Chapter Text
"Sundown, you better take care
If I find you been creeping 'round my back stairs
Sometimes I think it's a sin
When I feel like I'm winning when I'm losing again"
— Gordon Lightfoot
Boyd Stevens sat at one of the booths in the Diner holding a coffee cup filled with nothing more than water inside of it, though he would've preferred something of the stronger variety. He was staring straight ahead at nothing in particular because his mind took him elsewhere, to places he'd rather ignore or forget, but couldn't. Currently, he was replaying the visage of Dale's dead face partially protruding from within one of the pool walls. He could still see the light leave the man's eyes while blood dripped from them, as well as from his nostrils; having been crushed to death by the concrete. Why had Dale been such a stubborn sonofabitch? Why couldn't he just listen? Why couldn't anyone just take what Boyd said at face value; that everything he did was for all of their good?
In the midst of his macabre reverie, the tabletop jukebox at the booth he was sitting at turned on and began to play music. And it wasn't just any music; it was a song he'd managed to overhear Dale hum to himself on a few occasions over the last two and a half years. It was 'Sundown' by Gordon Lightfoot, and it left Boyd wondering if it was Dale somehow saying hello from the Great Beyond; letting him know that he was okay now and was free of the suffering this place created. Or, was it whatever kept them stuck here in this town—taunting him?
Barely twenty seconds into the song, the bell above the door to the Diner dinged as someone stepped inside. With his back to the door, Boyd couldn't see who it was at the moment.
"I love that song," a female voice muttered. "It was my father's favorite. He used to play it on his guitar all the time when I was growing up."
Slowly, Boyd turned as a woman stepped behind the counter. Her blonde hair was tied up in a high, lazy ponytail. There was what looked like soot smudged across one of her cheeks, dark circles under her eyes, and her face was void of any emotion; one of the residents who had long since given up on ever getting out of this place.
"The Hermit graces me with her presence. I'm honored," he tried to tease, but it fell flat. The tabletop jukebox turned off, just as abruptly as it came on, and the silence was suddenly deafening. With a frown, Boyd asked, "What brings you out of your house?"
"Heard about Dale."
"It only just happened."
The woman—the 'Hermit', according to Boyd—looked up from the pot of hot water she was pouring into a cup behind the counter. "In case you haven't realized, this is a painfully small town. Information spreads quicker than a forest fire, and just because I very rarely leave the house, it doesn't preclude me from knowing about the shit that goes down here. I'm a recluse by choice, not some ignorant agoraphobe."
"Sorry," Boyd quietly apologized; something he felt he was doing a lot of lately and usually for things he wasn't even at fault for.
The woman was still puttering, likely finding a tea bag and whatever else to make tea the way she liked it, while occasionally looking over at him. "Tabitha Matthews came back, too, I hear?"
"Yeah, uh…she did." Furrowing his brow, Boyd looked to the woman. "I wasn't aware you'd met any of our new arrivals to know their names."
"They've been pretty active since arriving. Hard not to know who they are. Plus," the woman muttered as she picked up her mug and began to make her way back around the counter, "her husband is pretty cute, but you didn't hear that from me."
Despite everything, Boyd chuckled. As the woman sat down across from him in the booth, he sighed and leaned back slightly. "What—you been spying out your windows like a Peeping Thomasina?"
"There's no TV here, and I've read through all the books available that I care to read. And that Jim Matthews I find to be a sight for sore eyes."
"Am I not enough?" Boyd questioned with mock offense. "Is all this," he gestured at himself with both hands, "not enough visual stimulation?"
Taking a sip of her tea, the woman shrugged. "Variety is the spice of life, Boyd," she spoke into her cup.
After a moment of silence passed between them, he gripped his own cup in both hands again and stared more directly at her. "So, is Dale's death what managed to bring you out? Why him and none of the others lately? Not even Father Khatri?"
"He could be an antagonistic asshole, but Dale and I arrived here around the same time, within weeks of each other, so there was a sort of bond there. We hid together a lot before you arrived and found the talismans." Setting her cup down and staring into it, she added, "Even though he moved up to Colony House and I moved into a house here in town, and I've barely seen him in the last two years, doesn't change anything."
"Well, in that case, I'm sorry for your loss."
The woman smirked. "It wasn't just Dale that brought me here," she admitted. "I needed some supplies. Running low on baking soda."
"We're running low on a lot of things lately. Morale being one of them."
"Morale has always been low, Boyd."
"True." Taking a sip of his water, he flashed a crooked smile at her. "Shampoo, soap and toothpaste never has, though, thanks to you."
The woman shrugged again. "We all have our parts to play. And, if there's one good thing about being stuck here, it's having to not worry about running out of toilet paper. I don't know how it magically restocks itself and I'm not going to ever question it because I don't think I have a strong enough constitution for using leaves or scraps of cloth to get the job done." To make light of it, she shuddered dramatically and pretended to gag.
Boyd chuckled. "Maybe we don't even bring attention to it," he remarked; pointing between them both. "Whatever controls this place, if they're somehow listening to us right now, could take the TP away for the fun of it, just to fuck with us further."
"You mean they could take it away…for shits and giggles."
Boyd smacked his lips and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't avoid another chuckle in regard to that turn of phrase. As the heavy weight upon his shoulders seemed to lighten, thanks a great deal to her witty banter, he began to feel a little better. The darkness in his mind and in his soul seemed to ebb away for a while, though there was no doubt it would return soon enough. He'd take what little joy he could get, while he could. Out the corner of his eye, to his right, he noticed movement outside as a few people walked past the Diner. Dragging his dark eyes upward, he could see the sky was overcast, but could also see that the sun would be setting within an hour or so.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "It's gonna be dark soon," he stated. With a nod toward the back of the Diner, where the storage room was located. "You should get whatever supplies you needed." Then, with a frown he added, "I got a bell to ring."
The woman nodded and watched as Boyd slowly moved to slide out of the booth; leaving his cup behind. As he stepped away from the table and gave her a small nod goodbye, she continued to watch him go in the direction of the Sheriff's Office, which doubled as his residence. Left alone in the Diner made her feel a strange mix of calm and unease. She didn't mind the peace and quiet but didn't particularly like being in the Diner alone. Even though there was a talisman hanging in the window and it wasn't dark yet, she still felt as if something might be lurking around in the shadows; watching her, waiting to pounce.
Standing up with her cup of tea, she made it a point to turn on the lights so she wasn't bathed in the interior's encroaching darkness, despite how light it still was outside. It helped shoo away those shadows and felt less eerie. Sipping her tea as she walked, she grabbed a small cardboard box from behind the counter that was on the floor and took it with her as she headed toward the back of the diner; past the kitchen and into the storage room. While rummaging for the few items she needed and coming up successful in her endeavor, she soon made her way back into the kitchen. It was then when she realized she was no longer alone in the Diner.
As she stared through the pass-through window, from the kitchen toward the dining space, she found a man staring back at her who seemed just as startled as she was. Her startled reaction, however, caused her to drop her cup of tea, which shattered; spilling the liquid and scattering broken bits of porcelain upon the linoleum floor.
"Shit," she blurted; immediately setting the box down on a prep table and crouching down out of view. As she began reaching around to pick up the broken pieces, heavy footsteps quickly approached, causing her to look up briefly as the man in question appeared in the doorway.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I saw the lights on inside. Thought Bakta was here and could help me find something sweet to tempt my son to eat something."
The woman looked up again as she gathered the broken porcelain pieces in the palm of her hand and was now staring directly at the face of Jim Matthews, who had crouched down to help her clean up the mess he'd indirectly created. "It's okay," she insisted. "I didn't hear anyone come in. With it getting dark soon, I dunno…I guess I let my mind run away with me and assumed the worse."
"Sorry," he repeated.
She tried to avoid looking at him any further; especially considering her commentary to Boyd about him. "Don't be," she mumbled. Slowly standing up, she stepped aside and dumped the shards into the waste bin and then looked around for some sort of cloth to wipe up the spill. "The further along into perimenopause I get, the more clumsy I've been getting. Dropping shit, bumping into shit." Immediately pausing, realizing she'd unnecessarily divulged information that might be a bit TMI, she frowned. "You didn't need to know that."
Jim snickered and stood up as well; bracing the corner of the prep table as he did. Possibly because he wanted to shine a light away from her perceived embarrassment, he changed the subject. "I've been here a couple months and I've never seen you here before. I mean, I know I don't know everyone in this place yet, but—did you arrive with the bus from Grand Rapids? Are you living up at Colony House?"
Grabbing a dish towel and crouching back down, the woman shook her head. "I've been here much longer than you, Jim."
"You know my name and I don't know yours. Hardly seems fair," he lightly teased.
"Genny. With a G." Wiping up the spill as best as she could, the woman—Genny—once again stood back up and tossed the dish cloth aside. "Short for Genevieve, but don't call me that."
After a moment, Jim narrowed his gaze upon her and seemed to be studying her with more interest. As she stood there, staring back at him and trying to—again—not think of what she'd said to Boyd about him, she saw the look of recognition on his face and sighed. This happened with anyone over the age of thirty-five, give or take, who met her for the first time.
"Genny Carter?" he questioned with a small, shy smile; as if he were worried he was mistaken.
"Once upon a time, yeah."
"You were in that TV show—" He snapped his fingers a few times; the name of the television series right there on his tongue, but alluding him. "I used to watch it all the time in high school, back in the early nineties." More pointedly, he added, "You had that catchphrase; made the show." He smiled more properly, and it seemed like it had been a long while since he'd had a reason to. "'That's totally bogus beach!'"
Genny cringed. "I hated that catchphrase," she replied. "I still get stopped on the street, every once in a while, with people shouting that at me." Suddenly her face fell. "I mean…before here."
"How long have you been here?"
"Since May 2019," she answered. "So, almost three years."
"Jesus."
"He has nothing to do with it."
"So, how is it, in two months, I haven't seen you before now?" Jim wondered.
"Boyd likes to call me the Hermit. I just…choose to stay indoors as much as possible, not just at night, obviously." Not wanting to dwell on herself any more, she cleared her throat and gestured lamely about the kitchen. "You said you came here for snacks or something for your kid? It's gonna get dark soon, so you should get to finding what you can and get home," she urged; reaching for her cardboard box. "I'm gonna do the same."
"Where do you live?" he wondered. He wasn't trying to be nosey. He was just genuinely curious how there was a former sitcom star living in this place this entire time that he hadn't managed to cross paths with yet.
Genny pointed toward the front of the Diner. "Across the street, in the blue house."
"Huh." Jim's gaze drifted in that direction as she moved to step around him toward the doorway out of the kitchen. "Well, it was nice to finally meet you, Genny."
She nodded and cast a subtle look over her shoulder at him. "You too." As she stepped out from behind the counter and headed toward the vestibule door, she threw back, "If you run out of toiletries, like soap or shampoo, come see me. I'm not just the Town's Hermit; I'm apparently also the hygiene guru."
With a smile, Jim watched as Genny exited the Diner and then, without missing a beat, made it a point to hurry up and find something in the kitchen that would be appetizing enough to take his son's mind off his mother heading off to the Bottle Tree, so soon after just getting back from the outside world.
As for Genny, as she was greeted by the crisp air and the sight of snow clinging to the ground, which was a strange, new development in this place they were all stuck in, she heard Boyd ringing his bell before she saw him. Holding the cardboard box close to her chest, she nodded at him as he drew near; walking up the middle of the road. As he nodded back at her, she hurried up the stairs to her front porch and let herself inside. The moment she closed the door behind her, she locked it and went through the usual motions of drawing any and all open curtains or other drapery closed on the windows. She sprinted toward the back door and made sure it was locked.
When all that was said and done, Genny returned to the front of the house and grabbed up the cardboard box back from where she'd left it when she came in. Bringing it into the kitchen, she set it upon the table and began to remove the items inside when she realized she'd forgotten a few items from the kitchen because she'd been caught off guard by Jim's arrival.
Well, it was too late now.
She'd have to go back tomorrow morning.
She would have to make do with what she had right now. This was the time she kept herself busy. Once the sun went down and nighttime arrived, the screeching from the Creatures made it impossible to sleep most nights. In the three months leading up to the death of the Pratt family and the arrival of the Matthews family—and Jade—the Creatures hadn't been so loud. There hadn't been any incidents for nearly one hundred days. Now, it seemed there was something happening every day and night without fail.
Things were changing, and Genny doubted any of it was for the better, but there was nothing she could do about it.
What she could do was make her homemade soaps, shampoos and toothpaste for the people of the Town and for those up at Colony House.
They all had their parts to play.