Chapter 5
FIVE
Golden,foamy liquid splatters onto the red-oak surface of the bar, thanks to the beer mug someone just slammed onto it.
What the fuck?My head whips up to see one of my regulars.
“What’s the problem, Jimmy?” I ask, holding back my temper as I wipe up the spilled drink with my rag. “Spot that ex-wife of yours again?”
Jimmy’s still scowling as he swivels his neck back to face me. “Fuck her, that cheating whore.”
The man has been divorced for four years, but that doesn’t stop him from reminding the town that his then-wife’s infidelity ruined his life. Can’t say any of us were surprised about the affair, seeing as his ex-wife is Lilith’s mom. The woman has had more marriages in a lifetime than should be legal.
I take a slow, deep breath, hating the way his words trigger me. I despise hearing men speak about women with such a bitter, disrespectful tone, yet I hear it constantly when I’m working here.
“Maybe you should try dating,” I suggest. “Take your mind off her.”
He coughs out a laugh before gulping down a quarter of what’s left of his beer before slamming it down again. “And maybe you should mind your fucking business.”
The words are muttered almost under his breath, but I hear them loud and clear.
I glare at the man who’s used up my last ounce of patience. “That’s it, Jimmy. Time to go home.” I grab the nearly empty mug. “You’re cut off.”
Rage illuminates the drunk man’s face. “The fuck I am.” He lunges toward me, the top half of his body leaning over the bar. He swipes at his beer mug, wraps his fingers around the handle, and manages to yank it from my hands, but his intoxicated grip falters, causing the glass to fall to the floor and shatter all around my feet.
“Hey!” Armando booms, stepping in front of me. “Outta here, man. You know we don’t put up with that shit here.”
I want to tell Armando it’s not a big deal—that Jimmy doesn’t mean any harm—but Patrick wouldn’t stand for that type of behavior either, even though he and Jimmy were longtime friends. Their relationship isn’t as close as it used to be, but it’s a friendship nonetheless.
Armando comes around the bar, and Jimmy’s face turns beet red as he fights hard against the younger man, but while their lanky builds are evenly matched, Armando clearly has the advantage against the drunk patron.
“I’ve got it from here,” booms an authoritative voice.
Officer Gabe stands directly behind Jimmy, one hand on his police baton like he wants everyone to see he’s prepared for battle. I hadn’t even noticed Gabe walk in, but there he is, ready to save the day.
It takes everything in my power to refrain from rolling my eyes. Armando shoots me a look of annoyance—he knows this is exactly the type of power trip Gabe gets off on.
“C’mon, Jimmy, let’s go,” Gabe commands. “You don’t want to make this worse for yourself.”
As much as I hate to admit it, Gabe’s presence has a positive effect on the situation, as Jimmy seems to listen. He raises his hands and backs away from the bar, although he eyes me like he’s not done with me yet. And I’m sure he’s not. Jimmy’s one of those men who works to get shit-faced at the Firefly, even if that means living paycheck to paycheck—or worse, in debt.
I shiver, thinking about the drunken camping trips Uncle Patrick and his friends used to take me on when I was younger. Every summer for years, Uncle Patrick would take me and a group of other folks to Deep Creek Campsite to see the fireflies. Some of his friends had kids my age, but we always found other kids there that we didn’t know. I was always making friends.
One in particular was my favorite.
Frowning, I try to push memories of Carley Pruitt away. I’ve never been able to escape her completely, haunted beyond repair by the deep regret and sorrow I felt for years after her death and the guilt I still feel when I think of how we got separated that night. In only minutes, we lost Carley to something dark. Something sinister.
Her death was ruled a homicide, her murderer never found.
To top it off, I’ll never forget the boy who was arrested that night—Foster Pruitt, Carley’s brother. Not even my statement had been able to help support his alibi, since we got separated at some point in our jaunt through the woods even though we were together when we heard Carley scream. Foster remained the number one suspect for months before the authorities finally released him due to insufficient evidence.
Outside of us hearing Carley’s scream in the woods that night, no one else came forth as a witness, and while Foster’s prints were all over his sister from him trying to find a pulse, the rock that had been used to bludgeon her showed no trace of his DNA. That lack of evidence ultimately saved him, but it wasn’t enough to prevent the rumors that circulated for years to come.
The residents of Bryson City were convinced Foster had to have done it. “Just look at him,” they would whisper. “He must have been wearing gloves.”
But they weren’t there to see the fear in Foster’s eyes when he discovered his sister. They didn’t hear his anguished scream as he raced to her and tried to find any sign of life. They didn’t witness the utter heartbreak of a brother realizing his baby sister was gone forever.
Maybe I shouldn’t have raced back to the campsite right then. Maybe I should have never left Foster alone with Carley’s dead body. Maybe I should have tried to help find her pulse too. If I had stayed, maybe then Foster wouldn’t have looked so guilty when the authorities followed me to the crime scene and saw the teenager cradling Carley’s lifeless body. Maybe he could have mourned his sister with friends and family instead of alone behind a set of cold steel bars.
And maybe, just maybe, Foster wouldn’t have disappeared as soon as he was cleared from all charges. The only evidence I’ve found that he is still alive is a single published poem in an online journal, written by none other than Foster Pruitt.
A Flicker of Light
By Foster Pruitt
What happens when a light burns out?
Does it spark back to life or die?
That night, I heard a terrified shout
When a flicker lit up her cries
She died under a pale-blue moon
Bioluminescence bled her path
With blood-soaked hair and lake-shone shoes
Weapon placed in a moonlit bath
A final breath squeezed between bones
Her small body, so limp, now serene
A moment too late, her light flown
Yet somehow, I knew she was free
“Evie, you okay?”
My entire chest feels like it’s wrapped in the coils of a giant snake squeezing the life out of me as I stand there, not even trying to free myself—an all-too-familiar feeling that hits me like a hammer, reminding me why twelve years of therapy will never be enough. Not when memories like this can paralyze my psyche at any time. One mental image and it’s like I’m right back at that campground, chasing after fireflies in the woods one minute and losing my friend to murder the next.
“Evie,” the voice says again, this time more firmly, lifting me a bit further from my trance.
I look over to find Janessa staring at me, her forehead dented in the center, as her hands shake my shoulders gently.
“I’m… I’m fine.” I suck in a slow breath, wanting the words to be true. My shoulders straighten against her hold, and I back away.
When I step down, a sharp pain stabs the bottom of my foot. “Ow!” Looking down, I realize a shard of glass just went through my sole and into the arch of my foot. Fuck me for wearing slippers in the bar. One day, I’ll actually listen to my uncle’s warnings.
I lift my foot then pluck the piece of glass out and discard it into the nearest trash can. Next, I look around for the broom only to find that Armando already has it in his hands and is walking toward us.
“We’ll clean this up, Evie,” Janessa says. “Why don’t you take the rest of the night off? Armando and I can close.”
Looking into Janessa’s serene eyes, I find myself wondering why we haven’t become better friends. We’ve known each other since I started visiting my uncle. We’re the same age. She’s nice. We already spend so much time together at work, and we seem to share the same love for EDM pop and classic literature. But Janessa was always super popular in town, and when I came to visit my uncle growing up, I felt like such a third wheel to all the established friendships in town. Which is probably why I gravitated toward Carley so easily. She was an outsider too.
But wondering is pointless, considering I know the exact reason I haven’t bonded with her at a deeper level. Relationships aren’t my thing. Boyfriends, friendships—they’re all commitments that will inevitably lead to disappointment, abandonment, heartbreak, and sometimes even tragedy. Nothing lasts, so why even try?
“Thank you,” I tell her, taking her up on her suggestion. “I’m going to bandage my foot, then I think I need to go for a walk or something.”
“Take your time.” She squeezes my arm. “If you’re not back, we’ll lock up.”
I look around the full bar. It’s one of the busiest weeknights we’ve had in a while. Patrick would be elated to see the crowd. “I owe you.”
Janessa tilts her head. “Evie, we get paid for this.” She jerks her head toward the door. “Get out of here.”
I back away, hesitating for only a moment before removing my apron. After a quick stop at the first-aid kit, I head for the door.
The moment I step outside into the night air, I pull a deep breath into my chest, but it’s not enough. Instinctively, I reach for my phone and use speed dial to call the one person who knows how to calm me in these dark moments.
But three rings in, reality hits me. J.D. isn’t going to answer. He may never answer again.
Tears are blinding me by the time I round the first corner, just as his generic voicemail answers and prompts me to leave a message.
“Um, hi, J.D. It’s me—um—Evie. I just…” I clear my throat. “I had one of those days, you know? The bad ones where I remember so much.”
I squeeze my eyes shut before opening them again to blurry surroundings. “Jimmy was drunk again at the bar, and then I just started thinking about all those nights you and Patrick would get drunk at Deep Creek Campground.”
My chest tightens as I smile sadly. “Then I started to remember Carley and I panicked a little.” I take in a shaky breath. “Anyway, I’m sorry I called. For a second, I forgot you quit. Or retired.” I let out an awkward laugh. “Or went on leave. To be honest, no one knows why you left or where you are.”
I frown, realizing just how strange it all sounds to say out loud. Patrick doesn’t even know where J.D. is, and they’ve been friends forever. Why doesn’t anyone know what’s going on with him? Why hasn’t J.D. called to explain why he had to leave so suddenly? And why do I abruptly feel so incredibly lost?
“I hope you’re okay,” I say then add, feeling desperate, “If you are and you get this, can you call me? I would really like to talk to someone and you’re the only one who knows everything I’ve been through.” I pause. “Doreen wants me to see this replacement guy. He’s a psychologist. I guess he’s nice and stuff, but the last thing I want to do is explain my life story to someone new.”
I’m just rambling now, but it’s almost as therapeutic as an actual therapy session.
At the same moment I hang up the phone, I am halted at the crosswalk as cars whizz by at their green light. I’ve paid no attention to where I was going, but it seems that instinct played me once again. Directly across the street from where I stand is a familiar building with a large rectangular window. The lights are on, and Lincoln Reed sits at his desk, typing as he focuses on the screen of a laptop.
Desire hits me. Not lust or sexual desire, but a sensation so strong that I can’t even begin to explain it.
I want to talk to someone. I miss talking to someone. And if that someone can’t be J.D. Wright, then perhaps I should take Lincoln up on his offer.
After a final deep breath and a slow exhale, I cross the intersection, walk up the steps of Calm Waters, and step straight up to Doreen’s desk.
“Evie.” She practically gasps my name. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
My pulse is racing. “I need to talk to Doctor Reed.”
Doreen’s eyes flash wide. “Oh. I’m afraid he’s done with his appointments for the night, but I can?—”
Just then, the office door swings open, the sound causing Doreen to spin around in her chair. Lincoln’s gaze settles on my face like he’d been expecting me. Like he knew I would need him at this very moment.
“It’s all right, Doreen,” he says. “I have time for one free consultation before I go home.”
Her face falls. “Oh, I was just about to leave for the night. Do you need me to stay?”
He shakes his head. “No, no. You’re fine to head out. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Doreen’s entire body seems to let out a sigh, then she smiles at me. “Excellent. Have a great session, you two.” She immediately begins to gather her things.
Lincoln’s focus turns back to me, and for a moment, I imagine something else sizzling beneath the surface of his professional demeanor. “I’m ready for you now, Ms. Vaughn.”