Post by Kassandrah on Jun 29, 2016 21:42:38 GMT
The Border Collie whined outside alone, tied to the ice machine as blue and red flashing police lights scanned the area. The paramedic steadied Dwayne Corso’s shaking grease-stained hand with his as he wrapped the bandaged finger with the tip up to the knuckle removed in absorbent gauze in case any blood leaked through. On the floor around them was a bloody mess that trailed its way out the main door. Around them in booths, locals finished their breakfast in somber silence and tried not to pay attention.
Dwight Fielding and Sherriff Hal Creswell watched from the cashier’s counter of Fielding’s Garage, Gas and Rest Stop on I23 outside of Purity Louisiana. With a unified shake of their heads the Sherriff returned his look to Dwight and leaned in to ensure their conversation was private.
“So tell me about this woman, then.”
Dwight removed his beat-up old ball cap and rubbed his balding head.
“I don’t know anymore, Hal. There was just something off about this whole day right from the start, and everything went really wrong when she showed up.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Okay. So, I started my morning like I always do…”
A beautiful Border Collie and a Miniature Pinscher puppy spill out the green screen door of the old stucco house before Dwight steps out and watches them with a contented smile as they fly off together into the acreage behind his house, their well-groomed coats gleaming in the sun.
“Lady, Lass, don’t run too far,” He calls with a bemused shake of his head. He walks down the wooden porch steps in a white semi-buttoned up dress shirt with some grease stains from years ago marring it, his lucky red ball cap on his head and a full cup of coffee in his hand he’s careful not to spill as he crosses the gravel drive towards his store.
He doesn’t keep the back door of the restaurant locked. He walks in heading instinctively through the tiny short-order kitchen for the deep fryer and turns it on with a satisfying click and a whir of its well-used pilot light. He flips on the overhead vents, and then walks out through the open door switching the lights to the Restaurant/general store on and heads for the cash.
This store is generational, been in his possession since his parents left it to him and services a great swathe of the local community by being the area "jack of-all trades". Travelers can fuel up on gas, get your car repaired, fill up on some snacks or have the cook, that being Dwight, make you a meal of old favorites. This morning, he expects the usual bare minimum rush of regulars for breakfast. In the shop there are a few scheduled repairs that will be handled by his mechanic friend Dwayne who usually pulls up in his well-maintained Chevy Pickup any minute.
As he counts the till and revels in routine he remembers his breast pocket and feels emptiness there next to his heart.
Dwight stands there at the register looking blankly out the window as Lady the Border Collie returns with Lass the Miniature Pinscher in tow to wag their tails waiting for him to let them.
Sheriff Creswell blinked. It was hard to mistake the disruption of an otherwise ordinary Sunday mid-morning in what is a regularly calm and quiet portion of the county he watches over. The only exception, of course, is Purity, Louisiana itself where nothing remarkably normal ever happens. Sheriff Creswell inhales sharply and eyes the customers eating their continental breakfasts, gives a polite nod to those whose eyes he catches and looks back at Dwight.
“Sure. It’s strange. But I hardly think some woman showing up with a tattoo made all this happen, Dwight.”
“It’s that damned amusement park.”
“Pure Amusement.” Sheriff Creswell nodded. The attraction had been on a consistent rate of growth since it plopped itself down six months ago, and showed no signs of stopping. Hal scratched his chin and acknowledged silently that, if Purity itself didn’t attract it’s fair share of problems for as long as he’d been head of the police force in the county, Pure Amusement had certainly created an attraction that amplified trouble.
“That’s where she was headed, Hal. Check there. Pick her up. Arrest her.”
“On what charge, exactly?”
“You still have your finger.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Dwight asked her, as he looked her over with increased scrutiny. He noticed the odd look in her eyes before anything else. The way she was eyeing his index finger as if she just assumed it wouldn’t be there made Dwight slip his hand uncomfortably behind the counter. Blonde hair neatly coiffed and trimmed finely to hang down at the sides of her head, battened down by a red hat with some sort of tribal writing lettered across the face of it. Dwight Fielding frowned at her, his eyes falling to her chest, but not where she seemed to think he was looking. The tattoo. Dwight cleared his throat.
“What’s it of?”
She eyed him with a coy smile.
“What do you think it’s of?”
Dwight frowned further and finished scanning the drink she’d brought to his counter. She stood out like a sore thumb to a community weary of most outsiders. With her back to the restaurant guests, she was catching glares that Dwight recognized and made him stiffen his shoulders, eager to wrap the transaction up and get her on her way in a hurry.
“That’ll be $2.05.”
Her face dropped.
“Oh.”
“Problem?”
“I only have a $1.50.”
Dwight hid his uneasy gulp as he pulled the drink away from her.
“Sorry.”
She slumped her shoulders at him. She was well done up for a woman short of money. Odd he thought, in this summer heat, that she wore a big baggy jacket that looked expensive, which she looked easily capable of hiding in and some ripped jeans that teased far too much leg for Dwight’s liking.
“I know you don’t know me, but is it possible you can cover it for me? I have a bit of a walk ahead. I’ll be in the area for a while, though. I promise I'm good for it.”
He watched her eyes look down at his finger again and quickly slipped his hand behind his back.
“Where you headed?”
“The Pure Amusement Park. Planning on picking up a job. I'm good for the money.”
“Uh huh.” Dwight had always felt it unnecessary to mix his personal feelings with business, but he felt a palpable need to be on his guard around this woman who’s gaze he couldn’t seem to hold for long before she was frowning back down at his hand. She noticed his discomfort.
“I’m sorry, but you don’t work on cars do you?”
Dwight’s eyes narrowed.
“No. That'd be Dwayne. Why?”
Her frown remained on her face as she shook her head uneasily, her eyes eventually drifting upward with what looked like another concern.
“Your dog Lass? She’s about to get hit by a car.”
And then Dwight, who already had developed a severe distrust and dislike for this woman felt his back get up a little further as he looked outside, his eyes instantly falling on the Border Collie standing right outside his window. Then his eyes glanced onto the interstate where his puppy, the Miniature Pinscher named Lass, had taken to dragging a rock.
The crash stops everyone’s eating. Dwight rapidly forgets the tattooed woman in front of him and whips around the counter top to see what’s happened. Seconds later, Dwayne comes rushing in cupping his blood-gushing finger. Dwight doesn’t notice her hand swipe the drink off the counter and disappear out through the same door Dwayne Corso just rushed through looking for first aid and help. The rest, for Dwight is white noise and a rush of motion.
Sheriff Creswell nodded now that he had the general outline of events as witnessed by Dwight Fielding. He tapped his hand on the counter to rouse Dwight from his momentary daydream.
“So, you’re sure she took the drink?”
“Well… no. No one saw that, but you heard Mary over there, she said she saw her pick Lass up off the road.”
Sheriff Creswell glanced over his shoulder at Mary, wh remained distracted with her meal. Sheriff Creswell shook his head and straightened up.
“Well, frankly, I don’t have a lot to go on. The motorist is fine, Dwayne’s lost the finger but he seems otherwise fine. Preemptively asking about events that haven’t happened yet in an inaccurate manner is hardly an offense, Dwight, and as for the damage to your shop you’ll have to deal with the insurance company about that. Is it possible Lass ran off into the woods?”
“She doesn’t do that.”
The Sheriff shrugged.
“All right. I’ll do what I can.”
Dwight looked satisfied.
“Within reason, Dwight. I’ll ask around the Pure Park. Check out this tattooed lady, and maybe get your dog back. I hardly see how this qualifies as… you called it “witchcraft”.”
Dwight shrugged in embarrassment.
“Maybe that went a little too far.”
Sheriff Creswell nodded sardonically.
“But she was a strange one, Sheriff. When she looked at me it was like she could see into my future.”
Sheriff Creswell backed off from the counter, ready to compile notes with other officers on the scene.
“Well, maybe that’s what I’ll do. Go find me a fortune teller.”
Dwight Fielding and Sherriff Hal Creswell watched from the cashier’s counter of Fielding’s Garage, Gas and Rest Stop on I23 outside of Purity Louisiana. With a unified shake of their heads the Sherriff returned his look to Dwight and leaned in to ensure their conversation was private.
“So tell me about this woman, then.”
Dwight removed his beat-up old ball cap and rubbed his balding head.
“I don’t know anymore, Hal. There was just something off about this whole day right from the start, and everything went really wrong when she showed up.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Okay. So, I started my morning like I always do…”
Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω
A beautiful Border Collie and a Miniature Pinscher puppy spill out the green screen door of the old stucco house before Dwight steps out and watches them with a contented smile as they fly off together into the acreage behind his house, their well-groomed coats gleaming in the sun.
“Lady, Lass, don’t run too far,” He calls with a bemused shake of his head. He walks down the wooden porch steps in a white semi-buttoned up dress shirt with some grease stains from years ago marring it, his lucky red ball cap on his head and a full cup of coffee in his hand he’s careful not to spill as he crosses the gravel drive towards his store.
He doesn’t keep the back door of the restaurant locked. He walks in heading instinctively through the tiny short-order kitchen for the deep fryer and turns it on with a satisfying click and a whir of its well-used pilot light. He flips on the overhead vents, and then walks out through the open door switching the lights to the Restaurant/general store on and heads for the cash.
This store is generational, been in his possession since his parents left it to him and services a great swathe of the local community by being the area "jack of-all trades". Travelers can fuel up on gas, get your car repaired, fill up on some snacks or have the cook, that being Dwight, make you a meal of old favorites. This morning, he expects the usual bare minimum rush of regulars for breakfast. In the shop there are a few scheduled repairs that will be handled by his mechanic friend Dwayne who usually pulls up in his well-maintained Chevy Pickup any minute.
As he counts the till and revels in routine he remembers his breast pocket and feels emptiness there next to his heart.
“I lost her picture, Hal. 2 years since Cindy died and that’s the one thing I’ll never lose. I always have it. I put it there in the morning, at least I thought I had, and then when I checked again it was gone.”
“Maybe you dropped it?”
“Maybe…”
“Maybe you dropped it?”
“Maybe…”
Dwight stands there at the register looking blankly out the window as Lady the Border Collie returns with Lass the Miniature Pinscher in tow to wag their tails waiting for him to let them.
"So, what happened to Lass?"
Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω
The Border Collie sits on its haunches outside panting softly. Dwight maintains his frown, looking down at the plastic counter at some scratch-and-win lottery tickets absentmindedly before pointing straight at Sheriff Creswell with invigorated authority. "I never forget a face, Hal. Never. You hear me? But that woman walked through here, caused all this ruckus, and the only thing I can remember about her is that damn tattoo on her neck and the fact that Lass was gone after she left. Don’t you think that’s more than a little strange?"
Sheriff Creswell blinked. It was hard to mistake the disruption of an otherwise ordinary Sunday mid-morning in what is a regularly calm and quiet portion of the county he watches over. The only exception, of course, is Purity, Louisiana itself where nothing remarkably normal ever happens. Sheriff Creswell inhales sharply and eyes the customers eating their continental breakfasts, gives a polite nod to those whose eyes he catches and looks back at Dwight.
“Sure. It’s strange. But I hardly think some woman showing up with a tattoo made all this happen, Dwight.”
“It’s that damned amusement park.”
“Pure Amusement.” Sheriff Creswell nodded. The attraction had been on a consistent rate of growth since it plopped itself down six months ago, and showed no signs of stopping. Hal scratched his chin and acknowledged silently that, if Purity itself didn’t attract it’s fair share of problems for as long as he’d been head of the police force in the county, Pure Amusement had certainly created an attraction that amplified trouble.
“That’s where she was headed, Hal. Check there. Pick her up. Arrest her.”
“On what charge, exactly?”
Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω
“You still have your finger.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Dwight asked her, as he looked her over with increased scrutiny. He noticed the odd look in her eyes before anything else. The way she was eyeing his index finger as if she just assumed it wouldn’t be there made Dwight slip his hand uncomfortably behind the counter. Blonde hair neatly coiffed and trimmed finely to hang down at the sides of her head, battened down by a red hat with some sort of tribal writing lettered across the face of it. Dwight Fielding frowned at her, his eyes falling to her chest, but not where she seemed to think he was looking. The tattoo. Dwight cleared his throat.
“What’s it of?”
She eyed him with a coy smile.
“What do you think it’s of?”
Dwight frowned further and finished scanning the drink she’d brought to his counter. She stood out like a sore thumb to a community weary of most outsiders. With her back to the restaurant guests, she was catching glares that Dwight recognized and made him stiffen his shoulders, eager to wrap the transaction up and get her on her way in a hurry.
“That’ll be $2.05.”
Her face dropped.
“Oh.”
“Problem?”
“I only have a $1.50.”
Dwight hid his uneasy gulp as he pulled the drink away from her.
“Sorry.”
She slumped her shoulders at him. She was well done up for a woman short of money. Odd he thought, in this summer heat, that she wore a big baggy jacket that looked expensive, which she looked easily capable of hiding in and some ripped jeans that teased far too much leg for Dwight’s liking.
“I know you don’t know me, but is it possible you can cover it for me? I have a bit of a walk ahead. I’ll be in the area for a while, though. I promise I'm good for it.”
He watched her eyes look down at his finger again and quickly slipped his hand behind his back.
“Where you headed?”
“The Pure Amusement Park. Planning on picking up a job. I'm good for the money.”
“Uh huh.” Dwight had always felt it unnecessary to mix his personal feelings with business, but he felt a palpable need to be on his guard around this woman who’s gaze he couldn’t seem to hold for long before she was frowning back down at his hand. She noticed his discomfort.
“I’m sorry, but you don’t work on cars do you?”
Dwight’s eyes narrowed.
“No. That'd be Dwayne. Why?”
Her frown remained on her face as she shook her head uneasily, her eyes eventually drifting upward with what looked like another concern.
“Your dog Lass? She’s about to get hit by a car.”
And then Dwight, who already had developed a severe distrust and dislike for this woman felt his back get up a little further as he looked outside, his eyes instantly falling on the Border Collie standing right outside his window. Then his eyes glanced onto the interstate where his puppy, the Miniature Pinscher named Lass, had taken to dragging a rock.
“I’m telling you Sheriff that puppy was a personal gift to myself from myself for making it as long as I have without my Cindy. Damn thing loves moving rocks for some reason. Anyway. I tell you I watched her smirk at me when that car was barreling down on Lass. Must’ve had new brakes or something cause he swerved like the dickens and went skidding right into the garage.”
The crash stops everyone’s eating. Dwight rapidly forgets the tattooed woman in front of him and whips around the counter top to see what’s happened. Seconds later, Dwayne comes rushing in cupping his blood-gushing finger. Dwight doesn’t notice her hand swipe the drink off the counter and disappear out through the same door Dwayne Corso just rushed through looking for first aid and help. The rest, for Dwight is white noise and a rush of motion.
Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω Ω
Sheriff Creswell nodded now that he had the general outline of events as witnessed by Dwight Fielding. He tapped his hand on the counter to rouse Dwight from his momentary daydream.
“So, you’re sure she took the drink?”
“Well… no. No one saw that, but you heard Mary over there, she said she saw her pick Lass up off the road.”
Sheriff Creswell glanced over his shoulder at Mary, wh remained distracted with her meal. Sheriff Creswell shook his head and straightened up.
“Well, frankly, I don’t have a lot to go on. The motorist is fine, Dwayne’s lost the finger but he seems otherwise fine. Preemptively asking about events that haven’t happened yet in an inaccurate manner is hardly an offense, Dwight, and as for the damage to your shop you’ll have to deal with the insurance company about that. Is it possible Lass ran off into the woods?”
“She doesn’t do that.”
The Sheriff shrugged.
“All right. I’ll do what I can.”
Dwight looked satisfied.
“Within reason, Dwight. I’ll ask around the Pure Park. Check out this tattooed lady, and maybe get your dog back. I hardly see how this qualifies as… you called it “witchcraft”.”
Dwight shrugged in embarrassment.
“Maybe that went a little too far.”
Sheriff Creswell nodded sardonically.
“But she was a strange one, Sheriff. When she looked at me it was like she could see into my future.”
Sheriff Creswell backed off from the counter, ready to compile notes with other officers on the scene.
“Well, maybe that’s what I’ll do. Go find me a fortune teller.”
