Blown Red

Chapter 2 - Signy Takes a Call

Not seeing the warning sign until it was too late, Signy Shepherd slammed on the brakes, her ancient Saturn fishtailing through freshly-laid gravel. The car jolted over the rusting train tracks with a bone-rattling crunch before sliding to a halt. Searing dust billowed in through the open windows. Ahead, a bulldozed mound of rocks marked the end of the road.

With a flick of her wrist she turned off the ignition and climbed out, the high-pitched whine of cicadas piercing the sudden silence. The oily reek of creosote assailed her nostrils, making her stomach flip. What genius had decided to drop a rail line in the middle of nowhere? And where the hell was the damn house?

"This is your fault," she said, slapping her hand on the trunk of the car. She’d purchased the vehicle well past its prime, charmed by its chili pepper red exterior. "Why do you always take me places I shouldn't go?" As usual, the weary car, having faded over the years to a stale paprika, refused to accept the blame.

Strands of long blonde hair lashed the spray of freckles that dusted her sun-burned nose. Turning into the hot wind, she braided her unruly mane into a loose plait, fastening it with an elastic tie she’d slipped onto her wrist that morning.

Shading her eyes, she surveyed her surroundings. Seeing nothing but parched fields in all directions, she hummed a few bars of the singsong mantra that sometimes helped her focus.

Oh Dear, what can the matter be?

Oh Dear, what can the matter be?

Oh Dear---

Perched in the branches of a dead cedar a murder of crows mocked her with raucous cackles. Whirling to glare at them she spotted a set of ruts that led north before disappearing over a small knoll in the distance.

Seconds later she was steering the car up the faint track. Cresting the hill she could see the house in the distance, a tired looking bungalow plunked down in the middle of a sea of weeds, its neglected wood siding cracked and rotting.

Rolling to a stop in front of the house she considered her situation. When a new client requested a home visit, there were several cautionary procedures to follow. Signy mentally checked off all the protocols she had broken: Always conduct a risk assessment before going out on a home visit – ignored; If the situation is of moderate or high risk, never go alone – overlooked; No situation is so urgent as to compromise staff safety – discounted.

What could she do? She'd been alone in the office when the call had come in on the help line, everyone but she had been invited to some birthday lunch, or whatever. She could have waited around for someone to show up, but by then it might have been too late.

Glancing up at the sketchy house, she took a deep breath and hoped her impulsiveness didn't come back to bite her, again. She kind of liked this job.

She picked her way over a minefield of broken patio stones that led to the house. Sharp weeds stabbed at her sandal-clad feet and her short, yellow sundress offered little protection from the brambles that lined the path.

Her cell phone rang. Shit. Flipping it open, she checked the number. Zef. Her mouth twisted downward. Things were going well. It was time she grew up and listened to her head for a change instead of her damn hormones. Zef was the last thing she needed. She stabbed the off button and snapped the phone shut.

She climbed a set of punky, wooden steps up to the porch, but before she had a chance to knock, the door swung open and a young woman hauled her inside.

"I thought you was gonna get here sooner," said the woman.

Signy shrugged. "You weren't kidding when you said this place was hard to find."