14. Ozrik #3
“Get a receipt,” Elliott said before I left. “CineVision is covering expenses, remember? Food is an expense when we have to travel.”
Elliott was our self-appointed accountant and handled donations and the subscription fees we collected, ensuring they were allocated for proper use. He was more than happy to submit the expenses to CineVision, since they had agreed to cover the bill.
The spring air blew warm against my cheeks, and I tipped my head at the overcast sky, studying the cloud patterns.
A wash of iron-colored vapors made the sunlight thin and hazy as it tried to penetrate the veil.
Although I understood most formations, what caused them, and what they meant for the forecast, I was shit at remembering their scientific names.
Storm season was upon us, and we were ripe for activity as colder, drier air from Canada collided with warmer, moister air rising from the Gulf of Mexico. It was a recipe for disaster of the best kind.
I reached the restaurant in under ten minutes and went inside to place an order.
It was going to take thirty minutes, so I told the guy working that I’d wait outside.
I found a wooden picnic table near a dumpster, where I assume staff went for smoke breaks or lunch.
I sat and studied my surroundings. I’d never been to Newton.
It was a quaint town, slightly bigger than Elk City.
On first inspection, the inn seemed to be across the street from a trendy park. The foliage and groundwork looked well-maintained, and the abundance of trees offered plenty of shaded areas, but as I peered into the distance, lines of stone monuments spoke of its true nature.
It was a cemetery.
In the distance, in what I assumed was the cemetery’s parking lot, sat a neon green four-door Jeep Wrangler.
My skin instantly buzzed, the fine hairs rising to attention.
I laughed at my stupidity and rubbed the odd sensation from my arms. It wasn’t Gale.
How many similar Jeeps were out there in the country?
Hundreds? Maybe thousands? Besides, we were three hundred miles from home. It couldn’t be him.
Olivia’s phone call came back to me.
Gale was missing.
But Newton, Kansas? Why would he be in Newton, Kansas?
Wait. Why were we in Newton, Kansas? “Okay, maybe not so stupid.”
But… did Olivia know he was here?
I turned my phone over, contemplating the dark screen. I had her number since she’d called the previous day. Should I text and let her know I’d found him? No. Her call hadn’t exactly been friendly, and weren’t we in competition with one another? Why would I help?
Why did I care?
I checked the time and returned inside the restaurant to collect the food. I’d ordered so much that the plastic bags stretched and threatened to break when I hung them off my wrists. We were five hungry guys, and CineVision was footing the bill, so I’d gone overboard.
As I walked back to the Comfort Inn, my attention kept straying to the neon green Jeep in the cemetery parking lot. I scanned the grounds, but there was too much foliage to make out pedestrians among the hidden monuments. From this distance, I would never be able to identify anyone.
Besides, it wasn’t Gale. It couldn’t be Gale.
But a storm was coming.
The Jeep’s color was unique.
He was a meteorologist—no, an atmospheric scientist. It sounded the same to me, despite his explanation.
Gale would have studied the forecast. He would know where to guide Olivia’s team.
But it wasn’t Gale.
Regardless, my skin continued to tingle. I imagined a slow-building electric charge that would snap like lightning if I shook his hand. I thought of the quiet storm inside him and his white-knuckle grip on the sink at CineVision.
I pushed the thoughts away and focused on dinner, on the stuff we wanted to film for CineVision, but even as I trekked toward the inn, my skin continued to buzz.
This needed to stop.
I kicked the door when I arrived, my hands too full to open it, and was greeted with cheers.
Vern helped me unload the haul onto the vacant TV stand, popping lids off an endless collection of containers.
Steam and savory aromas filled the room.
Everyone dug in, filling paper plates and commenting on the selections.
I hung back, unable to ignore the curious tug at the base of my skull, urging me to march across the street to prove it wasn’t Gale’s Jeep.
Phantom sensations notwithstanding, my conscience thought it was only right to check if it was Olivia’s missing brother.
What if she still hadn’t found him? I had to find out for sure.
It was the noble thing to do, right?
“I’ll be back,” I muttered. “I, um… need to check something. Save me food.”
Before anyone could question my agenda, I exited, hoping the green Jeep would be gone, and I could relax and forget this nonsense.
It was still there. Nearly an hour since I’d first spotted it. I hesitated, but only for a moment, before marching toward the cemetery.
It’s not him. It’s not him. It’s not him. You’re an idiot. It’s not him.
Except, subconsciously, I knew it was.