Franklin

6 | of the girl with sad eyes

               It feels like I am seventeen again.

               It was a time when I was obsessed with finding patterns and establishing commonness amongst the victims. Serial killing cases were my thing. But unlike Jughead and Betty, I never got around to catching the Black Hood of my town. The case till date remains unsolved, and the fragment of failure still haunts my subconscious. Which is why, there is no room for another.

               After having spent what remained of last night contemplating my competency (and sanity), I wanted nothing more than to drown myself in a giant cup of coffee, and the sun could not have risen sooner. Changing into clothes I find at the top of my bag, I pocket my phone and wallet, and head out of the inn.

               In the parking lot, Keith is cleaning an old truck with his headphones on, and I am surprised to see him awake this early in the morning. I wonder if he slept at all.

               “Hey, Keith?” I call out to him. He doesn’t respond.

               I move closer and tap on his shoulder.

               Keith drops the cloth in the bucket and turns around.

               “You need to stop sneaking up on me. I told you not to annoy me if you need anything.”

               “Easy there.” I raise my hands in mock surrender, “I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

               “Questions?” He scoffs. “As in more than one? And to think I was done with high school.”

               I am about to snap back when I have a change of heart. I pull a twenty dollar bill from my pocket and wave it in front of him. “How does a new pair of headphones sound to you?”

               I know bribing a teenager to get some information seems awfully desperate, but if it gets him to talk, then be it so. Before I set foot in Franklin, getting people to talk was what I prided myself on. As of the last twenty four hours, I am facing a major existential crisis.

               “You know what,” Keith takes the note from me and smirks. “I loved high school. What do you want to know?”

               I take a step closer to him and whisper. “Anything and everything you know about the missing people.”

               His body stiffens. He shifts his weight to the other foot. “Meet me in an hour by the lakeside. Don’t tell anyone.”

               I shrug. “I don’t know anyone here.”

               “Which is why you should know this: there are a few people around here who love to keep an eye on everything.”

               “Should I be alert?”

               “You should be scared.” He lifts the bucket off its handle. “I know I would be if I were in your place.” Having said that, he goes back inside the inn.

               But scared of what?

               I am repeating his words in my head as I absentmindedly walk the three blocks to Barney’s. But even then, preoccupied or not, it is kind of hard not to notice her.

               The subject of my interest is swaying to the music coming in through her earphones. She stops at a crosswalk ahead of me. I can’t see her face, but I am guessing her eyes are closed. She misses a walk cycle, and now I am right behind her. If she turns around, she would think I am following her. I am. The light turns red again and she steps off the curb.

               She is not paying enough attention to realize that a guy in a blue Chevy is about to run that red light. But I am close enough.

               I pull her backward by her arm. Murphy’s Law comes into the equation. Our bodies tangle and we fall onto the sidewalk. She lands half on top of me. Her phone is not as lucky, and crashes against the concrete.

               A couple of people gather around to ask if we are okay. I am not. My shoulder is killing me.

               The girl shifts herself off me and picks up her phone. 

               I dust myself up.

               “You okay?” I ask. She does not say anything. The car that almost ran her over has pulled over to the side on the next block. The locals are taking good care of the driver.

               “Are you okay?” I ask again. She is pretty, if you like women with sad eyes. I know I do.

               “Do you know how long I have had this?” She asks with a light southern accent. At first I think she means her phone, but it’s a silver pendant she’s cradling in her left palm. Somehow its chain broke during our fall—a fall which happened because I am a klutz.

               She looks like she is going to cry.

               “I am sorry.” I say softly. The last thing I need right now is to feel guilt on top of everything else I am feeling. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

               She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “You already saved my life. Thank you.”

               Barney’s neon sign glows in the distance.

               “Do you wanna get some coffee?” I offer. “It’s on me.”

               “I would love to, but I have plans with my friend today. I gotta run. . .he must be waiting for me.” She stuffs her phone in her leather jacket. “Thanks again.”

               I watch her walk away till I lose sight of her. My phone buzzes.

               “Andy.” I answer.

               “Stevie. Where are you? Are you okay?”

               I nod, and then I realize she can’t see me. I really am losing it. 

               “Meet me at the lake behind The Nest in half an hour.” I instruct. “And please don’t be late.”