(text-size:2)[STAY AWAY FROM DANIEL CREECH]
He wakes before his alarm again. Bitter enough when he's on his 8-to-6, and more bitter still when the sun has yet to rise. For a few minutes, he lies there motionlessly, eyes closed, willing himself back to sleep, but it's fruitless as ever.
Next to him, (link-reveal:"his boyfriend snores")[(dialog:"Like he's sawing logs. Aiden's lived with him for six months now, and it only seems to get louder by the day.","thank goodness for earplugs")]. He mutes his alarm before it has the chance to bark at him. Thankfully, Aiden doesn't so much as stir as he inches out of bed, careful not to make the bedframe creak too much.
His things are laid out already - a polo with (link-reveal:"his logo")[(dialog:"Earthcycle, an environmental consulting company. They juggle a lot of plates - environmental sampling and testing, remediation projects, artificial wetlands development, you name it. So much so that they're spread a bit thin.","got it")] embroidered on the front, pants that are too loose in the legs and too tight at the waist, a binder that's seen better days. He pulls his hair back into a loose ponytail and (link-reveal:"eyes himself in the mirror")[(dialog:"Jamie Strauss looks back at him. He's 28 years old and feeling every inch of it, with bags under his eyes and gray hairs at his temples. The uniform doesn't flatter him - he's too broad, and the pants make him look like a Lego guy. But men's clothes have never fit him well, anyway.","that's too bad")].
<img src=https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/jamie.png alt="A man in glasses stands in front of a mirror, frowning at it. He's got long hair and a goatee, and is dressed in a black t-shirt." width="600">
He's got his routine planned down to the minute. Five to get dressed, eight to grind his beans and brew his coffee, two to lace up his work boots... and an extra forty-five seconds to frantically search for his journal.(text-colour:blue)[ [[There's always something.]] ]Unfortunately, even now, he can't beat the heat. He cranks up the air conditioning as high as it'll go and wipes sweat from his brow.
Those rolling hills grow before his very eyes, the outer metropolis of the (link-reveal:"Greater Lexington")[(dialog:"Which is not the capital of Kentucky. Everybody seems to think it is, even the people who live there.","got it")] area transforming into the foothills of (link-reveal:"Berea")[(dialog:"Home of famed Berea College, a haven for the liberal arts. And a hotel near the highway that's changed ownership (and names) three times since Jamie's started working here.","that's really interesting")] and, finally, to the lush green slopes of the Appalachians, proud and mighty.
The road cuts through narrow valleys, the mountains rising steeply on either side, casting long shadows and throwing him into darkness again just as light begins to spill over the horizon. They're blanketed in trees and brush - poplar, locust, oak and walnut, a melange of second-growth greenery. Even now, the sheer density of plant life takes his breath away.
It's here, however, that broad scars start to carve their way through the hills. Jamie glances out the passenger window and spots a wide swath of debris where (link-reveal:"houses")[(dialog:"All in the valley bottoms, where flat, arable land is the most plentiful. It's rare to see anything built on the slopes.","got it")] used to be this time last year. It's a mile wide, if not wider, and it's joined by its twin 15 minutes up the road.
As he pushes deeper into the heart of the mountains, a different kind of destruction (text-colour:blue)[[lays itself bare]] as well.
Up near the peaks, naked (link-reveal:"highwall")[(dialog:"A cut along the contour of the mountain leaves a barren wall, sixty, eighty, a hundred feet tall, a gaping wound cutting clean through the trees. Between the striated layers of sedimentary rock lies a fat black stripe: coal.","got it")] lies open on mine sites that haven't been operating in months. Jamie doesn't know how they're allowed to leave so much of it open for (link-reveal:"so long")[(dialog:"Normally, coal companies are under strict regulatory deadlines to put all the dirt and rocks back where they found them. The longer all the topsoil lies fallow, piled up in heaps for redistribution, the harder it is for anything to grow in it.","got it")] - but of course, the rules have changed. Anything goes now in the name of //energy dominance//.
Coal conveyors hang overhead, dense as power lines, but they, too, lie dormant. Languishing and rusting. The (link-reveal:"prep plants")[(dialog:"Plants where coal is washed and prepared for sale on the open market. You can't just sell coal straight out of the ground. It's like potatoes - gotta be cleaned and bagged first.","got it")] they string together have long since closed. A thin layer of dirt on the sides of the buildings marks the maximum height of floods past, several stories high. Anything below would have been inundated. Destroyed.
And so they were, decaying single-story houses left to rot in the sun. What else could they do? There's nowhere else to haul the remains, not when you're broke and nobody's around to foot the bill. Trucks and trailers and useless old pontoon boats just stay where the water (text-colour:blue)[[dumps them. ]]Finally, fast-food restaurants spring into view, signs of civilization overtaking the occasional mom-and-pop shop or isolated garage. A town emerges in gas stations and strip malls from the mouth of the valley - (link-reveal:"Harlan")[(dialog:"Called 'Bloody Harlan' by some due to its history of violent labor struggles, it's a shell of its former self. Houses and storefronts lie empty, aching for a return to better times. But at least it's got a Wal-Mart.","got it")], Kentucky.
They're meeting in the parking lot of an abandoned pharmacy. Jamie's surprised to see just how many big white trucks pack the lot already, each with a governmental logo emblazoned on the side for all to see. He struggles to squeeze his (link-reveal:"oversized pickup")[(dialog:"He hates driving this fucking thing. It's too goddamn big, and he's always worried he's gonna scratch it and it's gonna come out of his paycheck.","got it")] in between them.
"Look who finally rolled up," says a (link-reveal:"man in a baseball cap")[(dialog:"Nick McCauley, branch manager for the regional mining office. They used to have a few offices out this way, but now they're down to just the one.","got it")]. He's got a great big beard that obscures most of his face, and a pair of sunglasses that does the rest. "Took your sweet time comin' in from the city, huh?"
Jamie laughs awkwardly as he hops down from the driver's seat, just as awkwardly. "I was up at 5:30 this morning," he says in(text-colour:blue)[ [[his own defense]]].
"5:30!" That prompts a big belly laugh, and some of his cohort join in, too. "Man, I'm up at 5 every day gettin' out to these mines!"
Jamie's face flattens. "I bet," he says, non-committal.
(link-reveal:"Another man")[(dialog:"Jamie doesn't know this guy.","oh okay")], short, stout, and red in the face, looks him over. "Where's Jim at? I thought he was with the kid."
"Jim's out sick. He came down with COVID last week, so it's just me." He doesn't bother reminding him that he turns 29 this year. Nobody ever believes him.
"Well, son of a bitch," says Nick. "He's missin' out."
"Yeah, on a(text-colour:blue)[ [[long fuckin' hike]]]," quips a third. This gets another round of laughter.
They've got a motley crew assembled here for just that purpose - scientists, investigators, and officers from all across the state, and even some feds, for good measure. Jamie's read the proposal, but he finds it hard to believe that a few landslides warrant this kind of attendance.
He scans the crowd and spots another familiar face: Tammy Stone, the inspector assigned to the site. It's not the first time they've been out here, after all. She seems as relieved to see a friendly face as he is.
"Hey, Tammy," he says to her, as the others bud off to keep shooting the shit.
Tammy shoots him a thin smile. Her hands wring together around nothing. "Hey, uh... Jamie, right? Nice to see you again."
"Yeah. I just wish it was under(text-colour:blue)[ [[better circumstances]]].""Hah, yeah. Everybody jumped in after that last slide... it turned into a whole big thing overnight, it seems like."
He blinks. "Another?"
She opens her mouth, but she's cut off by the sound of Nick calling them all to attention. "Alright, fellas," he says, clapping his hands together, "we got our work cut out for us today. We're not waitin' on anybody else, are we?"
A chorus of murmurs in the negative follows.
"Good deal, good deal... Here's the game plan. We're gonna go up the main stem of Bingham Creek, comin' up through the (link-reveal:"holler")[(dialog:"The hollow. A nice little valley set in the crook of a mountain, often claimed by entire families. A holler's usually got a creek running through it. And a stray dog or two.","got it")]. Not the main road. I don't want anybody knowin' we're here until the last minute, y'hear me? (link-reveal:"Randall's")[(dialog:"The CEO of Randall Processing. His first name is Randall. His last name is Randall. His middle name is... probably not Randall, but the jury's still out on that one.","wow")] liable to throw a hissy fit from hell once he figures out(text-colour:blue)[ [[what we're doin']]]."Jamie smirks. He's only dealt with the guy over email, but that tracks.
"Now, we'll be able to get our trucks up to about the first (link-reveal:"check dam")[(dialog:"A temporary dam made out of rocks. Helps to slow down the flow and trap any sediment that might be in the water.","got it")], but the roads past that are old logging roads - they're too steep to drive on. We're gonna have to walk up to the slides on the left and right branches," Nick continues.
"Ain't you got any good news for us, Nick?" calls out a voice from the throng.
"Yeah, well, it stopped rainin'... oh, 'bout half an hour ago. That good enough for ya?"
Jamie's heart sinks. That means it's gonna be a slick, muddy mess out there. Just what he wanted.
"You gotta see the water after a good rain," says a man in a khaki-colored polo shirt. On the breast is embroidered 'U.S. Army Corps'. "It's like chocolate milk. That's why I wanted us out here today."
"You would, wouldn't ya," Nick scoffs. "Well, gentlemen - and lady, pardon my manners - I'd say we're fixin' to (text-colour:blue)[[get out of here]]."(if:$hasJournal is 1)[\
(prepend: ?SideBar)[\
[[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/journal.png" alt="Journal" title="Journal">->Journal]]\
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](size:1.5)[TO-DO]
(display:"To-Do")
(set:$previous to (history: )'s last)\
[[Close the journal.->$previous]](if: $toDo is 1)[\
- Attend site visit for permit no. 155836
- Pick up prescription food for (link-reveal:"Peanut")[(dialog:"Jamie's cat. She's 8 years old and very round.","got it")]
- Go to Aiden's (link-reveal:"thing")[(dialog:"He's not entirely sure what it is. All he's been told is that it's a 'pop-up thing' for 'influencers', and he's trying to be supportive. Even if it is just a bunch of guys selling supplements to each other.","got it")] after work\
](set: $hasJournal = 1)\
(set: $toDo = 1)\
The trip is long and lonely. Somebody's normally supposed to go with him - a buddy system - but his buddy's out sick, and nobody's available to cover for him. The muscles in Jamie's gut tighten with nerves. They have these policies for (link-reveal:"a reason")[(dialog:"They deal with people who are, as a rule, not happy to see them. And who really like to fondle their guns as they talk.","oh no")], but he's the lowest rung on the ladder, so of course he can't just cancel it. Or reschedule. That would be too //inconvenient//.
Jamie takes an angry sip of his coffee as he merges onto the highway, flickering streetlamps doing their best to light his way in the dark.
There's nothing he can do about it. There never fucking is. But at least going alone means he doesn't have to listen to Christian rap on the way up.
The shadows of rolling hills and endless idyllic pasture loom all around him. If he squints against the glare of headlights, he can just make out dark lumps within the fencing, sleeping (link-reveal:"beasts of burden")[(dialog:"Horses, mostly. Around here, it's all horses, all the time.","got it")]. It's the only time he's seen them out and about. Once daylight creeps over the horizon, they'll head back into their barns, away from the heat of the pavement and the glaring rays of the springtime sun.
Would that he could(text-colour:blue)[ [[do the same.]] ]Tammy, Nick, and one of the feds pile into his truck. All the better to minimize the number of vehicles trying to cram themselves up the pass. Jamie stays quiet while the rest of them talk shop. He already (link-reveal:"knows the drill")[(dialog:"He doesn't understand what it's like out in the field, he just sits at his computer all day, and why don't they just leave the enforcement to the regulators? Blah, blah, blah.","sheesh")].
Their destination's about half an hour further into the mountains, where entire towns live and die off of a single county road. It snakes along the valley's curves, thin as can be; Jamie can't help but tense as he drives, mindful of his very large truck and the very long distance down the mountain's edge.
It's beautiful, sure, with dense green stands of (link-reveal:"walnut trees")[(dialog:"//Juglans nigra//, or the ordinary black walnut. Even from his open window, it's come into its distinctive scent, a spicy, pungent thing that bleeds from its leaves. Their fruits aren't as appealing as your conventional walnuts - the shells are thicker, the nutmeat wedded more thoroughly to the interior, and they stain like nothing else. Jamie once tried to extract a dye from those dark natural compounds, but only ended up making a huge mess.","got it")], quaint little homesteads peppered along the fertile ground of the valley bottom, but he can't imagine trying to navigate through here every single day with a fuck-off huge Dodge Ram. Like the one that's nipping at his heels, pressuring to take those turns faster and faster. Christ.
A babbling brook greets them with sparkling waters as the road winds down, down, its banks studded with abandoned tires and trash bags. So much for natural beauty.
"So,(text-colour:blue)[ [[Jakey]]]," Nick starts from the passenger seat, startling him."Jamie."
"Right, right. Tell me, how long you been in mining? A couple months now?"
"Two years, sir," he says with exceeding grace.
"Two years... well, I'll be damned. Say, tell me, does John still work with you? John Bradshaw?"
Jamie's eyes follow the creek. Its clear waters turn cloudy in fits and spurts, sediment belching out from further up the mouth. "I don't think so, no. I've never met him."
"He died, didn't he? Couple years back?" pipes up (link-reveal:"the other guy")[(dialog:"Jamie really needs to get this guy's name. But the text on his badge is too small to read, even if he wasn't driving.","got it")]. "I know Tim went to his funeral."
"No... you're kidding me. //Shit.// Seems like everybody's gettin' cancer and dyin' off these days."
Tammy, too, remains quiet as the two older men commiserate. Their conversation is dominated by names he doesn't recognize, a shared history that Jamie's not a part of. Jamie(text-colour:blue)[ [[tunes it out]]].Finally, they reach their destination. A road with no name branches off from the side, leading them past a string of decrepit trailers and animals roaming without supervision. It ends abruptly at a gate. Just beyond, the asphalt turns to dirt.
It's locked. And sports a "No Trespassing" sign. Jamie looks to the other occupants of the vehicle with concern.
"This is it," he says. It comes out more of a question.
"That sign can't keep us out," says Tammy, rolling her eyes. "We got the right to inspect even if we ain't comin' in through the front door." With that, she hops out, investigates the lock, and pulls it open (link-reveal:"without a fuss")[(dialog:"He's always heard that these gates were mostly there to keep honest people honest, but he's never actually tried it out himself. No matter what he does, there's always the lingering fear that he's going to be in trouble for it, somehow. Even if nobody's watching.","got it")].
The rest of their caravan follows him in, single-file. If the road before was bad, this is worse - it's barely wide enough for one, and they're far beyond the realm of guardrails and traffic lights. His hands sweat around the steering wheel as he shifts into low gear.
The majesty of the uninterrupted forest is marred by the whole reason they're stopping by - the creek runs high, and it runs with blood. Even so, it doesn't prepare him for(text-colour:blue)[ [[what lies ahead]]].//The slide.//
(after:3s)[\
(t8n:"fade")[All of a sudden, the stream bed disappears. In its place is an impossibly high mound of debris - fallen trees, massive boulders, and mountains of dirt cementing it all together. Trickles of what look like chocolate milk drip down from on high, where the landslide stretches up the whole length of the valley. (link-reveal:"Jamie's heartbeat starts to race.")[(dialog:"He didn't know it was this bad. Or this big. It's impossible to tell from a map's colorful outlines, pink and blue hatching cheerfully demarcating the limits of rape and destruction that a mining operation entails.","...")]
"Oh my God," he says quietly, a hand raised to his mouth.
"This used to be an (link-reveal:"OSRW")[(dialog:"An Outstanding Resource Water. Typically designated as such due to the high quality of the stream, or due to endangered populations living within it.","got it")]," Tammy tells him. There's a bitterness in her voice that he's never heard before. "Blackside dace habitat. Now look at it. You'll never find one in Bingham Creek again."
A clean-shaven man interrupts them. "Maybe not for awhile, but nature's got a way of shaking things out. Give it a few years and I bet you she'll clean herself up."
Jamie's hands (link-reveal:"ball into fists")[(dialog:"Easy for him to say. But he doesn't-- he can't say anything. He's the outsider. He doesn't know coal like they do. They'll just demean him, again, and his face will burn, again, and he'll lie awake in bed that night, impotently reviewing everything that he said, wondering where he went wrong.","got it")].
Tammy, at least, shares his frustrations. She kneels at the water's edge and(text-colour:blue)[ [[takes a picture]]].]\
]Jamie does the same. May as well have something for his report.
They hike up that steep logging road, Jamie (link-reveal:"panting and wheezing")[(dialog:"It's the mountain air, he swears. It's thinner up here, where they can touch the clouds.","c'mon man")] the entire way. The slides further up the stream look just as violent, so many trees torn down by the force of it that he can see clear up the mountainside. All the way to the (link-reveal:"bench")[(dialog:"The mining area created by a contour cut. It functions like a road, allowing passage while the miners venture further and further ahead in search of coal.","got it")].
At their feet, another check dam creates a milky pond. Nick clambers onto the rocks to inspect it. "This ain't no rock check," he says, taking a moment to spit. "They're just dumpin' (link-reveal:"spoil")[(dialog:"The rocks and dirt created by a mining operation. In this case, it's the boulders dislodged by the landslide.","got it")] back into the river and callin' it good."
That gets some grunts of agreement. Jamie's not sure what it //should// look like, but he supposes a pile of loose rock isn't it.
He pulls off his backpack to(text-colour:blue)[ [[get some samples]]].The turns get (link-reveal:"tighter")[(dialog:"//i'm gonna die//","oh no")] and (link-reveal:"narrower")[(dialog:"//any second now//","oh god")], the trees surrounding them thicker and fuller. Jamie grips his seatbelt harder on each successive hairpin; the old man's (link-reveal:"not slowing down a bit.")[(dialog:"//who's going to feed my cat?!//","don't you have a boyfriend?")]
"Mr. Randall's a good man," he grunts. A pause, a smack of the lips. "We can getcha set right. Creech's Garage has been here for years and years... my pa owned it, I owned it, 'n' now my boy's takin' it over. Been fixin' cars since he was a kid."
"Oh, wow! Smart kid!"
"Mmhm."
At the sides of the road, the margins drop off to nothing, with only a crumbling guardrail to keep them on the right track. Chunks of asphalt vibrate and topple off the edge of the mountain as the truck breezes past them.
"Hey, uh, no offense, but do you think we could, maybe--"
(text-style:"rumble")[Tires screech on the asphalt, the rear of the truck swinging around wide on a tight, tight turn--]
//"Slow down?!"// Jamie yelps.
"I know these roads like the back of my hand," laughs Mr. Creech, ignoring Jamie's humble and reasonable request.
Well. If he's going to die up here, he doesn't wanna see it coming. So he (link-style:(text-colour:blue))[[screws his eyes shut->Garage1]].The bent of their trajectory veers upwards...
(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:2s)[...then downwards.]
(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:4s)[Then back up again, but slower this time, trundling along the road until the truck rattles to a stop. When the purr of the engine dies out beneath him, Jamie |2>[cracks his eyes open.]]
(click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[Mr. Creech has taken him into the valley proper, up a steep side road dug into the very hills themselves. At the top, sitting astride the lip of a broad, hilly, densely-forested expanse, lies a weathered building, all ash-brown wood and corrugated steel, with a squat old house bolted onto the side of a garage that could swallow it whole.
There's a sign mounted to the eaves, where grey-and-blue paint spells out "CREECH GARAGE" in worn, clustered letters. Were it not for the view out behind the truck, (link-reveal:"behind the road")[(dialog:"From here, he can see into the town below... a cluster of businesses here, a small neighborhood there, and the throughline of its old rails, all of it tucked snugly into the bowl of the valley. An untouched jungle of temperate forest blankets the mountains from ground to sky, with nary a gap to be found in its cover, hiding all else but this: the community of Bingham Creek, laid bare before him. Like he's got a top-down view in a strategy game.","got it")], Jamie could believe he was miles away from anything resembling civilization.
That and the tiny, glowing Domino's sign in the distance.
"Daniel," Mr. Creech hollers, as he steps out of the truck on shaky feet. "Got work for ya, Daniel!"
No answer. Daniel, it seems, is(text-color:blue)[ [[not here]]].]Mr. Creech mutters under his breath, clearly disgruntled. God knows what he's actually //saying,// though. From where Jamie's standing, the accent is impenetrable. A wave, beckoning Jamie to follow him inside, gets through to him where words don't.
They step past the skeletons of fifty years' worth of broken cars, spilling out from the property like a hoarder's wet dream. Some look fairly new, with functional interiors and smatterings of replacement parts laid out by their sides, all lined up in surgical order. Others have laid here so long that they've practically become a part of the forest themselves, saplings boring through windshields, (link-reveal:"kudzu")[(dialog:"//Pueraria montana//, among other subspecies. More commonly known as 'the plant that swallowed the South'. A hairy, leafy vine, lush and green and trifoliate in nature. The stunning biodiversity of the Appalachians is threatened in part by its insidious runners, which are hardy and patient enough to engulf entire buildings if left to their own devices.","got it")] choking the life out of antique Cadillacs and returning their various metals and polymers to the soil.
The house itself is similarly cluttered. A creaky screen door swings out to reveal a living room and a small kitchen, wood-paneled, every square inch of vertical real estate occupied by a family photo, an old motor oil advertisement, or a quaint little cross-stitched psalm.
Jamie can't help but (link-reveal:"shrink")[(dialog:"He's terrified to take up too much space and accidentally knock over some rickety end table full of tchotchkes.","got it")] in the face of it all.
At the left, armchairs cluster around a small TV - flatscreen, even. Fascinatingly out of place. And at the right, a heavyset woman with steel-grey hair and an airbrushed Garfield t-shirt sits at the kitchen table, chattering on a (link-reveal:"cell phone")[(dialog:"There's something jarring about seeing something so modern in such an antiquated house. It seems like she should be hovering over a rotary phone, twirling the cord around her finger.","got it")].
"Oh, I got to go, Sharon. J.D.'s done dragged somebody in, lookin' like he's about to keel over, bless his heart."
She barely gives Jamie the chance to catch his breath before she introduces them: Tracy and J.D. Creech, proprietors - every syllable belabored - of the Creech Garage. "Well, we used to be," she tells him, "but ever since J.D.'s come down with the arthritis, it's just our boy, Daniel."
"Daniel. Gotcha. Do you, uh... You got any idea when he'll be back? Or if I can get my truck towed up here?" Jamie chuckles awkwardly, trying to smooth over the mood.
"He'll be out at the Caldwell's," Tracy says. "Won't be but... half an hour, knowin' him. Come on in, (link-style:(text-colour:blue))[[sit awhile!]] Not like your truck's goin' anywhere."Jamie surreptitiously checks his phone again. //Fuck.// Nothing up here, either. His heart starts to (link-reveal:"pound faster in his chest.")[(dialog:"For once, he's pretty sure it's not just the anxiety talking. He's got no signal, no GPS, no way to get out of this fucking place, and no idea what to make of these suspiciously-friendly locals. Oh, God. Every other horror movie starts off this way, doesn't it? Stupid. Stupid!","this was a bad idea huh")]
He scans the room for... something. Anything. Preferably something big and blunt, though. On the stove - a cast-iron pan, not in use. Yet.
"Weird question. Would you mind if I used your phone? To make a phone call?"
She gives him a funny look, then snorts. "Well, what else would ya use it for?"
"Ha! Great point!" His voice cracks. Sweat beads on his forehead. "So, is that a yes, or--"
"Go on ahead," Tracy says, handing him her phone. "You ain't got Appalachian Wireless, do ya?"
From where J.D.'s settled himself in his (link-reveal:"armchair")[(dialog:"Threadbare tartan, and clearly well-used. It practically wraps itself around him, like he's sat in the same place ever since he was born.","okay")], his gruff voice cuts in, "Ain't no point in those damn phones. Somebody wants to call me, it can wait 'til I git home."
Jamie fumbles the number and puts in something with altogether too many digits, but the third time's the charm.
(link-style:(text-colour:blue))[Ring. Ring. [[Click.]]]"What do you want?"
"Uh, hey? (link-reveal:"Lance?")[(dialog:"Lance Turner, Jamie's supervisor. He's ruddy and sturdy, grey hairs belying a man who could probably out-bike Jamie if he put his mind to it. He's usually, uh, nicer. Less cold. Did he fuck up last week's review that badly?","oh god. maybe")] It's me, Jamie... D-Did I do something?"
His boss' voice immediately brightens. "Jamie! No, No, I just... What a... pleasant surprise. Why in the world are you calling me?"
Jamie licks his lips, caught off guard. "Well, ha ha, that's a great question! I, uh..." He scans the room before he continues. Both of the Creeches are straining to look like they're not listening. "I had a //liiittle// bit of an accident."
"I hope you're not about to ask me for a fresh pair of pants."
"What?! No!" Jamie bursts out laughing. "No, it's - it's my truck. It broke down on the site, and somebody gave me a ride into town. So I am... here. At the Creech Garage."
He sucks in a breath through his teeth. Maybe he hasn't done something wrong //yet//, but he doesn't think Lance is gonna love this one, either.
"And I don't know if I have enough cash to get it fixed. I'm kind of stuck."
There's a rustling in the background. Then a sigh. "So you took the truck... out to one of Randall's jobs... and you wrecked it."
"Hey, it wasn't wrecked! When you put it like that, it sounds, uh, not good," Jamie says, voice high and strained.
"It's //not// good, Jamie." Lance pauses to think. "At least you're in (link-reveal:"good hands")[(dialog:"How does he know that?","i don't know")]. I'll have to get ahold of the fleet commander... have you fill out some forms... but we'll get it taken care of. You'll have to explain this one yourself when you get back, though, 'cause //I'm// sure not gonna do it."
(text-color:blue)[[Jamie's stomach sinks.]]<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/daniel.png" alt="A man in a baseball cap and a hoodie. His eyes are lidded, his expression is flat, and he's backlit so that his face and body are shrouded in shadow." width="600">
A dark figure stands at the mouth of the door, the harsh light of the sun behind him. Jamie squints against it; from here, crouched on the floor, he can see nothing of the man's gaze, no warmth or flicker of light in his eyes, just a flat, featureless shadow under the brim of his trucker hat.
For a heartbeat, Jamie's blood runs cold.
Then he steps inside, staring down at Jamie, and Jamie hurriedly rights himself to find that the guy's... short. That blank stare is less intimidating when he's having to tilt his head up for it.
"Who's this?"
"Feller from out of town," J.D. croaks from the corner. He coughs. "Wrecked his truck."
"I didn't wreck my truck," Jamie starts, defensive, before thinking better of it. "It just - it broke down. I've been waiting on a guy to get back here, who I am guessing is... you?"
The man grunts and steps clear past him. Like he's not even there.
"(text-color:blue)[[Daniel]]," Tracy says, like a warning.That syllable drops with all the gravity of a door slamming shut.
(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[Jamie's smile strains itself, pulling wider as part of some maladjusted coping mechanism for the sudden icy chill. "Yeaaah," he says, drawing it out to fill the silence.]
(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:6s)[A pendulum clock ticks. And tocks. And ticks again.]
(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:9s)["So," he tries again, "the truck? Are we good? I'm not trying to be a bother, I can find |1>[a different guy] if you're not--"]
(click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")["Where's it at," Daniel cuts him off, in a surprisingly high voice.
Oh. To be honest, he figured he was getting a 'no' from this whole conversation. But Jamie leaps on the opportunity anyway, telling Daniel everything he needs to know (and then some) before he has the chance to change his mind.
Daniel then leaves without a word, slamming the door shut behind him. A wooden plaque inscribed with a (link-reveal:"proverb")[(dialog:"'God teaches us about Love by giving us Difficult people to Deal with!', replete with a tiny, woodburned cartoon of a child praying.","got it")] rattles above the doorframe.
Jamie can do little but watch, eyes wide. The only sound in his wake is the slow whine of the screen door settling into place, the faint tinkle of a windchime on the porch set into motion.
And then (link-style:(text-colour:blue))[[the phone rings.]] ]It's Lance again. He says (link-reveal:"his grandma's")[(dialog:"Ruth Turner. (And that's 'Mrs. Turner' to him. None of that first-name shit with his granny.) Head down the hill, make a right at the stop sign, keep going past the sno-cone stand, and turn onto... what was it, Oak Street? Christ, he's never gonna remember that, but Lance swears you can't miss it.","good luck with that")] in town, she'll let him stay awhile.
None of this seems very professional, if you ask him. But nobody's actually asking him. Jamie's just being buffeted along by the current, and if this is how things get done in the sticks, well, at least it's better than sleeping in the fucking woods. With bears.
//When in Rome//, he supposes.
Tracy (link-reveal:"returns")[(dialog:"When did she even leave?","you were a little preoccupied, man")] from the back of the house, saying, "You get it sorted out?"
"Oh, yeah. I think so? I've got somewhere to stay for the night, so. Sorry for all of, uh..." He gestures around himself. "This. The inconvenience."
"Ain't no thing," she smiles at him. She busies herself straightening papers on the counters - bills, old invoices, things which have clearly been there long enough that they don't warrant the sudden organization. "So, you gonna be in town long? For your study?"
Jamie rubs the back of his head. "I'm not sure," he says cautiously. "I'll get out of your hair, though. Before it gets dark. Thanks for all the help."
With that, Jamie hurriedly makes his escape, though not before having to double back and get Tracy's phone number. Which is embarrassing. And tiring, too. Now, what did he say? Down the hill, (link-style:(text-colour:blue))[[make a right...]]The sun has sunk below the mountains, leaving the sky above a vivid orange-red, but casting all else in the bowl of the valley into shadow. Jamie stays as far off the side of the road as he can - sure, there may not be much traffic, given that there's maybe a thousand people total in the surrounding area, but on the other hand nobody here seems too keen on investing in things like "street lights". So he crosses his fingers and hopes he doesn't get hit by one of these jackasses in their (link-reveal:"ATVs")[(dialog:"For some reason, he's seen more four-wheelers than actual cars on the road. They like to travel in packs.","got it")].
Lance's directions take him past a small river, the town's namesake. The banks are steep here, where he crosses over a bridge to the other side of town, but further downstream they're tempered and softened until the (link-reveal:"buildings")[(dialog:"'Buildings' implies a level of permanence that those structures just don't have. They're mostly trailers, mobile homes, empty lots that have fallen into disrepair. Kudzu crawls over their surfaces, both warning and threat.","got it")] are nearly level with the river's edge.
Jamie slaps at an insect that's nibbling on his arm. He misses. Then swears at himself.
He follows the road to the forest's edge, Oak Street branching off a much-longer way down than Lance had suggested. Here, past the clusters of abandoned storefronts and trailers surrounded by impromptu junkyards, the houses are sturdier. Bigger. Crammed into a tight-knit pocket. And Jamie's destination - a modest two-story house, with mottled white siding and a porch wrapped around the front and a yard that opens into the yawning woods - looms just around the corner, a warm light (text-color:blue)[[beckoning]] from the kitchen.In short order, Jamie finds himself peeling potatoes. And chopping onions. He does it by rote, like he's not even there in his own body.
In a way, he isn't. This isn't something that happens to him. This isn't //real life//. Real life, to him, is getting up at the ass-crack of dawn to spend 10 hours in an office, trying to make small talk, pretending to laugh at jokes, and poring over maps and diagrams and endless spreadsheets until his head swims. And then he goes home, and he does it again. That was the whole goddamn point. It's boring. It's safe. It pays the bills. Wacky shit doesn't //happen// to him.
He's not sure how much longer he can stand it. He's only been here but five minutes and, instead of passing out in a cheap motel bed, he's helping Lance's fucking grandmother make (link-reveal:"Sunday dinner")[(dialog:"It's not Sunday. Nothing would be open on Sunday, even back home.","got it")] for a family that he knew literally nothing about this time last week. You don't talk about your family with your boss! Or anything more serious than, like, the latest (link-reveal:"Marvel movie!")[(dialog:"Somehow, their work relationship has managed to survive the fact that Lance Turner loves them and Jamie Strauss will kill somebody if he has to hear about another one.","okay")]
Ultimately, though, he thinks he can deal with it. There's worse things in the world than having some kind of cult invite you to dinner. It's just all the parts that come after that don't seem so great. But, you know, if push comes to shove, he's pretty sure he could take an old lady in a walker. No problem.
After fumbling his way through Mrs. Turner's instructions (and narrowly avoiding disaster), they're left with a (link-reveal:"hearty spread")[(dialog:"Green beans, hominy, a plate of sliced and dressed cucumbers, slow-cooked beans and ham, mashed potatoes with a tureen of mushroom gravy on the side, and the //piece de resistance//, a cast iron skillet of fresh, warm cornbread.","yummy")]. He arranges it all on the table, which is set to host 8, and looks back upon his work with a strange sense of pride.
"Is that everything?"
"Just about," Mrs. Turner tells him. There's a crooked smile on her face as she says, "I'm surprised you didn't chop your finger off, young man."
"Ha! Yeah." He laughs out of politeness more than anything. "I didn't think the potatoes would be so... slippery."
"Reckon we got done early. Why don't you... come on and sit. Tell me how my grandson's doing."
She's already headed to the living room before he has a chance to (link-style:(text-colour:blue))[[politely decline]].Small talk isn't exactly his thing. And he doesn't know what to say other than, "yeah, that's my boss" and "I guess he's doing fine" and "we don't really talk much, sorry". Mrs. Turner makes a noise that he can only interpret as 'disappointed'.
"'Least he's alive," she mutters, leaning back in her armchair and resting her eyes. "Don't know why he never calls back home. 'Less he needs somethin'..."
Jamie fidgets, suddenly uncomfortable.
Thankfully, a knock on the door gives him an excuse to get out of it.
"Come on in," she shouts as best she can. It's more of a warble, but it gets the point across.
And in files a band of family members, one by one, strangers all, each carrying their own contribution - a bowl of potato salad here, a tray of baked goods there - until, at the tail end, there stands J.D. Creech. Beshirted. And accompanied by his loving wife and his wide-eyed son, who stares at Jamie like he's found something distasteful on the underside of his ratty-ass sneakers.
"Hey," Jamie squeaks uselessly.
"You didn't tell us you knew //our// Lance," Tracy gasps.
Behind her, Daniel maintains firm eye contact, as if he's a great big cat and Jamie's the hapless bug in his sights. Jamie's compelled to meet it, even as he tries to talk to somebody else entirely. "I didn't think he'd be related to //everybody// down here!"
That was a mistake.
Not because they're offended, no, but because the whole family must have been waiting for a moment just like this to tell somebody about the ins and outs of the Turners and the Creeches. Tracy married into the Creeches, of course, given that they've been here since Abraham fucking Lincoln's time, and naturally he's squashed next to Lance's mom and Lance's sister and //Lance's fucking cousin//, who's (text-color:blue)[[glaring daggers]] at Jamie as he spears a green bean.Talk swiftly moves to less sensitive topics, and strangely enough, this is what shuts Jamie out of the conversation. He doesn't know who Beth-Ann is, or what's gotten into her tomatoes, and, crucially, he doesn't care. So he resumes eating and lets it all wash over him.
The food's good. Remarkably so, given that he cooked half of it. He can't stop himself from going back for seconds on the potatoes. It would just be nicer if, you know, Daniel Creech wasn't trying to bore a hole through him with his eyes the whole time.
Jamie rushes to offer to clear everything away once everyone finishes eating. At least if he's doing dishes, he's not dealing with a complete stranger's family politics.
The Turners and the Creeches collectively migrate to the living room, and then to the porch, shooting the shit by lantern light. All except Daniel, who remains behind. He loudly gathers up dishes behind Jamie, as if to remind him that he's there, and then (link-reveal:"sets them on the counter")[(dialog:"He isn't slamming them or anything, like Jamie half-expects him to do. Hell, if it weren't for the most uncomfortable dinner experience of his life, Jamie would think he's trying to be helpful.","weird")] next to the sink.
"I got your car," he says, not looking at Jamie. "You fucked it up pretty bad."
"Is that your official diagnosis?"
Daniel stares at him, just as sullen as ever. "Yeah. Your (link-reveal:"tranny's shot")[(dialog:"For a brief, horrifying moment, Jamie forgets that Daniel's a mechanic.","yikes")]." He shoves his hands back in his pockets and leans against the counter. "Gonna take awhile to get parts in."
"How long is... awhile?" Jamie asks slowly.
A non-committal noise. "Could be a week. Could be... a few weeks."
At that, Jamie sets down the sponge and dish he'd been holding so he can face Daniel properly. "No. You've gotta be kidding. A //week?"//
"If I'm lucky," Daniel mutters.
"Jesus, what am I gonna do, man? I've got work to do!"
Daniel shrugs. "Not my problem. But I don't want you (text-color:blue)[[stickin' around]] any more'n you do," he says.The company's supposed to do it themselves after a significant rainfall, but he suspects they're being lax. He's seen the numbers. And now he's seen the water. It's not adding up.
By the time they're done hiking the length of the stream, taking notes and pictures and samples enough to choke on, Jamie's sweating clean through his shirt. He needs a shower, like, yesterday. The thought of hot water beating against his muscles (and some cheap Mexican food on the way back) buoys him toward the finish line.
A distant rumbling catches his attention. Up above, a water truck crawls along what's left of the bench, (link-reveal:"spraying down the road")[(dialog:"It keeps the dust down. Yet another toothless regulation. Some operations are good about doing it on a regular basis, but most will only start spraying once they notice the folks with badges are there.","got it")].
"I think they're onto us," Jamie says, pointing upward. Several pairs of eyes follow.
Nick swears. "Well, that's more time than I thought we'd get," he says begrudgingly. "I reckon we seen what we came out to see. Let's get the hell out of here."
The trek back down the trail is worse, somehow. It's hard on the ankles, having to penguin-shuffle down a wet, muddy slope, blanketed in leaves and roots and mossy stones. Something bitter turns in him. These roads haven't been touched in years - decades, even - and sooner or later this will all be gone, those thick, spongy blankets of untouched moss bulldozed over for an access road. To //fix// all of this.
Eventually, they make their way(text-colour:blue)[ [[back to the trucks]]].Someone from the state pulls out a pocket knife and slices into a fresh, ripe peach, pulled from a bushel in the back of his truck. As if in celebration. Jamie opts not to take a slice.
Instead, he puts the key in his ignition, turns it, and... (after: 2s)[(t8n:"fade")[nothing. He turns it again.] (after:5s)[(t8n:"fade")[The engine wheezes, but fails to turn over.
(after:8s)[(t8n:"fade")[No. No, no, no. Not here. Not while he's surrounded by a dozen other guys looking for any excuse to emasculate him. Jamie furiously turns the key, again and again, and gets a fat fucking nothing for his efforts.
"What's up, Jakey?" Nick says, leaning over to peer at the dashboard. "Does she need a jump?"
"Maybe," says Jamie, defeated. "Does anybody have any cables?"
The man with the peaches introduces himself as Terrence, and he comes to the rescue. But it doesn't work. Jamie lets them hover over the open hood, him and Nick and a couple more for good measure, all peering at the innards as if they can divine something from the silent engine, but that doesn't work, either.
"Hey, Nick. I think someone's coming up this way," says Tammy. Her voice warbles.
//Shit.//(text-color:blue)[ [[It's his lucky day.]]]\
]]]]]Behind him, Jamie hears a car door slam, and he cranes his neck to look for the source. At the bottom of the hill sits a black SUV, and next to it, a man with even blacker hair, slicked back like he's fresh out of the shower, wearing a collared shirt that's much too nice for a jaunt in the woods.
"What a surprise," he announces. "I didn't know that Mining was gonna be out here today. You should have given me a little notice. I'd have cleaned up the house before you came to visit."
"Well, that's exactly why we came out here when we did," says Terrence. It catches Jamie (link-reveal:"by surprise")[(dialog:"He's not used to anybody being quite so confrontational on these site visits. It makes his heart rate kick up.","seriously?")].
"It's not Randall," whispers Tammy. "Thank God."
"Then who is it?" Jamie whispers back.
"It's his son. Bret."
Bret Randall hikes all the way up to the throng, shaking hands and handing out business cards. Jamie thumps his head against the steering wheel one last time before straightening himself up.
"Bret Randall, Randall Processing," Bret says to Jamie at last, hand extended with a machine-like snap. "I don't believe we've met, mister..."
"Jamie," Jamie tells him. "Jamie Strauss." He (link-reveal:"accepts the handshake")[(dialog:"What the fuck do you want him to do? Spit in his face? Not if he wants to keep having a job.","okay, yeesh")]. It's almost delicate, not like the rough grips of his companions.
"Jamie Strauss. Good to put a face to the name. So... you're the one(text-color:blue)[ [[pulling my teeth]]] on this permit."
He says it with a toothy smile. Jamie forces an awkward laugh, not sure what to say to that.
"Well, as you can see, we're doing the best we can with a bad situation. So go easy on us," Bret entreats him. "It was completely unexpected. All those freezes and thaws, and then those heavy rains... Who could have seen it coming?"
Jamie says nothing. Something in Bret's smile stretches taut.
"Now, don't let me keep you here - surely you all want to get up on the bench to have a look. I won't stop you."
He says this, but he doesn't move from Jamie's side, as if he's expecting something. God fucking damn it. He steels himself. "I'm having a bit of car trouble," he says. "Uh, sir. We might be a moment."
"Oh, no. We can't have that." Bret's smile brightens again. "I'll give one of my guys a call. See if we can't get your car fixed up."
Jamie's stomach knots up. "I-- (link-reveal:"I don't know about that.")[(dialog:"Technically, he can't accept gifts. But is a service a gift? Even if it's done for free? He wishes he had his employee handbook right now.","got it")] I'm not sure I can--"
"It's no trouble at all, Mr. Strauss."
"Well, that's awful nice of you, Bret," says Nick, clapping him on the shoulder. "Tam, what do you say we ride on up to the bench with him?"
Jamie meets her eyes and finds them just as wide as his own. She pauses, then says at last, "If you say so."
With that, they split off amonst the other trucks,(text-color:blue)[ [[leaving Jamie alone]]] with a sinking feeling in his gut.He watches as Bret drives off, followed by the rest of the caravan in turn.
(after:2s)[(t8n:"fade")[And he waits.]]
(after:4s)[(t8n:"fade")[And waits.]]
(after:6s)[(t8n:"fade")[Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. The signal on Jamie's phone remains stubbornly fixed on "Searching..." despite his best efforts. And he's all alone out here, and he doesn't know if anybody's going to come back and get him, and he's just left his life in the hands of the sleaziest, greasiest fucking--
He slams his hands on the steering wheel, startling himself when it honks.
"So this is how it goes, huh," he groans. A dramatic arm covers his eyes. "I'm gonna die out here, because I'm God's stupidest idiot." He's gonna die, and he's gonna deserve it, because he never paid enough attention when his dad was trying to teach him about cars, because he hates cars, he //hates// driving, and it never occurred to him that his job that takes him out to the middle of nowhere might get him stuck in //the middle of nowhere//.]]
(after:12s)[(t8n:"rumble")+(link-style:(text-colour:blue))[Suddenly, a honk [[jerks him out of it.]]]]This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This Twine game contains sexual scenes and graphic depictions of violence, and is best suited for adults.
(text-color:blue)[[Click here to proceed.->Day 1]]"You Jamie?" comes the voice of an (link-reveal:"old man")[(dialog: "Stout and balding, with a mustache that would make a walrus jealous. And he's covered only by a pair of overalls.", "weird")], bouncing up and down in the driver's seat of a rusty, seafoam-green truck.
That gets him to jerk upright. "Unfortunately," he says. "I take it Mr. Randall sent you."
A grunt. The man hops out of his truck and motions for Jamie to do the same.
"Sorry about this," Jamie says, rubbing the back of his head. It gets no response - the man just fiddles with the ignition, before moving around to investigate what's under the hood. So he just keeps talking. "They're supposed to keep these things serviced, but what do I know. It seems like it's always something."
More silence.
"So, uh... you from around here?"
"Yup."
Well, that's all he's got. Jamie sighs quietly and lets him work his magic. Unfortunately for him, it seems that there's no more magic to be wrought, because after twenty minutes of excruciating silence, the man shuts the hood and turns to him. "Ain't somethin' I can fix out here."
"Oh. Well. Uh. Do you... know if I can get a tow truck out here?" Jamie asks, heart sinking.
He shrugs a shoulder. His mustache twitches in thought. "I can take ya into town, see if you can't get yer car towed in. My boy's got a garage, he'll getcha all fixed up."
Half of his instincts tell him that hopping in a stranger's truck to go God knows where is a very stupid idea, but the other half are sweaty and sticky and miserable and don't want to have to walk all the way to civilization. The decision doesn't take long to weigh. Jamie climbs into the old man's passenger seat, bouncing just the same from the rhythmic shuddering of the engine, thumbing his keyring and tucking each key between his fingers like they're the spikes on a set of brass knuckles.
(text-color:blue)[[Just in case.]]There's no A/C in the truck, Jamie learns pretty quickly. The bare stone walls of the exposed mountain whip past his head as he lolls it out the open window. It's all the nicer when they follow the the curve of the road, spiraling up and around, those walls coming to shield them from the worst of the sun.
There's a cough at his left. "So... where you from?"
A complicated question. The answer he gives is the simple one: he came down from (link-reveal:"Louisville")[(dialog: "Louis-ville, Looey-ville, Loo-a-vul... Whatever you want to call it. Like somebody excised a little chunk of the Midwest and grafted it onto Kentucky's body. Now it shambles around with this strange flesh embedded in its skin, and all anybody wants to talk about anymore is 'oh, that lump looks weird', 'why would you want that', and never 'wow, it has a lot of great restaurants, I bet you're having so much fun with your lump'.","okay")] on a business trip. It gets a grunt, a mutter of "the city, huh", like it explains a lot to him.
But it's not like he's //from// there. (link-reveal:"The locals")[(dialog:"Like anybody cares where you went to high school in the real world. He went to //the Ohio State University//, okay.","mhmm")] sure won't let him fucking forget it. He's a transplant, just like every other guy he meets back in the city, so what does it matter? Sometimes, he thinks about moving closer to work, instead of dealing with the hour long commute and the insufferable attitudes, but he can't imagine the food's any good. Not in such a small town.
Jamie knows better that to bother saying all that out loud, though. What he actually says is,(text-color:blue)[ [["Yup."]]]"How long's it gonna be out of commission?"
"I don't know," groans Jamie. "The actual mechanic's not even here yet. What am I gonna do?!"
"Relax, would ya? It's not the end of the world. I've got family in the area, they might let you stay the night."
That doesn't help. "Okay, and what if they don't let me stay? Do you expect me to just, like, rough it out in the woods? Because I know Earthcycle's not gonna pay for a hotel!"
Lance makes a sound that's the verbal equivalent of a shrug. "Yeah. You'll have to watch out for bears, though."
"Hey... hey, that's not funny," Jamie laughs weakly. "Seriously, that's not funny, what do you mean //bears//--"
"I'd never joke about bears, bud," Lance says. He's worryingly serious.
With that, Lance lets him go, promising to call around. While Jamie... sits here and stews in it. A bitterness seeps into him. He moves to hand the phone back to Tracy.
(t8n:"shudder")+(t8n-delay:10s)[A loud //bang// to his right makes him (link-style:(text-colour:blue))[[fumble it to the ground]].](link-reveal:"Daniel")[(dialog:"Daniel Creech. Dark hair and dark eyes ringed with dark circles, all hidden under a UK cap. There's a black smudge on his face that matches those on his jeans. His shoulders are perpetually hitched up to his ears, his face is frozen in a flat scowl, and his hands are jammed deep in his jacket pockets, as if he is forever shrinking away from some unseen observer.","whoa")] stops still, then stiffly turns back around.
"You must be Daniel Creech," Jamie says. He musters up a polite smile. "I'm Jamie. Jamie Strauss. And I would really like your help fixing my truck so I can go home."
He extends a hand that Daniel just... stares at. Like he's confused. Then, after entirely too long of a pause, Daniel blinks, takes it at last, and gives it a (link-reveal:"firm shake")[(dialog:"His hands are small. And warm.","okay...")].
"He says he's from //Looey-ville//," Tracy beams, thrilled to have something to gossip about. "He's doin' a-- What'd you call it? An e-co-logical whatsit--"
"A survey," he supplies. He glances at her, then back at Daniel. "I'm a scientist," he says by way of explanation. "I work for some of the mines around here. Well, sort of. My company does. I usually work out of the city... but today, they had me out there to take a look in person, and, uh, it's not going so well."
(link-style:(text-colour:blue))["[[Oh]]," says Daniel.]Hesitantly, Jamie knocks on the door.
A crack emerges in the blinds on the front window. A single, enormous eye peers at him. Then he hears, "Come on in, honey," as it retreats.
"Uh, hi," he says, uncertain, as he enters the house. "I'm assuming this is Ruth Turner's house? Because, um, if it's not, this is going to be really embarrassing--"
"My grandson told me you was coming by," says the woman in question - Mrs. Turner herself, slight and withered, her voice trembling and her eyes magnified by a truly enormous pair of glasses. Her whole body trembles, actually, as she clutches her walker.
She says something that goes right in one of Jamie's ears and out the other.
"I'm sorry, can you (link-reveal:"repeat that")[(dialog:"Her accent is so thick, and her voice so raspy and shriveled, that Jamie can't parse it without a concerted effort.","got it")]?"
"Lance's friend, Jamie." She hobbles toward (link-reveal:"her kitchen")[(dialog:"Less packed to the gills than the Creech house, but only just. Lacy curtains hang over the windows, cloyingly-sweet sculptures of cherubs pepper the walls, and fine china rests in a solid oak cupboard, its glass panels showcasing the most garish depictions of guardian angels he's ever seen painted on a porcelain plate.","impressive")], where a multitude of pots and pans bubble on the stove. "I'm Ruth, but everybody calls me Mrs. Turner."
"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Turner," he says. "I'm Jamie. And you... already knew that. Right. Anyway, thank you so much for letting me stay the night. I know it's really short notice and--"
She waves him off like it's nothing. "All's I ask is some (link-style:(text-colour:blue))[[help with dinner]], honey."Jamie doesn't shrink away, though. In fact, the longer Daniel (link-reveal:"cops an attitude")[(dialog:"What's his problem? Jamie hasn't even //done// anything to this guy! Being nervous and vehicularly-incompetent isn't a crime!","for real")] with him, the more Jamie glares back.
"You work with Lance, Jamie?" cuts in J.D's voice, snapping Jamie out of it.
"Yeah. He's my direct superior, but I've only been working with him for a couple of months," Jamie tells him. "I-I really don't know a whole lot about him. I didn't even know he had family out here. That's not really, uh, my business--"
"Figures."
Daniel grunts this through a mouthful of potatoes. When his mom hisses, "Manners," he swallows hard and wipes his mouth.
"When was the last time he's been home, momma?" asks another relative.
Mrs. Turner hums thoughtfully. "Oh, it's been awhile..."
"5 years." Daniel sullenly stabs another green bean.
There's a chorus of quiet noises of agreement. Jamie shoves a chunk of cornbread in his mouth to avoid having to (link-style:(text-colour:blue))[[follow that one up.->goodbye daniel]]Jamie groans and runs his hands back through his hair. Then he remembers that they're wet and soapy and gross and jerks them back, flicking suds at Daniel as he does.
Daniel's nose wrinkles. Something about the way he goes quiet makes Jamie stop still, hands frozen uselessly in midair.
[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)["I know what Lance does," Daniel says at last, voice low and heated. "I know what //you// do."]
(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:6s)[Goosebumps crawl up Jamie's skin. He doesn't so much as blink.]
(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:9s)["So you better watch your back."]
(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:12s)["Daniel, come say goodnight," Tracy beckons him from outside. That drags his attention away, and Jamie's left standing alone, hands dripping onto the kitchen floor.
<a href="https://stayaway.neocities.org/build/new/SAFDC_ch2.html">He doesn't sleep well that night.</a> ]]