Part 3 (1/2)

I guide Tristan down the streets until we reach the turnoff for the McKenzie Boarding House. Several cars are already in the parking lot, and I wonder how poor Mrs. McKenzie is handling the sudden onslaught of people....the place usually sees only a few visitors and tourists a year. Now half the town will probably be here within the hour.

Tristan takes my hand and we squeeze through the crowd huddled in the turn-of-the-century parlor. Women are sobbing, some hold tissues to their faces, some hold babies, and some are just looking for something to hold them together. There's a low buzz of excitement from the fifty or so already gathered, and they all wear the same expression-hopeful fear.

I scan the area looking for a friendly face. A young woman sits by herself in the corner, and I decide to brave it. She looks friendly enough. Sad and scared, but she has kind eyes.

Tristan gives my hand a soft, rea.s.suring squeeze as I lead him across the room. I don't even feel guilty that I'm holding hands with someone other than Kieron. Tristan makes me feel good. Safe. Protected. And right now, I'll take as much of that as I can get.

”Excuse me, ma'am,” I speak softly.

She raises a tearstained face, giving me a brief look of confusion before quickly s.h.i.+fting her gaze to Tristan. I sigh. That's what most strangers do when they make eye-contact with me-they immediately look away. The ones who don't are the special ones. Corrine. Kieron. And now, Tristan.

”Yes?” she replies tersely, her thin lips turned down into a frown.

I shuffle my feet and look at the ground. Tristan takes a small step forward and graces her with a disarming smile. The woman immediately relaxes and returns it with a faint one of her own.

”Ma'am, we're truly sorry to bother you, but we were wondering if you had any idea what happened? My friend has kin there and is very worried.” I gotta hand it to him-Tristan has the 'aw-shucks' southern boy charm routine down to an art form.

She nods, her face drawn and pale. ”My Bernie is in there,” she whispers and looks away, lost in thought.

I sigh impatiently and nudge Tristan. ”Ma'am?” he prompts her. ”Have you heard anything at all?”

She slowly shakes her head. ”No. Guess they'll send Scooter to tell us when there's something to say. Guess 'til then we wait.” Scooter McGraw is the local Sheriff. He's hated me ever since I was younger and he would routinely catch Lucky out at night after curfew. He's never nabbed her for anything-nothing that stuck, anyway-but he always gives me a disgusted glare whenever our paths cross, and I know he thinks I'll end up in one of his tiny jail cells sooner rather than later.

Tristan places his strong hand on the woman's tiny one. ”I'll pray for your husband's well-being, and for the good fortune of everyone involved.” She nods, apparently consoled by his caring words.

We move to a spot near a picture window and observe the throngs of people rus.h.i.+ng in the front door. The buzz in the room is rapidly growing to a nervous uproar, and soon people are yelling for the sheriff.

”What do you want to do?” Tristan asks as I wring my hands and stare out to the parking lot. I glance back at the room filled with worried friends and relatives.

What am I even doing here? I don't know Troy, and Kieron never bothered to come back for me. For all I know, he just lied to me, used me, and left me. Why should I care about an uncle of his I never even met?

But as much as my mind tells me to leave here and forget about anything that has to do with Kieron, my heart resolutely refuses to listen.

”We wait,” I say.

Nearly two hours later, after I've nibbled on several iced oatmeal cookies and drunk eight gla.s.ses of sweet tea, Sheriff McGraw finally waddles in through the parlor doors. He looks even more portly than the last time I saw him, and the poor b.u.t.tons of his officer's uniform strain painfully against his ever-expanding stomach.

An instant hush falls over the crowd, quickly swallowed by dozens of frantic voices and pleas for answers- ”What happened?!”

”What's going on?!”

”Where's my husband?!”

”Was anyone hurt?!”

”Where're our boys?!”

Sheriff McGraw makes his way to the front of the room and waives his hands for people to hush up. His deputy, Bedford Bridges, a beanpole of a man with thinning hair and crooked yellow teeth, stands next to him holding a clipboard in one hand and wiping his brow with the other. He's sweating profusely, and I find this odd on such a cool winter day. Upon closer inspection, I swear both he and Sheriff McGraw look positively white.

”Awright, y'all, settle down. Now I know y'all are concerned, and with good reason. I promise we'll be giving you the information as it comes in. Right now there's not a whole lot to tell-”

Worried voices ring out, cutting him off.

”Was there a cave in?”

”Was anyone hurt?”

Tristan leans closer to me, and I automatically grab his hand again. My heart feels like it's ready to fly out of my chest. Something is wrong here. Very wrong. This is so much bigger than anyone knows...

The sheriff glances around nervously. ”As it stands now, we're at a level four emergency...”

A horrified gasp sweeps the room.

”Deputy Bridges has a list of names he'll be calling out. These men were in the affected area of the mines...”

”Were they hurt? Killed?”

Sheriff McGraw pauses again. He shakes his head, and there's a noticeable confused relief amongst the onlookers.

”Then what is it? What happened?”

He takes a deep breath, his beady eyes seeming to rest on each person in the crowd before answering. ”A group of nineteen men were working on a new shaft,” he finally replies. ”They found something... something different, something that got their attention. One of the men came out to tell the foreman. When they returned to see what they'd discovered...”

”Well, what was it? What's the problem?”

The sheriff breathes a heavy sigh, and Deputy Bridges lowers his head. ”Well, the problem is, when the men returned to the spot to meet up with the rest of the crew...”

I squeeze Tristan's hand so tightly my knuckles feel numb.

”...they were gone. All of them. Eighteen men with no way out suddenly vanished into thin air. And we ain't got no idea how or why.”

I hate that once again my day will be cut short by the arrival of my demonic alter-ego. But after spending the better part of the afternoon at the McKenzie Boarding House, surrounded by weeping wives and worried children, it's time to leave. Lucky will be coming soon, and I need Tristan to get me home before she does.

Once we settle back into his Jag and hit the highway, he turns to me. ”Well, you have to be pretty relieved that your friend's uncle wasn't there, huh? That means he's probably okay.”

”He's my boyfriend, not my friend,” I respond dully, staring out the window.

”Boyfriend,” Tristan corrects himself.

I sigh and nod. ”Yeah. I'm happy Troy is okay. But what about all those other men?”

How could they just disappear into thin air without a trace? Especially trapped deep in a mine with no way out? This whole thing is making my nerves tingle in a way I can't explain. I feel there's something happening more sinister than men simply disappearing...

Tristan rests his hand on my thigh, and I nervously twist my hair in tight circles around my finger, practically cutting off the circulation. I really wish we'd left the Boarding House sooner.