Fort Oakley | Part One

17 | Someone Tried To Drown You? Here's Some Tea

Police sirens echoed through town as I reached Mr. Wesson's house. It sat right at the edge of the woods, secluded enough to feel isolated but close enough to other houses to remind you it wasn't entirely forgotten. Like Claire and I, Mr. Wesson valued the isolation from the town. His home was in a slightly older style than Claire's and only one floor, with ivy creeping up the walls and a porch that always creaked when you walked on it.

I hesitated at the front steps, my hair dripping wet and still rattled from the attack at the river, before finally mustering the courage to knock on the door.

Hugh appeared almost instantly, as through he'd been waiting. His kind face, weathered and lined with age, lit up with mild surprise when he saw me. His gray-blue eyes quickly swept over me, taking in my soaked clothes, trembling hands, and scratches on my arms from the rocks in the river.

Without saying a word, he opened the door all the way and ushered me inside.

"Good heavens, Charly. What on earth happened to you?" he asked, his gravelly voice laced with concern.

I stepped inside, shivering as the warmth of his home wrapped around me. The smell of cedar wood and old books greeted me, instantly grounding me in a way I didn't expect.

Hugh grabbed a towel from his hallway closet and handed it to me before disappearing into the kitchen.

As I dried myself off, I glanced around his living room. It was just as I remembered—filled with shelves of books, stacks of old and new newspapers, and various trinkets form what I guessed were his younger years.

A framed painting I had done for him hung over the fireplace, its colors standing out against the muted tones of the rooms.

Hugh returned with a steaming mug of tea, setting it on the coffee table in front of me. "Drink that before you catch your death." He paused, studying me with a concerned frown. "Now tell me what happened."

I hesitated once more, unsure how to explain everything without sounding completely insane. Hugh wasn't just some random guy I decided to visit on a whim. We had met at the park about two years ago when he'd complimented the sketch I had been busy with. One thing led to another, and I ended up painting several pieces for him which now hung throughout his house.

I hadn't charged him for the paintings, because I wanted to do it, and since then, we'd stay in touch. He was the kind of person who had an air of quiet wisdom, almost like a grandfather would have.

I took a shaky sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through me like a lifeline, and began explaining what had happened. I told him about saving Lieutenant Roscoe and then about one of the men coming after me today. Everything else that had happened, I kept to myself.

"Can I ask you something, Hugh?" I asked, keeping to his first name since he didn't like when I called him 'Mr. Wesson'.

"Of course, Charly. What's on your mind?"

"You live right on the edge of the woods. Have you ever seen anything strange? Lights? People moving around late at night?"

Hugh's expression shifted subtly, a flicker of something I couldn't quite place—discomfort, maybe, or concern. He shook his head slowly. "No. Can't say I have."

He was lying. Or at least, he wasn't telling me something. Maybe he thought I was imagining things, or maybe he just didn't want to get involved with whatever was going on in the woods.

Like a normal, sane person would do.

My eye caught on an open letter sitting on his coffee table. The handwriting was scratchy and uneven, but I didn't try to make out what was written inside.