Friends Down Low (ONC2022)

Chapter 3 - The Magician

Just before I climbed into my car, Amelia called after me. I was tempted to pretend I didn't hear her to avoid any interruptions to my departure, but she had been the only normal person I'd met since getting into town. I didn't want to be rude or alienate an ally.

"Your uncle lived a good distance out of town. It's pretty secluded and hard to find. Crappy cell service to boot. I don't know how well-stocked his refrigerator is at this point. I suggest you think about getting something to eat before spending the next hour trying to find it."

She raised a good point. "Any place close?"

"There's a bar called Baileys not far from here. Not much to look at from the outside, or inside, but they make deceptively great burgers. And the beer is only sort of flat."

With all of the craziness at the viewing, I hadn't thought about dinner. Amelia's reminder that food existed suddenly had my stomach growling. And some booze, flat or otherwise, didn't sound bad either. "That sounds great."

"Follow me."

Her description of Baileys had been spot-on. A small, brick building with a red, neon "cold beer" sign in the window, I would have driven right past this place with a look of disgust, if I had even noticed it at all. I parked and met her at the door.

Being early evening, it was sparsely occupied. The few occupants greeted Amelia warmly but offered me little more than cursory glances. A waitress led us to a booth with vinyl seats, oft repaired with duct tape.

While we waited for our orders, we made casual small talk. I quickly discovered that being the manager of a paint store is nowhere near as interesting as owning and operating a funeral home. Granted, paint store management didn't offer much in the way of riveting details, but it fared even worse against working with the dead.

When the food arrived, I saw that Amelia had not been exaggerating. The burger was as large as my head and so sloppy I feared attempting to pick it up, much less bite it. I was sure that I'd look like a messy toddler without a bib in no time. That Amelia ordered a small serving of fries, which she preceded to daintily, and cleanly, nibble on only made it worse. Using utensils to eat a burger in such a place would look unforgivable prudish, so I finally just tilted it up and bit the top, getting mostly a mouthful of bun.

She'd been spot on about the beer. It was only slightly flat. In my current mood that proved good enough.

In an effort mixed of curiosity and burger avoidance, I started in with the heavier questions. "What did my uncle do for a living?"

"If you're asking what he did that he got paid for, I have no idea. Most people around here assumed he was independently wealthy. A retired millionaire. A lottery winner. All based in small-town jealousy that he lived well without punching a time clock and rarely leaving his property. That said, if you're asking what your uncle did, well, that's a different story."

"Okay, what did he do?" I didn't mind being forced to ask again because it kept my mouth away from the burger. The myriad of sauces, while tasty, had worked in concert to dissolve the bun into a semi-solid mush. I may as well have been trying to eat chili with my bare hands. I gave up and focused on the fries.

"To be honest, most people thought he was a magician."

"Seriously? Like pulling rabbits out of hats for small children kind of magician?"

Amelia laughed. "No. Not at all. It's hard to describe. Just take magician, shaman, witch doctor, and medicine man, put all those titles into a jug and shake it up. What popped out would be what most people thought of Simon Tuttle. Most of the locals were spooked by him but we got the occasional out-of-towner who showed up looking for help or some kind of cure. He cooked up all-natural, homeopathic remedies for folks, made dreamcatchers to soothe nightmares, stuff like that."

"You don't believe in that kind of stuff, do you?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe. It only matters if the people he helped believe." This statement must not have dented my skeptical expression because she continued with, "See that waitress? Her name is Cheryl."

I looked at the woman carrying a tray of glasses. "Yeah."

"Supposedly, she had really bad arthritis. Could barely move her hands." Amelia leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Rumor is that she went to Simon and he made her some kind of potion. Now she's back to work."

"You believe that? I mean, two hundred years ago, cough syrup would have been considered a potion."

She shrugged. "I don't not believe it. The evidence is that she had bad arthritis and now she doesn't. Cheryl would never admit to seeking out some kind of alternative, mystical, option, but we all see the results. Now it just depends on how much you believe the rumors. Personally, I think a lot of us...the locals...may have met with Simon, but everyone keeps it to themselves. His abilities frightened people I think."

"A woman at the viewing referred to me as Simon's apprentice."

"Oh? Someone else came? How did I miss her?"

I just shrugged to avoid detailing the mysterious coming and going of Sil. As I relayed the conversation, I also omitted the part where she may have been floating and then had a black and white Rorschach pattern for a face. I added the tale of Sexy McGavin and was more liberal with those details.

"Wow," Amelia said at the conclusion. "That's pretty wild, but I can't say I'm not surprised. I think a lot of desperate, damaged people sought out Simon for help. When all other avenues failed, he was a last resort."

"Crazy attracts crazy I guess."

A marked change came over her. At first, I thought I had angered her. But the expression and body language registered as more melancholic. "I...never spent a lot of time with Simon, but there's one thing I realized. Whenever he was around, the world felt better. The sun shined brighter, and the days seemed longer. He just had this aura," she paused, struggling for words. "He made people feel like he was on their side, that he stood for them. Life seemed somehow protected in his presence. He kept the worst of the world at bay." Amelia fell silent, sipped her drink, her eyes aimed at me but more likely staring into memories.

For someone claiming to have not really known Simon, I found that small speech to be pretty precise. If she had some kind of relationship or affair with him, I certainly didn't want to pry so I didn't question or press for more information. "He sounded like a great guy."

"What?" She snapped out of her reverie. "Oh, he was. I mean, he certainly seemed to be."

"Why do you think this Sil woman thought I was his apprentice? I don't know anything about homeopathic medicine or nightmare catching or making the sun glow brighter."

"Maybe you'll learn more when you visit his house. His instructions specified that you stay there. There must be a reason. Simon was always very deliberate in his actions." Amelia glanced at my plate. "I hate to run out on you, but I've got an early morning and it's looking like you may need a few hours to finish that burger."

"Ha. A few hours and a shovel." I made an exaggerated wipe of my face with my napkin. "I'm good to go. All this talk has me really curious about Uncle Simon's house."

We paid the bill and I walked her to her car. The evening was unseasonably chilly, and a layer of frost had formed on the windshield. I scraped it away as she started the engine and got the heat blowing.

"Thanks, Finn. Listen, I know things seem crazy, but trust in your uncle. I'm sure that whatever he planned out is in your best interest."

Not wanting to spoil her optimism with my lack of faith in a man I didn't know, I nodded and waved as she pulled out of the parking lot.

Total Word Tally - 6261