Turn Darkly

Turn Darkly

Heather McVea

Published by Heather McVea at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Heather McVea

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or event is entirely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.

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“Face your life, its pain, its pleasure, leave no path untaken.”

“Do you know why I’ve pulled you over today?” The sheriff’s eyes were hidden behind a pair of mirror lensed Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses, and the brass name tag on the right side of his uniform shirt read
Swinnea
in block lettering.

“I was speeding.” Regan Andrews had never been one to meander; so she had learned a long time ago it was best not to insult the officer’s intelligence by feigning ignorance.

“Seventy six in a seventy mile an hour zone, young lady.” The man was in his late forties; his gray hair was cropped short, and neatly combed to the side. His polyester blend brown uniform looked stifling in the West Texas heat.

Regan grimaced. “I guess this hotrod got away from me.” She ran her hand over the faded blue steering wheel of her 1971 white Volkswagen van and smiled at the officer.

Without looking at Regan, the sheriff flipped his black leather notebook open, and clicked his pen. “License and insurance.”

Clearly the officer was in no mood for banter, and Regan resigned herself to a ticket. “Sure. I’ve got them right here.”

Leaning over, she pulled her insurance card from the glove box, and after digging around in her beige canvas backpack, she fished her brown leather Fossil wallet out. Removing her Texas driver’s license from the inside sleeve of the wallet, Regan flashed her most charming smile as she handed the sheriff her papers.

Without a word, the sheriff took the documents from Regan, and walked back to his cruiser.
You think he would be desperate for human interaction out here.
Scanning her surroundings, Regan thought the arid, flat plains of West Texas seemed almost alien in their sparseness. Minus the ominous blue and gray hues of the mountains jutting out in the distance, the flat plains reminded her of the Mars Rover photos.

“Where are you headed, Ms. Andrews?” The sheriff suddenly appeared at the driver’s side window, and Regan jumped in surprise.

“Oh, I’m - I’m going to Howell.” She took her driver’s license and insurance card from the officer.

“Howell? What business do you have there?” The man’s tone verged on accusatory.

“I’m an astronomy doctoral candidate at A&M, and I’ve booked time at Addison Observatory.” Regan thought that regardless of loneliness, the man was in need of human interaction. His small talk skills were terrible.

“Then you’re going
through
Howell. You’re
staying
at Addison.” The man curtly corrected Regan as he handed her the leather notebook. “Sign at the bottom. You’re being cited for excessive speed. You can pay the fine via the instructions at the bottom of the ticket, or appear in traffic court on the assigned date.”

Regan signed her name, and handed the notebook back to the sheriff. “Okay. Thanks.” She was tempted to correct the man, and tell him she was staying in Howell proper, but the man’s less than friendly demeanor triggered a rare moment of silence for Regan.

Her stint at Addison Observatory had been last minute, because a colleague had canceled his time due to a family illness. As a result, she was able to take his telescope time. However, since Regan wasn’t interested in sharing a dorm room with three male researchers, she had rented a small efficiency apartment in Howell. The small town had less than a hundred residents, and was only twenty miles from the observatory, making for a relatively short commute.

“Slow down, Ms. Andrews.” Not waiting for a response, the man walked back to his cruiser.

Regan took a deep breath as she rolled her window up. She had dealt with cranky cops before, but this one had been outright rude.

Flipping her turn signal on, she slowly pulled the VW van onto the two lane blacktop, and gradually accelerated up to seventy miles an hour. Looking in her rearview mirror, she watched as the cruiser executed a U-turn and drove off in the opposite direction.

Grateful to be the only car on the road again, Regan flexed her fingers, and tilted her head to the right, willing the tension from her shoulders and back. She had been on the road since six o’clock in the morning, opting to make the nine hour drive from College Station, Texas in one day to ensure she had time to get settled before her first scheduled time at the observatory.

The drive had been uneventful until her run-in with Officer Swinnea, and she counted her blessings. Having just driven through Marfa, she was less than forty miles north of Howell with at least three hours of daylight left. She would be able to unload her van, and hopefully find someplace to eat that didn’t involve pre-packaged meat ordered from a speaker box.

Regan parked her VW alongside a curb on Howell’s main and possibly only street. Sliding out of the van, she stretched her arms over her head, and cringed at the series of pops that came from her back and shoulders. Looking at her black and yellow Timex Ironman watch, she saw it was five thirty, and she mentally calculated whether she should grab dinner or go ahead and unload her belongings.

Seeing her reflection in one of the rear windows of the van, Regan pulled the elastic band that had been holding her hair back in a loose bun free, and ran her hand through her shoulder length brown hair before tying it back again. Pushing her black Oakley Holbrook-style sunglasses up onto her head, she leaned in, and took stock of her appearance in the van’s side mirror.

Her contacts were dry, and her light brown eyes were bloodshot from the hours of driving. The faint bags under her eyes were telltale signs of her fatigue, and reminders of the nine hour drive she had just made.

Scanning the nearly deserted street, she noted the small market, with a faded wood sign that read
Hobb’s Market
hanging in the window next to the
Closed
sign. She could buy groceries tomorrow, then. Otherwise, with the exception of a few trucks coming and going, and several elderly men loitering outside a feed store, the street was hot and deserted.

“You Regan?” A woman’s hoarse voice came from the sidewalk behind Regan.

Turning around, Regan looked at the abrupt woman , who had thin gray hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. She was at least seventy years old, and her skin looked like worn leather, presumably from decades in the West Texas sun. She was dressed in faded Levi jeans, a long sleeve beige western style shirt, and brown cowboy boots that had seen better days.

“Yes - yes, ma’am. Are you Vera Barroll?”

The woman pulled a pack of unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes from the left breast pocket of her shirt, and a metal Zippo lighter from her right front jean pocket. Lighting a cigarette, the woman’s eyes looked Regan up and down.

“You look younger than twenty five. You sure you’re legal?” The woman picked a piece of tobacco from the tip of her tongue. Her fingers were yellow from years of smoking.

Regan blushed under the woman’s scrutiny. “Clean living I guess, but yes, I’m twenty five.” She managed a smile, in spite of her reservations now in renting a room from this woman.

Huffing, Vera turned, and walked towards a store front with a faded sign in the window that read
Camping Gear
. “Well, follow me then. The room is over the store.”

Regan looked at the narrow wood structure that was wedged between two other buildings. Each building had faded wood siding and windows with mismatched panes from years of piecemealing repairs together.

Following Vera into the dimly lit interior of the store, Regan was immediately overwhelmed with the smell of stale cigarette smoke. If the room was anything like the store, she might have to put aside any pretense of modesty and take the dorm room at Addison.

The linoleum flooring that ran throughout the store was at some point blue, but now, with years of wear and tear, was a faded gray with spots worn through to the concrete subfloor. The store’s fixtures were handmade pine shelves lined with an assortment of outdoor equipment.

Regan was surprised how well organized the space was, considering its proprietor’s disheveled appearance.

“Are you coming or not?” Vera’s harsh tone startled Regan, who had stopped just inside the glass front door of the shop in an effort to take the space in.

Walking quickly toward the back of the store, Regan smiled at the woman. “Sorry. I was admiring your store.”

Vera turned her back to Regan, and without saying a word, opened a narrow wood door, behind which was a steep wooden staircase. The two women navigated up the stairs, and into what amounted to the attic of the store.

Regan was pleasantly surprised with how clean the room was, and more importantly, how smoke free the air was.

A single metal frame bed was positioned against the far wall, with a wood nightstand and lamp next to it. A metal bar jutted out from the plaster wall, presumably a makeshift closet, and a dividing wall ran along the back of the room. Peering behind the structure, Regan saw a standalone shower, a sink and toilet.

A small window model air conditioning unit sat in the only window in the room, and was managing to keep the space cool in spite of the hundred plus degree temperatures outside. The kitchen was nothing more than a mini refrigerator, sink, and a counter with a hot plate set up in the corner, but it was sufficient for Regan’s needs.

“It’s eighty five dollars a week, and if you leave before a week is up - too bad. I keep the money.” Vera pulled a folded piece of paper out of her back pocket. “Here’s the lease. Fill in your dates, and attach a check for one week’s rent to it.”

Regan stepped forward, and took the paper from Vera. Scanning the document, it seemed fairly straight forward. “Is the store the only way in?”

Vera had walked toward the door, and stood with her hand on the tarnished brass doorknob. “It is. Once you sign the lease and pay, I’ll give you two keys. One for the store for afterhours, and one for the stairwell door.” The woman stared toward the small window. The early evening light cast the room in dim grays and browns. “I wouldn’t recommend staying out much after dark though.”

Regan, who had been studying the lease agreement, looked up. “Oh, well, I’m working at the observatory, so that can’t be helped.”

The old woman shrugged. “Your life.” She opened the door, and then turning to face Regan, pointed her thin, yellowed finger at her. “Just you know, I take regular inventory in the store, so don’t get any ideas that you’ll be taking something you didn’t pay for.” Without another word, the woman disappeared down the stairs.

Regan’s brow narrowed as she watched the woman leave. Her rudeness, mixed with the less than subtle insinuation that Regan may be a thief, was annoying, and she wondered if she had made a mistake in deciding to stay in town.

You haven’t signed anything. You could just leave.
Regan walked down the stairs and found Vera behind a counter near a cash register that was at least as old as the woman herself.

“I’m going to get some dinner. I saw a diner a block up, and then I’ll be back with the lease.” Regan wasn’t sure yet if the last part was true.

Vera shrugged. “Better hurry, the Last Stop will be closing soon.”

Regan looked at her watch again. It was a few minutes before six, and she found it hard to believe any eatery would close before the dinner hour. “Okay. Thanks.”

Walking down the sidewalk, Regan shoved the lease into the back pocket of her khaki shorts, electing to eat something before deciding what to do about Vera and her crankiness.

The Last Stop was, like Vera’s store, a narrow wood structure between two other abandoned stores. The outside was more presentable than the camping store, as the owner had at least taken the time to maintain the paint and windows.

Stepping onto the narrow wood planked porch that ran along the front of the restaurant, Regan heard a series of clicks coming from the wood and glass front door.

A figure moved away from the door, and into the shadows of the restaurant. Regan leaned in, and shielding her eyes, peered into the space. “Hello? Sorry about this, but I just drove nine hours, and was hoping to grab something to eat.” There was no movement inside. “I can take it to go, but I’m starving here. You would be doing me a solid.”