Rufus stumbled back to The Lucky Dawn in a haze; partly beers, partly exhaustion, but mostly confusion.
He didn’t think he’d ever been this tired.
He didn’t notice the empty streets.
Didn’t see Mac watching at the office window.
Didn’t remember the piece of paper in his pocket.
It was all he could do to unzip his tent before collapsing inside, fully clothed.
Rufus slept.
* * *
He dreamed, of course, how could he not?
He dreamed of faces, of kids, of Danni and Mac and the slew of people who inhabited this small town in the mist.
In his dreams, a story spoke in song, with verses, choruses; bridges built between disparate worlds.
Connections made.
Rufus slumbered on.
* * *
He woke at around ten the next morning.
Tired. Dehydrated.
His head ached.
If he’d dreamed, he didn’t remember.
When he looked down, he saw that the doorflap of the tent was only partially zipped, his feet sticking out into the open air.
I didn’t drink that much, he thought.
Or maybe I did.
He grabbed his wash-kit, climbed out of the tent and headed to the bathrooms.
It was cool this morning, verging on cold and, thanks to sleeping with the doorflap open, a chill had settled into his bones. He shoved his unencumbered hand into his pocket seeking warmth and was surprised by a piece of folded paper.
He stopped, opened it, read it.
Loaded Barrel
Wednesday 7pm
He looked at the paper for a moment and then continued on towards the bathrooms.
* * *
In town, he headed straight for the coffee shop, hardly slowing at The Folded Corner, passing Tunes with only a quick glance.
No sign of Danni.
He remembered dancing.
Flowing free in the music.
Feeling it thrum up his arms and steal him from time.
Tunes wasn’t even open.
Coffee was the beginning and end of his free will.
He moved towards its magnetic presence on autopilot.
* * *
Gradually, over the course of caffeine and calories, Rufus began to re-emerge.
This town, he thought, it’s not good for me.
As he sat, sipping the last dregs, he scanned the coffee shop and was surprised to notice posters tacked to a pin-board above the milk station. He stood, crossed over to take a closer look.
Sure enough, they were flyers for gigs.
Here at the coffee shop.
Damn! he thought, realizing he hadn’t even thought to check whether he could play there.
He turned back, headed to the counter.
* * *
Gig in hand, he headed back towards Tunes.
Now caffeinated, his mind began to tumble again, asking questions, finding no answers. Something was on the tip of his tongue and he had the sense that, with a couple more pieces, he might be able to bring it into the light. It was like a song, beginning to form yet not ready to sing. An inkling, an idea.
These melting faces.
The kid on the corner.
Music in his palms.
He became aware of a vehicle pacing him, just behind, it’s engine humming enough to intrude.
He stopped, turned.
And was unsurprised to see a police cruiser.
Behind the wheel, the distorted deputy.
Took you a long time, Rufus thought, unaware until this moment how much he’d expected a repeat visit.
The cruiser continued a few more feet until it drew next to him.
The officer pulled over, put the cruiser in park and stepped out, walking around the vehicle.
“Good morning,” he said, but his tone was perfunctory.
“Yup,” Rufus replied, wary of speaking more than necessary. His memory burped up snapshots of the interview room, the featureless gray corridor, the quiet, tuned static of the buzzer; Dolly Wilson’s smile.
“You are settling in?” the officer asked, though it didn’t sound like a question.
“I guess. It’s an… er… interesting town.”
The distorted deputy just looked at him, and Rufus was struck once more by how his mouth didn’t seem to work, how it just didn’t look right. Even in the brightness of this clear Summer’s day.
“How long will you stay?”
His face was blank, emotionless, not even a hint of interest in whatever the answer may be.
I could say anything, Rufus thought, but I bet if I go long, he’s not going to like it.
“A little while,” Rufus said, “as long as people are digging…”
“You should be leaving.”
“Huh?”
The distorted deputy stared at Rufus.
He doesn’t move, Rufus thought, not at all. It’s like he’s not even breathing.
“You should be leaving.”
Feeling panic, Rufus looked up and down the street. They were alone; in their own little bubble.
“Are you… Are you threatening me?” he asked.
“You feel threatened,” again, not a question.
Rufus tried a smile, though he wasn’t optimistic it would land well.
“A little,” he shrugged.
That wax-mask face didn’t move at all.
“You should be leaving.”
The panic pushed at Rufus, he wanted to be away from this man, this conversation and, if truth be told, this town as well.
“Am I free to go?” he asked.
“Yes,” the officer said immediately, “the town will not hold you. You are not welcome here.”
Rufus stopped for a moment. This discussion was spinning way out of control; even while the distorted deputy was impermeable.
“I meant,” he began.
“You meant this conversation.”
“Yeah! But…”
“You should be leaving. You are not welcome here.”
The distorted deputy turned, walked around his cruiser, climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled into the street.
Rufus watched until the car turned the corner. Only then did he realize his mouth was open; for complaint or from shock, he didn’t know. Whichever, he snapped it shut.
He stood for a moment, fighting the urge to run straight to The Lucky Dawn, pack up and leave. In the end, he did move, but his path led him towards Tunes.
He needed to speak with Danni.
* * *
When he got to Tunes, Rufus found Danni sitting on the front step as she had been when he’d first arrived. She leaned against the wall, knees up, arms resting casually on them; observing the street, eyes flickering this way and that.
When she spotted him, her face dropped into a frown.
“What happened last night?” she asked.
The question didn’t quite get through, he was so preoccupied with the whirl of his thoughts.
“I…”
“I thought you were having a good time,” Danni continued, “feeling the music and we…”
“Walk with me?” Rufus asked.
“Huh?”
“Please?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
* * *
Out of town, a field; neutral territory if ever he’d wanted it.
“Can we stop now?” Danni complained. “My feet ache!”
“Sure,” he smiled at her.
They climbed the stone wall, collapsed in the grass; Rufus leaned on the wall, Danni lay flat on her back, watching clouds.
A little way further up the hill, a lone tree stood sentinel. A crow barked every so often, hidden somewhere in amongst the foliage.
“So,” Danni said to the clouds, “spill.”
Rufus closed his eyes; found Michael Ridenour waiting.
“Kids are going missing,” he whispered.
A slight wind blew across the field; rippling grass.
“Huh?”
“Kids,” he said more to himself than Danni, “missing.”
He opened his eyes, surprised to feel tears pricking, a tightening in his throat.
“What?”
He looked down and, though she hadn’t moved, Danni was looking at him.
“Oh, I don’t know…”
She lifted herself up on an elbow.
“What’s wrong with you?” she chided.
“People… People around here…”
“Yeah, assholes, I know. It’s New England, land of cold shoulders!”
Her laughter was like a brook running through this meadow.
“It’s not that,” Rufus countered.
“Have you seen their faces? They’re not… right.”
“What?”
Rufus fell silent for a moment. He couldn’t answer her question, didn’t even know the answer for himself. But the memory of the distorted deputy, the warning to leave town, was still so fresh. And when he blinked, he heard it alongside the image of Michael Ridenour’s eyes staring at him from a milk carton.
Danni sat up now, cross-legged before him.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
“I don’t want to.”
“Close your eyes.”
Reluctant, he did so. As the world disappeared and his thoughts and memories surged he felt Danni’s hand fall on his own.
“What?”
“Shhh… Breathe.”
He did so, fighting back his confusion.
“Deeper,” Danni crooned.
He slowed his breathing, letting it expand into his belly; gradually the images faded, the police officer’s voice gaining distance. His vision was suffused by the redness of sunlight on his eyelids and he let himself float.
“That’s good,” Danni’s voice spoke from somewhere in the red, “now tell me.”
“I think they’re stealing kids, Danni,” he heard someone’s voice speak.
“Kids?”
“Right. Like the kid playing tag. Like Michael.”
“Michael?”
“He was at a gig a while back, in the city. I gave him money. But he’s gone missing and I…”
The redness began to fade.
“Breathe,” her voice was caramel; sweet, enveloping.
He let himself float again, feeling the breath deep below his diaphragm.
“There’s something wrong here. Something below the surface. Something wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Their faces don’t work. They’re close but… It’s like they can’t quite make it look right.”
“Who?”
“The hidden people. The ones who…”
“Yes?”
“Who are stealing the children.”
Rufus could feel the wet tears on his cheeks. They were somewhere, somewhere far away, wherever his body was. He drifted away from the sensation.
“Stealing?”
“I don’t know. Did I say that?”
“Did you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you say now?”
“I… I’m confused. Scared. The distorted deputy, he…”
“Yes?”
“He told me to get out of town.”
“And you’re going?”
“I don’t… don’t know. Perhaps I should…”
He began to feel the warmth of the sun on the top of his head, knew that the day was calling him back, denying him the chance to stay in this beautiful, restful state.
“Not yet,” Danni’s voice urged, “you haven’t changed enough.”
“Changed?”
“It began last night,” she crooned, “you know that.”
“Yes.”
“And you are not done here yet.”
“No.”
“You want to change the world.”
He could feel the day calling to him, stronger all the time.
“Yes.”
He opened his eyes, and found himself standing at the foot of the tree on the hill, the day distorted by the play of light through the leaves. The crow was crying still, yet somehow it’s raucous cacophony was now tuneful; flutes and clarinets serenading the day.
“Look down,” Danni’s voice spoke from everywhere, from nowhere.
When he did so, he saw that his feet were floating in mid-air, beneath was the endless red calm.
“Huh?”
“Here,” she said, “look here.”
He raised his eyes a little, saw the roots of the tree and, as the crow sang its plaintive aria, he took a step forward. There, in amongst the roots, was a dark hole. Something about that black oval scared him very badly.
“There are holes in this world,” Danni’s voice chimed, harmonizing with the crow.
“Holes.”
“Holes. Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Take your fear, your confusion. Put them in the hole.”
Rufus floated for a moment, high above the redness; deep within the void. The dark eye of the hole seemed to swell, like it was breathing. Around its edges the fabric of the roots shimmered as if covered in…
“I’ve seen this before,” Rufus whispered.
“Give your fear away. Put it in the hole.”
Rufus felt a package in his hand, yet could see nothing when he looked there. He felt fabric, rough-woven, mobile beneath his fingers. It was horrible to the touch, as if he’d taken hold of a decaying body or a squirming insect.
He shivered involuntarily and dropped the invisible package towards the hole. For a moment, a brief glimmer in time, he saw his fear swallowed by the hole; saw what that hideous material looked like.
He closed his eyes.
* * *
In the distance, he heard a crow cawing into noon-day sunlight; the warmth of it on the top of his head.
He could smell grass; meadow-flowers.
He opened his eyes.
Danni sat cross-legged, watching him.
“Hi,” she said, smiling at him.
“Hi. Was I asleep?”
“Yup,” she replied, “for a little while.”
“Oh. I…”
“How do you feel now?”
“Good. Why do you ask?”
Danni shook her head. “I don’t know. Just seemed like you were a bit tense.”
“Nah,” Rufus smiled, “I’m fine.”
“Good.”
“Oh!” he suddenly remembered. “I didn’t tell you. I’ve got a couple of gigs lined up!”
“Really?” Danni smiled. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah,” Rufus continued, “The Loaded Barrel tomorrow night and the coffee shop a couple of days after that.”
“Gonna sing to me this time?”
“Sure,” Rufus smiled, letting the warmth of the summer’s day, the peace of the meadow, fill him, “if you turn up.”
“I’ll be there,” Danni said, “try and stop me.”
RUFUS – A NOVEL is a novel-in-progress by Vincent Tuckwood, a Brit author living and working in Waterford, Connecticut, USA. Read more by Vincent Tuckwood.
