The Traveler: Voices and Echoes

THE TRAVELER:

VOICES AND ECHOES

by

David Schibi

* * * *

Copyright 2011 by David Schibi

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Herb’s Haven was a small tavern that sat well off highway 59 just outside of Neosho, Missouri. A long, white graveled drive led to a rectangular, identically graveled parking lot.

Trees had been cleared away to build the tin-sided building many years ago but the brush was near relentless in its attempt to retake the land. From behind the establishment a narrow strip of yet more white gravel led fifty yards to the beige and blue trailer home of the proprietor.

Over the years of intense heat and humidity of Julys and Augusts coupled with the equally extreme cold and ice of Februarys and Marches, the red and blue paint on the exterior of quaint country bar had faded. The tin being of low quality to begin with, its natural dull gray was nearly visible in spots.

But, despite its lackluster appearance, Herb’s Haven was well established with the locals and had a moderate, regular intake of customers, most of whom were either old farmers or the descendants of. What it lacked with its meager food offerings - burgers and fries or chilidogs - it more than made up for with its wide assortment of every drink with alcohol in it.

To Hannah Simpson, if she never set eyes on the place again it would be too soon.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t foresee a time soon enough that would have her away from it.

The lights were dim as Hannah wiped the already clean tabletop for the third time. The warm, wet rag in her hand left streaks that quickly faded on the oak grained wood. The jukebox played country tunes from before she was born but she could recite the words. Not that she wanted to.

Herb Newsom, the owner and manager, had cut everyone else loose for the day except for Hannah and Greg, the cook. Herb stood behind the bar pretending to not watch as Hannah leaned over the circular tables to wipe them down. Greg was in the kitchen, probably high by now.

Business was slow today, only old man Troughton was in. He occupied his usual seat at the end of the bar where he could rest his white capped head against the wall and sleep, waking only to take long draws from his mug of brew.

In truth, Hannah was glad it was slow again. Her sleep the night before had not been restful. Her mind was distracted by the fuzzy recollection of some fantastical dream that had stirred her all night. Vague images and impressions were all that remained; stars colliding and blackness opening, swallowing everything up.

Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, Herb had the lights set at their standard low setting. When Hannah saw the face of a twenty year old young lady with sandy brown hair and blue eyes staring back at her from the tabletop she quit wiping and stood up.

The wash cloth splashed in the soapy water as Hannah dropped it back in. She put her hands on her lower back and leaned backward trying to stretch the ache out of her muscles. The pin of her nametag - a small rectangular piece of plastic on which she had written her name with red permanent marker - restricted the stretching of her shirt a little.

Like she needed a nametag in this place.

In her peripheral she caught a glimpse of Herb watching. He worked a toothpick in his teeth and held a newspaper with the other hand. His chubby face was covered with about one day’s growth of beard, just enough to darken his skin.

If only her situation were a little bit different. . .

Hannah stopped stretching and retrieved her bucket.

Herb, I’m gonna need to go pretty soon, she said as she passed the bar, headed to the kitchen.

Yeah? Why’s that? Herb asked, his head turning to watch as she walked by.

Got school work to do. She pushed open the black swinging double doors to the kitchen and nearly slipped on the greasy floor, the tiles still dirty from a week’s worth of traffic and dinners. She felt the air from the doors on her back as they flopped behind her.

Greg sat in a metal-framed chair leaned back against the wall so the front two legs were off the floor. The black cushioning of the chair had torn years ago and now the duct tape used to keep the cushions together rolled up on itself. Greg’s eyes were closed and a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Think you might get the floor cleaned today? Hannah asked as she passed. Greg didn’t respond except to giggle a little.

Sure, Greg said in a slow drawl. His eyes didn’t open, his shaggy dark hair almost covering them completely.

Hannah poured the dirty water into the floor drain and set the bucket beside it. She heard the doors swing open and shut just before she heard Herb speak.

The hell you mean you got school work to do?

I mean I got stuff to do, Hannah said. She yanked the stainless steel door handle on the once-white refrigerator. The door opened with a whine of inconvenience and she retrieved her tall plastic cup of soda. She put the straw in her mouth, taking a long drink to sate her thirst as she stared back at Herb.

She could read in his beady, deep set eyes that he knew she was lying. But she didn’t care. She was more interested in getting out of this place.

The light ding of the door chime sounded and saved Hannah further scrutiny. This ain’t over yet, Herb warned as he turned and left the kitchen.

Yer uncle’s a perv, Greg said, almost a giggle.

Shut up. Hannah said. She took another long draw from her drink and returned it to the fridge. The door clicked when it shut.

Herb was her mother’s step-brother. Hannah still wondered if that actually made him her uncle. He wasn’t all bad, really. He had taken her in when there was no one else. And to be honest, he had taken good care of her for the six years she had lived with him. Not bad when you consider she had only met him twice before.

Hannah had planned to leave the day she turned eighteen but the reality of money had changed her mind. School was hard and left little time for her to work. Her meager little academic scholarship didn’t cover near enough. For now, the best thing she could do was to stay at Herb’s.

The ding of the order bell was Herb telling her she needed to get out there and tend to the customers that must have just walked in. With a sigh she adjusted her black apron, checking the pockets to be sure her small pad of paper and a couple of pens were all there, then she headed for the door.

She stopped so suddenly the door hit her in the back on its backward swing. She lurched forward and stopped out of range.

Standing in front of the door was a man she had never seen before. He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers. His face was mostly hidden in shadow but he wasn’t what had her attention.

Beside the stranger was a creature on four legs. Hairless, its skin full of wrinkles and creases but didn’t seem to sag as if it were fat. Its eyes glowed green and it had a short snout punctuated with several oversized teeth. Its head turned and its eyes locked on Hannah as soon as she entered the room.

What’s that? the man asked in a friendly voice. He was looking toward the bar at Herb.

I said no pets allowed.

Hannah looked over at Herb. He stood behind the bar, his bulging belly pressed against it, his left hand reaching for the loaded shotgun he kept beneath by the cash register.

The doors behind Hannah thwapped again and she heard Greg. So, like, where do we keep that soap stuff at again? I got this wicked hangnail that-- whoa, he came to stop beside Hannah.

The creature’s eyes locked onto him.

"That is the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen, man. Like, it could totally win that t.v. show." He laughed, apparently not as bothered as Hannah or Herb with the strange appearance of the thing.

Oh, he’s not actually a pet, the man at the door said. More like a companion.

I don’t care if it’s royalty and it shits gold coins, it ain’t allowed in here, Herb said.

Greg gave another excited whoop and stepped toward the two new people. Dude, I’ve totally gotta pet it.

Greg! Hannah said in a harsh whisper but to no avail, Greg wasn’t listening.

The man by the door squatted down and appeared to speak to the animal but the animal’s eyes never left Greg who stepped toward them in a slow gait with one hand outstretched. Here poochy, poochy.

The man stood up. Do you happen to have a, ah, . . . local account of today’s news events?

You mean a newspaper? Herb asked after a slight pause.

Yes! A newspaper! Precisely. The man clapped his hands together and walked toward the bar with long, easy strides. His companion stayed by the door, eyes on Greg as Greg got down on one knee in front of it, his hand still outstretched.

Hannah stepped closer to the bar so she could hear if the strange man and Herb spoke, her hand was in her pocket on her cell phone in case she needed to make a quick 911 call.

In the light over the bar Hannah could see more of the man’s face. He had short, dark hair combed forward over a slightly receding hairline. His eyes were deep set with dark circles around them.

Okay, can he at least have a drink before he leaves? He’s really thirsty.

Sure, Herb said. Keeping his eyes on the strange man, Herb moved down the bar and retrieved one of the small bowls he used for peanuts and pretzels. This be alright?

For. . .? the strange man looked puzzled.

For your dog’s water.

Oh, he looked to the creature and back to Herb. Actually, can he just get a small glass of your strongest whiskey? About two fingers?

Herb’s chin fell to his chest. He looked over at Hannah and she shrugged. At the end of the bar, old man Troughton stirred, mumbled something under his breath, and then was still again.

Okay, Herb said, setting the bowl down on the bar a little too hard. The sharp clack of the glass on the hardwood made Hannah start. The strange man jumped back a little and old man Troughton lifted his head.

I’ll get you one shot glass of whiskey - I don’t care who drinks it - then you and your ugly dog get the hell outta my bar. Capiche?

The strange man stared wide-eyed at Herb for a moment and then looked over at Hannah and old man Troughton as if for help.

Hannah looked away reflexively, unable to meet his gaze. But old man Troughton smiled and lifted his half-full mug. The strange man returned the smile with a small wave. Old man Troughton took a drink and then resettled into sleep.

The stranger looked at Hannah again, this time before she could look away. His eyes, a clear dark blue, reminded her of oceans she had seen in movies. She felt her mouth open but her mind went completely blank, no words. For a heartbeat, all she knew was the beauty and depth of his eyes. She couldn’t look away, though part of her desperately wanted to. Another part of her never wanted to. A strange sensation ran through her, like when a good ghost story gave her goosebumps.

But this wasn’t a bad feeling.

In fact, it felt . . . familiar. Felt as though her eyes had been searching her entire life for the two she stared at now.

He smiled at her, a knowing little smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. Hello, Hannah, he said and gave her a short little wave.

His voice filled her ears and her breath caught in her chest. She knew him, she was sure of it.

Not just knew him, like she’d met him before, but knew him.

She saw nothing but his face, his deep blue eyes, and she felt completely safe, completely at peace. She didn’t know how she knew him - maybe from a dream - but she didn’t want to look away, not now, not for anything.

Then he looked away and all at once her breath returned to her. The sound of the music playing softly from the jukebox filled her ears, coming back to her like a speeding car.

She turned away as the man capitulated to Herb’s demands. Greg was on both knees, his head turned, and his ear close to the dog’s unmoving mouth. He faced away from Hannah but she heard him giggle and saw his shoulders bounce a little.

No way, he said but she wasn’t sure who - if anyone - he was speaking to. That’s so wild. . .

Here. There was another smack of glass on wood however this one was noticeably lighter.

Thank you, the man said with a smile and reached for the glass. Before his hand got there Herb slid it away. The man looked at him.

Why don’t you go ahead and pay for it now, Herb suggested.

The man’s face lit up. Oh, pay! Right. Of course. Ah, here, just a second. He reached into his jacket, his hand fumbling around a bit, and then he produced a black billfold.

Hannah found herself closer still and she raised herself up on the balls of her feet as the strange man opened his wallet. He scratched his head with one hand and looked back over at the newspaper still lying open on the bar. Let’s see, Missouri . . . 2010 . . .

He looked up and tapped a finger to his bottom lip, his mouth working a little but his words too low to hear.

It’s two dollars, Herb said, an edge of frustration to his voice.

Ah, the strange man said. He opened his wallet and Hannah couldn’t help but watch as he thumbed through several separated slots of bills of several colors and sizes. Here it is, greenbacks, right?

Herb’s answer was a hard stare.

Right. Here you go. As the man laid a single bill on the bar his plastic sleeved credit card holder came loose, stretching from his wallet to the floor. Hannah’s eyes were instantly drawn to one of the cards with tiny, blinking green lights on it. Oops, the man said as he started to fold them back up.

What the hell is this? Herb asked. You trying to pay me with fake money?

What do you mean?

This is a two dollar bill with the picture of some lady on it. Last time I checked we don’t have no two dollar bills and there ain’t been a woman president anyway.

Oh, the man said retrieving the bill and looking confused. 2010?

I’ll get it, Herb, Hannah spoke up. Both men looked at her and she realized how close she was standing to them - within arm’s length.

You sure? Herb asked.

Yeah. Just take it from old man Troughton. He always leaves me two dollars.

Whatever, Herb said pressing a button on the cash register. With a ding the drawer opened. Your money.

Thank you, the stranger said with a smile. Hannah returned the smile. You’re very kind.

Dude. Hannah was so surprised when Greg spoke she nearly yelled. When did he walk up beside her? That is the coolest dog I have ever talked to. Seriously. With that, Greg turned on a heel and walked into the kitchen.

Have you talked to many of them? Hannah asked as she watched him go. He didn’t answer but she watched him until the doors swung shut behind him. She heard the man’s voice speaking to the dog and she walked over to them. The man tried to suppress a laugh as he set the glass beneath the animal’s belly.

No you didn’t, he said in a quieter tone.

Up close Hannah could see the details of the creature even better. It did have some hair but they were sparse and fine, protruding up from the crests of the wrinkles that covered the animal’s body in straight lines.

The creature’s head turned to stare at Hannah as she knelt down in front of it, the man to her right. Now that she was close to the creature, she could see eight circular lines in the green glowing eyes. The hardwood floor felt cold on her ankles as her pant cuffs rose above them when she sat on her knees. She hardly noticed. She was too surprised by the green eyes. As she stared back, the center two circles changed size, first shrinking then expanding, like a camera lens focusing on a subject.

She only looked away when she heard the clank of glass on wood. Beneath the creature - she just couldn’t believe it was a dog - the now empty glass wobbled back and forth before it settled. Hannah looked up at the strange man, her eyes wide with surprise.

Okay, then, off we go. One drink. That was the deal, the man said patting the creature’s head gently. He stood up and Hannah followed suit. She watched his face as his head swiveled about, taking in the entire bar. He nodded at Herb who still leaned on the bar watching with threatening eyes, his left hand low and out of sight.

What’s your name? Hannah asked after a moment.

Slow today? the man asked looking at her.

Yeah, a little bit. What’s your name?

Has anyone . . . strange been in here? Anyone unfamiliar?

Hannah pursed her lips into a line and cocked her head. Did he really just ask that? The man seemed to catch the hint; his eyebrows bounced once and he said, Oh. Only me then?

Who are you? Hannah asked as the man reached for the door.

My name’s . . . Eric, he said. Eric Venice. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket again. Here, he held out his hand. Lying in his palm was a small disk maybe two inches in diameter. It was blue except for a gold circle in the center. If anything . . . strange happens give me a buzz, would you?

How? Hannah asked as he slid the disk into her hand. It was heavier than it looked.

Just press the button.

Out, Herb shouted from the bar. You had your drink.

Eric lifted the glass from the floor and handed it to Hannah. Thanks, he said, then opened the door. The bright sunlight spilled into the room bathing Hannah in its warmth as she watched Eric walk away. He was only a couple of steps past the door when she lost him in the light, his silhouetted figure swallowed in the brightness.

The door closer device mounted at top whined for oil as it pulled the door shut. Hannah stood in place, spots dancing before her eyes, and fought the inexplicable urge to follow the strange man she had just met.

Chapter Two

The rest of the afternoon went by in a daze. A few of the regulars trickled in, ordered their usual, and left. Hannah waited on them, took them their food, refilled their drinks, and exchanged pleasantries with a smile. But she felt disconnected, like she was watching herself from a distance, in a dream.

She had forgotten her lie about having schoolwork to do until the five o’clock dinner rush started to come in. By then it was too late for her to leave.

The bar was over half full, Hannah breaking a sweat as she kept up with all the orders and customer demands, when the front door opened and a trio of strangers strode in.

Hannah stopped beside table four, a round top near the jukebox, with a basket of stringfries and a red plastic squirt bottle of ketchup in her hands and stared at the silhouettes as they stood in the doorway. The sun was still bright outside but it had moved so the glow wasn’t as bright as it had been before. But it was still enough to make her squint.

In or out, Herb shouted from behind the bar. I ain’t paying to air condition the outside.

The group of three newcomers stepped in and the doors closed behind them. Once again spots filled Hannah’s vision as they readjusted to the dim interior lights.

They wearin’ some sorta masks, or somethin’? Hannah heard someone ask from one of the tables nearest the doors.

That’s creepy, another voice, younger, added.

Hannah set the basket and bottle down on the table -

Hey, we didn’t order that.

- and stepped a little closer, straining her eyes for a better look. The three men stood in a V formation, all facing forward. When Hannah got near table six, all three of them snapped their heads in her direction.

Their faces were blank Caucasian slates, smooth from forehead to chin save for a thin line down the center and across where the eyes should have been. In place of ears there were small holes on the sides of their heads. They wore white tee shirts and dark pants, all identical.

In unison, they all turned on a heel and started walking toward Hannah.

Mrs. Granger shouted as the newcomers knocked over her table, spilling the remains of her cheeseburger and fries on the floor. Her husband, a thick-boned, corn-fed farmer stood cursing and grabbed the nearest one. The stranger stretched out an arm and Mr. Granger and all his considerable girth shot across the room, hitting the far wall with a thud and shattering the booth table he landed on.

Hannah ran for the back room, barely slowing down as she burst through the double doors. Shouts and cries from the front were muted a little as she ran for the backdoor. Greg stood at the grill, an empty frying pan on the stovetop.

Run, Greg, Hannah shouted as she passed. Greg just smiled and nodded, continuing to hold the empty frying pan over the gas flame.

Hannah nearly fell when she heard Herb’s shotgun fire.

But it only fired once.

Stopped in her tracks by the sound of the shotgun just in front of the backdoor, Hannah remembered the disk Eric had given her. She pulled it out of her pocket and was distracted as flames burst up from the pan Greg held over the stove. He giggled.

Whoa. Yes.

Hannah wasn’t sure why Greg was burning oil in a frying pan but then again, Greg did a lot of weird stuff. She stared at him for only a second and at that time the double doors slammed open. Two of the faceless men entered the room.

Hannah pressed the button. Then looked back up.

The faceless men looked at Greg - who didn’t look at them - and seemed to decide he wasn’t a threat. They moved right past him, headed for Hannah.

When they were one step past him, Greg spun and threw the flaming contents of the frying pan at the faceless men.

Ha ha! he shouted. Fire melts metal!

Fire erupted on both of the faceless men but they didn’t flinch. The back one spun around