Chapter Text
The outdated billboards lining Highway 101 seemed to blur together, including the WELCOME TO ORTLAND! 4th Largest City in Dakota! sign, which never really made sense anyway. Darlene did her best to focus on the hazy colors of trees and pointless signage over the bright hues of the traffic lines the vehicle kept creeping over.
With the chirp of a siren, Darlene’s dissociation was suddenly repainted in reds and blues.
“Shit—” the stranger of a driver cursed under his boozy breath. The car came to a rolling stop up along the shoulder of the road as Darlene stewed in the front passenger seat, staring at her door handle in an attempt to avoid the imminent shame of her poor decision making.
A light knock on the window and a moment later came the voice of authority: “Sir, do you know why I’ve pulled you over tonight?”
Darlene winced as the driver slurred together some unconvincing excuse of a response. She still didn't know why she had allowed the completely inebriated man from the bar drive to her home. ‘Heyyy babyyyyy’ wasn't exactly the most seductive icebreaker, and ‘why don't you let me take you back to my plaaace’ was an effective one-liner if the desired effect was disgust.
Unfortunately for Darlene, her friends had already disappeared into the night with other, probably more suave suitors, leaving her to search for her own designated drunk driver.
“You were driving pretty erratically there sir—crossed over the line quite a few times. You have any drinks tonight?”
Who was he kidding even asking? Darlene turned her head to face out the passenger window after catching a glance from the officer and seeking to escape it.
“S-sir, is it ok if I roll this window down?” She muttered, gesturing to the window while avoiding eye contact. With the stink of alcohol-laden breath and the underlying discomfort of the situation, a little bit of air was what she needed.
“Sure, I’m gonna need some fresh air after this myself.” The cop chuckled to himself as he continued on with the driver. Darlene only caught little bits of the conversation—‘just a ticket this time’—‘get home and stay home’; all totalling to far more mercy than the man really deserved, Darlene thought as the automatic window rolled down with a squeak.
As the motion just about petered out, Darlene caught a glimpse of something in the reflection of the window. A slight glint of light reflecting off something gold off in the woods. As her mind processed and began to promptly discard the information, she felt something whizz through the air past her left ear as well as a stinging sensation on her left cheek.
Looking off towards the woods and past the DUI duo, she wiped her face and checked the back of her hand. A small smear of blood. The cop remained engaged in the coattails of the conversation with the driver, handing him a ticket and all, but Darlene had noticed that his peripheral gaze had been drawn over to the woods as well.
“Alright now ya’ll, please make your way home slow and safe. If I see you again tonight sir, it’s gonna be more than just a ticket. Stay safe y’all.” The cop reinforced before finally turning and walking back to his squad car, pulling away after a minute and vanishing into the darkness down the road. As the driver started the car back up and got back onto the road himself, Darlene felt herself growing increasingly warm, to the point of discomfort.
“C-can you turn the heat down a tad? It's a little warm in here…” Darlene shyly requested of the driver, who turned to her with an extended drunk and bewildered look, his eyes most notably not on the road.
“Lady, uuhh the heats not on.”
Overcome with lightheadedness, Darlene stared forward deliriously hoping in some way that her focus on the road might compensate for the driver’s lack thereof. Captured in the entirety of her vision was the highbeam-blasted silhouette of someone standing directly in front of the car. Time seemed to slow as the car struck the pedestrian. In the waning moments before she lost consciousness, Darlene could make out a few fading details. The figure ever so slightly hovered above the ground, and as the car collided with it, it seemed to throw a single punch at the hood.
“Alright Marco, if you close up the front I can close out the back of the store!”
Marcus hollered back a grunting, “Yeah I got it Mr. Crui!” To his boss as he began fishing under the front counter for keys to lock up the kitsch Chinese gift shop. Another day, another dollar earned from Mr. Crui’s wallet.
It had been a run-of-the-mill Monday. Very few customers, all mostly just elderly friends of Mr. Crui looking for an excuse to mingle with him. Sometimes Marcus wondered how Mr. Crui could even afford to keep the place afloat. Was it some kind of money laundering scheme? Laundering money to him he supposed, considering how little effort it took to keep the little-trodden floor swept.
Mr. Crui went into the back to lock up the storage room and log out of the office computer while Marcus was left in charge of checking the registers one last time, locking the front door for the night, flipping the sign, etc.
Just as Marcus had finished looking over the register again, he noticed the approach of a shadow through the front windows. Indeed, with a light ding of the shop bell, someone was trying to slide in just before closing time to chat up Mr. Crui.
Well not on my watch! I’d rather die than get stuck here another hour just because Mr. Crui wants to flirt with Ms. Courtney! Marcus silently swore to himself.
“We’re closed for tonight! Haven't flipped the sig—” Marcus started before being cut off by a jolt of fear as he realized what was happening. A figure about the same size as him covered head to toe in black. Black hoodie, black bandana, black gloves, black everything, except for a cobalt-blue longbow in their hands drawn fully back and aiming a gold-tipped arrow directly at Marcus.
“T-the registers have jack man! No one comes in!” Marcus choked out in panic. It was partially true. Only Mr. Uamee had come in that day, though he didn’t buy anything, instead spending 40 minutes reminiscing with Mr. Crui about their time in the military together. The entire truth was that Marcus was trying to stall after hearing the muffled sound of a Windows computer shutting down in the back.
The black-clad figure said nothing as they loosed their finger from the bow string, which seemed to glow in the moonlight cast through the windows. It was about 6:00 PM when Marcus was struck in the gut by the arrow.
“M–mister Cru—gagh—” He felt the blood rush to his head, then his throat, as he vomited on the spot from the pain and sudden stomach disturbance. His vision strobed in and out as he collapsed to the floor. The only sensations he could properly make out were the shadow of the figure darting to and out the door, followed by sounds of Mr. Crui’s voice and a phone dialing, then the feeling of being cradled, and a soft radiating warmth flowing through his body from the wound.
“Hello—911?! Please, help! H–he’s been shot! There’s a robbery at Three Dog Night on Aimer Street—please, get here quickly, the boy’s bleeding all over my floor!!”
It was the sound of brisk bootsteps that stirred Darlene awake. That and the sound of the EKG machine’s incessant beeping slowing a tad.
“Wakey wakey eggs n’ bakey Ms. Love.” A familiar voice joked as Darlene’s eyes adjusted to her stark-bright surroundings.
“I’m just kidding, there's no breakfast, it's the middle of the afternoon. Been a minute since you last saw me.” The officer from the traffic stop spoke up, standing just a bit aside of the doorway, his hands crossed behind his back while he addressed Darlene who found herself relegated to an uncomfortable hospital bed. Thinking about it, she realized everything was uncomfortable. Her entire body felt exhausted and sore and when she sat up a bit to better see the officer she winced in pain from something in her right leg stretching just the right wrong way.
“W-what? What day is it?” Darlene asked, realizing the rest of her senses had fully returned. She felt the stiff feeling of a cast around her foot was a cast, the soreness all over was bruises and scratches, and the feverish heat in her head was—well, she didn’t quite know what that was.
“Lets start with introductions first, then I can catch you up. Normally the doctor would handle this, but due to the nature of this accident, I have to ask you some questions.” The officer responded.
Darlene nodded curtly as her memory caught up with the rest of her realizations. The drunk man, the car, the crash, all of it. Of course the officer would have to ask her some questions, she was just involved in a DUI car wreck. On the topic of questions, where was the drunk guy?
“My name is Officer Springfield. I already know you’re Darlene Love, so if we’re working with first names here, you can call me Buffalo, or Buff. I prefer Buff. It is currently 5 PM on the 8th of December. Last night you were involved in a fa—a uh—a car wreck. You were the passenger in a vehicle that veered off the road and slammed into a tree. Hopefully this is jogging your memory and you’re remembering that I had pulled you and the driver over once already that night before the accident?”
Darlene did remember. She could tell the officer had a hunch about it already, but the wreck had probably happened not even 5 minutes after they were pulled over.
“Y-yeah. Yes sir… I remember all of that, but—what happened to the driver? Is he alright?” She didn’t necessarily care about the driver, after all, he was driving under the influence, and was a relative dirtbag, but she certainly would have felt bad if he was hurt. Especially considering the accident really wasn't his fault, what with that figure and all-
“... I’m sorry but, in the records, this is a fatal car accident. The driver was a couple of rooms down from here, but he passed away a couple of hours ago from his injuries.” Darlene’s train of thought was cut off by the statement from Buff. All thoughts emptied from her head. She couldn’t help but feel only a single emotion, guilt. That it was somehow her fault just for being in the car with him.
“Now obviously, I pulled you over and I can clearly attest that the driver was severely inebriated. This check-in is mainly to let you know that you are likely to receive some kind of recompense, considering you were a victim of his criminal offense.” Buff rattled on.
Dead. Because of her. Or—because of that figure? What was that figure just before the car crashed? Her face became flush from the climbing fever and anxiety. As her heart rate increased so too did the speed of the blip on the EKG. Her spinning dissociative state was broken by the sound of plastic crunching and sparks flying.
Both her and Buff’s heads snapped towards the now silent EKG, its screen shattered and a large crushing handprint left on its edge as if someone very large and very strong had gripped it far too tightly.
The officer's face went dark as he turned his gaze to the ground in thought. Darlene stared, slack-jawed and in horror. Her hand instinctively reached for the emergency alert button on her bedside.
“There's no need for that Ms. Love.” The officer said, accompanied by the sound of the door quietly shutting and the click of it locking. Darlene could hear the sound of something clattering away over by the officer and noticed as he turned back to face her that there was now a sheet of paper plastered to the frosty-glass door labelled ‘IN SURGERY’ in large red lettering.
“The Officer Springfield questions are over now. Yeah—Now Buff has some questions.”
Darlene’s eyes locked with Buff’s. A look no longer friendly and amicable but instead menacing and clinical. She couldn’t help but notice the subtle movement of something shifting behind Buff. The end of a small finned serpentine tail jutting out from between Buff’s back and the door, quickly recoiling behind him upon her noticing it.
Cutting through the tension like a knife came the squawk of Officer Springfield’s radio.
“Kshh—10-65 at Three Dog Night, Aimer street, all units—kshht”
The ringing that had grown in Darlene’s ears from the adrenaline dropped from the sudden clarity brought by the radio. The officer lifted his hand to his radio, responding: “Kshh—Dispatch 65, copy. En route now.—kshht”
Officer Springfield turned to the door without a word, unlocking it and stepping out, removing and balling up the ‘IN SURGERY’ sign on his way out. Darlene stared in shock, confused and bewildered, needing answers—
“Buff— Wait—” Darlene protested. Buff stopped a few paces ahead of the door, and just before it shut, gave her a foreboding look of certainty.
“We’ll catch up later. I’m positive.”