Chapter 9 #2
There was a beat of silence. “I take it from the sound of the wind you’re still there.”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Sawyer opened the door into the station, the warmth and silence a nice reprieve. “You know, I actually like this little town.”
More silence.
“You’d be the first,” Hadeom said eventually. “Anything to report?”
God, where to start...
He sat at his desk and pulled his gloves off. “I’m still working on any preliminary assessments. The people here have been welcoming.”
More or less.
A few days ago, he wouldn’t have been able to say that. Not about Ciaran Brenner, anyway, but they seemed to have turned a corner.
Sawyer certainly turned more than that in his dream last night....
He cleared his throat and concentrated on the task at hand. “I’ve met some of the locals. I think the population estimate of twenty-two is out, though. So far, I’ve only met eight, so I don’t know where the rest of them claim to be.”
“You’ve met eight,” Hadeom repeated.
“Yeah.” The seven guys of the “consortium”—whatever the hell that was—and old Mr Brown. “I might go for another drive out along the outskirts and see what I can find. You don’t have any old maps laying around, by chance?”
“Hm. I’ll see what I can find.” There was the sound of tapping on a keyboard. “So, these eight men—”
“I never said they were men,” Sawyer interrupted, because as an inspector, Hadeom shouldn’t have assumed.
“Are you saying there’s a female out there?”
Sawyer frowned because that was really fucking weird.
A female?
It was a weird way to phrase it, and a weird thing to say.
And Sawyer didn’t like it. It didn’t sit well with him.
“I’m not saying that, no. Though I’m curious as to why you would.
...” He let that trail off, deciding not to question the man who was technically his boss.
“Is there anything I should know, Inspector? I kinda get the feeling you wanted to drop me here blind, but now I’m sensing you might know more than you’re letting on. ”
“Not at all,” Hadeom said coolly. Dismissively. “I wouldn’t say you went in blind, Detective. More like fresh eyes without prior information that might sway your judgement.”
Sawyer frowned at that, noticing Salem curled up on the jail cell cot, his yellow eyes watching him.
“I’ll need you to send through names of the residents,” Hadeom said. “Brief descriptions, that kind of thing.”
Why...
Why would he need that?
“Next week. Make a note in your calendar so you don’t lose track of time.”
“Sir?”
“I’m not asking,” he murmured, his voice low, and there was definitely an underlying threat.
And then the line went dead.
What the fuck?
Sawyer slid his phone onto his desk. “What the actual fuck,” he mumbled out loud, and Salem closed his eyes, now seemingly content enough to sleep. “Sorry to keep you up, Your Royal Highness.”
Salem didn’t open his eyes, but his ear flickered.
Sawyer rolled his eyes.
That entire conversation with Hadeom had been weird.
And if Hadeom had wanted weekly reports on the weirdness of Tenebrae Cove, then that phone call was making the list.
Sawyer knew he had a job to do. It was why he was in Tenebrae Cove, after all. But he couldn’t help but feel the need to.... He wasn’t sure what. Defend these guys?
Not rat them out?
To what end, he wasn’t certain.
He could almost dismiss his first suspicion that they might be a drug syndicate. He didn’t think that was true.
Were they unusual?
Sure.
But that was part of the problem. They were each so different.
Each member of the consortium was individual, with their own personality traits, whereas every organised gang Sawyer had ever had the displeasure of knowing were basically all cut from the same cloth.
They dressed the same, spoke the same, behaved the same, thought the same.
These guys weren’t like that.
Fraser was funny and outgoing. Kellan was quiet and studious. Otis was kind and always smiling. Aurin was a sultry little twink if Sawyer had ever met one. Hendrix seemed like a wildcard, while Tobin was quiet and hardworking, and Ciaran....
Well, Ciaran was.... He was hard to explain.
Complicated, layered, and it was as if he bore a weight of responsibility. Something had scarred him. Sawyer was sure of that.
Like he was sure he knew what Ciaran’s body felt like, even though they’d never touched.
Sawyer was certain he knew what it was like to be pinned by Ciaran while his hands raked over his body, holding him down, caressing him with far too many hands while he fucked him—
Sawyer shot up out of his chair. “Christ,” he mumbled. He grabbed his empty coffee cup and went into his flat to wash it, needing to get those images out of his head.
How it felt...
He could still feel all those hands, Ciaran’s giant cock....
“Fuck.”
Sawyer held onto the sink, dropping his head, and closed his eyes. He had to wonder if Hadeom would like him to add these sexual ideations to his report. Just how weird did he want to get?
Then he wondered if Carpenter had experienced intense erotic imaginings.
Had that been what had sent him around the twist?
Before he could get too caught up in that idea, his computer beeped, so he went back to his desk. It was an email from Hadeom with no text, just an attachment.
A map of Tenebrae Cove.
It was a satellite image, a few years old, by the looks of it. A Google Maps image that Sawyer could have screenshot himself.
It depicted the road in through the national park as still open, so it wasn’t recent at all, but it did show Sawyer that there were some houses out that way. So, after pulling his gloves back on, he grabbed the keys, told Salem to hold the fort, and got back in his police cruiser.
The clouds seemed to close in around him as he drove along Bay Road, drizzling rain, mist, and freezing wind.
Sawyer drove slowly, barely over ten kilometres an hour.
Not for safety reasons, as there were no other vehicles on the road—or any other people for that matter—for a hundred miles.
No, he drove super slow for no other reason than it felt right.
Nothing in Tenebrae was rushed or forced. And he liked this pace. He liked the unhurried nature of the place.
He remembered how Mr Brown had said time was strange in Tenebrae. He wondered how it was possible to lose track of how many days he’d been here.
And a nagging part of Sawyer’s brain told him that was something he should probably be concerned about, but he just wasn’t.
In fact, he hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time.
Maybe it was the mind-blowing orgasm he’d woken himself up with this morning, so powerful it made his bones turn to jelly and melted away every possible care in the world.
And then Ciaran had come over to chat this morning.... So, yeah, Sawyer was feeling pretty damn good.
He’d only gone a few kilometres out of town when he noticed how the forest had begun to reclaim the road.
He guessed it wouldn’t take long, but with no one using the road at all, the trees and grasses almost ate the road up.
He got to one driveway and stopped. The gate was wide open, and from where he was, he could see the house set back from the road a hundred metres.
It had perhaps once been a great, tidy house.
Now it was old, but nice, and sitting on how much land, he could only guess.
But the forest was reclaiming it too. The house, the driveway, all of it was being eaten by greenery.
Clearly, no one had lived there for years.
He checked the map. Yep, definitely used to be a lived-in house with a visible driveway. He edged the cruiser down the drive and pulled up near the house. He got out and considered verbally identifying himself, as was protocol, but there was no one within miles.
He peered through a window. It was dark and old, covered in dust, the 1970s furniture still there as if the owners had done a midnight runner.
Maybe they had.
The place was as untouched as the day they’d left it.
Back in his cruiser, he checked his map and found there should have been another house a few hundred metres further up the road. He drove on until he found it. Since he could see it from the road, he didn’t even bother going down the drive.
The house was dilapidated, basically a ruin. The old timber rotten, sheets of tin rusted through, the front porch now leaning dangerously. It was barely visible through the trees and long grass.
Sawyer doubted anyone had lived in it this century at least.
He drove out a bit further and came to a dead-end. There were yellow-and-black reflective road barricades, government issued by the looks of it, and huge cement blocks making the road impassable.
So he cut the engine and got out.
He was protected from the wind by the forest, but it was damp and misty and freezing cold. The wind made an eerie sound as it howled and whistled, the huge pine trees swaying in reply.
He wasn’t the type to get easily spooked, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.
Probably by critters in the forest. But still... they were watching.
He set off on foot, walking through the barricades and down the road, the blacktop barely recognisable, covered by leaves and branches. Grass had even begun to grow in the cracks.
And barely a hundred metres in, around a slight bend, he could see why the road was closed. Where the bridge used to be was now broken wooden pylons, snapped wooden railings, and nothing but air across a gorge.
The gorge itself was deep, dark grey rocks and trees framing the steep walls down to the river.
Dark water moving fast and unforgiving.
It was no wonder they’d not tried to replace the bridge. Maybe the local government was hoping the few remaining residents would leave, and to be fair, Sawyer assumed most of them had.
He stood there a moment, listening. The feeling of being watched hadn’t gone away, but it was only then he noticed what was missing.
Birds.
Not a sound.
Usually forests were a cacophony of wildlife noises, but there wasn’t a single one. No critters scurrying in the undergrowth. No whistles, no caws, no cries or chirps. Not even insects were buzzing.
And come to think of it, he couldn’t remember hearing any at the Cove either.
Had he even seen any birds since he’d arrived?
He didn’t think so.
Sure, it was cold and windy, but there should have been a seagull or two, right?
And now that he’d noticed the absence of sound, it was all he could hear.
Silence. And not just normal silence.
This was a void.
And Sawyer would be lying if he said that didn’t freak him out just a little bit.
Growing up, he was always taught to trust animals. They had instincts humans had long forgotten. They knew when something wasn’t right.
They knew when to leave.
Like before natural disasters, or when larger predators were present.
A cold shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.
He began walking back to his cruiser, the urge to run just under the surface. But he didn’t.
He refused to give in.
He wouldn’t be intimidated or threatened. If someone, or something, was watching him, he didn’t want them to think he was the running-away kind of cop.
But he knew when to leave, and that’s exactly what he did.
He almost expected to find his cruiser gone, but it was there. Right where he’d parked it. Then he expected it not to start—because he sure as shit didn’t have phone reception out here—but the engine rumbled to life first go.
With his heart beating faster than he’d have liked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, he turned the cruiser around and got the hell out of there.
Driving back into Tenebrae Cove had been a relief he wasn’t expecting, but he was beyond glad to be back.
To be home.
He certainly didn’t feel weirded out in this town. He felt... at home.
And he hadn’t expected to feel that either.
He pulled up at the station, smiling to himself. He climbed out and listened. He could hear the water gently lapping at the jetty and pier but nothing else.
No birds.
But then Salem came walking over from the jetty or the rocks—Sawyer wasn’t sure which. Hadn’t he been inside when Sawyer had left? How the hell had he gotten out?
“Sorry. Did I keep you long?”
Of course Salem didn’t answer, but he fully expected Sawyer to open the station door, and as Sawyer was holding the door for the cat, he noticed the Open sign on the antiques store door.
Figuring that since he and Ciaran already chatted once today, they now seemed to be on speaking terms, and given Sawyer still had the printed map, he walked over.
The door chimed above his head, though Ciaran wasn’t anywhere to be found.
It gave Sawyer the opportunity to look around his store.
There were glass-top counters with random items artfully displayed inside.
A brass compass, a pouch of coins that looked incredibly old, a crockery plate, a stein.
Behind the counter were shelves, most notably containing rows of books. Old books, leatherbound—
“Look, Fray, I told you before, I’m not fu—” Ciaran stopped when he saw it was Sawyer.
He couldn’t help but grin at him. “I’m sorry, what was that? You’re not... not fu... fu...? Wanna finish that fu-word?”
Ciaran didn’t smile. “No. Sorry. I thought you were Fray.”
“Obviously.” Sawyer didn’t want to sour this conversation. Ciaran was clearly not in a good mood. A far cry from the guy he’d spoken to this morning.
Had something happened?
“Is there something I can help you with?” Ciaran asked, jaw tight.
Sawyer looked around the store and found exactly what he was after. “Ah, yeah. Actually, you can.” He nodded to the old map framed on the opposite wall, pulled out his newer printed version, and flattened it on the glass counter. “I have questions.”