Friday afternoon, the skyline hadn't gotten any better in the last day. A sick grey/yellow coated the landscape around Harmon's little trailer. He sat there at the kitchen table, his left arm propped up and his legs crossed. He stared off into that slightly diseased looking sky, he didn't seem to blink. The smell of hot coffee filled the little kitchen nook. Harmon took down the coffee cup that said 'His' on the side in black stenciled letters, and poured himself a cup. He grabbed an ice cube - just one - out of the freezer first, Harmon didn't have the patience to outwait a steaming cup of coffee. He wanted to drink it now.
Another cup hung next to the one Harmon was using. It said 'Hers' in pink stenciled letters. A certain piercing pain cut through Harmon's determination when his cup clinked against 'Hers'. Despite the problems with the drugs and their rocky past, he loved her. Sometimes when their arguments got really heated he'd said things that he never meant, not even for one second. I'm outta here, he'd said one time, but he wasn't. He was never 'outta here'. He cherished Amy with the same passion high school sweethearts feel. They didn't wear rings, but that was a choice they'd made a long time ago. They didn't want to change things, or things to change them. Despite the arguments and the bad habits and all of it, it was all perfect.
Harmon sipped his coffee and stared around at the mess - and the open front door, he never got around to shutting that. He'd found that place, in his mind, that place of quiet, of certitude. He was in the eye of the storm and all he had to do was wait.
After leaving Scotty's - god he hoped he and Cindy would make it back to the world alive - Harmon stopped by the auto parts store. The shocks were going out again and he got an off road kit: beefed up bushings and tie rod ends and other replacements for the old standard suspension parts, along with the heavy-duty shocks. He'd spent the rest of Thursday, late into the night, even, replacing parts and checking over his truck. Friday morning's ugly sun greeted him along with the aches and pains. Muscles he didn't know he had were sending loud and clear signals. After a long hot shower - he failed to notice the few cracked tiles from Amy's mock shower the pervious morning - he felt a little better. While he was shaving he noticed the broken hair brush, but it escaped much notice, everything seemed to be broken now. Everything was a mess, even the god damn sunlight was screwed up.
Back to work now. The truck still needed a few things and final inspection. The few little things he'd left for this morning turned into a carnival for old Mr. Murphy. What could go wrong, did. But in the end he got everything straightened up and looking tiptop. He didn't want to snap a sway bar or something, going where he was going.
The Old Jensen Place had gained a weird underground popularity since Darrel set up shop. The little, single file, dirt path that Darrel and his buddies used all those years ago had turned into a double rutted driveway. Almost like Harmon's, minus the potholes. There's another thing that's screwed up, Darrel's little dark rave drug den thing had a better driveway than Harmon.
Harmon knew another way in. Back in the day Harmon liked to take his old truck out 4-wheeling. There was a trail that could take him up right behind the old building. He wouldn't even have to be on the road but for a minute. Harmon didn't want to be noticed really. Not until he knew how all this was going to go down. Part of him wanted to take Darrel and pull some Guantanamo interrogation on him, but he didn't want to do that, not really. He wanted to find Amy and get some answers. And he didn't want to hurt anyone. But he did, oh yes , he did want to hurt anyone, he wanted to hurt everyone. The pain inside him tried and tried to crack his determination but wouldn't let it. He had to stay focused.
Sipping his coffee looking out the front door, Harmon was blank. He didn't look at the clock on the stove, his wrist watch. His cell phone lay lifeless on the table in the living room. And then he was up and moving. Time to go, now. The truck roared to life with a hunger it hadn't shown in quite some time. Harmon was calm, though, he didn't spit gravel when he pulled down the driveway. He came to a complete stop before he turned left. Left, west, into the sinking nasty sun.
Counting his blessings, no one was coming when he made the turn off the road and into the brush. Harmon braced and said another thank you for shift on the fly four wheel drive. He hadn't been down here in a long time, it didn't look like anyone else had either.
The initial departure from the road jarred the truck and Harmon creased his brow. This was his only vehicle and with no idea what lay in the days to come he didn't want to blow anything. He needed this truck, but he forged ahead anyway, determined. He only had to pull the 4-wheel drive lever once. Apparently, if it rained a week ago, the bottom of this particular valley will still be a mud pit. While he was stopped, out of his passenger window something caught his eye. A coyote striding proudly through the growth that was even thicker on the sides of the trail Harmon took. A piece of meat hung from its jaws. His eyes were either playing tricks on him, or there were some hairless animals running around in these woods.
The four wheel drive caught and the truck continued on its path, climbing the other side of the valley. As soon as he reached the top of the rise, it dropped off again. His good old truck was essentially sledding down the wet hill side. He did his best to avoid the trees that grew here and there. His truck easily cut through the new trees, fortunately the big old trees didn't block this section on the hill.
Bouncing on its springs the truck came to rest at the bottom of the hill. He was now on the 'beach' of the river that ran past the back of the Old Jensen Place. Perfect, he checked all his gauges and everything looked fine. He looked over at the river and that was perfect too, it was running low this time of year. On the other side, Harmon spied a good brushy spot to park his truck.
He crossed over the river easily. Just past the halfway point a large rock stuck out of the water and Harmon prayed it wouldn't punch through his sidewall. He had a tire plug kit in the glove box, but sidewall injuries were death sentences. When he parked it behind the big growth of brush all four tires still held air, the engine wasn't overheating, and he had good oil pressure. Darkness was coming, Harmon looked up the steep hill that stopped at the top like it used to come to a point and some ancient god just cut it off. Once he got to the top of the steep climb he'd be on wide flat piece of ground, the place where stood the Old Jensen Place. The place where he'd start getting some answers. Please god, he prayed, please god, I need some answers, some sense. Nothing makes sense.
He started his climb in his good boots. The ones with the good tread, he'd need them, this hill was a killer.
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Amy topped the steep rise as the sun was making its exit. The small slice of bone that peeked out of her heel, now looked no more serious than a hickey. Flies had started making homes in her open calve, her knees were completely barren of flesh. A half moon of naked, dried muscle and tendon showed on each of her palms. One eye hung open, the bottom lid - included: stitch style streamers! - lay loose against her cheek bone. The upper lid had the body language of a loose tooth just before it comes out, just wagging around in the empty socket behind.
The sides of her forearms were taking their punishment now as she did a version of the 'army crawl'. It wasn't far to the back to door she was aimed at, yet by the time she thumped her torn right forearm against it, the sick sun was setting. The light was failing.
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