Bastard Son of Nelson Creed part 2

The man in the scuba diver suit was unresponsive as the small crowd began to study him. The young man leaned a little closer, trying to see who might be inside when suddenly,, a hand reached up and snatched him by the throat.

Nelson Creed walked into the local grocery store which caused no small amount of anxiety in Beau McCormack, the store owner. Trailing behind him was his teenage wife, Mary, who was starting to show her pregnancy. Beau pretended not to watch Nelson and Mary take some Coke bottles out of the cooler since they were known to shoplift or otherwise start trouble. “Hey Beau, they say they found someth’n in the mines,” Mary said quietly as if understanding his fear and trying to break the tension. “Nobody gives a shit what they found in those mines,” Nelson snapped. As he made his way to Beau, he held the bottles in one hand and took a pack of cigarettes from the counter, then slid them into his pocket, making little attempt at being discrete.

“Will uh,… that be all for ya, Nelson?,” Beau asked nervously.

“Yeah, just these Cokes,” Nelson grumbled in the sort of way he always grumbled.

Beau cleared his throat before asking the next question, “The uh,… the pack of Marlboros, too?”

Nelson met his gaze and, in a way that was more threatening than inquisitive, asked, “What Marlboros?”

“You, um… probably just forgot but you have some cigarettes there… in your pocket?”

Nelson’s eyes narrowed, “Now, if I picked up a pack of cigarettes, wouldn’t you think I’d put them up on the counter?”

“Ain’t a problem…,” Beau swallowed hard, “Must’ve forgotten is all.”

“How the hell I’m gonna forget if I got a pack of cigarettes in my damn pocket, Beau? You call’n me stupid?”

“Now, take it easy, Nelson. I never said that.”

“So I’m just a liar!”

“No…”

“Some lyin’ thief, is that right?”

“Now-now wait a minute…,” Beau stammered and hoped his wife or children didn’t show up as he knew that Nelson was in another one of his moods.

“Lemme help ya with someth’n,” with his monstrously large hand, Nelson reached out and grabbed the back of Beau’s neck, then forced his head against the counter. Mary jumped and looked deeply troubled but dared not to say anything. Meanwhile, Beau tried to wrestle free from his grip but Nelson was just too strong. “See, you start mak’n accusations against a man…,” Nelson said with a calm anger, “… a man might feel disrespected and if ya disrespect a man like that, it’s hard tell’n what he’s liable to do. It could really make a fella do someth’n crazy.” Nelson made sure to turn Beau’s head toward the front window and pointed to his parked truck, “I want you to tell me whatcha see out there, Beau.”

“Your… Your truck.”

He indicated the gun rack which was clearly visible, “An’ whatcha see on the rack there at the back window?”

“… Your shotgun.”

“Least we know you ain’t blind,” Nelson got closer, the smell of whiskey and tobacco heavy on his breath, “Now tell me true… did you see me steal’n any cigarettes?”

“No… No, Nelson.”

When Nelson released Beau, he backed up to the shelf behind him. “Glad we could talk this over like men,” Nelson told him, then casually reached into his pocket and put a cigarette between his lips before leaving.

Years later…

Farrell Creed crouched next to a cabinet door while driving the final screw in the hinge; once the task was completed, he tested the door a bit before closing it. “That should do it,” he stood up and turned to his mother who was still examining the work

“Thanks, baby,” Mary Creed hugged him at the waist as that was as high as the small, elderly woman could reach, “I’m so glad you’re back home. When Cassie told me you ran off to fight aliens, I was ready to get in the car and go find you.”

“Ah, the aliens couldn’t fight for shit,” Creed joked as he gave his mom a reassuring kiss on the top of her head.

Mary looked at him closely, “When was the last time you got a haircut?”

“I dunno,” he brushed his hair back, “I’ll get a trim soon.”

“Good,” she opened up her fridge, “Have you eaten today?”

“Yeah, mom. I’m fine.”

She turned back, “Then why do you got that look?”

“What look?”

“The one on your face.”

He sighed and shook his head in defeat.

“Did Charles Meyer give you trouble? He’s been say’n some awful stuff about you around town.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“Then what is it?”

“I dunno… Someone from Widow Springs has been asking for me to take care of a missing person’s case. Me specifically.”

“You’re a local celebrity… for good reasons. The Chief of Police might not like you but most people know you saved the world from aliens and they love you.”

“I admire your optimism mom but I don’t think too many people know I was involved and those that do blame me for what happened to Rex Robinson. If they don’t even give the Cavalier some respect then they damn sure don’t -”

“Either way, I’m sure it’s nothing to get worked up over. Hardly anyone lives in Widow Springs anymore and most of the ones who do probably never even knew your father.”

“That didn’t stop people from messing with us before.”

“Go see what this person wants. Don’t worry about it,” Mary stood on her toes while Creed leaned down so she could give him a kiss.

“I’ll go check it out, Mom. Thanks.”

Minutes later, Creed unlocked the front door to his office and flipped on the switch, “Vacation’s over,” he said aloud and checked his messages. He soon heard the voice of a woman speaking quietly, “This message is for Farrell Creed. I need to speak to you as soon as possible. My little girl has gone missing and I need your help. Please call me at 555-8250.” The next message was the same woman with a nearly identical message. No name was ever given. He gave her a call, still feeling slightly uneasy.

“Hi, this is Farrell Creed. You left a few messages at my office concerning your daughter?”

“Yes, thank you,” her voice was still quiet and fearful, “I live over in Widow Springs. I need you to meet me there and I can explain everything.”

“You can give me all the information you need over the phone.”

“No, it’s not safe. Please.”

“You can meet me at my office here. I promise it’s-”

“No, I already made one trip to Winghaven. It might be too dangerous to make another. Once you show up here, I can explain everything. Please. You’re the only one I can trust right now.”

He scratched his beard, “What’s your name?”

“Carla Dunning.”

“Carla, I can meet you some place public but outside of that, I can’t do much for you without-.”

“Good, good. Meet me at 5pm tomorrow. Do you know the Town Tavern?”

Creed had never been to Widow Springs but he knew of Town Tavern since his father frequented that bar. It also happened to be the location of his father’s murder. While he wasn’t entirely sure of the location, he knew the town was the size of a city block with one major road and only one bar, so he was sure he could find the place easily enough. “Yeah, I know where that is.” The woman whispered a quick, “Thank you,” and hung up.

Widow Springs was fairly close to Winghaven so the trek wasn’t long and once he rode his motorcycle there, he ventured down the one, lonely road in town. There were mostly houses on either side and one old grocery store with boarded up windows. The eerie part was that no one was outside. The town had a low population by the time his mother got pregnant and it had only gotten smaller since that time. There was an old mine between it and Winghaven that closed in the late 70s which, as was typical of the area, was shrouded in mystery and rumors. Outside of a few private farms, Town Tavern seemed to be the only business left there.

As expected, Creed found it easily enough just by passing through the apparent ghost town. It was a small, red brick building with a black and white sign simply reading Town Tavern. Next to the front door of the bar, an old man sat in a lawn chair: the only human he had seen in Widow Springs thus far. The small gravel parking lot could only fit about five vehicles, not that there were any there aside from Creed’s bike. What was particularly disconcerting about this parking lot was that Creed knew it was where his father died. More to the point, he knew exactly where on the lot his father had been killed as he had seen pictures of the crime scene in the past. Nelson Creed often parked his truck parallel to the door with the bed facing it so that the people inside could clearly see his gun rack and the shotgun that usually rested on it. Creed took a moment to acknowledge the surrealism of seeing the spot in real life.

The old man was still sitting on his lawn chair next to the door and Creed didn’t linger on the parking spot lest he started to ask questions. He didn’t seem to pay Creed much attention but as he walked past him, the old man’s hand shot out and clung to his wrist. “You’re go’n places, son,” the old man gave Creed a strange smile as he held on tight, “You’re go’n places!” Creed jerked his hand away and growled, “Don’t touch me” before going into the bar. “You’re go’n places,” the strange old man called after him.

The bar was empty save for an older man tending to it. It would be some time before he would meet Carla so Creed sat at a booth, making sure to sit with his back to the wall, ensuring he had a full view of the room, including entrances (and exits). He couldn’t help but be on high alert, especially once he noticed the large mirror at the bar and the stools where his mother and father would sit. According to his mother, that was their spot. He also recalled stories from his mother detailing how she could see the town’s residents in the mirror before they killed Nelson. He couldn’t help but recreate the situation of his father’s death and his mother’s trauma in his head and it did nothing to ease his tension.

The bartender approached in a casual sort of way that seemed to be making a point of being casual. “Can I get you something to drink?,” he asked in an equally far-too-casual manner. It was then that Creed noticed a glass on the bar that had been left out purposefully. Despite telling himself he was paranoid, he was sure that if he ordered a drink, that would be the glass it would be poured into and he was sure it was laced with something. “Got any bottled beer?,” he asked, “I don’t care what brand.” The bartender seemed nervous and a bit disappointed but nodded in compliance, “Sure”.

Soon, a middle aged woman was seen approaching the front door of the bar, looking in all directions before entering. Once she came inside, she noticed Creed and seemed surprised, almost as if she didn’t expect him and when she made her way to the booth, both she and the bartender seemed to make it a point not to look at one another. When she sat down, she quietly began explaining her story, “Hi, I’m Carla. Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Creed. My 17 year old daughter has been missing for a week…”. Creed said nothing but silently took note that she spoke like a poorly trained actress trying to remember a script. He had been in the business long enough to spot a liar and this woman was a bad one. As she spoke, Creed looked past her at the bartender who was pretending to clean the lone glass on the counter and was very obviously keeping him in his peripheral vision. Besides the front door, the only other exit was the backroom and when Creed glanced in that direction, he briefly noticed a cracked door being closed quickly. At that point, he had had enough.

Creed shot to his feet and moved to the front door while Carla shouted, “Wait! Stop!”. The bartender made a half-hearted attempt at reaching across the bar to grab him but Creed made it past him, not that the bartender could have held him if he managed to grab hold. He was outside in the parking lot in a second, noticing that the old man was now standing and looking directly at him, “It’s time, son”. A needle poked into the side of his neck, so he swung around while slapping the syringe to the ground and once he turned, he saw his friend Gus Davidson from the Winghaven Museum. “We knew you wouldn’t take the glass but we were kinda hoping you would,” he said apologetically before a second syringe plunged into Creed’s chest. “What the hell, Gus?,” Creed mumbled before finally passing out.

Continued…