Fallen Elements (40 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After several seconds, Regan stepped back,
and resigned herself to the protein bar and bottled water she had
in her van. Turning toward the street, she heard the hinges of the
door creak. Pivoting around, Regan saw a woman standing in the
doorway.

The woman was Regan’s height and more or less
her same age, with a similar athletic build. Her hair was black and
cut short, accentuating her angular features and her light blue
eyes. Her skin was flawless, and tan with a hint of red at her
cheeks.

“Hey.” Regan was struggling to focus. The
woman in front of her was beautiful.

“We’re closed.” The woman stated
casually.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Regan
nodded. “Yeah. Sorry to bother you.” She forced her feet to move,
and stepped off the porch onto the sidewalk.

“I can make you something real quick, but
you’ll have to take it with you.” The woman offered.

Regan turned, and smiled. “That would be
great. Thanks.”

She followed the woman into the restaurant,
and sat on one of five wooden stools lining a narrow counter.

The woman handed Regan a laminated menu.
“I’ve already turned the grill off, so please stick to the
sandwiches and salads.”

“Of course.” Regan skimmed the menu. “Ah, the
turkey and Swiss would be fine, but can I sub the mayo for yellow
mustard?” The woman nodded. Regan slid the menu across the counter,
and with a broad smile extended her hand. “I’m Regan, by the way,
and thanks again for doing this.”

A faint smile found the woman’s lips, and
then quickly disappeared as she took Regan’s hand in hers.
“Lily.”

Regan nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Lily turned, and after pulling several
containers from a cooler that ran the length of the back counter,
began assembling Regan’s sandwich. “Do you want something to
drink?” The woman didn’t look back as she asked.

“I’ve got a case of water in my van, so no
worries.” Regan tried not to be too obvious in her admiration of
the woman, but even in a pair of faded jeans, a threadbare red
t-shirt, and a stained white apron, she couldn’t remember the last
time she had seen someone so beautiful.

Lily turned around suddenly, and Regan
quickly averted her eyes from the woman’s backside. A flush of heat
found Regan’s neck and face, and she conspicuously cleared her
throat. “Ah, maybe I will take that drink. Just some ice
water.”

Reaching for a glass to her left, Lily
frowned as she took note of Regan’s stare. Sliding the lid of the
ice bin back, the woman scooped ice into the glass, filled it with
water, and without a word placed it on the counter in front of
Regan.

“Your sandwich will be ready in a
minute.”

Regan felt like an ass. She had never been
one to leer, but not looking at Lily felt akin to closing her eyes
in an art museum.
She’s not an object to be admired,
shithead.
The self-chastising brought an additional wave of
shame over Regan, and she nervously sipped her water, hoping she
could get out of this without making a complete fool of
herself.

“Four ninety five.” Lily handed Regan a small
white paper bag.

“What?” Regan looked blankly at the
woman.

Lily frowned. “The sandwich. Four dollars and
ninety five cents, please.”

“Right. Sorry.” Regan slid off the stool, and
fished around in her pockets. “Shit.” She looked up at Lily
apologetically. “I left my wallet in my van, but give me two
minutes and I can go get it.”

The woman looked suspiciously at Regan. “I’ll
time you.”

Grinning, Regan ran out of the restaurant and
toward her van. Grabbing the wallet from her backpack, she shoved
it in her back pocket and ran back toward the Last Stop.

Nearing the store front, she saw Lily
standing on the front porch, the white bag with Regan’s sandwich in
her hand, and a tall, dark haired man looking up at her from the
sidewalk.

As Regan approached, she heard the man
speaking in a harsh tone. “Don’t get attached.”

Regan hesitated, not wanting to interrupt an
obviously tense conversation. “Hey. Sorry about this.” Reaching
into her back pocket, she pulled her wallet out and handed Lily a
twenty dollar bill.