Cored

Chapter 1: Ottery St. C

Katherine walked into the pub not sure what she was looking for. She made for a seat at the bar, leaving her suitcase on the ground next to her and placing her backpack on a stool before glancing around. There were only three other patrons inside, buried in the back booth. The bartender was talking to the cook through the service window, but he looked at her and nodded, indicating he'd be over in a moment. She tried to be as quiet as possible but failed as the chair screeched against the floor. She sat down quickly next to her bag, cheeks turning red. She twisted the silver ring on her finger while she waited for the man.

"What can I do you for?" the bartender said, walking over. He was maybe ten years older than her, with short, mousy brown hair and a single gold earring.

"Just a beer," the girl said. "Anything dark."

He nodded and turned to grab a pint glass. He made quick work of pulling down a tap, filling the glass with deep brown. "Dark enough?" he said, shooting her a look.

She just nodded, not wanting to speak too much. Her American accent sounded out of place even to her ears.

He placed the mug in front of her and went back to what he had been doing. She took a long swig, letting the bubbles dance on her tongue and the cold liquid ground her nerves. She turned to her backpack, pulling out her flimsy notebook and pencil.

August 13, 2018, she wrote at the top. Arrived in Ottery St. Catchpole. Quiet. Found pub—will ask about FW. Place to stay?

She picked up the photograph she had been using as a bookmark. She had stared at it every day for the last six months, but she examined it again just in case something new appeared.

There was her mother, in a grey turtleneck and acid washed jeans, with her dark hair pulled back. She was laughing, her young face seemingly unburdened by the child she was staring at. The little girl who had made her grow up too quickly was wrapped in a deep red knit blanket, had a matching, though toothless, smile. Her eyes were bright and focused on the man holding her. He was sitting on the floor in a striped sweater and jeans, with her body on his legs and his hands carefully supporting her head. He seemed engrossed in her tiny eyes and had a smile almost as big as her mother's. Katherine saw one of her mother's hands on the back of the man's head, buried in his red hair, the other waving down at the bundled child.

Seeing only the details already memorized, Katherine flipped it over. In her mother's messy handwriting, she saw the scribbled caption. Ottery St. C, 1995. F.W., E.W., K.W.

Though Katherine knew nothing would be different than yesterday, she still looked disappointedly at the image. She pushed her glasses back up her nose before fitting the polaroid back between the pages. After shutting the notebook, she took another long sip.

"So, what has an American in our little village?" The voice startled her, causing her to almost choke on the beer. She grabbed for a napkin to wipe her face before looking to her right, where a man stood. He must have been at the back booth—the other two men were staring.

"Sorry?" she said, still taken aback that he was speaking to her.

"We don't get many tourists here, even fewer from your side of the ocean." He leaned against the bar and held up a finger to the bartender, who set to filling another pint glass.

"Oh," she said, readjusting herself in the seat, trying to create more space between them without seeming rude. "Just visiting, I guess."

"You guess?" The man raised one pale blue eye at her before nodding at the bartender as he placed the beer in front of him. He took a sip, some of the foam lingering in the grey stubble above his lip before he wiped his weathered hand across it. "Odd place to end up on a fluke."