The Haunted Mine: A Lorimer Graveskeeper Choose Your Own Adventure Story

Chapter 4: The Trouble In New York

"Sure. Ok," Lorimer said, sticking his hand out and shaking Jim's.

"Cool! Looking forward to working with you. You can feel free to hang out for the rest of the tour or head out. There's not much left. We can meet at the shop tomorrow to work out the details."

"Sure, that sounds fine. See you then," Lorimer said, turning away from Jim and walking up the dark street.

This was probably a huge mistake. The hook- nosed man, undoubtedly Mr. Henderson himself was already keeping an eye on him. But what choice did he have? He was broke in the middle of the desert. It's not like people were throwing job offers at him and he had to pay the landlord or lose his place. He'd spent the last month sleeping at campsites and showering in cold water. Having a roof over his head was a luxury he was reluctant to do without. 

He wandered back over to Cecile's. Even 6 months after leaving his job he couldn't get used to all the free time. He didn't know what to do with himself in the evenings. He read the same stupid books over and over again and drank. It was a pitiful existence, but there was nothing to do about it. All his friends were back in New York, and he couldn't go back there anytime soon.

"Hey Lo, back again?" Cecile asked.

"Yeah, I guess so." Lorimer slid into a barseat and put a 5 dollar bill down on the table. Cecile handed him a bourbon. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him for a minute.

"What?" He asked, finally.

"Nothing."

"No seriously, what?"

"I can't figure you out." 

"What's to figure?"

"Well you're a young, good looking guy."

Lorimer raised his eyebrows. 

She flushed.

"And well, I can't figure out what a guy like you is doing in a place like this. You seem, educated," she said.

"I could say the same about you," Lorimer said.

"Well, I'm not. I was born and raised around here. Parents live a few miles outside of Flagstaff. I moved out here after high school. I like tending bar. Never had it in me to try to be somebody."

"I think that's pretty brave, to be nobody," Lorimer said.

"I'm not sure what that means," she said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out from under the counter and lighting one. She handed one to Lorimer.

"So seriously, what's your story?" She asked, taking out a second glass and pouring both of them another drink. 

It wasn't a secret. He'd told the story before, a couple of times, usually while drunk and lonely in places like this.  He took a drag from his cigarette, shot back half of his bourbon, and began.

"Well, I'm from Rhode Island originally, born and raised. Went to undergrad at Harvard. Finished medical school at Brown. Started residency in surgery at Columbia, where I was working until about 6 months ago."

"I'd pinned you for a college boy," Cecile said, looking coy. "How does someone with that much education end up trying to work for dipstick like Jim?" 

Lorimer laughed, then grew quiet. 

"I had, an experience," he said, flicking the cherry off his cigarette.

"What kind of experience?" 

"It's a pretty horrible story."

"I've probably heard worse."