Chapter 6 Church Heights
Church Heights
Idrove along twisted roads beneath the canopy of a towering forest. Overhead, the limbs entwined, coiling into a claustrophobic tomb.
To the side, the road plunged off steeply.
Occasional breaks in the trees revealed a deep chasm.
A moment of inattention would see me plummeting to certain death.
The earlier sense of a fresh start dulled beneath an unsettling sense of oppression.
My hands white-knuckled the wheel, and I drove slowly, concentrating on the road. Occasional spurts of crystal sunlight wrestled through the canopy, creating a pretty mosaic of etched light on the asphalt.
It felt like an eternity before the road left the forest behind for an expanse of meadows.
Ahead, a decent-sized town appeared. Tucked in the foothills, the town itself was flat.
Circumnavigating it, an endless expanse of thick green forest stretched up through the cloudy haze of mountains, disappearing into the horizon.
The town was built long ago, with wide streets and old buildings.
The shopfronts were tall, rising towards the sky, with scrolled windows and details etched on the brickwork—something you didn’t see on modern buildings.
It was beautiful in the way old, historic towns held rare beauty, and the bones of the buildings whispered untold stories and treasures from long-lost pasts.
But quite a few had “Closed” or “For Lease” signs hung lopsidedly on grime-coated windows.
I pulled into a parking spot, exiting the car, and stretching my arms as I took a deep breath. The hot, fresh air slid down my throat, drifting to my hollow stomach. I looked up the street for a café sign. I couldn’t see one, but my legs were stiff from sitting, and a walk would do them good.
I passed by Belle’s Hairdressing, Mave’s Shoes, Buckley’s Chemist, and John’s Realty. Mystic Haven was a shop that advertised psychic readings. A vast collection of dream catchers and crystals hung from the ceiling and covered the front window. I kept walking until I came to Joe’s Diner.
The creativity of the town was outstanding.
I clamped a smile behind my lips and headed in.
The diner was old-fashioned, but clean, with checked vinyl floors and wooden booths with red leather-covered seats.
It wasn’t overly busy, so I had my choice of seats, and I chose a booth by the window.
I scanned the menu, ordering a coffee and the only thing on the menu aside from fries that was vegetarian—a burger.
In a booth a few seats over, a young child with squashed raisins on his face and ginger-colored hair was inhaling his burger like he hadn’t eaten for a month.
His mother chastised him, but he couldn’t answer because the sides of his cheeks were popped out like bubble gum, so he rolled his eyes and kept on munching.
A couple of teenage girls sat opposite each other, staring at their phones, picking distractedly at a plate of fries they were sharing.
A large community notice board hung on the far wall by the drink fridge.
On it the usual services were offered. But my gaze fixed on the number of missing person posters pinned up.
Eleven of them. Some of the printed images were faded and crumpled around the edges.
But a couple looked new. It seemed a lot for a small town.
In the police station where my dad worked, there were usually a few pinned to a large board in the waiting room at any given time.
But the population of Ohio numbered in the millions.
How was it possible for so many in a place this size to simply vanish?
The waitress interrupted my thoughts with a freshly brewed coffee.
I watched people on the street amble by.
A mother pushing a stroller. An old man with no hair and hunched shoulders.
There was no constant drone of cars. No horde of people scurrying around each other like sheep.
Here the quiet hummed a peaceful tune in my ears, even if beneath my skin the hollow ache of my heart screamed.
I swallowed against a dry throat, and got up, moving toward the fridge.
A woman with dark skin and shiny, shoulder-length black hair glanced up as I walked past. She stopped chewing the fry she’d just popped into her mouth and stared at me like she’d seen my face on one of the noticeboards and was trying to work out if it was me.
Maybe my hair was a disaster. The thick, wavy strands often looked like they were perched on the brink of some catastrophic event.
I reached up to smooth them down. A boy was seated opposite her, probably her son.
He looked to be in his late teens, and he swung his head to the side to follow her line of sight.
I dropped my head and scurried forward, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, then I paused to study the board.
The images were lined up like a forensic board in a police investigation room—they only lacked the strings linking them.
A few of the missing people had rewards offered.
Some were rough looking. There were seven men and four girls.
All in their twenties, I guessed, except one, who looked to be in his forties.
He had tattoos up his neck and dark, soulless eyes. His picture looked like a mug shot.
There was one girl who caught my eye. Lucy Collins, a girl in her mid-twenties, with a severe fringe, and sleek brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail.
She wore black-rimmed glasses and a white blouse.
Lucy had disappeared last winter—she was last seen hiking up Rutherford’s estate.
A reward of fifty thousand dollars was offered for information leading to her discovery.
I felt a twinge of pity for her family. It had to be horrific, the not knowing.
Wondering whether they were dead or alive, and if they were alive, what horrors they may be enduring.
A flyer pinned in the corner of the board advertised a casual summer job at a bar called The Hollow, with a phone number cut into tearable tabs at the bottom.
Three had already been tugged off—the job was probably already filled—but I tucked one into the pocket of my jeans anyway.
If it was still available, a job would help distract me.
Also, I loved the work, much to Tom’s chagrin. Not that it mattered now. Asshole.
I sat back down and tried to ignore the mother and son. They were engaged in a hushed argument. She kept looking up at me, like the argument was about me. I gave it no more thought as the waitress brought out the burger with a friendly smile and said, “Here ya go, love.”
Like the kid with ginger hair, I devoured the burger.
By the time I’d finished it, I knew this was where I wanted to stay, for a while at least. A hotel by the week would cost too much.
But a place like this would draw hikers to the ranges, or city folk looking to escape the rush.
Someone might have a holiday home available for longer term rent.
“Um, hi.”
I glanced up to see the dark-skinned young man staring down at me.
He shuffled on his feet and rubbed at his jeans pocket.
He was about six feet tall with cropped hair, full lips, and dark eyes.
He was cute in a boyish kind of way. His mother had sent him over; the argument must have been over his protestations.
Mildly dismayed, and excessively annoyed, “fuck off” were two words which formed on the tip of my tongue.
He looked as awkward as I felt. Maybe I’d add in a “please,” because manners were important.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked.
“That obvious, huh?”
He cleared his throat. “I know everyone around my age here, and I haven’t seen you about. Are you visiting someone or . . .?”
“No. I’m just here for a break.” I took another sip of coffee and prayed he’d leave. His mother pretended not to watch. She stirred her teacup and looked casually at a point just over my shoulder. “Did your mother send you over?”
“That obvious, huh?” He mirrored my words with a smile that was more like a grimace. “I’m BJ.” He held out his hand.
The last thing I needed was an interested male in my life, especially one sent by his mother, but he seemed nice enough. I shook it. As soon as our hands touched, a static charge shot through my palm, traveling up my arm and buzzing through my veins.
“Amy.”
We both pulled our hands away quickly, ignoring the zap, which happened sometimes to everyone. Something to do with the fabrics of our clothing reacting.
He glanced at my ring, which I wore on my engagement finger for two reasons.
The first was that it didn’t get knocked around as much on my left hand, and the second was for times like this.
From my experience working in a bar, with liquid confidence roiling through the patrons’ veins, the ring served as a suitable deterrent—sometimes. Not enough times. Obviously.
The waitress came over and refilled my almost finished coffee mug without asking, so now I had a full cup to consume, and an awkward boy who, so far, hadn’t moved away.
“Do you mind?” he asked, indicating with his hand at the empty seat across from me.
I did mind. I was in no mood for chit-chat. I just wanted to sit alone, far removed from my old life, and pretend I didn’t miss Tom.
‘You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you so much, when you’re not here it hurts . . .’
Tom’s words struck like a blade to heart. My hand went to my chest in useless attempt to ease the pain. Instead, I concentrated on the bitter taste of hot coffee burning down my throat. I should have gone to the bar and ordered a whiskey instead.
I waved a hand. “Sure.”
He sat down. His hands disappeared under the table, probably so I wouldn’t see them fidgeting. The faint scent of a sweet cologne drifted into my nose.
“How long are you staying for?”
I shrugged, cradling the warm cup in both hands. “I don’t know. I need to find somewhere to stay, and then I guess I’ll see.”
“John’s Realty should be able to help you if you want short term, or the local pub has apartments upstairs. It’s a few blocks that way.” He pointed down the road, heat quivered off the asphalt, writhing like invisible snakes.
“The Hollow?” I asked, taking another mouthful. I didn’t want to stay right in the middle of town and bars were notoriously noisy places.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” He shifted in his seat, interlocking his hands on the table. “Actually, it’s the only one to drink at, really.”
“Have you lived here all your life?” I asked.
“Yes. Well, mostly—we moved here when I was two. It’s not as bad as you think. I mean, there’s not much to do, but it’s pretty if you like mountains and stuff, and we make our own fun.”
“It seems nice,” I said.
There was a stretch of silence. He fiddled with his fine-boned fingers and spoke to the floor, “I’m going out on Saturday night with a couple of friends. If you’re still in town, you could join us?”
“Oh . . . um . . . I’m not sure. Let me think about it.”
“We go out every Saturday night. We usually head down at about nine, so if you get bored or . . .” He paused like he was lost for words. “Come down.”
Keen to extract myself from the awkwardness, and needing to find somewhere to stay before nightfall, I finished my last mouthful of coffee and rose. “I better get going. It was nice to meet you, BJ.”
“Yeah, you too. Hope to see you around, Amy. If you need anything, Ma owns Mystic Haven. I help out sometimes. Just pop on in.” He indicated toward his mom with his head. I met her eyes and managed something that resembled a smile. Her eyes lit up as she smiled back.
I wasn’t sure if his offer was exceptionally kind, given he’d known me less than a minute, or a little weird. I figured it was just some sort of small-town etiquette thing.
I walked out of the diner and squinted into the bright sunlight. My mind fell back to the missing people.
If I disappeared today, no one would even notice me gone.