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As its name implied, rolling hills encircled Rose Valley on every side. Entering the town provided a picturesque view of ranches and small businesses, with houses sprawling out from the city center without any discernible forethought. Zoning laws barely existed. Like any town, some buildings groaned under the weight of a century of existence, while some lightly popped out over the landscape with the hope of fresh construction. But somehow, all the chaos came together to present a unified front. A town that refused to yield to the higher-populated big cities down the highway.
As she steered her yellow Jeep Cherokee over one of the hills, Miriam felt fatigue pulling on her eyelids. Years of training had taught her to ignore the slight nausea and the urge to pull over and nap. The man in the backseat practically bounced with energy; he’d had the luxury of sleeping while she’d prepared this trip. In their group of four, she was the responsible one.
A simple and terse command issued from the backseat: “Pull over.”
Miriam pulled over as requested, put the Jeep in park, popped out of her seat, and opened the door for the man in the back. He stepped out into the night air with the regal grace that conveyed his stature—or, at least the stature he imagined he deserved.
Miriam spent almost every day of her life with this man. His mere presence still made her uncomfortable, though, despite her insatiable and uncontrollable need to please him. He stood six-foot tall, with a manufactured, but effectively distinguished air. The hair on his head clung closely to his skull, cropped with military precision. A day without shaving drew attention to the length of his face, but his mustache overpowered the stubble, expertly groomed in a manner generally reserved for bikers and wild west lawmen. His eyes were small, alert, and calculating, promising to diligently pick apart everything in front of him. This man commanded respect, leading a mission with energetic purpose. He always moved with purpose.
As the man peered out over the town, Miriam slinked back into the driver’s seat. While the man looked out on the city, Miriam found herself studying him—really looking at him. His outfit would look comical on most, but he wore it as if he’d come into the world wearing it. Khaki shorts with more pockets than one could ever use. A matching khaki shirt with even more pockets, the sleeves rolled up and buttoned into the rest of the sleeve. He looked as if he might lead a safari.
She knew the reason they had traveled all the way to Rose Valley with very little notice. The incredible events of Friday night garnered his attention. He viewed himself as the savior of Rose Valley and undoubtedly believed that only he could deliver them from the nightmare. Miriam had accompanied him on this trip over and over. In Florida. In Oregon. Even in the wilds of the Canadian Yukon. It always ended the same way, but somehow, he continued to believe that the next one would be different. Miriam didn’t know what stalked the residents of Rose Valley, but she doubted very strongly that it hailed from a mythical line of hidden creatures. Perhaps it had escaped from a zoo, or stalked the town with the anger of a spurned townsman. The odds tended towards the mundane.
She struggled for most of her life to understand why they did it, but Miriam now realized that this fruitless pursuit of the unknown only conveniently covered up his true intentions, though she wondered if even he knew why they persisted. Regardless of the outcome, they would walk away from Rose Valley with a solution to the “beast” problem. A mundane solution to a mundane problem, no doubt. But that’s all he really wanted, anyway. All would hail the great and powerful Skylar Brooks. But to Miriam, he would always just be dad.
