Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1 — First Blushes
Grey concrete absorbed every inch of light from her father's office, leaving grey wooden dado panelling and pale marble flooring below it to hold everything up. It made the girl's hand scratch at the pores of her cheek just to satiate herself, this was the worst part of the day; waiting for Dad to get off the phone at his wavy brown-mix cocobolo corner desk. Where the day was clean, patrol was full up, and the only sensations to be had were self-aggrandising picture frames and the God-damned crumpled-up Stars and Stripes — accompanied by his constant droning.
Even though she was old enough to handle a shotgun at the range, it was too much for her to even leave his line of sight when a quiet day dared rear its face (which was often in this humble corner of the world). 'Showing the ropes' this was, when most of the time it really boiled down to Dad going over personal affairs with some girl that wasn't Mom. Either that, or flicking through spreadsheets and reports, or delegating his department to handle the positions she could reasonably fill in herself. It bordered on agony sometimes.
"Thanks again, Cher."
The handset clamped to the phone as it met the base, and the call was finished. He got out of his puffy black chair and marched over to the coat stand in the corner. "Alright, Justine. C'mere."
"Yes, Dad?" Justine replied as she proceeded to stand up rigidly and walk over to him.
He fumbled with the clothes before taking a larger puffer jacket off the hook and a grey campaign hat. "Cheryl's let me know that some kids were flown in just now for a tour thing," he explained, sliding into his coat. "I assume you know what that means."
"Of course, Dad," she said, looking out of the snow-covered window. "You're gonna be there."
"Damn right I will be, dear," he confirmed, puffing out his chest with a smirk on his clean-shaven red face. "Gotta make the newsies happy."
"Ha," Justine forced a laugh, shuffling toward the front of the desk in order to get out of his way, "ain't that right."
Dad swiped some gear from his desk and straightened his tie. "You can work records until I get back. No use leavin' you to loiter 'round here like some weed-huffin' gypsy vagrant."
"...Records?" she parroted, blinking. "Couldn't I help out somewhere else?"
"You're a volunteer," Dad dismissed, scoffing. "When patrol has a role free you can see about that, but they've already got rookies out."
"What about calls?" Justine asked.
"Geez, will you ever learn to take no for an answer?"
"Sorry," she apologised promptly, casting her eyes downward as a display of humility.
He paused for a moment, sighing. "A first responder without a gun is as good as dead, you know that. Head on over to records now, and I'll holler at ya when I'm back."
Records was the very last place Justine thought would define her duties, yet it was a miracle when it relented. Her shiny blue badge might as well have originated from her old toy-box. With how dead she felt waiting all this time, she would certainly lose her mind in that emotionless den, but betraying her own apology again this soon would surely result in disaster. Despite that, she was holding out on one last desperate plea.
"What if I came with you?"
Dad raises his eyebrows with possibly the most annoyed expression she's seen him with all day. "That's better than records, you reckon?"
After overcoming a hurdle of hesitation, she replied: "Yeah — if it means I get to roll up my sleeves and not be a paper-pusher for once."
He remained still for what seemed like an hour, until his eyebrows fell as though an epiphany had came over him. He trudged over to the stand and grabbed another article of clothing — her brown leather cowboy hat. "Well, sure — fine then, missy. I'm in no place to argue with how late I'm runnin' for this thing."
At last, an opportunity! Justine felt like leaping into the air with anticipation; she knew to keep that to herself. Dad hates conceding.
"Best hurry and get your shit then," he urged before shoving the hat down onto her wincing head and pushing past. "We're goin' out to the Reservoir; that damn fourteener Ebott always seems to drag in flatlanders..."
"Got it, Dad," she responded as she grabbed her own brown, wool-insulated puffer coat and followed not far behind, eager to escape this monotonous room.
Riding in the front of the SUV was always great fun for Justine. She would sink herself into the black mesh of the nylon seat and look in awe at the various features; it was different from any other car. Though, she was hardly the most excited she had been; she remembered when Dad let her use the radio for the first time. She babbled to an older dispatcher who, in retrospect, could not have given off more of an exhausted vibe if she tried. While enforcing justice started out a childish idolisation, it was not long after that it had become a serious obligation for her. Not every day was quiet in this humble corner of the world.
"How much you wanna bet that one of these fellas'll go missin' after we leave?" Dad quipped lightly, tapping his fingers on the wheel while the windshield wipers fought a losing battle against the endless snow.
"Missing...?" she asked, finally managing to focus on something that wasn't connected to the back area or the dashboard.
"Y'know what I mean," he asserted, clearing his throat, "what's it, eight suckers so far? Damn kids get drawn to that Reservoir like buzzards to an elk carcass."
"Of course..." Justine nodded, her voice slightly strained by uncertainty. "Isn't it our job to prevent that from happening, though?"
Dad ran his right hand across the terminal and squinted, before turning his attention to the rumbling road. "Sure it is, dear, but you can't expect my department to monitor it all the time."
"It's in the middle of nowhere, I know," Justine said, running her finger down the brim of her hat. "If you just let me stay put, maybe there won't have to be a missing kid this time."
"Oh, please. Whose fault is it when those big-back rednecks let their kids go runnin' off into the Turquoise Reservoir?" he ranted, shaking his head. "It's all just — what's that thing people say — natural pickin'? Monitoring that area alone at night's a surefire way to get y'self picked off by some homeless gangster or bear anyways, Justine."
"Right..." she sighed, glimpsing the fluffy land as it rolled by, crushed under the weight of this behemoth vehicle. She played that scene in her head, and what scared her into silence the most was that she saw her very own abduction plausible at the end. If only she got her own damn gun.
Dad slipped the wheel to the right, sniffing. "Accordin' to the nav, we're here at where the tour's convened. Make sure to look pretty for the newsies — they'll want a good picture of you."
"Understood, Dad," Justine exhaled as she donned her hat, before zipping up her jacket and straightening her blond ponytail.
The car's rumbling ceased with a click. Dad unbuckled himself and went to open the door, facing away from her before adding one last reminder: "You know to come to me if you get uncomfortable or feel threatened, don't you?"
"Yep," she responded bluntly, opening the passenger door. It was humiliating to undermine her own agency; she believed herself smart enough to be able to avoid the ones that Dad often warned her about. Still, she had no doubt that if she ever became a statistic, he would resent her more than anyone else.
The two dug their boots into the powdery snow beneath, the dim sun tinging the black car with a yellow haze. The weather was a little clearer in the time it had taken to drive here, enough that she could see a group of people, maybe twenty-five, over by the shuttle bus stance. The car park was mostly unrecognisable, but she knew it had to be by the park that led up to the Reservoir — the rental cabins were not far off. One other cruiser pulled up to accompany Dad's, two pale officers getting out from it.
"Howdy!" a man greeted, muffled through the oversized scarf he was wearing as he approached Dad.
"Afternoon, sir," he greeted back, pointing his obscured hand out towards the group. "That your bunch?"
"Indeed it is, officer," he said, "the kids're just out here for a field trip, I reckon y'all were told 'bout us?"
"I was," Dad nodded as he put his hand out and gave one of his signature wide-brim grins. "Name's Sheriff Flores, I'm the boss 'round these parts."
"A blessing to meet ya, Sheriff," the man said, clasping it for a handshake. "Most call me Eddy, otherwise I'm Ed Pollard."
"Same to you Eddy," Dad replied, then motioning over to the two other officers. "These fellas are Chief Deputy Mitchell and Sergeant Adams," he introduced as they nodded and shook hands with the man, "they'll be our 'protection' if you will."
"Always a pleasure to be your human shield, Sheriff," Chief Mitchell joked.
Justine crept over to being just behind the two cops. She liked the chief, even if she was confident he got to where he was through his charm alone, but Adams was a new face for her. She could tolerate unique situations, but people were never her cup of tea. She noticed that the group were approaching from the distance, following their leader it seems.
"Well by golly, who's this fine young lady I see before me?" Ed drawled, singling Justine out with his redneck accent.
"Deputy Flores, sir," she stated, as tight as a drum.
"Volunteer Deputy, I should add," Dad corrected with a light chuckle as he patted her back; she had clearly beaten him to the punch. "This here is my daughter, Justine."
"That's mighty cute of ya to bring her 'long, Sheriff," Ed remarked with a smile, giving her an eyeful of his white teeth. "Just wait 'til ya see my own, buddy. I gotta warn ya: she's a real no-good troublemaker!"
"Well ain't that what the county's got us 'round for, huh?" Dad quipped, briefly slapping his deputy chief to share a moment of laughter with his underlings.
She kept her posture, glimpsing their flank and spotting a couple reporters getting their affairs in order. Her role was beginning to closer resemble a trinket more than any kind of law enforcement; she ground her winter boots into the snow petulantly.
"Um, excuse me, young man," an older woman asked, walking up to Adams with a younger boy. "I was meanin' to ask... where would be best for me and my son to see the Turquoise Reservoir?"
"You can get a good view from over there, ma'am," Chief Mitchell replied in the apprehensive sergeant's stead, pointing his two fingers northwest.
"Sheriff," Ed began to suggest, "after all this here sightseein', I'd be most remiss to not buy ya a drink."
The reporters, a blonde girl and a dark cameraman, began their documentation of the event. Justine was hankering for an excuse to cut herself loose, putting on a happy face to satisfy the media. She knew this area fairly well — better than the new guy at least — she could easily lend a hand to any of these flatlanders. She scanned her eyes over the children — perhaps that was her department to be claimed.
And lo and behold; an excuse arose before her. Unlike the other kids with their guardians, a small girl stood wrapped in a coat with a striped jumper and only a beanie to shield her head. She was staring distantly off past the Reservoir, totally alone, unsafe, and uncounted for. Justine left her father's vicinity and set off to investigate this matter. The stranded girl didn't even exchange a glance when she arrived at her side.
"Hey there, hon," Justine greeted.
The girl's eyes flicked to visualise her, though her head's direction remained unchanged.
"What's your name?" she asked, crouching to meet her as she tilted her cowboy hat up a bit.
"Umm..." the girl mumbled, twitching like a cat on hot coals.
Justine noticed that her breathing had gone up tremendously; she backed off slightly. "Hey... we're— we're okay... I don't want to hurt ya," she assured the best she could. "You can call me Justine."
She was silent, but to Justine's relief her tremors had died down. The girl turned her head fully, gawking her little mouth while her eyes gazed up at her face. "Woah... cowboyy!"
Confusion struck Justine for an agonising second, but she figured out the source of the excitement eventually, tapping the hat she used to keep snow out of her face. "Oh— yeah... uhh..." she stammered, putting on a cheeky smile as she racked her brain, "crap— uh... yer damn tootin'?"
The girl recoiled with a gasp at her attempt to relate, which confused Justine even more. "Huh...?"
"Jesus d-don't like it when you say that word..." the girl peeped.
"Oh..." Justine said, frowning.
She loathed the fire-and-brimstone types almost as much as gangsters — they were everywhere in the tourist scene, wielding their nauseating lectures. Filing her and whoever left her here away with the rest of them would've been easy, but something about her behaviour managed to snag her heed. The phrasing sounded like a warning, yet it was buried under such a fearful whimper that it felt more like an apology.
She scooted closer. "I'm sorry... I didn't know that. I won't say that again, honey."
Quiet chatter from the background and slices of wind filled in for the silence, Justine playing her hand to break it. "Ya wanna tell this ol' huckleberry your name, kid?" she asked stiffly, hiding a painful cringe. She barely remembered the Western from which she had lifted the line wholesale, just that it featured Val Kilmer on the box.
"Woah there, missus," a brash voice cut through, a shadow compelling her to flick around and reveal the man, Ed. "What'cha doin' with my slice of heaven, huh?"
Justine stood up as quick as a dart, balling her hands at her sides. It seemed that she was the pack leader's daughter, but Justine refused to let the pressure phase her. "The girl was by herself, Mr. Pollard. It's my duty to ensure the safety of the public."
"C'mere, Charlotte," Ed called out, prompting the girl to slowly walk past and join him.
"It's not safe leaving children out here by their lonesome," Justine continued, becoming increasingly more desperate as she put her hands on her belt.
He chuckled dismissively. "Y'all really are cute as a button, ain't 'cha?"
Dad arrived by his side, his arms folded. "Is somethin' the matter over here?"
"Nah, it's nu'in, Sheriff," Ed assured as his daughter kept her sight locked onto Justine, even after he grabbed her hand. "Just your girl keepin' mine to herself."
Justine furrowed her brow with her pose frozen, glancing at Dad. He sighed and stepped between the two of them. "Sorry about that, Eddy — she gets one little day out on the field and suddenly she thinks she's chief of police."
The bursts of the journalists' blinding cameras shook her stoic stance, reminded yet again of her intended purpose here. This was just embarrassing now, and she was stranded without an outlet to vent herself.
"Ha," Ed laughed as he bumped Dad on the arm, "no doubt she's just itchin' to replace ya, buddy. I understand that there more than anybody."
"It's all a fight for independence, I reckon," Dad concluded, shaking his head and patting Ed on the shoulder. "It's amazing what a single house-key can do for building their arrogance."
"Damn straight," Ed agreed, before turning around and tugging his daughter away. "Anyhoo, let's go 'n see our cabin, Charlotte."
"Bye-bye, Justine..."
Justine's eyes dilated as a pang of pride surged within her chest from hearing her goodbye. She told herself that this was surely leading to something greater — for all they knew, Charlotte would've been another face on the bulletin board had she been absent today.
Yet anxiety still stung her, lassoing Justine's mind like a cowboy wrangling a stallion. This was her first time seeing a face like that, and the more she thought of her the greater it haunted her. She didn't truly save her, so what use was she? She clung to the smallest positives even if she did not deserve them.
Maybe one day she will earn a real badge, she thought, fruitlessly.
"I mean, what the hell were you thinking?!"
The crackling embers from the metal furnace illuminated the dimly lit living room of her house, with gentle rays refracting through the sheets of snow on the windows. Justine had finished setting the firewood in place and undressing her jacket and boots, leaning with dread against the leather couch. Dad’s voice barked through the walls that made up the corridor to the bedrooms.
"The girl was all by herself, dad," Justine explained as Dad entered the living room, lifting the silent weight that had been crushing her the entire ride home. "You agreed that it’s our job to see these matters out."
"No, what you ended up doin’ was helpin’ yourself," he insisted, scoffing and heading into the adjoining kitchen to fetch a bottle of firewater from the cabinet. "That poor hick thought you were tryin’ to lure away his daughter, and in full view of the damn media!"
Somehow, the latter swear managed to irk Justine just a little as she strained herself upright to oppose him. "Sure, because that’s where your priorities were at, right?"
Dad scoffed, tightening his hold on the bottle’s neck. He marched toward her with a venomous glare that did its job in making her recoil inside her own skin. "You ought to watch your tone with me, young lady."
He pointed his blocky finger for a moment longer, proceeding to throw his hands up sarcastically and retreat back into the kitchen. "Of course it was, I did fuckin’ tell you didn’t I? It ain’t easy being a cop in this century."
"I ain’t got nothing to hide, dad..." Justine proclaimed, keeping her eyes on him past the countertop as she alleviated her vigour with a puff, conceding on one thing: "...but I’ll make sure to do this properly next time."
"Damn right, if you even get a 'next time'," Dad said, coming through with a glass which he sipped from. "At the rate you’ve been goin’, you’ll probably get my own detectives thinkin’ of you... when another killing happens ‘round here."
"What if I bring in the killer from doing just that?" Justine inquired, holding her chin up subtly enough that the movement could pass for her stretching her neck.
"Oh, grow up!" he yelled, shaking his head as he planted himself next to the firewood basket. "Jesus, it’s those damn movies she was always lettin’ you watch — tellin’ ya magic’s real and everything’s sunshine an’ rainbows. I hate bureaucrats as much as the next guy, but there’s a reason we do things by the book."
Dad took another sip, and that was when Justine looked down, tapping her socks on the wood panelling.
"God, your mom..." he murmured, clicking his tongue and holding out the glass to his right.
She approached cautiously, keeping a hand on the couch. “Are you thinking about her again?”
"No, dear," Dad clarified, gulping as he set the glass down on the counter. "I don’t know why I brought her up..."
Justine was not a therapist, so she was not entirely sure why the both of them felt the way they did about Mom. She did know one thing: there was common ground to be found here every time. Even though it never really struck her that she had left — it was hard enough imagining this place without stray manuscripts littering the halls — the connection proved to harbour a fleeting modicum of respect. She offered her arms and looked Dad vulnerably in the eyes.
His eyebrows tented before he embraced his daughter, sighing. "Thanks, Justine."
Combined with the warmth from the brewing fireplace next to them, the hug was always a great reprieve from the frosty outside. It was like stewing away in the feverish grace that a heated sleeping bag offered after a long night up in the Front Range. Alongside the knowledge that you were soundly shielded away from any crafty cougars or druggies, it was tranquillity at its finest. She only wished to bestow that grace unto other little girls who do not have that luxury, to hear their cries of joy when she saves the day.
"I love you, Dad."
He felt her ponytail with one hand as he picked his glass up with the other, nodding while he drank the rest of it. Though before he could respond, that irritating rap protest song Dad called a ‘humorous’ ringtone prompted him to separate. "Just a second, dear."
"Sorry," she apologised, sitting on the second couch.
He fumbled in his pocket to take out his phone, stepping over by the fridge and wood cabinets that accompanied the corridor entrance. After a brief second, he managed to compose himself. "Sheriff speaking."
Justine sighed, sinking her head back into the leather cushions and watching the snow pick up against the windows. Counting the snowflakes when they appeared in the winter time was a good way to engage her ever-scrambling head, even if not many seemed to appear. She held onto fond memories in this corner of the house. At the very least it was certainly better than the basement, with its broken and sharp windows she paid for with her dignity.
"...Right, Cheryl," Dad spoke in the background, scoffing. "Geez, tell me somethin' I don't know."
She crept her eyes curiously to the right, pursing her lips.
"Listen, okay I— I'll get on it just..." he assured clumsily, staring at the glass in his hand and shaking his head. "I ain't in a good state to drive right now, but thanks, Cher."
As he hung up the phone, Justine leapt from the seat. "What's going on?"
"Never you mind, missy," Dad dismissed, unhooking the radio from his belt and walking down the corridor.
She followed behind. "C'mon, is it another missing kid? Can I just—"
"I SAID—" he exclaimed, thrusting out a finger. "I'll handle this."
Justine stopped in her tracks, withholding a gasp and standing up straight like she was ordered to salute.
Dad raised the radio to his mouth and proceeded until he got to the end of the corridor, turning the corner into his bedroom and shutting the door. His nonchalant cadence did more to prompt her suspicion than anything, reminded her of the comment he'd made back in the car. She'd been around for a couple of these disappearances, at least knowing enough to rule out mass hysteria or simpleminded gangsters at fault for this.
This was an epidemic caused by that Reservoir: she saw it that very same day in that girl's drifting yet pretty eyes, Charlotte's. Now she's gone; she could feel it in her bones. Her fingers clambered from how she refrained from pulling her ponytail out, but she could not control her foot as it stomped against the wall with a heavy thud!
"Right!"
She spun to face an approaching Dad upon realising her outburst. "Wait!"
"You don't wanna stay put? That's fine," he huffed, banging her room's doorframe with his fist. "You... can get in here."
"But— Dad, I'm sorry," Justine pleaded, falling to her knees. "Please, please daddy, I'm so sorry I kicked the wall..."
Dad glanced at the radio as it kept speaking, holding it to his mouth briefly. "Hold for one moment."
"Please... I won't do it again," she snivelled, clasping her hands together and pressing them into the scalp of her downward-facing head.
"Quit it with the wallowing," he ordered. "Room. Now."
Justine rose to her wavering feet as her head fell with shame. She knew her manifest inevitability of serving alongside him, at least that was her belief, yet it still hurt to follow such trivial tripe. Even if it was better than the alternative of disobeying her own dad, to her, there was so much more at stake than a wall in this quad-bedroom house.
The door slammed when she entered through it. Her geeky pop culture posters offered little satisfaction for her this time; she glared out of her window down toward the driveway littered with white powder that their house connected to. Sometimes the best course of action was to let her emotions run with the snow, and she sunk into that like a waterfall down a canyon.
The house had an impeccable view of the mountain walls that surrounded her small town. She knew already where to angle herself to view the Turquoise, and that was where her focus ended up. No, she could not let the snow carry away her disillusionment again. Justine crumpled her fists, biting her lip at the passing blue and red tints that burnt into her and her neighbours' houses, those fools saddled with a task too impossible for anyone but her to complete.
Justine nearly planted her head straight through the window in her excitement, but she managed to compose herself with an aversion to the broad idea of freezing to death. She donned a pair of thick gloves, being lacking in the jacket and hat department, then crept over to the door to listen out. She could not pick up on any audible movement from the other side, which supported her suspicion that her drunken father had fallen asleep by now. It was only seven in the afternoon, but there was not much sun around this time.
Then she tried the door and it would not budge, with a metallic clink on the other side. "Of course he would lock it! I'm stupid for thinking otherwise!" she thought as she headed back to the viewport that previously quelled her own excitement. The window was a storey-high up from the trail, but she'd done this before... just not when it was this dark out and the freezing winds were at their peak. At the very least she could count on her own newly attained key to let her back in this time.
Slipping the window open invited a gust of air contrasting enough to paralyse her lungs right where she stood, but it did nothing in persuading her to back down after she caught her breath. Justine crept along the windowsill using her hand as a brim against the snow, before slowly positioning herself. She had little idea where to plant herself with how dark it was, but there was no time to think. She fell down to the earth and crashed down into the snow.
A sharp spike in pain sent the girl up and clutching at her sprained wrist, seething. The landing was awkward enough for her body to not look too out of place outlined with chalk in a crime scene. She pressed on regardless, finding the railing that outlined the staircase up to the front door. The trek up was just as bad as the one downward, struggling to plough her feet through the thick snow on each step. At one point as she lost feeling in her shins and below, she accidentally kicked one of the steps and sent her face toward the edge of another. That was only stopped barely by the firm grasp of her non-sprained hand on the rail.
Reaching the door, Justine flicked off one glove urgently, fingered her pocket for the key, and fumbled around until it slotted into the rigid lock. It was in times like these that she wished Dad would just give her a button for the garage, but that would be asking for too much. The door clicked and swung open as she dived into the warm sanctity of her living room.
After she relished in feeling the metaphorical ice on her joints thaw, Justine rushed to the door and closed it as quietly as she could. The room looked just as it was before that polarising phone call, and in there she found her separated hat and coat alongside Dad's above the water tray. The true extent of her journey dawned on her as she inspected her coat, running her fingers down its woolly inside lining. The reservoir frozen, trees decked with so much snow they could form umbrellas, predators roaming the edges of Mount Ebott reading her as nothing but weak prey to be snagged away. It would be a miracle if that girl was still alive.
So, more layers seemed the most obvious answer to that quandary. Justine tip-toed over to her room and unlocked the chain, noticing Dad's door ajar and mending that deftly enough. She discovered a durable black raincoat to protect against the winds — perhaps she would even look bigger with this on if she faced a predator in all that outback wilderness. Yet, bipedal or not, she had a feeling she really was as good as dead regardless of how many layers she had. Knives and forks could probably work in a pinch, but she had to think more practically than that if she wanted to really protect this girl. Dad had guns of course, but it was bad enough for her to possess one without her having to steal from her father in the process.
But what if she did not need to steal from her father at all? This was a matter of urgency so she needed a firearm, for the greater good obviously, and she remembered that he kept one special down in the ground floor. Her great-grandfather's old service revolver was kept in this one room, and while it was not the most practical option, it seemed the most righteous. It was not often she would enter this dark bunker of her own volition, but she had to admit something to herself: it was cathartic choosing to.
Creaky rickety steps croaked in her path until she reached the carpeted bottom, clenching her toes. When they remember her heroism in this moment, it would not be for the crime she committed, no.
It would be for the leap of faith she took in doing so.
Riding in the back of this smoggy darn vehicle was not as much of a joy for Justine, even if it too had something of a cage that separated her from the driver. Along with the blaring of a, frankly ghoulish, country take on Bing's White Christmas, the constant thumping against the hood of the yellow cab created a nauseating ambience. That nausea crept into her mind, pleading her to ditch the cab. To tuck and roll out into the frosty ground, and then beg for mercy from her peers. She did not listen.
Her lap was covered by her thick, powder-covered jacket and hat, which was courteously taken off as she rode within. When her gaze wasn't fixed on the little disclaimer posters he had put up here and there, she managed to catch the driver sneaking glimpses into the rear view mirror. "You got a problem, sir?"
"No, officer," he scatted in his native tongue. "No problem."
"Great," she affirmed, adjusting her belt as her grandfather's oversized holster hardly kept itself from jagging the metal weapon into her waist. The damp seats made the problem only slightly more bearable when she realised her lower extremities were half numb.
It was a kindness the trip had ended so soon with how much adrenaline surged in her blood with each point along this precarious path she strutted. When the car stopped, she brought her hand to the door and realised it would not open.
"The fare is 20 dollars, madam," the driver stated, continuing to face the front.
"Fuck!" Justine thought, biting her lip. Following this law was a chore sometimes, especially considering she did not think to bring her wallet; there was no time to waste. "Can't you see that I have some important investigative work to do here?"
"Please, officer."
"Jesus!" she cursed, kicking the floorboard. She resented these people when they accosted her with their ugly pleas. "Show some darn sympathy, will ya buddy? A kid's life is in danger here."
"I apologise," he whimpered, showing his hands after the doors clicked. "I would not want to obstruct."
Justine was silent after realising his coherent submission, pushing the car door open with her wrist and lumbering her coat onto herself. Marking the aggressive snow with her boots while the sun drowned in the distance, she puffed out and donned her hat as the cab rolled away. An isolated outburst it was, but the cost of her relentless drive was simply fugly. Perhaps she should appreciate how lucky it was that the driver was not one of her own, but either way, she couldn't let this deter her now.
This winter wonderland was overshadowed by the air of despair, though she managed to make out some light sources from a few cabins and cop cars. She trudged in their direction while shining her hiking torch, fighting the wind as she crossed the road from the car park.
Getting closer, she could identify a few of her colleagues alongside some severely underdressed adults huddled around the closest cabin.
"Oh, please find our sweet baby!" a woman from within the cabin squealed. "Oh, Lord please... not my Charlotte!"
"Ma'am, this disappearance is our top priority: we will search for your daughter rigorously," one cop assured as another stepped over with a notepad he shielded with his hand: "If you could just let us know when the last time you saw her was, that would be an amazing help."
"Any leads, you guys?" Justine asked, switching her torch off as she angled her hips to obscure her weapon.
One that she could recognise as Sergeant Adams would eye her up and down. "Are you not a little young for this, miss?"
"Deputy Flores," she introduced herself, again. "I'm here on behalf of Sheriff Flores. Should I ask again?"
"Very clever." He seemed to just shrug off her attempt at clarification. "This is not a laughing matter. Please get inside, now."
"Well, goll-ey!" a gruelling voice cried out, originating from Ed Pollard within the cabin. "You're who they send for my schemin' schizo freak of a daughta'?! Lord have mercy!"
This wasn't going anywhere. Justine scowled and started to march away into the dark; relying on flatlanders for directions was like relying on a horse to extract cube roots. She would have to pursue this on her own terms, her own valiant path.
"Wait— stop!" Adams called out in the distance, fruitlessly.
The emptiness enveloped her totally in her trek, but the weather was no problem; Justine cut through like a set of cascading blades. Her torch cleared the black in front and led her away. For what she could not see beyond, the night's moon assisted with, tucking itself discreetly behind Mount Ebott in the far distance. The left of the Turquoise was parked parallel to the shuttle station here, its curved bulbous shape encircling the borders of the mountain. It made a good vantage point for capturing a lively natural scene to remember.
Except it would not be lively this time — not when there's lives at stake.
Justine's flashlight reflected off the wavy wrinkles in the water, just in time as her blind foot was a step away from treading right off the soil. She flicked her head along with her torch left and right, but there was only so much of this thousand-acre impasse that could be illuminated. It was too silent — the birds and crickets harmonised for her in the meantime — she threw out her voice into the dense chilled air:
"Hello! Anyone out here?!"
She was struck with uncertain panic afterwards, shaking her head. What a stupid decision — with the wilderness separated only by the stream of water which constituted the edge of the reservoir, anything or anyone indeed could have heard that! God, what was she thinking?! The air scratching at her ears, minimal comfort provided only by the torch on which a shivering hand clutched desperately. She should have just gone and assisted with questioning, 'fessed to her crimes of defection and theft, and moved on. This girl was just another one to pin onto the bulletin board, another failure of the system her father wanted the press to forget.
Well, she could at least pay her due diligence by finishing the search she started. This was where most cops abstained from, yet it felt so simple in the moment. The children were drawn to the Reservoir after all, so they must be close by... right? It was as if they didn't even want to know the answer. If only she had her little 4-by-4 ATV here, but it was locked in the garage with the rest of the vehicles, and heaven forbid she break another law.
Her feet trudged forth, navigating along the bank while she continued to shine her light and call out occasionally. She would be remiss to not admit it was harrowing enough doing that the first time, but how else could she approach this? Perhaps, to some extent, that was the thrill of the hunt. She crossed over to the other side eventually, as the gentle wavering water exemplified the ambience of the area. She could suddenly spot the shadowy forest as it came within the cone of her flashlight, and it tore the breath from her lungs.
"If anyone's out here, please let your presence be known..."
Justine was nearing the end of her tether now. She had no reason to stay here now, for this was the furthest edge that the reservoir reached. This was the very last minute she would spend here, nothing further. She pressed onward as her light was practically fixed to the white-brushed trees and whatever their branches could be hiding within.
Then something within her made her focus back over to the Turquoise Reservoir, and as the flashlight's beams reoriented with the surface of the water, it highlighted a different form of solidity. A grey, spherical shape which was dug into the mud, and riddled with gouged, scattered holes and sparse tufts of hair.
A skull, like the kind that a human would have. What other kind could it possibly resemble? Her wide, open eyes surgically browsed the cracks and patches of this fossil — the cranium was vaguely highlighted in amber hues like... ginger, maybe? Justine crouched down to look further and another wide, open eye gawked back at her in the midst of its autopsy. It was milky and black, but a hint of blue could be derived within the iris. A ginger with blue eyes; Dad taught her enough about patterns to correlate something here. To that bulletin board, again: this was someone's daughter.
A few years older than herself yet still a kid, freshly graduated with their most prosperous years ahead of them. Why would one such as them choose to run so far from home, to wind up... fish food? Goodness, Justine was a mere inch away from being in that same boat — she just realised her heart was racing away from the thumping she initially understood to be a log bashing against the soil. When her investigation finished, she was back in that same paranoia, except it was so much worse now that she knew what she was looking at.
But if that was so true, where were the rest?
Where was itsy-bitsy Charlotte?
The lights of the distant cabins were like a beacon from this distance. Now, with the morbid proof to back her theory, she could march back over righteously, demand their attention at gunpoint and make them investigate. In any ideal world, that would spell the end for this terrible cycle. They could find Charlotte, the others if they weren't also dead by now, and everything could be righted.
Yet, what would her place in that story be? The volunteer cop who saw a body and refused to take action, who ran to her higher ups for guidance like a coward. Why did she have to take the gun instead of Dad's radio? She would just face her usual punishment and remain as no more than an afterthought working in records for the rest of her life. Her boots dug into the soil so much she found herself needing to kick upwards to thrust them back out, nearly tripping over in the process.
But that was it. Justine had a gun this time, she was ahead of the curve with nothing to tie her down. There was a kid in danger! She would be a fool to be scared off by one unfortunate victim of nature. Her blood pumped, but it was not cold — it was hot with vigour and undeniable strength. Where was that kid off to, if it wasn't the Turquoise?
"Hold on, Charlotte!" she yelled brazenly, thrusting her hand through the snow-ridden air and drawing her revolver, holding it and the torch with crossed wrists. To Mount Ebott she went, penetrating the border of the forestry that lay ahead.
Stomp, stomp, the crunching leaves and branches made brittle by the cold smashed underneath with each lunge. She was aware of the distance, at least five miles to the edge, and it made her all the more determined. Charlotte couldn't possibly have ran all that far by her lonesome — she was a simple flatlander, after all. Justine didn't have to think about Mount Ebott itself, or the feisty cougars that prowled their domain. Time was of the essence, critically defining the moment the girl shall freeze to death, think later, act now.
Thud, thudding away, she swung her legs again and again, holding her poised gun close. Her only defence to the predators that surely awaited her — it was loaded, right? She double checked it, but it slipped from her grasp. BANG-WHABAM! The echo zipped past her head and the trees like a turbine, but at least her question was answered. No injury, she checked again, and retrieving the gun safely was even harder than handling it, with her hands that she could not feel. Maybe it should stay holstered for now; she already knew not to drop guns, but it was too unpredictable in this weather. Click, click, and back it went.
Pant later, breathe again. Her arms flailed through the air as she gradually remembered her form that placed her second in those freshman classes. Run and don't look back, at the very least that should have alerted Charlotte. Told her that help was coming, to stay put. The predators will know, for sure, but that is also good. They won't be focused on the girl, they will be focused on herself. Oh, is that good? Should she die for this cause? Does she deserve to die any more than the girl who deserted from her father? Don't think, man up, hold tight.
Head up, foot down. Her head was growing numb, but her brain refused to succumb. The fourteener lumbering into her view, the moon disappearing behind its titanic summit, Dad was right about its alluring yet cumbersome walls. There were many legends spoken of it, she tells herself as she drives ever darker in this harrowing obstacle course, at the speed of sound.
Down, up again. She was wrong to stray away from the mission for one moment, and her head was ringing worse now. Tree bark is not a great momentum dampener, so she learns, scrubbing herself of the icy twigs embedded in her face. Kick start. A push, and she sprinted again, adrenaline soaring through. White trails filled her eyes as midnight howls gushed within her ear canals. She could smell the iron of her blood, or perhaps her time running out. Keep on track. Make sure the girl is safe and sound.
She dodged between the logs and sticks, following the distant glow of the mountain's lunar dressing. Magic, right? Her Dad often expressed his disbelief of its canonicity, but it had to have existed at some point — like when the Monster-Human war was won hundreds of years ago. Growing up, she heard many stories of Mount Ebott. Some said it was the zenith of the war, where either the emperor of the Monsters was slain for his crimes against humanity, or the final frontier of the war was fought.
Some less sensible would insist that it is the Monsters' resting place. That they stalk the forests abducting kids from this stretch of town. Some nonsense like that, but truthfully there wasn't much evidence in support of any other alternatives. It managed to provoke a primal paranoia within Justine — bears were one thing, thugs were another, but...
A deep noise startled her out of her sprint, causing her to free her not-so paralysed hand from its warm lair to draw her gun forth. She barked out with all her might, irises flaring in a deep yellow. "HEY! WHO'S THERE?!"
The light showed only more and more forest, blankets of snow coating the floors and everything else. A snapping noise blared out from behind, like a twig had broken, and she faced her rear in a grand swiping motion.
"Y-Yo, don't shoot!"
It was hard to tell what this entity was at first, deeply clad in winter clothes and whatever resided inside was as black as coal. Justine was genuinely taken aback at the thought that this could be a Monster as foretold, for a second anyway. This was not Charlotte.
"Lady..." it continued. "I been out here for a few—"
"THIS IS THE SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT! STATE YOUR NAME, NOW!"
Tensions were more volatile than a Russian nuclear plant at this point, the cold twitching Justine's finger as she placed it to the side of the trigger guard to prevent it from discharging. She controlled her breaths, relied on her long-unused training, and stood her ground.
"Shit, man! I ain't done nu'in!" it responded, seemingly panicked.
"IDENTIFY YOURSELF, NOW!" she ordered, closing the gap aggressively. "WHAT IS YOUR BUSINESS BEING HERE?!"
"I'm Tyler, I was just camping!" it clarified with a youthful swagger, shuddering. She managed to see that its hands were in the air now that she was closer. "Just wanna know if you can—"
With a whack, she managed to subdue the thing with her gun, planting herself down on it as it hit the floor. "Hands behind your fucking back!" she demanded — she had no cuffs on her, so this was going to be difficult. This was not a Monster, but it was not like her regardless. A different kind of monster. Of course, the answer was this obvious, and the realisation enraged her.
"Agh, w-wait!" Tyler cried out.
"HANDS! I'M PLACING YOU UNDER ARREST!"
The moment it put its hands together, she slammed her knee down on them and put the gun to its head. "N-NO PLEASE— please, officer... I ain't done anythin'!"
Justine was growling through her numb teeth, yelling into its ears and spraying spit everywhere. "IF YOU LIE TO ME ONE MORE TIME I'LL PLANT A BULLET IN YOUR GOD-DAMNED HEAD YOU FUCKING NIGGER! WHERE THE HELL DID YOU LEAVE HER?!"
Silence struck through the frozen air as her words haunted her with every echo. "ANSWER ME!"
"H-Her...?" he murmured weakly. "A girl... w-walked by me... not long ago... officer. I-If... if that's—"
"A GIRL?!"
"A GIRL, YES!" he babbled, shuddering painfully. "Oh, Lord... yes, a girl... she looked... God... she looked so small... I-I gave her... I gave her some of my clothes b-but she ran... please don't kill me officer..."
Justine remained tense for a moment longer, huffing in and out as the toll of running this distance had its way with her. Something about Tyler's voice strangled a chord within the bounds of her soul — it reminded her of someone.
It reminded her of herself.
"I swear on my momma, officer... I... tried to help her..."
"QUIET!" she screamed, kicking herself off of him and fidgeting with her leg. She glanced around her vicinity, processing the words of her suspect. Processing her own words. Had she just assaulted a man based on his appearance?! Worse yet, one who had helped the very person she was looking for? This wasn't right, not at all! She was in the middle of nowhere set on a righteous path... yet, she wound up the aggressor. Are bears even active in the winter...?
"Officer... please let me go..." he pleaded from underneath. "I'm g-gonna get frostbite here... and..."
"You're free to go," she mustered with a cringe, putting her gun back and hobbling away. "My... apologies, sir."
The media won't need to know this part of the story, as much as she can justify it to herself. Tyler likely did not see her crying face, or catch her name... for all he knew she could have lied about her authority altogether — he should be less intelligent than her anyway. As for her... well, she didn't pull the trigger.
So time's up, kick start. She needed to get to Mount Ebott, to find Charlotte. Make sure she doesn't end up like the young graduate who perished at the Turquoise. So she can look her in her clear eyes and see their pretty irises, to hear her name spoken from those little perilled lips again. To be her heroic cowboy.
Driving dark. No more distractions, keep on track. Safe and sound.
There was something quite foreboding about the innumerable, tiny prints scattered over the last mound of snow before Mount Ebott like some kind of ominous doormat. Justine shaved her forehead of the frozen drops of salty odour that permeated it, and heaved out her first relieved breath since the moment she entered her living room all that time ago. The white-glazed behemoth with its gaping maw was meters away, the plane of snow spread out like its tongue beckoning her inside with the promise of legendary treats.
She should've been smart enough to turn back, seeing such a desperate beast clambering for the meat on her bones. It had succeeded with so many others before her — she wouldn't even have the luxury of being its first. She forced herself forwards in her wavering haste, the power in her yellow eyes fading. What was that queer thing some flatlanders said, mo'leaysses? That's what she was feelin' like — some run-down old jalopy inches away from crappin' out.
Her boot-prints slotted in with the others before her as an absence of trees gave the impression of a feeding device, right into the oesophagus of this mighty sarcophagus. It was like the flow of continuity had shuttered and splintered into a billion pieces, the snow below a time capsule of despair.
The shadows quadrupled, quintupled, and poured over her skin. The snow finally disintegrated. She felt a searing, stitch-y pain that resonated from her ears, her nose, her everything. She would have toppled over had she not thrown her foot out to balance, quivering. Her flashlight escaped her hand from the sudden rebirth of her senses — Tyler might've saved her ass from a GSW here — and she retrieved it almost as swiftly as she had lost it.
It was so warm now, this cave like an oven simmering down after baking a fresh tray of muffins. Justine was definitely smart enough to know that it would not be this easy to ease up after such a monumental hike, yet Ebott did not match the reality she had grown accustomed to. A batch of hope brewed in her chest in light of this as the stone walls absorbed every square foot of white illumination she cast, stripping off her heavy coat. She capitalised on her brimming energy to call out with all her power:
"Deputy Flores here—!"
Justine staggered as the booming audio ricocheted back to her ears like the first time she fired a shotgun without ear defenders, her lungs rejecting her motion of breathing.
"I... I'm here to help! Is there... anybody here?" she announced, moderating her tone reactively.
No one but herself responded. She kept her head and sauntered cautiously; if magic was real (if her senses were to be proven true at this point) perhaps those mythical Monsters weren't very far behind that. If anyone was to not call her hopeless bluff here, it would be them from all she's heard about. She knew the idiom pertaining to the sides which every coin had, but come on: they're literally monsters, why would they not desire her help? Maybe her essence, or their demise shall be their reprieve. Justine could finally put those horror movies to good use.
"Hello—?"
A warbling zap emitted from the tool in her hand, and its namesake was snuffed into the dark once more. "Shit." All this time and this is the moment it chose to die? At least the narrow sight of the trees she escaped from was pretty, with the purple moonlight shine collecting on the leaves.
Then she felt her feet go out from under her, a thick vine coddling her ankle. "AAHHH!" She fell right onto her side, letting out a gasp from the ground's spiny prickles... but her hand did not meet the ground with the rest of her body.
A giant pit in the ground consumed it, the fading light from behind just barely glinting its edge. She was shocked, scampering backwards like she had felt the wind of a passing truck. By the time she got back onto her feet, she realised her head was short of a hat, a fact which made her sadly sigh.
Justine stretched ever closer, carefully pacing her steps to manoeuvre through the flora labyrinth. This was it... this was where those kids have gone! All of those footsteps... all of that pain... amounted to this. Some clearly held more success than others, but this was their reward for all that effort. To die... peacefully, one could hope. Or, maybe this was a—
GRROWL!
"Weh?!" Justine exclaimed in surprise, losing her footing on the ground and toppling down into the abyss. "NO NO NO— GAAAAHHHHhhhhh...—!"
Back on the surface, the light-brown cougar from which the growl originated struts to the edge of the hole, befuddled at what had occurred before it. It then spits and retreats back to its nest in the corner.
