ISSUE FIVE: Clues
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Two months had passed since the day my car broke down, and I was frustrated. I’d spent most of my days combing the small towns and villages that dotted the landscape, interviewing everyone I met, and I was still no closer to uncovering PowerJack’s location. Over the course of more than sixty days, I’d turned out exactly zero clues. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch. That very day, too, I hadn’t found anyone who was willing to talk to me – they were all too busy with their work – and it was getting late, it was almost time to go back to Deer Lodge for the night.

I was about to turn the car back when I spotted two people near a small farming goods store, loading their purchases into a pick-up truck. Okay, let’s try them, it can’t hurt. I parked my car, checked my appearance in the mirror (it’s always best to make a good first impression), and got off. I put on my best professional smile as I approached the two.

“Hello!” I cheerfully greeted them. “May I have a few minutes of your time?”

They looked up at me. Two men, the first one about forty to forty-five, carefully combed black hair sticking close to his head – he’d obviously gone all in on the hair gel – and glasses. His body was muscled, likely from a lifetime of working on a farm. The other one looked very similar, but his hair was greying, and he was probably a smidge over sixty-five. They were clearly related, probably father and son or uncle and nephew.

“Sure,” said the young one. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to bother you,” I said. “I’m Antonia Shaeffer, and I’m a journalist. I’m writing a piece on the Tragedy at Dallas, the resulting Vigilante Act, and how it impacted the common folk. The ones not living in big cities, I mean.”

The man nodded. “Okay. So, what do you want to know?”

First contact: they’d agreed to talk to me. Good.

“To begin with, when was the first time you heard about the Tragedy? After it happened, I mean.”

The man put his hand to his chin, trying to remember. “Let’s see now…” he said, “It was what, nine years ago?”

“Ten and a few months, Clark,” said the other man. Then he turned to me and smirked. “I’ve a good memory for dates.”

“Ten years, okay,” continued Clark. “Well, I think we didn’t hear about it until a few days after it had happened? I know the news broadcasts were all about it for weeks on end, but we were really busy. It had been a really rainy few weeks, and we were working almost around the clock to make sure our animals were safe, and to try and secure the ground as best as possible. It was so wet that…”

He shook his head, and turned to the other man. “Pa, was that the year half the mountain came down? The landslide near the Rose and Kent farms?”

“The Kyle farm, Clark,” replied “Pa” (which I guessed made him Clark’s father).

“It’s the Rose farm, Pa,” rebutted Clark.

“It was the Kyle farm back then son, it hadn’t been sold to miss Rose yet,” said the old man, stubbornly. “Anyway, yes, it was the year of the landslide. It even happened the same day as the Tragedy, I think?” He turned to me and asked, “What day was that?”

“The tenth of March,” I helpfully replied.

“Yeah, sounds about right,” he replied. “I still remember it, there was this loud BANG up in the mountain, and then the whole side came down. Damn lucky no one was killed, and the damage was limited to some blocked roads, it was the biggest landslide I’d ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few.”

I raised my eyebrows, but didn’t inquire further. “So, it was a few days until you turned on the news and heard about what happened?” I asked instead.

“That’s right,” nodded Clark. “And, to be honest, we all thought… Whatever? It really didn’t concern us anyway. I mean, of course we were sad about a thousand people dying,” he quickly added, probably to avoid seeming callous, “But it was so far away. And in a big city, while here we’re in the middle of nowhere.” He waved his hands at the mountain landscape surrounding us. His father nodded in agreement.

“And the other thing, the Vigilante Act…” Clark continued. “What was that for again?”

“It means that every Numan hero has to be deputised if they want to fight crime,” I supplied. “And they are subject to all the same oversight as police officers. That’s basically it.” I’d studied the Act carefully, so I could answer any questions about it if needed. It was all very technical, but what I’d said was a good summary.

“Yeah, that,” replied Clark’s father. “I really don’t see how it affects us. I mean…” he waved his hands vaguely again, “Nowhere. Hadn’t seen a Numan before then, haven’t seen one since.”

“Alright,” I nodded. “So I guess we can say that your life hasn’t changed very much?”

“Make that not at all,” replied Clark. “I’m sorry we can’t be of more help.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you for your time,” I said, shook their hands, and walked back to my car.

When I got in I sighed, then lightly punched the steering wheel a few times and groaned. Damn. Another dead end. They’d said a few things I hadn’t heard about before, but still I’d found no clues as to where PowerJack may be hiding. In a sour mood, I drove back to my motel.

I was almost to Deer Lodge when my phone rang. I glanced at the screen: it was Claire.

I’d met with her a half-dozen times since she’d rescued me from my car breaking down and drove me back to town, and we’d really hit it off: we both were approaching this a bit warily, but we were clearly interested in each other. We had reached the clearly more than friends, but not quite dating yet many queer relationships tend to go through; one of us would have to make a move, sooner or later, and either break it off because it was taking too long, or try to make it official.

I pulled over to the side of the road – don’t drive while talking on your phones, kids! – and answered the call.

“Evenin’, Claire. What’s up?”

“Hi Tonia!” came Claire’s cheerful reply. “Nothing much, I was just thinking about you and wondering how you were doing. How did work go today?”

She liked to tease me like that, even though my work was just driving up and down the countryside looking for people to chat up. “It went good, actually,” I replied. “I’ve talked to a few more people today, and I think I have nearly enough material to start writing my piece.”

No I didn’t. Not the piece I wanted to write anyway; however, I could’ve written a master’s thesis on what life was like in south-western Montana both ten years before and then, and on how it had not been changed at all even by a whole neighbourhood blowing up – which, admittedly, had happened clear across the country.

“That’s great! So…” Claire answered, and I could hear the hesitation in her voice. “Does this mean you’ll be leaving us soon?”

“No, not for a while yet,” I said. “I still need a few more weeks to gather more information, and to set down the foundation of the article. How about you? How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, same old, same old. Milk the cows, feed the cows, let the cows out to graze. It’s not very lively up here at my farm.”

“I guess not.”

“Oh, speaking of which,” she continued, “Would you like to come to dinner to my place one of these days? You know, to catch up a bit and chat.”

I blinked. Damn, girl. I guess she decided to be the one to make a move. And I had to admire how smoothly she had worked it in the conversation.

“I’d love to,” I replied. “Tomorrow sounds good?”

“Yeah, sure!” I could clearly hear the happiness in Claire’s voice. “Hang on, I’ll give you some directions on how to reach my place. Do you have something to write on?”

I smirked. “I’m a journalist, are you seriously asking me if I have something to write on?”

Claire’s nice laugh came though the phone. “No, I guess not. You ready?” she asked.

I replied affirmatively, and wrote down the directions she gave me. We said goodbye, and I hung up.

Well then.

I had a date.

I spent the following morning searching through town for a clothing store, and then searching through that store for some nice clothes to wear. Like a dress, or something. While I had many clothes that were presentable – again, always make a good first impression – I hadn’t brought along any to Montana that were nice. Like, fit for a date nice. The choice wasn’t very wide, but in the end I settled for a knee-length, short-sleeved yellow dress, and I decided to wear my black suit jacket over it.

I arrived at Claire’s farm at about six PM, after quite a long drive through the mountains, but the directions were easy enough to follow; knowing the way, I would have no problem finding the place again, even without the directions on hand. Her house was quite a way’s off the beaten path though: it was an old farmhouse – mid-sixties or early seventies, if I had to guess – set at one end of a wide, flat meadow that had clearly been cut clear a long while ago from the surrounding forest. The other end of the field dropped down suddenly in a cliff that was a few dozen metres tall, and which gradually became less and less steep, giving way to the forest again. A younger forest, though, I realised. The trees were much shorter on that side.

Claire greeted me at the door. She’d clearly put some effort in her appearance: she was wearing a dress too – the first time I’d ever seen her wear one, I realised, since I’d always seen her wear jeans or overalls. But the mid-calf blue dress suited her, the shade matched her eyes. She had even put on some make-up, I noticed: another thing I’d never seen her wear before.

“Hi Tonia! Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, making a sweeping motion with her arms to encompass the meadow, the farmhouse, and the barn that was next to it.

“Nice place you have here,” I said.

“Right?” she replied with a smile. “Fell in love with it the moment I saw it. Wanna take a tour?”

“I’d love to.”

She led me to the barn first, to show me her cows; apparently, she was very proud of them and of how much milk they produced every day. In short order I was introduced to Adams, Franklin, Hamilton, Jay, Jefferson, Madison, and Washington.

“Why did you call them that? Milk cows are all female, right?” I asked.

“Yep,” Claire said. “They’re a cool girl posse, I was just having a bit of fun when I named them. Now right this way…”

She showed me some of the farming equipment, then we moved on to the house. Ground floor: living room, kitchen, dining room, bathroom. First floor: two bedrooms, a study, and another bathroom. Small, but comfy.

“The guest room’s been unoccupied for a long time,” she explained. “Been a while since I had guests.”

She beamed at me. “Now that we’re done with the tour, how about dinner?”

“Sounds good.”

“Great! I’ve made a casserole, just take a seat on the couch while I warm up the oven, I’ll be right with--”

She was interrupted by the phone ringing. Her landline; made sense, since there was no signal this deep into the mountains – I’d checked my phone before.

Claire pouted. She was cute when she pouted. “It’s probably nothing, I’ll be right back,” she said, as she went to answer the phone.

“Hello?” she said into the receiver. “Oh, hi Damian! What’s up?”

She paused. “What? Now? Damian, I’m kinda busy.” I could see her steal a glance at me, just sitting there on the couch. “Yeah, I know. Alright. Fine. See you in a while.”

Claire hung up, turned to me, and sighed. “I’m afraid dinner is cancelled.

“Bad news?” I asked.

“Not bad, just… That was Damian, he’s my neighbour, lives in the next farm over.”

I nodded. I remembered.

“Well, three of his cows are calving. At the same time.” She swore under her breath and grumbled, “The fool didn’t time it right.”

“So what?”

Claire sighed again. “He hasn’t got enough people to handle all three, so he asked me to go over and give him a hand.” Her face and voice both turned apologetic. “Tonia, I’m really sorry, but… I kinda have to. Neighbours help each other around here.”

“I understand,” I said. Though I was a bit bummed.

“We’ll reschedule the dinner. How does next week sound like?”

“Sounds good.”

“Good,” she said, smiling. Then she looked down at herself and said, “Guess I need to go change into something more appropriate for helping a cow give birth. Don’t go anywhere, I want to see you off.”

She started walking up the stairs towards the first floor, then paused and said, “Could you do me a favour and start my truck? It’s an old piece of junk, it takes a while to warm up and be drivable. Keys should be in one of the drawers next to the front door.”

“Okay,” I said, and got up from the couch. I found the drawers, and started opening them one by one. Nothing, nothing, batteries, lightbulbs…

And what was this?

In one of the drawers were several sheets of paper, stacked neatly one on top of the others, written in a messy handwriting. It was a list of names. A long list of names, I realised. Hundreds of them. I started reading a few of them. Berenice Barber; Marjory Lehr; Rudolph Thach; Kelly Seifert. Some sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place where I’d heard – or read – them before.

My journalist sense started tingling.

Against my best judgement I pulled out the list and quickly snapped pictures of every page with my cellphone, then carefully replaced the stack of paper into the drawer.

I opened a couple more drawers until I found the keys; I rushed out, put the truck into neutral, pulled the handbrake, and turned the engine on. I just barely made it back to the couch and sat down when Claire came back down the stairs; she was wearing her familiar shirt-and-overalls combo again.

“Swear to God, whoever invented make-up remover should be shot. It took me so much scrubbing…” she muttered. “Tonia,” she said. “Again, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling. We hugged goodbye, then got in our respective cars, and drove away.

While I was driving I kept thinking about the list. What the hell did it mean? Why would anyone write down so many names? What, was Claire some sort of serial killer? Was I going to be the latest addition to the list? And why did some of those names sound familiar?

Well, I knew just who to ask.

When I got back to Deer Lodge and my cellphone had signal again, I made a call. After a few moments, someone answered.

“Hello, you’ve reached the house of miss Jennifer Shaeffer; she’s currently unavailable right now, please--”

“Is Jenny using you as an answering machine now, Jeeves?”

There was a pause, then the voice spoke again. “Good evening, mistress Antonia. How may I help you?”

“Put Jenny on, please.”

To be continued in: TRUTH

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