Read LOCH :: 4 - A Stranger

About a mile outside the Odann stood a bland concrete building, the local clinic and medical research facility. On the third floor Dr. Anne Simmons was slamming her desk in frustration.

“Then what do make of these slides!? Are you still refusing to recognize my theory?! TELL ME! What do you SEE here??”

She slammed down a pile of x-rays in front of an already exhausted Dr. Campell. He sighed heavily, and flipped through the slides for what must have been the hundredth time, clearly bored.

“I still see... an enlarged gallbladder, and an even bigger appendix... Listen, Anne. This patient is probably already dead. I suspect we’ll be having a funeral at the mission soon.”

“And the second stomach!!? Did you not see that? The extra vertebrae? The narrow ribs? The vestigial gill slits?!”

“Again, Anne-,”

"Doctor Simmons," she corrected him, folding her arms over her chest.

"Right, of course, Doctor Simmons," he folded his reading glasses, “As I said before, none of these are unheard-of birth defects, some are in fact quite common-”

“But all present in the same person?!”

“I’ll grant you, this individual is obviously unwell, perhaps even the product of incest, God forbid, but your theory is well,” he was exasperated, “Far-fetched. Don’t you think?”

“NO! I DON’T think that! If I did, why would I propose it??” Dr. Simmons was livid, she pinched the bridge of her nose, “Doctor, I came back here as a researcher, a researcher in different subspecies of humans. Do you think I would even be here, if I didn't think the evidence warrented it.”

“Extinct subspecies,” he tried to correct her.

“NOT anymore! I’m TELLING you!”

Dr. Campell gently motioned her to the doorway.

“Listen, Anne,” he spoke very seriously, “I’m not just speaking as your colleague, but as your friend, follow your instincts as a scientist. But do this the right way. This young man was practically dragged here by those two Sisters for a fractured wrist. He was already suspicious, even terrified, to seek our care. Simply the fact that you took those unnecessary additional x-rays is a HUGE violation of trust and your oath as a doctor. I know you understand that. Is this something you're really willing to stake your career on?”

Doctor Simmons slammed the door behind her.

You bet your ass it is, she stormed down the hallway. She'd be pulling another all-nighter at the office for sure.

Mr. Brennen refused her money when Sabre tried to pay. By the time she left, the group that he had pointed out to her were totally shit-faced, throwing darts into the back of Ms. Dagmar’s frizzy hair to see how many they could get stuck there before she noticed.

Ugh, immature...drunk brats, Sabre sighed as she shook her head. Walking out the doors she heard a loud *crack* just in time to see an older girl break a pool stick across one of their backs.

Yup, definitely time to go.

Although, she was feeling a bit wobbly herself. Sabre stumbled her way back up-hill to the mission. It was long after it had gotten dark, and well below freezing. She clutched at her coat and had a sudden pinch of worry that she might be in trouble, but when she arrived, sister Tulla was so captivated by a book in the study she didn’t even notice Sabre come in. Irena was already sound asleep and snoring loudly, which was no surprise, since she'd been in bed by eight in the evening every night, without fail, since Sabre had arrived.

These two, she wondered. How could they be trusting of a complete stranger? She'd told them next to nothing about who she was and how she got here. Outside, frozen rain began to fall, quite heavily.

It's always raining here.

She hated it. Sabre felt like she'd never be warm again. She crawled onto the thin mattress she’d been using while Sister Tulla had been sleeping in the study. Rather than wallow in her own self-pity, she began feel overhwelmed by her selfishness. How could she have been so inconsiderate? It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself. She was better than this, more capable. She needed to get out of here, and she'd do it tomorrow.

The next morning Sabre woke up shivering, as usual. She groaned as she leaned up in the cot.

Blegh. A hangover.

Sabre quickly washed herself, thanking God in a silent prayer that the small church had a hot water tank, and piled on every bit of clothing she could. She wrapped her scarf around her otherwise unmanigable hair and threw her messenger bag over her shoulders. She had intended to set out for a new place to stay quietly and unoticed, and collect her thoughts on the walk into town, but before she made it past the pews to the front doors, she was accosted by the two Sisters eagerly questioning her.

"So how was yesterday? Are you headed over to the Price's?"

"Or maybe the Duffy's?" Irena interjected, "They'll be busy come tourist season."

"Oh, um yes, I-" Sabre stammered, unwilling to admit that she was still suffering the side effects from the brain-cells she'd killed the night before, "I was also told that if none of those places work out that someone named Al had an unoccupied appartement-"

"Al? Alistair Dirk?!" Both of the sister's eyes widened instantly.

"Uh... yes, I suppose," Sabre was startled by the alarmed response. It's true, she didn't officially meet him last night, and he had fallen quite short of making a good impression on her. But she'd stayed in hotels, hostels and rooms for rent most of her life, and her mother had dealt with far more dangerous characters than some drunk kids.

"And just who mentioned that unsavory character??" Sister Irena towered over her.

"Oh, why do you bother asking questions you already know the answer to?" Tulla rolled her eyes.

Irena spun on her heal pointing an accusatory finger at her counterpart, "And speaking of questions I already know the answer to, just how is it she found her way to Brennen's den in the first place?!"

"Calm yourself, Sister, she is perfectly safe-"

"Safe for NOW! What happens when that beast-?!"

"SISTER IRENA!" It was the first time Sabre had Tulla raise her voice, "Young mister Dirk has been baptized before God; he comes to service and confession. Why, even Father Allen has trust enough to put him in our charge. He is a member of our flock. There must be forgiveness for ALL our children, always. That is the Word of God."

Irena's gaze shifted between caution and guilt. She could not argue Tulla's point. The Sisters excused themselves to have a brief, hushed but obviously heated, conversation. They returned with a calmly united front, advising against seeking shelter or work with Mr. Dirk.

It was still sprinkling lightly, more sleet than rain, as Sabre left. Sister Tulla insisted on her borrowing a pair of winter boots and an overcoat before she set out. It was true the temperature was falling, just when Sabre thought it couldn't get any colder.

Tulla shoved an umbrella and a small pound cake wrapped in brown paper into her arms before she left.

"For your birthday dear," Tulla said, "The cake, I mean, of course! Oh-but, you're free to use the umbrella whenever you like as well. And um, please, pay no mind to Sister Irena when she gets all her feathers ruffled. She seems harsh at times, but she's just a protective soul. You've not yet been baptized, maybe when the spring comes, but I know Irena already feels you are meant to be one of our children."

What an odd place, Sabre had never mentioned the urge to be baptized, nor her religious affiliation, although in truth, she had none.

"Um, thank you, Sister," was the best reply she could muster. She shrugged and stepped out onto the road, instantly thankful for the winder boots.

Sabre wasn't sure why. Perhaps her teenage rebellious streak had finally hit. It was equally likely that her natural curiosity and her utter fear of boredom had led her right past the local Inn, past the tea shop and the bed and breakfast. The first doorstep of the day she happened to find herself on was that of "Al's Oddities and Curiosities." She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

*ring-ling-ca-CLANK..clatter clatter*

Al, who had otherwise been enjoying a leisurely, happily brain-dead morning, playing video games, fell backwards off his chair at the sudden interruption. In one swift motion he scrambled up, smoothing back his bangs, leaning nonchalantly on the register countertop with a Nintendo controller still in his hand.

He glanced down, annoyed, at the bell that had previously hung from a spiraled spring on the storm door, now scattered in several rusted pieces on the ground. He sighed and returned to his video game apathetically, without looking up once at his company.

Well, shit, Sabre hadn't even stepped inside and she'd already broke something.

“Uh...I’ll fix that.”

Sabre stared for a moment. His attitude towards a potential customer was so completely indifferent compared to the aggressive merchants she was used to; she wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“Um, excuse me,” she tugged her head scarf out of habit.

“Mhm,” Al said, still not looking up from his game, “have a look around or whatever.”

“Actually, I was looking for the owner? Are your parents here?”

“If you’re looking for the owner, you found him,” Al scowled, looking up for the first time. He gasped, dropping his controller and pointing rather rudely, gawking unapologetically “I-it-it’s you!”

“Um, yes? It’s...me?” wondering what on earth he was talking about.

She was already well-aware that she didn't fit in here, but she was equally sure he hadn’t noticed her at all during his revelries last night.

“I- I mean,” he stood, smoothing out a wool vest, “Ahem. You're that new lass in town I gather. So... what brings you here, stranger?”

“Well, like I said, I’m looking for the owner?”

“And I told you, that’s me,” his eyes narrowed.

“You’re- ...kidding right? I mean, you’re just a kid, aren't you?”

“Listen bitch, I’m older than you by at least a decade so just tell me what the fuck you want.”

A decade, Sabre thought, there’s no way. She was now riled up herself.

“Is that anyway to talk to a potential customer?”

Al took a long deep breath through an extremely odd-looking vape pen and let out a cloud of steam through his nose.

Well, this is off to a great start...

Sabre quickly determined this young man had a bad temper, but she was still unsure as to whether he was actually as dangerous as some of the people around here seemed to think. He stood silently, nearly a foot taller than her, with an expressionless face.

“I’ll speak how I like in my own home,” he finally replied.

Sabre was a naturally stand-offish person, but she decided to change tactics.

“Sorry,” she said, “about the bell. I... didn’t know the door was on a spring hinge like that.”

“Whatever,” Al seemed satisfied, and turned back to the counter, “It’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

He immediately returned to his video game as if she wasn’t there.

How on earth does he manage to stay in business, peddling this useless crap with such a bad attitude, Sabre wondered.

Well, for the time being she decided to explore the shop. On the left side were endless crooked shelves that housed disorganized bottles and mason jars of all shapes and sizes, containing powder, liquids, dried herbs and other...questionable substances, some locked away in both clear and wooden cases behind the higher shelves. A moldy wooden sign hung over the shelves declaring them to be spells and potions.

Do people really buy this crap?

She turned a corner and jumped backwards at the sight of a giant jar full of what looked like eyeballs from a goat or sheep. There was crap everywhere, moldy rugs intermingled with cardboard laid flat on the ground. Most everything looked like it had been fished out of the ocean... or a landfill. Nothing had a price. There was the occasional item that looked interesting, an intricate but tarnished silver mirror, a strange half-rotted woodcarving.

“Are you quite done?” Al was suddenly bending down, nose to nose with her. Sabre jumped back.

“Um…”

“If you’re not here to buy something, what do you want?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, what a brat.

“Listen, I’m not from here and-”

“Pffft! Well DUH!”

“I’m looking for a room to rent,” Sabre finally said, “I was told you have one.”

Al blinked, and she could tell he was genuinely surprised. He then sneered.

“And who the fuck told you that?”

“Oh please,” Sabre rolled her eyes, “I’ve only been here two weeks and I think we both know exactly who told me that.” She crossed her arms.

“Brennen,” Al rubbed his temples and grumbled, “That meddling oaf...” He glanced back at her, “Y’know, I’m betting you’re not as stupid as you look.”

“Um... am I supposed to say thank you?”

“So, that begs the question, if you’re not an idiot, what are you doing HERE?”

Sabre could immediately tell it was a loaded question, dripping with an intent that she could not quite place. From his tone, he was obviously aware that is poor reputation preceded him. He began to circle her, looking he up and down, as if her were checking for weapons.

"Ch-Cheap!" she managed to sputter out, unwilling to admit that this creep was actually starting to freak her out, "I'm looking for somewhere cheap." Sabre regained her composure, "I'm guessing from the state of things around here, that the upstairs couldn't be that much better, therefore I was expecting to find somewhere cheap."

"First of all," Al's eyes now narrowed in venomous slits, "RUDE."

"Do you want my money or not?" Sabre stated boldly.

For some reason this made Al smile slightly. Sabre assumed that she had finally tapped into his greedy side that had been briefly mentioned by Mr. Brennen the night before. All to the contrary, though, it was the fearless attitude of this young stranger that had begun to intrigue him.

She's not afraid of me? Al mused, Well, an out-of-towner wouldn't know any better I suppse.

Al whisked around back behind the counter and pulled out a drawer from a file cabinet in an explosion of dust. He flipped out a hand-written contract for a lease and slid it across the counter towards her as Sabre approached.

"Two-hundred-and-fifty-pound sterling a month and no less," he said casually, putting on his best business-man smile, "And I can promise that you won't find a room in a hundred miles cheaper."

Sabre looked over the contract. She only had a moderate grasp of the exchange rate to pounds and didn't know the difference between British pounds and whatever a Pound Sterling was. Besides all that... there was this fuckin' weirdo...

What the hell am I getting myself into?

This content is intended for mature audiences for the following reasons.