Excerpt taken from a 2013 edition of the Lovington Gazette—Page 1, Article 1 -

"Kullman Mines Deemed Unsafe; Workers Now Unemployed"

Just two days ago, an explosion occurred in the local Kullman Mines, which trapped over nearly 50 workers, the mines were temporarily shut down in an attempt to free the individuals trapped. A rescue party led by Sheriff Jeffrey Fowler, alongside varying volunteers from the police and fire department, departed down the damaged shaft the very night it happened; this morning, only 10 of the workers, and a handful of the rescue team walked out. Sheriff Fowler was not amongst them, reportedly having been killed when a faulty wire caught fire, causing the elevator to malfunction and crash.

"Yeah, I saw the whole thing happen." said Deputy Hank Anderson. "I noticed the sparks on the wire and warned Jeffrey against going back down, but he was determined to get more men out. I guess that was just like him, you know; he never wanted to leave a man behind."

Following this incident, town officials have now deemed the Kullman Mines an unsafe work place and have insisted on it remaining shut down until further notice. Any former employees fortunate enough to have survived are being given their last paychecks, including an extra bonus to take care of any medical bills they may have.

There hasn't been any word as to if there'll be any attempt to recover the bodies of those lost, but for now, the town has planned a candlelight vigil to honor and mourn the victims. This vigil is planned for this Saturday at Winslow Park, which has already prepared a shrine in honor of the individuals killed. A separate memorial service has been planned for Sheriff Fowler, in which many family and friends are expected to be in attendance.

As of right now, there has been no official word of who will be replacing him—there had already been some speculation who would be taking the job over, as Fowler had announced his intentions to retire in a few months. But no one was quite expecting him to be taken from his job, or his life, as soon as he was. Many townspeople suspect that it will be Deputy Anderson who will be fulfilling the role—as one officer had reportedly overheard the two discussing the matter just two months prior to the mining incident.

Whatever the case, Lovington is sure to be seeing some darker times ahead of itself now that the mines have been shut down. One can only hope that this shut down is indeed temporary, and that the mines will be back up and running in a few months.

In Hank's mind, there were only two things he needed to get his day started. A cold shower, and a strong, black coffee with two stiff shots of whiskey. But being violently pulled from the bliss of sleep by the blaring of his old alarm clock?

That was definitely not one of those things.

That was something he could live without.

It was both horribly upsetting and hilarious at the same time when he thought about it—one minute, he'd be in his dreams, where life was perfect, and nothing sucked. And the next minute, he'd be startled awake and pulled back into a depressing reality. And while the comfort of the dreams would fade, and the awfulness of reality slowly crept in on him, he would lay in bed for another five minutes while the alarm continued to be an annoying reminder of that bleak reality in which he lived in and would soon have to get up and exist in for yet another day.

He was in bed now, not having moved in those entire minutes, and the alarm hadn't gotten the memo that it was time to pipe down yet. It didn't help that it was entirely overcast and raining outside—not the type of weather that would motivate you into getting up in the morning, but Hank had to admit that even on sunny days he couldn't find the motivation to drag himself out of bed.

Grunting, he rolled over on his side, reaching to switch off the clock, but in his defense, he was still slightly hungover from the previous night's endeavors and felt like someone was repeatedly kickboxing him in the temples. And the loud beeping certainly wasn't helping things any, let alone help him focus.

Because of this, his fingers ended up fumbling around trying to blindly find the switch on the clock, before he gave up entirely. Grumbling to himself, he sat up and practically yanked the device from the wall, chucking it on the floor where it landed in several broken pieces.

Cheap fuckin' thing, why do I even bother...

Well, he was up now. As much as his brain demanded he lay back down, he knew better. Because of he did that, it would be another six hours until he showed up at the police station, and even then, he doubted that he would've gotten enough rest. He could sleep a whole day and still manage to show up to work in an almost completely disheveled state—sometimes either forgetting to put on the right shoes or leaving his badge at the house.

No, he wasn't going to allow that today. Not when he'd shown up that way yesterday, oh hell no. He wasn't about to go for two days in a row and give his co-workers another opportunity to make fun of him.

Huh.

Perhaps that was the only thing really motivating him to get up. The chance to spite his fellow officers by showing up at hours they didn't expect him to. Or maybe, just the chance to spite in general.

So, and regrettably so, he pulled himself out of the bed, instantly being greeted with the unwelcoming chill of the air coming from the AC vent above him—and a few short minutes later, that cold chill of the AC was replaced by the cold chill of the shower water as he stepped inside the tub. Not that he'd ever been a fan of cold showers in the past, but he'd read somewhere that they were beneficial to your health...mainly some shit about how they increased alertness or something.

And on mornings where he felt like this, he needed that increased alertness. It helped him look like he actually gave a crap about his job.

Which, by this point, he wasn't sure if he did anymore.

He stepped out of the shower, stopping past the mirror on his way out of the bathroom. Good lord, his reflection was a sorry one. Did he look alert today? He couldn't quite tell—maybe it was because the sleep was still heavy on his face, or maybe this had just become his neutral expression.

Either way, this didn't change anything.

An old razor blade sat untouched on the sink's edge, and for a minute, he contemplated almost picking it up and taking it to the bird's nest that had formed around his face. He contemplated such a thing almost every morning, and every morning he would decide that it just wasn't worth the effort.

Padding back to his room, Hank stopped at his dresser and, after being met with some resistance, was able to pry open the twenty-five-year-old drawer open in order to dig through his clothes, most of which, were not folded. It took great effort to find clothes that weren't wrinkled, leading him to settle on the least wrinkled pair of pants, a white t-shirt, and a tan button-down shirt that had seen better days. It still had a small coffee stain at its hem, but it wasn't like anyone was going to notice it.

Halfway into buttoning his shirt, he spotted his badge resting on a mess of magazines residing atop the dresser. Stopping, he reached over, and picked it up, running his thumb over the cold metal, where his name was engraved.

Sheriff Hank Anderson.

Hm. He'd used to think that had a nice ring to it. Nowadays, he wasn't so sure.

Sighing heavily, he looked up to the bedroom mirror, carefully pinning the badge onto his shirt. One black tie later and gun belt later, he'd left the bedroom and walked down the hall to the kitchen, not before nearly tripping over a formerly-sleeping dog, who merely looked up at him innocently as Hank cursed under his breath.

"You know, Sumo..." He said, cutting an annoyed look down at the animal. "You have a nice dog bed out in the living room, one that I paid 80 fuckin' bucks for. How's about giving that a try for once?"

The only response he got from the dog was a loud yawn, as he stood up and trotted off down the hall. Hank huffed, shaking his head.

"Yeah, that's what I thought..."

He continued his walk to the kitchen, where Sumo was already pawing and sniffing at his empty dog bowl, before moving over to whining at the large bag of dog food that was almost spilling to the floor.

He didn't make things any easier for Hank as he tried to pick the food bowl up, continuously pawing and doing little hops on his front paws as he eagerly waited for his breakfast. There was a good chance he was just excited he was getting it this early for once, unlike other late mornings where Hank had awoken from a drunken stupor to find him tearing into the dog food bag.

"Alright, alright—watch it-" Hank had to push the big dog down, as he was all but jumping up on him by now. He managed to get a sizeable amount of food into the bowl and sat it down, allowing the Saint Bernard to happily chow down on his kibble. Once he made sure Sumo was settled, Hank moved to finding something for himself to eat.

He made a mental note to pay a trip to the store later this week, as his search through the cabinets revealed just how long it had been since he'd done such a thing. The most he found was a week-old box of donuts, so shrugging, he took one out of the box and stuck it in his mouth, all while perusing the fridge—finding nothing but expired orange juice and a few beers inside.

Well, any other morning, he'd love to snatch a beer up for breakfast, but his lingering hangover warned him against it. So, he merely shut the fridge and decided he'd just grab a coffee once he got down to the station; he didn't feel like making any now, and if he was early enough, he'd be able to get at least four or five cups before Gavin showed up and started hogging the damn thing.

Speaking of which, he'd have to leave now if he wanted that chance. It was already 7:15 and it was about a fifteen-minute drive to work—so he grabbed another two donuts from the box and gave Sumo was a quick scratch behind the ears (even though the big dog was more or less still focused on consuming his breakfast), making his way to the front door. He snatched up his jacket from the couch on his way, throwing it on whilst walking out.

The minute he stepped outside, he was greeted with the chill of an early November morning. It didn't seem to be raining as much at the moment, but it was still a tad cloudy out, with the threat of more rain on the way. He expected as much, Lovington didn't get much in the way of sunny days in the colder seasons.

Somehow, it was oddly befitting for this town. He couldn't remember the last time this place had seen a sunny day, ever since the mining incident. Metaphorically, anyways.

He seated himself in his car, taking a good minute to find his keys, before realizing they were stuffed into the lowest corner of his jacket pocket. Mumbling to himself, he took them out and started up the engine, having to twist the keys around a few times before the old mutter pathetically sputtered and started to hum.

As he backed out of the driveway, he stopped momentarily to reach up and adjust the rearview mirror. His thumb brushed across a small photograph pinned inside—a photograph of a small boy, no older than six or seven. Hank's mouth pressed into a tight line, and he inhaled sharply, bringing his focus back into backing the car out onto the street.

After narrowly avoiding backing into a pothole that he could've sworn he'd yelled at the town officials to take care of, he was driving out of the neighborhood and onto the road that led into downtown.

It was about 7:30 when he showed up at the station.

There weren't too many cars parked in the parking lot, which meant he would be getting the first shot at the coffee this morning. Unless of course, Amelia, was already here—but she hardly drank the stuff. She always ended up bringing her own thermos of whatever tea she'd felt like drinking that day. Whatever it was, it was always something healthy—mainly green tea, which she'd offered Hank a cup of on her first day working there.

That had been the last time he'd decided he was going to accept anything she offered him.

Really, he had nothing against her. She was a sweet girl and was one of the few people he could stand talking to around this place, but she was also a health nut, and had made it her personal goal to make sure the fridge was cleared of sweets before anyone showed up to work. Which, when Hank thought about, was probably why she was always the first one here.

Realizing that she was no doubt already seated at her desk and would probably chide him the minute she saw him with the last donut he hadn't managed to finish (because of having to drive as slowly and carefully as possible through the never-ending amount of roadwork that he could've sworn had finished up several days ago), he quickly shoved it in his mouth, and swallowed it just as quickly—leaving him feeling like his stomach was going to think he'd just lost his teeth.

The air around him transitioned from cold to warm as he stepped inside the building, and it was more than welcome to him after the few short seconds he'd had to walk from his car to the station's entrance. Already he could see that many of the desks were empty; either everyone wasn't here yet or were off rescuing someone's cat from a tree. The only person who was visible was Amelia, seated behind her desk, and her thermos next to her, as it always was.

She was typing at the computer as Hank walked in, looking up at the sound of the glass doors shutting behind him.

"Oh, Sheriff. Good morning." She greeted him, with a hint of surprise in her voice. Like everyone else here, she probably half-expected him to come waltzing in at 2:00 in the afternoon, so sometimes, coming here early just to see the surprise on his co-workers faces made it all worth sacrificing another several hours of sleep.

"Mornin', Amelia."

Hank offered a smile, albeit a brief one, as a return to her greeting, and immediately made his way over to the coffee machine. As much as Amelia proclaimed to not like it, she was gracious enough to have a nice full pot brewing before any of the officers showed up, and for that, he was grateful. The headache from his hangover was still in the back of his head and showed no signs of leaving anytime soon, and after the alarm clock incident this morning, he doubted he would've been able to even manage getting a pot of coffee put together.

He just hoped he'd be able to get his cup and get to his office before Amelia decided to make another tea offering. But, of course, right on cue, he could already hear her chair scooting back as he picked up one of the styrofoam cups from the table, and her heels were already clicking across the floor towards him as he began to pour the coffee into his cup.

"Hey...Sheriff—"

"Not interested."

Her mouth snapped shut at Hank's blunt interruption, and she sighed, taking out the thermos from behind her back.

"Come on, I promise it's not green tea this time." she insisted, all while Hank set the pot back down. He tore off the top of a sugar packet, merely side-eyeing Amelia's thermos as he dumped the contents of the packet into his cup.

"Oh yeah? What is it this time?"

"Rooibos tea. I found a recipe for it online last night." Beaming, Amelia unscrewed the top of her thermos and tipped it forward ever so slightly, to reveal a rather orange-colored beverage inside. The smell itself wasn't entirely pleasant, and Hank didn't spend long looking inside before immediately going back to preparing his coffee.

"Hm, yeah. I'll pass."

"You sure, Sheriff?" She pursed her lips, screwing the lid back on. "This stuff is supposed to decrease blood pressure, and considering how high yours probably is—"

"Christ, stop. You're startin' to sound like my goddamn doctor." Hank tossed the sugar packet into the trash can and picked his cup up, taking a quick sip...which, was honestly a rather bitter, and rather hot sip. "If I wanted a lecture on my blood pressure I'd have gone to talk to him instead."

"Well...I'm just saying..." Even as she was going back to her desk to set the thermos down, it didn't seem like she was done with her sales pitch yet. "I've seen you pay a visit to that coffee pot at least 5 times every day...seriously, that can't be good for your blood pressure."

"For fuck's sake, Amelia, a lot of stuff isn't good for your blood pressure." Hank stopped halfway to his office, and after swallowing another mouthful of coffee, spread his arms apart in a grand gesture to reveal himself.

"But hey, look at me. I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Amelia glanced at him as she picked up a folder from her desk, snorting.

"Dunno. It's getting kinda hard to tell anymore."

Hank's mouth open and shut, as any response he was trying to think of wasn't coming to him. The one arm that wasn't currently holding coffee in it dropped back to his side, exasperated.

"Oh..." He bit down on his lip, biting back the urge to laugh. That was not funny, what she'd said wasn't that funny, but a part of him wanted to laugh at it. She wasn't wrong, to be fair, he'd looked at himself in the mirror every day and thought the same thing.

"Oh, yeah...sure. Very funny." All while jabbing his finger at her, he downed another bitter sip of coffee while she laughed. "Hey, just remember, you aren't getting paid to make fun of me. I might decide to have your salary cut in half."

"Oh, no you won't."

"Really? You don't think so?" Hank's brows drew together, and he snorted. "Okay, well, have fun looking at a half-baked check, this month."

Amelia eyed him from the file she was looking at, coyly smiling.

"I look forward to it."

Hank shook his head at her and turned his back, surveying the practically empty office in front of them. He could vaguely make some identifying contents on some of them, which showed that some people had been here besides Amelia had been here. He recognized one of them as Gavin's—it wasn't hard to make out with his custom sarcastic coffee mug that was placed near the keyboard. And looked like he'd left his cellphone there too, pfft.

Idiot.

"Hey, where the fuck is everyone at, anyways?" He turned back to her, as she sat back down at her computer. "I know I'm early for once, but this is ridiculous."

"Oh no, they were definitely here." Amelia filed through a bunch of papers before pulling one out and setting it down next to her. "But Chris's wife ended up needing him to come back home for something, and I think Gavin went out to Mrs. Kowalski's place, just a few minutes before you got here."

"God, you're tellin' me she's called already?" Hank had moved to the window, peering out through the blinds for any signs of his deputies. He looked back to Amelia, disbelief on his face. "It's not even 9:00 yet—what the hell happened this time?"

"Beats me. I couldn't make anything out through all the Polish she was screaming at me." Amelia shrugged, as she typed out something on her keyboard. "But I'm willing to bet her dog probably got loose and bit another neighborhood kid, again."

"Eh, wouldn't surprise me. I keep tellin' her she needs to get a muzzle for that thing." Hank sighed and took another swig of his coffee, but silently chuckled within himself. With Mrs. Kowalski being one of their daily callers, he almost always dreaded having to go over to her house and deal with whatever daily task she'd seemed to have prepared for the department.

One of those things was dealing with her beast of a German Shepherd, who was far too overprotective for his own good. At one point, Hank had almost considered asking her to let the dog work at the department, but he'd decided against it—even if he'd asked jokingly, she would've been horrified at the suggestion. She treated that thing like it was a baby and was always quick to shoot down whoever looked at him bad.

Which, that was something Gavin did on a regular basis, and that was the very reason why Hank had chuckled. Nothing his superiors ever said or did seemed to intimidate him very much, but one glare and a good scolding from a little old Polish lady was enough to make him shake in his boots. He was almost sad he wasn't there to see it today, but on the other hand, he was just happy he didn't have to deal with the likes of Mrs. Kowalski today.

Not yet anyways. She was likely to call again if Gavin had anything to do with it.

Noticing that he was almost down to the pit of his cup, he went back to briefly refill his cup, this time, nearly filling it to the brim. He then headed back across the station, towards his office.

"Well, I'm sure we'll hear all about it once he gets back." He said to Amelia as he passed her by, stopping at his office door. "Unless anything else happens before then, don't bother me."

"As usual. Of course." Amelia mock-saluted him and was about to turn back to her computer, when she gasped and looked back up. "Oh, yeah! I'm still sorting through some of the old files—the sorted ones are on your desk if you wanted to look them over."

"Sure." Hank twisted the door open, taking a cautious sip from the coffee this time. Not quite as hot, but still very bitter. With Amelia back to work at her laptop, he walked into his office and shut the door behind him, the sound of Amelia's typing and the whirring of the vent developing into background noises as he did so.

It was quiet, now. A heavy, smothering sort of quiet—the same one that washed over him each day that he stepped into this room, and looked around it. Certificates and photos lined the walls, looking like they hadn't been dusted in ages, some newspaper clippings as well. A small table sat next to one of the file cabinets, an aged-record player resting atop it.

Hank walked over to it, briefly eyeing the messy stack of records beneath it, before kneeling long enough to pull out an old Miles Davis record from beneath a Benny Goodman record, blowing the dust off from it. Soon, the deafening silence in the small room was replaced with easy-going jazz tunes, as Hank placed the record atop the player, and stood back up, turning back to look around the room once more.

The music hadn't really helped much, things still felt just as stifling as they did every day in here. He really only turned it on as a distraction, just so things wouldn't be too heavy—but even then, it just didn't help and ended up becoming background noise, just like Amelia's typing and the vent were right now.

His eyes then settled on the chair. That ancient, leather chair, that he was sure had been here years before he'd ever started working in here. No doubt many a sheriff had gone and sit in it, but that did little to ease the guilt Hank felt anytime he sat down in it. True, it had been a solid five years since the mining incident and since Jeffrey had been killed, but there was something haunting about being in the same place your deceased predecessor had been, years before.

Haunting or not, however, he sat down anyways, the old chair creaking underneath its weight. Amelia had constantly tried to convince him to upgrade to a newer chair for several months now, as this one was basically at the point of falling apart, but Hank couldn't do that. Not when he'd made that same suggestion to Jeffrey once, and he'd pretty much given him the same response that Hank himself had given Amelia, except with a few different choices in words.

"Parting with this thing would be like someone deciding to steal the Declaration of Independence, Hank. It's a part of this office's history, and with how modern everything is nowadays, it wouldn't hurt to have a bit of old fashioned in here."

His words echoed in Hank's ears, as he settled back in the chair. It was nearly incredible how he could replay that event in his mind, like it was happening right in front of him. He was seated in the very position Jeffrey had been in, and he could almost see himself seated in front of it. In fact, the events of that conversation and day were so crystal clear, that he was certain he could quote it by heart.

Mainly because that had been a day that no one had been able to forget. A short time after he and Jeffrey had had this conversation, they'd gotten word of the mining accident.

That was the last time this room had ever felt so warm and welcoming, and the last sunny day that Lovington had ever seen.

Things had been so...ugly, and cold since then.

If it weren't for the newspaper clippings in his office, Hank would've almost forgotten that this even was Lovington. It wasn't the same town that he and his ex-wife had moved into before Cole was born, he knew that much. More business had been open then, more stores; but with the ever-growing financial burdens, he'd seen more and more "For Sale" signs than he'd had liked to have seen.

He sat his coffee on his desk and moved to picking up one of the numerous files that Amelia had mentioned. Thumbing through, all he could do was shake his head the further he went, reading reports that entailed numerous robberies and acts of violence that had occurred in only the past two months. He didn't know how half these thieves thought stealing would be the answer to their woes, it wasn't going to help put this place back on it's feet.

Slamming the file shut, he grumbled and tossed it back onto the stack. Sometimes, he wanted to ask himself what had happened, to make things end up this way. But he didn't need to, not when these reports kept piling up, and not when he'd been the very witness to the event that had sent this town derailing down a dark road.

Things could've been okay, he'd thought to himself. Things really could've turned out okay after that accident; yes, the town would've been in a mourning state, but maybe things could've turned out a whole lot better. Maybe the mine's reopening could've gone better, maybe it wouldn't have been permanently shut down, and finances wouldn't be so tight.

Maybe Hank wouldn't have been so preoccupied that year. It'd only been his first year as sheriff after all, and it hadn't been fair—it hadn't left much time to do anything other than take control of the mess left behind after Fowler passed. Maybe he could've had a better chance to stop the—

He startled, not realizing how much he'd sunk into his thoughts until he'd nearly dropped his coffee cup in the process of picking it back up. Muttering to himself, he put the cup aside and went back to picking out another file to look at. No, he'd showed up early today, he couldn't waste his time by letting his thought process spiral out of control for the umpteenth time. That would lead him straight back to Jimmy's Bar by 6:00 PM tonight.

A quick knock sounded at his door, and before he'd had a chance to glance up, Amelia had poked her head inside.

"Hey, Sheriff. Sorry to bother you," she said. "But I just got a call from Ben. Something's happened downtown."

Hank stared back at her for a moment, before responding. He'd figured it'd only be a matter of time before he'd be called in for something, it was one of the numerous grand reminder of why he didn't like to get here early. A classic example of the cons once again outweighing the pros.

He closed the file he'd picked up, stiffly nodding.

"Uh...okay, yeah, tell him I'll be there in a few minutes."

She nodded and left, the door clicking shut as she shut it. Hank let out a heavy sigh as he pushed his chair back, and stood up, though it took a grand amount of effort to do so. Getting out of bed was one thing, but this chair was a whole other story. The cushion had sunk in so far that he'd had to grab onto the desk to assist himself, and once he did, finished off the last large gulp of coffee in his cup, before heading out of his office.

So far, it was suiting up to be yet another typical day.

And honestly, he wasn't sure if he was dreading it, or looking forward to it.