Chapter 7 #2
The woodpile was mostly gone and not too dry, but he chopped what he could and stacked it by the back door under the meagre awning.
It actually felt pretty good to be doing something worthwhile despite his lack of practice and his inevitable blisters and torn palms. He felt good for helping, and Mr Brown seemed a nice old guy.
With that done and no other reason to stay, he said his goodbyes and headed back to town.
Carpenter had been right. Speaking to Mr Brown had been very insightful, and he meant it when he said he’d go back once a week to see him.
The man was a hundred and two years old.
What the freaking hell?
Sawyer wasn’t sure if he believed that, but he had a sinking feeling it was true.
He had a sinking feeling everything the old man had said was true. He tried really hard not to think about that as he drove down the misty mountain and into town.
Tenebrae Cove looked exactly the same, except he noticed Tobin’s boat was back at his jetty. He couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through him at the thought of seeing Ciaran again.
Even though he didn’t know why.
The man clearly hated him, though Sawyer had done nothing to him.
And who knew, if Ciaran was back in town, Sawyer might even get to speak to him and ask him what his problem was....
Sawyer pulled up at the station, the cruiser unusually loud in an otherwise quiet town, and shut the engine off. The silence was louder.
Even closing the car door was far too loud.
Instead of going inside, he headed straight up to the store, walking past the antiques store, which still had the Closed sign on the door, though there was a light on in the back that hadn’t been on before.
He’s in there....
Ignoring why he was so intrigued by Ciaran Brenner—because of the mystery, that was all—and feeling a little mad that he was so intrigued, Sawyer rolled his eyes at himself and went into the store.
Otis was behind the counter with Tobin, their whispered conversation coming to an abrupt end when Sawyer walked in.
“Afternoon,” Sawyer said, aiming for cheerful. He reached into his inside coat pocket and retrieved the envelope and offered it to Otis. “From Mr Brown to you. A cheque, I believe.”
He took it with a bit of a nod. “Thanks. You went up and saw him?”
“I did.”
“How was he today?”
“Good, I think. Seemed well. I told him I could go back up once a week, so if you need me to take his groceries, might save you the trip.”
“We don’t mind,” Otis said.
“Is he really one hundred and two years old?” Sawyer couldn’t help but ask.
“No one really knows,” Tobin replied, tone indifferent. “Least of all him.”
Hmm. “I dunno. I thought he was pretty switched on for a guy of his age.”
Otis smirked and opened the envelope. He pulled out the cheque and held it up for Sawyer to see. He noticed the scratchy cursive handwriting first, then the bank...
Oh.
Hobart Commercial Bank.
That bank hadn’t existed since the ’90s.
“Oh, shoot,” Sawyer said. “Is that.... What the hell? Is that intentional? Or does he not know?”
Otis snorted. “He hasn’t paid for groceries in all the years I’ve known him.”
“But... you just give him supplies every week?”
“Sure.” Otis shrugged. “Can’t see the man starve. We just send up a small box every week. The man eats like a bird.”
Tobin eyed him cautiously, his nose scrunching. “Did you cut yourself?” he asked. “Your hand.”
Sawyer looked at his palms. “Ah, yeah. Manual labour. It’s been a while.” He showed them the open and torn blisters. “I chopped some wood for him. Better me than him, I guess.”
“That was nice of you,” Tobin murmured.
“All part of my job,” Sawyer said brightly. “I’ve got some antiseptic. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
Something was definitely off between them. They were too stilted, as if waiting for him to leave so they could finish their conversation. “Well, I better get back to it,” Sawyer said.
“Have the doc take a look at your hand,” Tobin said. “Before some...”
“Before some what?”
“Before it gets infected,” he finished, which was not what he’d been about to say. Sawyer was sure of it.
Just then, the store door flew open, almost sheared off its hinges, and Ciaran was there. He was livid about something, his nostrils flared and his eyes burning into Sawyer.
“Before someone does that,” Tobin mumbled.
Sawyer’s heart rate spiked, his blood pumping. Thrilled, excited, even a little daring. He had no clue why Ciaran was so angry all the damn time, or why it seemed directed at him, but he liked it, for reasons he couldn’t explain.
It felt like a game.
A game he’d never known he liked to play.
Sawyer smirked at Ciaran as he walked up to him, stepping in close as he stopped by the door. “You got something against doors?” Sawyer murmured.
Ciaran almost vibrated with rage, his eyes ignited, and for another reason Sawyer couldn’t name, he liked that even more.
“Enjoy the rest of your day, guys,” Sawyer called out as he stepped outside.
Not even the biting wind, overcast gloomy skies, or the freezing cold could dampen his mood.
It had been a productive day, and he’d learned so many things.
One, Mr Brown wasn’t as lucid as Sawyer had first thought.
He might have had some insight into the men of Tenebrae Cove, but his view on how many years they’d all lived there while not aging a day had lost some of validity given he was still writing cheques from a bank that hadn’t existed in thirty years.
Two, how weird and terrible could the said men of Tenebrae Cove be when they fed the old man for free and looked after him and his car out of the goodness of their hearts?
And three... Ciaran Brenner had anger management issues. There were a few problems with that, the first and most important being that he posed a threat. He was a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.
The second thing and most concerning thing about that was that Sawyer found it incredibly hot, and right or wrong, he wanted nothing more in the world than to light that fuse.