Chapter 02 - The Neck Holds Secrets
March 1989 - The Morning After
I awoke in a sandy gutter, moments from consumption by the crispness of an evening light. Many are my day-afters that begin with the late alarm clock of a fleeting wave, retreating away from the temporary bed the shoreline provides me. Minutes pile on as my body reboots, playing passenger to the barrage of questions I ask myself about last night. I can't help but focus on the underlying question, written in red, highlighted and screaming in a bold font. Was she real?
There was something that felt unique about her this rendezvous. I rifle through pages thrown about in a mess within my memories, unable to pinpoint the reason. My head lifts off of the sand as I dust off my dignity. Both eyes strain in search of the nearest signage disclosing how far I have ventured from the house. Agitation arises alongside another feeling, defeat. The currency of bad decisions I know well, smuggling more and more into the crowded lifestyle I have adopted.
Although, the flicker of a warm hue tip toes in my periphery each and every Friday evening prior to leaving land. The lips of which whisper for the delay in my departure, the desired absence of my journeys into the Deep Pines. A rebellion exists inside of me, it only lacks the strategic placement of troops needed to win the war. Yet as the night ends with a hesitant morning to follow, I notice the flag still raised against my actions. Excitement rattles inside the camp, guilt cooks up the dream that the battle will be won one day. A convincing thought that somehow feels as an absolute truth.
If I were so lucky to have been saved by the one they call Lee, I’d undoubtedly have an origami fox on hand as well as some mantra inspiring hand written note, none of which could be found on this barren shoreline. I am miles away from the dock and begin to think of Caroline’s safe whereabouts.
I summon blind faith that the old steed is safe and sound and begin to stagger the ten minute journey home. Plenty of time to continue my argument that I had actually run into Carmine last night, the real Carmine. One detail stings and shouts out as out of place, she was not the one that called me dearheart when we were younger. How did she know of such an endearment, a lost relic tangled in my youth.
I shake the thought, they will soon be replaced with food, water, and a warm bed. I remember to turn on my porch light to alert Cameron of my safe arrival home and prepare to descend into vegetation. I close the door flush with the threshold when within seconds I hear a battle cry beating on my door. It’s Cameron and he’s shouting something fierce. I open the door with haste just as his fist prepares for the second verse of a tribal chant.
CAMERON: Atmos, you had me worried pal. Where the hell have you been?
ATMOS: I suppose it's the evening now, but I spent the usual Friday night somewhere lost in the Deep Pines. Honestly I just stumbled back from waking up on the shoreline.
CAMERON: Yeah. I get that, but that was two nights ago. It's Sunday Atmos, not Saturday
His eyes screamed worry alongside his words, perhaps I should swap grogginess for alertness and share his emotion in the matter.
CAMERON: You haven't seen the news yet have you? Friday night something happened out in the Deep Pines. Something bad, something so bad that the police are asking around for anyone who might have been trespassing out past the boundary. I had thought for sure you had been picked up and were being questioned by some collection of private eyes.
ATMOS: What? How is it Sunday, I remember being out in the Deep Pines Friday night, losing all consciousness and waking up on the shoreline just now? I’m not that much of a drunkard to have been out an entire day, something isn’t right. Do you think I have something to do with all of this?
CAMERON: Look I don't know, but has anyone seen you? When you woke up, or when you walked back here, any parts that you can remember?
ATMOS: No, I mean I thought I saw Carmine Friday night but honestly it wasn’t her, it was just a hallucination. After waking up I walked home alone and I ran into no one during my stroll. Can you promise me that you’ll swear I was with you? I know it's asking a lot but please Cam, I don't want to get caught up in whatever this is just because I happened to be there for my own stupid reasons.
Cameron went silent. His hesitation cast a stage light on a forgotten flaw in the plan newly proposed. I had also seen Sev that night, along with a bar full of people that all could peg me to the Deep Pines.
CAMERON: Fine, yeah, I’ll say you were with me. We need an iron clad story though Atmos. Go shower, get yourself in order and come over, we’ll brainstorm a story to stick to.
ATMOS: Cam. I appreciate it. I went drinking at Sev’s old bar on Friday as well, we’ll have to tie that into the story somehow.
He shook his head in disappointment as I became quiet and waved a temporary goodbye from my door. This was going to be complicated. He was right, I needed to freshen up, both body and brain.
The steam from the shower gently massaged the worry spreading in my thoughts. An unlucky collection of moments tangled my desperation into some casted plot that I should not even be an extra in. We would have to include my stop at Sev’s in my alibi, there were too many patrons that could have taken notice of my merry demeanor if we did not. My case of memory loss that accompanied the weekend further put us at a disadvantage. I needed more to go off of, a breakthrough that would change the sorting of my name from the suspects stack to the larger pile of unlikely individuals. Suddenly the caressing streams of water began to lose their comfort to the urge to look up any news related to the night. Information had to be scattered somewhere, allowing some connection, however faint, to pull string through the spider web dots twirling around in my mind.
The shower head shook the last remaining droplets of water towards the tile floor as I booted up my house computer. A newer model in the technological arms race of recent years, it sat about three feet tall shimmering in plastic chrome parts. After a cycle of the dial up booting sequence, I would be connected to others as privileged as me to have such equipment. Much haste accompanied my search of multiple news outlets for a shred of evidence. Fifteen minutes into desperately scrolling finally hooked a nibble of intrigue. The local astronomy club posted photographs of their gathering Friday night, noting cautiously within the first paragraph that they met at the border of the Deep Pines, but did not enter. Their third image held value for me, it captured the same cliff side I remember standing at before Carmine appeared, with an out of place red glowing dot in the landscape. The club’s use of amateur photography equipment was most likely responsible for the discrediting of the dot I knew to be much more.
Why was dearheart in their picture?
As my throat tightened, I decided to share the news with Cameron. A fresh batch of clothes allowed my quick walk over to his flat, only to find him frantically packing his briefcase.
CAMERON: They called me in. On a Sunday. This can’t be good. Look I know we were supposed to have a game plan tonight but I really need to get ahead of this. Whatever, this is.
ATMOS: Yeah of course, I completely understand. Good luck Cameron, we’ll touch base tomorrow.
CAMERON: Take care Atmos.
ATMOS: You too. And hey, I’m sorry about all of this.
He smirked.
CAMERON: I knew one day that girl would get you into trouble.
Cameron hopped on his road bike and departed off into the fog towards the train station. The trains typically don’t run this late at night but I suspected an exception was being made. I back tracked my recent steps and entered my empty abode, deciding it was truly time for slumber. Perhaps tomorrow I will awake in a real bed. A faint dream beckoned at the gate of my ear and within seconds sleep overtook me.
Chapter 02 - The Neck Holds Secrets
March 25th, 1989 - Monday Morning
My alarm clock barked six thirty out into the morning air. Stay the course I told myself, today was an ordinary Monday working an ordinary job. Partaking in a long walk to the office, I could not help daydreaming once more of the differences in Carmine’s demeanor. Heading inside, I arrived at my desk seconds before my phone decided to ring.
PAIGE: Atmos, this is Paige, Mr Blackwing’s secretary. You are being requested immediately in the conference room.
I glanced over at the empty desk in front of me. No sight of Sails yet, perhaps this meeting would include his absence. I strolled down the windowless hallway and placed my hand on the door knob to the conference room.
I could hear loud banter as I stood at the frosted glass door of what was to come. The turning of the handle announced a new guest, and with it a crackling wave of silence overtook the room. I counted twelve sets of eager eyes fixated on me. If I were to have known I’d be on a stage, I would have worn a nicer shirt. The first to speak was Sails, clearly his first stop this morning, this mysterious urgency neglecting his desk.
SAILS: Atmos, we have been eagerly awaiting your guidance. I’m sure by now you are aware that Friday evening there was an incident in the Deep Pines.
My mind accelerated to find out how I or an architecture firm had any relation to whatever went down days prior.
SAILS: I hope you do not mind, I told the board about your frequent outings out there. Rest assured no one is in trouble here, our goal is simply remediation. But Atmos, this is a moment to propel your career. For us to discuss this matter any further I need you to sign off on your confidentiality.
A vanilla folder was passed over to me. My sweaty palm opened the thin enclosure, revealing in big black letters ‘Non Disclosure Agreement’ written at the top of the page.
ATMOS: I know how to keep a secret Sails.
My response dripped with the disappointment that he freely shared my personal life with the firm. My ink still lay wet on the page when Sails continued his dissertation.
SAILS: Thank you Atmos, I’m glad we are on the same page. What I am about to tell you goes far beyond that document. You are about to learn a secret surrounding this town. Have you ever heard of Conifer Cove?
My eyes doubled as mirrors, reflecting the blankness of my thoughts from the prompt.
ATMOS: I have not.
A slight smile surfaced on his face, confirming his well kept secret.
SAILS: Conifer Cove is a community here in Forest City. One that consists only of the absolute elite. It is located four miles off of the shoreline on a small six acre patch of land. It has its own ferry and most importantly has only one design firm appointed to its development. Since its conception six years ago, we have designed a total of eighty works of art that select community members call home. For all intents and purposes, we are the curators of Conifer Cove, it is our masterpiece for Forest City. Executives of our firm live there, past mayors have lived there, and our CEO Sam Blackwing calls this utopia home. It does not appear on any map and is only known to those who need to know about its existence. It is not my intention to brief you on the history of Conifer Cove or whatever happened out there in the Deep Pines, that is for the police to uncover. You are being brought on as the architectural and structural relief for Conifer Cove as an expert of the Deep Pines. Unfortunately most of us only know stories of the area, what has been written about in case studies, but you. You Atmos have lived it. If you chose to, we are to leave for Conifer Cove following this meeting to assess the damage that overcame the community Friday night, working hard to come up with an immediate solution. If you have any questions, please hold them until our ferry ride as time has become a critical metric in our relief efforts.
Flattery did not fall up on me with the fresh flurry of compliments in the air. I had to imagine that they would tell me as little as possible in order to gain my perspective. It would have been wise for Sails to leave out the typical high proof companion of my journeys out to the Deep Pines. He would gain higher marks for a sober expert, stumble free of any sloppy footprints.
A majority of the staff entrusted in this meeting began to stand, conveying the departure of Sails and I. I remained quiet during the elevator ride down to the lobby, clutching my leather binder as my last friend left in the office building. Sails and I hopped into a black company sedan and headed to the alleged secret ferry landing. I would do my best not to disclose such information to Cameron, or Sev, or even Carmine. Carmine, although unsure of her actual existence, she still shared the spotlight with the rest of them.
Our transportation approached a dull signless three story steel warehouse on the very edge of the shoreline. Nothing but tall evergreen trees existed to its right, marking the edge of the commercial district. The question answered on how to hide a ferry in plain sight. No words had been uttered between Sails and I up until this point, my feeling of betrayal emitting off my body like an odor of disapproval. Upon entering the derelict we passed through a small security check point where our company badges proved useful. The silence shattered to the ground.
SAILS: Look. I’m sure you’re not happy with me. I understand I chose my career over our friendship. I usually do. But if we can’t make it past this small hiccup, then maybe we weren’t really friends to begin with. Maybe we only existed in each other’s lives for comradery, and I’m okay with that. But let’s be clear on one thing, either you quit the firm, or you come to terms with the fact that we will be working together on this for quite some time.
I lacked the consideration afforded by Sails that our bones still held friendship. His familiar face continued to provide nostalgia from our youth, but our labeling of current affairs differed. The definition of such a casual collection of letters produced weight for me. They filled page after page of artisan paper, ending the size of a novel. I did not consider him a comrade in the trenches beside me, fighting through the daily battles towards the next birthday. These brothers in arms that appear from the fog are easily recognizable. Their sleeves may not include the proper adornment of well stitched symbols but their hands resemble a statue within its permanence. Always held out and open, it appears during moments when the perspiration is wiped off of your face and you realize the hole that you are in. Often rare, this ladder holds vitality, a trait I did not find in Sails.
Ironically the next door led us back outside, this time facing gentle waves of water that disappeared with distance. A ferry boat entered and broke the plane of the horizon, cast in cedar the vessel stretched with luxury forty feet in length. Allowing me a moment of dominance, I stepped on first. Swapping out my land trousers for a pair of fish legs, I quickly adapted to the rocky hull caused by the choppy waters surrounding us. Sails provided some sort of signal to eavesdropping eyes, learnt from his first day orientation on how to backstab an employee, prompting the boat to sail off into the mist.
As we rode the ferry together, I held back my strong desire to storytell about the Deep Pines. Perhaps towards the closing of last year, an unwelcome detail began to enter the frame. I hadn’t an audience to share my newly formed Deep Pines discoveries with. Fragments of wisdom for an area most don’t have a single memory with. An itch that sporadically appeared over parts of my thoughts with time. The closest remedy was Sev, who lacked the stamina to listen to anyone talking longer than five minutes. I knew truly that I have always been drawn to the art of story telling, pulling each puppet string at the correct moment hoping to convey a seductive tale. I do enjoy watching others retell a harrowing tale, but I know I prefer mine. My story has been my favorite.
The ferry’s speed commenced at a slower pace as it threaded its hull through a small cluster of root submerged trees hidden from view. I fixated on the dreary mist, invoking my discovery of Conifer Cove. Like a flower blooming through the last sash of winter, small golden lights illuminated in the distance. A white brick archway emerged overhead, the symbol of a pine cone etched within the center of its keystone. Three men in suede peacoats greeted our arrival, roping our shuttle to a nearby anchoring point.
MAN AT DOCK: You must be the two representatives from the Owl Architecture, please impose haste in your arrival. Our Captain has been waiting for you.
I discarded my annoyance in the greeting and observed that none of these men had recognized Sails, perhaps we were both still in the same boat after all. A fourth gentleman approached the landing dock newly acquainted, tossing his cigarette into the water. His attire spoke of a sophistication taught from birth, swapping diapers for cufflinks.
WELL DRESSED MAN: It would do you good to be on time.
His narrow mouth slithering out the statement.
SAILS: Please accept our apologies.
Sails knew what I knew, less would be more with these people.
WELL DRESSED MAN: Let us proceed then. Our first inspection will be the community square, an area fairly devastated from the events of Friday night.
I found intrigue in his words, recognizing myself as a possible suspect in the unidentified crime.
ATMOS: What exactly happened here Friday night?
Without delay Sails darted his eyes in my direction, perhaps we were even at this point. Our fanciful tour guide flew around, walked an arm’s reach to me and spat out his disgust.
WELL DRESSED MAN: You are here to provide architectural relief. That of which does not include asking such lucrative questions to me or anyone else of the NightLight staff.
As he stormed off he did not realize his misstep, the new knowledge had been gained that NightLight ran Conifer Cove.
My porous eyes absorbed the environment around me, soaking into saturation with new and unrecognizable insight. The depth of design injected into every building spoke of endless office nights, burning a rope like candle at each end. The white gloved masterworks fought to assimilate with what appeared to be existing and unusual architecture. Scattered about at random, stacked simplistic stone structures held a mystery regarding their origin. Once noticed, they felt out of place when compared to the lush landmarks designed by Owl Architecture. I came to terms with the knowledge that Conifer Cove would grow in mystery with each loop of my watch’s minute hand.
I noticed Sails’ eyes affixed to the fashionable man leading us. His attire proved unique when compared to the soundless staff surrounding him, yet one detail misaligned with his decision to stand out. Sheathed around his collar was a golden pinecone necklace. A peculiar detail in fashion shared exactly by the other three men as well. Perhaps part of the uniform to work in Conifer Cove, regardless of your stature.
WELL DRESSED MAN: I would request that we spend no more than seven minutes at our first location. I was told that you two are the best and brightest, I accounted for this attribute when preparing my schedule for the day. I shall correct myself, when I dictated my schedule today. Clearly I cannot be bothered with such a task as note taking.
ATMOS: May I ask what is our first spot?
The words conveyed confidence, yet they became outcast immediately.
WELL DRESSED MAN: I shall warn you that you do not want to come off as two unprepared outsiders. You were both given a briefing of the area, I will not burden myself with explaining your purpose here. I suggest you take thorough notes and learn a valuable lesson on business etiquette regarding preparedness.
It was control he was after. With the last word cascaded out of his mouth, Sails readied his response.
SAILS: Of course, I have read the entire brief. You must excuse the manners of my colleague, he had a recent run in with the Deep Pines and has been a bit…..foggy…following his rescue.
WELL DRESSED MAN: Well. No excuse. The Deep Pines are not to be taken lightly. It’s not like everyone can expect that buffoon Lee to show up at a moment’s notice and save them.
I dwelled on his conveyed interest in the Deep Pines. I would expect him to be well informed on most matters of the outside world, but his face lit up when the gloomy location was briefly discussed.
Sails asked a round of questions proving that he did indeed read the briefing that had been used at my expense. All the while I took pictures, at every angle, of every insignificant feature of the landscape, of the well dressed man and his silence for hire. With each pulse of the flash from my outdated camera, each golden pine cone necklace exploded in a prism of light. I tuned out the dialogue around me and searched my thoughts for their meaning.
As we ventured through two more locations, I began to feel off, a feeling that something had spoiled deep inside of me. I caught Sails' attention, drawing suspicion from the well dressed man that a new detail emerged within our journey. I placed blame on our ferry ride to Conifer Cove, ignoring the bold faced fact that I travel via boat at least once a week.
Notifying Sails of my uneasiness appeared to have cut our trip short. We trotted back to the boat dock entrance when the sharpness came. I could hear the words being spoken in front of me, yet somehow a mist accompanied the weather.
WELL DRESSED MAN: My expectation is a full report transmitted to my office tomorrow morning. I cannot find anything more valuable at the moment in your feeble lives than this report.
I turned my body to face the well dressed man when I noticed a glow in the corner of the frame. A familiar hue that beat with the same distinction as the Dearheart nights prior.
Our boat could be seen arriving in front of us, a pretzel of rope within the sailor’s hand ready to be thrown. I lifted my hand instead, palm facing out in the air and connected the constellation of points surrounding this mystery. My mind became clear, reframed with the correct understanding. We were in the Deep Pines. I don’t know how, but this uneasiness accompanying me felt as familiar as breathing.
ATMOS: We will be able to continue the investigation as planned. I apologize for my momentary absence, please take us to the remaining locations.
SAILS: Very well Atmos, please let us proceed.
WELL DRESSED MAN: Wise decision gentleman.
The next two locations followed the same series of events as the ones prior. Sails talked as I documented, the best and brightest at their finest.
The odd collection of characters traveling about this elusive landscape came to our last designated stop of sightseeing. The evergreen giants charged with concealing the development revealed relief in their density as a slight clearing presented itself. An aged watermill, wheel slowly spinning in a clockwise movement, sustained the mystery this place beckoned. The origin of the structure felt as if it predated time itself. Barely discernible were the various symbols scattered on the relic’s moving spokes. My lips held back the involuntary desire to ask a pile of questions on the fresh scenery, knowing that our field trip would not be educational. The well dressed man halted our group, holding up two fingers that slowly lowered to point towards an access hatch at the base of the structure.
WELL DRESSED MAN: Proper use of your illumination will be required for your last inspection.
Further motions were given for his soundless goons to open the twin rusted metal doors that held our admission into obscurity. Splitting in two, each side of the hatch opened vertically, cutting the faint emblem of a pine cone in half as both metal slabs slammed against the structure’s stone foundation walls. Sails knelt down as he swung his messenger bag over his shoulder, a gesture practiced through repetition to win over any undecided eyes regarding his level of coolness. His hands held like a prize the clunky company flashlight brought on the journey. A slender amber cone of light projected out of the gadget’s base, refracted by a sheet of tinted glass that protected the light source. As the luminescence strafed side to side, the flapping of tiny wings echoed from the void. Tiny indigo moths surfaced and cluttered the air surrounding us.
WELL DRESSED MAN: I need not remind you that you are not to harm the moths. It is ever surprising the lunatics I interact with within the confines of this city.
Hesitation painted my face; stroke upon stroke brushing the worry I began to feel towards the cattle line we were being forced into. My focus followed a stray moth twirling past my shoulders, noticing for a brief second that Sails wore the same expression.
SAILS: Is there an area in particular down there that you are most concerned with?
WELL DRESSED MAN: Gentlemen, I am not compassionate towards fear. I request no further delay with questions. I would recommend for your colleague to document the area alone, I assume he is your expert in the matter.
ATMOS: And just what bloody matter is that?!
SAILS: Atmos, please calm down. It’s okay, I’ll document the exterior. The survey team wanted a soil test anyway, I’ll prepare the oils as you head down.
His hand held out the flashlight meant to replace the loss of companionship removed from the moment. An unintentional edge of aggression accompanied my hands which grabbed the artificial lantern. Slivers of myself wanted to hurry towards this escape, away from the cast of traitors and back stabbers. Descending the long stairwell to the murkiness below, I could hear the faint noise of running water. As my feet reached the last step, a softened squeak became lost within the banter of moth wings that accompanied me into the darkness. My next actions felt careless, using the sporadic flash of my camera to supplement the dim illumination of the flashlight, wasting roughly ten negatives of film. The bursts of fragmented light did little to classify the room further, but provided a slight comfort somehow. I depicted a lighthouse, scanning the entire area with my flash light in a circular fashion. I had to assume that the expertise I claimed to have was my exposure to the Deep Pines, proving that this basement held significance for the powers at be. Tucked away towards the wall edge, a channel of water ran through the room. It flowed slowly towards a smaller cedar water wheel, approximately seven feet in height. Covered with the similar markings as the exterior wheel, the relic spun slowly, moving a collection of gears that were affixed to the center.
Feeling the eeriness creeping through the ground, I readied my camera to perform the task at hand. Once again my flash illuminated entire walls, bringing about a half second of twisted shadows.I noticed various cracks and bulges within several of the foundation walls in clear need of repair. My feelings of confidence in my documentation of each wall section fell victim to a slight nausea crafted by the crackle of lightning produced by the camera flash. I stood for a second with my eyes closed, focusing on the soothing sound of the trickling water to my left. A splash upon my face should do just the trick to shake the battering waves of sickness inside of me. Kneeling at the base of the substance, I cupped a few scoops of clarity onto my face. Wet and wide eyed I stared at the running water, noticing the dim reflection of my expression oscillating with the fragmented light produced by the flashlight that now lay on the ground. The reflection of my face in the water slowly became brighter, as if a new light source behind me existed. I turned around to see a shadowy figure, devoid of any features, with hair fully set ablaze. The flames danced upon the top of its head, releasing anxious beads of sweat that skied down my body. This had to be a lucid hallucination brought on by whatever lived down here, the fear that existed within my present company. An assumed side effect of a high concentration of mist in the air. I knew not my best course of action but understood that it was time to leave.
UNKNOWN: What a lovely surprise seeing you at our doorstep.
ATMOS: I did not mean to disturb anything, I was about to be on my way.
UNKNOWN: Do you know your role in all of this?
ATMOS: All of what?
UNKNOWN: She must die you know, we see no other way.
The sharpness of its words confirmed my departure. I sprinted towards the hatch door, bursting into the outside with haste. Falling to the floor, I noticed each of the henchmen brought with the well dressed man, clenched their necklace. The well dressed man proved more elegant, but also held the golden pine cone within his hand. I neglected to notice that within my moment of escape, I had knocked over the soil sampling kit containing red kerosene. The accident caused a splash of the unwanted liquid to spill upon Sail’s dress shirt.
WELL DRESSED MAN: I want you both to understand how delicate and sensitive this particular area is to the community of Conifer Cove. Do not for a moment think that we will take any discussion of this building outside of the confines of this community lightly. I will personally guarantee your full prosecution and have you labeled as an outcast of Forest City. You are not to ask any questions regarding this location, only to provide a solution on how to re-stabilize the damage that has seemed to be strongly impacted during the events of last weekend.
It was odd being around other people while under the influence of the Deep Pines. I did not want to place thought on how Sails was holding up, or how he lived some alternative lifestyle that mimicked mine in many ways. I had taken enough pictures to fill a photo album and continued to feel woozy as I turned to face Sails.
ATMOS: I have all I need to prepare a full report. I am ready to depart when you are.
My response warranted our departure, and with it we journeyed the long way back to the boat dock.
WELL DRESSED MAN: Gentlemen, do not keep me waiting. I will be speaking with you regarding your report tomorrow morning. I would make haste in your leave, the storm tonight will be noticeable. Be on your way.
I boarded the ferry and took in the fresh air around me, providing a dose of comfort from what the water mill had just offered. As the water rippled with our velocity, my mind tossed in a bowl various questions. I knew without a doubt that we had just been in the Deep Pines, perhaps an area of higher concentration than I had been used to. That is why I was chosen for this task. I glared at Sails with a cast of deception, he knew much more than he was telling.
Sails excused himself and went to the bathroom neatly tucked away below deck. His meticulous nature bothered by the stained shirt that fell victim to my abruptness. The thoughts forming in my head spoke of interrupting his privacy. Downgrading our friendship within the moment to gain insight on the murky depth of deception he seemed to be swimming in. I waited roughly one minute for him to be alone within the bathroom and smashed the locking mechanism with brute force. Sails stood before me, shirtless and with a glimmer around his neck. A golden pinecone hung smiling at my intuition.
SAILS: Get out of here Atmos, are you actually kidding me right now!?
The visual proved to be enough information to allow my retreat back to the land where our friendship still existed. I would remain quiet on the observation, concealing my developing thoughts, but now knew the playing field. My rising priority was to get home, away from this freshly discovered spy.
SAILS: I don’t know what you are up to, but I am very close to reporting you for your actions. What do you have to say for yourself?
ATMOS: I was about to puke Sails, I felt seasick. What would you expect me to do?
SAILS: And you what, suddenly lost your desire to spew once you saw me?
ATMOS: Stomachs are funny that way, aren’t they?
SAILS: Don’t for a second think that this discussion is over. Now look I need you working tonight on this report. Prove to me that you are sorry and I’ll consider dropping this.
ATMOS: Loud and clear Sails, loud and clear.
After our arrival back to the shoreline, I grabbed a briefcase containing the remote access key cards to our server and conveyed my expressed decision to leave.
ATMOS: I understand that you want me working tonight, I will, you have my word. But I am working at home, not at the office. If you have a problem with that you know where to reach me.
It wasn’t as if Sails validated my demands, he merely rolled his eyes and left. Our friendship might still be salvageable, but it was teetering on the edge of a threatening cliff. Sails upheld his status as an esteemed employee and returned to the dusty sedan heading towards our office for the night. I began walking home, but altered my course as soon as their faint tail lights were no longer visible. I yearned for the ear of a familiar friend.
The journey to Sev’s Starling was brief, yet tense. I peeked over my shoulder each and every time the second hand ran a lap around my watch. I would wear trouble like a warm jacket if my whereabouts tonight were found out. Falling droplets of water introduced themselves around me signaling that the Well Dressed Man held expertise in the weather.
The large pine trees in view opened up to reveal a lightless marque, normally glistening like a beacon for weary travelers. It would appear that Sev’s was closed this evening. My footsteps came to a halt as I approached the front door, peering in for faint signs of life. An abrupt slap landed on the glass, promptly followed with an apology. Through the barrier I could hear Sev’s voice.
SEV: Atmos? You scared me. Please let me get the lock for you. Come in, come in!
An audible click reverberated across the air, followed by the opening of the wooden door.
SEV: Damn incident last weekend has me closed for the time being, ordered by the police. But worry not, I am still serving drinks for two. You and me of course.
A smile scorched his face, sharing a drink was his livelihood. I compiled the narrative of what had happened to me during the last 48 hours and through many details and questions filled Sev in on my current affairs.
SEV: Makes sense. Makes perfect sense.
His bizarre reply brought forth his departure from the bar stools we inhabited, walking behind the counter to mix another drink for us. He had just finished pouring the gin when his eyes darted sincerity at me.
SEV: Atmos, I must tell you something. I must. Give you something.
He riffled through the cash register until picking up a wrinkled piece of paper, half submerged within a tattered envelope.
SEV: Atmos. She. Carmine, came here a few weeks back. I didn’t see her, I swear I would have told you if I did. But she left this letter addressed to me. Left it right on the doorstop of the bar. I have been waiting for the right time to give it to you, but after hearing your tale, the thought of keeping such information. Well, just take it.
His hands reluctantly handed the relic over, my brain promptly telling my eyes to slow down as it prepared to read the mystery.
Dear Sev,
Please know that I miss our times together, my heart aches for much in these days of late. I am writing to you now because of Atmos. I am worried about him. Night after night I catch him traveling out to the spots we once knew, alone and inebriated. He needs help Sev, you must help our deer friend. He doesn’t know the times I’ve carried him back to his canoe and brought him back to shore. I cannot come back, I know it sounds cowardly but I am not finished yet.”