Chapter 4
Owen
His aunt is late. He isn’t eager to see her, but he hasn’t slept for over a day, not even on the long bus drive.
All he wants is to reach his new room and crash until tomorrow.
He’s waiting inside a small coffee shop next to the main bus station in Van Buren.
Only a few buses stop here, which explains why he barely sees people.
It’s getting dark outside, and the gathering clouds carry a promise of rain.
“More coffee?” a waitress asks him.
He wants caffeine to help him stay awake, but it might keep him up all night. “I’m good, thank you. My aunt should be here soon.”
“You can try calling her again.”
“She didn’t answer earlier, but I’m sure she’s on her way.”
The waitress smiles and leaves. Owen wishes that someday, people would have their phones with them wherever they go.
He has no way of reaching Sheryl when she’s on the road, and she might have forgotten all about his arrival.
He barely remembers her from childhood, and he only ever visited her with his parents.
His mom grew up here, but she left for college and never looked back.
He knows he’s going to hate it here, but he isn’t supposed to enjoy his stay.
This is about keeping out of trouble and away from temptations.
He’s going to make this work, because he promised his parents, and he can’t honestly think of an alternative.
After what happened yesterday, he doesn’t see himself returning to Kansas City anytime soon.
Are the police looking for me? They can’t be. He hid the evidence and made sure that no one saw him leaving the area.
During the long bus drive, he wondered if what had happened in that alley was just a hallucination. He wishes that was the case, but the sights, sounds, and scents were too real. Not to mention he has a nasty bruise on the left side of his face from Lee’s punch.
His aunt—if she ever picks him up—will undoubtedly comment on that.
“Oh, there she is,” the waitress says.
Owen turns to look as a police car slides into the parking lot. Here we go. He stands up, dizzy from lack of sleep, and picks up his bags. He leaves money on the table and includes a nice tip. His parents added money to his bank account so he wouldn’t rely on his aunt.
There’s a drizzle when he leaves the coffee shop. His aunt doesn’t exit the car to greet him, but she does open the trunk. He throws his bags inside, then slides into the passenger seat.
“What the hell happened to your face?”
“Hey, Aunt Sheryl. Great to see you too.”
She forces a tight smile, seeming many years older than the last time he saw her. “Sorry, it’s been a long week. Dead junkies bring too much bureaucracy.”
He shivers, wondering if she said that as a way to pick on him.
“How was your drive? You look exhausted.”
“Yeah, I’m beat. Hmm, thank you for doing this.”
“My lovely sister didn’t leave me much choice, but you’re old enough to be decent company. Perhaps.”
They hit the road as the rain gets stronger. Within minutes, they reach the heart of town, though it’s a very small heart. His aunt points out anything worth mentioning, and he asks her to show him the library. His face falls at the sight of the small one-story structure. “That’s it?”
“Seems big enough to me.”
In less than ten minutes, they’re done going over every noteworthy place around Van Buren. “It’s so quiet around here,” he says.
“Peace and quiet aren’t something to complain about.”
He wasn’t complaining, since he sees himself getting used to a more peaceful environment. He also notices how clean the streets are, without any shitty graffiti like in Kansas City. If there are homeless people around, he can’t see them.
His aunt has a simple, two-story house on Justin Avenue. “You hungry?” she asks as they enter.
“I can eat something light, but then I’m gonna call it a night. I’m like a zombie.”
“From lack of sleep, right?” She gives him a stern look. He’s reminded that his new landlord is a cop who has heard all about his drug issues.
“From lack of sleep, yes.” He looks around, surprised to find old photos of him on the wall. He didn’t like to smile as a child, making him seem sad in most of his childhood photos. “Didn’t know you had these.”
“It was either these or cats, and I’m no cat lady.” She holds his chin and tilts his head. “What happened to your face? No bullshit.”
“A guy I had history with decided I was too pretty.”
“Well, you are too pretty, but I hope you at least won that fight.”
Owen shivers. He hasn’t yet come to terms with what happened, but it is bound to hit him soon. “I guess I won.”
“Good. Are you still queer?”
“Aunt Sheryl!”
“Well, are you?”
“Yeah, they haven’t found a cure yet.”
She sighs. “You won’t find much ass action around here. We do have another queer in town, but you better keep away from him if you know what’s good for you.”
I’m too tired for this shit. “So, what’s for dinner?”
*
He spends most of the following day inside due to the heavy rain.
He still has the book he brought with him, so he can wait another day before visiting the small library.
His aunt told him she’d be having friends from work coming over in the evening, which sounded like his chance to check out what this town has to offer after the sun goes down.
There must be at least one bar worth visiting.
He takes a long, warm shower, and as he stands under the stream, a vivid image of Lee pops into his head.
He looks around him, half-expecting to find Lee’s corpse with him in the bathtub.
His stomach swirls. He steps out of the bathtub and crouches in front of the toilet a second before puke gushes from his mouth.
It feels like there’s something rotten inside him that demands to crawl out.
He hopes that his guilt will leave his body along with the puke, but he’s doubtful.
Strangely, he feels relieved. He doesn’t want to be the kind of man who can be unaffected after killing someone.
He had no love or respect for Lee, but he never wanted blood on his hands.
He pushes himself up from the floor when he hears people entering the house on the ground floor.
He flushes the toilet, then dries himself and brushes his teeth.
He combs his long, dark hair, which seems striking against his pale skin and blue eyes.
He tilts his head to have a better view of the bruise on the side of his face, and strangely, he likes it.
It adds something rough to his delicate features, making him seem less fragile.
He gets dressed and steps into the hallway. Before he can reach the stairs, he catches someone downstairs saying, “You couldn’t get anything more out of him?”
“No, but I could tell he was hiding something.”
“Then you need to press harder and be smart about it.”
“Yeah, I’m on it, boss. I think we had a breakthrough. I’ll keep working on that scumbag.”
Something cold slides down Owen’s spine. He has no idea what those two men are talking about, but it doesn’t sound legit.
He jolts at the sound of Sheryl clearing her throat behind him.
“Are you going to stay up here all evening to eavesdrop?”
He turns to face her. “Sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You live here now—you can interrupt. Come on.”
She leads him down the stairs and into the living room. “Sheriff, Nate, this is my nephew Owen.”
The rather overweight sheriff rises to his feet and shakes Owen’s hand, using a bit too much force. “You can call me Mitch. Welcome to Van Buren.” He eyes Owen’s bruise. “We don’t take kindly to troublemakers around here, as I’m sure your aunt has already told you.”
He nods. “That’s clear, sir. Not looking to cause any problems.”
The sheriff smiles, and it seems genuine. “Then we should get along just fine.”
When he returns to his seat, Nate stands to shake Owen’s hand.
His skin is cold and oily, like his short, black hair.
He’s not a pleasant sight with his mousy face and little dark eyes, but he seems full of confidence.
Something about him makes Owen uncomfortable, though it’s not nice of him to judge someone he doesn’t know.
“Nice to meet you, man,” Nate says. “I’d love to show you around sometime.”
“Hmm, yeah, that could be cool.”
“If you’re going out, best go to Rodie’s,” the sheriff says as he reaches for a deck of cards. “It’s a bit of a walk from here, but they have good food.”
“And booze,” Nate adds with a wink.
“Thanks, I think I know where it is. I’ll check it out. Enjoy your evening.”
He puts on a jacket and leaves the house. The street is quiet—probably like any other street around here—but he likes it. He can see the lights from the town center up ahead, and he remembers his aunt pointing out Rodie’s yesterday, so he should be able to find it.
He can’t help but think about the conversation he heard earlier. Whoever the man is that the sheriff and Nate are talking about, Owen doesn’t envy him one bit.