Raise Hell

Chapter 3: What's With the Accent?

          The afternoon had taken a warmer turn by the time that Alex and Isla part ways, prompting the young hunter to walk down Jackson's main street at a leisurely pace rather than with urgent haste. The lunchtime rush is busier than usual with locals streaming on the footpaths and cars racing down the roads, forcing Alex to greet more than the one or two familiar faces on her way to the aquatic centre. That's one of the many repercussions of living in a small town; everyone seems to know one another and have no qualms about getting caught up in other's business. It's truly a miracle that the Donovans have managed to stay as reclusive as they have after all these years.

           A quick look at her bank balances informs her that she isn't as broke as she originally thought, but she knows that it wouldn't hurt to pick up a few shifts at the pool. She's always enjoyed working there, and there's something a lot more satisfying with earning her money through hard work rather than hustling drunk morons in pool in some dingy little back road bar somewhere. Dianne was great, the kids, though often little smart-asses, weren't too bad, and it was a good way to keep Alex busy without having a hunt to keep her occupied.

          Knowing full well that Noah's store is on the way to the centre, she pulls out her phone and begins to type out a message asking him whether or not he is still there. She would prefer to talk to him sooner rather than later so that he doesn't have time to come up with some feeble lie or half-assed excuse to explain his strange behaviour, as she knows from experience that it's easier for her to pry information from him that he might not be inclined to share with her when she catches him entirely off guard.

           She sends the message just as she passes Josie's, a popular café that she and Noah frequent quite often. Making a split-second decision and thinking that a cup of coffee might help soften the blow of her accusations, she makes a beeline for the entrance and pushes past the door, the small bell hanging above ringing and alerting her presence to everyone inside. Noah's usual order dances on the tip of her tongue as she makes her way to the front counter, the rich scent of coffee hanging in the air and flooding her senses causing a warmth of familiarity to blossom in her chest. The few locals scattered in the booths and the tables nod in greeting as she passes them, and it doesn't take long for Abraham Jones, owner of the small café, to spot her from where he stands on the other side of the counter.

           "Alex Donovan," he says, his face almost split in two from his smile. "As I live and breathe."

           Despite the more than exhausting morning, Alex manages a small but genuine grin. "Hey, Abraham."

           "Haven't seen your face for a while. I didn't even realise that you were back in town."

            "Yeah, I just got back late last night. Can I get Noah's usual, please? Takeaway?"

           "Sure thing, honey. You want anything?"

            "Nah, I just had one at Isla's. Thanks anyway."

             The older man nods and shuffles towards the coffee machine with a cup in his withered hand, before starting to make the drink. As he moves about and hums a light tune under his breath, Alex quickly pulls her phone out of her pocket to see whether or not Noah has replied to her message. To her disappointment, he hasn't.

            "So, where did you end up this time?" Abraham asks, causing Alex to quickly put her phone away out of politeness.

             "New York- did a few city shoots while I was there," she replies, the lie flowing easy.

           The few locals that she and Noah are friendly enough with have been led to believe that the reason behind Alex's frequent coming and goings in and out of Jackson is that she does some professional photography on the side. It's not a total lie, as Alex had enjoyed taking photos a lot when she was younger and had taken a few classes in high school. And whenever she is on a hunt, sometimes she'll snag a photo when the opportunity arises to help sell her story to the people of Jackson, but she wouldn't go as far as to call herself a professional. Far from it, actually. But Abraham and the rest of the locals don't have to know that.