I smile in the hopes of putting her at ease. “Hi,” I greet.
“Need directions?” she asks.
It’s probably obvious that I don’t need gas since I haven’t stopped at the pump. It’s strange that she greets me outside though, as if assuming I don’t want to come in and buy something from the store or use their restroom or something like that. Very strange.
“Actually, I’m looking for Savage Construction. I’m told it’s somewhere around these parts.”
Her head tilts sideways and she wrinkles her nose. Like she’s sniffing the air. She’s a suspicious one. Her eyes move from my face to my feet and back up.
“You related to Ivy Savage?”
“Ivy what?” I gasp.
***
I’m here because my sister is gone. Again.
She wasn’t answering her phone and she told me in a phone call right after her snake bite incident that the guy she met up here was named Tyson Savage. After what I found at her place last night, I stayed the night with Mom and at dawn, snuck out to drive to Drowsy Hollow.
Someone in a little diner, where I dropped the Tyson Savage name mentioned there was a company not far away called Savage Construction. A bunch of big, strong men who built homes and commercial buildings. No one knew where it was. I was directed to a website. I called the phone number.
“Is Tyson there please?”
“Tyson?” The man’s voice went strange. “Did you say Tyson?”
“I’m looking for Tyson Savage,” I said. “Is he there?”
“Who are you?” the husky male voice asked.
Something didn’t feel right. Something felt very not right.
“Is Tyson Savage affiliated with this company? I’m trying to find my sister and have reason to believe she’s with him.”
“Your sister?”
“Do you know a Tyson Savage or don’t you?” I demanded.
“What’s your name?”
“Amelia,” I answered.
“Amelia.” His voice was strange. Or stranger.
Way weird. I hung up, feeling odd. Feeling panic, I think. A minute later, the phone was ringing with ‘private caller’.
I rejected the call for some reason.
And then I regretted it. I don’t know why all the hairs on my body were standing on end from that phone call. I should’ve answered the phone, I was sure it was that same guy. I should’ve answered and demanded more information.
I searched the phone number I dialed with a map search and it came up with Savage Construction listing with a PO Box address. I went to the map to pinpoint the zip code and it brought me to this corner, to the Arcana Falls General Store and gas bar, which has a post office kiosk.
Ivy was a mess yesterday and I hated letting her go back to her place. I got home after dinner and my fiancé was just like sandpaper on my nerves for some reason, so I packed an overnight bag and told him I was going to stay with Ivy until Tamara got back from Jamaica next week. He wasn’t happy about it, but I told him I’d call him later, that I was too worried about my sister to not be there for her. I loaded up my car and went to Ivy’s. But Ivy wasn’t there. Neither was her car. Her upstairs neighbor came down and started spouting off to me about the commotion a while earlier, about three giant men being there and making all sorts of racket and pissing him off. This guy went on about complaining to the landlord and not so that he could alert me that my sister might be in trouble, because he didn’t like that my lights shined in his window when I pulled in.
“My sister was here in an altercation with three men and you complain and threaten to call the landlord and don’t offer to help or at least call the police in case my sister is in trouble?” I was flabbergasted.
“I mind my own business,” the guy said, putting his hands up in the air.
What. An. Asshole.
“You’re a fucking tool,” I told him. “Maybe you should get some blackout shades instead of putting sheer curtains on a window overlooking a driveway.”
“Fuck you, bitch,” he replied and slammed his door.
Moron.
I have a spare key for Ivy’s, so I went inside, and the kitchen was a mess. There was a plant and table toppled, a pile of mail scattered, too, and a really unusual cologne-like scent in the air.
My body broke out in goosebumps and I immediately dialed Ivy’s number. No answer.
I text-messaged my mother.
“Did Ivy come to your place?”
My mom phoned me instead of replying. “She’s not here. Why? Why?” Mom sounded panicked.
“I just got to her place and she’s not here. There’s a mess and her upstairs neighbor said something about three big guys being here and there being some sort of commotion.”
“Oh God. Oh God. Did you call her?”
“No answer.”
“Oh Jesus! I’m coming over. Wait there.”
Mom came over and while we cleaned up the mess in Ivy’s and Tamara’s place, Mom told me what she said she’d told my sister that morning while I was at the supermarket. That she thinks Aunt Nelle set some strange supernatural shit in motion and she doesn’t know what sort of crap is going on but thinks my sister got stolen by either a vampire or maybe a shapeshifter who wants to keep her.