“The Doom Statues” — Chapter 8

The three of them turn right upon leaving the institute, which is the same direction they’ve arrived from, of course, on this immaculate, newly constructed road. There’s still almost nothing but forest in both directions, though, and so even if most of the trees are those tall, slender, nearly branchless pines, creepy as they are, this should indeed make for an idyllic retreat, for Emily to get away from their pleasant if stale everyday existence and just focus on her artwork. She sighs now, dreamily, wishing the residency had already begun. In this otherwise silent car, where all are lost in their isolated thoughts, possibly soaking up the scenery. It’s only upon reaching the curvy, mostly downhill main road back into Stokely that she attempts questioning them.

“So…what did you guys think?”

“Eh,” Jeremy shrugs, “it’s impressive how much they’ve accomplished in such a short order. And I have to say, meeting a few more people who’ll be staying there makes me feel a little better.” He smiles over at her and clarifies, adding, “makes it seem a little less…half baked.”

She opens her mouth in mocking protest and says, “it was never half baked! You could tell right away they weren’t messing around up there!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

“I don’t know, something was bugging me the entire time we were up there,” Denise chimes in from the back seat, “I don’t mean, like, something paranormal or whatever, nothing like that. I mean…like there was something missing or something, something off, and it was in plain sight but we hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, they were definitely missing a strong internet signal. But Harry said that’s one of the things they’re working on,” Emily replies, which is true, but half a taunting jest anyway.

“No, no, that’s not what I mean. Although now that you mention it…,” Denise trails off, digging into the front pocket of her jeans to extract a cell phone. She pulls up an internet browser and asks, “has anyone actually bothered to check out the history of that place? Or do a background check on him?”

“Paranoid much?” Emily says, and rolls her eyes as she smiles over at Jeremy.

Well, Emily can make these dismissive wisecracks all she wants, but it’s always been like this. Denise feels as though she’s forever the one hanging back and observing, attempting to piece things together, see them as they really are. Whereas Emily tends to just accept everything at face value. Again, this probably ties back into Emily’s need to please, but it’s also, in Denise‘s estimation, made for a much more superficial existence. Whereas with her own choices…Denise is well aware that her family condemns them, is often plainly dismayed and considering her the clear cut black sheep of the family. And she’s screwed up often, no doubt about it. But as far as she’s concerned, this is the price you pay for attempting to strip out superficiality, the see things as they are and live how you want.

“Well, the signal’s still not great, even here,” she says, puts her phone away in the face of such sluggishness. “So hopefully this dude has some major clout or something. But. I don’t know. Jeremy’s right, in a way, that encounter with that kitchen bitch does make things seem more believable and real, somehow….”

Approximately ten minutes after leaving the art institute, they arrive in the nearest sleepy hamlet all over again, gliding down a gentle curve to the southwest, crossing one state route, before nearing the Fairlawn Diner. Apart from one national pizza delivery outpost they’d glimpsed on the opposite edge of town, itself a shocking sight, this might be Stokely’s only restaurant. By mutual consent, if agreeing to ride out here with Emily today, on a recon mission of sorts which really didn’t even accomplish anything, then she in turn was willing to explore the countryside beyond at random, which is one of Jeremy’s hobbies. Therefore also by mutual, if instantly decided, consent, they are pulling up into a curbside parking slot opposite the diner, to grab some lunch and determine their next destination, or more likely a series of them.

As they are crossing the street, the front door swings open, and that old woman who’d been their waitress the previous occasion exits, with a light jacket on, toting a bulky handbag. Her work day has obviously just ended. Jeremy chuckles and raises his hand in a quick wave, but she glances at them without recognition, turns and begins strolling down the sidewalk. He watches her the whole way, but she just keeps going, and apparently must live around here.

They are seated at a four top table in the center of the room, where a tall, impossibly energetic and highly feminine acting kid of roughly their age immediately greets them, explaining he’ll be their server. He has spiky hair dyed a vibrant orange, with bright yellow spots scattered throughout, is heavily pierced and tattooed. Leaves little doubt as to his sexual orientation, they all agree, and must furthermore have ruffled quite a few feathers with his presence in this community. In other words, good for them, although Jeremy can’t help joking, after their server’s out of earshot, retrieving their drink orders, that the dude would make a good fit up at the artist’s retreat.

“That’s inappropriate,” Emily chides.

“For whom? We’re the only three that heard it.”

“Well…it’s offensive, then,” Denise jokes.

“In what way?”

“Well…it’s something. It’s definitely something,” Emily concludes.

Jeremy has brought a book with him titled Creepy Carolinas, and has begun thumbing through it for suggestions on where to spend their day. As the waiter drops off their drinks, Emily, observing that this place has surprisingly trendy fare for such a podunk operation, requests some fried oysters as an appetizer. Otherwise, she orders a Caesar salad and Jeremy some massive sounding sandwich with three different kinds of meat. Denise says she’s just sticking with a water, yet denies being broke, when Emily offers to pay if she gets something.

Having signed into this diner’s free wi-fi, Denise is much more consumed with attempting to figure out some local history, on her phone, and researching Harry Kidwell. Emily continues to people watch, both inside and outside, as she is facing the large picture window in front. Jeremy flips through his book, which is sorted by region, and while there is a curious lack of any noteworthy sights anywhere around here, he’s found a bunch within driving distance, particularly to the east.

“Hey, you wanna go see the only place Venus flytraps naturally grow?” he suggests.

Emily laughs and replies, “no, I don’t wanna see where Venus flytraps grow!”

Their waiter, meanwhile, though just barreling past their table with four plates in hand, bound elsewhere across the room, jokes in passing, “mmm, I was gonna say if she doesn’t, I sure do!”

The three of them laugh at this, though Jeremy also smirks over at Emily, raises one hand slightly, palm up, and tilts it in the general direction the server just went, a gesture generally interpretable as see what I mean? She concedes his point by returning an over-the-top fake, wiseass smile.

“Okay, so…wow!” Denise announces, staring down at her phone, “well, even though — admittedly — the internet kinda sucks these days if you want anything except current events, uh…apparently there was a fire up there at one point…”

“A fire?!” Emily gasps, shooting a glance at her sister, in the next seat over.

“Mmm hmm,” Denise nods, “so okay, that’s what happened to most of the buildings. Obviously that just kind of killed their momentum. They closed down a short while after that. Now, as for this Kidwell…,” she sighs through her nose, clicks on a couple other links until finding one she had evidently already read, “well, I mean, it looks like he’s actually a reputable businessman around this region…”

“You guys talking about Harry Kidwell?” the server asks, as he’s dropping off their oysters.

“Yeah!” they say in near unison, peering up at the kid for answers.

“Thought so,” he nods, setting down the gleaming, white, irregularly oval plate, with a pair of identical looking, creamy orange dipping sauces and a trendily tasteful if not overabundant clutch of fried oysters.

“Yeah, he’s uh, starting that artist’s retreat back up,” Emily explains, “I’ve already enrolled, actually. The Central Carolina Artists’ Retreat?”

“Okay, okay, I might have heard something about that,” the waiter nods, as he refills their waters, “that dude’s got…,” he rubs his free thumb together with some fingers, pantomiming someone rolling in money.

“Really?” Jeremy alone says, hopefully.

“Oh yeah,” the waiter replies, glancing down at him. Then to the whole table offers, “I mean, I think the general impression is, you know, he’s kinda kooky, kinda flaky, but mostly harmless. He lives not too far from here, actually. He’s had some whack ideas as far as reviving this region,” the waiter says with a laugh, then adds, “but…I guess you don’t get that far in life without having a lot of good ones, too. Mostly good ones.”

When their food arrives, they are impressed with the portion sizes, by the presentation and modernity of each dish. Emily even shares half of her salad with a seemingly reluctant Denise, and Jeremy some of his fries. Yet even as the meal progresses, Emily remains dazzled most of all by that oyster appetizer, in particular the dipping sauce, and raves about it continually as the other two continue their incongruous research.

“Hey, I guess there’s an abandoned castle you can visit, not too far from here,” Jeremy observes, “of course, it’s supposed to be off limits, but this says nobody’s really watching the place.”

“I wonder what that dipping sauce was?” Emily ponders, “I don’t remember what it said on the menu. I think I’m gonna call it…Yum Yum Sauce.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Denise concludes, putting her phone away. By this point they have killed their plates, and are waiting on the check. “Something’s still bugging me about that place, and I don’t think it’s the fire.”

When the waiter reemerges, and Jeremy just hands him cash before he’s even set the check down, Emily asks, “hey, what do you call that sauce that came with the oysters? I decided it was called Yum Yum Sauce.”

“It’s actually called Mmmdelicious Sauce,” he jokes.

“Something horseradish…,” Jeremy mumbles, remembering at least this much from the menu.

“Well yeah on our menu it says tomato horseradish, but in the culinary world, you know, its official name is Mmmdelicious Sauce. We just put sundried tomato horseradish on there because it’s easier for people to remember.”

He breezes away without even waiting for a response, as the others begin to rise from their chairs. Emily asks what the verdict is, exactly, for their next great adventure. Jeremy mutters that he wouldn’t mind trespassing through some woods back to this castle. Denise, however, is having none of it.

“Can we just dispense with this daytrip stuff and head back home.? We have a lot of work to do,” she suggests.

“A lot of work to do?” Emily questions.

“Oh yeah,” she nods, grinning broadly for a change, as they walk out into the bright fall day again, begin recrossing the mostly still street, “I’m coming with you. And so’s Jeremy.”

Jeremy waves his hands in protest, and mentions pitching that job offer to Lenny instead. But Emily’s not really focused upon this detail, anyway, visibly brightening instead over the notion that Denise is interested.

“Really?” she says, smiling at her younger sis, as they draw up next to Jeremy’s car.

“Yeah, why not. Somebody’s gotta look out for you. And figure out what’s really going on.”

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