"Ur..." I said eloquently, a nervous grin crossing my face. I really didn't know what I could possibly ask him without sounding like a complete lunitic. I mean, what was I supposed to ask? 'Would you happen to know someone who died and came back?" He'd hit me over the head with that metal hand of his as soon as answer me, and I wouldn't blame him. Besides, I wasn't too keen on the idea of Elyse listening in to our conversation either, but I didn't know how to tell her to scram.
He must have sensed my discomfort somehow, because almost immediately the S-Mart clerk looked to his co-worker with a small grin and asked if she could possibly leave. And Elyse, with that dreamy smile that teenagers seem to have practiced to perfection, agreed and walked off. Jeez.
"So," the man called Ash started again with a knowing grin, "Whatcha need here? Did one of those bastards cause some trouble in your store or something? Or are you here over that property damage I did to Hilliman's the other day?"
He sighed tiredly as I tried to figure out just what the hell he was talking about.
"Look," he began to explain, "I thought I already told you people that I'd forgo the fee since I destroyed your living room, okay? You'd think that being your neighbor for the last two and a half years-"
"Wait." I said at last, holding my hand up to stop any more confusing babble, "I'm not from the Hilliman's, all right?"
The large, scar-filled face twisted up in a look of confusion, and I realized once more as I thought over what he had said that this was going to be much harder, and much more bizarre, then I could have ever imagined.
"Then who are you?" Ash asked with a suspicious glance. Immediately, his metal hand reached back to grip the back of a shotgun? that he had on his back. But, my mind argued, it couldn't be a gun, could it? They didn't allow stuff like that in a store like this. At least, they hadn't the last time I'd been in one.
Sure, no one had strip-searched me and taken my trusty sidearm, but it was kinda hard to miss a double-barrel strapped to a guy's back.
"Name's Zeke. Zeke Stone," I introduced myself carefully, pulling out my badge and showing it to him as if to verify my identity, " And I was just wondering if you could help me with a case that I'm working on."
He looked at the badge for a second, then pulled that rough gaze up to meet my eyes. There it stayed for a good three seconds as he read what he could from me. I stopped breathing as he did this, nervous that this department store clerk was going to figure out that I was a dead man. Literally. But after those three seconds, the brown scanners pulled away from me.
He knew something, but not everything.
"What kinda case?" Ash asked cautiously as he pulled his hand away from his weapon, much to my relief. True, I was hard to kill, but a shotgun blast to my face at point zero range was one of the things that could do the job.
"A rather...strange case." I told him honestly, even though there wasn't exactly any more I could tell him, since I didn't know any more. Any more that I could tell. You don't exactly go around telling people about psychotic Damned souls who murdered hundreds.
"Really?" he asked me.
"Yeah."
He looked at me again, and I realized that I would have to pull my trump card.
"Jenny sent me here..."
And this statement changed everything. At once, that cold stare turned warm, and the rigid stance he'd assumed melted to a normal pose. A wide grin graced his lips, lighting up the scar-filled face into something that no longer made me nervous. I assumed that was the purpose to it.
Then he grabbed me by the shoulder with that metal hand of his, dragged me to the break room of the store, and sat me down at the rickety table that was back there, taking his seat across the table from me a second later. Now, sitting down, I realized just what a big guy he really was. Not just tall, but all muscle and wide shoulders. The squeeze he'd had on my arm told me alot too.
Sure, he wasn't as strong as I was due to my stay in Hell, but he wasn't a pushover.
However, I didn't focus on this too long, because as I had been taking in that, he'd been talking.
"-send you to me?"
"Huh?" I asked, honestly unaware of what he'd said.
"I said," he repeated politely enough, "Why did Jenny send you to me?"
"Well," I admitted, laying my hands out on the table, "I asked her if she'd seen any strangers in town, or if she'd noticed anything weird here recently, and she told me to come to you."
"Really?" the clerk asked again, his eyebrow rising nearly to his hairline.
"Yeah." I told him honestly. Jeez, paranoid much?
The man called Ash stared at me again for another minute, then leaned back into his chair to think. I don't know how he did it, considering how cheap the chairs were, but I figured that it took practice and a lot of balance, so I didn't even try. But finally, after a bit, he leaned back in and he got a strange expression on his face.
"Well," he said, putting his own hands out on the table, almost copying me, "That depends on what you consider weird, friend. I mean, you being from the city and all-"
"How'd you know?" I asked, surprised and upset. I was pretty sure I hadn't said where I was from, and despite the skill I'd developed over the last year at detecting the Damned, I couldn't help but get worried at this knowledge.
He snorted, then gave me a look, like I'd asked if he knew how to count to three.
"I read it on the badge," The scarred man told me simply, which made me feel rather silly. Silly dead-man, my mind laughed at me in a strange parody of a certain cereal rabbit, panic attacks are for the living.
I examined that thought, then realized something. I should of had more coffee.
"Anway," Ash continued before I could ponder my choice of inner discussion, "As I was saying, it depends on your definition of weird. Now, if you're asking about how some of the women's shoes kept on going missing, I'll remind you that we already fired Frank for it, and you can remind the main office that it's been dealt with locally. I mean, it's not like we knew that he was a kleptomaniac crossdresser or anything..."
Now I looked at him.
"But," he went on quickly, obviously sensing that Frank and his shoe fetish weren't my objective, "If you're asking about the possessions that occur regularly in this town, the reason behind the dead rising from their graves occasionally, or wondering why this store has had fifty-seven attacks in the last five and a half years by 'PCP-crazed punks' that look curiously like the dead, decaying bodies of perfectly normal customers...why, then you've got the right guy."
He must have sensed my discomfort somehow, because almost immediately the S-Mart clerk looked to his co-worker with a small grin and asked if she could possibly leave. And Elyse, with that dreamy smile that teenagers seem to have practiced to perfection, agreed and walked off. Jeez.
"So," the man called Ash started again with a knowing grin, "Whatcha need here? Did one of those bastards cause some trouble in your store or something? Or are you here over that property damage I did to Hilliman's the other day?"
He sighed tiredly as I tried to figure out just what the hell he was talking about.
"Look," he began to explain, "I thought I already told you people that I'd forgo the fee since I destroyed your living room, okay? You'd think that being your neighbor for the last two and a half years-"
"Wait." I said at last, holding my hand up to stop any more confusing babble, "I'm not from the Hilliman's, all right?"
The large, scar-filled face twisted up in a look of confusion, and I realized once more as I thought over what he had said that this was going to be much harder, and much more bizarre, then I could have ever imagined.
"Then who are you?" Ash asked with a suspicious glance. Immediately, his metal hand reached back to grip the back of a shotgun? that he had on his back. But, my mind argued, it couldn't be a gun, could it? They didn't allow stuff like that in a store like this. At least, they hadn't the last time I'd been in one.
Sure, no one had strip-searched me and taken my trusty sidearm, but it was kinda hard to miss a double-barrel strapped to a guy's back.
"Name's Zeke. Zeke Stone," I introduced myself carefully, pulling out my badge and showing it to him as if to verify my identity, " And I was just wondering if you could help me with a case that I'm working on."
He looked at the badge for a second, then pulled that rough gaze up to meet my eyes. There it stayed for a good three seconds as he read what he could from me. I stopped breathing as he did this, nervous that this department store clerk was going to figure out that I was a dead man. Literally. But after those three seconds, the brown scanners pulled away from me.
He knew something, but not everything.
"What kinda case?" Ash asked cautiously as he pulled his hand away from his weapon, much to my relief. True, I was hard to kill, but a shotgun blast to my face at point zero range was one of the things that could do the job.
"A rather...strange case." I told him honestly, even though there wasn't exactly any more I could tell him, since I didn't know any more. Any more that I could tell. You don't exactly go around telling people about psychotic Damned souls who murdered hundreds.
"Really?" he asked me.
"Yeah."
He looked at me again, and I realized that I would have to pull my trump card.
"Jenny sent me here..."
And this statement changed everything. At once, that cold stare turned warm, and the rigid stance he'd assumed melted to a normal pose. A wide grin graced his lips, lighting up the scar-filled face into something that no longer made me nervous. I assumed that was the purpose to it.
Then he grabbed me by the shoulder with that metal hand of his, dragged me to the break room of the store, and sat me down at the rickety table that was back there, taking his seat across the table from me a second later. Now, sitting down, I realized just what a big guy he really was. Not just tall, but all muscle and wide shoulders. The squeeze he'd had on my arm told me alot too.
Sure, he wasn't as strong as I was due to my stay in Hell, but he wasn't a pushover.
However, I didn't focus on this too long, because as I had been taking in that, he'd been talking.
"-send you to me?"
"Huh?" I asked, honestly unaware of what he'd said.
"I said," he repeated politely enough, "Why did Jenny send you to me?"
"Well," I admitted, laying my hands out on the table, "I asked her if she'd seen any strangers in town, or if she'd noticed anything weird here recently, and she told me to come to you."
"Really?" the clerk asked again, his eyebrow rising nearly to his hairline.
"Yeah." I told him honestly. Jeez, paranoid much?
The man called Ash stared at me again for another minute, then leaned back into his chair to think. I don't know how he did it, considering how cheap the chairs were, but I figured that it took practice and a lot of balance, so I didn't even try. But finally, after a bit, he leaned back in and he got a strange expression on his face.
"Well," he said, putting his own hands out on the table, almost copying me, "That depends on what you consider weird, friend. I mean, you being from the city and all-"
"How'd you know?" I asked, surprised and upset. I was pretty sure I hadn't said where I was from, and despite the skill I'd developed over the last year at detecting the Damned, I couldn't help but get worried at this knowledge.
He snorted, then gave me a look, like I'd asked if he knew how to count to three.
"I read it on the badge," The scarred man told me simply, which made me feel rather silly. Silly dead-man, my mind laughed at me in a strange parody of a certain cereal rabbit, panic attacks are for the living.
I examined that thought, then realized something. I should of had more coffee.
"Anway," Ash continued before I could ponder my choice of inner discussion, "As I was saying, it depends on your definition of weird. Now, if you're asking about how some of the women's shoes kept on going missing, I'll remind you that we already fired Frank for it, and you can remind the main office that it's been dealt with locally. I mean, it's not like we knew that he was a kleptomaniac crossdresser or anything..."
Now I looked at him.
"But," he went on quickly, obviously sensing that Frank and his shoe fetish weren't my objective, "If you're asking about the possessions that occur regularly in this town, the reason behind the dead rising from their graves occasionally, or wondering why this store has had fifty-seven attacks in the last five and a half years by 'PCP-crazed punks' that look curiously like the dead, decaying bodies of perfectly normal customers...why, then you've got the right guy."