SEPTEMBER 31st: A Bad Day in Shine Valley

THE MAN FROM GREEN BEND

Keeler G. Weston braced himself against the bar as the locomotive settled to a noisy stop.  He tipped the small glass in his hand back, swallowing the last sip of his warm cocktail. For the last few minutes he had been having mixed feelings about getting off the train. It had certainly been a long ride from the station back in Green Bend. Fresh air and solid ground were good reasons to leave the vehicle behind. The delay that had kept the crowded cars of the Valley Express idle on the tracks out in the wilderness had added several more hours to the trek. To Keeler, they were hours that had certainly crawled by.

Thankfully-and Mr. Keeler G. Weston was indeed thankful-the bar car had opened up and begun offering complimentary drinks during the idle time and for the rest of the half-hour journey. Keeler was feeling a fuzziness inside of himself that was warm and comfortable by the time he placed the empty glass back on the bar top and collected his things.

"Until next time, Mr. Weston," the bartender called after Keeler as he staggered a step toward the car's door. "And enjoy your stay in Shine Valley. Again."

Keeler had been to Shine Valley a total of seven times in his fifty-one years in the world. The last five visits had all happened in close succession over the last three months. This visit would make number eight. His employers had become interested in a handful of old farms surrounding the little hamlet. The surveys had showed potential for rich mineral deposits in the soil along with evidence of something...else. One particular property was looking like it would make the company a great deal of wealth.

The station platform was barely crowded when Keeler stepped out from the bar car. There was more freight on the long, wooden stage than there were people. He hadn't paid attention to how many of the other passengers had mentioned getting off at Shine Valley. Keeler inhaled the morning air hovering around the station. It was cool but stagnant. His nostrils burned with the industrial smells of grease, rust, and weathered timber from the scene surrounding him. But there was also something else in the air: a bitter, smoky smell he couldn't identify. Glancing around, he noticed the haze muting the morning light. Then, he spotted a familiar face hurrying toward him.

"Mr. Weston! Good morning," Louis said excitedly as he crossed the platform. "It's good see you again, sir."

"Fine, fine. Thank you," Keeler said dismissively, already starting across the platform in the direction Louis had just come from.

"Umm, good..." Louis said, halting his hurried pace as he watched the man from Green Bend brush past him. No time for pleasantries, I guess, Louis thought to himself. He pivoted around then hurried to catch up to Mr. Weston's side.

"The bank is up this way," Keeler asked, gesturing up the broad street leading toward the center of town.

"Yes, sir. All the way at the top. My sis, Yannia, will be meeting us there."

"Fine, fine," Keeler said again. He adjusted the brim of his dark bowler hat before adding, "As long as the notary is there, this shouldn't take long."

"That would be splendid, Mr. Weston," said Louis, hesitating a step to walk around a trio of youth that were running past them. "This has been a long time coming for me. The sooner it's done, the better."

"Big plans, huh?" Keeler let himself glance to his left at the young man who had just caught back up to him again.

Louis started to answer the question, then stopped. He realized he hadn't given much thought to what exactly he was going to do. His focus, for long, had simply been on paying what was owed to Mr. Brent. Louis knew he would be free after that to do whatever he wanted, to go wherever he chose. But, suddenly, Louis realized the abstract idea of freedom was all he had.

He looked up when he realized Mr. Weston had come to a stop. Louis caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass window of the bank for the second time that morning. Mr. Weston was watching him awkwardly.

"Maybe it's better that way," Keeler said when Louis hadn't answered his question. "There's somethin' to just goin' with the flow in life. Keeps things interestin', I suppose."

Keeler took a deep breath before turning toward the bank's entrance. "What's life without a little excitement to break up the days?"

Keeler reached out to grab the handle of the bank's front door, his words still hanging in the air in the hazy air. His fingers had just begun to graze the brass handle when the dense partition suddenly burst open. Keeler jerked his arm back just in time, avoiding the sweaty, breathless man who stumbled out onto the sidewalk.

The panicked figure didn't notice the two men standing at the doorway as he lost his footing on the sandy walkway. He collapsed onto the rough planks at Keeler's feet in a painful tumble. Behind him, the onlookers in the bank were all watching with alarm. Their surprised murmurs spilled out in the young man's wake before the door began its slow swing back into place.

It took Louis a long second to recognize the man gasping on the ground. He was covered in dirt that had turned into a dark glaze of mud in the sweat drenching his skin. There were small sticks and leaves tangled in his hair. His torn clothes were stained with streaks of blood. But, Louis was sure he was looking down at Carey Muldoc.