Arc II, Chapters 95 and 96 (Patreon)

I stared down at the page.

The name Sheriff Thomas Patcher stared back up at me.

What happened to Sheriff Jonathan Miller? They made Tommy Patcher the sheriff—the very guy who we suspected helped foil the community's attempts at finding Tamara Cano.

I took in my surroundings. I was standing right outside of a large office that just happened to have my name on the door. Lead Investigative Producer was my title according to the plaque. That meant I was the boss now.

And climbing the Corporate Ladder was supposed to be difficult.

I heard noise in the distance, far down the hall, and I decided to follow it.

"And we're live in five… four… three… two…."

I followed the voice down the hall, and what I saw was a large set for a news station. There was an anchor's desk and several cameras set up to capture the various well-groomed people sitting behind it. There was a weatherman and one person who must have been on sports.

But that was not who was live on the air at the moment. As the countdown came to one, Kimberly sat at the anchor's desk in shock. A light came on, indicating that they were live, and at first, I thought Kimberly wasn't going to realize what was going on. But she figured it out, seemingly just in the nick of time.

She stared into the camera and read from the teleprompter. She was on-screen.

“Good evening, Carousel. Authorities are currently investigating a disturbing new phenomenon: a syndicate of people who ‘dine and dash.’ That’s right; this group has been targeting local restaurants, enjoying lavish meals before disappearing without paying. The Carousel Police Department is working hard to apprehend these culprits and bring an end to their deceitful spree.

"In other news, a wave of crimes involving smashed and missing lawn ornaments has left the community in fear. Residents across Carousel are reporting the disappearance of their cherished garden decorations, creating an atmosphere of unease. Police are urging anyone with information to come forward as they intensify their efforts to catch those responsible.

"Stay tuned for more updates as we continue to cover these unfolding stories. I'm Kimberly Madison, and this is Carousel News 9.”

She managed to get out her lines without fumbling them. As she finished and went off-air, she put on an expression to show just how disappointing it was to be reporting on stories like that.

As soon as Kimberly saw me, she went off-screen.

She also went white.

Her expression of surprise worried me greatly. As I stared at her, I realized why.

She had aged ten years. She was wearing makeup and her hair was done very well, but it was clear she was ten years older. Which meant, of course, that I was probably also ten years older, which was why she looked so shocked.

She came to me immediately and said, "How do I look?"

"You look great," I said.

She rubbed my face to try and see if my rapid aging was the result of makeup or otherwise.

"Oh my gosh, we're in our early 30s," she said.

"I know, right," I said. "Carousel might as well have just killed us."

I gestured for her to follow me to my office, and as we went along, I found the NPC who had given me the folder on Eastern Carousel and asked her to get me everything we had out of Eastern Carousel for the last ten years related to homicide or any major crimes. She looked at me like it was a gargantuan task, but ten minutes later, when she walked into my office, the folder she had collected, while not empty, was not exactly full.

"Ten years later?" Kimberly asked.

"Yep," I said. "Classic storytelling device. Kind of explains some things, like why we never saw any enemies. We were in the 'before' section. If we saw too strong of evidence, it would have been weird for us to just leave it alone for a decade."

"So now we go back out there?" Kimberly asked.

"Yep," I said. "We'll have to do a whole performance explaining why we're gonna do it, but that should be pretty easy."

I handed her the file I had been given when I first got there.

"This says the active sheriff is Antoine Stone?" Kimberly said.

"Sure does. After the death of Sheriff Thomas Patcher."

She was as perplexed by that as I was. We hadn't gotten to spend much time with Tommy Patcher, but he certainly didn't seem the type to be a leader.

"Check this out," I said, as we started looking through the files we had been given, as well as some of the files that were already in my office. "It says that we passed forward our evidence and footage to the CBI."

"CBI?" Kimberly asked.

"The Carousel Bureau of Investigation," I said with a grin.

"Of course."

"They concluded that our witness, the mother of the missing child, was unreliable and had a vendetta against local authorities and community members. She was hostile when approached, so the CBI decided not to move forward with the investigation."

At least our characters hadn't given up completely. We had tried to get the real cops involved.

Looking through all the information we had from Eastern Carousel didn't reveal a whole lot. There were a few crimes, sure, but mostly domestic disputes. There didn't seem to be a whole lot of crime in Eastern Carousel. But other news was not so positive.

Eastern Carousel had gone through droughts, famines, and all sorts of agricultural and economic upheaval. We had lots of stories of people leaving town, looking for better prospects elsewhere. It sounded like Eastern Carousel wasn't the happy little farming town it might have been before.

After we had searched and felt satisfied, the scene that we had come to expect started to play out on-screen.

Kimberly walked down the hall toward me.

"Hey, Kimberly, come here a second," I said. "Do you remember Tamara Cano?"

Kimberly paused for a second, not in reflection but out of curiosity. "Of course I remember, Riley."

"Well, check this out. Two residents that we could connect to either the disappearance of Tamara Cano or the death of Benny Harless—if you remember him—have been killed."

"Homicide?" she asked, looking at the folder.

"Yep," I answered. "Strange, huh?"

We continued to go back and forth for a while, and we just remained on-screen, so we kept talking. Carousel was mining us for a good conversation, something that could justify our decision to return to the case.

I leaned against my window and looked out over Carousel Proper.

"What investigative journalists we turned out to be, huh?" I asked.

"It's a little early to say 'turned out,'" Kimberly said. "We still have our whole careers ahead of us."

"Doesn't feel that way," I said. "Remember when we told ourselves that finding Tamara Cano was gonna be the beginning for us, that we were going to be real journalists? What happened to us?"

Kimberly paused and reflected.

"We did the best we could, Riley. We passed our information on to the authorities. They are the ones that decided not to move forward. We do our jobs. That’s all we can do."

"That's what I tell myself too," I said.

Kimberly pulled a missing poster from the file folder and stared at it. The picture of Tamara Cano haunted her. "I guess we were never investigating a missing person," she said. "By now we can probably go ahead and call it a homicide."

"I'm afraid so," I said. “Another homicide out in little old Eastern Carousel.”

We didn’t say anything for a time.

"So, a murdered sheriff?" she asked. "That sounds newsworthy."

"You think it's worth checking out?" I asked.

"If only we could get the Lead Investigative Producer to approve it this time."

I smiled. "I don't think that'll be a problem," I said.

We got a cameraman and a company car and were gone while there was still plenty of daylight.

~-~

The drive to Eastern Carousel was pretty quick. It wasn't actually that far away by car. Still, Carousel got a few shots of us driving away from the setting sun.

When we got there, it became very evident what changes had been made to Eastern Carousel. The place was more desolate. Half of the shops in town had shut down, with the exception, of course, of the general store, thank goodness.

Dina's uncle's gas station was now called Patcher's One-Stop Shop.

The fields were depressing. The harvest was going to be meager; I could tell that even though I knew very little about farming. I had seen the fields ten years ago, and by comparison, things were looking bleak. The crops hung lifelessly. There was desperation and dust in the air.

As we came into town, we saw a water tower that had been spray-painted with the words "Ten years, where is Tamara Cano?"

We knew our way to the sheriff's station. Within no time, we found ourselves in the audience of the acting sheriff himself, Sheriff Antoine Stone.

On screen.

"Howdy, Sheriff," I said.

"Hello," Antoine responded.

He decided to play it as if he didn't recognize us. But as we sat in his office and stared at each other, we tried to see the humor in our rapid aging.

"How can I help you folks?" Antoine said.

"Sheriff Stone," Kimberly started, "you may not remember us, but around ten years ago, we were in town doing some investigative reporting for Carousel News 9."

"Oh, you," he said. "Yeah, I remember you. It's not every day that big city reporters come to Eastern Carousel. So, I suppose you heard about the murder of my predecessor and thought we were worth your time again."

"We thought that we would come down for a follow-up," Kimberly said. "The murders were definitely a factor, given that the two decedents were tied to both the disappearance of Tamara Cano and the death of Benny Harless."

"The death of Benny Harless," Antoine said. He thought for a moment. "I hadn't thought about that in years. That was ruled an accident. We can't exactly connect crimes just because the people involved knew each other. Not here in Eastern Carousel. It's a small town; if we did, all crimes would be connected."

He smiled, and I could see he was toying with us. He had clearly planned out how he would approach his character.

"Cut the crap," Kimberly said. "You know that what happened was suspicious. You know that there was more to that story."

Antoine looked down at his desk.

"If there was something suspicious," he said, "I doubt that this is a place where you could ever uncover it."

"What do you mean by that?" Kimberly asked.

Antoine paused and then spoke. "The last 10 years have been tough for Eastern Carousel. People are always looking for somebody to blame. Ten years ago, I was the hotshot who caught a fugitive. Nowadays, I've got a target on my back. Folks are blaming me for these murders somehow. The way people are talking and acting these days, it wouldn't surprise me if there was a conspiracy. And that's off the record."

I wondered what had happened to Antoine's character that would justify his statement. Perhaps after the death of Sheriff Patcher, the townsfolk had started eyeing him with the same suspicion that they had shown us. His character was finally seeing the true Eastern Carousel.

"Sheriff," Kimberly said, "I sense that you don't have many allies right now."

"Your senses are sharp," Antoine said.

"Well, maybe you could use some," Kimberly said.

Antoine paused and then said, "If I let you help me, you gotta understand one thing. Time moves fast and slow at the same time in a place like this. To some of the people here, ten years ago was yesterday."

"I know the feeling," Kimberly said.

"Suppose you might want to talk to who I got locked up in a cell," Antoine said. Was he using an accent?

"Who?" I asked.

"Well, it just so happens that Tamara Cano's mother was caught vandalizing things around town with spray paint. Seems she thinks ten years is long enough."

"I suppose we should talk to her," I said.

~-~

This was a small-town sheriff's office, so we just walked a few rooms over and saw Dina lying down in a cell. When she saw us, she started to holler.

"Not you," she said. "Back for another story?"

We had promised Dina's character we would help find her daughter, and we had broken that promise. We had left this town and her problems behind us.

"Miss Cano," Kimberly said, "I can't imag—"

"So you do remember me. How come you didn't remember whenever I sent your station letters every month trying to get to you? I called every week for three years, it felt like, just trying to get some more attention on my daughter."

Kimberly paused. "I'm sorry," she said. "There was nothing we could do with the investigation. We handed it off to the CBI."

"The CBI?" Dina ranted. "All they wanted to do was prove that nothing bad had happened so that they could go back to the city. They ignored my calls, too."

"Well, we're back on the case now," Kimberly said. "You don't need to forgive us, but if you're ever going to find out what happened to your daughter, we're your best shot."

Dina shook her head. "You're just going to get your story and leave."

"The story we're going to get," Kimberly said, "is the story of what really happened. We're here to find the truth."

Dina stared down at the ground. "The truth doesn't matter here in Eastern Carousel. I've been trying to tell them that the Patchers were involved for years."

"Miss Cano has been harassing the Patcher family for the better part of a decade," Antoine said. “Every few months, we’re getting called out to arrest her for trespass.”

Kimberly nodded. "We don't plan to harass them," she said. "If they are involved somehow, we plan to make sure everyone knows."

Dina waited for a moment as if trying to think of a line. "What choice do I have?" she said. "It's either you or nobody, and I’ve tried nobody."

~-~

Antoine let Dina out of her cell, and we prepared to start our investigation. The beginning was easy; the murder of Sheriff Thomas Patcher had occurred in the parking lot of the sheriff's department. That section had been marked off with police tape.

On-Screen.

"There really isn't anything to investigate," Antoine said. "Seems like the assailant just came up from behind him and lacerated his throat. We've got the local coroner trying to determine if the head was cut off in one go or if it happened after the sheriff bled out."

There really wasn't much to see at the crime scene, just a pool of blood. The crime scene photos weren't much more helpful either. The killer had left the head, which was quite an ugly thing to see, but I couldn't find any additional clues.

"We canvassed for witnesses," Antoine said. "One woman claims to have seen a tall man walking in the dark around the time of the murder. That's all we have so far for the sheriff, at least."

Off-Screen.

"Sounds like you've been busy," I said.

Antoine nodded. "I've been working on this since yesterday. I woke up sitting in my police cruiser outside of this crime scene."

"Whatever happened to the old sheriff?" I asked.

"They got mad at him after the harvest failed that year. The public sentiment seemed to be that if the search hadn't gone on so long, people would have been able to get their crops out of the field before the frost. They decided to pin the whole thing on him, kicked him out, and put one of the Patchers in his place."

We got in our cars and followed Antoine to Tugg Montgomery’s junkyard. We weren't driving; we had brought a cameraman just like last time. This one's name was Ted, and just like Nick, Ted didn't say much.

Everywhere we went, we would do an investigation, and then Kimberly would film a report on it. Sometimes, we would be on screen for it, and other times, we wouldn't. We didn't know what to do, so we just tried to stay in character.

At the Montgomery junkyard, the scene was quite a bit more gruesome.

On-Screen.

"Somehow Mr. Montgomery ended up with his hands in this crusher, which held him in place while the attacker removed his head," Antoine said.

"We're gonna have to clean that description up when we film the interview," Kimberly said.

Antoine nodded.

"There are no witnesses per se, but the victim's wife was at home during the crime."

"We should talk to her," Kimberly said.

The junkyard was large and sprawling, and at the front of it was a very poorly kept and modest home. Antoine knocked on the door.

"Sheriff's department," he called out.

He seemed to get a kick out of being able to call himself the sheriff, and I was sure that helped him with NPCs. Moments later, a small gray-haired woman came to the door.

"Sheriff, you're back."

"Yes, we just have some follow-up questions."

"What are they doing here?" she asked, looking at me, Kimberly, and Dina.

She kind of had a point.

"I brought in third-party consultants, given that we're shorthanded. They're here in an investigative capacity. I'm sure you don't mind."

On the red wallpaper, her name was Virginia Montgomery. She was an ordinary NPC, and if I were to read her expression correctly, she absolutely did mind us being there. But she didn't say anything; she just let us inside, staring at Dina the entire time. We still didn't have a good explanation for why Dina would be with us, but we just tried not to draw attention to her.

"You can sit here," Virginia said. "Would you like some lemonade?"

Antoine thought for a moment and said, "No, thank you."

I couldn't blame him; the place was not particularly hygienic.

The interview began like normal, with pleasantries, and it proceeded to be woefully unhelpful with Antoine leading things.

"There was nothing out of the ordinary," Virginia said as she fixed her hair bun for the third time.

Kimberly stepped in.

"Ma'am, it sure would help us figure things out if you could tell us how Tug was acting leading up to his passing."

"I told you," Virginia insisted. "There was nothing out of the ordinary."

Kimberly didn't respond. None of us did. We just watched and waited for her to continue.

Virginia shook her head. "Maybe Tugg was a little bit excited, but I don't think it has anything to do with his death."

"Excited?" Kimberly asked.

"He said that someone was following him the last few days," Virginia said.

"And you didn't think that was relevant to his death?" Antoine asked.

"Well, it's just the person he said was following him couldn't have been following him," she said nervously.

"Who?" Kimberly asked.

For a moment, Virginia didn't say anything.

"Virginia, whoever it was, we need to know."

"He said Benny Harless was following him," Virginia said. "He said he was being followed by Benny Harless' ghost."

We looked at each other.

Kimberly looked back at her and asked, "And why exactly would Benny Harless' ghost be haunting Tugg Montgomery?"

Virginia realized she had messed up. She sputtered out a few words and said, "No reason. It's just, I don't know, maybe he ripped him off on a few deals they made… there was nothing out of line."

We continued talking to her. As far as NPC interviews go, we had her on the ropes, but it seemed we had exhausted her of information about Tug's death. She didn't know what Tug had meant by being followed. She didn't know much of anything.

There was a lull in the conversation, and in that lull, I noticed something on the far wall.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I said. "Why do you have one of those shrines that the Patchers always have?"

Virginia looked back at the shrine, which showed Aurelius and Mavis Patcher. A candle was lit underneath.

"Well, Tugg was a Patcher," Virginia said. "His mother was, at least. Tug always loved being a part of the Patcher family, even if he wasn't part of the main line. Tug always valued family."

That made sense. How many other Patchers were there in town?

"Family is where you find purpose," I said, echoing the phrase that was written on the shrine.

"Exactly," she said. "That's exactly right. Now, if you don't have any more questions, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

~-~

Outside, we remained on screen.

"It's the Patchers. It's always the Patchers," Dina said. "I told you they were involved. The only question is how was the death of Benny Harless related to my daughter's disappearance."

"Well, he was one of the last people to see her alive. Maybe he remembered something," I said.

"He could have called something into the sheriff's office, and maybe Tommy Patcher was the one to get the call," Antoine suggested.

"So, what's next?" Dina asked.

"We need to go see Margaret Petty," I said.

"Who's Margaret Petty?" Antoine asked.

Margaret Petty was the woman with answers.

~-~

"Evening, Sheriff," Margaret said as she answered the door of her mobile home, confused. "How can I help you?"

While she didn't like the idea of being woken up late at night, she did have a kind tone to her voice.

Antoine looked back at me and then at her and said, "Ma'am, we're here to ask you a few questions about your Comstock Foray. You left that car in the care of Benny Harless, didn't you?"

Margaret, a larger woman with curled hair, turned her head and asked, "You woke me up to ask me about my stolen car from 1966?"

Antoine paused and then sheepishly said, "We just have a few questions."

"I thought your people said that the case was closed, that the car had been stolen and sold for parts. Why are you asking me about this all these years later?"

"This is strange, we understand, but we just need to know a few things," Antoine said.

Kimberly took over again. "It is our understanding that you took your Comstock Foray to Harless Automotive due to some handling issues."

Margaret took a moment to try to recall. "Yes, it pulled to the left. I just bought that car, and I wasn't going to take it back to that oaf, God rest his soul."

"What oaf?" Kimberly asked.

"Tugg Montgomery," Margaret answered. "That's the guy I bought it from. Gave me a really good deal, too. It's a shame that car was stolen out of Benny's lot."

"Can you remember when you purchased that car?"

"I had barely owned it for a day," Margaret said. "Benny said he could fix it right up, but of course, he ended up dying in that accident. Poor soul."

The pieces were starting to fall together.

"Thank you, ma'am," Antoine said as we rushed away from her trailer.

I took out my map of Eastern Carousel and laid it out on the trunk of our company car. I took my pen and said, "All right, look here. This is where the murder of Thomas Patcher occurred, and this is where the murder of Tugg Montgomery was. Do you see what's in the middle?"

They looked at the map.

"Harless Automotive, or at least what used to be Harless Automotive," Antoine said.

"That's right," I said. "Now, if you're a killer covered in blood and carrying a sharp weapon, odds are you're not going to stray too far from home. I bet that the killer is probably hiding somewhere near the Harless property, maybe in the woods in this area," I said, waving my finger over a section of the map.

The truth was, while my logic was sound, it wasn't necessarily correct. But I had seen this same logic used in movies time and time again. It was a nice visual for an audience. I was banking on one of two things happening: either I would be correct, or Carousel would accept my improvisation and make it correct.

As if answering my question, the police scanner started coming to life.

"We have an attacker at Hidden Gorge," a voice rang out. "There is an attacker at the campsites at Hidden Gorge on Faraway Lane. All units respond."

My bet was that there were some Patchers camping at Hidden Gorge.

I looked at the map, found Faraway Lane, and circled it. It completed the trifecta. Between it and the two murders, we were able to triangulate a location where the killer might be hiding. It confirmed my guess.

"I need to get there," Antoine said. "I'm the sheriff."

"Let's go," Dina said.

"No," I said. "Sheriff, you wanna go now, but I got a better idea for the rest of us."

They looked at me, confused.

"Well, if the killer's at Hidden Gorge," I said, "then that means he's not at home. If we're going to search these woods, now is the time."

We needed an encounter with the enemy. We needed the story to escalate enough for us to be able to understand it better. Trope Master stole half of my Plot Armor. I needed a return on that investment.

I didn't know if that was actually a good idea, but I thought Carousel might like it.

And boy, did it like it.

~-~

We were nearing the middle of Rebirth as we took some flashlights from our car, as well as one of Antoine’s guns (he had raided the sheriff’s department armory), and headed out into the woods.

We were off-screen for a little while after we entered them.

“Why exactly are we assuming he's in the woods?” Kimberly asked.

“We don't know what this killer is. If it really is Benny Harless' ghost or a haunted scarecrow, we need to be in a setting where that type of creature could make an appearance. The spooky overgrown woods are perfect for that.”

Ted, our new cameraman, walked behind us and ignored what we said. He was really good about that.

“And what if it's not a ghost?” Dina asked.

I knew what she was referring to. There was one obvious suspect. We met Rustle Harless ten years ago when he was a child, but by now, he would be an adult. We had no idea what was going on with him as far as the supernatural went, but we did know he had to come into play at some point in time.

What better reason for a time skip than to let an important character with a temper grow up?

“If it's not a ghost, we run, same as if it is a ghost,” I said.

We weren't at Second Blood yet, so no one needed to die. I didn't think that this foray into the woods would be our end, but I did think we could learn a whole lot.

“All else fails, we need to check out Harless Automotive anyway,” I said, “and it's right nearby.”

All else did fail.

We didn't find anything in the woods. That was okay. The search was suspenseful, and I'm sure Carousel got some great footage of us scaring the crap out of ourselves in the dark, foggy woods.

We came out of the forest onto farmland. Opposite us was a very well-kept farmhouse and what remained of Harless Automotive.

On-Screen.

We crept through the fields, trying our best to stick to the established path. We knew better than to trample on plants around here. Kimberly shined her light out into the field. All that answered us was darkness and waving grains of wheat, as well as rows of sunflowers and corn.

“This place is doing great,” Kimberly said. “It looks like they haven't had crop failure at all.”

I nodded. Even in the darkness, we could see that this was an oasis in Eastern Carousel. Rose Harless’ garden included every kind of vegetable and was full of life.

“Let's check out the garage,” I said.

We continued to shine our lights over the field, and all that ever got uncovered by them were plants. Kimberly started to scream but managed to catch herself. She shined her light on a wooden cross in the field. It was the same cross that the scarecrow had been hanging off, except not all of the scarecrow was there anymore. The head had been removed and the body hung limp.

We walked slowly closer to the garage on the other side of the field. Dina was quiet, and for the first time, I didn't think it was because of her natural shyness. She, like the rest of us, was spooked out.

“It's locked,” Kimberly said, shining her light at the door, where a padlock prevented anyone from entering.

“Let me look at it,” Dina said. Walking up to it, she analyzed it and said, “Give me a second.”

In approximately a second, the lock flipped open and the door hung ajar.

“Are you getting this?” Kimberly asked Ted, the cameraman.

He swallowed hard and said, “I'm getting it, but this camera doesn't do so well in the dark.”

Carousel was going to love that.

“Here we go,” Kimberly said as she pushed open the door and walked inside. The rest of us followed.

The garage had not been used for cars in quite some time. The lifts, however, were still in use. The mess from Benny's death had been cleaned up, and the hydraulics had been repaired.

“Is that a treehouse?” Dina asked.

And that's exactly what it looked like—a treehouse built on a car lift.

“I told you my intuition was right,” I said. “I knew we were looking for a tree-something.”

A lame joke, but I needed to carry forward the thread of my latent psychic abilities somehow. A set of stairs led up to the treehouse.

Kimberly was the first one up.

“Oh my God,” she said.

We all scrambled up behind her. What we found was a small mattress with blankets and a collection of magazines, some related to cars, others were just comic books.

What had freaked Kimberly out was the shrine on the wall, but this shrine was not to the Patcher ancestors. This shrine centered around a missing poster for Tamara Cano. There were candles, but none of them were lit.

At the base of the shrine was a Mason jar filled with various seeds, a sunflower, and inside a small plastic baggie, something that I couldn't quite identify at first.

“It's a hair tie,” Kimberly said.

It was a ponytail holder, the kind with the little plastic ornaments that little girls used to decorate their hair.

“That's Tamara's,” Dina said.

She grabbed it and held it up to the flashlight. The ponytail holder had hair stuck in it and dried, rust-colored blood, and there was something else stuck to it that I didn't recognize at first. It was red and crystallized, almost gooey.

“What is going on here?” Ted said as he came up and filmed the shrine.

That was the first line he had spoken without being asked a question first. He wasn't willing to come all the way into the treehouse.

That was his mistake.

He looked on and held up the camera. Something grabbed onto his leg and pulled him down the stairs rapidly, leaving the camera behind.

His screams echoed through the garage.