Jamie wakes the next morning with a throbbing headache. He's managed to sweat clear through his shirt. And he accidentally steps on his Black and Milds when he stumbles to the bathroom, desperate to (link-reveal:"splash some water")[(dialog:"And, you know, take a piss. He was a little too preoccupied with all the goings-on to pay attention to anything else.","weird, but okay")] on his face.
You've gotta be fucking with him.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[###DAY 4]
He gives himself a long, hard look in the mirror. He looks like (link-reveal:"he hasn't slept right in days")[(dialog:"Because he hasn't. The bed's uncomfortable, there's no air conditioning up here, and he's had to contend with thoughts and dreams and anxious ruminations too distasteful for public consumption.","got it")]. But a shock of cold water (and a brush yanked through his messy hair) makes Jamie look halfway presentable.
"|1>[Morning, Mrs. Turner]," he calls out on his way down the stairs.
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[She's fussing with the coffeepot again. Jamie starts up on his usual niceties - //oh, you really don't have to, thank you// - and he's so tunnel-visioned on the coffee that he fails to pick up on the smell of sizzling meat on the air until he's up close.
Until he's stirring cream into his mug and saying "oh, excuse me" to |2>[the man] hovering in front of the silverware drawer.]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie blearily blinks at him.
"Them eggs look lovely, Daniel," Mrs. Turner beams. "Always tried teachin' your mother how to do 'em right, but she never had the knack for it, bless her heart."
Daniel - the man standing in front of him, //that// Daniel - grunts in acknowledgement. But he's not looking at her. He's looking at //Jamie//.
|3>["What,"] Jamie croaks at last.]
(click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")["He rang me up this mornin'," she tells him. Her fingers tremble around her mug. "Said he'd take a look at my boiler today. But I didn't want 'im to wake you... so he's gon' do it after |4>[we get back]."
Daniel nudges a slice of ham in the pan. It crackles.]
(click:?4)+(t8n:"fade")["Get... back? Where're you going?"
Mrs. Turner turns to him, eyebrows hitched high above her massive glasses. "To church," she says, like it's obvious.
"He ain't goin'?"
Daniel sounds like he's not spoken in days, rusty gears struggling to spin up. Low and grinding. Jamie nervously licks his lips.
"(link-reveal:"I'm gonna be honest")[(dialog:"One of the few times he's said it and meant it.(set:$honk to 1)","got it")], I forgot what day it was," Jamie says as politely as he can manage. "And-- And I'm not much of a church-goer, anyway."]
(event:when $honk is 1)[They both make noises of-- of //something.// Judgment? Understanding? Jamie can't tell which, but he doesn't find it comforting. Not in the least. They don't pry, though - Mrs. Turner instead glances at the television, and Daniel turns back to (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[his cooking->keep an eye on Daniel]].]\
(set:$honk to 0)(if:(passage:)'s name is "Journal")[(set:$isJournal to 1)]
(if:(passage:)'s name is "find a way inside")[(set:$breakin to 1)]
(if:$hanger is 1 and (passage:)'s name is "find a way inside")[(prepend: ?SideBar)[[[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/hanger.png" alt="Hanger" title="Hanger">->hanger]]]]
(elseif:$hanger is 2)[(prepend: ?SideBar)[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/benthanger.png" alt="Bent Hanger" title="Bent Hanger">]]
(elseif:$hanger is 1)[(prepend: ?SideBar)[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/hanger.png" alt="Hanger" title="Hanger">]]
(if:$twig is 1 and (passage:)'s name is "find a way inside")[(prepend: ?SideBar)[[[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/twig.png" alt="Twig" title="Twig">->twig]]]]
(elseif:$twig is 1)[(prepend: ?SideBar)[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/twig.png" alt="Twig" title="Twig">]]
(if:$cigs is 1)[(prepend: ?SideBar)[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/cigs.png" alt="Cigarettes" title="Cigarettes">]]
(if:$isJournal is 1)[(prepend: ?SideBar)[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/journal.png" alt="Journal" title="Journal">]]
(else:)[(prepend: ?SideBar)[[[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/journal.png" alt="Journal" title="Journal">->Journal]]]]
(set:$isJournal to 0)(if:$todo is 1)[|3>[###TO-DO](click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")[(display:"To-Do")]
]\
|1>[###VICTIM](click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[(display:"Victim")]
|2>[###SUSPECTS](click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[(display:"Suspects")]
(set:$previous to (history: )'s last)\
(if:$headout is 1)[[[Close the journal.->headout]] (set:$headout to 0)]\
(else:)[[Close the journal.->$previous]]//Victim:// Dallas McCarthy. Found near redbud tree in Plot 61, subplot B. Last wearing Carhartt jacket (camo), white t-shirt, blue jeans, boots. All seemed brand new. Jeans damp and muddy, like he was kneeling. Boots muddy - walking?
//Cause of death:// Gunshot wound to the head. Big. Likely from somebody standing above him. No obvious signs of struggle.
No gun nearby. At least 2 sets of footprints - likely male.
//Possessions:// Receipt for $62.38 at Black Mountain Tobacco Outlet, date unclear. A quarter. Ugliest pocket knife I've ever seen. Wallet with cards, ID, SSI, EBT card. No cash. (No tobacco, either.)(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[####PRIMARY]
(text-colour:red)[//''Daniel Creech''//]
Runs the Creech Garage in Bingham Creek. Lives with his mom (Tracy) and dad (J.D.); he's Lance's cousin and Mrs. Turner's grandkid. Probably related to every other person in town in some way.
Reclusive and bad-tempered. Has a big problem with me, specifically. Doesn't seem too happy with Lance, either. Karen says he's a good man, but also mentioned him being on //meth//, so who knows.(if:$meticulous is 1)[
He's very meticulous and organized. Doesn't seem like the kind of guy to perform a crime of passion. If he did it, he probably planned it out ahead of time.](if:$newspaper is 1)[ Has photo bylines in the local paper. He must be some kind of photographer on the side.]
//Evidence:// Nowhere to be found on the day of the murder. Apparently known to do weird shit out in the woods.(if:$bills is 1)[
Lots of medical bills piling up in the Creech household. Could money be a motive?](if:$flyers is 1)[
Looks like he tore down a bunch of Dallas' flyers at some point. And they're the only thing in his room that's not in its rightful place...](if:$guns is 1)[
Hoards guns like Smith and Wesson are about to go out of business. Didn't find a shotgun or anything like that, but that's not conclusive. Yet.]
(text-colour:red)[//''Ray-ray''//]
Came by the house asking for money and cigs. Missing a worrying amount of teeth. Doesn't like Daniel very much.
//Evidence:// One of Dallas' buddies. Might have been on that hunting trip.
(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[####SECONDARY]
(text-colour:blue)[//''Tracy Creech''//]
Daniel's mother. Housewife and Garfield enthusiast. Warm, welcoming, and extremely nosy. I don't know how to get her to stay out of my business without sounding like a jerk. One of Ruth Turner's many, many kids.
(text-colour:blue)[//''Jebediah 'J.D.' Creech''//]
Once the proprietor of Creech & Sons Garage. Arthritis has hampered his ability to work, and a distinct lack of sons on Daniel's part has forced a change of name upon the business.
(text-colour:blue)[//''Lance Turner''//]
My boss at the Forestry Division. He's a nice guy, but he's exceptionally cagey about his family life and his history - he hasn't been home in 5 years, and no one will tell me why. The most I got out of his grandma was that he's "sensitive". Didn't fit in. Not really a satisfying explanation.
(It's probably not him.)
(text-colour:blue)[//''Ruth Turner''//]
She's hosting me for the time being. A homebound retiree, and matriarch of the Turner family. She's kind, but she's got kind of a sharp tongue, and she seems like she's going to collapse at any moment.
(It's probably not her, either.)
(text-colour:blue)[//''Beth-Ann''//]
Mrs. Turner's neighbor. She's friendly... so long as you're on her good side. Has supposedly been agitating for a trail to be put through town for a long time.
Note: Has a dog.
(text-colour:blue)[//''Brenda''//]
One of Beth-Ann's friends. The redhead. Works at the gas station.
(text-colour:blue)[//''Karen''//]
One of Beth-Ann's friends. Gossipy.
(text-colour:blue)[//''Officer Bingham''//]
A cop. He can suck my entire dick.
(text-colour:blue)[//''Sergeant Caldwell''//]
A cop. At least she pretended to take me seriously.
(text-colour:blue)[//''Ashley''//]
Cashier at Food Barn. Works way too much for her age. I think she's bisexual? Gonna be honest, I really don't think she did it.<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/eggs.png">
Thick slabs of ham, fried to a crisp but still a tender pink in between. Slices of toast with the (link-reveal:"middles cut out")[(dialog:"He idly pops the middles into his mouth as he cooks. It's almost charming. Except for the very real fact that he //might have fucking killed somebody, Jamie//.","okay, sheesh")], eggs cracked into their centers and cooked until they've fused into a single mass. A glass of milk that Daniel's been sipping on in lieu of coffee. The news broadcast in the corner, softly whispering today's weather forecast.
//Partly cloudy, with a high of 94.//
It's quaint. Horrifyingly so. Jamie feels like a stranger in his own body, making awkward small talk with Mrs. Turner as he and Daniel do |1>[nothing more] than pointedly ignore each others' existence.
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Like-- like, what's he even supposed to say?
It's not like he has any proof. Nothing that definitively ties Daniel to the crime. But normal people don't... Normal people wouldn't have looked at him like that. Last night. Like he was a bug under a microscope. A guy who's just walked into a cult ritual instead of his book club meeting.(set:$honk to 1)]
(event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"shudder")+(t8n-delay:5s)[Is this supposed to be a threat? This little fucking display of power? //"I can walk right into your home while you sleep"?//](set:$honk to 2)]
(event:when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:8s)[Anger simmers at the base of Jamie's skull. He doesn't know who the hell Daniel thinks he is, but Jamie's dealt with worse.
So he sits right there, |2>[sipping his coffee in defiance.]]]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[Daniel sets a plate in front of Mrs. Turner, and she tucks in, silverware clinking clumsily. He doesn't do the same for Jamie, but Jamie doesn't move to get his own, either. A silent standoff.
"...the Wildcats are looking forward to a great season with their latest victory," a toothy, polished woman beams from the TV. Then the smile drops. "In other news, Harlan County police have discovered the remains of Bingham Creek entrepreneur, Dallas McCarthy, following a tragic hunting accident," she continues, with all the gravity of a golf announcer.
A sudden chill comes over the room.
In the corner of the screen, (link-reveal:"Dallas' face")[(dialog:"Tanned and rugged, with pronounced smile lines and a tasteful amount of stubble. The picture looks like it's been cropped from a bigger one, a photo with friends. He grins like he's got a car to sell you. Fitting.","got it")], mercifully intact, fades into view. Jamie surreptitiously looks over at Daniel, where he's wiping out cast iron pans with a dry cloth. (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[Just a glance.]]]\
(set:$honk to 0)Daniel isn't playing the same game this time, though. He openly stares. There's fire under the brim of his trucker cap, and it fixes Jamie in place.(set:$honk to 1)
(event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:5s)["...memorial services scheduled for later this week," the newscaster finishes. Her face resets itself back into placid neutrality. "A car crash in Bell County has left families shocked..."
So that's it, huh. No curiosity, no fanfare. Just a guy with his head blown off, and an entire town looking the other way. From the sounds of it, the guy's own family isn't even (link-reveal:"all that concerned")[(dialog:"Jamie's used to news segments featuring sobbing mothers, righteous anger, candles lit on sidewalks and signs demanding justice for the dead. Not... not //footnotes//.","yeah...")] about his mysterious, sudden death.
"I'm so glad you stopped on by, honey," smiles Mrs. Turner, oblivious to the paranoid tension suffusing the room. "You gon' grab you somethin' to eat, Jamie?"
He blinks. And with that, it dissipates, leaving him strangely deflated. "Oh, uh, (link-reveal:"I'm fine, thank you.")[(dialog:"It's tempting, though. It's nothing fancy, but it smells good, and if circumstances were different - if he wasn't trying to hold his own in this stubborn standoff - he'd gladly partake.(set:$honk to 2)","got it")]"]]
(event:when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")["Oh, Jamie," she says, catching him just as he tries to slink out of the house, "since you ain't comin' with us... You'll take care a'somethin' for me, won'tcha? I know you're awful busy with that study 'n' all..."
"No, yeah, I-- I can do that for you. (link-reveal:"No problem")[(dialog:"Liar. He's got a huge problem with her tone - the sweetness of it, masking a very obvious disappointment. A pointed criticism.","got it")]," Jamie tells her.
"Some weeds been comin' up in the garden... and my old bones ain't what they used to be. Would you pull 'em up for me?"
"Yeah, of course." He loves busting his ass in the heat, after all. It's been his favorite part of this whole job.
Just one more thing to tack onto his ever-growing (link-style:(text-color:orange))[[list->Journal]].\
(set:$tasks to (a:0,0,0,0,0,0))(set:$todo to 1)(set:$honk to 0)(set:$headout to 1)]](set:$todolist to (a:
"* Pull the weeds from Mrs. Turner's garden.",
"* Knock out some plots for the study.",
"* Get some information out of Ray-Ray.",
"* Figure out who Dallas' other buddies are.",
"* Check out the tobacco outlet.",
"* Investigate Daniel."))\
(if: $tasks's 1st is 0)[(print: $todolist's 1st)]\
(else:)[~~(print: $todolist's 1st)~~]\
(if: $tasks's 2nd is 0)[(print: $todolist's 2nd)]\
(else:)[~~(print: $todolist's 2nd)~~]\
(if: $tasks's 3rd is 0)[(print: $todolist's 3rd)]\
(else:)[~~(print: $todolist's 3rd)~~]\
(if: $tasks's 4th is 0)[(print: $todolist's 4th)]\
(else:)[~~(print: $todolist's 4th)~~ Found out about Carl. Who else?]\
(if: $tasks's 5th is 0)[(print: $todolist's 5th)]\
(else:)[~~(print: $todolist's 5th)~~]\
(if: $tasks's 6th is 0)[(print: $todolist's 6th)]\
(else:)[~~(print: $todolist's 6th)~~]Daniel doesn't follow him out directly, busy as he is sawing at his (link-reveal:"toad-in-a-hole")[(dialog:"The egg-toast thing. Jamie couldn't tell you why it's called that.","got it")], but his eyes do; even as Jamie steps out onto the porch, he keeps watch through the kitchen window.
The garden's in the backyard, a humble little plot of tulips, marigolds, and other common household flowers. It's set within view of the back porch and the windows beyond, so that one could look out from the comfort of the indoors and still behold the explosive beauty of all those petals unfurling.
And unfurl they have - the warmth of the spring has treated them well, a fireworks display of red and pink and gold before him. Unfortunately, it's also been kind to the (link-reveal:"weeds")[(dialog:"A term that doesn't describe any strictly-definable set of plants, but rather a human relationship to them: unwanted, competing for space. These ruderal grasses would be treasured as anchors for the eventual shrubs and trees of the montane forest, securing the loose soil of the mountainside, but here, in Mrs. Turner's yard, they're just an annoyance.","got it")]. They spring up from the soil, thin and reedy, desperate to climb to the sky in what little patches they can claw out between the flowers.
The garden must have lain untended for awhile - dead leaves have accumulated under the stems and petals, equally unsightly. Wouldn't hurt to |1>[clear those away, too]. Since he's here.
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie slips on his gloves, drops to his knees, and gets to work.
He tenderly peels those dead leaves away. They're thin and brittle, crumbling under his touch. And they're not hurting anything, exactly, but the process is strangely satisfying. Like peeling an old sunburn.
So too is plucking up (link-reveal:"weed")[(dialog:"The dandelion, any of a number of species in the genus //Taraxacum//. Largely considered a weed despite being edible (and tasty at that). Can be found for obscene prices in higher-end health food boutiques back in the city.(set:$honk to $honk+1)","got it")] after (link-reveal:"weed")[(dialog:"Blackseed plantain, otherwise known as //Plantago rugelii//. Their rosettes lie low to the ground, crowding out more desirable growth, and their roots penetrate deep into the earth, making them particularly difficult to remove in their entirety.(set:$honk to $honk+1)","got it")]. He kind of likes the inaudible pop of each one coming loose.]
(event:when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")[Even at this hour, the sun is unforgiving. The clouds part more often than he'd like, leaving him under its watchful, burning eye, and he's got big, ugly patches of sweat blooming on his shirt.
He sits up straight, cracking his back. Then he shucks his polo shirt off, leaving himself in just a tank top. The relief is immediate.
|2>[Back to the grind.]]]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"slide-up")[|3>[Pluck.]]
(click:?3)+(t8n:"slide-up")[|4>[Pluck.]]
(click:?4)+(t8n:"slide-up")[|5>[Pluck.]]
(click:?5)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie wipes sweat from his forehead, leaving a smear of dirt behind. But he doesn't care. The fruits of a job well done lie before him, a pile of roots and greens and a neat, orderly garden.
He dumps the remains at the edge of the woods.
And when he turns back, he meets eyes with Daniel, still staring at Jamie from the window. He's wide-eyed, a (link-reveal:"deer in the headlights")[. As if he didn't expect Jamie to look back(set:$honk to 4)].]
(event:when $honk is 4)[(t8n-delay:6s)[Jamie's brows shoot up.(set:$honk to 5)]]
(event:when $honk is 5)[(t8n-delay:9s)[Daniel vanishes, and within seconds, Jamie hears an engine firing up. That old pickup truck roars down the road with Mrs. Turner in tow, leaving Jamie in its wake.
(link-style:(text-color:orange))[[Strange.->down the road]]\
(set:$honk to 0)(set:$tasks's 1st to 1)]]There's no wind in the valley, not today. The air sits firmly in place, leaving Jamie to carve a path through it like a knife through butter. Hot, stagnant butter.
It doesn't occur to him to just (link-reveal:"Google the address")[(dialog:"He was too stressed out imagining //asking// someone. Like he can just ask Lance's grandma where she gets her smokes? Please. He's not in the mood to be guilted about that particular bad habit.(set:$honk to $honk+1)","got it")] printed on Dallas' receipt until he's wandered down Main Street, gotten hopelessly lost, stumbled into a basketball game in an apartment parking lot, and had a handful of (link-reveal:"bored teenagers")[(dialog:"He's not asking them, either.(set:$honk to $honk+1)","got it")] snicker at him as he walks away.
(event:when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")[He holds his phone up to the heavens, desperate for signal. And when he finally catches those gossamer waves on the wind, they point him to a location on the road leading out of town, a solid half-hour walk.
|1>[Jamie sighs.]]]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[This would take two fucking minutes, tops, if he still had his car, he thinks. But no, he's got to stagger up this winding mountain road, the closest thing to a breeze coming from the rush of air as cars blaze past him.
There's no sidewalk or anything to shield him - just himself and that |2>[naked interface]. And there's no way in hell these people are doing 25 miles an hour, like the speed limit helpfully suggests.]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[It, too, starts to crumble at his feet. The side of the road drops off into the valley, taking chunks of asphalt with it. Jamie swallows before doing a brisk little jog around it, darting into the middle of the road, hoping against hope that some asshole in a pickup truck isn't going to hug that curve too tightly until he's safely past it.
There's nothing out here but cliffs, above and below. The valley itself bears the markers of civilization - especially the churches, their parking lots swelling with cars - but that's a long, long way down. And his phone didn't say anything about making any turns. Or, uh, downward spirals.
It all clicks once he |3>[rounds the corner], though.]
(click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")[On a thin sliver of land, between the road and the abrupt fall into a forested gorge, sits a building. Maybe that's too generous a term, though - it's more of a trailer, just barely small enough to fit on the shoulder, with room for maybe a single car nearby.
The (link-reveal:"windows")[(dialog:"Not storefront windows. They're literally just the small, raised windows you'd find in a trailer. One of them has been fitted with a sliding glass panel, like at a fast food restaurant.","weird")] are plastered with advertisements and discounts, some older than others. (link-reveal:"Much older.")[(dialog:"Cigarettes haven't been that cheap in a long time.","got it")] Jamie tries to peer past them, but they seal off every possible glimpse of the interior, forcing him to scale the unfinished wooden stairs and actually head inside if he wants to know if this is a (link-style:(text-color:orange))[[real store]] and not, like, a front.\
(set:$honk to 0)](if:$garage_visited is 1)[Jamie takes a quick look around, checking over his shoulder.
He could try to (link-style:(color:orange))[[find a way inside]], (link-style:(color:orange))[[snoop around the garage]], or (link-style:(color:orange))[[investigate the graveyard of cars]].]\
(else:)[(set:$garage_visited to 1)The trees lining the road provide merciful shade. First in dappled patches, then in a dense, unbroken arch, branches stretching overhead to meet in the middle. By the time Jamie wends his way to the garage, the cool light of the morning has all but vanished, casting the thick of the woods into shadow.
Ahead, Daniel's house is dark and still - no lingering lights, no distant clinking of tools. Just the ambient chirping and creaking of the forest around him. Even Jamie's van doesn't appear to be on the lot anymore, which raises some questions he's not sure if he wants the answers to.
Jamie swallows as he approaches.
There's nothing suspicious about this, he thinks. He's just checking in on his van. And he's-- he's not very observant. Didn't pay much attention to just how quiet it is before he |1>[knocked on the door].
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")["Hello?" he calls out.(set:$honk to 1)]
(event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:4s)[No response.(set:$honk to 2)]]
(event:when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:6s)[The doorknob doesn't budge when he jiggles it, either. It's a bit of a relief.
By his estimation, he could try to (link-style:(color:orange))[[find a way inside]], (link-style:(color:orange))[[snoop around the garage]], or (link-style:(color:orange))[[investigate the graveyard of cars]].\
(set:$honk to 0)]]]He pulls on the door.(set:$honk to 10)
(event:when $honk is 10)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[It's locked.(set:$honk to 1)]]
(event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:6s)[Because it's //Sunday,// he realizes with a slap of his palm on his forehead. Everything's closed on Sunday!(set:$honk to 2)]]
(event:when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:9s)[Jamie rests his head against the door, letting his idiocy sink in. He cannot fucking believe he walked all the way here and nearly got turned into roadkill for nothing.
Then (link-reveal:"it")[(dialog:"Everything's closed. Everybody's at church. //Daniel's// at church... and it's likely the rest of his family is, too.
Meaning that //there's nobody at the garage right now.//(set:$honk to 3)","that's right!")] occurs to him.]]
(event:when $honk is 3)[(t8n:"fade")[Jamie (link-style:(text-color:orange))[[bolts back down the road->The Creech garage]], all that self-loathing boiling off in an instant.\
(set:$honk to 0)]](if:$latch >= 1)[Jamie rattles the window again, but the latch doesn't give.]\
(else:)[Well, the front door's out of the question. Breaking in seems unwise when it's this (link-reveal:"literal")[(dialog:"He doesn't know how to pick a lock, man. Every time he's accidentally locked himself out of his place, he's had to wait on the doorstep like a sad dog until somebody found him.(set:$honk to 1)","didn't need to know that")].
(event:when $honk is 1)[The windows might be more promising.
Two of them face out onto the porch, their sills caked with dust and dirt; they don't budge an inch when Jamie tries to open them, although he's not sure they're //locked//. Just welded shut from age and disuse.
Around back, however, the frames are looser, rattling when he gives them a tug. A simple latch holds the window shut at the bottom. If he found something (link-style:(color: orange))[[thin enough->The Creech garage]], he reckons he could slide it through the crack and knock the latch loose.\
(set:$latch to 1)]]<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/garage.png">
(set:$honk to 0)The garage itself - not the home stitched to its side, an outgrowth, an afterthought, but the building that gives the property its rightful name - looms high above him, forcing him to crane his neck to take it all in as he approaches.
Its steel slats are a gunmetal grey, though pockets of warm orange rust encroach on their unfeeling exterior. The garage door boasts a similar shade, with a span large enough for three cars to nestle inside, but it's got no windows or openings to speak of. And it's locked up tight, besides.
Jamie gives the door a fruitless jiggle anyway before |1>[circling around] the side.
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[There, he can steal a peek at the interior, where large windows let scraps of light through.
So his van //is// still here. Thank God. The hood's been left propped open, but it looks to be in one piece. And if the dirty rag near the engine is any indication, Daniel's been taking a stab at some maintenance.
Jamie doesn't know why, but he almost feels (link-reveal:"disappointed")[(dialog:"As if a more sinister explanation for its absence would have been more exciting.(set:$honk to 1)","jesus man")].]
(event:when $honk is 1)[It's a fairly ordinary garage, otherwise. Racks of tools hang on the walls, and so too do calendars of classic cars and posters of concert advertisements from decades past. Nothing stands out... well, nothing except the blob of beige behind the van.
Jamie stands on his tiptoes to get a better look, but it doesn't help much. It only resolves itself into something vaguely car-shaped. Must be covered in some kind of tarp, he thinks.
Maybe if he can |2>[get inside], he can see what's underneath.]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[He drops back down and scans the area. A door on the side, meant for a person instead of a car, doesn't budge when tested. Neither do the windows. And the ground holds nothing but weeds and rocks and cinderblocks, with the occasional plastic milk crate left to collect dust. Anything less hardy hasn't survived the generational onslaught of motor oil and exhaust fumes.
(if:$latch >= 1)[Lying amidst the refuse is a wire hanger. Just the thing. Jamie grabs it and (link-style:(color: orange))[[heads back around.->The Creech garage]] (set:$honk to 0)(set:$hanger to 1)(set:$latch to 10)]\
(else:)[Nothing for it but to look (link-style:(color: orange))[[elsewhere->The Creech garage]].(set:$honk to 0)]]Jamie attempts to take stock of the sprawl of junkyard cars before him, but immediately falters, overwhelmed. There's no big white company van to catch his eye, and he doesn't know the difference between the rest of them, their aerodynamic forms indistinguishable, their colors repetitive, all sharing the same vibe of general disuse.
Where does he even start?
(button:)[[Tackle them one at a time, row by row]]
(button:)[[Just take a wild guess]]The window whines plaintively as Jamie wrenches it up. He winces, fearing the worst. (set:$honk to 1)
(event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:4s)[But nothing stirs.(set:$honk to 2)]]
(event:when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:7s)[Jamie clambers through the opening, and drops onto a bed. A soft one. With a handmade quilt on top. Which he gingerly attempts to avoid tracking dirt on.
This must be... Tracy and J.D.'s room, he thinks. The (link-reveal:"CPAP machine")[(dialog:"Fuck, man, he doesn't know what it stands for. But he doesn't need to: the hoses spilling forth from its casing like so many writhing tentacles give it away.
That and the face mask attached to them.","got it")] doesn't seem like it's Daniel's speed. Neither do the glass tchotchkes, whimsical statues of dancing dogs in their own little niches. Wood paneling stretches halfway down the walls, the bottom half switching to muted green wallpaper, and Jamie can't say he cares for that, either. It's tacky.
But that's not the point. Jamie tamps down his latent interior designer and |1>[gets to his feet.]]]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[There's not much of interest in here, at least, not to him. And he's not--
He's not trying to rummage through their shit or anything. He's not a thief, and more importantly, he's not fucking //nosy//. This is a purely professional investigation.(set:$honk to 3)]
(event:when $honk is 3)[(t8n:"fade-up")+(t8n-delay:3s)[Jamie (link-reveal:"recalls")[(dialog:"The stacks of bills on the kitchen counter, sprawling like a slime mold.(set:$honk to 4)","...")] something, from when he was here last...]]
(event:when $honk is 4)[(t8n:"fade")[The kitchen's just down the hall. The shadows in the house stretch long, the walls barely touched by the rising sun, and his skin beads in a clammy sweat as he presses into the darkness.(set:$honk to 5)]]
(event:when $honk is 5)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[The smell of old coffee lingers.
He [[flips through the invoices]] on the counter, skimming their contents.(set:$honk to 0)]]Jamie cannot begin to fathom how Tracy makes heads or tails of this. She //must//, because they've still got a roof over their head, but he can't tell which of these utility bills are paid and which aren't, or which of these invoices have actually seen money change hands.
He squints. One invoice appears to have "deer hocks" scribbled in the Amount Due field, instead of a number.
Some of these names sound familiar - Caldwells and Turners, among others, with the same ones cropping up time and time again. Repeat customers. They get a remarkable amount of business for how run down this place looks, he thinks. |1>[Where does it all go?]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Not towards air conditioning, that's for sure. Jamie's shirt sticks to his back, even in here.
Then a bill with a frightening amount of zeroes (link-reveal:"catches his eye")[(dialog:"An itemized list of procedures from a hospital at the University of Tennessee, most of which he barely understands the names of. But he knows how quickly all those charges add up without even looking at the sum.(set:$honk to 1)(set:$bills to 1)","got it")].]
(event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")[Jamie puts it back where he found it, disquieted.
He doesn't have time to go through the whole pile. Perhaps he should leave well enough alone, he thinks, suddenly aware that he is standing in the middle of a complete stranger's house and they could be back at any moment and he cannot even begin to think of a good excuse for why he's here.
There's doors to (color:orange)[(link-reveal:"his left")[(dialog:"From where he's standing, it must lead to the garage, but when Jamie jiggles the knob, it doesn't budge.","shit")]] and (link-style:(color:orange))[[his right]]. Better make this quick.]](set:$honk to 0)Jamie slowly |1>[pushes the door open.]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[###DANIEL'S ROOM](set:$honk to 10)]
(event: when $honk is 10)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:4s)[It's... neat.
In the 'organized' sense, anyway. The sense that stands at odds with everything else he's seen of the Creech garage. His bed's made, even if it is a little small for a grown man, and there's no paper or clothes or other detritus on the floor.
He can even see the distinctive lines of a vacuum cleaner across the carpet.
That's not to say that it's empty, though. Daniel's whole room is densely packed with-- with //stuff.// Industrial shelves hug the walls, laden with boxes and plastic bins and dividers upon subdividers, each with its own (link-reveal:"handwritten label")[(dialog:"Jamie thinks about peeling one off to stick in his journal - as a reference, you know, just in case - but decides to take a picture with his phone instead. Daniel's got a messy scrawl, and a bad habit of sticking apostrophes where they don't belong.(set:$honk to 1)","got it")]. And he's made efficient use of the spaces between, too, posters of vintage cars and Polaroids of mountain roads sandwiched together so seamlessly that Jamie can barely make out the wood paneling behind them.]]
(event: when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")[He squints at Daniel's handwriting.
Some of these bins wouldn't be out of place in the garage itself; nails, screws, wall mounts, and so on. Others, not so much: Jamie tentatively pulls back an open bin labeled "turtle's" to find, well, turtles.
Not live ones, though. Just their shells. And a handful of little turtle figures alongside them, both plastic and wooden.
<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/turtles.png">
The rest of them are similarly straightforward. Jamie supposes it saves him some |2>[time and effort] - the room is a veritable museum, decades of knick-knacks and spare parts and childhood toys and weird-looking rocks kept in meticulous order. It's a hair away from being a hoarder's hell hole, he thinks, like Daniel's never thrown away a single object in his life.(set:$meticulous to 1)]]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[The clock's ticking.
Which seems the most promising: (link-style:(color:orange))[["mail"]], (link-style:(color:orange))[["guns"]], or the enigmatic (link-style:(color:orange))[["aint mine"]]? (set:$boxes to 0)(set:$honk to 0)]When Jamie pulls the shallow bin out from the shelf, he expects it to be fuller. But all the mail Daniel had deemed worthy to hang onto in his life amounts to a loose stack of envelopes, about an inch high.
Many are from people in the surrounding counties, judging from the addresses. And the surnames are mostly familiar - Creeches, Turners. But he can't seem to find any more recent than a few years ago. Jamie can't bring himself to skim more than one. His face burns like he's been caught reading somebody's journal, even if there's nothing more personal than a distant relative's complaints about the local jail.(set:$honk to 1)
(event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade-up")+(t8n-delay:5s)[Wait. |1>[Underneath.] A bent corner of paper.]]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade-up")[He pulls it loose.
It belongs to a flyer. An advertisement. Big, bold letters proclaim the annual Summer Sale at McCarthy Motors. And it's not the only one. Several of them have been crumpled and shoved in the back of this box, their corners torn like they've been ripped off of something.
The one thing in this entire room that |2>[isn't where it belongs.]]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[A finger runs along the ragged edge. Jamie's heart thuds in his ears. He //knew// it.(set:$honk to 2)(set:$boxes to $boxes+1)(set:$flyers to 1)]
(event:when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[\
(if: $boxes is not 3)[He dives back (link-style:(color:orange))[[into the boxes->back into the box.]] with a renewed vigor, hands trembling.]\
(else:)[In the distance, something wooden groans.
Jamie flinches so hard he drops the entire bin, spilling its contents. He swears aloud.
Shit, shit, //shit//, he's gotta //(link-style:(color:orange))[[go!]]// ]]](set:$honk to 0)A quiet, nervous laugh bubbles out of him. This has to be a joke. Nobody keeps a |1>[drawer of //guns//] lying around, like they're-- like they're nothing more than craft supplies.
Maybe Daniel's funnier than Jamie gave him credit for.
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie peers inside, and quickly realizes that, uh, no. He isn't.
It's full of fucking guns.(set:$honk to 1)]
(event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:4s)[None of them seem to be the right size, however. They're all handguns, ranging in size from itty-bitty purse pistols to long-barreled revolvers that wouldn't look out of place in an episode of Gunsmoke. And... they look pretty (link-reveal:"non-functional")[(dialog:"Rusted shut, or missing parts. It's not a gun nut's collection as much as it is a hoarder's.(set:$honk to 2)","got it")], besides.
Whatever did this to Dallas packed a little bit bigger of a punch. Jamie wouldn't say this rules Daniel out, though. Quite the opposite.]]
(event:when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")[He makes a note of it. After gingerly laying the topmost gun [[back in the box->back into the box.]], that is. They might look busted, but you never know. (set:$honk to 0)(set:$boxes to $boxes+1)]]This particular box stands out as the only one with a label that isn't overly literal. He's drawn to it like a magnet, curiosity getting the better of him.
Jamie draws it off the shelf and |1>[lifts off the lid.]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Inside lies a haphazard jumble of mementos, kitsch, (link-reveal:"keychains")[(dialog:"Worn souvenirs from the distant lands of Indianapolis.(set: $honk to $honk+1)","got it")] and (link-reveal:"photos")[(dialog:"Mostly featuring old people in dated locations. Curiously, though, one appears to feature a much younger-looking Daniel, sulking in the back of a group photo.(set: $honk to $honk+1)","okay")], (link-reveal:"newspaper clippings")[(dialog:"A yellowed snippet features a picture of a road deep in the forest, with chains lashed to the surrounding trees and strung across its path.
The photo byline reads 'Daniel Creech'.(set: $honk to $honk+1)(set:$newspaper to 1)","huh...")], cheap pendants on worn leather cords, all tossed together with no rhyme or reason and left there to fester in the dark.]
(event:when $honk is 3)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[The faces are unfamiliar, the souvenirs irrelevant. Jamie thumbs through a sheaf of photographs, frustrated.
Then he looks |2>[closer.]]]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[He thumbs a picture up from the stack.
In the background, a boulder juts up from the earth, jagged and blunt against the backdrop of the sky, straining in place against the chains lashing it down. As if it threatens to wrench free and hurl itself into the air. The striking visuals are somewhat neutered by the bright orange (link-reveal:"date")[(dialog:"09/15/2008","got it")] in the corner.
Lance's face beams back at him from just in front. He's toothy and pockmarked, but his face is otherwise smooth, the grey hairs not yet having found a home there.
And next to him, a young man with a handsome smile. A shock of brown hair. A strangely-familiar crinkle to his eyes.
Jamie breathes, "|3>[Dallas?]"]
(click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")[He flips it over. A loose scrawl on the back of the picture reads "LANCE AND TEX AT CHAIN ROCK".
Never mind, then. Maybe this whole investigation is getting to him. He's seeing faces in shadows. The image of Christ in his burnt toast. Jamie sighs and tucks the whole lot (link-style:(color:orange))[[back into the box.]] (set:$honk to 0)(set:$boxes to $boxes+1)]He hurriedly shoves everything he can back into the box and crams it back into place and bounces to his feet and trips over his own goddamn shoelaces and--
//and there's the distant rumble of an engine idling, the creak of a door--//
His legs move faster than his brain does, bolting toward the back door, heartbeat rabbit-fast, thump, thump, //|1>[thump--]//
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie screeches to a halt just before the screen door slams shut behind him. Then he carefully nudges it shut, every millisecond he spends there a unique agony.
Careful steps, now. No crunch of gravel underfoot, heel to toe. Avoid the dry, dead branches, and crush the soft grass instead, until the dense chatter of the woods swings its arms open wide. Home free.
Run, rabbit, (link-style:(color:red))[[run.]] ]Okay. He starts with a white, uh, (link-reveal:"sedan?")[(dialog:"At least he's pretty sure that it's not a truck or an SUV. It's got four-- no, three doors, and the familiar lozenge-shaped profile of his Prius.(set:$honk to 1)","got it")]
(event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")[All the doors are locked, but the passenger door is missing entirely, which defeats the purpose. And as a consequence, the interior's been lightly blanketed in dirt and leaves.
Nothing in the glovebox. No radio, either - somebody must have pried it out for a quick buck. That would probably explain the missing door, too. This isn't so much a project car as a source for parts. And... it's a bust.
|1>[Moving on.]]]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Next to it is a nearly-identical car, save for the color: an unremarkable beige. It's locked, too, and with all four doors intact, he's not getting in this one any time soon.
|2>[Super.]]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[The skeleton of a wood-paneled station wagon waits at his side. It's sat in the same place for so long that saplings have ruptured through its underbelly, grasses woven into the gaps, anchoring it all the more into place. There's no tires in the wheel wells, no glass in the front... she's been well and truly picked apart.
(if:$latch is 0)[All he can find is a bunch of twigs and leaves, well on their way to becoming humus. And a puddle in the back seat. Which he promptly trundles into.
[[God damn it.->The Creech garage]] ]
(else:)[But there //is// a nice, long twig sitting in the |3>[back seat].]]
(click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie picks it up and whips it around a little. Looks to be about the right size for wiggling into the crack in the window.
[[Paydirt.->find a way inside]] (set:$twig to 1)(set:$latch to 10)]There are so many cars lying before him that there's no chance in hell he's gonna get to snoop through them all before Daniel gets back. So Jamie figures he might as well go with his gut. Which one of these seems like it's got a clue for him?
He |1>[closes his eyes...]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[...and points in a direction that feels right.
That's the one. The bones of a brick red pickup truck from years past, practically quaint in comparison to its modern descendants. Most of the paint has flaked off, leaving the bare metal ripe for rust to colonize, and the wooden rails on the back have become an inviting home for termites and burrowing beetles of all kinds.
Jamie lets one crawl on his finger for a moment before letting it loose.
The doors are locked, but the windows are rolled down enough that he can hook an arm inside and |2>[pop the locks open].]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[Inside, he finds water-damaged seats, and a rear-view mirror that's seen better days. A handful of cigarette butts moulder on the floor. And an empty book of matches lies next to them, the edge of a (link-reveal:"bootprint")[(dialog:"No match to the ones from the woods, he thinks. Tread patterns don't quite line up.
The front reads 'The Wild Rose Casino'.","hmm...")] on its face. But otherwise, there's nothing of interest.
|3>[He crawls back out.] ]
(click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")[A sleek orange number catches his eye next, some sort of classic car that lies low to the ground. It's in remarkably good condition, with all its windows and doors intact and an unblemished paint job, but it's missing one crucial component: the engine. The hood's propped open, but nothing lies beneath it.
It's a really nice car, he's gotta admit. But there's no getting into it, at least, not without causing some property damage. And Jamie gets the feeling that Daniel would notice a gaping fucking hole in the windshield of this thing.
His finger trails over the black stripe running down its length, before |4>[pulling away].]
(click:?4)+(t8n:"fade")[The skeleton of a wood-paneled station wagon waits at his side. It's sat in the same place for so long that saplings have ruptured through its underbelly, grasses woven into the gaps, anchoring it all the more into place. There's no tires in the wheel wells, no glass in the front... she's been well and truly picked apart.
(if:$latch is 0)[All he can find is a bunch of twigs and leaves, well on their way to becoming humus. And a puddle in the back seat. Which he promptly trundles into.
[[God damn it.->The Creech garage]] ]\
(elseif:$latch is 1)[But there //is// a nice, long twig sitting in the |5>[back seat].]]
(click:?5)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie picks it up and whips it around a little. Looks to be about the right size for wiggling into the crack in the window.
[[Paydirt.->find a way inside]] (set:$twig to 1)(set:$latch to 10)](set:$hanger to 2) There we go. The long, hooked wire cleanly lifts the latch, and (link-style:(color: orange))[[he's in.->He's in.]](if:$boxes is 3)[In the distance, something wooden groans.
Jamie flinches so hard he drops the entire bin, spilling its contents. He swears aloud.
Shit, shit, //shit//, he's gotta //(link-style:(color:orange))[[go!]]// ]\
(else:)[Which seems the most promising: (link-style:(color:orange))[["mail"]], (link-style:(color:orange))[["guns"]], or the enigmatic (link-style:(color:orange))[["aint mine"]]? ](t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[|1>[Thump.]]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[|2>[Thump.]]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[The leaves |3>[blur] at his sides.]
(click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/run.png"> (set:$honk to 1)]
(event: when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:4s)[The thudding in his ears dies down, and he's alone.
Not even the wind whistles here. A sweltering blanket of humid air wells up from the earth, hissing and steaming, drowning out the birdsong and the cicadas' drone. The crunch of a branch under his boot is impossibly loud in the immense quiet.
|4>[Something dark] peers out from the brambles.]]
(click:?4)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie slowly approaches.
It's not a //who//, but a //what//, a manmade structure buried deep in the heart of Black Mountain. A shed. No bigger than the one his parents used to have in his youth, a dumping ground for tools that Jamie had never once seen them use, but much more aged. Paint peels from the wood in great curls; yellowed newspapers seal off the small window on the door from edge to edge.
If it weren't for the (link-reveal:"plastic chairs")[(dialog:"A few leaves rest on the seats, but they're otherwise clean. And they have yet to be weathered into brittleness.(set:$honk to $honk+1)","got it")] out front, he would suspect it was abandoned.
There's no getting into it, either. The padlock holds fast against both a hesitant pull and a (link-reveal:"full-body tackle")[(dialog:"He's got a lot of pent-up frustration to let out, alright? And this is-- this is all part of the investigation.(set:$honk to $honk+1)","uh-huh")]. He leans his head against it afterwards and sighs.]
(event: when $honk is 3)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:5s)[What was he thinking? He's lucky Daniel didn't catch him and put a bullet through his fucking brain. And now he's... he's well and truly lost, he thinks.
Up close, however, he catches a whiff of something strange. Unpleasant. Distinctly chemical in nature. It's strongest right up next to the door, where it must seep through the cracks.
The locked door taunts him. He kicks it and swears when - surprise - it hurts.
Nothing for it but to try to (link-style:(color:orange))[[find his way back home]]. Jamie makes a note in his journal nonetheless, punctuating each and every sentence with such frustration that he tears a hole in the page.(set:$shed to 1)(set:$honk to 0)]](set:$honk to 0)Several hours later, Jamie bursts out from the woods, wide-eyed and bedraggled. An old woman stares back at him.(set:$honk to 1)
(event:when $honk is 1)[|1>["I can explain,"] he gasps.
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[But she doesn't seem to want an explanation. She just keeps walking down the road. It would probably not be (link-reveal:"the wisest idea")[(dialog:"With his wild hair and wild eyes, he looks like a mountain man that's just rediscovered civilization. Following a little old lady like this would be a good way to get the cops called on him, he thinks.","got it")] to head the same way, so he sets off in the opposite direction, just as lost but less terrified that he's going to die of exposure.
This town's not that big, after all. Once he reaches its end, it loops back around, like an ant traversing the surface of a donut, so home's always <a href="https://stayaway.neocities.org/build/SAFDC_day5.html">just around the corner.</a> (set:$honk to 0)]]Jamie slides the hanger into the thin gap between the window and its sill, sliding and jiggling, but it's not the most wieldy thing in the world.
Maybe if he [[bent it a little?]]The twig looks to be slender enough to slip between the window and its frame, but when Jamie tries it, he finds that the gap isn't nearly wide enough. Even with all his weight behind it, it simply won't fit through.
(link-style:(color:orange))[[Shit.->The Creech garage]]