Chapter 2 #2
Clem stopped at the last door on the left. “Here you are. The Sunrise Suite. Please let us know if you need anything at all.”
Carson slid his key in the door, wondering what the etiquette was for tipping someone who didn’t actually act as a bellhop, but Clem was on her way back down the hallway by the time he opened his door.
Stepping inside, he was again pleasantly surprised.
He’d half expected a room full of creepy dolls or some sort of weird theme room.
Instead, he was surrounded by the same warm colors and pleasing artwork on the walls.
A king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room with an en suite bathroom through the open door.
A sitting area complete with desk and oversized armchair sat in the opposite corner.
Through the large window, he saw what he guessed would be an amazing view of the sunrise over the mountains.
If he was going to be trapped in his hometown against his will, Carson supposed this wasn’t the worst place to be.
As opposed to the pleasant upgrade of the inn, Carson was less than impressed with his uncle’s place of business.
Mostly because Crawford’s looked just like he remembered it. Only older. And smaller. And with much more baggage. Although that was probably Carson himself.
Staring through his windshield the next morning, he was unprepared for the mixture of emotions and memories that bombarded him.
The excitement of going to the factory after school, where his uncle would help him with his math problems while Agnes kept him well stocked with whatever homemade treat she brought in that day.
The time he and Matty got yelled at by Agnes and Uncle Arnold when they locked themselves in the break room.
The time he and Liz nearly got arrested for public indecency making out in his first car in the parking space on the side of the building.
His gut twisted at the memory.
Shit.
He should’ve done some research on her. Of course he’d seen her name pop up here and there over the years.
And he’d seen the award she won recently.
They did travel in similar worlds, after all.
But maybe he should’ve made sure she wasn’t around.
Made sure she didn’t have her evil little fingernails anywhere near his uncle’s business.
But surely Uncle Arnold would’ve mentioned that. He knew their history.
Shaking his head to dislodge the errant thoughts, he grabbed his briefcase and headed to the front door. Come on, Atwell. Get in, get out, get on with your life. Focus on the big picture.
Dispelling any lingering misgivings, he stepped inside and was immediately transported back to his childhood.
Good Lord, that wood paneling was old twenty years ago.
Now it was ancient. Although the front of the building was nearly all windows, inside it was dreary.
Perhaps due to the combination of the streaks from the shoddy window cleaning job and the fact that several lightbulbs appeared to be burned out.
The tiny front office where Agnes always greeted him from behind her sliding window looked the same. Except more chaotic, if that was possible. His uncle’s right hand hadn’t kept the neatest of spaces, but Agnes always knew where to find things. Controlled chaos, she called it.
Carson wasn’t sure how controlled it was anymore, though.
More like a tornado redecorated. The mountains of papers and files that always sat on her desk and side tables were twice as high, and it looked as if they were taking over her floor as well.
He mentally added possible safety evaluation to his to-do list, then turned his attention to the older-but-still-familiar woman beaming back at him.
A feeling of warmth, like drinking hot chocolate on a cold day, took root in his core, and he felt the grin spread across his face. “Hey, Ms. B.”
Agnes Beaumont blinked, her smile faltering slightly. “Well, hello. How can I help you?”
Oh. He wasn’t sure if he should be disappointed or grateful that she didn’t recognize him anymore. “It’s Carson, Ms. B.”
“Carson?” She blinked again.
“Carson Atwell?” Did she know another Carson?
“Carson. Atwell.” Her eyes moved back and forth as if she was scanning something, her face finally lighting up.
“Carson! Right! It’s Tuesday!” It took her several seconds to climb stiffly from her chair, then a few more moments to toddle out to where Carson met her in the hall.
“Come here, you!” Opening her warms wide, she engulfed him in a hug.
Or tried to. Her short arms and round middle made it so she was only able to reach three-quarters of the way around his torso.
Carson wasn’t much of a hugger, but he always allowed an Agnes hug. Partly because she always smelled like baked goods, and partly because she was always a safe space.
“How’ve you been, Trouble?” She stepped back and craned her neck. “And when did you get so tall? And handsome. Oh, my.” She fanned her face for good measure. “I’ll bet all the ladies are chasing after you.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “No one’s caught me yet.”
She stuck her hands to her ample hips and frowned. “Well, stop running, idiot.”
“I’ll do my best,” he replied, despite the fact that he had no intentions of settling down anytime soon. Not with his history. “How’s Matty?”
Agnes’s fact lit up at the question about her son. “He’s doing great. Got himself a job as a mechanic.”
“Wow. Good for him.” Not that Carson doubted Matty’s abilities, but he knew about the roadblocks his Down syndrome threw in the way.
“He’ll be thrilled to see you. It’s his half-birthday today.”
Fuck. Guilt ripped at him again. Not so much for forgetting about Matty’s half-birthday, but for not planning to see his friend at all while he was in town.
“He’s having a party at the Bowl & Roll tonight. Why don’t you stop on by?”
Under normal circumstances, Carson would’ve run the other way. First, because he couldn’t remember the last time he either bowled or rolled, and second, because the same invitation probably extended to half the town. People he had little interest in seeing again.
But Matty was one of his closest friends growing up, and Carson had been a shit friend since leaving Cloverfield. The absolute least he could do while he was in town was go to Matty’s party.
“Maybe I will. Thanks.” But first, he had business to attend to. “Is my uncle in?”
Agnes gestured down the hall toward his uncle’s office. “Oh, yes. He might be taking his morning nap, but go right on in.”
“Thanks.”
The dinginess followed Carson down the hallway, and he wondered how many lightbulbs in the building needed to be replaced. On the bright side, although the flooring was still the god-awful brown-and-orange striped carpet that was older than he was, at least it was clean.
He followed the row of Employee of the Month photos to his uncle’s office then leaned inside the partially opened door.
Sure enough, there sat his uncle, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped across a stomach that looked a little bigger than the last time Carson saw it, a faint snore occasionally punctuating the silence.
He hated to disturb him, but the business wouldn’t figure itself out, so…
“Knock, knock,” he said, rapping his knuckles against the door jamb for emphasis.
His uncle snorted awake, a grin working its way across his face when he opened his eyes. “Carson!”
“Hey, Uncle Arnold.”
“Hay is for horses. Get over here!” His uncle peeled himself from the chair and opened his arms, waving him into them like he was directing traffic.
His uncle was one of the few people aside from Agnes who Carson always accepted a hug from. At this rate, he’d reach his yearly quota by tonight. After a squeeze that lasted several seconds, Uncle Arnold released his grip and took a step back. “Too long, my boy. It’s been entirely too long.”
“I know. Sorry.” Carson was surprised that there was a trace of truth to his apology. He supposed he could have done a better job of keeping up with his uncle. Should have invited him up to D.C. to visit. He’d thought about it numerous times. Just never seemed to get around to it.
“Well, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” His uncle gestured to one of two armchairs across from his desk, and Carson sank into one of the slightly saggy, well-worn chairs while his uncle sat back down behind his desk.
Leave it to Uncle Arnold to sweep years of inattentiveness under the rug. Although, Carson reminded himself, the phone did go both ways.
“And I cannot thank you enough for being willing to lend me your brain and your eyeballs for a few days,” he continued.
“No problem. Anything to help.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.” Arnold swiped his palms over his pant legs and swallowed.
Carson’s senses went on high alert. His uncle’s countenance shifted quickly from pure joy to something else.
He wasn’t sick, was he? Shit. Carson’s focus intensified as the queasy pit opened in his stomach again.
What if it wasn’t the business Uncle Arnold needed help with after all? What if it was something worse?
His uncle’s face shifted yet again, a strained smile on his face as he stared at something over Carson’s shoulder.
Even before he turned, the hair on Carson’s neck warned him that something was wrong. That something bad was about to happen. A hunch that was cemented when he heard the voice.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
As if in slow motion, Carson turned around.
The queasy pit morphed into something stronger. Something made of fiery fury. Because the woman standing at the door was the Something Worse.
The woman who had torn his heart and spirit to shreds. The woman he thought was one thing but turned out to be something else entirely.
Deception.
Evil.
Liz.