| _____________________________________________ | Martinsville, Virginia 1836 └────────────────────────────────── |
The smoke stack had been visible for some time, streaking across the late evening sky as an ominous sign that something terrible had happened. The direction and the distance indicated Beaver Creek, a plantation he owned. A plantation in his family’s name for nearly 60 years and the second his family had built in the state. There was money in those twisting black clouds, evaporating quickly. Bleeding him and his family like someone had nicked a vein. And although the blood didn’t run red, that color emptying into the sky was the unmistakable mark of their most profitable commodity.
A puff of smoke poured from his lips, and drifted lazily across the dirt stained window, obscuring his view of the plume. Obscuring his view of his reflection hanging over it. His gray eyes were the only thing visible to him, dressed in brimstone, returning his stare like they belonged to someone else. To something else. A demon, beckoning him to approach and save that which was his. It felt like a sign.
It felt a lot like punishment.
Movement in the corner of his eyes drew his attention away. From up the road, three men came into view with a fourth strung between two of them. They were signaling as they dragged the man through the dirt, throwing their voices across the field at somebody else out of view. Eventually, one of the men broke away from the others and began sprinting toward the manor.
He turned. ”Andy?!...” He yelled, snuffing the cigarette in his hand before stepping through a pair of nearby doors and onto the landing at the top of a flight of stairs. Below him, the main entrance had already been opened and a boy, in his late teens was standing there, peering out at something approaching with an intensity that read as both worry and excitement. ”Andy! What in the god’s damn is that commotion out there?!”
”Sir Hairston! Apologies!” The boy straightened, startled “Men are coming up the road. They’re calling for you, sir.” The boy replied, stepping back and onto the porch as if he were already in the man’s way.
The shouts were clearer now, less a muffled tune and more the vague shape of words that could almost be understood accompanied by the uneven approach of boots on loose gravel. He descended as they grew louder, getting to the bottom of the steps just as a man appeared in the doorway. George as he was known. A scrawny overseer who looked about as presentable on any day as he did now: Disheveled short brown hair. Out of breath and sweating profusely into an already well stained shirt that clung to him like a second skin. He’d tracked dust and dirt across tiles as he took another few steps inside and then propped himself up on his rifle.
”The hell is it, George?”
”Sir Hairston, sir... a driver,” the man said breathlessly. ”Found him hiding in the brush, ‘tween here and Beaver Creek. Says he was there. Says he knows what happened.”
”Coming up the road now?”
George nodded. ”Yessur,” And moved out of the way as the Planter stepped through the foyer and out the front doors into a quickly approaching dusk. Outside was more humid. The air stuck to his face smearing the last heat of the day across it. He could feel the beads of sweat on his skin but there was no cool kiss of the wind. Just smothering warmth and a stench in the air like ash. Above him, the sky burned in brilliant colors cast from the distant horizon by a setting sun. Its dying light stained his fields and the white wood walls of his manor in hues of red-orange encroached by violet shadows.
From his breast pocket he pulled out another cigarette and a match from a matchbox and had both lit and pressed against each other by the time the approaching men were halfway up his driveway. The yellow glow burned bright in the shadow cast by his downturned face, illuminating Hairston for the two men and the third strung between them as he stood waiting at the end of the path. He watched them too intently, a thousand questions apparent in the intense grey of his eyes made more intense by the match flame reflected within them. Whole conversations had with himself as they crossed the last few feet to him to present the driver they captured.
Hairston snuffed the match with a wave, flicked it into the dirt and pulled on his cigarette, burning nearly a quarter of it before blowing the smoke through stained teeth. He pointed at a spot on the ground and where the two men promptly dumped the third, putting his face in the dirt.
The driver looked as if he'd been dragged through the brush he was found in rather than merely found in it. The man's shirt was torn and stained in streaks of mud and dirt and his trousers were barely holding to his waist. And although rather difficult to see now, Hairston had noticed on the man's approach that his face had been cut up and his left eye swollen shut.
”Get him up.” He said quickly to the two standing on either side of him. They grabbed him by his arms and hoisted him to his knees. From his good eye, the driver looked up at Hairston.
”Where you running to huh? I own every acre from here to the horizon ain't nowhere you can run.”
”I wasn't... sir.”
"No?"
"No, sir. I was comin' to tell yuh what happened." The man on his knees gestured behind him in the direction of the smoke stack still visible in the fading light.
Hairston pulled on his cigarette and blew the smoke into the air, taking a moment to study the plume again. "Beaver Creek." He turned back to the driver. "You are a driver there?"
”Yessur.”
”Well then, get on with it.”
”It was a man.”
There was another pause, this one suspended in the air by all men present. A silent acknowledgement and quiet disbelief. Hairston chewed his tongue for a moment, glanced at the other two men who simply returned his, and then took another pull from his cigarette, lowering himself to the ground as he inhaled until he was level with the driver. He smiled something vile as he let the burnt air in his lungs escape as curling tendrils of smoke that wrapped around stained teeth and drifted through his beard.
"You're telling me a single man burned down my plantation."
”Yessur.”
”Are you lying to me? Cause if you lying, I’ll have George over there shoot you from where he's standing on that there porch, you understand?”
The man shook his head. ”I ain’t no liar, Mr Hairston. It was one man. A-..." There was a bit of hesitation, but eventually he resolved to finish the sentence. "...A white man.”
"A. White. Man..." Hairston repeated slowly, not believing him. His trust was already hanging by a thread, but there was a curiosity to it he couldn't deny. Some small desire to see where this tale led. "Alright. One of mine?"
Another head shake. "No sir... he was in the field... workin' it."
This time it was Hairston who shook his head. ”No. I don't have anybody done recently got here working for me. No contracts."
"I swear..."
"You know what this man look like?” To which the driver only nodded. There was another pause, this one shorter, followed by a finger snap and wave at Andy, who had been standing on the porch next to George. ”Andy!”
The boy jumped down from the porch and ran up to the group of men.
”Andy, get your ass down to the Williams and fetch their son.” The boy nodded and immediately took off down the driveway. ”And not the dumb one! The artist!”
#bca346 ....|..... outfit .....|..... Main Street
Noah put the car in park and shut the engine off, letting the growl of the engine die and the still eerily quiet that was Pine Ridge proper find him again. It was difficult adjusting to the speed of sound in a small town, especially built into the base of a mountain as it was. There was no comfort in noise and no warmth from an ever present sun. Just the cold embrace of an ice wind as it tumbled down the peak and rolled over the town nestled in its shadow. Walls kept Noah’s thoughts from tumbling out of his head and there were no walls here. His thoughts kept getting away from him, running toward the mountain and flitting into the trees, carrying with it ideas of ‘what’ and ‘where’.
Right now, the ‘where’ was Main Street and the ‘what’ was the Sheriff he was hoping to find through the doors of the Sheriff’s station.
Noah retrieved a thin binder from the passenger seat and stepped out into the biting cold of an early morning. Clouds stuck to the sky and obscured the nearby mountain peak and cast everything in a drab shade of gray, but the air, as ever, was crisp. It filled his lungs with ice that shocked the lethargy from his eyes and then tumbled free from his lips as a rolling ball of hot air.
He flipped his wrist and checked the time.
7:00
#bca346 ....|..... outfit ............... #00aeef ....|..... outfit ............... Sheriff's Station
Exit
Noah entered the station, exchanging the biting cold with the comfort of working heat and the smell of old carpet and worn leather.
Webboysurf
A small bell jangled as the door swung in, revealing wood-panelled walls illuminated by fluorescent tubes in the ceiling.The lobby wasn’t particularly spacious and revealed much of what the sheriff’s station had to offer. An empty check-in counter, wood-carved and still-gleaming from a recent polish, stood in wait with an old bench to the right. A small, unsecured gate that came up waist high blocked anyone from wandering further into the space. Another desk sat a few paces behind the check-in counter, with an old oak door and window leading into an office. It was ajar, a singular yellow lamp glowing. The shades were drawn closed, obscuring the figure shuffling papers on their desk inside. To the left, past the gate, stood a couple holding cells made of brick and tarnished metal bars. Signs indicated that down the hallway past the cells were evidence lockers and the morgue.
It took a moment before the sound of wood scraping against wood came from the office, and a tall man in a tan uniform stepped out into the doorway. The bags under his eyes betrayed weeks of late nights and early mornings, if not months. He sniffed a little as he took in the man before him, a look of momentary confusion crossing across his face. A stranger in town, showing up this early in the morning, was never a good sign. Sheriff Dev Sarkar smoothed his shirt, as he took a few steps closer, letting a polite smile tug at his lips. ”Good morning,” he offered, crossing over towards the gate. ”What can I do for ya?”
Exit
Noah returned a greeting nod and a smile, studying the man on approach and deciding with little reason that this was the man he needed to talk to. There was hardly anyone else in the station. “Good morning,” he began, offering his hand for a brief handshake across the divider. “Apologies, I know it’s early and I know you haven’t seen my face before. You’re probably a little confused but I promise I’m not here to waste anyone’s time. I’ll get right to the point. I’m uh Noah. I’m a private investigator looking for someone and I was hoping you or someone here might be able to help me out with a little information?”
Webboysurf
Dev took the man's hand for a firm shake, before letting his hands naturally settle on the belt of his uniform. ”Dev Sarkar, acting sheriff here. Inherited quite the mess.” As the man shared his purpose for being there, the sheriff sighed. ”Missing person? We've been getting a lot of those.” He motioned towards a bulletin board against the wall, overstuffed with pinned leaflets containing faces and names. There were more than a dozen, with more stacked up on the desk nearby. ”Got a name to narrow things down?”
Exit
So that’s what that was…
Noah followed the man’s eyes to the board and the nearby stack of papers. To say there were a few was an understatement, considering the population of the town. Thankfully, Noah had done a bit of research of his own before arriving and knew full well about the oddity in number of open cases. There had indeed been a spike of late and his person of interest would be yet another name to add to the pile.
Unfortunately for Noah, knowing what to expect didn’t make it any easier a pill to swallow. He shook his head, the sigh that jumped from his chest turning into a name in a single breath. ”Eleanor Crowe. Went missing in Connecticut a few months ago and now I’ve got a daughter who wants to see her mother again. She’s reason believe she’d come to South Dakota. To here.”
Webboysurf
The sheriff frowned, brows furrowed in thought. He crossed over to the desk, rifling through the stack of papers. He knew all the names of folks by heart who had gone missing. ”Name doesn't ring a bell,” he admitted, setting the papers back down when his thoughts were confirmed. ”Long way from Connecticut, though,” he mused, looking back at the detective. ”What makes your client think she came to Pine Ridge?”
Exit
”Name’s written all over a journal in her possession.”
Noah's eyes lingered curiously on the bulletin board, automatically trying to memorize each name and face. He didn’t mean to. It just happened. Like a reflex or a defense mechanism that he had little control over. He could already feel the gears turning in his head. Could feel the subtle beat of excitement rising in his chest not unlike the first time he opened a puzzle box and poured the contents on the ground.
Webboysurf
Dev nodded slowly, scratching his chin as he mulled over the revelation. She could have been a local back in the day, but the name Crowe didn't mean much to him. ”Makes sense… due diligence and all, to start here. She could have grown up here. Lots of folks left a few decades back, some kind of mining incident.” The sheriff said it more for himself than anything, as he recognized that look in Noah's eyes. It didn't matter why she came back, just where she had gone. Stopping here was a professional courtesy, a way to get the lay of the land.
Exit
Noah pulled open the Binder that had been tucked under his arm and jotted down a note. ”Pine Ridge.” Noah said aloud, as if naming the first piece. He nodded toward the bulletin board. ”Are these all recent?”
Webboysurf
The question stung, even if it was the most obvious follow-up to seeing just how many people went missing in this small town. ”Last year or so,” he replied bluntly, motioning to the board. ”Try to keep the most recent up, and the kids.” He paused, as if the words tasted sour on his tongue. Dev shook his head, averting his gaze. ”Picking which ones to keep up is the hardest part.”
Exit
It was impossible for Noah to ignore the all too familiar lump that Dev had just placed in his gut, or more accurately replaced after it had been momentarily forgotten about. It was the unfortunate reality for their line of work and something no one who cared ever truly got over.
”I know the feeling. It never really gets easier, even when you get to take some down. You just end up taking that pile home with you.” The head shake he gave Dev read like it was meant for him. An acknowledgement of the difficulty of the job that he himself knew full well, but it was really an unintended physical reaction. Shutting down the part of him that wanted to drop everything to do something, anything, about a wall of missing children was difficult. It was a hole he’d fallen into before and one he knew he wouldn’t be able to climb out of until he was knee deep in a town full of shallow graves and half-drained lakes. There had to be a reason.
Any reason.
Another headshake. Another note. Judging by recent events and the bulletin board itself, Eleanor could be a part of a larger, missing whole, but it was impossible to know for sure. Irresponsible even to assume. It was, however, even more irresponsible to ignore the question of what exactly was going on in Pine Ridge, he tried to reason. Arabella’s mother was involved in some way with the town itself at the very least. He just had to find the pieces directly connecting it and her, and if that happened to involve solving the rest of the board, well that was just good investigative work.
”You said ‘acting Sheriff’ and I noticed the website had a Sheriff Hawthorne. Is he also missing?”
Webboysurf
”Damn, gotta get that fixed… I’ll have to give Sutton a call about that.” Dev repositioned his hands onto his belt again, letting out a few harsh puffs as he considered what he should share. It wasn’t exactly an investigation, and the medical examiner had said a lot of words that ultimately boiled down to one simple fact. ”Hawthorne is in the cemetery, died of natural causes in his sleep.” It was a callous way to describe it, but it was easier than trying to find more polite ways. They had more pressing matters. ”You got a picture of this Eleanor? Name doesn’t ring a bell, but a face might.”
Exit
”I’m sorry to hear that,” Noah said. It was genuine, if brief. A mental note had been checked and that was that, but it was no easy task to step into such a role, especially during such a strange time.
He flipped to the back of the binder to where a picture of Eleanor had been clipped, but as he turned the last page, he was reminded of another image he’d brought with him. Tucked into the corner just beneath Eleanor’s and peeking out from under the corner was the picture he’d snapped of a very specific drawing.
There was a brief pause before he pulled the more relevant picture out and held it up so Dev could see it clearly. ”This is from a few months ago.”
Webboysurf
Dev studied the picture as it was shown, squinting as he got a good look. It took a moment, but there was a sudden look of recognition. He had seen the woman, but only briefly. ”I'm afraid I don't have much to offer in terms of details… but she was here.” He sighed, shaking his head. He remembered the red hair, as it was a bit unusual around Pine Ridge. It was hard to keep track of all the tourists, unless they did something particularly memorable. Plenty of young adults who want to get freaky in a ghost town, some who wandered into unsafe areas, and some who got a little too into roleplaying like they were from the 1800s. This woman, Eleanor, was none of those.
It was the circumstance of when he saw her. It was late, past the closing time of the bar as he was going to stumble his way home. Warren was busy, so the sheriff didn't have his usual way home via his brother. Most people were either turned in or on some sort of guided (or unguided) tour of the older parts of town if they were out that late. Eleanor had been standing at the corner… though which corner eluded him. She was staring at a building, as if she were some lifelike sculpture. It was strange. When she did turn to look in his direction, her gaze never met his. It was spooky, even for a ghost town like Pine Ridge.
”Saw her on main street, probably around eleven a couple weeks back. I think it was a Tuesday. It was weird she was out so late… but I was off duty and I wasn't gonna book an old lady for loitering in a town like this.” His description was nonchalant, though the reality was clear on his face. Dev wasn't looking forward to adding a new picture to the board.
Exit
”Makes sense, and a sighting is plenty. That’s confirmation and a timeframe,” Noah began to say, although the breath that followed after was framed as a ‘but’. Reduced now from ‘months’, two weeks was still a pretty large frame of time. ”But uh… was she alone?” He furrowed his brows. ”What was she doing?”
Webboysurf
”She was alone,” Dev admitted, brow furrowed as he tried to remember anything he could. The memory was fuzzy, like a drunken dream that he couldn't quite grasp. Had she been doing anything? He didn't think so. She was staring at something: a building, or maybe the mountain? The sheriff shook his head. ”I only saw her for a moment. All I saw was her on the street corner. She could have been waiting for someone, or she could have been lost. It's hard to say.”
Exit
And that was it. No familiarity with her name. No direction. No obvious intent. Just a face, a time and a mystery. Noah jotted down another note as he shifted a piece of a puzzle around on an empty board in his head, orientating it aimlessly as if he could see the image with just his single frame of reference. But he could not. There was too little here and he doubted he’d be able to glean anymore information from the Sheriff. The last sighting of her was weeks ago, alone and lost, and there was too much strange going on in a town full of disappearing people for similar activity to immediately scream Eleanor. He’d have to move on. Get closer to the few clues he had.
He nodded, both for Dev but also as acknowledgement to himself. This was the starting point and all things considered, he’d had worse. ”Okay. That’s a start. I’ll head down to the corner and take a look. See if I recognize anything from my other notes but uh… if you end up remembering anything else or she just happens to turn up…” Noah replaced the image and pulled out a card. On it, Irving Investigations was printed in black ink dead center with his name and number beneath it. He handed it to the Sheriff.
”I’m going to do what I can to keep this name off your board.”
Webboysurf
The sheriff took the card, giving it a once over before sliding it into his back pocket. Given Noah's appearance, it seemed the private sector paid a lot better than a sheriff's salary. Maybe Dev had earned that kind of reprieve from the front lines, or maybe he deserved to be stuck in a place like this. He gave Noah a firm nod, holding out his hand for another shake. ”It would be nice to have a win for once around here, Irving. I'll loop my officers in on this, and we'll help however we can.”
Exit
"I appreciate that." Noah said, accepting the handshake. "Thank you, Sheriff."
Noah turned to leave, but hesitated. A thought had lingered too long in the back of his head, and now that he'd been reminded of it, it was refusing to leave him alone. "Actually..." Noah turned around and pulled from the back of his binder the second photo he'd been holding... or hiding. It was a photo of an old sketch of some person of interest, made in a time long past.
"This is going to be a no, but have you seen anyone who might look similar to this?" He wanted to roll his eyes, but he managed to control himself.
A puff of smoke poured from his lips, and drifted lazily across the dirt stained window, obscuring his view of the plume. Obscuring his view of his reflection hanging over it. His gray eyes were the only thing visible to him, dressed in brimstone, returning his stare like they belonged to someone else. To something else. A demon, beckoning him to approach and save that which was his. It felt like a sign.
It felt a lot like punishment.
Movement in the corner of his eyes drew his attention away. From up the road, three men came into view with a fourth strung between two of them. They were signaling as they dragged the man through the dirt, throwing their voices across the field at somebody else out of view. Eventually, one of the men broke away from the others and began sprinting toward the manor.
He turned. ”Andy?!...” He yelled, snuffing the cigarette in his hand before stepping through a pair of nearby doors and onto the landing at the top of a flight of stairs. Below him, the main entrance had already been opened and a boy, in his late teens was standing there, peering out at something approaching with an intensity that read as both worry and excitement. ”Andy! What in the god’s damn is that commotion out there?!”
”Sir Hairston! Apologies!” The boy straightened, startled “Men are coming up the road. They’re calling for you, sir.” The boy replied, stepping back and onto the porch as if he were already in the man’s way.
The shouts were clearer now, less a muffled tune and more the vague shape of words that could almost be understood accompanied by the uneven approach of boots on loose gravel. He descended as they grew louder, getting to the bottom of the steps just as a man appeared in the doorway. George as he was known. A scrawny overseer who looked about as presentable on any day as he did now: Disheveled short brown hair. Out of breath and sweating profusely into an already well stained shirt that clung to him like a second skin. He’d tracked dust and dirt across tiles as he took another few steps inside and then propped himself up on his rifle.
”The hell is it, George?”
”Sir Hairston, sir... a driver,” the man said breathlessly. ”Found him hiding in the brush, ‘tween here and Beaver Creek. Says he was there. Says he knows what happened.”
”Coming up the road now?”
George nodded. ”Yessur,” And moved out of the way as the Planter stepped through the foyer and out the front doors into a quickly approaching dusk. Outside was more humid. The air stuck to his face smearing the last heat of the day across it. He could feel the beads of sweat on his skin but there was no cool kiss of the wind. Just smothering warmth and a stench in the air like ash. Above him, the sky burned in brilliant colors cast from the distant horizon by a setting sun. Its dying light stained his fields and the white wood walls of his manor in hues of red-orange encroached by violet shadows.
From his breast pocket he pulled out another cigarette and a match from a matchbox and had both lit and pressed against each other by the time the approaching men were halfway up his driveway. The yellow glow burned bright in the shadow cast by his downturned face, illuminating Hairston for the two men and the third strung between them as he stood waiting at the end of the path. He watched them too intently, a thousand questions apparent in the intense grey of his eyes made more intense by the match flame reflected within them. Whole conversations had with himself as they crossed the last few feet to him to present the driver they captured.
Hairston snuffed the match with a wave, flicked it into the dirt and pulled on his cigarette, burning nearly a quarter of it before blowing the smoke through stained teeth. He pointed at a spot on the ground and where the two men promptly dumped the third, putting his face in the dirt.
The driver looked as if he'd been dragged through the brush he was found in rather than merely found in it. The man's shirt was torn and stained in streaks of mud and dirt and his trousers were barely holding to his waist. And although rather difficult to see now, Hairston had noticed on the man's approach that his face had been cut up and his left eye swollen shut.
”Get him up.” He said quickly to the two standing on either side of him. They grabbed him by his arms and hoisted him to his knees. From his good eye, the driver looked up at Hairston.
”Where you running to huh? I own every acre from here to the horizon ain't nowhere you can run.”
”I wasn't... sir.”
"No?"
"No, sir. I was comin' to tell yuh what happened." The man on his knees gestured behind him in the direction of the smoke stack still visible in the fading light.
Hairston pulled on his cigarette and blew the smoke into the air, taking a moment to study the plume again. "Beaver Creek." He turned back to the driver. "You are a driver there?"
”Yessur.”
”Well then, get on with it.”
”It was a man.”
There was another pause, this one suspended in the air by all men present. A silent acknowledgement and quiet disbelief. Hairston chewed his tongue for a moment, glanced at the other two men who simply returned his, and then took another pull from his cigarette, lowering himself to the ground as he inhaled until he was level with the driver. He smiled something vile as he let the burnt air in his lungs escape as curling tendrils of smoke that wrapped around stained teeth and drifted through his beard.
"You're telling me a single man burned down my plantation."
”Yessur.”
”Are you lying to me? Cause if you lying, I’ll have George over there shoot you from where he's standing on that there porch, you understand?”
The man shook his head. ”I ain’t no liar, Mr Hairston. It was one man. A-..." There was a bit of hesitation, but eventually he resolved to finish the sentence. "...A white man.”
"A. White. Man..." Hairston repeated slowly, not believing him. His trust was already hanging by a thread, but there was a curiosity to it he couldn't deny. Some small desire to see where this tale led. "Alright. One of mine?"
Another head shake. "No sir... he was in the field... workin' it."
This time it was Hairston who shook his head. ”No. I don't have anybody done recently got here working for me. No contracts."
"I swear..."
"You know what this man look like?” To which the driver only nodded. There was another pause, this one shorter, followed by a finger snap and wave at Andy, who had been standing on the porch next to George. ”Andy!”
The boy jumped down from the porch and ran up to the group of men.
”Andy, get your ass down to the Williams and fetch their son.” The boy nodded and immediately took off down the driveway. ”And not the dumb one! The artist!”
| Martinsville, Virginia 1836 └──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐ 2026 Pine Ridge, South Dakota |
#bca346 ....|..... outfit .....|..... Main Street
Noah put the car in park and shut the engine off, letting the growl of the engine die and the still eerily quiet that was Pine Ridge proper find him again. It was difficult adjusting to the speed of sound in a small town, especially built into the base of a mountain as it was. There was no comfort in noise and no warmth from an ever present sun. Just the cold embrace of an ice wind as it tumbled down the peak and rolled over the town nestled in its shadow. Walls kept Noah’s thoughts from tumbling out of his head and there were no walls here. His thoughts kept getting away from him, running toward the mountain and flitting into the trees, carrying with it ideas of ‘what’ and ‘where’.
Right now, the ‘where’ was Main Street and the ‘what’ was the Sheriff he was hoping to find through the doors of the Sheriff’s station.
Noah retrieved a thin binder from the passenger seat and stepped out into the biting cold of an early morning. Clouds stuck to the sky and obscured the nearby mountain peak and cast everything in a drab shade of gray, but the air, as ever, was crisp. It filled his lungs with ice that shocked the lethargy from his eyes and then tumbled free from his lips as a rolling ball of hot air.
He flipped his wrist and checked the time.
7:00
#bca346 ....|..... outfit ............... #00aeef ....|..... outfit ............... Sheriff's Station
Exit
Noah entered the station, exchanging the biting cold with the comfort of working heat and the smell of old carpet and worn leather.
Webboysurf
A small bell jangled as the door swung in, revealing wood-panelled walls illuminated by fluorescent tubes in the ceiling.The lobby wasn’t particularly spacious and revealed much of what the sheriff’s station had to offer. An empty check-in counter, wood-carved and still-gleaming from a recent polish, stood in wait with an old bench to the right. A small, unsecured gate that came up waist high blocked anyone from wandering further into the space. Another desk sat a few paces behind the check-in counter, with an old oak door and window leading into an office. It was ajar, a singular yellow lamp glowing. The shades were drawn closed, obscuring the figure shuffling papers on their desk inside. To the left, past the gate, stood a couple holding cells made of brick and tarnished metal bars. Signs indicated that down the hallway past the cells were evidence lockers and the morgue.
It took a moment before the sound of wood scraping against wood came from the office, and a tall man in a tan uniform stepped out into the doorway. The bags under his eyes betrayed weeks of late nights and early mornings, if not months. He sniffed a little as he took in the man before him, a look of momentary confusion crossing across his face. A stranger in town, showing up this early in the morning, was never a good sign. Sheriff Dev Sarkar smoothed his shirt, as he took a few steps closer, letting a polite smile tug at his lips. ”Good morning,” he offered, crossing over towards the gate. ”What can I do for ya?”
Exit
Noah returned a greeting nod and a smile, studying the man on approach and deciding with little reason that this was the man he needed to talk to. There was hardly anyone else in the station. “Good morning,” he began, offering his hand for a brief handshake across the divider. “Apologies, I know it’s early and I know you haven’t seen my face before. You’re probably a little confused but I promise I’m not here to waste anyone’s time. I’ll get right to the point. I’m uh Noah. I’m a private investigator looking for someone and I was hoping you or someone here might be able to help me out with a little information?”
Webboysurf
Dev took the man's hand for a firm shake, before letting his hands naturally settle on the belt of his uniform. ”Dev Sarkar, acting sheriff here. Inherited quite the mess.” As the man shared his purpose for being there, the sheriff sighed. ”Missing person? We've been getting a lot of those.” He motioned towards a bulletin board against the wall, overstuffed with pinned leaflets containing faces and names. There were more than a dozen, with more stacked up on the desk nearby. ”Got a name to narrow things down?”
Exit
So that’s what that was…
Noah followed the man’s eyes to the board and the nearby stack of papers. To say there were a few was an understatement, considering the population of the town. Thankfully, Noah had done a bit of research of his own before arriving and knew full well about the oddity in number of open cases. There had indeed been a spike of late and his person of interest would be yet another name to add to the pile.
Unfortunately for Noah, knowing what to expect didn’t make it any easier a pill to swallow. He shook his head, the sigh that jumped from his chest turning into a name in a single breath. ”Eleanor Crowe. Went missing in Connecticut a few months ago and now I’ve got a daughter who wants to see her mother again. She’s reason believe she’d come to South Dakota. To here.”
Webboysurf
The sheriff frowned, brows furrowed in thought. He crossed over to the desk, rifling through the stack of papers. He knew all the names of folks by heart who had gone missing. ”Name doesn't ring a bell,” he admitted, setting the papers back down when his thoughts were confirmed. ”Long way from Connecticut, though,” he mused, looking back at the detective. ”What makes your client think she came to Pine Ridge?”
Exit
”Name’s written all over a journal in her possession.”
Noah's eyes lingered curiously on the bulletin board, automatically trying to memorize each name and face. He didn’t mean to. It just happened. Like a reflex or a defense mechanism that he had little control over. He could already feel the gears turning in his head. Could feel the subtle beat of excitement rising in his chest not unlike the first time he opened a puzzle box and poured the contents on the ground.
Webboysurf
Dev nodded slowly, scratching his chin as he mulled over the revelation. She could have been a local back in the day, but the name Crowe didn't mean much to him. ”Makes sense… due diligence and all, to start here. She could have grown up here. Lots of folks left a few decades back, some kind of mining incident.” The sheriff said it more for himself than anything, as he recognized that look in Noah's eyes. It didn't matter why she came back, just where she had gone. Stopping here was a professional courtesy, a way to get the lay of the land.
Exit
Noah pulled open the Binder that had been tucked under his arm and jotted down a note. ”Pine Ridge.” Noah said aloud, as if naming the first piece. He nodded toward the bulletin board. ”Are these all recent?”
Webboysurf
The question stung, even if it was the most obvious follow-up to seeing just how many people went missing in this small town. ”Last year or so,” he replied bluntly, motioning to the board. ”Try to keep the most recent up, and the kids.” He paused, as if the words tasted sour on his tongue. Dev shook his head, averting his gaze. ”Picking which ones to keep up is the hardest part.”
Exit
It was impossible for Noah to ignore the all too familiar lump that Dev had just placed in his gut, or more accurately replaced after it had been momentarily forgotten about. It was the unfortunate reality for their line of work and something no one who cared ever truly got over.
”I know the feeling. It never really gets easier, even when you get to take some down. You just end up taking that pile home with you.” The head shake he gave Dev read like it was meant for him. An acknowledgement of the difficulty of the job that he himself knew full well, but it was really an unintended physical reaction. Shutting down the part of him that wanted to drop everything to do something, anything, about a wall of missing children was difficult. It was a hole he’d fallen into before and one he knew he wouldn’t be able to climb out of until he was knee deep in a town full of shallow graves and half-drained lakes. There had to be a reason.
Any reason.
Another headshake. Another note. Judging by recent events and the bulletin board itself, Eleanor could be a part of a larger, missing whole, but it was impossible to know for sure. Irresponsible even to assume. It was, however, even more irresponsible to ignore the question of what exactly was going on in Pine Ridge, he tried to reason. Arabella’s mother was involved in some way with the town itself at the very least. He just had to find the pieces directly connecting it and her, and if that happened to involve solving the rest of the board, well that was just good investigative work.
”You said ‘acting Sheriff’ and I noticed the website had a Sheriff Hawthorne. Is he also missing?”
Webboysurf
”Damn, gotta get that fixed… I’ll have to give Sutton a call about that.” Dev repositioned his hands onto his belt again, letting out a few harsh puffs as he considered what he should share. It wasn’t exactly an investigation, and the medical examiner had said a lot of words that ultimately boiled down to one simple fact. ”Hawthorne is in the cemetery, died of natural causes in his sleep.” It was a callous way to describe it, but it was easier than trying to find more polite ways. They had more pressing matters. ”You got a picture of this Eleanor? Name doesn’t ring a bell, but a face might.”
Exit
”I’m sorry to hear that,” Noah said. It was genuine, if brief. A mental note had been checked and that was that, but it was no easy task to step into such a role, especially during such a strange time.
He flipped to the back of the binder to where a picture of Eleanor had been clipped, but as he turned the last page, he was reminded of another image he’d brought with him. Tucked into the corner just beneath Eleanor’s and peeking out from under the corner was the picture he’d snapped of a very specific drawing.
There was a brief pause before he pulled the more relevant picture out and held it up so Dev could see it clearly. ”This is from a few months ago.”
Webboysurf
Dev studied the picture as it was shown, squinting as he got a good look. It took a moment, but there was a sudden look of recognition. He had seen the woman, but only briefly. ”I'm afraid I don't have much to offer in terms of details… but she was here.” He sighed, shaking his head. He remembered the red hair, as it was a bit unusual around Pine Ridge. It was hard to keep track of all the tourists, unless they did something particularly memorable. Plenty of young adults who want to get freaky in a ghost town, some who wandered into unsafe areas, and some who got a little too into roleplaying like they were from the 1800s. This woman, Eleanor, was none of those.
It was the circumstance of when he saw her. It was late, past the closing time of the bar as he was going to stumble his way home. Warren was busy, so the sheriff didn't have his usual way home via his brother. Most people were either turned in or on some sort of guided (or unguided) tour of the older parts of town if they were out that late. Eleanor had been standing at the corner… though which corner eluded him. She was staring at a building, as if she were some lifelike sculpture. It was strange. When she did turn to look in his direction, her gaze never met his. It was spooky, even for a ghost town like Pine Ridge.
”Saw her on main street, probably around eleven a couple weeks back. I think it was a Tuesday. It was weird she was out so late… but I was off duty and I wasn't gonna book an old lady for loitering in a town like this.” His description was nonchalant, though the reality was clear on his face. Dev wasn't looking forward to adding a new picture to the board.
Exit
”Makes sense, and a sighting is plenty. That’s confirmation and a timeframe,” Noah began to say, although the breath that followed after was framed as a ‘but’. Reduced now from ‘months’, two weeks was still a pretty large frame of time. ”But uh… was she alone?” He furrowed his brows. ”What was she doing?”
Webboysurf
”She was alone,” Dev admitted, brow furrowed as he tried to remember anything he could. The memory was fuzzy, like a drunken dream that he couldn't quite grasp. Had she been doing anything? He didn't think so. She was staring at something: a building, or maybe the mountain? The sheriff shook his head. ”I only saw her for a moment. All I saw was her on the street corner. She could have been waiting for someone, or she could have been lost. It's hard to say.”
Exit
And that was it. No familiarity with her name. No direction. No obvious intent. Just a face, a time and a mystery. Noah jotted down another note as he shifted a piece of a puzzle around on an empty board in his head, orientating it aimlessly as if he could see the image with just his single frame of reference. But he could not. There was too little here and he doubted he’d be able to glean anymore information from the Sheriff. The last sighting of her was weeks ago, alone and lost, and there was too much strange going on in a town full of disappearing people for similar activity to immediately scream Eleanor. He’d have to move on. Get closer to the few clues he had.
He nodded, both for Dev but also as acknowledgement to himself. This was the starting point and all things considered, he’d had worse. ”Okay. That’s a start. I’ll head down to the corner and take a look. See if I recognize anything from my other notes but uh… if you end up remembering anything else or she just happens to turn up…” Noah replaced the image and pulled out a card. On it, Irving Investigations was printed in black ink dead center with his name and number beneath it. He handed it to the Sheriff.
”I’m going to do what I can to keep this name off your board.”
Webboysurf
The sheriff took the card, giving it a once over before sliding it into his back pocket. Given Noah's appearance, it seemed the private sector paid a lot better than a sheriff's salary. Maybe Dev had earned that kind of reprieve from the front lines, or maybe he deserved to be stuck in a place like this. He gave Noah a firm nod, holding out his hand for another shake. ”It would be nice to have a win for once around here, Irving. I'll loop my officers in on this, and we'll help however we can.”
Exit
"I appreciate that." Noah said, accepting the handshake. "Thank you, Sheriff."
Noah turned to leave, but hesitated. A thought had lingered too long in the back of his head, and now that he'd been reminded of it, it was refusing to leave him alone. "Actually..." Noah turned around and pulled from the back of his binder the second photo he'd been holding... or hiding. It was a photo of an old sketch of some person of interest, made in a time long past.
"This is going to be a no, but have you seen anyone who might look similar to this?" He wanted to roll his eyes, but he managed to control himself.
interactions ....|.... Dev Sarkar............... mentions ....|.... Arabella & Clint (indirectly) ............... collabs ....|.... @webboysurf
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