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Sherman isn’t sure he quite believes it at first. After reports of people going missing, he obviously starts an investigation. He wonders if maybe the innkeeper just left, but all her belongings are still in her house, and no one knows anything about her disappearance. In a town so small, it is difficult to just leave without telling anyone. Neighbors become like family, even enemies are something like friends.
It’s suspicious. The fact that Nikole is just gone, it isn’t right. There’s something very wrong here, the sheriff just needs to find out what has actually gone wrong.
Then Samuel goes missing. Then Philip. And suddenly, it’s not just one missing person that Sherman has to worry about. He is thinking, day and night, about what to do in order to stop this from happening, but he doesn’t even know what the damn cause of the disappearances is!
Every citizen is interrogated at least half a dozen times, and he still ends up with nothing. It’s infuriating. He falls asleep at his desk more often than not, staring at all he knows and hoping something will click. Nothing clicks.
Sherman is at his desk one day, glaring at his pages and pages of notes, when there is a knock at his door. He closes his eyes, and prays that it’s not another report of a missing person. If anyone else goes missing under his watch, Sherman doesn’t know what he will do.
Luckily, a smiling face is looking back at him when he opens the door, and Sherman relaxes.
“Ah, Crops,” Sherman greets, standing back to let in his friend. Crops walks in easily, like he is home. It might as well be his home, at this point. He’s with Sherman more than anyone else, offering company and camaraderie. It’s nice. Especially since Philip went missing. Sherman’s heart still clenches when he thinks about his dear friend, gone without a word. “It’s nice to see you. How have you been?”
“Good, good. A little bit hungry, I haven’t had a good meal in a few days.”
Sherman frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that.
“We’ll go get somethin’ for you to eat, then.” Sherman claps Crops on the shoulder, who grins widely in response.
“I don't want to interrupt your work, Sheriff,” Crops says, shaking his head. The smile remains on his face, dark eyes glittering as he looks at Sherman. “Why don’t you come over for dinner after you get off, though? I think it’ll just help me to remember to eat if there’s someone else there, you know?”
“Course,” Sherman affirms. He steps back, removing his hand and leaning against his desk. “You need anythin’ else? You’re welcome to hang around all you like.”
“No, just wanted to stop in and say hi. I should go get everything ready for dinner. How’s seven sound, Sheriff?”
“Sounds good to me,” Sherman says, finally looking forward to something for the first time in weeks. Crops offers one last wave, then is gone. Sherman looks back at his desk and sighs, then sits again and keeps working.
Not shockingly, Sherman gets very little accomplished before 6:45 rolls around, and he’s leaving to go have dinner with Crops. He tugs on his jacket, a gift from Philip, and leaves, theories still rolling around in his brain. His citizens had to have been kidnapped, or even… No, they were kidnapped. Nothing truly bad could have happened to them. They’re gone, but Sherman can find them. He has to. They’ll be rattled, maybe a little bit injured, but Sherman will find them.
The walk to Crops’ goes by faster than Sherman expects. His thoughts are rolling around in his skull like marbles, roiling like flames. Maybe this night off will help reset Sherman’s mind, let him get back to it, refreshed and ready for a breakthrough.
Sherman is suddenly standing outside the door, and knocks firmly, hoping Crops is able to hear it. And that he remembers their scheduled dinner. Really, it would be disappointing if Sherman made it all this way, only for Crops to turn him away.
Luckily, the door opens, and Crops stands there. He is beaming at Sherman, a glint in his eye as he ushers the sheriff inside.
“Ah, Sheriff!” Crops exclaims, removing Sherman’s coat from his shoulders. It is hung on the coat rack next to the door, and Sherman is guided into what he assumes is the dining room. He knows where Crops lives, obviously, but realizes he has never been invited inside. “You’re just in time. Please sit, dinner is almost ready.”
“It smells great,” Sherman says. And it’s true; the smell of roasted vegetables fills the kitchen, and Sherman is reminded how hungry he is. He hasn’t been eating much, he’s been too distracted.
“Thank you kindly, Sheriff.” Crops turns away, but sends a smile over his shoulder and he leans down. He reaches into his hearth, pulling out corn, then places it on the table. Sherman honestly has no idea where it came from, considering there are no cornfields nearby, but he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Typically, he would, but he decides to relax this time, to let it go.
The kitchen is filled with smoke from the hearth, and beads of sweat glisten on Crops’ skin, but he doesn’t seem too fazed by the heat. Sherman distantly wonders if Crops would have a detached kitchen if he could. Sherman certainly would, with how sweltering the kitchen becomes while cooking, but no one in town has the money for that. Maybe one day.
“Now we just need to get the meat prepared.” Crops’ tongue darts out to lick at his lip, exposing the white of his teeth for just a moment. He still smiles, and Sherman furrows his brows.
“You haven’t started preparin’ the meat yet? Isn’t that what takes the longest out of everythin’?” That’s… weird. Something is off.
“I prefer it as fresh as possible.” Crops strides closer, and leans down. When he speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper. Sherman can feel his breath on his cheek. “Sorry, Sheriff.”
Crops lunges.
There is suddenly a hand on Sherman’s throat, and a weight on his chest. He’s falling backwards in his chair, and acts on instinct, grabbing Crops by the shirt collar and flipping them as he falls, effectively pinning the man to the floor. Crops has a knife in his hand. The silver flashes in the light from the fire, and Sherman can’t move for a moment.
Then Crops kicks him harshly in the side, and Sherman isn’t able to be frozen any longer. He has Crops’ hands in his own, which means he can’t be stabbed. So that’s one issue out of the way. Crops pulls against his hold, which does nothing against the weight Sherman is placing on his wrists. There is a second where he is concerned about spraining one of Crops’ wrists, since he’s Sherman’s friend, before remembering that this friend just tried to kill him. Sherman puts more pressure on the wrists pinned beneath him.
“Fuck- Stop it!” Crops shouts, glaring up at Sherman, who sneers.
“You tried to stab me.” A sudden wave of realization washes over Sherman, and he growls. Crops winces, and the knife gripped in his fingers clatters to the ground. Sherman hardly notices. “You’re the reason everyone’s gone missin’.”
Crops has the audacity to grin up at Sherman, despite clearly being in significant danger. Sherman snarls, and gets close enough that his tusk might nick Crops’ skin. He doesn’t care. In fact, Sherman might like to have the man’s blood on him. Some sort of revenge for what he’s done.
“More than just missing, Sheriff,” Crops says. Sherman can feel the way his chest rumbles as he speaks. He has never hated a feeling more. “Gone.”
“No.” Sherman shakes his head. He’s gripping Crops hard enough that marks will certainly be left. He hopes the bones splinter beneath his fingers. “They’re not gone. Where are they?”
“They are gone. Unless, of course, you want to open me up. There might still be some of Philip left in my stomach, there.”
“Oh my God,” Sherman whispers, eyes wide with horror. He feels sick. There’s no way that Crops is telling the truth, that what he’s implying actually happened. Sherman draws back a little bit, staring at the man beneath him. “No, you didn’t.”
“He was particularly delicious,” Crops confirms with a smirk.
Sherman bites back the wail of agony that threatens to escape from his lips. He can’t show weakness right now. The second he lets his guard down, Crops will gain the upper hand. That can’t happen.
Pulling Crops up with him, Sherman stands. The man struggles against him, but gives in quickly. Sherman drags him to the front door, and finds a rope near the hearth that he uses to tie Crops’ hands together. He drags him to the jail, both of them silent the whole way. When Sherman slams the cell door shut with a clang, it doesn’t feel like winning. It just feels like another layer of loss.
(When he goes home, he realizes his coat is still in Crops’ home. He falls to his knees in his doorway, and finally lets out heaving sobs. His friends, people who were his damn family, are gone. Forever. Not only were they killed, but eaten by someone they considered a friend. Chewed and swallowed like slaughtered cattle, not people. People Sherman fucking loved.
He doesn’t eat dinner.)
The next morning, Sherman calls a town meeting. His half-a-dozen citizens gather around him, and he tells them all that Crops is the reason for all the recent disappearances. He is met with horror and outrage, as he expects. Michael even suggests killing Crops, but the idea makes Sherman’s stomach roll. He promises to think on it, then goes back to the jailhouse once the crowd has dissipated.
“Meeting go well, Sheriff?” Crops asks, leaning against the bars to look at Sherman while he works.
Sherman doesn’t answer. He can finally clean off his desk, file away all his pages of notes and theories. It isn’t the satisfying experience he wishes it was. He catches a glimpse of Nikole’s name, and his stomach flips again. Sherman squeezes his eyes shut, then just sweeps it all into a random drawer. Now is not the time to organize papers about his dead friends.
Sherman can feel eyes tracking his every movement, which he pointedly ignores. Crops can look all he wants, but he won’t get anything out of Sherman. He breathes in, breathes out, and begins looking at a report of a bandit. Could be a rumor, but Sherman has nothing else to spend his time on. The people he once spent all of his time with were eaten by the man staring at him from behind cold metal, so now Sherman has nothing but free time.
“Well you don’t have to be rude,” Crops grumbles, turning around. He drops to the floor, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, chin resting on top of them. Sherman watches him out of the corner of his eye, wishing he could sew the man’s mouth shut. That would make this all much more peaceful.
The days pass. Sherman decides to retire, sets a date for it and everything. He just doesn’t have the drive he once had, especially now that all his closest friends seem to be gone. All he has left, day in and day out, is Crops.
It’s not really what he wants, but Crops is the only person who talks to him regularly. He greets Sherman in the morning, says goodbye in the evening. Crops talks to him about the weather (typically asking how the weather is), it’s always one of the questions he asks. One day, Sherman just gives in.
“God, just come outside and see, if you care that much.”
Crops blinks at Sherman when he gets up, keys jingling in his hand as he crosses the room. Sherman has never seen Crops look so shocked, or even shocked in the first place. It feels good.
“You’re… letting me out?” Crops asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“With supervision,” Sherman replies, jiggling the key in the cell’s lock and opening the door. Crops creeps forward, stopping when Sherman puts a hand up. The sheriff pulls rope off the wall, and ties the man’s hand together. He then tugs Crops out the front door and onto the front porch.
It’s lightly raining, a rarity this far southwest. Crops goes to the edge of the wooden planks, and raises his face to the sky, letting water drip down his hair, nose, cheeks. Sherman watches, revelling in some of the mist that rises as the rain hits the ground. It feels nice against his skin compared to the typically dry heat.
Crops stands out in the rain for around ten minutes, until his hair is soaking wet and hanging over his eyes. He shakes his head once he’s back under the cover of the awning, like he’s a wet dog. Sherman doesn’t give him a towel when he brings Crops back inside, only partially because he doesn’t have one at the jail. Crops doesn’t seem too upset by it, staring at Sherman through the bars as the door closes again. His gaze feels a little bit like fire, intense in every way. Sherman ignores him, going back to work.
It becomes routine, letting Crops out every few days. The activity gets him to talk a little bit less, to stop reminding Sherman of the atrocities he’s committed. Crops just wanders quietly, sometimes looking at Sherman like he’s a puzzle that’s missing some pieces. It’s how Sherman feels sometimes, so he doesn’t mind too much. It’s better than the burning he feels when they’re inside the jailhouse together, creeping under his skin unpleasantly. Sherman would rather go outside with Crops every few days. The lesser of two evils.
The time spent outside slowly becomes longer each time. Then it becomes daily. Sherman starts letting Crops go on his own. And it somehow becomes normal for them, for the townspeople. They don’t even report the doctor or priest missing, just accepting it. It’s an abnormal routine, but one they all fall into easily.
Karl disrupts the routine. He shows up, convinces Sherman to let Crops out of his cell (which takes very little coercion), stops the bandits that have appeared, then disappears. The stranger gathers everyone in the church, then just… leaves.
Except Crops isn’t in the church. He’s nowhere to be seen. He’s just gone.
Sherman curses under his breath, and bolts. He runs through the town, desperate to find the man that he is accountable for. It’s useless, though. Crops is gone.
There’s a little bit of disappointment that doesn’t come from doing his job poorly.
Sherman goes back to the jailhouse, no longer feeling the adrenaline from a victory. His footfalls are heavy on the porch, and he enters, only to see Crops inside his cell with the door closed. There is blood smeared across his face, but his smile doesn’t look predatory.
“What…?”
“I wasn’t just gonna run out on you, Sheriff,” Crops says, tilting his head a little bit.
Sherman is flooded with relief. More than he thought he would have. More than he would have if Crops was just part of his job, which won’t be his in a week’s time.
“Nice to see ya, Crops.”
“You too, Sherman.”