Homecoming, page 19
“Why would he lie?”
“Because he's fucking nuts!”
“And that's your expert opinion?”
“Yes,” Tara fired back. “Besides, what the hell makes you so damn smart?”
“Because I got out of this backwater shithole. I saw the world. I'm not some inbred backwater hick!” Belle snapped, unable to stop herself.
“Oh, of course, and you decided to slum it back with us in order to what? Prove how much smarter you are?”
“It wouldn't be too difficult,” she muttered back.
“You always did think that you were better than us. Tell me, Belle, how’s life treating you out there? Married yet? I mean, I can't believe that someone as charming as you hasn't been snapped up yet. Surely men are queuing around the block to be looked down on?”
“Well at least I'm not a woman who has some guy propose to her out of pity!” she yelled back, regretting it instantly.
“Well I’m so sorry if my father wanted to keep me around,” Tara replied in an expertly aimed icy cold repost.
The two women stared at each other, knowing that the sort of words that couldn't be taken back had just been spoken.
They would have stayed that way for some time, two opposing forces staring out at each other across no woman's land, but Frank suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“What is it, Frank?” Tara asked without breaking her gaze from Belle’s.
“Just heard from Dan. He says the barn is completely destroyed, but he also says that as far as he can tell, there aren't any signs of bodies inside,” Frank explained, and Belle saw a look of smugness pass across Tara’s face.
“Oh really, is that so?” The constable haughtily smiled.
“If that's true, then you've got a bigger problem than I thought,” Vanek offered.
“How so?” Belle asked.
“Because maybe these things aren't the savages that they seemed; maybe they had enough sense to clean up their crime scene before destroying any evidence.”
“And maybe what my old Nan used to say was true.” Tara smirked. “Maybe too many bad movies will rot your brain.”
“Why the hell would he confess to two murders and not the others?” Belle exclaimed irritably.
“One,” Vanek said from his cell.
“Excuse me?” Belle asked.
“One murder, one self-defence killing… there’s a big difference,” he replied.
“Well maybe it’s because he really is as nuts as he seems,” Belle offered. “You really think that it’s more likely that there are forest monsters roaming about town, murdering and abducting people, than a couple of drug dealers who set up shop in my back yard?”
Belle didn't have a reply; maybe she couldn't think of a reason to argue any further. The fact that the guy staring out at her through the bars had just admitted to killing two people did make it hard to fathom that he wasn't involved somehow in the other mysteries in Wellspring. If a couple of drug dealers had set up a storage facility here, then chances were that they'd do anything to keep it quiet. And yet she still felt that there was something more at play here.
The Institute was a shady operation; she felt that in her bones. God alone knew what they were up to out there, and with the military, she'd seen enough in her journalistic career to know that they kept their cards close to their chest and they knew how to handle a cover-up. The new arrivals in town, skimming in just in time to beat the weather that cut them off from the outside world, seemed all too coincidental to not be connected to everything else that was going on.
“What about the Institute?” she asked pointedly.
“What about them? You really think that they're more likely suspects than the drug dealer I've got locked up?”
“I’m not a dealer,” Vanek clarified. “If anyone's interested in details, that is. Think of me more as upper management… logistics if you will.”
“You're investigating Schaefer?” Frank asked with a worried tone in his voice.
“No, not really. Maybe,” Belle responded, not wanting the gossip to start travelling.
“You really want to go after the only thing keeping this town alive?” Tara mocked her. “You really must hate us.”
“No, of course not, but if something is going on up there, then all of you should be the first ones in line demanding answers. That place casts a long shadow over Wellspring; that sits easy with you? There’s nothing in this place that they don't have their hands in. Did you know they've been trying to buy the Herald? Does that really not raise a red flag with you, Tara? The only press coverage in this town, such as it is, owned by the Institute and whatever government backing they have? Think about it: if they owned the Herald, then they could get away with...”
“Murder,” Vanek offered, somewhat unhelpfully.
----------
CHAPTER 15
Inside Man
Wendell Spooner wiped the condensation from the inside of his car window as the heater struggled to do the job despite being on the highest setting.
The road between the Schaefer building and the cabins was being kept clear as the military were comfortable paying whatever it cost to keep the snowplough on a high enough retainer that the company had purchased a second vehicle which now worked exclusively for them.
He'd been working up at the Institute for the past few months, and while the gig had been decent, he now knew that the place had changed his life, or at least so he'd thought until Travis had stopped taking his calls.
Leaving messages had never been one of his strong points, but already he guessed that he'd filled most of Travis’s inbox allowance.
He knew that Travis had his heart set on leaving this year before the winter cut the town off, and so did he, but he worked for the military and they cared little for the fact that their workers were also human beings.
His contract was well paid and with a ton of perks, but it also bent in the wind to the whims of his superiors and that made it hard to plan a life.
Travis had seemed to be understanding, telling him that they had the rest of their lives together, but this was the first time that the military had reared up and crushed their dream and now he wasn't answering his phone.
Wendell had joined the military right out of school at sixteen. While he'd shown an aptitude for science as a child, his school had been in the sort of area where the teachers would have worn full body armour if it had been offered. As a result, his teachers had been happy with any student who made it out in one piece and not in jail.
The army had offered him the benefits of a full education while paying him a wage at the same time. His scientific mind had been sated at the standard of learning that the army offered. Their state-of-the-art facilities far exceeded anything that his local college had to offer, and with a father in name only that he'd never actually met, as the oldest it was up to him to provide for his mother and siblings.
He hated to be any kind of stereotype in front of his entirely white classmates, but a kid from a black neighbourhood without a father fell right into their preconceptions.
However, having entered the military with his own set of prejudices, he'd actually found that once you signed up, everyone was one colour in his class: green.
He’d met plenty of other black soldiers down the years, and tales from the infantry confirmed some of his worst fears. But for some reason in the science division, other than the initial surprise at his natural intelligence due to him being the first enrolee in the program, he'd found little in the way of bias towards him.
There was a level of guilt that came with his treatment compared to others, along with the anger that he felt any sense of relief at his treatment as though he should be grateful in some way. He remembered trying to talk about it before with some of his classmates, but as much as they tried to understand, he knew that they never would, that they never could.
Of course, his sexuality layered on yet another complex set of emotions, and without anyone to talk to on either front, his early days in the military had been tough. But he'd stuck it out. His mother had worked two jobs trying to keep the family together, and he wouldn't let her do it again. With the money he was making and every pay grade bump, life got easier for his family, which meant it got easier for him… at least enough to make it bearable.
While he’d had relationships down the years, he'd only learned what love was when he’d met Travis. All the songs about love hitting you right between the eyes and changing your life came true, and in a backwater speck on the landscape that barely anyone even knew existed.
He’d finally dared to dream that a real life was out there for him – not only out there, but one had arrived; then Travis had started ghosting him.
His work at the Institute kept him busy. The labs were always stocked with everything they needed. The hours were deliberately manageable so that lab techs were always working at a premium and less likely to make mistakes. Data was everything and accuracy with it was the single most important factor.
By design, the lab teams were kept separate with each working on their section, and no one knew what the others were doing so that they didn't know how the puzzle pieces actually fitted together. The military were notorious for their secrecy even with those working for them.
He liked the work; he enjoyed the lab and he lived in the data. The numbers were always absolute: they didn't lie, they didn't seek to deceive, and they didn't hide. They also didn't stop talking to you when they got mad.
The lab was the only place that he’d ever truly felt he belonged, the only place that he wasn't filled with doubt and confusion, the only place that he could truly be himself. It was the only place that he'd been able to be himself until he'd met Travis, but now Travis had slipped out of his life and he didn't understand why.
The truck he was driving was able to cut through the snow-cleared road with ease despite the weather’s best efforts to replace the snow as quickly as it was shifted.
He reached the cabins and pulled into the parking bay outside of his. There were several other identical vehicles parked around him. Sometimes they shared rides but often they worked solo hours even within the same unit.
Today he'd wanted the truck to himself as he'd planned to head over to Travis’s farm and confront the man in person. If he wanted to end things, then they were both far too old to be playing games. That had been the plan, but as soon as he had tried to head out towards the McNichol place, it had quickly become clear that without regular passes by the snowplough, the roads out there were now impassable.
He’d seen plenty of locals flying about on snowmobiles and wondered if there was somewhere he could hire one from or else pay for a ride out to the farm. That seemed like the only way he was going to get out there.
The only vehicle he'd seen on the main roads had been earlier when the military truck with monster wheels had blasted its way through town and up to the Institute. He didn't know who or what was in it, but they had come driving up like a bat out of hell, and the army only ever used that kind of hustle when shit had either gone, or was going, south.
The truck’s arrival had caused a lot of raised eyebrows, but no one asked questions outright – it wasn't the army way; you knew what they decided to let you know and no more than that.
Climbing out of the truck, he made a mental note to have the snow chains checked on the vehicle again. Some of the maintenance jobs were given to the town’s mechanic – largely, he thought, for appearances’ sake – but the Institute had an expert motor pool at its disposal and he preferred to use them when it came to his own safety.
The weather buffeted him hard and he struggled to stand up in the growing winds. The snow was coming down heavier now if that was even possible, and he had to bend at the waist as he walked into the wind and towards his cabin.
He fumbled with his keys as he tried to get the door open before he practically fell inside and slammed the door shut behind him.
There was a faint smell of Travis’s aroma still hanging in the air from his last visit, or that may have been a trick of the nose… either way, he felt an instant physical stab of pain in his heart at the memory.
He dragged off the heavy overcoat and hung it over the grate by the back door to allow the melting snow to drip off it. He pulled off his gloves and then the thick hat before removing the snow boots. The cabin’s heating was working fine, and the place was making him sweat simply from the exertion of removing his outerwear.
He didn't know what else to do if Travis wouldn't return his calls. He'd left so many messages that it was getting embarrassing, and the thought of getting a call from the police to tell him to stop harassing Travis was beginning to become a real possibility. He knew that Travis had kept his sexuality a secret from Wellspring, and the more he pushed, the more he risked outing the man and that was the last thing he wanted. That secret was Travis’s and Travis’s alone; no one else had the right to tell him what to do with it.
Pouring himself a stiff drink that he figured was medicinal, he curled up on the sofa and tried the TV. The signal out here was non-existent for regular programming, but now, when he tried the internet connection, he saw that too was out.
Several of his colleagues had started to move into the quarters at the Institute. Those who'd witnessed a Wellspring winter before had done so last week.
The accommodation on base was fine, better than fine in fact as the amenities didn't suffer with the weather, unlike the amenities that the locals had to put up with. The army didn't do inconvenience and always prided itself on the work-around solution. The problem wasn't with the living arrangements on site: it was the fact that he wouldn't be able to have Travis visit him there. That had kept him at the cabins along with several other technicians, but now he supposed he didn't have a reason to stay.
The TV screen in front of him was a snowy blizzard mirroring the conditions outside and the booze was starting to do its job. His mind was shutting down after a day in the lab, which allowed a thought to suddenly pop into his head like it had been waiting for him to stop thinking.
“Shit!” he exclaimed out loud.
He almost smacked himself in the head for his own stupidity as a couple of lines in his thoughts were connected. The phone signal would be out all over town by now. Given the sudden rush of borderline apocalyptic weather raging outside, he'd forgotten the fact that when the winter hit, the locals switched to CB radio for communication. All of the messages that he'd left for Travis wouldn't be picked up for months, and he pitied the man having to sift through an endless display of immature heart pouring.
“Smartest man, my ass,” he muttered to himself, not able to believe that he'd missed an explanation so simple that one of the rather creepy local schoolchildren could have figured it out.
There was a radio in the truck he'd driven home in, but he had never even thought to turn it on, let alone try and reach Travis on it.
He reached out for the remote and switched off the TV. The screen went from snowy white to black, and as he started to turn to move just as the screen became reflective, something moved in it behind him.
The swift movement of his head to turn back towards the TV and its now empty screen meant that when he swivelled to check over his shoulder again, there nothing was there.
He was poised halfway to a standing position up off the sofa, unsure as to what he'd seen if anything at all. The window behind him looked out over a snowy landscape towards the forest tree line, and it had been through the window via the TV screen that he'd thought he’d seen something move.
Staying that way for several long moments, his arm started to ache and his back murmured in protest.
He stood up fully and slowly checked around him. He saw nothing out of place, and yet as he walked to the window and stared out, he had the strangest sensation that someone was out there.
The rest of the cabins were on the other side, and if anyone was paying him a visit, the front door – hell, the only door – was also the other side. There would be no reason for anyone to approach the cabin from this side, unless...
“Travis?” he pondered softly.
If Travis had come to see him, then he might have chosen to approach from this side in order to stay out of sight.
His heart started to pound faster now as the thought of his lover’s return coursed through his veins along with the hope it brought.
“TRAVIS?” he yelled as he opened the window. He had to shut it to a crack again almost immediately as a rush of snow blew in.
He rushed to the door and started to pull on his damp outerwear again, almost toppling over in his eagerness as he shucked on his boots and coat.
Throwing the door open as he put his hat on but ignoring the gloves, he stepped outside and was instantly buffeted again by the wind blowing hard across the park with little in the way of substantial buildings to dissipate its power.
He had to walk bent over again as he headed around the cabin to the far side where he'd seen something, of that he was becoming increasingly sure now.
His suspicions were confirmed when he reached the back and spotted footprints in the snow. Despite the blizzard, the tracks were still visible and yet to be filled in. But as he looked down at them, something troubled him, and it took a few moments before he pinpointed what it was.
The footprints were just that: footprints, not boot prints. These were bare feet tracks, evidenced by the telltale shape of the toe indentations. Whoever had made them had to be either crazy or in serious trouble, and if they weren't wearing heavy-duty boots, then they might not be wearing much of anything else.
He stared down at the tracks, pulling his fur-lined hood up over his hat and lowering it to try and prevent the snow from blowing directly into his face.
His first thought about it being Travis out here faded quickly. There was no way that the farmer would be barefooted in weather like this; he’d be likely to lose a foot or both in no time at all in the arctic conditions.
