Work Text:
No one came to Hatchetfield on purpose.
It wasn’t like it had a bad reputation, there just wasn’t any real draw for tourists.
Any outsider who ended up there only did by chance, and most of those didn’t stay long enough to have anything to talk about.
Or sometimes, they stayed just long enough to not want to say a word about any of it.
—
The quickest way to Columbus was through Clivesdale. He hadn’t been told that, but rather came to that conclusion after mapping out his own route the night before.
He wasn’t familiar with the area, but even he could tell something was wrong as he bumped over what felt like a bridge.
“Shit.”
He had taken a wrong turn. The fog had made it near impossible to navigate, and, by some unlucky chance, he was now driving into a secluded island with one way in and one way out.
He wasn’t completely lost though, he could at least make out a sign.
‘Welcome to Hatchetfield, est. 1824’
He didn’t plan on staying there, in fact he’d much rather turn right back around and continue on his journey, but the unnaturally thick fog that had plagued him the whole night had only gotten worse.
Unless he wanted to kill himself on the road, he had to stop now. Self-preservation was key in his line of work, after all.
Being in an unfamiliar town in the dead of night and with a deep fog creeping in on every angle meant he had to navigate with the only thing that fought through both the dark and the haze.
It was pretty easy to tell what each faint light belonged to. If the lights were higher up, it was a mansion, and for whatever reason there were a lot scattered about this backwater town, lower lights were regular houses and it was obvious which ones belonged to apartment complexes. And he always recognised a pub’s light, it was just different somehow.
He carefully pulled into what he could now see was called ‘The Birdhouse’, noting how many cars there were outside.
—
Walking in, he was immediately faced with more people than he expected all focused on him. They were definitely all locals and it was obvious that he was not.
Swiftly, he took an empty seat away from as many of the pubgoers as possible. In all honesty he simply didn’t feel like talking to anyone here.
It didn’t matter how he felt though, he was an outsider and that alone made people chatty.
“Excuse me, are you a detective?” He turned to his side to face a tired looking woman, cradling a sleeping baby in one arm and gently motioning at his gun and badge with the other.
He nodded and began trying to subtly hide his gun under his coat. “Yea, I am.”
“It’s just you’re clearly not from around here.” She smiled in a way that made him feel obligated to reply. “We don’t get many visitors, so it’s always nice when we do. Especially someone as important as yourself.”
“Well,” He almost felt bad for what he was about to say. “I’m just passing through, transfers and all that, I’d still be on the road but...” He lazily motioned to the fogged up windows.
She smiled again, just as earnestly as before. “The fog, right? It’s never usually this bad, but don’t let it get you down.”
There was a lingering silence for a moment, interrupted only by the woman’s baby beginning to cry.
“Oh come on, Pauly…” She got up to leave, but stopped to face him one last time. “It was nice to meet you, Detective.”
Then she spun to the bartender, still trying to calm her baby. “Hey, Geoff, get this man a whiskey… on my husband's tab, please.”
With a wave, she was gone.
And he was left alone again.
—
No one else had come up to him after that lady. Maybe they had gotten their fix from what they overheard, or they simply just didn’t care.
Sitting alone like that gave him time to look around for himself.
He had already registered all the people inside; those up at the bar, those over by the pool table, the groups and families at dining tables and the people coming in and out of the bathrooms.
So his gaze was naturally drawn outside, past the glass sliding door and into the smokers area.
There were only two people out there, an anxious, sleazy, older looking businessman holding a non-descript black book, and a woman.
He wanted to zero in on their conversation, mostly to bring back a fun story to the agency over in Columbus, but he couldn’t focus at all.
The man was suspect for sure, but that woman… He couldn’t stop staring. That initial glance at her trapped his gaze.
She was much taller than the sleazeball for beginners, although her massive, unnaturally green hair added some height.
He kept on studying her. He couldn’t help it. She was just so odd.
Specifically, he remarked at the eccentricity of her whole outfit, it looked straight out of the 60s, like she hadn’t been clothes shopping in two decades—which felt even odder when he discerned that she was wearing a golden tiara with matching jewellery, meaning she had to be well-off.
Her face was particularly odd as well, even when he wrote off her ‘black mold’ markings as birthmarks and moles. It was like her features were shifting and changing across her face, it was hard to picture what she was supposed to look like, even though she was right there.
Her eyes were of note as well, they almost looked like they were glowing through the outside fog and their piercing blue hue was…
Directed right back at him.
“Shoot!”
In a panic he turned right back around and faced the bar, trying to nonchalantly sip at his drink.
How could he have gotten so enamoured with her? How did that curiosity grip his focus so much?
…
It had been about five minutes of staring anywhere but outside before he heard anything of note.
He turned, just slightly, to the outside door opening and watched as two figures walked inside.
He allowed himself to lose track of the woman, and focused instead on the man.
…He looked different. Maybe it was the fact he was far away or that the detective hadn’t really spent time perceiving him, but he looked younger and more confident.
The detective watched as the man slid into an empty chair, ordered a drink, and kissed the book that he was holding before. It should’ve been weird, it made him feel weird, but he couldn’t think of a good reason for why.
Ignoring the woman hadn’t taken the edge off either, he had no idea if she was still around or if she had disappeared into the night, both options felt terrifying.
After a while he thought is safe to conclude that she had to be
“Right behind you?”
Shit! “Shit!” He spun around, desperately trying to recompose himself. “Didn’t see you there.”
“You know, It’s quite rude to study someone while they’re in the middle of some very important business.” She smiled in a way that would’ve been kind on anyone else, but was horribly threatening on her.
Trying to kill any sort of chance at a proper conversation, he responded “Right, sorry, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Without a word, she grabbed his face, her decorated nails pushing into his skin just enough to hurt but not do any real damage. She began turning it side to side, studying him much closer than he ever could her.
“Hm, you’re not meant to be here, We have nothing to do with you nor for you. Best to leave A-S-A-Pleasy, lest you want to be caught in something… unfunny.”
“I, uh, think I will.”
After a long silent pause, she released his face, wiping her hand on his coat.
“Good, good! I would say smell you later, but we both know that’s not true, you’re about to get a wiggle on!” She flashed another smile and left.
“What the hell?” He sat unmoving for a moment, in the position she had left in him. Hardly anything had happened yet it had creeped him out so deeply.
He waited a minute to regain his composure before leaving, but he never properly could. He needed to get out of here. Fuck this town and fuck everywhere nearby.
In a wobbled speed walk, he rushed out the front to his car, praying no one saw him get absolutely freaked out. He had no idea if anyone had been watching before.
He paused once he reached his car, taking deep heavy breaths as he inspected his foggy surroundings.
He couldn’t see her physically there, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was watching.
He sighed, slightly calmer now, and sat in his car.
“Fuck this town, and fuck Clivesdale for leading me here.” He whispered, hands gripping the steering wheel.
Then he set off, freaked out just enough that the fog or his blood alcohol didn’t seem like obstacles anymore. He needed to get out by all means.
But it’s never that easy to leave Hatchetfield.