1. (introduction)
Ambrose was the kind of town that looked best when the sun was setting. The whole place sat in that thick, yellow light that was usually reserved for thunderstorms. The sort that the made glass and neat paintwork shine in a weird, half-assed way- Real atmospheric. It was sort of a shame that nobody else passing through took the time to appreciate that atmosphere, being preoccupied with themselves, each other, panic or their cars inexplicably misbehaving.
Bo didn't take that sort of thing for granted though. He knew the air was always still, probably down to all the trees or some shit, and always warm and smelling faintly of asphalt. From inside the pickup you couldn't tell all of that really, but Bo knew that was the way it was all the same. And for Chrissakes, he had to think of something besides how fuckin' slow he had to drive over that damn brook or he'd end up shooting something.
But the sweeping view he got when entering Ambrose after a shopping trip gave him a pretty good feeling. Man, the swept sidewalks, the shop displays, gardens… picture fuckin' perfect. Vincent spent his days in his little museum, and Bo had the town. And he'd made a damn good job of it. Well, maybe they could do with another car outside the garage. What a shame that sweet little Chevrolet would stick out like a sore thumb. No car that beautiful should be stuck at the mill, rotting away.
He'd probably end up selling it to buy a new generator- it'd pain him but it'd be worth it. When it got darker and the electric lights kicked in the boxy little buildings looked perfect. An immaculate snapshot of life… whenever, Bo didn't know, backwards fucking place was stuck in the fifties or something when he and Vincent were kids and god knows how long it had been since then… Well, he was god-damned sick of 'What Ever Happened to Baby Jane', that was for sure.
Bo could remember the first time he'd seen that goddamn movie. The one and only time he'd attempted to take Vincent anywhere with him, when they were thirteen probably, and it was summer and it was way too fuckin' hot to do much of anything. He'd nagged his mom for ten dollars so he could go to the movies, didn't really give a damn what was showing, just so long as he could get away from the fucking house and smell of warm wax. Clumsy thirteen year old kids with no friends are angry and don't tend to give much of a fuck about anything, so when Bo had propelled himself through the front door he tripped right over his brother. He was sat on the porch drawing something, probably a lizard or some shit until it got fucked up by his brother half falling on top of him. Well, the movies are no fun alone anyway… And Vincent was the kind of dumb shit kid that took everything to heart, so Bo had dragged him along. They were jeered out of the place twenty minutes into the movie though, when the mask mom had made that morning started melting. They probably would have made it out without incident if it weren't for Vincent's fuckin' selective mutism. They both got the belt that night for "further damaging this family's reputation". Dad had never actually said that it had all gone downhill from when they were born, but there it was.
That first time though, the first time he'd gotten the movies working on his own and arranged the first few waxworks, rigged the lights and all that, he'd dragged Vincent out again. And he was so pleased sat there surrounded by his art, watching 'What Ever Happened To Baby Jane' he actually fuckin' laughed. That was probably the most noise Bo had ever heard him make, big fuckin' kid.
Well, whatever. To hell with reminiscing, it was almost dark and the truck had cleared the creek, meandering up Main Street toward the museum now. Ambrose had a way of doing that to Bo. It'd say 'Hey. You remember that?' and he would remember, and Ambrose would sit tight and wait for him to finish, bright little lights twinkling away.
The pickup was kicked up a gear again, milk bottles clinking together in back.