The citizens of Asherton had deserted the streets, but it was easy for him to imagine them teeming with life and activity. Busy little bees going about their daily routines. Working, going home, sleeping, and doing it all over again the next day. Perpetuating the cycle, never breaking the routine. Apathetic, mindless, and unaware of anything being wrong.
Ackerman could picture them now: walking their dogs, getting groceries, visiting the doctor, enjoying a meal at the local diner. He could picture the children on the playgrounds and see them ordering sweet confections from the back of an ice-cream truck. It was easy to see that when sunlight shone on Asherton, it became the epitome of the white-picket-fence, all-American dream.
Just thinking about it made him sick. He had to put a stop to it.
But where to begin?
He needed information, but at such a late hour, only the local watering hole, the Asherton Tap, would be open for business. He had to park a block down since cars filled the parking lot and surrounding areas. It was the weekend and a small town; the bar would be filled well beyond capacity.
The crowd had spilled out onto the sidewalk, and people laughed and talked out in the fresh air. The establishment’s sign hung askew, and he noted the absence of a few letters from the word Asherton. Neon beer signs lit the windows. He had to shove his way into the squat, brick building. The bar patrons were packed in like cattle, and he had to wind his way through the crowd just to reach the bar.
He straddled a bar stool made from an old saddle. A beautiful, young woman with tight jeans and a white cowboy hat had just vacated the seat. Her long black hair flowed down her back like a waterfall in moonlight. He could still feel the residual warmth left by her body, and a sudden desire crept over him. He imagined her body pressed close to his own. He entertained the fantasy of a normal life. He contemplated what it would feel like to be loved.
But he knew there wasn’t a woman in the world who could accept him for the monster he truly was. Plus, perpetuating the Ackerman lineage was the last thing he wanted to do. He would be the last, and he could feel his long sleep close at hand.
A short woman behind the bar walked over. She couldn’t have been more than four foot ten and had short, red hair. “What’s your poison?”
He noticed the name Big Phil stenciled over a pocket on her bright Asherton Tap t-shirt. “Big Phil, huh?”
“Philomena. What do you want?”
“I’ll take a beer.”
“What kind?”
“Surprise me.”
The diminutive woman rolled her eyes, filled a glass with an expensive imported brand, and placed it in front of him. “Surprise,” she said.
He smiled his best smile and poured on the charm until an aura of likeability seemed to permeate the air around him. “Excuse me, my wife and I are thinking of moving to this area, and I’m currently working as a Deputy Sheriff up in Oklahoma. I had thought of trying to get a job as a deputy for your fine county here, but I’m not sure yet. I was just wondering if you knew the local Sheriff at all? I wanted to get a feel for him before I put myself out on a limb.”
“The Sheriff? Sure, I know him. I know him pretty well, actually. He’s in here a lot, on account of his daughter working for me.”
His face brightened. A daughter?
“He’s a great guy. I’m sure you’d enjoy working for him, but I know that he’s extremely selective on who he hires as a deputy. They’re a pretty tight-knit group.”
“I’m qualified, so I’m sure that I could get the job, if I put my mind to it. You said that he has a daughter that works for you? Maybe I could pass along my number to her, and then he could get back in touch with me and set up some kind of interview. Is she here tonight?”
“No, I gave her the night off. After what happened last night, I figured she could use a breather.”
“Why? What happened last night?”
“A group of guys tried to jump her and this new guy that was walking her home. Luckily, this guy she was with must have known karate or something ’cause he kicked all their asses and saved hers.”
A voice from a couple of stools down interrupted them. “Hey, can I get a beer? Or are you going to gossip like old women all night?”
With a quick snap of her neck and fire burning in her eyes, the little redhead turned her attention to the man. “Hey, shut up! This is my bar, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want. You don’t like it, then get out.” She turned her attention back to Ackerman with a shake of her head. “Some people. Anyway, I heard there were like seven or eight guys that jumped them.”
His grip tightened around the beer. “Wow, the guy she was with must have been something. What did he look like? What was he, seven feet tall and three hundred and fifty pounds?”
He thought that he already knew the answer, but he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the possibility of such a clear intersection to all the paths.
“Nah, he was pretty normal. I didn’t get a real good look at him. His name was something that started with an M. Matthew. Michael.”
“Marcus,” he said.
She snapped her fingers. “Yeah, that’s it. You know him or something?”
“Lucky guess.” He laid payment for his drink, plus a hefty tip, down on the bar. “Keep the change, and thanks for all the info. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thanks. Good talking to you. I hope you get that deputy job.” She turned back to the man that had interrupted their conversation. “All right, pansy, what kind of fu-fu, girly drink did you want?”
He turned away from the bar and took a long, hard swig of his beer. He considered the implications of what he had just learned. He could kill two birds with one stone. Marcus was involved with the Sheriff’s daughter. It was perfect. Any doubts regarding his destiny faded away. He was meant to be here. His life had meaning. He had been traveling the path to this day his whole life, and now the time was at hand. The world was not chaos. The world was an intricate tapestry of synchronicity and interrelated events that combined to form the grand plan, a plan in which he played a part.
For the first time since he was a boy, Francis Ackerman Jr. experienced hope.
And now, the path was clear. He had to find the girl. She was the key to everything.
He looked around the bar at all of the people gathered there. He looked at them with different eyes. The band on stage played another droning top-forty hit performed for the sole purpose of getting people on the dance floor. It seemed to be working.
As he looked around the room, he no longer felt the same hatred and rage that he normally felt toward pretty much all other members of his species. The grand realizations and epiphanies that he had experienced over the previous twenty-four hours had bestowed upon him a different outlook on life.
He no longer hated them. Unfortunately, they all still have to die …