Brent whirled, but Brooke beat him to it.

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered, “I’m sorry, but : what?”

The third squatter shrugged sheepishly, “Just sayin’ is all.” He’d made the previous interjection as a casual aside but now faltered under scrutiny.

Alvin glared at him. “No, Buck, you ain’t sayin’” he scolded, “but ya’ should – what’aya mean ‘back home?’ You know somethin’ can help these folks find they kin?”

Buck held up his hands defensively, “Ain’t sayin’ all that, necessarily. Was just a thought that struck, s’all.”

“Strike it out loud,” Brooke urged, “if you don’t mind.”

Buck smiled, “All right. I’m just sayin’, it’s like when folks get into trouble, you know? If the Warlock, the Melted Man, whatever we’re callin’ the feller, is havin’ some trouble – with your kin or without – I was just thinkin’ maybe he took, uh… SOLACE… back home. Where he feels safe. You understand?”

“I do…,” Brent said, casting a doubtful eye toward the cabin, “but doesn’t that put us right back where we started?”

“Naw,” Buck waved a hand. “A house ain’t a home; ain’t that what the philosophers say?”

“Aristotle, I think,” Dean mumbled. Cal shushed him with a giggle.

“Sure,” Brooke said, “but, then, if not here, where’s “home” for this guy?”

Buck scratched his head, “Same place it is for every feller, I reckon. Where they grew up.”

Jeb turned, hands on hips, to face Buck, “And you’re sayin’ you know where that is for the Warlock?”

“Think so,” Buck said, becoming skittish again. “I mean, I might.”

“Where?” Brent nearly shouted the word. When Buck winced, he added, “Uh… please.”

Buck grinned again. “Orvoston.”

“Orvoston?” Alvin looked skeptical. “Just up yonder? How ‘da you know, Buck?”

Buck lowered his voice and leaned toward us, as if afraid of the trees overhearing. “I saw his write-up – at the hospital after the fire. Had his address on it.” He nodded toward the cabin, “But not this place… not even sure this place has an address, truth told.”

“’The debris beneath the trees,’” Alvin suggested. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“Now hold on,” Jeb interjected, “how did YOU see this guy’s files in the hospital? You a patient, too? Thought you didn’t like hospitals?”

“Don’t no more,” Buck shook his head, lips curling, “not after what I saw there. Tipped my stomach.”

“How then?” Jeb pressed.

“I WORKED there,” Buck said, annoyed. “I told you that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Course I did. Even brought it up… oh, maybe a month or two back.”

“Like hell!”

The conversation, important as it was becoming, was in serious threat of permanent derailment.

“You worked at the hospital,” Brooke prompted, “and you saw his records. And he lives in… what was that city?”

Buck glared at Jeb one last time before responding. “Orvoston,” he said,” just up the road a spell.”

“What’s his name?” Brent asked, “his real name.”

Buck scratched his head and frowned, “That, mister, I don’t know – don’t remember. See, I was livin’ in Orvoston at the time, myself. That’s why it struck me; lotta things struck me with that guy, truth told.”

Stolen story; please report.

“Id’nt that ‘bout when you LEFT Orvoston?” Jeb asked.

“S’WHY I left it,” Buck said.

“You mean ‘cause you got yerself kicked out,” Jeb told him snidely.

“I did NOT,” Buck roared, flushing, “I TOLD you this TOO.”

Jeb pouted his lips dismissively, “You told us a STORY, that’s right. But here I’m referrin’ to the TRUTH of it.”

“You--”

“Thank you for your time,” Brooke interrupted. “We really appreciate it.”

True to his word, Brent paid the men for their time and trouble. Buck simmered silently as Jeb sneered at him.

“Good luck to ya,” Alvin said, “hope you find your kin.”

“Me too,” Brent sighed. I could see the flare of excitement drain out of him as we turned to leave. This interaction was not nearly as fortuitous as he’d been hoping. The town our quarry might have grown up in was hardly much of a lead. On closer inspection, it looked a lot closer to a bitter dead-end.

“Where to?” Cal asked as we returned, “Orvoston?”

“Why bother?” Brent mumbled, continuing past him.

“Brent--” Brooke began, but he waved her away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry for making you come here. I’m sorry for all--”

“Now, hold on!”

We stopped, turned toward the cabin again. Buck was already down from its porch, hurrying toward us. He waved his hand in the air like he was hailing a taxi.

Brent reached into his pocket, “Sorry, you’re right, you deserve--”

“Don’t do it,” Buck said. “Don’t go after ‘um.”

Brent paused, brow furrowing. Buck’s voice hadn’t been a command; his tone was more akin to a plea. “Excuse me?” Brent asked.

“The Warlock,” Buck said, his face grim, “don’t go lookin’ for him. Please.”

“Why not?” Brooke demanded sternly. “Our brother is with him.”

“I know, I know,” Buck acknowledged, nodding, “and I’m sorry for that. But ya got to understand – I know there’s a lot of talk about the Warlock, but it’s TRUE.”

“Sure it is,” Dean said, pursing his lips. “He communes with demons for fun.”

Buck shook his head, “I ain’t sayin’ every stupid thang folks claim is right. A lot of that is silly talk from biddies. But there is somethin’ WRONG with that man, make no mistake. I know,” a nod toward Brent and then Brooke, “you wanna get your brother back, but if the Warlock has him, there ain’t much you can do for him. I’m sorry to have to say it.”

Brooke scowled, “You are the second person to try to tell us that.” She folded her arms defiantly. “Thanks, but we’ll take our chances against myths and gossip.”

Buck lowered his voice again, as he had done before. “But it ain’t GOSSIP,” he stressed, “not ALL of it. I worked at the hospital, like I said.” He grimaced for a moment, perhaps recalling Jeb’s antagonism on the subject. “I SAW what they brought in, what was left of him. I was curious; ‘course I was. That’s why I… well, I snuck into his room. It ended up bein’ sealed-off to most folk, but there were a few minutes there at the beginnin’ where I had the chance to look in on him. I did. I had to, you see? It was all the talk, what he did or folks thought he did. So I wanted to see this monster, myself.”

He paused, licking his lips nervously. “I ain’t squeamish,” he assured us. “I seen plenty ‘a things durin’ my time at the hospital that’a turn most folks’ stomachs. But what I saw on that bed, what was left’a the Warlock that the doctors was trying to stick back together, it was a sight.”

His eyes grew wide and his voice lowered to a whisper. I needed to advance several steps just to hear his next words. “Ain’t no man supposed to become what HE was and live.” He shook his head violently. “He was LIQUID; that’s all he was, soup. The feller looked and smelled like burnt oatmeal, still bubblin’ on that bed.”

“Great visual; thanks,” Cal told him.

“It’s true,” Buck insisted. “An’ yet, months later, he’s put back together, walkin’ around – ALIVE??? How?” He shook his head again. “No, no human bein’ gets burnt up like that and survives, less they shook hands with the devil his’self.”

Brooke threw up her hands. “We appreciate your help,” she told him, turning away. “Thank you.”

She, Dean, and Brent left then. I found myself hesitating, however, and Cal, standing beside, seemed to as well.

Buck interpreted this as an invitation, eyeing me curiously before saying, “You seen ‘im, ain’tcha?”

“Yeah,” I admitted, watching the others go. Brooke had had enough of small town folklore; Brent was retreating into despair. “At the fair. Twice, actually.”

“We talked to one of the carnies about him, too,” Cal added. “The guy has a hell of a reputation.”

Buck nodded. “I don’t say it lightly; ain’t one for slanderin’ folks for no good reason.” He glanced back at the cabin. Jeb and Alvin had gone back inside, but I could see them through the broken doorway. Alvin reclined on a shaggy chair while Jeb poked at a nondescript pile of junk. “An’ maybe the Warlock ain’t all bad, whaddoo I know? But when I saw that steamin’ stew in the hospital room suddenly walkin’ ‘round a few months later, a livin’ person again, I quit. Had to. Couldn’t be part of evil like that. You tell me, friend, what do you call that, when even death, itself, ain’t brave enough to come for a person who ain’t go no right to go on living?”

“A scientific miracle,” Cal suggested. “THAT, at least, doesn’t make him ‘evil.’” He nodded to me before leaving to join the others.

Buck sighed, trying one more time. “SCIENCE can’t turn soup into a man. Only one thing can, and there ain’t no better word for it than ‘evil.’ I ain’t exaggeratin’ – that fella wasn’t burnt up, he was…” he paused, searching for the right word. “He was… MELTED. Down to nothin’.”

“He isn’t nothing anymore,” I said, “and our friend appears to be with him, so ‘evil’ or not, we’ve got to find him. Thanks for all your help, Buck.”

“Jeebus,” he croaked as I moved away. “Jus’-- jus’ do somethin’ for me will you?”

I paused. “What?”

“Be careful.”

I nodded. That, at least, I could promise with confidence.