Appearances are important.

Of course actually doing your job is important as well, but before you even get a crack at the job, you need to convince other people that you're up to it. Even though you might know jack shit. Before there was Sheriff Clay, there was just plain old Mr Clay who was running for the position. There were candidates that had more seniority, better track records and (in a rather petty observation on Clay's part) better looks, but eventually Clay beat them all. Why?

Because Clay knew the importance of appearances. Of being able to look like you know what you're doing, especially if the situation has spun out of control. And that's why Sheriff Clay got the position when the United States of America existed, hung on when the Free Republic of Maine was declared and was kept around when the Great Xir decided to grace his town with its presence. Say what you like about Sheriff Clay, he had grit. Grit that had allowed him to outlast men that should have been his betters.

And that store of grit was running out. Caught between Xir and Archie, Clay was left with few good options. But the Sheriff was not ready to go gently into the night. He was determined to hang on, kicking and screaming on his way out if things really came down to it.

"Finish taking those photos and bagging the evidence." Clay grunts at the deputies milling about the library, "Then get someone to clean Phil off the floor. Damn, what a mess."

The deputies nod and begin their work, a facsimile of proper police procedure. Not that any of this actually mattered, the criminal justice system had gone down the drain more or less at about the same time civilization did. Most settlements now handled things the traditional way, a posse dragging the suspect out of his home and having that unfortunate hanged at dawn before a baying mob. But this town was respectable. It had standards. The veneer of those days before the virus had been painstakingly maintained.

So the town needed a Sheriff that still did Sheriff things. Like carrying out an investigation regarding the murder of the town retard.

Clay begins walking a slow circuit around the first floor of the library, making a show of inspecting the crime scene. The doors of the library had been deliberately left open, allowing curious bystanders to gather outside. Life in the town was mainly peaceful and uneventful, despite the occasional bouts of terror Xir's reign could induce. That meant gossips would gather and spread the word of Clay's good work. The Sheriff pauses at a spot between bookshelves and grunts at the sight of several discarded empty bags of chips left on the floor as well as bits of chicken bones.

"Hey." Clay calls for one of his deputies, "I found something. Make sure to bag all this junk up. Its important evidence."

"No problem, Sheriff." the deputy confirms. Clay nods in satisfaction and continues his performative stroll, not really paying attention to anything in particular. He had known that the garbage had been left there right from the start of course. After all, Clay was the one who fished all of it out from a dumpster and placed the junk at the crime scene beforehand. With this bit of bogus evidence, he could explain the presence of the brother sister duo at the library. A pair of outlaws had taken up residence in an abandoned public building. Phil discovered the break in, rashly charged in against explicit orders and got himself killed.

The end. Case closed.

This deception would never have been able to be pulled off during the old days. There were labs that could dispute the bogus evidence. And if Clay managed to bring the siblings in, a lawyer showing up and asking difficult questions was a real possibility. But in this brave new world, none of that existed. Clay was the first and final word on the subject of peacekeeping in this town. The Sheriff sighs tiredly, the inside of his mouth feeling like sandpaper. Ever since Xir laid down his punishment the other day, Clay had taken to fasting the entire day, only eating and drinking late at night. He couldn't be seen to be openly rebelling against Xir now. As it has been said before, appearances are important. Even though keeping up with them can sometimes be so difficult.

Clay makes a mental note to have the damaged window fixed before returning to staring into empty space. The desire to sneak off for a drink of water is simply overwhelming, driving him close to distraction, but the Sheriff manages to rein that impulse in. But this peaceful moment is interrupted by one of the deputies calling him.

"Someone here to see you Sheriff."

"Who is it?" Clay rasps irritably, his mood growing worse by the second. But he nevertheless makes his way to the library's main door where the unexpected visitor is waiting.

"Charlotte?" Sheriff Clay mumbles in surprise, "What're you doing here?"

Charlotte ran the flower shop down the main drag before the virus hit. And Clay supposed she still did the same thing now, trading flowers for additional rations. Like the Sheriff, Charlotte was an old timer of this place. Both of them had lived here even before the whole world went to hell.

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"Oh, Sheriff, its terrible." Charlotte says, her eyes welling with emotion, "I heard that poor Phil had been murdered here. Is that true?"

"Yeah. Yeah its true." Clay confirms sadly, "Look, his body is just behind my deputies, so let's take this conversation outside, OK?"

Charlotte goes pale and allows herself to be led by Clay out of the library, where the both of them eventually wind up standing beside Clay's parked SUV.

"Poor Phil." Charlotte murmurs, "He was such a good boy."

"Yuhuh." Clay nods vaguely, Charlotte's words not really registering.

"You must be crushed." Charlotte continues, "I know you've taken care of Phil for all these years."

"Mm. Yeah. Its a bit hard to accept." the Sheriff replies, "He's been with us for years already. A real survivor, then something like this happens."

Phil had been born special, or more accurately, plain slow. His father had died while Phil was still young, compounding the karmic shit sandwich god had prepared for the poor retard. The job of raising the special boy fell on to his mother, who at first tried sending Phil to a local school. But that did not work out. Regular schools have a hard enough time dealing with normal children, not to mention a retard. Clay had heard that the teachers at the school recommended to Phil's mom to send the big retard to a specialized center where he could get an education, but that clingy woman refused.

Phil's mom instead pulled her son out of school and began home schooling him. And to be fair, she didn't do too bad a job of it. Although Phil would never be mistaken for someone normal, as long as he was kept in familiar surroundings, he seemed to be stable enough. The problem was that Phil's mom wasn't immortal, and there was a lingering question of whom would take care of her son when she passed on.

And so Sheriff Clay, that pillar of the community made a suggestion to Phil's mom. The Sheriff's Office would take the retard on as their coffee boy and janitor, paying him an allowance in return. It was good publicity all round and Phil joined to big happy family at the Sheriff's Office to some low level hoopla. With her son's future secure, Phil's mom no longer bothered to keep fighting the long arm of death and dropped dead of natural causes a few months later.

After the virus, Clay had decided to promote Phil to deputy. The Sheriff's Office was shorthanded and there wasn't anyone who cared about Phil not having the required qualifications or even being a retard for that matter. Hell, there might not even be anyone to actually issue certification for deputies anymore. And as long as he was fed, Phil could be counted upon to do simple work, more or less.

Unfortunately, for Phil's last assignment, he drew more from the 'less' side of the equation and paid the price.

"Phil was like a son to me." Clay says solemnly, "It was hard to be inside, seeing his body like this."

"I know, I know." Charlotte agrees, "Did you get any word about Toby whenever you left the town?"

Clay starts unpleasantly, a sick feeling rising from his gullet. He had not heard from his actual son ever since the virus began its rampage. Toby had left the town for college and decided to never come back. There was no work here he said.

And Clay never saw Toby ever again.

"No." Clay whispers, "I didn't find any trace of Toby."

"I'm sorry." Charlotte apologizes, "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"We all lost someone to the virus." Clay shrugs stiffly, "Its fine."

"Anyway, I wanted to see you Sheriff," Charlotte continues abruptly, "because I have information to share."

"Information?" Clay puts on a show of pulling out his notebook and pen, "I'm all ears Charlotte."

"My son, he saw two strangers hanging outside my store last night." Charlotte leans close to Clay as she relates her tale, "Suspicious isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." Clay answers, as he curses deep within his heart, "I'll need to interview your son later."

"Of course." Charlotte smiles, "Always happy to help."

"Let's set an appointment -" Clay begins to speak but is cut off by Charlotte coughing into her elbow. A dry, hacking sound.

"Are you fine Charlotte?" Clay asks, a chill running down his spine.

"Yes, yes." Charlotte answers between coughs, "Must have woken up on the wrong side of bed this morning."

"Charlotte, is there a problem with my breath?" Clay queries. He had not drank a single glass of water the whole day. His breath stank and the deputies were eager to remind him of it.

"No Sheriff." Charlotte shakes her head, "Your breath is fine."

"Good." Clay answers simply. So it has begun. Just like Archie said it would.

"We're really grateful you know." Charlotte prattles on, unaware of Clay's thoughts, "Xir is terrifying, but you're here looking out for us. It can't be easy."

"No problem." Clay quips as he carefully turns his eyes away from Charlotte, "Looking out for people."

"That's just what I do ..."