things to click. This was it—a young Butch Davis, shaking hands with the mayor. The article said he’d just been promoted to Scoutmaster. How far back was it? 1987? He couldn’t have been any older than twenty here. Andy pushed the thoughts aside. At his knees were a small group of children, all clad in their leather armor, smiling for the camera. One clutched tightly to Davis’s leg, a little boy with big eyes and wild, matted, leaf-filled hair. His fang-filled underbite reminded Andy of his own, his pointy ears a bit like an uncanny reflection. Andy shivered. The last thing he wanted to be was associated with the man.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
So who was this boy? An underling? A son?
Davis had mentioned he had a son. Andy read on.
It was just a homely article, an interest feature that didn’t dig too much into the little details. The main focus seemed to be on the new graduate, a pretty big deal among the Rangers. Scoutmasters, he read, once promoted are granted their greatest gift—a unique voice of their own. It wasn’t every day that these kinds of promotions would happen, although the article noted that this had been the third of its kind that year. Any mention of the boy or his compatriots was nowhere to be found.
Following that near-bombshell, Andy must have sifted through a dozen more stacks of papers, searching for his face again. Ultimately he gave up—he had what he needed—to hell with the history lesson. The boy gathered his things and marched back out those ornate wooden doors.
…
The moment Andy shuffled through the door and hung up his bag, his eyes were drawn to a peculiar glow emanating from the corner of the bedroom. Once again, the crystal ball’s normally transparent surface was pulsing with an otherworldly luminescence, painting shadows on the surrounding walls––someone was trying to reach him. Good. He was hoping to tell Cici about his findings.
Andy approached the desk, his sandals flopping against the wooden floorboards. He reached out with his fingers, cradling the warm sphere in his hands and gazing into its core. The winds inside swirled and twirled, the vision growing ever clearer—but rather than an unsightly, bulging eye staring back at him this time, Andy instead saw the formation of a ten-gallon hat and a dark, bushy beard. As the man’s tired, swollen eyes came into focus, the boy had just about dropped the ball from shock.
“Andy?” asked the man on the other side.
“Dad?!” Andy fumbled with the ball in both hands, pressing his face against the glass. “Oh gosh, dad!”
“Hey, son,” Martin replied with a tired laugh. “It’s been a while.”
The boy’s gut felt heavy at that. He hugged the ball close to his heart, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. It warmly buzzed in his arms.
“I’m so, so sorry…”
“It’s okay, I promise, it’s okay. I know you was just scared.”
Andy sniffled. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“I know. It’s okay. Andy?”
“Yeah?”
“Where are you, right now? Are you safe?”
“I’m okay, I’m…I’m in a safe place. A cabin, in the woods.”
“Are you staying with someone?”
“No, I’m by myself.”
The boy considered elaboration for a brief stint, but knowing the dire consequences that could come about from revealing too much, he kept his mouth shut. It felt strange to be putting his trust into the monsters, but not totally unwarranted. No good would come from his old man coming down, helter skelter, waving his gun around and threatening these good folk. Even worse, he thought, were the consequences of humans discovering a place like this, what that might do for them, all that—add the horror stories of what the monsters might do to a human who came into their turf, and, well…
As much as he wanted to say exactly where he was, for the time being, he had to keep his mouth shut—good thinking too, as it seemed as though Martin had not been entirely alone. The old man went quiet for a moment, carrying the ball elsewhere. The flicker of yellow light passed the view, the creak of an aged door…and another figure, a woman with straight, dark hair and a thin white veil covering her face. Andy’s first thought was that it was his mother, though as soon as she spoke, he knew it couldn’t be her. Her accent was thick, foreign, like someone out of the mediterranean. Her vocal chords seemed drier than the desert as she rasped along.
“Hello, Andy. It is good to meet you.”
“This’s Ms. Talia Doukas, she’s the one who helped me find you.” Martin said.
“Uh—pleasure’s all mine, Ms. Doukas.” Andy gave a short, nervous wave. “Good thinkin’ with the crystal ball.”
The woman chuckled and bowed her head. “I should say the same to you. We were not sure we would be getting a direct link.”
“Ms. Doukas is a witchdoctor,” Martin explained. “She’s gonna help get you cured, son.”
Oh, thank God. Andy’s heart fluttered some as he heard this—the first true offer he’d received since his arrival in the monstrous town. The boy stood still with baited breath, watching as the two figures in the sphere exchanged a sober glance. They seemed to hesitate, Martin especially so—Andy’s eager expression soon turned to one of concern.
“We do not have much time,” Talia started. “With the full moon in just a few days, the window of opportunity is closing fast. I would like you to keep that in mind as I explain.”
Andy gulped, and nodded. “Okay.”
“In order to cure you, we will need the heart of the beast who cursed you. Do you understand?”
What? Andy blinked and shook his head. Had he misheard? Martin leaned forward.
“We’ve been trackin’ the sunovabitch. We know where he hunts, where he prowls at night—we’re this close to finding him, son, but we’re hitting a dead end.”
“That’s why we need your help, Andy,” Talia said. “You seem to have already adjusted to the supernatural. You must have made plenty of new friends—friends who will know plenty of things.”
No, something was wrong. A few dozen thoughts immediately came to mind—the boy’s head raced. Andy took a step back as his breath hitched, his suspicions growing strong.
“Dad, who—who are these people?”
“They call themselves the Natural Order.”
Andy bit down hard on his lower lip, fangs nearly drawing blood. Shivers ran through his arms and into his fingertips. No, no, no! This wasn’t fair! He simmered to himself briefly, teetering on hysterics when he cried,
“They’re huntin’ people like me! They wanna kill me!”
The two on the other side of the glass looked baffled, shocked, the both of them exchanging a glance before returning their gaze to Andy. Martin raised a brow.
“Well where’d you hear that?”
“...I heard it from a stranger. He said they…he said they was huntin’ us folk, tryin’ to snuff out all the magic in the world, or somethin’ like that – that they was a cult.”
“It ain’t like that at all, son,” Martin said. “They’re good samaritans, hopin’ to help folks like us—folks that find themselves in special circumstances.”
Talia placed a hand to her chest. “We only hunt monsters, Andy Kessler, men who have lost themselves to their dark urges—men like the one who hurt your family—we do not hunt young boys. I am sorry if you have heard otherwise.”
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Hudson had lied to him, and he wouldn’t put it past Vick to fall prey to whatever saucy rumors he’d heard around the office. If nothing else, he owed them the benefit of the doubt, even after his little scare in the woods. Maybe they really were only trying to help—he took the idea with a very large grain of salt—they still were asking for quite a lot.
“Alright, say you ain’t tryin’ to kill me,” Andy sat back down. “But, you’re askin’ me to kill a stranger?”
“A monster. He is a danger to the people and needs to be stopped—the authorities do not take such matters seriously. It is up to us to stop this man before he harms anyone else. Besides, I am not asking you to kill anyone. We may handle such matters, once we find him—though anything you know could help.”
She did raise a point. Andy stewed on his thoughts. It still seemed wrong, to immediately place his trust in them. A moment ago, they were reviled, feared—now, they were to be trusted, an ally? He didn’t buy it for one second, although…
No. No. He couldn’t sell out, not now. As much as he despised Davis, there were still good folk that lived in this town, good folk that could potentially be hurt if he said too much. Plus, that young girl—What would she do, in this divided world, without a father to raise her? It didn’t seem like anyone in town was up for it, and he certainly didn’t want a little girl in the hands of a cult—especially not one that worshiped this so-called ‘God of Destruction.’ Andy crossed his arms, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s nothin’ I can do to help y’all.”
Martin put his hands together, sighed, then took off his hat. He would nervously knead the brim with his fingertips as his bald head hung low.
“Andy, your mama’s dead.”
The boy froze up stiff. His fingers trembled. His mouth went dry.
“What?”
“It was…just a few days after you had run away. She came under a…a real bad fever. Doctors only gave her a few days, so we…I…” The man’s assured nodding turned to the shaking of denial. “She’s gone, Andy. That monster took her from us. Please—please don’t let him take you away from me too.”
Andy had to walk away, just for a moment. Processing, processing…how was he supposed to process this?! A bombshell like that, and he didn’t think to bring it as his opener—would Andy have even wanted that? His breathing picked up, his heart racing. The echoes of his father, trying to reach him, overbearing on his heavily-weighted conscience. He sat down on his bed and buried his face in his hands.
“Andy? Are you there?”
The boy shook his head, abruptly getting off of the bed and walking to the ball. He didn’t know necessarily how to shut the thing off, but he knew he was done talking for the time being. This was all too much.
“Sorry, dad, I…can I call you back?”
“Andy—”
“I’m sorry. I just…I need to think.”
Haphazardly, Andy threw a small towel over the ball and exited the room, his chest feeling heavier and heavier with every step outside. It was almost to the point where he could no longer breathe—this overwhelming weight—he gasped for air and fell to his knees just beyond the dining room table. For a minute, he just sat there, screaming, punching the floor until his knuckles went raw and red. His tears, blood and spit all mixed into a thick cacophony of crimson welling beneath his hands. Andy’s screams turned to gasps and gagging after a while. He felt as if he was going to throw up—and he did, just as soon as he ran to the kitchen sink. Sweat lined his brow. Andy collapsed to the floor, curling up into a miserable, trembling ball of sorrow.
The boy finally had a moment of respite to really let it all out—all the frustration he’d been holding, all the overstimulation—it now had a chance to process, and process it did. After nearly five minutes of relentless sobs, and the introduction of a migraine, Andy found himself unable to move his body any more. Eyelids heavy like medicine balls, his sore form began to melt into the cold wooden floor.
It felt as though hours had passed since he’d fallen to the ground—every second felt like thirty, every minute a tedious scrawl. His cheeks stung as the tears began to dry on his face. His head throbbed. Breathe. Just breathe. Andy swallowed back whatever had been building up in his throat and brought himself up to a sitting position. The crystal ball hummed ambiently in the other room. Were they still connected? Were they waiting on him? Though he hated to admit it, he really didn’t care at the moment. Andy couldn’t bring himself to care about anything right about now. What was there to care about anymore?
“Please don’t let him take you away from me, too.”
Yes, there was that—the words from before echoed in his head—Andy wondered what Martin must have been going through in comparison to himself. Not only losing his wife, but his son to a disease he knows he can cure. The question came once more of whether or not Andy should sever a father from their child, only now, the question hit much closer to home. Was he really ready to make that choice? To break his father’s heart one more time?
What would even be the benefit to playing nice now? The Rangers were slow to dispense justice—and none they could offer would ever reconcile Martin for his loss. Andy was merely playing into a broken system, one which would offer him no reward, no satisfaction. Perhaps taking the wolf’s heart for himself would be justice—an eye for an eye—but what would that make Andy, but a monster in that little girl’s eyes? Plus, came the caveat of working with the Natural Order. Was their bad reputation really just rumors?
Ugh. Either way, he was going to feel awful.
So which option would make him feel the least awful?
The orb continued to buzz. No more running away, right…the boy got to his feet and slowly sauntered back to the bedroom. He hesitated a bit. Did they expect him to come to a decision tonight? Deep breaths. Andy uncovered the ball. Of course, the familiar visage of his father was still waiting on the other side. The man’s gaze fell immediately to Andy’s bloodied knuckles and tear-stained face. His old hound dog eyes drooped.
“You okay?”
“No,” Andy admitted as he wiped his face. “Dad, I—before we decide on anythin’, I think…I dunno. Can we just…meet up first? Just you an’ me?”
Martin looked to Talia for approval. The woman nodded.
“Sure, son. We can do that. Where do you want to meet?”
Andy scratched his head, sniffling. “I’m uh…not too sure. I’ll have to get somethin’ figured out. You stayin’ with Ms. Doukas for a while longer?”
“We’ve provided your father lodging for the evening, yes.” Talia said.
“Then I’ll…I’ll let you know tomorrow night. Just give me some time.”
“We don’t got a lot of time, son.”
“I know,” Andy shortly shot back. “...I know. We’ll…figure it out. I just—I just really need some more time.”
Martin relented. “...Alright. I’ll be waiting for that call.”
“Yup. Bye, dad. I love you.”
“Love you too, son.”
Vrrrrrrnnnnn…the buzzing slowed to a dull, hardly-audible hum. The bedroom went dark. God, he was tired. All the soreness of the day finally set in, his bruised ribs throbbing with pain, his tapered knuckles stinging in the exposed air, his head…oh, man, his head…he just wanted to sleep it all away.
Tomorrow was a new day.