The “Drift”

 The smell of incense still stuck to my nostrils as I drove through the winding mountain roads out of Montgomery and back towards my apartment. I didn’t particularly feel like going home and being alone that night, so I headed off to the Snow Drift, a local dive bar that I had initially mistaken for an abandoned shack when I first arrived in town.

The Snow Drift, or "the Drift" as the locals referred to it, was the kind of bar that was so dark it took your eyes a few minutes to adjust when you first walked in. I loved it the moment I stepped foot inside. An old Roy Orbison song played on the jukebox near the front door and a few patrons were scattered around the bar. I heard voices coming from the backroom, and by the sound of things they were deep in the throes of a lively poker game.

The woman tending the bar gave me a solemn nod as I sat down and spread out my notebook and a few thick files filled with photocopies and records. She was attractive. A bit short for my taste, but proportional not to mention in good shape and unafraid to flaunt it.

“What can I get you?” she asked but my reply was a bit delayed as I was transfixed by a healthy bit of perfect pink side boob and the workings of her well defined arms as she wiped down a glass for me.

“Hello,” she said tersely, causing me to realize I was staring.

“Um, how about a Guinness," I answered.

“We don’t have Guinness,” she said and pointed to a chalkboard with a list of beers, most of which were crossed out.

“Hm. Okay, I’ll take a Miller,” I said and offered a small slightly embarrassed smile, but she didn’t smile back or acknowledge the gesture at all. And that was fine with me as her less-than-welcoming demeanor relieved me of my the guilty feeling I got when trying to catch a peek at what lay just beyond that soft flesh so tenuously held captive by small bits of thin tyrannical fabric.

Although the staff was cold, the bar itself was warm and the smell of grease mingling with the faint traces of pine was comforting. I took a long, slow sip of my beer and opened my journal. I was hoping that if I read and reread all of my notes and the missing person records that I would start to see a larger picture. So far, the only inklings I had were that all of the missing women were connected somehow. That, and that something far bigger than just the town of Cold Hollow was involved.

I sketched out a few diagrams, trying to visualize some of the information I’d gathered hoping that might help me see it differently.

The jukebox droned on and I ordered another beer.

A few songs and sips later, a young woman came into the bar, younger than me anyway. She sat down a few seats away. We exchanged brief glances as she ordered a whiskey neat and settled down with her head in her hands. I tried not to take much notice of her, but the way she was slumped down and staring deep into her glass gave me the sense that she was in trouble. And if there’s one thing I know, a woman alone drowning her problems at the bar isn’t really trying to stay out of trouble. If anything, she’s just bored with the kind of trouble she was in, or just looking for someone to share it with. I, on the other hand, was not looking for trouble, so I avoided further eye contact.

I was halfway through my second beer when she finally spoke to me.

“What’re you reading?” she asked.

I didn’t want to seem rude, so I turned toward her to answer. She wasn’t just cute like the bartender. She had that something some women have that make people fuck their whole lives up just to be close to her. But I sensed that she wasn’t actually curious about what I was doing and more just wanted someone to talk to, or at least that’s what the beers told me.

“Ah, just looking over some old notes and case files for a story I’m working on. I’m a journalist.”

She nodded, grinned, and held my gaze, but said nothing else so I kept going.

“I’m interested in some of the women here in Cold Hollow,” I said. Realizing the Freudian nature of the slip, I was about to clarify that I meant the missing women, but before I could the dark-haired beauty next to me pounced on the opportunity.

“You’re interested in women?” she said with a coy smile.

I didn’t know quite how to respond. If she had laid a trap for me, I was hooked.

“Ah, well, yes. As far as what I’m working on…It’s about some missing women—”

 “Oh,” she said smiling and took a slow sip of her whiskey. “You must be writing on something about Senator McClinton?”

“Um, what do you mean? Does he...? He’s got something to do with––?”

“Oh, I figured you knew. The Senator’s daughter and a friend of hers went missing last weekend. The Senator and his wife were out of town so Lilly, that’s his daughter, threw this huge party at their house, right? And then the next morning when her parents came home, Lilly was nowhere to be found. Same with her friend, Nicole Spencer. It’s sad, you know? I went to school with her brother.”

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” I said and scrambled for my pen.

She laughed a little and reached out to shake my hand. “I’m Misty, and you are?”

“Kelly, Kelly Kane,” I said as I scooted down one bar stool to sit directly next to her. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard about the Senator’s daughter yet or how two more girls had just gone missing right beneath my nose?

“So, Misty, tell me more,” I said.

She kept smiling and I smiled too, realizing that her previously sullen demeanor hadn’t been caused by boy troubles.

“Yeah, sure,” she said. “But first, how about another drink?” and she signaled the bartender for another round.

“So, you said the Senator’s daughter, Lilly, right? She threw a party at her parents’ house and then... went missing from her own party?”

“Well, Rachel was telling me that there were about ten of them there at the house just drinking beer and messing around. There weren’t a lot of people, but they were rowdy, you know?”

“Wait, who is Rachel?” I asked, my wrist stinging as I wrote as quickly as I could.

“Oh, Rachel is an old friend of mine. To be honest, she’s a little too old to be going to high school house parties, in my opinion, but that’s Rachel. If there’s a party, she’s going. Anyway, Rachel said that everyone went home sometime between one or one-thirty that morning, but Lilly and Nicole stayed. I guess Nicole was going to spend the night or something. But, before Rachel and everyone else left, apparently, they were all messing around with some book about some creepy witchcraft shit that they had found in the Senator’s study. Weird, right?”

My heart clenched a little in my chest. “Yeah, totally weird,” I said mirroring her tone in the hope that she would keep talking.

“Apparently they had gone looking for more booze and Lilly knew where her dad kept a secret stash or something. Wherever that was, the book was there, too. Like he was hiding it. I guess it all makes sense, though.”

I took another sip of my beer and thanked whatever powers were at work that night for sending me to the Drift and delivering to me this fountain of knowledge in the form of a voluptuous vamp. “What do you mean? What makes sense?”

“They’re just such a creepy family, the McClintons. You wouldn’t catch me going to a party at that creepy old house of theirs. I don’t care how much free booze you offered me. It’s probably haunted as shit.” Misty laughed. I could sense she was lightening up and her walls were coming down. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe we were just a couple of lonely girls enjoying each other’s company. Then the mood changed and her tone became a bit more somber.

“There’s been rumors about them, too,” she said, and looked around to see if anyone else was listening. “For years people have been saying the family’s all wrapped up in some sort of black magic.” She lowered her voice to a whisper then. “They say the first McClintons to arrive in Cold Hollow were witches.”

“Really? I wonder why.” I sighed. “This is all very helpful, by the way. I was kind of at a dead-end in my research, but you’ve given me so much more to look into.”

Misty’s full lips curled into a mischievous smile that made my insides feel warm and I felt my body and mind truly relaxed for the first time since I arrived in Cold Hollow. It was the alcohol, certainly, but I was having a good time talking to someone my age, someone who was interested in talking to me.

We ordered another round of drinks and I continued to ask questions about Senator McClinton and the happenings of Cold Hollow. I found myself leaning in closer to Misty, our knees occasionally brushing up against each other. I stuck to beer, but by the time Misty got through her third whiskey, she was far less subtle.

She reached over and laid her hand on my forearm. Another rush of warmth spread through me as all of the exciting possibilities of the night fluttered through my mind.

“It’s so nice to meet someone cool in this town,” Misty said, giggling a little. “I feel like a freakin’ leper after me and my ex broke up. All of her friends just treat me like a piece of shit now.”

Now I understood why Misty had looked so morose when she first came into the bar. There was still a weight of negativity and drama clinging to her, but copious amounts of alcohol caused me to think I might be able to help her lift it. I began to smolder with anticipation, in spite of the little voice inside my head telling me to keep it professional.

I took another sip from my bottle. “Yeah, I get that. I mean, I don’t know exactly what that’s like, but my ex... Yeah. It’s not great between us now. I haven’t spoken to her since I left Boston.”

Misty clinked my glass against hers. “Well, to our exes! Fuck ‘em,” she said and downed the rest of the amber-colored liquid and dropped the glass heavily onto the bar. “Hey,” she said as if struck by an epiphany, her eyes a little glassy, and she leaned in close to me. I was all nerves waiting to hear what followed as her mouth moved closer, just a couple of inches from my ear. “Do you wanna go, um, somewhere else, or...?”

I knew what Misty was asking me and I absolutely wanted to get laid, but I was still a little weary.

“Um, well…” Fuck it, I thought. What’s one night of fun? 

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers. She tasted like strawberry lip balm and whiskey. Without a word, I tossed a few bills onto the bar, gathered up my notebook and files, and nodded for Misty to follow me. I left my car in the Drift parking lot and we walked the few short blocks from the bar to my apartment.

The walk air was a little chilly and Misty complained about her hands being cold so I took her hands into mine and she leaned her head on my shoulder. When we made it to my place, she pressed me against the door and kissed me hard. I fumbled for my key impatiently, slid it into the lock with a fair bit of difficulty, and shoved the sticky door open. From the moment we were inside, our bodies hardly parted. She continued to kiss me and I dropped my keys and notebook. I walked us backward, trying to avoid the piles of books that littered my living room, and steered us towards the bed.

We collapsed in a heap onto the mattress on the floor. I was a little embarrassed about the state of my apartment and started to apologize, but Misty didn’t seem to mind. She shushed me every time I tried to speak, and peeled her tight black halter top off while shifting out of her skirt with surprising ease. I shed my shirt and pants as she struggled a bit with her boots, but once our bare bodies touched, she gave up and kept the boots on. I liked that.

We fell asleep that night tangled in each other’s arms. And when I woke the next morning, Misty’s eyes were already open, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” I whispered, turning to face her. I slung an arm over her hips and pressed my cheak between her shoulder and breast.

“Hi,” she whispered back. Just like when she had first shown up at the Drift, her voice was heavy with something.

I leaned up and kissed her gently and she grinned, but it seemed a bit forced. My spirits immediately dampened. I wondered what Misty was thinking. Was she regretting our night together, brief as it was?

“You okay?” I asked.

“Hm? Yeah, fine. Just...thinking. This is the first time I’ve woken up in bed next to someone that wasn’t....” Misty admitted, then turned to face me and tucked one of my stray hairs behind my ear.

“Ah,” I said with a nod. What’s her name? Your ex?”

She paused, seeming reluctant to answer.

“It’s okay, I understand if you don’t want to—”

“Sivene,” she interrupted, and sighed. “Sivene is her name.”

 I continued nodding, at what I didn’t know. “Sivene. That’s a unique name. It’s pretty,” I said.

Misty looked at me, her eyes narrowed, and she grinned.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” she asked.

“What? No, No,” I stuttered. “Well, I don’t know what you think I’m doing. I’m just saying that it’s a pretty name, and that it makes sense if you’re feeling... a little weird. But, hey, listen, last night... it doesn’t have to be anything more than this. You know, it can be a one-time thing or... or not?”

Misty looked away again and she lay there quietly for a few moments, chewing on her kiss-swollen lip. “I’m not really sure what I want it to be,” she confessed.

I had to admit I was a little deflated. It was a slight blow to my confidence that Misty might not want to see me again, but I tried not to take it personally.

“That’s totally fine,” I reassured her. “But I’m really glad I met you, Misty.”

I sat up in bed and reached for my watch in the bedside drawer. I didn’t have much time before I needed to get to the Chronicle offices.

“Listen,” I said, feeling around on the floor for my clothes. “I’ve got to get ready to go to work. But, take your time in bed if you want to sleep in or...” I trailed away, unsure of what exactly I had to offer. I was slowly realizing that I did, in fact, want to see Misty again.

“Okay,” she said, and offered me another pale ghost of a smile.

“So, okay. Maybe I’ll see you...later or something,” I said and finished dressing before leaving Misty behind in my bed. As I made the walk to my office, I started to think about the story again and how sleeping with a source might complicate things. I quietly chastised myself.

“Well, Kelly,” I said to myself. “You sure like to make things hard for yourself.”