These Hills Called Home | ONC 2024

[6] Let the Dead Lie

    The kitchen clock ticked past six in the morning, yet a thick gloom persisted outside. Burgeoning rainclouds doused any ember of sunrise, plunging the peaceful hills and streets into the depths of a dark, damp swamp. Between the clock's strokes, flurries of tumbling raindrops rapped against the window to announce the passing of a bracing wind gust. The pub's old bones creaked in the cold's determined clutches.

    As another potent breeze whistled by the window, Gemma tore her eyes from the screen of Avery's laptop and pushed the device across the coffee table. She had scrolled through the files countless times and lost a night's sleep thinking about it, yet like the papers scattered beside her, the drive's contents refused to change. Silverlake possessed hours and hours of footage from every landmark in town, and her brother had personally backed it up onto a device no larger than her thumb. Jacob had known how to reach out to her, and he had decided this gross invasion of privacy was a better use of his time.

    Except her brother did reach out to her. And now he was dead, leaving no trace beyond a web of questions that only wove broader and knottier the further along its threads she travelled.

    Rising to refill her glass, Gemma paced her steps carefully to avoid disturbing the pair passed out on the sofa. Nathan's resolve to scour the drive's footage had abandoned him after one too many lightless hours, casting him into an unwavering sleep. Avery had been quick to quip about her friend's fatigue, yet soon she too had slipped from consciousness to drool beneath the flannel shirt she had spread between herself and Nathan. Despite the disruption of Nathan's powerful snores and Avery's obstructive feet perched on the coffee table, Gemma had not mustered the heart to wake either of them.

    A hefty knock clapped through the air, and Gemma choked down her startled sip of water. After confirming that the racket had not stirred either her friends or her irritable host from their slumbers, she crept to the front door and peered through the spyhole. Graham waited at the top of the stairs, wordlessly glancing at his watch. "Mr Gatland?" Gemma began as she opened the door, her eyes suddenly heavy with her many missed hours of rest. "What are you doing here so early?"

    "Just Graham'll do. I leave that blighter Mr Gatland at the council offices," Graham answered with a sly grin as he swiped the flat cap from his bald head. Large spots of fresh rain darkened the length of his wool coat. "I'm after our Nathan. He's missed the start of his delivery round, and my gut's reckoning he's holed up here."

    "Your gut reckons right," Gemma said, inviting the man in with an amused glance towards the snoring from the sofa. "This might be my fault. I asked Nate to hang out with me and Vee last night, and we ended up staying out for a long time."

    "And you can't half tell! I haven't seen him this stone-dead since the time he helped himself to too much cough medicine," Graham cackled over the thud of the closing door. A shimmering glaze covered his eyes as he regarded his sleeping son, yet it evaporated with a slow blink. "I'll give him a moment, seeing as he's usually dependable enough. Must've been something proper serious to keep him out all night."

    Though obscured by the murk's dismal shade, Graham's diamond-tipped stare glanced by Gemma's face, nicking her cheek with a slim, shallow burn. "I wouldn't say it was serious," she answered as she swiped the flash drive from the laptop. No matter how she clutched the stick, its slight dimensions seemed to peek out of her hand or jab into her skin until she confined it to her back pocket. "We just chatted about Jacob. I guess we had more to get off our chests than any of us expected, and we lost track of time."

    Running a hand over his beard, Graham leaned against the granite kitchen island with relaxed familiarity. "Aye, I imagine you did. Damned shame, all that. Jake was a decent lad, and he really took the town's spirit to heart. I swear, soon enough it was like he'd been here his whole life," he recounted as he stared through the far wall. With an indefinite sound, he turned to Gemma across the counter. "How about you, lass? I know you've not had the best of welcomes to our town, but I hope you've been managing to settle in somehow."