A Town Called Evening (Episode VI)

Don't Turn off the Light

Previously on A Town Called Evening

To see all ATCE episodes, click here.

Luke watched a fly. It rubbed its hairy limbs with anticipation. It hopped, once, twice. Then, with another twitch of its ugly head, it patted a digit down upon its platform—a foretaste. The ground upon which the fly stood turned. It was a yellowing and cataract-ridden eye. Disturbed, the fly took to the air.

Luke suppressed the urge to wrinkle his nose.

The old woman upon which the fly sat was called Naudir. She was propped by many pillows in a wheelchair. It looked as though life had already left her. Naudir, slack-jawed, gaped at Luke. The only sign blood flowed through her veins was the occasional wheezing. Her jaundiced skin hung from her skull like a thin veil.

The old woman coughed. It reminded Luke very much of the wind whispering at the mouth of a mountain cave. Her gnarled and bejeweled hands clung to the armrests like a sailor to a wind-lashed ship. The old woman raised a shaking finger and pointed at Luke. “Blood on hands,” she croaked. “Drengr!”

“Now, now, Naudir,” chided Eityre, who’d pushed her into the room, “It’s rude to point.” She sent Luke an apologetic look. “Naudir’s mind isn’t what it used to be.”

“That’s alright,” he answered.

Eityre coyly smiled. “You said you were a policeman?”

“I did.”

She nodded with a hum. Her eyes narrowed briefly before asking, “and before?”

Luke stared at Eityre, not answering immediately. He wasn’t sure how to respond—wasn’t sure he should. The question felt loaded. He wasn’t quite afraid—not just yet, anyway—but he felt a heightening sense of discomfort.

To his relief, he did not need to answer. The door to the room opened once more and a trio of young, beautiful women entered. There were Eityre’s three daughters: Lae, Ova, and Dauth. They were as blonde as their mother, with blushing cheeks and ruby-red lips. Naudir too was introduced as a daughter, but Luke assumed this was a slip of the tongue. The three smiled too much. It seemed they did not speak English. They sent furtive glances in his direction while whispering in a language that Luke could not understand.

Luke glanced away and back at the door at another round of newcomers. Eityre introduced each of the family members by name. There came Sott’s wife, Skathi, and Uncle S. The latter came in second to last, bearing a wolfing sort of gait and unblinking blue eyes. Finally, Althof arrived.

When Al came into the living room, everyone turned to look at him.

His black suit was crisp—likely, tailored. Al’s eyes were a sharp and shiny black. A streak of white hair ran from his widow’s peak and neatly framed a pale, angular face. So this was the one that Grace Kirkwood ran away from home for? Luke tried his best to picture this man with the image of Grace folded in his back pocket.

Where did they meet? Maybe at a gallery with lots of champagne. Or perhaps at an artsy and dimly-lit bar with jazz playing in the background. Yet the Grace in the photograph—the one with her long black hair, pretty blue eyes, and dimples—struck Luke as kind. Would a kind woman be with a man like this?

Maybe he was good at pretending. Maybe the Grace in his head wasn’t real.

Al glared at Luke with undisguised aggression. “This is the one who wants to see my wife?” he demanded.

“It is,” answered Eityre. She arranged her pale limbs carelessly over a plush armchair. She admired her hand, diamond rings winking in the firelight. “He is police, a man of the earth below.” She savored her words, flashing those small teeth as she spoke.

Luke rose but said nothing. He found himself at eye level with Al.

Al pursed his lips. “Who are you to arrive unannounced?”

“Your mother just told you who I was,” Luke responded. One of the three daughters released a soft gasp at his retort.

Gesturing to the guns at Luke’s side, Al said, “you enter our home like this?”

“Now, now,” interjected Eityre. She swept to her feet. “Just let Mr. Policeman have his talk with our little Grace and then he’ll be on his way.”

Al’s dark eyes slid to his mother. “Did anyone ask me?”

The smile disappeared from Eityre’s face. Her eyes flashed. “Do I need to ask?”

After a long and prickling silence, Al dropped his head. “Fine,” he conceded.

---

Luke followed Al out of the living room and down another hall. Luke could smell something damp and old, like a basement. The heels of their shoes clicked dully on the cold stone floors. Oil lamps flickered on the walls and cast strange, twisting shadows. It must’ve taken forever to light them all.

“Do you have staff?” asked Luke.

“They come and go,” Al grunted.

Luke asked nothing further.

They passed tapestries, all scenes of battle. Luke noted one in particular. Along the border, many wolves gathered. On their backs were feathers instead of fur. Rudimentary art depicted the gristly death of a Viking warrior as the subject. In the next scene, the victor held the dead man’s heart up to the sky. A raven descended upon it.

“That is called The Birth,” revealed Al without so much as a glance. “It tells a famous story of my ancestors.”

Suppressing a shudder, he turned away and continued.

They came to a door.

“Here it is,” said Al. He pushed it open and the two entered a library. Sunlight poured in from large windows. For the first time since entering the building, Luke felt he could draw a full breath. He looked around. There was no Grace.

Seeming to sense this disappointment, Al said: “Stay here, I will call my wife.”

He crossed the room and disappeared among the shelves. Luke heard the soft click of a door open and close.

From his position near the front door, Luke could see the windows. They were perhaps a hundred feet above the ground. Straight ahead, the Rocky’s snowy peaks glared in the afternoon sun. Luke was reminded that he was indeed not in a foreign country. He was in Montana, a few hundred feet above a town called Evening—within Evening’s jurisdiction.

The sound of two pairs of feet signaled Al’s return.

Luke clenched his jaw as Grace entered.

She wore a blue silk gown and an oversized sweater that hung awkwardly from her thin frame. It was clear this was Grace, yet the woman before him did not fully resemble the one in Luke’s pocket. Her eyes were sunken in, her skin an unhealthy pallor, and her long black hair was pulled back from her face. Despite this, she remained beautiful.

“This is my wife,” introduced Al. He looked at Grace, gesturing toward Luke. “My dear, this man has come looking for you.”

Grace nodded. She took a shaky breath accompanied by a smile, the hollow of her throat accentuated. “Hello,” she greeted.

Luke recollected standing outside the building and thought of Grace within—like a Grimm princess. She stood slightly in front of Al, rather than beside him. Her shoulders were turned away from her husband; her hands folded tightly at her abdomen.

“I’m Luke Gatelin, Miss Kirkwood,” introduced Luke.

“Mrs. Ormirson,” Al corrected.

Luke did not acknowledge the comment. “Your parents are very worried about you,” he said to Grace.

Her hand fluttered to her lips. “Oh, dear,” she whispered—more to herself, it seemed.

“They’ve been putting out missing posters all over Montana.”

Grace Kirkwood lowered her hand and smiled broadly. “Well, I am very much alright, as you can see.”

“Seems that way,” agreed Luke. He scrutinized her face, then added: “But I have some questions for you.”

Al remained silent.

Seeing no objection, Luke asked, “Why did you run away?”

Grace cast a glance at her husband. He dipped his chin; a barely discernible nod of approval. Her eyes fell to the carpet. Luke did the same, noting a single black feather and that she was barefoot. He raised his eyes to Grace again and watched the sharp downturn of the corners of her mouth.

After an awkward pause, Grace took a deep breath. “I didn’t run away. We eloped. My parents didn’t want us to move out here.”

“Your parents believe you’re married to someone named Vincent Adder.”

“It’s a made-up name. I-I didn’t want them following me,” stammered Grace. Her hands clasped tightly. “They’re very strict and I knew they wouldn’t like my husband or us moving so far away. They’re the type of people that make you ask for everything. I pay my own bills and yet, I had to ask for permission to go on vacations. Marrying Althof was my chance to be… free.”

“And there you have it,” said Al.

Luke glanced at him and saw the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“There I have it,” Luke echoed softly. He looked Grace in the eye. “Then, seeing as you’ve made a choice, I’ll get going.”

She blinked rapidly. “Yes,” she whispered.

As Luke began to turn away, Grace darted forward. Her footsteps disturbed the old wooden floorboards. Luke felt her hands grasp his. They were cold. “Thank you for checking,” she said, her volume louder than necessary. “Tell my parents that… that I love them. I hope one day they understand.” She wouldn’t release Luke, her cornflower eyes flitting between his. He felt a slip of paper being pushed into his palm.

“Don’t turn out the light,” she whispered, lips barely moving, “on the way down the mountain.”

Keeping his expression placid, Luke managed a smile. “I’m glad to know you’re okay and your parents will be happy to know as well.” He removed his hands from hers and placed the note in his jacket pocket.

“That’s enough, Grace,” said Al. “Mr. Gatelin should leave in order to make it back to Evening before dark.”

He looked at Luke and bore his white teeth—small like his mother’s. “You’ll want to hurry. The wolves around here can be aggressive this time of year.”

Read on…

---

Thank you for reading! A Town Called Evening will return next Monday.