I thought the weekend with Justine was going well. Thanksgiving was nice and on Friday I convinced her that we should drive over to Mystique to do a little shopping (in spite of the crowds). The unspoken agreement was that we buy only for the people around us. So we bought gifts for Adriana, Anthony, and a fold-out bed to put in the extra room, as well as a small tree. Saturday we took in a few movies.

It was enjoyable. Genuinely enjoyable. I have a good time with Justine, and find myself focusing more on her than my own problems. It's different than with Anne. I know I'm still clinging to Justine like a life raft, but I feel in someway she thinks she needs me as well. Anne never needed me. Not really. I just hope I'm what Justine thinks I am...and not the danger the Chinese woman warned her about.

So it felt like it was going well for us, until we get the visit from Sheriff Barty on Sunday. Bjorn Waaler, he claims, was found dead in the Cheshire River. Drowned. The river--again, the river. I can barely answer his questions intelligibly and am not much comfort to Justine. She seems almost as upset as I do. My God, if I hadn't invited him here, would he still be...?

Monday I show up at school for the first time in a week, meet with the Thom Jacoby. He's done a good job with my classes--probably better than I have lately--and I won't take over fully until Tuesday. I also visit Adriana, who seems surprised to see me. I've no idea what Justine might have told her. I let her know that her work so far on the dance has been great, and I appreciate it, and that Everclear is exactly the right choice. I probably would have went with a cheap vodka and what kind of a dance would that be? I smile and thank her again for handling things so well in my absence. Oddly enough, she's the one who seems distracted this time.

At lunch, I drop in on Justine but discover she's not in her room. That's odd but...well, she's busy with the play and everything right? Don't monopolize her time. Instead, on a whim, I decide there's someone else I ought to speak to again...

The old man who witnessed that night at the Cheshire.

The sound of rushing water is in my ears. I can’t breathe; there is heaviness in my chest. I can’t move, paralyzed, cold, cold, cold. I’m in the water and I can’t move, I try to flail my arms but I’m trapped. I’m slipping.

I wake with a huge gasp for air. My chest heaves as my mind catches up with me. A dream. My breath returning to normal when I slowly sip the water from the glass on my nightstand. I place the glass back when my phone buzzes at me angrily, as if saying don’t ignore me!!

I pick the phone up and flip the top. One new text message.

From: Unknown
To: You
Sent: 3:15 am

How is Cougar Ridge treating you?

My breath quickens again. It’s a joke. Not a funny joke. I look around the room for someone who’s not supposed to be there, but I’m alone.

I get up and look out the window; nothing not even the sun. My breath fogs the window.

I turn back to the bed and find a singular leaf on the pillow. A leaf like from the woods around the town. It’s slightly wet, like it was floating in the river…

It seems I've had to concede the first of the things I wanted in my struggle to keep the Royale. My bosses at the Regis made it clear that it will be made into a two-screen venue. Never mind that operating two screens when my staff is, well, me and my assistant-in-training, but their minds are set. My next plan is to argue to split the Royale's screens, devoting one to first-and-second run releases and the other to revivals. The fact that the Turkey Blow made a profit might work in my favor....but I wonder if I'm going to lose my position as manager, period.

Of course, it might help if Vernon learned a bit quicker. Starre was looking for me, and there was an incident revolving around something that happened at the Halloween Festival, and it ended with him spilling soda all over her blouse. I did admonish him gently, reminding him that I don't have enough friends that I can afford to have them alienated, and ask him as kindly as possible that if someone comes looking for me, he should send them to my office and let me know....

And even if Vernon did learn--and he is learning fast--we'd both need staff to work under us. It's why I ended up eating at the Bonanza for a late lunch, making sure to sit at what I observed to be Aspen's table. I watched her, saw how she didn't seem all that happy there. When she delivered me my order, I told her, "Look, it's obvious you're not happy here. I still could use you at the theater. You can put up a tip jar if you want, and I will pay you better. And you'll have plenty of opportunities to study. Please, please consider it, okay?"

It's nice that Starre and Farah want to get together for a girl's night, and it kills me that I can't join them because, surprise, surprise, I'm stuck keeping the Royale operating. But, as I pointed out, that doesn't stop us three gals from gathering in the theater and doing our stuff here...Lord knows the popcorn will be fresh....

I do wonder, sometimes, if my behavior is dictated by the continued behavior of Tim Carlyle. I admit that I pressed things too hard initially, and gave him the power to define the nature of the relationship. But the way he'll do something like show up with breakfast and stay with me when I found my poster gone and then go into hiding for days without even acknowledging me...

and the Sadie Hawkins Dance is coming up. You remember that, right? The Dance I asked Tim to go to, the one I agreed to help chaperone for Principal Clark? The clock is ticking, and I actually end up--knowing I may very well be getting all aggressive and scary again--and drop by the almost-finished Cheshire. He seemed happy to see me--if that sad smile could be considered an indication of happiness--and embraces me in greeting.

"Sorry to bother you, Tim," I murmur as we pull away (I forgot how much he makes me so weak), "and I know I told you I'd give you your space, but there's this Sadie Hawkins thing we gotta discuss. After all, I did ask you, and I have to go since I'm chaperoning, so...are you in or out? I'd love to have you with me, but if you're not up to it, I need to know now...you know, so I can get someone else to escort me."

I leave it at that, hugging him again tightly and whispering, "Tell me by tomorrow night, okay? I really want you to come, but I understand if you can't."

Of course, the question remains...if Tim decides to turn me down, who should I invite? Everyone seems hooked up, and I can't think of anyone who I can feel comfortable dancing with.

Except...

huh.

You think Sheriff Barty might be interested?

If it's Monday morning at Jack's Place, I must be out of my mind. Seems like the lyric to a song, but I don't know what. Working up the courage to visit Tom about the missing videotape. Hear Barty say something to Jack about a body found in the river over the weekend.

Mei Chen said if the Beast, the "spirit of Cougar Ridge," got hungry again, she'd know, and she'd tell us. Sounds like she was caught off-guard. Didn't quite believe her from the beginning. Still can't find those runes. Need to ask Dash to go into room 13.

Put it out of my mind until I'm done with Tom. Tom… Vernon. Vernon. He watched me trying to clean myself up. I didn't stop him. This is bad. Very bad. Again. Tried to explain to Tae the spill wasn't his fault. Things like this happen when the two of us are within ten feet of each other. She didn't understand. Neither do I, really. I wonder, not for the first time, if I just threw him on the ground and fucked him -- when does he turn 17? -- would that get it out of the way so we could get on with our lives?

I get close to Tom's, see Mom walking away from the back of his house. Strange, but I don't have time for her right now.

Bobby Waters tells me to take a seat. Think about the note with the tape. What did I say? Nothing that couldn't be explained away, I'm sure. Thank the gods for small favors. Finally Tom comes out and ushers me back to his office. Remind him of the day he came to brunch, of me leaving something on the Spocks' front steps. "It was a video, part of Roger Corman's Poe series, called Haunted Palace, and it was autographed by Vincent Price. I saw Vernon Saturday. He said he never got it. It wasn't really expensive, but it wasn't exactly cheap, either. I'm just hoping to find it." Don't want to accuse him, not entirely, even though his eyes lit up when I mentioned Vincent Price. "Is there any chance you saw it there still when you went home?" Any chance you took it because of whatever weird plans you and Mom have in place for me? Didn't say that out loud. He has no clue. Fine. Didn't expect him to jump up and say, "I took it!"

Go see Mrs. LaVie, Ridge's oldest living resident. She gives me coffee. I trust her, mostly. Hope Dash doesn't mind, but I don't feel I have a choice. Tell her about the Beast. Not about Scott and the gun. Tell her about Mei Chen, and how she was supposed to warn us. Ask if she remembers anything strange from years past. Take notes while she talks. One thing I don't remember writing but find when I read them over. "Ask Dash to Sadie Hawkins."

I'm up early Monday. This owing mainly to the fact I never really went to sleep last night, being so hung-over from Saturday, but also I have a goal. The house needs all new locks. Whoever got in here didn't break in and that means he had a key or something. I don't care what Officer Doyle said about that being the case in all the robberies. Unless the thief's a ghost--and I won't believe that sober--then he snuck in through one of the doors or windows.

So I haul out the phonebook from the closet and start calling numbers. I go through all the shops in Mystique and Redwood. All of them are happy to do it but not one can be out here before Friday. I'm supposed to sleep in this house all week knowing some psycho can come and go as he pleases?

Meaning I have to go back on the promise I made to myself. I have to call the local maniac and hope to God he's not the one who broke in. (Jesus, that would make sense wouldn't it? I mean he's been here before so maybe he...no, I mean, probably not right?) Worse, I have to call him myself. Ms. Eidelman has yet to show up today. I thought we were going to start getting along and now she's coming in late or skipping days?

I call and get the machine. I hate talking on machines but in this case I'm thankful. Who knows what he might start saying if I got him on the phone. "Um, hi. Mr. Greene? This is Ms. Burroughs. I know--again? But this is an emergency. I need some locks replaced. Please get back to me as soon as possible."

Bjorn’s dead…I can’t process this just now. All I can think of is how kind he was and how alone he seemed. I thought I could keep an eye out for him, y’know? I had all but arranged to take him a little something for his camp - there are these little lanterns that you can hang from the tree branches on dark evenings. They’re shaped like little bee hives and when you out the beeswax tealight inside they glow with warmth and honey perfume that has overtones of citronella to keep the mozzies away.

I can’t believe that someone has snuffed him out like a candle…

I’ll have to leave a tribute on his grave when they’re finished with his poor broken young body. Some pestilence has stricken this place and it’s work is not yet done I fear. I hope the Sheriff catches the fiend before anyone else draws the short straw.

I am so maudlin that I head on down to O’Malley’s Lemon to have a drink, thinking that it would be better to be surrounded by people enjoying themselves than stewing alone in my room but the only people there are Ronald Felps, Lyndon and Dashiell.

No-one’s going to win any smiling competitions around here, I think. Felps glares at me with undisguised hostility so I offer to get him a beer. He mutters something about me owing him so I signal the barman to do his thing. Turns out that Felps got soaked when I cruised past him the other day - I am so mortified. ‘Course other folks hop out of my way like rabbits but the chair is kind of limiting. I tell him I’m sorry and suggest booster rockets and his eyes fair pop out. He shakes his head and then almost seems like he might laugh so I get some more beers in. Just when I think we’re starting to get on, the guy upends his bottle over my head and calls us even. Now he’s grinning broadly - glad he’s enjoying himself! I drip all over the table until the barman takes pity and throws me a dripmat for my rat-tail hairdo. Lyndon and Dash are smirking in the corner enjoying the show. Oh well - I did say that I was going to get my hair done didn’t I? For now the only thing to do is crack open a bottle of Jamison’s and enjoy being alive.

It can't be missing. It just can't...where would it go? I check a few more important things - a few letters, jewelry, the gun. Its all there. What on earth would someone want with my charm bracelet? And the note...oh geez. Who is this wacko?

Many times I've been alone and many times I've cried
Anyway you'll never know the many ways I've tried

Sounds like something he would say, particularly when I would threaten to leave again. He would get all sappy and sad and act like my leaving would be the end of his world. Oh god please tell me its not him...how could he have found me? It would be just like him to take that bracelet too...

What a crappy way to end a perfectly lovely weekend. Gabe and I had a wonderful time and we even traveled to Mystique for shopping. I find it so easy to talk to Gabe, so easy to make him laugh. Oh he makes me laugh too but there is something about the way his eyes light up when he smiles. Something really beautiful.

Not to mention the death of that poor Bjorn kid. That's just awful...wait, that dream. The river...I need to talk to the Sheriff.

Monday during my lunch and planning period I head to the Sheriff's office. Barty is sitting there at his desk, doing paperwork. I take a deep breath and steel myself.

"Sheriff Barty? Hi, I'm Justine Terry, a teacher at the high school." He nods but says nothing. "Well, Bjorn was at my house on Thursday and I already told Doyle everything I knew and Gabe told her everything as well but I had this dream..." Oh that sounds good, Justine. I saw Bjorn's death in a dream. Sheesh. I take another breath and start over.

"I had something else stolen from my house and I think there are some other things I should tell you about. Like my ex-boyfriend and why I keep a gun in my house."

Now he's interested.

It was really good to spend time with my mom. And she seemed to really like Anthony, too. At least, until we went shopping on Saturday. She was all pissed at me about spending the morning with him, and then while we were out she started saying she's afraid he's going to hurt me. Why would she think that? I decided just to figure she's worried because I've never had a boyfriend. I don't think she could know anything about his reputation.

Of course, then today at lunch I go over to the new hair salon, because apparently the hairdresser called Justine about doing the hair for the play, and since that's kind of part of costuming, Justine asked me to take care of it, and I don't know if I'll have time after school. So I walk into the salon, and I see Travis Wilder and Lula Coulie's moms, and they're laughing really loud about seeing Anthony with someone else on Saturday. "Isn't he supposed to be BANGING MS. BANKA?" "Maybe her mother scared him away!" I can't believe even parents are using that stupid joke, and I must have said something, or made some noise, because the hairdresser looks up and sees me, and the two of them are cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West, and I just turned around and left and went back to the school. I spent the rest of my lunch in my car, smoking. I know that they're just mean people who are mad because their kids aren't getting what they think they deserve, but that doesn't make it any easier. And I know that Anthony has never said that he wants us to be exclusive, or anything like that, and so I don't really have any reason to be angry at him, but I am, and I get back to my classroom before any students start to come in, and I send him email and say that I have too much work to do tonight, so I can't see him.

Gabe came by this morning to talk about the dance, but I was thinking too much about my mom and Tony, so I wasn't paying much attention to him. Maybe I can call Justine's tonight and see if he wants to go over stuff. The dance is next weekend, and that's really not a lot of time.

Ever had one of those weeks? One that was straight out of a nightmare. I woke up on Monday to discover that it was. The whole thing. I'd been in a car accident a week ago, and was delirious. When I ran out into traffic, I was suffering from a concussion. The man I saw... I think he was a figment of my imagination. I think.

I woke up in the hospital on Monday, my dad hovering over me.

"Evelyn, baby... how do you feel?" he asked.

"My name's Evie, Dad," I grumbled. "What the hell? What happened to David Thayne?"

"David who?" he asked. "Honey... you were in an accident last week. You hit your head, came home acting strange, then passed out. You've been out ever since."

Like I said... apparently it was all a dream. Apparently...

Thirty dollars a week
Is a little bit steep
For a man of uncertain means.
And a month's a long time
To stay in one place,
Almost like putting down roots.

The highway calls...

"Woke up this mornin'
I was feelin' around for my shoes..."

Starre came by with questions very much like Mr. Rast's. Not that I mind, you understand! I've known her since she was a baby. Her father, too. I'm glad to sit and visit with her. Besides, somebody has to eat the cookies with Mr. Hochschild being less familiar around here.

I'm afraid I did rather go on, but she didn't seem to mind. I told her about the trouble with the poor McKenzie family, which happened while she was away, and reminded her about the horrible incident with the Lee girl, which happened when Starre was little. These are the big incidents - the recent ones that people remember. Every year, though, around the beginning of winter, parents have reined in their children, keeping them closer to home.

Oh, and there were the murders at the Jenkinson Arms! There aren't many in town who remember that, or even that the hotel once existed. That was 1955, when my Esequiel worked there, when guests at the resort sometimes stayed in town. One of the maids - oh, what was her name? - murdered a young couple in their room on the fifth floor. Nobody noticed, because she was the one who cleaned the rooms, until other guests mentioned the smell. Then she murdered a young woman and a fammily of four, also way up there on the fifth floor, so they wouldn't complain to the manager. She murdered another young man, on the fourth floor, when blood started to drip from the ceiling of his room. By then, the manager wanted to know why none of these guests were seen in the restaurant, and the poor girl was found out anyway. She claimed she was with child by the spirit of the Ridge, and that the child had told her to kill. I believe she died in the cicatrix hospital in Mystique.

"Oh, listen to me going on! I did the same thing to poor Mr. Rast! He sat there, listening just as politely as you, while I dithered on about an angel of madness evicted from Heaven and other such nonsense! I do get carried away sometimes!"

I gave her one of my handkerchiefs on the way out the door.

"Mrs. LaVie, I can't take this!"

"Nonsense, dear, nonsense. What's the point of making so many if I can't give them away? I've only got one nose myself. Stop by any time!"

I don't get many visitors so it's rare to hear knocking at my door. So rare in fact, I tend to assume the sound is coming from the neighbors' yard. This is why I leave the poor man standing on my front porch God knows how long before I realize he's out there.

Luckily, you can get away with that when you're my age. People expect you to do silly, forgetful things. The one perk of being a crusty old man.

"Well," I tell him, "I didn't expect to see you again. Any luck with the dog?"

He shakes his head. "No..."

I nod sympathetically and the teacher doesn't say anything else right away. I'm getting the idea he's just going to stand there until he falls over, so I invite him inside, offering him coffee and some of Lydia's leftover cookies. He thanks me and sits down on my dusty couch, frowning to himself.

I light a cigarette as I wait, thinking the man might be a little loopy after all.

"I wanted to ask," he starts, after hemming and hawing a bit, "about that night you saw me at the river..."

That's what he's worried about? "None of my business. Never mentioned it to a soul. Forget I said anything." Maybe he was drunk or strung out, and is worried I might report him to the school board? He doesn't look quite healthy.

"No, I mean, well thank you, but...I wanted to ask if you saw anything...anything strange..."

I take a puff of my cigarette and probably give him a look.

"Besides myself," he adds with a slight smile.

"Strange, how?" He shrugs, and I think back to that night. I recall the whipping trees and the sudden snow storm. But what's so strange about that? Mountains out of molehills. "All I saw was you and your lady friend. Was there something else I missed?"

"I don't know." He shakes his head and sighs. "I mean, no, probably not. I'm sorry, I don't even know what I'm doing here. I should go..."

He looks dejected, defeated even, and I feel a pang of sympathy. Some sort of devil has this man by the throat it appears. I decide I might as well tell him the truth--about the funny weather and it giving me a start. What can that hurt? I even tell him about the silly notion that brought me out there. The bizarre painting in the gallery where Mr. Harrison collapsed.

"Thank you," he says when I finish.

"Do you think it means anything?"

"I don’t know." He shakes his head softly again. "Probably not. Just a lot of random oddness..."

I nod my agreement.

"Have you talked to the gallery owner since?"

"I hardly know the man," I tell him. "But I suppose I could stop by his gallery some time this week. Would you like me to let you know if he shares any fresh craziness with me?"

He says he would like that very much and writes down a number on a scrap of drawing paper, looking much relieved as he leaves my house. Have I helped or hurt him? Who can say. What a strange, strange town this is and I must be crazy too if I'm allowing myself to get tangled up in it.

I’ve invited Diego over to mine for supper tonight to say thanks for the Thanksgiving feast he laid on. I’ve got some good vino and some goat’s cheese and sun-ripened tomato papillottes with Pecorino, rosemary and shallotts . There’s a Sicilian bitter lemon granita with amaretto for dessert.

I’ve decided that tonight should be the night that playfulness is sacrificed on the altar of desire and am determined to seduce Signor Viarenzi whether he wants it or not…I’ve been to Mystique and had my hair glossed and coloured so that it falls around my face in copper, auburn and russet-coloured silky waves (you can’t smell the beer either now - boy, am I glad that Diego didn’t witness that humiliation!) I’ve treated myself to that new Lancome fragrance ‘Hypnose’ which is quite bewitching when it is dabbed on the wrists and in the other secret places. I’ve discovered a store full of gorgeous frocks and picked out a satiny-smooth, skin-tight wrap dress in deepest scarlet with a delicate fringe around the hem that just conceals my stocking tops. I dig out my Louboutins with the 3’ stilettos and the trademark red sole as they are just right with this dress. I sincerely hope that I’m not way off on this one but he does seem to be pretty keen. Maybe we could go to the dance together if he doesn’t have other plans or - please no - a date already.

I’ve just put on some gypsy-jazz when I hear the doorbell chime down in the shop. Treading very gingerly as I wend my way down the steep circular staircase I practically tremble with anticipation and excitement reaching up to open the door…

Mrs. Coulie has been comin' in here every couple days to get her hair styled. This mornin' she brought her friend Mrs. Wilder with her. That's how they prefer to be called. They call each other Janice (Coulie) and Becky (Wilder), and they call me Melanie, but I call them Mrs. Coulie and Mrs. Wilder. It's fine by me, because I don't think I'd like to get any more friendly with them. I was colorin' Mrs. Wilder's hair and the two of them were talkin' up a storm about the high school principal, who they say I should be on the lookout for, since he'll chase anything in a skirt that's younger than him. They were laughin' about some woman he's been datin', and how she don't know he's foolin' around. I think it was the woman who come in right then, and they laughed even more when they saw her. She turned around and left, and I don't blame her. I told them, I have no problem with gossip. It's what women do, and a salon is the perfect place for it. Gossip is actually welcome here. But when you're caught out like they were, the polite thing t'do is at least act sheepish, maybe even apologize, not laugh like catty twelve year old girls. They looked at me like I was household help gettin' out of line, but this is my salon, and I will not tolerate such immature behavior. I'll have to see if I can find out who that woman was, I think they called her Ms. Banka, and apologize for the poor treatment she got.

Sheriff Barty stopped by this afternoon. He didn't want to talk about Pearl's old salon, or about Earl. Pearl and Earl, it could almost be funny. He asked me if I knew where Kevin was last week. With the string of burglaries and a murder, he said it was only natural they'd be lookin' into an ex-con in the area. He said he thinks Kevin's too smart to do somethin' like that right here and get himself thrown back in prison, but they have to check. I told him Kevin said he was doin' some work in Denver for Marcus's cousin. I'm certain he wasn't anywhere near Denver, but I didn't say anythin' 'bout that. I can't believe I just lied to the Sheriff.

Then someone else came in for a set and style, and she was talkin' about some rumors goin' round about Elizabeth Jacoby, that woman who comes in on Saturdays to have a manicure. Someone said they saw her comin' out of the doctor's house when her husband was up t'the school teachin'. I'm sure I don't know if it's true, but it's a damn shame if it is.

Now I just wish the day were over already. Kevin's supposed to be comin' over for dinner tonight. I'm finally goin' to cook up them steaks. Then we'll see if he's wastin' his money payin' for another night at the motel.

I didn't hear the 'phone ring. Ever since the break-in, I've been uncomfortable about leaving the shop. This time, no firearms or key blanks or very expensive power tools disappeared, but all of those would be damaging to me if they were misused by anyone. Consequently, I've been spending quite a bit of my spare time — not to mention a few thousand dollars of my savings — installing security cameras. Every camera is within the field of view of another camera, footage is stored in two separate locations, and the system has a backup power supply.

The message was left while I was outside, wiring some of the cameras. The first time I hear it, I only hear the beginning, since the thumping of my forehead against the table drowned out the rest, and I had to replay it.

I return Ms Burroughs's call, and I ask her how many locks she needs and where. She doesn't know, and sounds exasperated. I have to go look for myself. I had hoped I could stop by Martin's on the way, but I have no such luck.

When I knock at the door, she peeks out through the window, looking at me like I'm something out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers and she's trying to decide whether I'm human or a pod person, but eventually she lets me in.

She shows me around, explains vaguely what she wants. I start to offer her some choices and explain, like George Smiley to his wife, that the strongest lock in the world is only as strong as the door and the frame, and that someone willing to force a five dollar window lock might just as easily breaking a window, but I can see she's not really following me, so I stop. I suggest sash stops, deadbolts, and door chains, and estimate an hour or two's labor, then run out to Martin's and back.

While I work, she hovers. No, that's not quite accurate: she lurks. I can understand her being uncomfortable when I'm installing the sash stops in the windows of her bedroom, but she doesn't relax when I'm somewhere more public, like the living room. She's like Saint Exupery's fox, except that I don't have the leisure to sit still for her.

"Ms. Burroughs," I say, finally, "you don't need to watch. If I need to ask you anything, I'll let you know." Is she worried I'm going to steal something? She doesn't look reassured. "I'm sorry if you were expecting me to be more chatty while I work. If that's the problem, we can talk about anything you like. I'm just . . . trying not to talk much, actually. For some reason, around you I seem to say things that simply don't come out right. I don't know if I'm flustered, or what, but if I am I don't understand it, because you're not really my type."

Oh, shit!!! Did I really just do it again?

Damn fool woman, so full of herself she thinks a few beers can pay for the indignity she causes. Didn't even realize I was laughing at her, not with her. But she'll get hers. Especially if I really saw what I thought I saw.

This afternoon at the market, I'm pretty sure I saw that new guy she hangs all over playing octopus with Lea back by the paper goods. That seriously pissed me off. Her brain and my body--we cripples gotta stick up for each other, right? But what am I supposed to do? This isn't the old west. I can't exactly go and challenge him to a duel for her honor, put a bullet between his eyes at ten paces... besides for the obvious reason, I mean.

At least, not this week.

Lyndon's truck is at Miss Burroughs's house when I get there. I couldn't get a ride, and I had to carry everything, and I got there late, and sometime on the way I started crying, and now I must look really bad. And I can't let Lyndon see me like this, because then he'd laugh at me and tell me it's my own fault. So I hide around the corner of the garage.

While I wait, I don't have anything to do but think. About Kevin. About all that shit in his room. About the hospital bills we're going to get. About losing one job. I can't afford to lose this one to, not with the Cheshire not being open yet.

Fuck that insensitive prick anyway. Doesn't he read the GAZETTE?j Doesn't he know about Kevin being taken away to the hospital? And then to accuse me of stealling? ME? I've never stolen from any of my bosses!

Bastard. Just like Lyndon. And Bryon.

And my baby?

When they came for the car, did he have money to buy computers and video games and stuff? When I took a third job last year, at Masterson's for the Christmas rush, so I could buy him presents and catch up on the rent, did he have money?

When Lyndon leaves, my socks are wet and I'm shivering and I keep wiping my eyes, so most of my makeup is on my sleeve.

He drives away, and I go knock on the door, and I pray to fucking god I still have this job.

Beth visits me early Monday, shortly after I finish my exercise routine. I should have known. There is never an end to a woman's plotting. It is in their nature to manipulate, to control, the way certain cobras know by instinct how to spit venom. A man must always be diligent unless he fall into their snares. There is no surer path to destruction than through a flawed woman's corruption.

She leaves with no commitment on my part to her latest schemes, and--surprise--her daughter arrives in her wake. All a dither about a tape she wanted to gift to an adolescent boy. Good lord, does she know how she sounds? No self control. Does she think I have not heard the rumors? Shear wantonness. Her mother is right--she is doomed with one like Pitt. Only a strong hand could hope to restrain and correct such failings. Pitt, however, will only exacerbate them.

I listen to her talk and answer warmly: "I'm afraid not, Starre. All of those old horror movies...frankly I never did get the appeal. It seems an unhealthy fixation on gore and death to me." I smile. "Not to judge of course. I'll keep an eye out, rest assured."

She may not like my answer but it quiets her. Starre leaves shortly thereafter and I walk out to the office to collect my tea. "Good morning, Bobby. I believe Mr. Gorton has a three o'clock, yes?" She confirms it and tells me about her plan to check up on Ms. Eidelman. "I think that's a wonderful gesture. A terrible thing to have happen to a family the day before Thanksgiving."

Later, when she's out, I head upstairs and examine Mitchell's room. I find the missing video on top of his VCR and calmly break it in two, pulling out the tape. I place this in the garbage and go on about my day.

the market isn't always my favorite place. there are plusses; i can look at my lists without people thinking i'm strange, and i get a chance to play the "who do i know" game. but there is usually something that makes me wish i had listened to my mother telling me not to go.

today i was looking for pens in the market and a strange man came up next to me. he introduced himself as diego, and asked me if i had had breakfast. apparently he runs the breakfast bonanza, and he asked me if i had ever been there before. i don't remember ever going there, but that doesn't mean i haven't been there. i tell him no, and try to be polite about it, but something about this man is making me uncomfortable. he puts a hand on my shoulder and tells me that they make the best omlettes this side of the rockies, and that i really should come by and try one.

i hate it when people touch me. especially when i don't remember if we've met. and this man obviously hasn't met me. i look around for a friendly face, and i see ronald. he is always so angry, and he looks that way now. i smile at him, but he's already looking away. i just wish there was someone around who could get me out of this.

eventually, diego gets the drift, and i tell him i have to be going. he doesn't know about my condition, and i dislike trying to explain it to strangers. i leave the market as quickly as possible, but when i get to the edge of the parking lot, i realize i still have the pens in my pocket. i never paid for them!

i head back towards the market, looking at the windows, expecting someone to storm out any minute, yelling "stop thief!" but no one is even paying attention. shouldn't someone be asking me what i think i'm doing, or something?

wait, what am i doing? i was going to the market to buy pens, and i'm outside now. i check my pocket. yes, the pens are there. so why am i going back?

i see ronald looking out the window at me, and he smiles. it's the first time i have seen him smile in a long time. i wave, and turn away. the smell coming from that new breakfast bonanza place is heavenly. maybe tomorrow i'll stop in and try some breakfast...

Okay, so Melanie says that Kevin has been in Denver. If that’s true, I’ll eat my hat. Now, is she lying to me to protect Kevin, or is that just what he told her? I can’t say that, but I refuse to believe he was in Denver for a full week.

Justine Terry has informed me about the reasons that she is armed. I told her that I would send Fisher to her house to investigate the disappearance. Good luck to that, the poor woman.

I took my lunch hour at Doctor Tom’s and spent the time talking to Bobby, I’m not sure if I am mistaken, but I think she’s flirting with me, and I know that I am flirting back. It feels strange when it’s not Pearl or Rachel, but I certainly don’t feel like I have lost a step. I ask her about my beard, I’ve been thinking about shaving it, but I’ll leave that up to her, I think.

Afterwards, I go to speak to Kevin Brunner. I ask him questions about the murder, but he gives me the same answers I expected. That’s fine, I wasn’t really looking for new information there. Kevin’s good, he’s used to lying. He can keep a straight face for nearly anything. After a while, I’m just asking questions to be asking questions, and we both know it. He asks me if I am done, and I say I have just one more question. “What can you tell me about a monster with knives for teeth?” It doesn’t matter how good of a liar you are, you can be caught off guard. And a moment of shock hits his face. There is a difference between being asked a stupid question and asking one that someone doesn’t expect to be asked. He was not expecting this. “So, you do know something. What is it?”

I had breakfast at the Bonanza this morning, and I let Mr. Viarenzi know what I thought of him firing Susan. He said it's his business and he can run it how he wants, but I told him it was wrong to fire a woman when she was in the hospital watching over her son! That seemed to take the vinegar out of him for a moment, but then he said she stabbed him with a plastic spoon and took money from the register. She shouldn't have stabbed him, but then he shouldn't have fired her! I don't know about the money. I've been here for six years, and I haven't heard of her doing anything like that before.

Starre came by this morning to see Dr. Tom. Neither one of them seemed very happy about the meeting. It's a shame they don't seem to be getting along, but I think Elizabeth has finally accepted that they aren't made for each other.

Sheriff Barty came by again. I asked him if he was going to run off as quick as he did last time. He said he was on his lunch hour, so we'd have plenty of time to chat. I said, "Oh, is Dr. Tom expecting you?" and he said, "No, Bobby, I meant you and me, we can talk." He sat down in the chair next to my desk and put his hat on his knee. I don't know why, but that was just so charming. I asked if he wanted tea, but he said he gets enough caffeine at Jack's Place. So, we spent an hour talking, and working on a sudoku puzzle, and it was just… wonderful, really. Ever since last Monday when he came by, I've been starting to feel… like a woman again. Before he left, he told me he was thinking of shaving off his beard, and asked what I think. I told him I'd have to give it some thought, and he said to let him know what I decide. He said it like my opinion was important, I'm sure he did. Travis never asked me my opinion like that! I will certainly have to give it some good thought.

After Mr. Gorton's appointment, Dr. Tom said I should go ahead and see if Susan was home. I decided to stop at home first, and wound up not going to the Eidelman's at all. The thief figured out something to take, and I thought maybe I'd see Sheriff Barty sooner than I expected. The ape he won at the festival was not sitting on my couch next to the stuffed cat. There was a note there, instead.

I'll be your Tarzan, you'll be my Jane
I'll keep you warm and you'll keep me sane
and we'll sit in the trees and eat bananas all day
Just like an ape man

I don't know if I would have been as upset if it had been taken last week.

I spend the weekend at Aunt Lonnie's, camped out on the couch. Lonnie ain't happy to see me but mom don't want to throw me out, especially seeing as Pansy went missing recently. I think she's started to feel guilty about abandoning me and believing the rumors and shit.

Plus I look like hell. My explanation for that is simple. I tell her Pitt attacked me in the lot of O'Malley's on account of his dead girlfriend. Took a few swings at me. Mom says she's warned me again and again about what a bad place that bar is. I nod, as she dabs hydrogen peroxide on my cuts, and promise that I won't go back there again and that I'm all done drinking. She maybe don't believe me but likes the sound of that.

It's true as it happens.

I do other important things too and this before I even go to the trailer. I dispose of the clothes I wore in the park that night and buy a couple new outfits with the kid's money. The voice is very particular that they be nice. It's the kind of shit Sunday school teachers and fags wear but it's for a purpose so I don't argue. Even get my hair clipped and washed at the goddamn Supercuts.

The voice is sharing pictures with me again. Same as before. Strangling woman--gutshot man--shotgun mouth--and the burning one. They don't bother me so much as they used to. It also tells me some good news. The town is divided and suspicious. Vulnerable. Everyone is making all the wrong choices this time. When I ask what it means exactly, it won't elaborate. It seems stronger and more confident since the night at the river.

The last image the voice shows is of dark-haired woman who looks vaguely familiar. I can't place her name though. I ask who she is and it tells me she's someone we're going to do something rather cruel to very soon.

"Why?"

Why not? Don't worry, Stuart. She's a bad person. She has it coming. All of them do.

I know Faye despised Ronald Felps but I always thought it was just her customary penchant for casual victimization. Turns out she just recognised him for the nasty, pathetic little wretch he is, the kind of person who thinks a disability allows him to act however he wants. We’re sitting in O’Malley’s - Felps and I, and Lyndon - when Farah arrives and there’s a discussion about her splashing him on her bike a few days past. She tries to make amends by buying him a drink and he tips it over her.

I sit there in shock, probably with a stupid half-smile of horror frozen on my face. I don’t know how Lyndon feels. I won’t have thought him the kind of man who would countenance such spite, especially against a woman, but maybe I’m wrong. Felps is grinning like a ten-year-old, outrageously pleased with himself. Mendicant. Thing is, he loses. Farah just takes it in her stride, completely sidestepping the scene Felps was desperate to provoke. I reckon there’s scant difference between Felps and Faye when it comes down to it, both lashing out against the world, although for different reasons.

Felps knows a woman will never look at him the way Farah looks at Diego from the Bonanza, or the way that Adriana looks at Tony Clark. Or the way Starre looks at me. This is his way of responding, the only way he can, and everyone recognises it for what it is, Farah included. And Felps is certainly a braver man when Sol isn’t around, because he knows he wouldn’t have got away with such abusiveness a few weeks ago.

I’ll find time in the next couple of days to visit Rococo and apologise to Farah, and I’ll certainly not be spending any more time in Felps’ company. I also have a word in Barry’s ear, tell him to keep a watch on Felps. After all, I can’t imagine he wants his bar to be known for allowing this kind of thing.

Troubled man Noah Harrison comes see Mama Mei Chen for I Ching reading!!! smile
His hexagram is Ch’ien of primary trigram Ch’ien over Ch’ien, heaven over heaven.

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One may drink from the well, but one must beware of rats’ tails in bucket.
One may paint in one hundred beautiful colours, but one must not taste of the red.
One must believe in one’s talents, but one must not entertain the grandiose.
One may play a harp while unclothed, but one must wear a hat while playing flute.

Ch’ien is hexagram of Creativity. Noah Harrison is a man destined to conjure importance from thing that does not exist or thing that is hidden. He must craft with hand and mind to uncover what lies within. However, Noah Harrison must beware of overconfidence and vanity. An artist must accept his gifts as privileges, not as rights.
He must also beware of red. Blue will soothe and green will heal, yellow will warm and black will cloak. But red will burn and draw blood. He must also wear a hat if he plays flute. Mama Mei Chen isn’t sure why.

Mama Mei Chen give Noah Harrison coins to keep, they belong him now!!! smile. Noah Harrison has answers to riddles in his possession but he must extract them from their stones. He not seem to remember much about his time in the dark wood. When he does, he will understand.

What am I doing? What am I doing?

It's after school and I'm sitting in Jack's place. A cup of coffee waits at the edge of the table but I'm not interested in it. My thoughts are focused on the notebook in front of me. This is what I've written so far:

1. Noah Harrison --> takes (strange?) photograph in forest, suffers a dramatic collapse --> this according to Mr. Hochschild, who thought the photo appeared to be local but could not confirm

2. Scott Jenkinson --> shoots Faye McIntyre in forest, suffers mental collapse --> signs of physical injury on night he turned himself, self-inflicted or by unidentified assailant?

3. Bjorn Waaler --> murdered Thanksgiving night, body found in river --> killed in forest or killed elsewhere and taken there?

4. Gabriel Moore --> dreams of river, suffers nervous breakdown (is that what you're calling it?) in forest --> what's the likely outcome if Justine had not intervened that night? what all did actually see? was there a voice or was it imagined?

And taken altogether, what does this all say? Nothing. It says I'm crazy. It reads like the scribbling of a conspiracy theorist. What connects these things? Location, timeframe...madness maybe? (An hallucinogen or psychotropic substance in the water/air?) What about the other strange events? The missing items and cryptic notes? Mr. Pitt's evasive behavior at the motel? Is there some link that could connect all these disparate events together and provide an answer? A sane answer?

I close the notebook in frustration. I shouldn't have went to see the artist today. He was good enough to be honest with me but now my mind is focused all the more on these things. They are not what I should be thinking about. I can feel the danger in it, yet I cannot force myself to stop.

But I can at least put it aside for tonight. Taking a quick sip of the coffee--the first, it's already cold--I leave a tip for Nero before heading out. On the drive back, I consider whether I should tell Justine about where I went this afternoon. It seems better if I don't--make up something if I have to--yet the idea of lying to her is upsetting. The openness we've enjoyed so far seems like something significant to me. I can't be the one to spoil it. So if she asks, I'll tell her, however much of a nut it may confirm me as being.

When I get back to the house, I'm surprised that's she's not already there. There are probably play rehearsals to oversee, I remind myself, so nothing unusual there. I decide to make dinner for us and, as I'm getting started, the phone rings. Justine? Anthony? Maybe Thom with some last minute details?

Adriana. "The dance? Uh, sure. I guess I have a few minutes." I switch over to the cordless. "Okay. Say, are you alright? You sound different."