Darkness Falls (2 page)

2

“Approach the bench Mr. Lake.”

A smug laugh came from his left, where his (soon to be ex) wife sat alongside her high-powered lawyer—a man who believed the financial burden of his hiring fell to Sam.

Sam cleared his throat and made his way to the bench.

He felt awkward and out of place as he crossed the perfectly polished tile floor. The courtroom, it seemed, was comprised of his wife’s friends, all taking time out of their busy lives to bear witness to the proverbial lamb led to the slaughter.

Unsure of what to say, he stammered, “Uhh… Your Honor?”

His voice shook. His obvious unease drew rounds of sarcastic laughs from his wife’s friends.

When did they all turn on me? I couldn’t have pissed them all off.

The judge, a rotund woman with a receding hairline, littered with gray roots, frowned. Her pudgy face, all but consumed by blotchy red rosacea, was hard to look at. Her left hand rested on a wooden gavel. Her dark, lifeless eyes darted from left to right, as she studied the papers in front of her.

“Mr. Lake,” she said, “I’m not even sure where to begin.” She slapped her hand on top of the papers. “Neglect. Emotionally unavailable. Absent father…” She paused for emphasis. “…and my personal favorite,
sexually inept
.” A chuckle rolled through the courtroom. “Sounds to me like you’re an all-around winner. Do you know what we do with winners like you in
my
courtroom?”

Sam looked up at the judge, unsure whether he was supposed to answer.

“Shove a hot poker up his ass!” came a shout from the courtroom.

“Cut off his pecker and feed it to the crows!” came another.

The people were abuzz now, alive with the notion that they were about to get what they came for.

Where the hell am I?

“As much as I’d like to do any one of those,” the judge said with a grin, “Those god-damned never-worked-a-day-in-their-life liberalists out there would deem it ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’ They’d ruin all my fun. No, Mr. Lake, the best I can do with
winners
like you, is give you something that will serve as a reminder. A reminder that will squelch the unholy debauchery marring your soul, should you ever decide to go back to your self-indulgent ways.”

She brought her left hand up. Gone was the gavel, now replaced with a red, five-pound Stanley sledgehammer.

“Please place your right hand on the bench, Mr. Lake.”

Sam moved his hands behind his back.

“Mr. Lake?” she said.

Sam looked to his lawyer with a plea for help. The man just stared at him, nodding in silent approval for him to follow the judge’s order.

“Mr. Lake, I will not ask you again. Put your hand on the bench now, or I’ll have someone do it for you.”

Sam dared one last look at his wife.
God, I miss her.

“
God
has nothing to do with this,” the judge said, as if reading his thoughts. “Now, for the last time,” she leaned forward and smiled. “Place your fucking hand on the bench.”

Emotionally unavailable? Absent father?
Was that really how his wife felt? Perhaps he really did have this coming.

Against every instinct, Sam obeyed. The bench felt cold and hard, two perfect ingredients for what was about to happen. The irony that the judge’s tool of choice had no doubt come from his own hardware store, was not lost on him as she delivered his
reminder
with impossible speed.

3

Sam woke to the boom of thunder. He grabbed his right hand to make sure it was still there and in one piece. Relieved to find it intact, he shook his head to clear the dream-fog from his mind. The nightmare left him feeling funky.

Mental indigestion
, he thought with a slight grin.

The events of the previous day started coming together again. Closing the shop early for the fireworks, he had driven past what used to be
their
house—a place he was no longer welcome. He’d been forced to live out of his office at the hardware store, while they ‘worked things out.’

Depressed, he’d gone to Jimmy’s garage, and he and Jimmy had knocked back a few before the sun set, long before the fireworks started. From the way his head throbbed, ‘a few’ must have become ‘a shit-ton’—he didn’t remember how he got to the shop.

Thunder boomed again, echoing loudly in his thick skull. No, not thunder…
pounding
. Someone was knocking on the store’s front door.

He flipped off his blankets, gripping the sides of his head and wincing at the surge of pain that faded slightly with each step. His makeshift bedroom was tucked in the corner of his office. It wasn’t a long walk to the front door, but it felt like a marathon distance.

The pounding stopped.
Thank God for small favors.
He looked at the clock next to his cot. 12:00 AM blinked back at him. The window above the makeshift bed was still dark. He made his way out of the office and onto the main floor of the store. It wasn’t a large building, but it carried all of the essentials that a town like Refuge could need. A variety of products lined its aisles. Everything from tape measures, to power saws and
hammers
. A shiver crept down Sam’s spine at that last thought.

Business had been good to him as of late. Ever since Julie Barnes, the town’s (only attractive) real estate agent, had brought in the ‘outside’ contractors for the town’s utility retrofitting, he’d been having a hard time staying stocked. Sure it’d pissed off people who’d made Refuge their home—regulars like Cash Whittemore, who wasn’t a fan of Ms. Barnes—but it was a boon for Sam.

A tall, lone figure was visible through the glass door. Sam would have recognized that silhouette anywhere. Only one person in Refuge stood that tall: his best friend, Jimmy Stanley. Ever since Sam and Tess had split, Jimmy, a thin man of sixty with a shock of white hair, had made it a point to get together with him almost every night after closing. Be it beers at
Jimmy’s Automotive
, or over to Harrison’s
Brickhouse Bar & Grill
, they’d spend evenings together getting buzzed and forgetting, just happy to have survived another day.

Jimmy was a friend in every sense of the word, but not one to come pounding on his door while darkness still covered Refuge. Something was wrong.

“I gotta say,” Sam started, letting Jimmy in, “having you banging on my door in the wee hours of the morning doesn’t really do anything for my beauty sleep.”

Jimmy looked uncharacteristically serious, “Do you know what time it is?”

Sam scratched his chin. “Hell if I know. That stupid clock I have only works half the time.” Sam nodded to the glass storefront. “Either it’s early, or I’ve gone and slept through an entire day. Why?”

Jimmy looked at his watch. “It’s 9:30 in the morning.”

Sam scoffed and walked over to the beverage cooler set against the wall. “Bullshit. It’s still dark out. And FYI, I’m sober now.” He grabbed a water and took as swig. “Shit, it’s bad enough that I’m hung-over and I missed the fireworks with my kids last night. I don’t need you messing with my head to boot.”

“I’m being serious. Something weird is going on,” Jimmy said. “I guess the fireworks didn’t even happen last night, from what Dana says. The whole thing got cancelled or something.”

“Dana?” Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Cram?”

“Ayuh.”

Jimmy and Dana had been friends since high school, but Dana had moved south to Manch-vegas a few years back, and now he only made sporadic visits to town, usually on holidays.

“No shit, when did he get into town?”

“Late yesterday. Woke me this morning, babbling on about some crazy shit happening in town. He’s right about one thing though, something’s going on. Phones, cable, Internet—none of it’s working. Had to check three different clocks just to believe the time. Look, just get your shit together and come on. I’m headed over to the church to meet Dana and a few others.”

Sam started to speak then stopped. Movement from outside the store caught his attention.

“Is it...snowing?”

Sam walked to the doors for a better look. Jimmy followed.

“I don’t know what it is,” Jimmy said, “but I can tell you it ain’t snow. It’s been coming down ever since I left the house. Smeared up the windshield pretty good on the way over.”

Jimmy stepped outside and held the door for Sam. It wasn’t completely dark. Some sort of a moon hung over the town, casting a deep purple glow over Main Street and the buildings that lined it.

The falling flakes were almost invisible in the night sky. Sam caught one in his hand and rubbed it between his thumb and index finger. It left a black smudge over his fingertips. He brought them up to his nose and sniffed.

“Ash,” Sam said.

4

Jimmy grabbed a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and tapped them against the palm of his hand. “Like I told ya,” he said, flicking his lighter. “Shit ain’t right. Like some volcano erupted during the night.” He took a deep drag.

“Ain’t no volcanoes in New Hampshire. Or anywhere near here,” Sam told him.

Jimmy shrugged. “Maybe Frost will have answers. I think she’s at Soucey’s with most everyone else.”

“Frost? What about the Sheriff?”

Jimmy frowned. “I heard Becky... I heard she was dead.”

“Dead?” Sam felt ill. Becky’s husband had been a friend, and Sam had remained friendly with Becky since he’d passed, chatting on the sidewalk when they crossed paths, which was fairly regular since the station and his store were neighbors. She knew he’d been living out of the store; noticed on day two. Told him it was against the law, but looked the other way so he didn’t have to find someplace out of town, further from his kids. That she was dead... It didn’t seem possible.

Sam silently went back in and grabbed his watch and wallet off the nightstand. Aside from Becky’s death, he was having a hard time understanding everything Jimmy had just told him. Communications were out, but he could see the street lights blazing outside. Near as he could tell, Refuge still had power. At least downtown did. He wondered what else had happened.

Leaving Jimmy’s truck parked in front of the hardware store, the pair started the short walk past the now gray park, toward Soucey’s Market, where they could see a throng of people gathering. Sam looked at the park, covered in ash. The gazebo, the swing set, the ball field and trees; he used to admire the park view from his office window, but now it was a macabre scene.

Jimmy tapped his arm. “Hey, there’s Griffin.” He started across the street, toward the church, before Sam could question his interest in Griffin. He followed his friend across the street, shuffling through the gathered layer of ash that continued to fall from the sky, pushed by a southerly wind creating drifts against the buildings.

They walked into the church parking lot, where a single truck was backed up to its front doors. Its tailgate was down and the truck bed was half loaded with boxes.

Griffin Butler stepped out of the church carrying a couple of folding chairs in each hand, tossing them onto the back of the truck. He shut the tailgate and then made his way over to Sam and Jimmy.

“Jimmy. Sam,” Griffin said with a nod.

“Hey Griff,” Jimmy said. He pointed to the badge on Griffin’s chest, a simple circle around a star with the word
Deputy
etched into the center. “Been deputized, eh?”

Griffin nodded. “For the time being.”

“So, ah, why aren’t we meeting at the church?” Jimmy asked. “Seems like the best place—” He looked up at the sky. “—given the circumstances.”

Griffin pulled a small ring of keys from his pocket. “Not everyone agrees on the circumstances. We thought it would be better to meet at Soucey’s instead.” He motioned to his cargo. “Hence the chairs.”

“Something wrong with the church?” Sam asked.

“You mean aside from the ear splitting bell toll?” Griffin said.

“What?” Sam asked.

“You don’t know?” Griffin looked up to the church tower as if expecting it to do something. “Look, I gotta get this stuff over to Soucey’s. Jump in and we can fill you in there.”

They drove down the street and turned into the Soucey’s Market parking lot. Sam was surprised to see that two large white patio canopies sectioned off the first quarter of the lot, closest to the store’s entrance. These spaces were usually reserved for handicapped parking.

The parking lot lights were off, but the store front was lit up. A few halogen work lamps stood atop a few neatly stacked bags of dog food that lined the front walk. If not for the fact that it was close to ten in the morning, it would appear that business was booming on a warm Refuge night.

Sam could see a few people moving about inside the store as he and Jimmy stepped out of the truck. They helped Griffin carry some boxes and chairs up to the store.

“Thanks guys. Just set those over there, if you would.” Griffin pointed to the canopy closest the store. “I’m gonna check on a few quick things, and then I’ll fill you in.”

Mary Soucey-Bartlett puttered about under one of the canopies, setting out Styrofoam cups, sugar, plastic spoons and creamer on a folding table. The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air and seemed to lighten Sam’s dull hangover.

“Hey Mary,” Jimmy said, setting down his box where Griffin had asked and taking a long sniff. “That smell is nothing short of a godsend.”

“No kidding,” Sam said, setting his box on top of Jimmy’s. He took a deep breath, and for the first time since waking, smelled something other than ash. “I need something to clear this funk out of my head, and a little ‘nectar of the Gods’ sounds just about right.”

Mary frowned. “Not sure coffee is gonna fix much around here.”

Mary was a petite woman with red curly hair and an athletic build. At 35, she was one of the youngest business owners in Refuge, and attractive to boot. Inheriting the Market from her father—who’d passed unexpectedly one night, hitting a moose out on 95, after visiting a friend up in Maine—had interfered with her plans of heading off to New York. She was generally an upbeat type, though.

“It’s a start,” Sam said, not sure how to approach the conversation, since he seemed to know less than everyone else, and no one was all that talkative when it came to the current situation.

Mary grabbed two cups and filled them with coffee, pouring cream into one and sugar into the other.

“Here you go boys,” Mary said, giving the coffee with cream to Sam and the sugared to Jimmy.

“Can one of you please tell me what’s happening?” Sam said.

Mary stared at her cup for a moment. “I’m not really sure. No one is. Lots of speculation, but nothing concrete. Winslow has a few ideas, but again, it’s all just speculation. I overheard Griff telling Brian earlier that there was a bad accident, and something happened to Sheriff Rule, but other than that, I don’t know much.”

“Heard she was dead,” Jimmy said, and then he asked, “Is that why this is all set up? Some sort of makeshift reprieve?”

“Pretty much,” Mary said. “Not everyone got switched over to the new power grid during the upgrade, so there are some stuck without power now. Figured I’d do what I could to help. Hot coffee and some snacks can go a long way when people are nervous. In theory.”

“Well, it’s helping me,” Sam said, taking a sip. “Thanks.”

“A small group has already gathered inside,” Mary said, and craned her neck to look inside the market. “I think Tess and the kids were in the last batch that came in.”

“Tess is here?” Sam’s heart skipped at the thought.