The town of Dodge Point was as stereotypical of a small, Midwest town as one could imagine. It consisted mainly of a stretch of old-fashioned Main Street with a few occupied avenues branching from it. Beyond that lay a maze of rural roads, designed at the whims of local politicians and farmers, that could have one driving into confusing madness for hours.
"You sure you don't want me to just drop you off in town?" I asked McGavin.
"Nope. Just head on out to the highway. I'm assuming that something will stop us from leaving and I'm too curious to know if I'm right. Then, we can go get pecan pie together."
"But if nothing stops us, I'm not turning around and bringing you back. I'm getting on the highway and then the turnpike and then I'm gone. And, you're nice and all, but I'm not taking you home with me."
McGavin laughed. "That's fine. You can just drop me on the side of the road then."
Great. Now my escape plan culminated with leaving a blind man on the side of a highway. McGavin probably knew I wouldn't do that. The man was playing me like a fiddle.
His machinations faded quickly from my mind when I saw the roadblock and flashing lights. A police cruiser and a pickup truck had joined forces and parked end to end across the road just before the onramp to the highway. An officer and man in plainclothes stood outside their vehicles, both armed with rifles. While I assumed this had to be some terrible coincidence, I instinctively slowed down, coming almost to a stop.
McGavin sensed the change in speed. "What's up?"
"Roadblock."
"Ha. Our new destination is delicious pie then."
"Hold on. There could be a hundred reasons for a cop to block a road."
McGavin made a show of using his finger to push his ear towards me. "I'm listening."
"There could be an accident ahead. Construction. Traffic jam. Sobriety checkpoint."
"Fair enough. Describe the roadblock to me. In detail."
I complied, right down to the color of the truck. McGavin pounced on one bit of information.
"They have weapons at the ready. A rural cop and a civilian have a road blocked and are waiting with shotguns in hand. After all that's happened in the last day, you think that's a safe confrontation to have? Especially after we already said that something would be in place to stop you from leaving town?"
I came ever so close to repeatedly banging my head on the steering wheel. Was this just a simple coincidence or too much coincidence? I broke the situation down to its simplest form. My new trio of acquaintances had warned me that something would prevent my leaving and now two armed men barred my path. Better safe than sorry, I supposed.
"Fine. Let's go get pie. After we're done, we'll drive back and see if they still have the road blocked."
"That's the best idea you've had since we met," McGavin said happily.
I drove back into town and parked on Main Street outside a restaurant imaginatively monikered as The Diner. I suppose if you had the only diner on the main road there was no need for further creativity.
As we exited the car, I noticed several passersby intently staring at us. Not all of them, but those who did really watched. I understood that we were strangers in a rural town unaccustomed to any form of tourist activity. I also couldn't discount my companion's lime green suit being an attention grabber. Or maybe there was something more sinister afoot. Whatever the case, the eyes sent shivers up my spine and I practically shoved McGavin into the diner.
The sole waitress gave us a booth in the back of the establishment. There was a decent crowd for the size of the place. Six other diners. All eating solo. A small woman with wire-rim spectacles peered at us before returning to her texting. At the counter, a man with a ridiculously long mullet jutting out from his knit cap was just about face down on his plate.
I ordered two slices of pecan pie and two coffees. We were served promptly, and the waitress returned to wiping the counter.
McGavin stood up. "I got to use the restroom. I've had a storm brewing all morning while you've been driving us around." He patted his stomach, and I gave him a slightly revolted nod. Stick in hand, he tapped his way to the bathroom.
Alone now, I prepped my coffee and tried to clear my head. The pie looked amazing, but my hunger had evaporated after the roadblock and unexpected return to town.
The atmosphere dimmed as someone pulled a window shade on the other side of the restaurant. I paid it no mind and absentmindedly dragged my fork through the whipped cream, leaving various patterns of parallel lines as though it were some form of sweetened Zen garden. It didn't relax me. Instead, playing with the dish only reminded me that I should be hungry, which in turn made my stomach hurt. I reached for my coffee.
The lights darkened again as a second shade was pulled. It caught my attention as the sunlight streaming in reduced again. I glanced up.
The Venetian blinds hadn't been lowered. The plastic white strips were still gathered at the tops of the windows. Still, no light shone through. The glass remained clean, not tinted or obscured, but beyond the sun had vanished, and night had fallen along Main Street. However, through the third window on the same wall, sunlight beamed in and the day stayed unchanged. I peered in confusion at two different times of day juxtaposed.
None of the other handful of customers appeared to notice and continued about their business. How could they ignore this phenomenon? Hyperaware now, their indifference drew my scrutiny and I realized none of them were actually eating. Or talking. Each sat still, eyes straight ahead, hands folded on the table before them. Only the waitress moved as she wiped down the counter. The same counter she'd been wiping since we'd arrived. She should have polished it down to the wood by now.
The light level shifted again and this time I snapped my gaze right to the next window, just as shadows lowered. Like a shade being pulled on the outside world, darkness rolled down the window, blotting out the sun. Night had fallen beyond the third window.
The process quickened and two more darkened in tandem. This left only one daytime window—the one I sat next to. In horrid fascination I put my fingertips to the glass, warm in the sunlight. Then it faded as if impenetrable storm clouds instantaneously rolled in. I could still see my car, parked at the meter. A pedestrian meandered down the sidewalk, chatting on his phone, sunglasses on.
I knew then the night only existed for those of us in the diner.
"Hey there. Learn your name yet?"
I recognized the voice.
The man at the counter removed his knit cap, which had a long-haired wig stitched to the inside. On closer inspection, it looked so silly that I was shocked I hadn't noticed it when I walked in. But it had been a decent enough disguise for Baldie, my previously defeated erstwhile kidnapper. Course, I'd been so distracted that he could have escaped my notice while wearing a rainbow clown afro and red nose.
"You healed up quick." Indeed, the man bore no signs of his recent beating.
He rotated on his stool to face me. "The Saint takes care of those who serve her faithfully."
"She hasn't cracked the code for hair growth though I see." I'm not sure where this bravado came from. Maybe I was just too tired to care. "Where are your buddies?"
Baldie smiled. "She deemed them to be unfit for continued service." He made a demonstrative show of searching the empty air around me. "Where's your big friend?"
"He'll be meeting us here any minute," I lied.
"You better hope he hurries. For your sake. I don't think you'll be able to count on much help from a blind, old man."
"Oh yeah?" I couldn't think of anything to say so I conceded. "That's a fair point."
Baldie suddenly stood, like a soldier snapping to attention. The other patrons copied him, sliding from their booths and turning to face me. The waitress ceased cleaning and did the same. Spines ramrod straight. Shoulders square. Eyes unblinking. Stances perfectly mimicked, they stared at me.
"She's here. Your new Saint has arrived."
The kitchen door swung open and the Saint entered the room.
Her entrance was not at all what I expected.
She wasn't a monster, nor did she wear witches' robes. She stood about five foot six and had wavy brown hair loosely tied from her face. Despite the chilly early-spring day, she wore only a white sundress and no shoes. She possessed a farmers-daughter-about-to-go-walking-through-the-meadows vibe.
Until I saw her eyes. There was something dark there. Predatory.
The Saint sat down at the counter and spun playfully on the stool to face me. Next to her, Baldie grinned maniacally as I'm sure he imagined how badly this situation was going to go for me.
"Finnigan Walsh," she said.
I was really starting to hate my name. "Hi."
"How's the pie?"
I looked down at it, as I couldn't' remember eating any. I hadn't. I set the fork down. "Looks great."
"Is the blind man in the bathroom?"
I nodded, it's not like I could lie about him going someplace else.
"Want me to fetch him?" Baldie asked.
"No. I don't care about him enough to drag him off a toilet." She cocked her head, bird-like, and studied me. "Let me establish this right off the bat—I hated your uncle. Absolutely hated him."
After all the stories of Simon being a wonderful guy, I found this opinion a bit refreshing. Too bad my fear overwhelmed it. "I barely knew him."
"Now see, that's odd. There was a very believable rumor floating about that said you were his apprentice. If that had been true, then you would have inherited the unlucky mantle of being my most hated person."
"That's kind of the way my inheritances have been going."
The Saint smiled. "Now, I did find it strange that I never heard of you until around the day your uncle died. So, I sent Preston here," she patted Baldie on the shoulder, "and some other followers to check you out. Guess what? While their snatching of you was interrupted by a large violent thing, it sounded very much like you possessed absolutely no power or knowledge at all. In fact, Preston claims you have no defensive abilities whatsoever."
I felt that assessment was overly wimpy but figured what the hell did I have to hide. "I'm not his apprentice."
"I gathered that. I wonder why Simon spread that rumor to me and your three mislead killers? It's almost like he wanted me to rush here immediately and kill the lot of you."
Damn. It did kind of sound like that.
Before I could ponder that further, the Saint pounced. In a blur, she dashed from the stool, yanked me by my jacket out of the booth, and lifted me into the air. Her dark eyes swirled, pits to nothingness. Despite her lithe build, she may as well have been made of iron, as I twisted futilely, my feet dancing on the air.
After holding me aloft for thirty or so seconds, she dropped me back into the booth and returned to her stool.
"You are most certainly not a magician. Your uncle would have burned me to ash just now."
"What are you?" I stammered.
"There is really no easy explanation for that. A wielder of shadows. A sorceress of the night. An ageless vampiress. All are equally true." As unbelievable as that was, there was a slew of darkened windows to attest to it. She leaned forward. "And if not an apprentice, what are you?"
"Pisces."
The Saint giggled. I couldn't help but notice that she had a beautiful laugh. It lingered in my ears like the twinkling of bells. "The question now is, what do I do with you? Do I need you to open your uncle's secret door? Or are you a ploy, some form of distraction? I could bring you into my fold." She waved a hand at the people around us, standing at attention. "But your lineage makes you too unpredictable. Sadly, it's best to kill you."
That's when the toilet flushed and McGavin came out of the bathroom.
Chapter Words - 2117
Total Word Count - 15,269