THE WAITRESS STEPPED OVER TO TAKE MELISSA’S ORDER.
“I’m Lila,” the woman said. “What can I get you?”
Melissa jolted out of her daydream of observing the old men leaving and looked up.
“How’s the club sandwich?”
“Disgusting.”
“Sounds fine,” Melissa said, playing along.
“Coffee?”
“Sure.”
The waitress sauntered off and slapped the paper order onto the sill. The chef grabbed it and disappeared into the kitchen.
The bits of conversation that she picked up from the old-timers still echoed through her head. Something happened very recently in Coldwater. The names were foreign but the talk of death was familiar. Death and Coldwater, two sides of the same coin. Two things forever entwined.
Maybe this wasn’t the weekend that her plan would come into action. Part of her was frustrated, and part of her, a tiny part that Melissa refused to acknowledge, was slightly relieved.
She was not a practiced expert on the art of assassination. Most of what she knew, or thought she knew, was cobbled together from books and film. She never overestimated herself. She knew this was dark business, but she was confident in her intelligence, which had always served her well in life. It’s why she had planned, and planned, and then planned some more.
She thought she was ready, on the drive up she most assuredly was. But for a moment she could feel doubt creep in around the edges.
The waitress returned with the food, set it on the table, and asked if there was anything else needed.
“I’m good, thanks,” Melissa said.
“Alright.”
The woman turned and walked back to the kitchen.
As she ate, Melissa’s mind turned over the words of the old locals.
“Jackson was old, died of a heart attack.”
“Same day as the accident with James and Kyle? Just odd.”
“Things always happen in threes.”
Coldwater was off the news grid. There wasn’t usually anything in the South Falls paper about the goings-on up here. The only newswire was the gossip of the townspeople. Lila came back to the table with a coffeepot in hand, refilled Melissa’s cup, and was about to head back.
“Excuse me,” Melissa said.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure thing.”
“Those men who just left. I heard them talking about an accident? Something recent?”
“Yeah. A lot happened yesterday. More than Coldwater is used to, that’s for sure.”
“You mind if I sit down?” Lila asked.
“Please.”
Lila set down the coffeepot on the next table and sat down across from Melissa. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her bra, tapped one out, and stuck it in her mouth. She went to put the pack away, stopped, and then offered one to Melissa, who declined. The waitress lit it and blew the smoke over her shoulder.
Lila told Melissa about Mr. Jackson, the old geezer who owned a small store north of town who was found dead in his shop. Apparently from a heart attack. Then, not more than a couple hours later, a rollover accident had killed a man and sent another to the hospital down in South Falls. Nobody knew if he was going to make it.
“Local guys?” Melissa asked.
“Yeah. James and Kyle. They say James died instantly. Was thrown from the vehicle. Kyle got mangled. Nobody is sure how long he had been laying up there before the ambulance arrived.”
Lila related the story with the casual familiarity of simple townfolks. She spoke as if Melissa was on a first-name basis with all of them. She blew another cloud over her shoulder. The smoke clung in the air like a dying hand slowly submerging beneath water.
“Lila! This ain’t Gilly’s. Put that thing out!” the chef said, shaking a spatula in his right hand.
“Just be thankful I agreed to cover for Tami, or you’d be out here bussing tables!” Lila hollered back.
She reached over and flicked the butt of the cigarette into the coffeepot. Melissa nudged her own cup away from her in response to what she saw.
“Did you know them? The guys in the car accident?” Melissa asked.
“Yeah, everyone did. Ain’t too many going to miss James. But Kyle was a good guy. Is a good guy. He’s dating the waitress here, Tami. That’s why she ain’t here. She’s down in South Falls. She ain’t taking it so well.”
These “accidents” were an interesting cog in the wheel. With the people seemingly on high alert, it would seem that her plan for this weekend was definitely off. One more local dead and the southern authorities would absolutely be up here questioning everyone they could find. Melissa’s heart began to sink.
“It only took a day for the conspiracy theories to start,” Lila continued.
“What do you mean?” Melissa asked.
“Two deaths, possibly three, in one day? In Coldwater? People think we have a serial killer on the loose. I never saw Gilly’s so dead on a Friday night. People stayed at home. You know these people are scared when they just decide to drink at home.”
“They think someone caused these accidents?”
Lila chuckled. “They already think they know who caused these accidents.”
“Who?”
“This guy who lives outside of town. Ex-con. Murdered someone a long time ago and got released from prison just last year. He’s our resident boogeyman. Anytime anything goes wrong in town, it’s his fault.” Lila pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “Already heard as much. Old-timers think he is stalking around cursing the town. I mean, Mr. Jones walked out of Gilly’s a week ago, saw he had a flat tire, and was convinced that Michael Sullivan had come into town and slashed his tires.”
Michael Sullivan.
At the sound of the name, Melissa’s heart stopped. She was thankful that Lila was too lost in her talking and smoking to notice the twitch that she felt in her eye at hearing the name.
“Last winter, John Morrison, the owner of Gilly’s, was killed out hunting in the woods. It seemed that his gun backfired. Killed him quickly. Well, the folks around here know the truth. They’ll tell you. It was Michael.
“I’m sorry,” Lila said. “Here I am rattling on and on. You probably think I’m too much, don’t you? It’s not often there is a new person to talk to.”
Melissa adjusted herself in her seat, trying to think of something to say to this particularly odd woman across from her. She decided to come at this straight on.
“So this guy Michael, you said he lives outside of town?” Melissa asked.
“Yeah, moved back to his parents’ property after he got out of prison.”
“Live out there by himself?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Lila said, her eyes starting to register an uneasy feeling.
“Do you think he’s dangerous? Do you think he did these things?”
At the question, the vivacious waitress suddenly lost her voice. She appeared like she had realized all of a sudden that she was late for an important meeting but couldn’t find her keys.
“I’m sorry . . . I . . . I really should get back to work.”
Melissa looked around at the empty diner. “Wait, please. Did I say something to bother you?”
“No, no. You’re fine, really. It’s just . . . well, it’s just . . . no, I don’t know much about him.”
Lila got up, grabbed her coffeepot, and headed to the kitchen. She stopped, put her chin to her chest, and took a deep breath. She slowly turned and walked back over to the booth, her inability to hold her tongue surrendering her to confession.
“It’s a small town, and people say things. I don’t know what’s true or not. Some people, well, they got this bad vibe about him. Others say horrible things, things that anybody in their right mind knows is ridiculous. But most are not happy he came back. They think he should have been locked up forever. I know he was just a boy when he did what he did, but still.”
Lila reached for a replacement cigarette, but then reconsidered. “They think that he is responsible for Morrison. And what happened to James and Kyle. Like I said, it’s a small town. Small-town people. Small-town minds. Some of the stories are so made up it’s laughable. Some, well, they don’t leave you laughing. But you will find that most people are scared of him, even the mere mention of him gives people the chills.”
“And you, Lila? Are you scared of him?”
Lila thought about it for a minute. “Yeah, I believe I am. It’s hard not to be. I haven’t seen him for a while now. But I usually see him coming into town, walking, hood up to where you couldn’t see his face. Always gave me the creeps a little bit. I can see why people tell stories. It’s easy to attach stories to loners, I guess.”
Lila walked away, this time for good.
Melissa sat in the booth a little while longer. She reached for her coffee cup, remembered how they made it here, and put it back down. She got up, threw some money on the table to cover her meal, and walked outside.
She thought about it. It had been years since her childhood in Coldwater. It seemed like a different lifetime. But the feeling that always accompanied any thought of those years, thoughts of her childhood in the woods, were thoughts of fear.
And anger.
A slow-burning anger that began in the pit of her stomach and grew to an all-consuming boil until she felt too tight in her own skin. The people in Coldwater had every right to fear Michael. Sure, they had created folklore around him as all small towns will for people like him. But though the tales they invented could have been far flung, the resulting fear they created was justified, even if in a roundabout way.
And it was why her own fear and anger were justified.
It was why her trip back to Coldwater was justified.
It was why the plan she brought with her was justified.
Melissa had lived it, the fear that these backwoods people speculated about. She had been witness to the destructiveness of Michael’s actions. How they had burned down her childhood and spread the ashes to the wind. Her doubt receded, and she was doubly determined to move forward with her plan.