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Forrest lifted the pillow off his face to take a glance at the analog clock.
10:09 AM.
Groaning, he dropped the pillow back on his head and forced his dry eyes shut.
It had only been 3 hours since he was dismissed from the police station. After the police had found him locked inside the producer’s room, they took him there to get his statement and ask some further questions pertaining to the investigation. Forrest reluctantly complied, even though he knew it would probably be wrapped up in a jiffy due to that insanely illuminating interview with the culprit.
After that, there was nothing other to do than walk home. Home still being a room at the Gallows Creek’s local inn, unfortunately. Forrest hadn’t found the time to look for available houses or apartments yet, but boy, did he regret that right about now.
The room wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to, but the inn’s curtains were too sheer to block the sun from coming in, and Forrest had a migraine. It also didn’t help that it was an airless, cheap room that Forrest couldn’t help but nitpick a little more every day.
How could he not when back in Chicago, he had a nice little apartment. An apartment that wasn’t fancy, but definitely not cheap, and actually had personality.
Forrest huffed, getting irritated at the thought that this town wasn’t lacking in personality after all. If only he could’ve learned that in a completely different, non-life-threatening way.
He flipped to his other side, kicking the thin blankets over him. It wasn’t likely that he’d be getting any real sleep after the unbelievably long night they’ve had. But he had to at least try to get some rest.
Especially since his body had been persistent in reminding him all morning that it surely wasn’t like it used to be. For some damned reason, mental stress translated into physical pain, and Forrest had never been more aware of that fact until now. His back, already used to the soreness that came with the job of manning radio equipment, wearily throbbed in sync with the rippling migraine that still hadn’t gone away.
He didn’t even feel like getting up for Advil or more sleeping pills. He’d already taken one the moment he entered the room, and oh, the wonders it had done.
Sleep wasn’t happening, so naturally, his mind raced.
He wondered if Peggy was still at the station, or if not, where she was instead.
God. Peggy.
At the station, he had overheard a walkie-talkie spewing info of Dawn— or, Marie Campbell— jumping off Whistling Point. As if finding out your long-lost sister was and has been a serial killer (and almost getting killed by her too) wasn’t enough.
Forrest found himself wanting to call her. Before last night, he didn’t really see himself as Peggy’s “friend”. A coworker was the only thing he saw her as. But not even he, the so-called lone wolf type, can deny that when you go through that type of shit together, it bonds you.
The only thing is, he wouldn’t know what the hell to say. Sorry was a given. What an awful situation was so obvious, it would be stupid to say out loud.
As if on cue, the telephone on his nightstand rang.
His head pounded as he got up, eyes exposed to the sunlight once again. His back cracked as he reached over to the phone.
“Hello?” He croaked out.
“Forrest! Bud, it’s Reggie. I wasn’t sure you’d be up, pal.” His boss spoke in a soft tone. He was always an unbearably nice guy.
“Yeah, well, unfortunately I am.” He rubbed at his forehead.
“Listen, I won’t keep ya for long, but I just wanted to let you know that you and Peggy’ll be getting a weeks paid vacation. Of course, that’s necessary for what happened last night. Hey, I still can’t believe you managed to save every caller. That is just outrageous how—”
“Reggie, sorry, but did you manage to get a hold of Peggy?”
“Oh, no, actually, but I was notified that she’s at the hospital. She’s okay, they just wanted to keep ‘er there for the day just to make sure.”
“Huh. Alright.” Forrest felt himself let out a breath of relief.
“I know. That poor kid. You know what y’all did was incredible, right? I truly couldn’t imagine it when I first heard the news. Well, then again, I couldn’t believe any of it. And to think it happened all while I was catchin’ some Z’s. Argh.” He spoke lowly.
“I know, Reggie. I still can’t believe it either. You know, I don’t know how we pulled it off.”
“Well, that’s why I think it’s more than fair for y’all to be gettin’ a little vacation.”
“Wait, a vacation?”
“Forrest, were you not listenin’ to me? Yes, you’ll be getting a paid vacation until Friday. Take some time off to process everything and rest. Ever done it before?” Forrest took a moment to think.
“Honestly, I can’t remember my last vacation.”
“Hey, well, that explains a lot.” Forrest jerked his head, taking offense. Before he could respond, Reggie chimed in again.
“By the way, I wanted to let you know there’ll be a memorial on Wednesday held at the St. Jason’s Church at three o’clock for all the victims who don’t have the families or money for a funeral. Like, our coworker, Clive, for example.” Reggie let out a rough, shaky sigh.
“I knew he’d been pokin’ his head in places he shouldn’t’ve been but. I just never knew it would get him… killed, you know?” His voice cracked. Forrest shook his head.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Reggie. I know he was a good friend to you.”
“Damn right he was, that old… menace. Heh.” It was silent for a moment before Forrest remembered the other event supposed to be happening.
“Wait, wasn’t that festival happening today? At that, uh, Gilbert Field?”
“The Giblet Field, Forrest. But yeah, about that… it was pushed back. I didn’t get a specific date, but probably for about a week. Yeah, I don’t think anyone would’ve been up for that if it was today.” Forrest deflated.
“I guess I don’t have an excuse not to go anymore.”
“I’m afraid not, Scott.” He could hear the smile in that old man’s voice. What ever happened to ‘I won’t keep you for long?’
“Is that it, Reggie?”
“Uhh— Oh, yeah! I got a crazy amount of calls from news reporters, mostly Maurice Russell of Gallows Reporter, the bastard, but some were from all over the state! They were all asking for you to do an interview with you.” Great, Forrest thought. More interviewing. At least I’ll be the interviewee this time around, but honestly, I really don’t wanna be. Sounds like such a drag to go over all this again.
It was as if Reggie read his mind and said, “Don’t worry, I turned them all down and said you weren’t available. Don’t know whether or not they can get ahold of your personal phone number, but otherwise no worries on that front.”
“Thanks, Reggie. And thanks for the call.”
“It’s no problem, Forrest. Hope to see you tomorrow, and hope you have fun out on the town! Finally you’ll settle into Gallows Creek!” Reggie cheered into the telephone.
“Uh huh, that I’m looking forward to.” His head throbbed with the thought.
“Take care, Reggie.”
“Catch you on the flip, Forrest.”
Once the call ended, Forrest finally got up to get some more meds for sleeping.
He’d have to get out on the town someday, be it for house-hunting or eating a place that wasn’t Grilling Spree, because even subpar grilled food was getting old.
However, right now was for sleep. So he pulled the covers over his head and crashed within three minutes.
6:16 PM.
After taking a much needed shower and throwing on some decent clothes, Forrest took himself to Mac’s Diner. He decided to walk since he had the time, only seeing two cop cars on the way there. They’ll probably be gone by tomorrow, he thought.
He’d never been there, so when he spotted Ponty’s Pizza right next to it, he huffed and averted his eyes in frustration. The night had been stressful enough. Ponty had made a greedy S.O.B. out of himself. Forrest was willing to hold this grudge forever.
The man walked inside to the smell of coffee and sugar. Mac’s Diner was cute. A bit basic, but lit up well and decorated nicely with shades of red and yellow. A woman, seemingly in her early 20s, worked the counter in a yellow waitress uniform. She wore a pin with the name ‘Zola’.
“Hello, welcome to Mac’s Diner. What can I get for you?” She greeted him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. What a trip to just continue on with your day job after last night. He tried his best to give a polite smile.
“Hey there, can I get, um… just a… Mac’s Special with a black coffee please.” He squinted at the menu plastered overhead. Zola scribbled the order down on a piece of paper. She traveled to the kitchen door to pass on the order and called out, “Great choice! I’ll have that ready for you in a bit.”
They seemed to be short on staff, which was understandable. He sat down in a booth that was somewhat in the corner. The red leather of it was peeling everywhere, and the the table was a bit sticky to the touch. Forrest tried not to grimace when his leather jacket‘s sleeves stuck to the surface.
There was only three other people in the diner, quietly eating or reading the paper. The jukebox was playing some random jazzy tune. That one lady— Sandra, was it?— was nice, but Forrest hated jazz.
Suddenly, a fourth person walked through the glass door, a man wearing a purple headband and a colorful neon track suit. He greeted the waitress with a warm smile as she came out from the kitchen.
“If it isn’t my favorite customer!”
“Aw, stop! How’s it hanging, Zola-Granola?” She smiled back at him.
“I could ask you the same. How are you holding up?”
“Oh, you know me, Zola, I’m fine. What about you? Is the family all okay?” His voice got softer as he took a seat at the counter. They seemed to be really close. Hopefully this town isn’t that small, in the way that everyone acts like family with each other. Forrest didn’t want to judge, but he couldn’t be more unfamiliar with the idea of living in that type of town. And being a loving member of that huge little family of strangers. He almost shivered at the thought and continued analyzing his booth’s ketchup, mustard, and napkin dispenser.
“Everyone’s fine, thankfully. Mom’s shaken up though, she had to work a late shift at the repair shop for some reason and swore she heard the whistling.” Zola replied with a gentle voice. They continued with their conversation at a low volume, so Forrest stopped listening in. It was only until his food came out he realized who the friendly man wearing the eyesore of a tracksuit really was.
Once she was handed the plate and mug, the waitress walked out and set it in front of him. They were still having their conversation, so he simply nodded a thank you and got to eating. The meal was surprisingly okay, a burger and hash browns. As he took a swig of his coffee, the man started to take his own order.
“Tell me, what did you really come by for? Munchies for Maxy? Or just for you?”
“If you must know, I was just dropping by before I get the goods from Ponty. He can’t drive out today. But anyway, I’m actually thinking of putting Maxy on a diet.” They laughed, the dorks. Wait. Hold up. Maxy? As in…
“Just a coffee and the usual, please!”
So that’s where he recognized that overly friendly voice. In front of his eyes was the one and only Roller Ricky. Huh. It took unexpectedly long for me to put that together. Although, I pictured him sporting one of those awful mullets…
Forrest spent the rest of his meal contemplating whether or not he should get up and say something to Roller Ricky, the grown man bobbing his head to the jukebox’s music, all while scarfing down three pancakes drowned in butter and maple syrup. He started feeling pathetic as his subconscious insisted he drank his coffee down to the last drop and eat the very last hash brown on his plate. This way, maybe he’d suddenly gain the confidence out of no where to stop acting like he didn’t know the man sitting a few feet away from him, acting like he didn’t basically know the gist of his entire life story. This man even considered him a friend, and here Forrest was, pretending he was invisible.
But hey, at least his money wasn’t going to waste.
Throwing the money on the table, he got up a couple seconds after Ricky said his goodbyes and went out the door. He didn’t mean to be all stalker-ish. It had just been a long day, alright? Of course Forrest had no idea what he was doing. But whatever, he ate dinner and was prepared to spend the rest of the night in the safety of that bleak room. Maybe he’d order a cup of ice cream before room service hours ended.
Fortunately, it was somehow the right call to leave right as he did, because just as he trailed out from the diner, he saw a wallet slip from the pocket of Ricky’s pants.
More out of instinct than the goodness of his heart, Forrest picked it up and finally called out to him.
“Hey, dude, you dropped this.” Ricky turned around to face the man, who was only about a couple inches shorter than the older man. Their eyes locked instantly, like it was something long overdue. He smiled warmly at the stranger, basically the exact same smile he’d given the waitress, and took the wallet from his hand.
“Oh, thanks so much, man! I owe you one!” He enthusiastically thanked Forrest.
“It’s no problem.” Forrest nodded and started to leave, until Ricky spoke again.
“Wait… I know that voice from somewhere. Have we met?” He turned the wallet in his hands and took a couple steps forward. There was a glint in his eye, like he already knew who he was talking to. Well, Forrest didn’t get the hint, or at least pretended like he didn’t.
“Um… maybe. Actually, no.” Denying his identity worked wonders on the streets of Chicago, so it was second nature to flat out lie to Roller Ricky. Maybe it was a little— scratch that— completely stupid and dumb and foolish to do so, but the words had already fallen out of the ex-celebrity’s mouth.
“No way, I definitely know you from somewhere…” He insisted with a smirk.
“Sorry, man, it’s getting dark! Gotta go.” Forrest turned his back on Ricky, with every bone in his body committing to the bit. Maybe it somehow thought he was still in Chicago, Illinois, being pestered about the very thing that ruined his career. But he knew this man wasn’t a threat. He was wearing a headband for fuck’s sake.
“The sun hasn’t even set!” Ricky spoke to his back.
Forrest could’ve swore he heard giggling behind him as he scurried away like a coward. Whatever, we’ll deal with that introduction later. Just focus on getting home for now.
“Hope you have a good night, guardian angel!”
Shit. As if he hadn’t cringed enough in the last hour.
Well, guess that title’s not going away any time soon. I should’ve just let him lose the damn thing. He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought and at how bizarre that whole interaction really was.
Walking to the inn, he tried not to go over every single choice he made and regret every single one of them. Instead, he found himself going over everything Ricky had done.
Ever since he first called in to the show, Forrest could tell that Ricky, to put it plainly, was a character. Not a bad or annoying one, but a strange one. Strange as in if he found himself in a fist fight, he’d probably take a deep breath, healthily communicate to the other party about his feelings, and talk through some possible solutions to their problem.
Forrest didn’t know. It was just a vibe he gave off, all cool and mellow, and a bit hippy. He was just wildly different from other 30-somethings he’d met in his time. Maybe Ricky wasn’t so emotionally intelligent. But maybe he was and he could learn a lot from him, even though he was more than ten years his senior. What would I even have to learn from him? He questioned.
Before going to bed, Forrest figured that even though he knew a whole lot about Ricky’s life story, he absolutely didn’t know everything. And he wasn’t sure what to make of that thought.