free his mind at night

Sam Jackson fixed his tie as he looked himself over through the tall mirror in his room, certainly a dashing sight to behold. A smile found its way on his lips as he began fixing his hair, reciting his speech for the town hall meeting. “My dearest darling citizens of White Crest,” he began, more focused on his appearance than the contents of his actual speech. “Just heard that you were all concerned about the recent strange happenings in town. I am no expert, but I am sure that these things are just temporary, simply brought about by the recent change in weather and climate.” 

“You know how that is, right? Climate change?” Sam barely even believed his own words, only casually throwing easily digestible explanations as if it was all part of his life now, his instincts. “So, if you love the town, if you respect the town, if you care about the town, then don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” 

Sam dusted his snazzy suit with his hands, careful not to grease up the make but also with enough force to chase off any unwanted foreign substance. Like dust or someone else’s dandruff. “Once this all blows over, you’ll be right back to singing and dancing, or sulking and in need of some TLC if that’s your jam. Hope you stop worrying yourselves over nothing.” He repeated the last two words in his head, mouthing them but not quite saying them again. 

Focusing on his reflection in the mirror, Sam wasted a couple more seconds before beaming from ear to ear, proud of his appearance. It was the most important thing to him now, keeping appearances. Fuck the truth. Fuck the facts. As long as people think they’re happy and safe, they’ll be happy and safe. Worked for me, growing up in this terrible place, with a terrible father. Should work for the rest of the town.

Sam began to make his final preparations, making sure no electrical appliances were still plugged in, before leaving for the door. He hoped everyone in town would be present, so they could see him make his case, marvel at his positivity. Hopefully there will be a lot of pretty faces. He was almost at the door, his hand only inches from the brass knob, when a familiar voice stopped him. Not unlike the devil unable to make a single night not about him.

“You look good, Sam,” the ghost of his late father leaned against a nearby wall, which was pretty impressive, considering he was a ghost and Sam thought he’d just phase through that wall because ghosts and walls, right? But the ghost of his late father did not just phase through that wall, and not a second later, even pushed himself off of that wall to walk toward him, fixing his tie as if he was still alive. “Ready to gaslight the entire town into believing your preferred narrative?”

Sam scoffed, swiping the ghostly hands off of him and his tie. He didn’t even check whether he felt any sort of collision with that act, his entire focus on how he felt offended by his father’s remarks. “Ha! You of all people can’t judge me. You’ve done worse to this town.” 

He turned around, his back to his father, as he tried to calm himself down. Clenching his jaw, Sam decided to stay for a bit longer instead of just leaving Jackson Manor. After spending the past few days, maybe even weeks, with the damned ghost, Sam had found out it could not leave their home, which was supposed to be to his advantage. Yet he stood there, confronting the dead, wishing his old man was still alive so he could kill him. Again.

“Worse?” The ghost of Sam’s late father chuckled, as if his son had made such a witty retort. Even if Sam truly did, however, the old man wouldn’t give him the recognition. He was toxic that way, a real piece of work, especially after he lost his political hold over the town. “Come now, Sam, that’s a terrible joke: You know full well I was looking after this town, doing the things no one else could to protect it, to make sure it survived to the end.”

“Survive?” It was Sam’s turn to chuckle, though his was more venomous than that of the ghost of his late father. “Well, if you did such a great job, we wouldn’t be in this mess, would we? That thing in the lake, those weird dreams, the giant tree in the outskirts, and now the end of the world… If you did such a great job, I WOULDN’T HAVE TO LIE TO PEOPLE, IN THEIR FACES, ABOUT THE OBVIOUS DECLINE AND DECAY OF THIS GODDAMNED TOWN, YOU INSUFFERABLE ASS!”

Sam screamed his heart out, the veins in his neck almost popping in rage. How dare his dead father make him look worse than him?! Everything that has happened, every bad thing, to Sam, to this town, was all his fault! Sam clenched his jaw, almost breaking his own teeth. It might be impossible, but with all that he was feeling—the rage, the fury, the anguish, the despair—he actually felt it could have happened.

What happened instead was his father’s hand striking the side of his face. Sam was shocked. He stared at the ghost of his late father with wide eyes, his own hand on his own face. Normal people would have zeroed in on the fact that the ghost managed to slap him hard, but Sam was not normal people. Instead of that, Sam zeroed in on the fact that his ghost father laid its ghost hand on him. 

But before Sam could speak, the ghost interrupted him. “How dare you, you ungrateful, spineless, sad excuse of a son?!” The ghost feigned a cough before fixing his own tie and then his hair. “Those things wouldn’t have happened, those things wouldn’t have escalated, if you didn’t come back where you weren’t wanted, only to murder me in cold blood.” Sam’s father raised an eyebrow at him, staring daggers into his soul.

Sam, however, was confused. “Murder you? In cold blood?” He couldn’t believe the accusations he was hearing. That was not how it happened! “Your death was an accident! Of your own making! Who hunts at night? In the dark? You shot something, grazed it, and that something? Well, it didn’t miss your neck.” Sam scoffed, beaming with pride after slapping the ghost with the truth.

“Well, what do you know? Seems like you are, after all, capable of speaking the truth,” the ghost did not seem fazed at Sam’s retort, even seemingly strengthened by it, gloating for some reason, a reason Sam was quite unaware of. “But what did you do, Sammy? What did you do after the thing noticed you, stared deep into your soul, and then fled? What did you do once the violence was over, once I asked for your help?”

Sam gulped, trying to remember exactly what he did. He didn’t finish the job, did he? He hoped not. He couldn’t remember doing anything else to ensure his father’s demise. If he did, he would not forget it and instead even celebrate his own actions. “I…”

“YOU DID NOTHING!” It was the ghost’s turn to scream and wail at Sam, who could only close his eyes and quiver at the sudden display of violent outburst. “YOU WATCHED ME DIE, THE BLOOD DRAINING OUT OF MY BODY! YOU JUST STOOD THERE AND DID NOTHING, EVEN AS I BEGGED FOR YOU TO HELP ME!” The ghost wrapped its hand around Sam’s neck, and fueled by its decades-long anger and hatred, then began choking him.

Sam screamed back, but nothing incoherent came out of his mouth, nothing that made sense, that sounded anything else but a scream, as he placed his hands on his ears. Glass shattered all around him, and Sam was pushed back, hard against the door behind him. It was the perfect opportunity to escape, to leave the angered ghost to its own, trapped in that house that held nothing else but darkness and regret and hatred and death. But Sam was not thinking of escaping. Sam was thinking of something else.

“You didn’t deserve my help,” Sam gritted his teeth as he fought back against the pain, the fear, and everything else in between. “You deserved your death—slow, painful, and alone. Did you actually think I’d forget what you did to her? That time truly healed all the wounds you gave me, gave us, burdened this family with? You deserved worse, father.”

The ghost stared at Sam and slowly calmed down. Squinting at his son, the father asked with a much softer voice this time, though he already knew the answer in the back of his ghostly head. “What I did…to whom? Who are you talking about, Sam?”

Sam threw a punch at the ghost, which surprisingly hit him, forcing him down on the ground and on his back. Without even thinking about that, or anything else that was strange about this interaction, Sam quickly mounted his own father, pinning him down on the floor and punching him again. “You know who! You killed her! Pretended it was an accident, then blamed me!”

Sam threw punches after punches at the ghost of his late father who protected himself with his own hands. The only surviving member of his cursed family screamed with each strike, rage too much to hold back now, as tears streamed down the side of his face. Sam remembered everything vividly. He remembered the beatings, he remembered the blood, he remembered the bruises. More importantly, he remembered her.

His sister was the only shining beacon of hope in that house, in their household. Even their mother ignored his screams of pain whenever their father took his anger out on him. It was sister, and his sister alone, who sat with him after every violent visit, helped him heal from his wounds and bruises, and even tried to protect him once, an act of charity that cost her everything. He could still remember her fighting their father for him before she was thrown down the stairs like her life meant nothing. And of course, to the politician who cared more about appearances than the truth, she, they, did mean nothing.

When Sam finally took a moment to stop his assault, wiping the tears that had began to obscure his vision from his face, he slowly realized that his knuckles were bleeding. Underneath him was nothing else but the floor. His father, the ghost of whom, was nowhere to be found. In his loneliness, Sam sat back, pushing himself backwards into a corner, and weeping alone. Then suddenly, from out of nowhere, he heard her humming to him, his sister, who never aged one bit, whose smile beckoned for him to leave with her and move on.

♜♖♜

Downtown, White Crest. December 3, 2022.

With a wild grin on his face, Sam excitedly departed Jackson Manor through its front doors, pulling behind him a single piece of luggage that was at least big enough to bring along a couple of clothes and other necessities for an extended vacation. It had been a while since Sam had left town for things other than business. This time, however, he made sure to see the rest of the world with new eyes, finally free from the shackles and chains of the town and all its political folly. For once in his life, Sam was glad to be rid of White Crest and all that bound him to it. It was, as if, he was reborn.

“Dearest White Crest,” Sam thought to himself as he stood next to the door of his car, taking one final look at his residence. “The end has finally come for you. May you burn in hell, as I did when you betrayed me.” He scoffed and then laughed before putting on a pair of dark-tinted shades over his eyes. Sam then nonchalantly opened the door of his car, slid himself in on the driver’s seat, and after slamming the door closed next to him, drove away listening to a song he wasn’t quite familiar with but quickly enjoyed listening to.

Of course Sage was worried, and of course she told the rest of the farm that she was not. Telling them otherwise would have been more problematic than helpful. Fortunately for Sage, she was very skilled in making people feel calm, better even, without lying outright. Words were her favorite weapon, and she knew how to wield them properly, masterfully. In the end, even without saying that she was not worried about a government man coming to the farm to check them out, an obvious lie, she still managed to convey to the farmers that everything was all right. She would handle it all. What could go wrong?

He went up the main drive until he reached the main gates. They were open, and as she told them to, the farmers happily bid him kind greetings, a nice and cozy welcome. She could’ve just left them closed, so the snoopy man would have to squeeze between the bars to get in. As he eyed the magnolia bushes lining the path, Sage watched him make his way to and inside the main house from the safety and comfort of her window. “He’s here,” she announced to no one but herself as she closed her curtains, took a hold of herself for a moment or two, before making her own way to greet him. 

“Namasté, Sam Jackson!” Sage joined her palms together and bowed her head as she welcomed him to her abode, to their farm, smiling with warmth and giddy excitement, even though she was feeling more stressed and concerned within. “How was your travel? I hope all right?”

Finding the time to check on the strangely named Namas-Tea Happy Farm, a name that made his assistant Yoo-ara chuckle, was a little bit hard, considering the past few weeks have been a mess for the town and the Tourism Board. But the youngest member of the Board, Sam, would not be denied. He had made a promise to check on the place for any irregularities in terms of labor, which wasn’t even his jurisdiction, and he vowed to keep that promise to the laborers of the farm, none of which he had ever met before and would meet until today, when he finally made his visit. Ah, the things we do to procrastinate.

“Uhh, namasté, miss Sage, wasn’t it?” Her name was very peculiar to Sam, though he couldn’t judge. After all, he shared his name with a Hollywood actor, which often confused and then made people laugh when they finally got to the bottom of all that confusion. Sam didn’t look anything like his actor counterpart. He wasn’t as dignified or as threatening or as stoic. Sam was just Sam, and it often left new acquaintances disappointed when they realized he wasn’t the man with the snakes on the plane. “My travel was all right. Will you be giving me a tour around your farm?”

Sam took a good look around her place, though he tried to be insistent on being frank and to the point. He was here to do some checking, after all, and this was definitely not a friendly visit. For the most part. She does look…very friendly. Easy, Sam. Don’t be so pathetic.

“Yes,” Sage beamed. “It’s Sage Magnolia. That’s my name.” Despite the many, many criticisms of her chosen name over the years, she was mightily proud of it. It combined two of the many, many things that she loved: sage, with its stress-relieving properties, and magnolias, the very same flowers that grew in her hair. Strangely, as the years went by, people have stopped asking her as much about the magnolias in her hair, easily accepting the non-explanation of how they looked good in her hair as accessories. “I will, though would you like some tea first? Maybe those pastries we’ve discussed online?”

Sage found no difficulty in sensing that Sam was smitten by her look. Whether there was anything deeper than surface attraction, she didn’t really care. All she cared about was that he took to her quite well, which meant she could use his own emotions to her advantage. Just like old times. How many others have fallen to her charm, her beauty? She hasn’t even kept count. Outside of her more active contingencies, her social skills proved pivotal in keeping the farm afloat. This visit would be no different. Sage would win Sam over and he’d stop being a threat to her and the farmers. “Shall we?”

“Well, I am feeling a bit peckish,” Sam beamed, following her lead to wherever the tea and pastries were. Most people in town were just as friendly, offering him some food whenever he visited, though those people knew who he was and what he did for the town. The others who didn’t weren’t as friendly but those who really knew him, how he never fails to try and mask the dangers of the town as nothing more than rumors or even lies, were the least friendliest of them all. Probably for good reason. “What kind of tea are we talking about? And pastries? Like cookies?”

Sam did not hesitate to take his seat when he finally received his tea and pastries. He wasn’t that hungry but he would never say no to free food, especially not when it’s from a pretty lady. “So, like, have you always been here? I mean, as the farm owner or something? I don’t think I’ve seen a lot of you in town.” And he would remember. With her pretty face, Sam would’ve been head over heels for her. And most likely get summarily rejected. That’s just how things were. It is what it is. Hopefully, this one’s different. 

“Oh, goodie!” Sage made tiny claps when he agreed to have some tea and pastries first. She was also delighted that he didn’t make a big deal about her name. Usually, people made a big deal about her name. Now it was her turn to make a big deal about someone else’s name, his name. She asked a question while leading him into her tearoom. “So your name is really Sam Jackson? Like the movie star?” She was even more excited when he inquired about her tea and pastries. “Well, what’s your poison, mister? We have assam, darjeeling, and noon chai! As for the pastries, have you ever had vada pav?”

The assortment of offerings were already actually waiting for them in her tearoom, prepared in advance after he shared his intention of visiting her at the farm online. It didn’t really take much time or effort to make the pastries and the teas, the ingredients readily available on the farm. For herself, Sage took a cup of noon chai before pointing out the signs on two separate plates of the vada pav pastries: one normal and the other with a special ingredient. “I guess so. I do travel a lot, outside of town and the country, so maybe we’ve just had conflicting schedules until now.”

“Huh, maybe,” Sam shrugged as he opened his mouth and started to usher inside a piece of pastry. He stopped when he failed to pronounce vada pav in his head. “Vada what? It’s, uhm, nothing weird, right? Just healthy baked bread? Noon chai sounds good, too, but no poison.” He chuckled out loud at his terrible pun and watched as the tea was poured in his glass almost immediately. He drank his tea first and waited for her response before stuffing his face with the baked goods. Just in case. “Yeah, like the movie star, but I’m more handsome, right?” 

Once they were done with the pleasantries, Sam immediately switched to work mode. He looked around the place, admiring the view, before throwing pointed questions at the otherwise attractive farm owner. “So, like, is this a family farm? Your parents left this to you? You look too young to start something like this on your own. Or maybe your boyfriend owned this place before he left it with you after the break-up?” That last bit was obviously a reach, a terrible attempt to check whether she was single or not. Hey, if it works, it works. If not, then it’s back to business.

“Of course, you are, Sam Jackson of White Crest,” Sage giggled to indulge the man’s ego, hoping that the act would skew his loyalties toward her. Didn’t he come to root out any irregularities in the farm’s inner workings? She’s suffered her fair share of his kind, though they never failed to amuse her. This one was more of the same, confident of his power, or at least what he believed was power. “Nothing weird, of course. Just deep-fried potato dumplings in between bread buns. You like buns, don’t you? Most men do.”

“You could say that,” Sage kept the man company as he began his work, interrogating her with all the questions he could come up with. Again, this wasn’t her first rodeo. She knew the loopholes, the routine, though her memory has suffered over the decades. She could only hope she wouldn’t slip up this time around. It wouldn’t be good for the farm and most especially the farmers. “I started this farm with a couple of friends, but they’re gone now. No boyfriend at the moment. Unless you’re thinking of applying, handsome Sam Jackson?”

“Wait, Jackson…” And then Sage remembered someone else who had that last name, someone who was neither a friend nor an enemy, oftentimes a thorn on her side and fewer a boon. She squinted at him, noticed the similarities in their facial structure, and heaved a deep sigh as she contemplated their association. “I know of someone who had the same last name… How many Jacksons are there in town? You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Sam nodded at every graceful word that slipped out of Sage’s beautiful mouth, as if he was a moth and she was the fiery death of him. It was a trance that he was no stranger to, having been in numerous ones throughout his stay here in White Crest. When she mentioned the word ‘buns’, however, Sam unintentionally snickered like a grade school boy. He wasn’t thinking about fluffy pastry, especially not in the presence of Sage, though it was probably her intention. Be that as it may, Sam was unaware of any subtle implications. He was just being a grade school boy. As per usual. “Yes, I love buns.”

“Oh,” Sam did find himself blushing red when Sage explicitly dangled her carrot juice in front of his thirsty, thirsty donkey brain. He even gulped, realizing his throat just went dry, and went for a quick sip of tea to wet his whistle. Literally. “I mean, if you’re accepting applications, why not?” He shot her a playful smirk, though hers was much better and less nervous. His eyes started wandering around places it should not, though he caught himself and feigned a cough to hide his mistake. “Can’t say that I do, but I’m sure I’m the only important Jackson in town.”

It may have sounded like an idiotic boast or an arrogant ignorance, but Sam did consider himself the only important Jackson in town, mostly because he was the only Jackson in town he knew of, especially the only Jackson in town that worked for the town that he knew of. Sam’s focus was on tourists these days, lacking as they may be, so he was a little out of touch with the quieter denizens of the town. He barely even remembered those he had bumped into a few months ago. He did remember the “hotties,” though, so there was that. “What about you? Any family in town?”

Sage simply giggled at Sam’s declaration of love for buns. They both knew what he was referring to, and it wasn’t the pastry. Looking him over, Sage considered his application very acceptable. The man was handsome and charming but he also seemed…innocent, to use a less offensive word. He was the perfect boyfriend, which in Sage’s mind was no more than someone who could please her in more ways than one. A living, breathing toy. We all know the one. 

Sage, however, became more interested in his assertion of being the only important Jackson in town. Crossing her legs, real slow to draw his attention to the act, she leaned back on her side, an arm draped over the head of her couch. Her smile remained ever enticing. “Are you now? How important?” She wondered if he was some sort of fairy king or ancient vampire. If he was a hunter leader, though, that may be a problem. “The farmers are my only family in town.”

“Very important,” Sam played up his ego some more, stroking it in his head. Sage’s very seductive handling of his pride, masterful even, didn’t help him make sense of what she was doing. To Sam, she was a lovely woman who was very interested in him and the importance he had within the two, failing to recognize that he was being played by someone who just wanted him to give them the best result for them and the farm. Sam would be a terrible auditor. Fortunately for him, he was a Tourism Board member. “I’m the youngest member of the town’s tourism board!”

Sam actually took pride in that fact. Well, most of the time. Well, a part of him does. Sam hated all the politicking that he had to wade through to get to the position, and he hated more that he had to do it every second of the day now, and all for what? To spite his dead father? To outplay him, so to speak? To outdo a dead man? These days, however, it was harder to make sense of what he took pride in anymore. He did enjoy his job, though he would never admit it to himself when alone. 

“Oh,” Sam grinned again, also from ear to ear, as he made himself comfortable in his seat. “Well, maybe I can be part of that family someday.” He literally winked twice as he made the confusing statement. In his head, it was a pretty smooth pickup line. He failed to realize, however, that being part of a family doesn’t just mean husband and wife. Most of the time, the first thought was brother and sister. Or brother and brother, sister and sister. Maybe even parent and child. So many other things before husband and wife. Sam was not good with flirting.

“Tourism…board?” At first, Sage was a little confused. She had expected him to say something else, something more interesting, maybe even more intimidating, but he did seem like he took great pride in it. He could have been the king of the faes, which meant he would be very interesting and might even be quite useful to her and the farm. An ancient vampire might make him troublesome, but there was nothing more exciting than a dangerous fling. The hunter leader would have been the worst result. Or that was what she thought before he revealed what he truly thought the meaning of the word ‘important’ was.

And then Sage’s eyes lit up. Tourism board? That meant he had some semblance of power over the town’s tourist attractions, right? Maybe even have influential connections that could be directed toward her farm? Their produce? If she was very lucky, he could even become the mouthpiece she needed to truly establish her agenda: No to war, yes to peace! Surely, tourists would love vegetarian food and being told to stop being violent. “Tourism board! Of course! Well, aren’t you real important.”

That bit about the family thing was real awkward, though. Even Sage couldn’t deny that. She gave him an uncomfortable chuckle, as if still trying to make it seem that his pick-up line was acceptable, even though anyone with half a brain would be quick to realize it had failed, missed its mark. Maybe, she thought, Sam was one of those people who got off on those scenarios with their family. She almost shuddered at the thought, so she tried to change the topic. “Let’s talk about your family, if it’s all right? Are they still in town?”

“I am, aren’t I?” Sam fumbled for something interesting to say but only managed to repeat rhetorically the same thought that’s been discussed by the pair for minutes now. It was like he couldn’t find something else to move on to, something more interesting than his job description. Maybe there was just nothing else interesting about him. Nothing that he believed to be or would interest someone more interesting like Sage. “My family? Well, yes and no. They’re not exactly still in town. But they are.”

It was hard to describe his current situation. Technically, all his relatives were buried in town, so that means they’re still in town, right? One of them, his least favorite one, was even haunting him. But they’re also dead and no longer interacting with the rest of the town, except for his least favorite one, so doesn’t that also mean they’re technically no longer in town? Sam confused himself to no end by focusing on the wrong things. As per usual. So he just decided to come clean to Sage, “None of them are alive, but they’re in town.” Smooth.

“Anyway,” Sam tried to move the conversation elsewhere after that long, awkward pause. “Should we do the tour now? I’d love to see the rest of the farm.”

Sam’s explanation confused Sage for a bit. She had no idea what anything Schrodinger was, and should she be given the clue of a cat, she’d most likely just nod and think to herself that whoever had been talking about Schrodinger's cat quite literally was just talking about some German guy’s cat. Fortunately for her, Sam went on and explained it much better in the end. “Ah, so they’re…part of the town itself now, no longer just members of it before…” She tried her hand at the explanation herself but felt very uncomfortable talking about someone else’s dead, especially someone else she had just met and was now in a trance over her. Man is something.

“Oh, but of course,” Sage quickly rose from her seat after cleaning the crumbs of pastries from her dainty little hands and off her dress, even though there weren’t any on her dress. With a smile, she gestured for him to follow her around the farm and began the tour without much delay. Of course, Sage tailored the tour to suit her own needs. Well, the farm’s needs. The farm must survive, and so, the tour must only feature the things that would secure its survivability. The good things. “The Namas-Tea Happy Farm is a very sustainable organic farm commune that allows for everyone to come in and just plant where suitable.”

Every now and then, a farmer would make an appearance and Sage would exchange smiles and pleasantries with them, as if all this wasn’t tailored perfectly to display the truth of their camaraderie. What is the greatest, truest unity if not for the defense of someone’s home, of someone’s livelihood, of someone’s life? Few would argue that it would be for peace and love but peace and love are very complicated generalizations. Sage would know. She’s lived through different versions of them. “If there’s anything else you’d like to know, feel free to ask. I’ll try my best to answer you.” And then the girly chuckle to sell the story.

To say that Sam was very impressed with the farm would be quite an understatement. He has visited something like this before, entire acres of crops and greens, within and outside the town. One of his closest friends in White Crest lived on a farm, after all. Well, they were close growing up but things change when you leave town without even saying a goodbye. That said, he did recently save her from vampires, so that should get him some points, right? 

“You said you started this farm with friends, right? If you don’t mind me asking, why did they leave all this with you? I mean, if it were me and I had a hand at this today, I wouldn’t want to leave,” Sam meant that as a compliment but he didn’t really think things through. What could be a random, nonchalant statement of admiration intended for such a blissful and bountiful property could be received as a crass slight to abandonment issues. Of course, Sam had no way to know if that last part applied, but he didn’t try to be sensitive about it either. Sage was beautiful. Why would all of her friends leave her, right?

“Well,” Sage started to respond with a sing-song tune, not really sure how else to go about it. It’s a tale as old as time, a tragic tale, one that has had enough time for all involved to finally move past and let go of. Yet Sage, despite her longevity, still couldn’t, still held on to the regrets and despair of events that have long unfolded, that she could no longer change. She has tried, debatably her best, but every now and again, that same longevity only served to remind her of how tragic losing her loved ones had been. That and she still literally had a hold on the constant reminder that was the farm. “It wasn’t like they had a choice.”

“It’s sort of the same thing with your family,” Sage tried to go the more familiar route, trying to make her situation resonate with that of Sam’s, even though she wasn’t quite sure if he had suffered the same tragedies. Or if he hadn’t. “You can’t really leave a place if you die there, can’t stay in a place if you die elsewhere.” Did that make sense? Sage’s shrug made her believe it did, though a part of her was very uncertain. 

“But you’re right about one thing, Mr. Jackson: It’s hard to leave something like this. Something productive. Something so loved by so many people, useful to so many people,” Sage tried to reach out to his sense of community, trying to make him sympathize with her and the farmers, especially if he found something that wouldn’t fly legally. Bureaucracy wasn’t something she was good at. She’s tried that as well but it just wasn’t for her. It’s been a pain in her butt for a long while now. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be as problematic with Sam.

“Ah,” Sam was at a loss for words. Perhaps even for the first time in his life. How was he supposed to know all her friends are dead now? That seemed very unlikely in his head, though at the same time, also pretty believable. It wasn’t like they all died at the same time. Probably over the years. Due to different reasons. Sam tried his best to rationalize Sage’s tragedy the only way he knew how, which wasn’t hard, considering he did that on a daily basis. 

As a member of the Tourism Board that was trying their best to cover up all the supernatural bullshit in town, mostly because the older members were adamant in the belief that it was the only way to save the people, Sam had grown to be very well-versed in bullshitting his way through life. “That explains a lot,” he tried to flash her an understanding smile, though the awkwardness in the air rendered it somewhat uncomfortable.

Sam couldn’t agree more. The farm was fantastic. It was most definitely a breath of fresh air, though to be fair, that was mostly only because Sam spent most of his days downtown, never in the outskirts. Who knew how many more similar farms were in this part of the town? Should be him, if not the Tourism Board, but he digressed. In the grand scheme of things, the farm was something that seemed very useful to the community, and that should count for something, right? Sam believed the same. “I can see that. Seems to me like a great place in town. Your papers are in order, I assume? Because if they are, then I see no problem here. None at all.”

Sage couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s response. Her plan was working! Or at least it seemed like it. The man didn’t seem like he wanted to scrutinize anything else. Was it her charm? Or was it the familiarity of death that seemed to draw them to each other. She had lost her friends, and he had lost his family. This town was a constant reminder of their respective losses, yet they chose to stay. If that wasn’t something that bound them together, Sage wouldn’t know what else would qualify. 

Despite the sad realization, however, Sage still managed to put on a cheerful aura around her. No use in sulking, she always believed. If there was an opportunity to choose the sun over the moon, then the sun was her best option. Always was. “They are. Would you like to take a look at them? They’re in my private quarters.” 

Sage gestured back inside the main house, eager to lead him away from the farmers. They were good people, all of them, but they weren’t always reliable when it came to making sure bureaucrats like Sam wouldn’t find anything to zero in on, anything unnecessary, and use for their terrible agenda against people like them. Sam seemed different, but they had just met, and Sage wouldn’t risk the farm on a first impression.

“Maybe some other time,” Sam had to decline the most tempting of all offers when he received a text from Yoo-ara, reminding him of preparations for an upcoming event. He shook his head, sighing, at the most inopportune of all distractions, before turning to the lovely Sage with an apologetic smile. “I have to go and help with the town hall meeting stuff. You should drop by. Might be a whole lot of important stuff to learn.” That last part was a stab in the dark for him as well, as he was not in the loop with whatever that damned thing was about. For his part, he was just thinking of once again telling everyone there was nothing to worry about. Even if there was.

In White Crest, there really was no such thing as a quiet night. There were nights that were calmer than others, maybe, but no night that was straight-up relaxed. There was always something going on, always some trouble to be found. It made it a pretty good town to be a superhero in… but a pretty bad town to be just about anyone else. 

Take, for example, the scene in front of Cass now. Whatever was trying to pounce on Sam Jackson, tourism board extraordinaire, was definitely not human. It had a mouth like a leech and hair down to its feet, and it was, like, definitely trying to eat the guy. And Sam, for his part, was… offering it his wallet. Which, honestly? Wasn’t exactly ideal. He was definitely going to get eaten by a weird leech lady if Cass didn’t step in. And Cass liked Sam, so. Stepping in was pretty necessary here.

Quickly, she shoved her way onto the scene and yanked Sam back just as the leech lady pounced forward, leech mouth first. “Dude, what are you doing? You’re gonna get killed!” 

As far as quiet nights went for the town, every night was a quiet night. Well, as long as Sam was the one asked. While the rest of the Tourism Board kept out of the public eye, he was the sacrifice, the sheep the wolves of the elite offered to the rest of the sheep to be mauled and mistreated and bleated at, even though it was his job to make sure no one got hurt out of curiosity. Sure, maybe people needed to be informed about the strange goings-on, so that they could come up with their own contingencies and protection, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

“That’s…a pretty great costume,” Sam gulped, knowing full well that it wasn’t a costume. Chuckling awkwardly, he held up a hand and slowly took out his wallet, offering its lacking contents to the creature in front of him. It’s just some kid in a costume…right? “What’s that from? A new Stephen King show? Looks really good. Very, uhm, believable. I can actually smell…”

Before he could finish his thought, however, someone pulled Sam back and away from the gross, stinky costumed person. After the initial thud, and the familiar yell-y voice, he grinned at the sight of Cass. Cass was nice and she was pretty and she was a great kid. “Oh, hey, Cass! Are you also wearing a costume? Who are you supposed to be?”

A costume? He thought that was a costume? Cass could barely bite back a groan. Sam, for the short time she’d known him, had always seemed like something of an enigma to Cass. She was never quite sure if he genuinely believed that there was nothing amiss in White Crest or if he was only trying to save face, desperate to keep the wool over the town’s eyes. She liked to believe it was the latter option, and she liked to believe there were good intentions behind it, but it was so hard to be certain. There were plenty of people in White Crest who really did think it was little more than a normal town in Maine, after all. For a short while, Cass had been one of them.

All she could do, she figured, was keep whatever Sam was doing from getting him killed. She probably could have been gentler in yanking him back, but she was trying to save his life, so she figured he’d forgive her. When he said her name, she shot him a glare. “Sam, you’re gonna, like, ruin my secret identity!” She’d never been particularly good at keeping it up, of course; she told most people herself thanks to her own excitement. But that didn’t mean she wanted Sam blurting it out! 

Before she could berate him further, though, the creature — was it some kind of vampire? — pounced at them, and she was pulling the board member back again to keep his head attached to his shoulders. “That thing is trying to eat us,” she said plainly, shoving Sam away from her and trying to get the creature to focus its full attention in her direction. 

“Your secret what?” The first thought that came to Sam’s mind was that Cass was a secret agent. Like one of those white guys who traveled the world with their numerous identities and aliases, working for posh international organizations and saving the world, one chick in their arm at a time. Then he realized Cass was neither white nor a guy, and she wasn’t wearing a suit, so he realized she was playing at a superhero. Well, she does like her comic books, I guess. He let out a brief chuckle before reining himself in, realizing it was rude to laugh at people’s…things. Like when his interns laughed at his stuff. “Oh, like a superhero? Nice!”

Did White Crest need superheroes? Probably. Did the town need superheroes working outside the law? Probably not. In Sam’s head, he himself was already some sort of superhero, as he worked his butt off to make sure people weren’t harmed by their curiosity. In his head. See, most people used to run away from danger when someone told them about said danger. These days, people would run away…to get their phones so they could run back toward said danger and snap a chat or whatever kids these days call that stuff. 

“Eat us?” He raised an eyebrow, not really resisting Cass as she moved him around like he was a prop to her cosplay adventure. What are those things called again? Harping? No, larping! Yeah… Seems cool, I mean, uhh, a waste of time, yeah. Although there was a brief moment of delight in the idea, he soon remembered that Cass was like a kid or something, wasn’t she? “Whoa, whoa, whoa! I mean, you’re cute and all, but aren’t you like underaged?” Sam then turned to the kinky third person and scowled, crossing his arms at them. “Look, lady, I’m down with whatever you’re into, but let’s not involve the kid, okay? That’s, like, illegal. In most states.”

God, most people did not make themselves this hard to rescue! Most of the time, Cass came up on some scene like this one and stepped in, and the would-be victim was gone long before the fight even started. White Crest, she’d learned, was full of people who were very good at two things — denying that anything weird was going on and high-tailing it away from those weird things. Sam definitely seemed to have the first mastered. But the second? His technique could use some serious work. 

“Don’t laugh,” she snapped, a little annoyed in spite of herself. She knew it looked a little ridiculous, but she’d done some good with this gig! She’d helped a lot of people, stopped a lot of damage being done. Really, the tourism board ought to be paying her for making sure the town was, like, safe for tourists! Sam should be thanking her, not laughing at her. Or patronizing her, because that tone was totally patronizing! 

But… still sort of preferable to whatever it was he did next. Cass made a face as she saw the expression on his face shift a thousand times before he spoke again, and she shook his head quickly. “First off, ew. Second, I’m twenty-three. Third off, ew! Not any kind of eating you’d be into, you freaking weirdo! I don’t even know if this thing is a lady!” The thing in question, undeterred by their conversation, pounced forward. Cass shoved Sam in one direction and jumped back in the other, trying to make sure the thing followed her instead of him. Its long hair dragged the ground behind it as it snarled at her, rushing forward. Using a move Metzli had taught her, Cass ducked at the last moment and shot up to launch the thing over her shoulder and onto the ground. “It’s not going to stay down unless I make it stay down so, like, you should run.” 

“You’re twenty-three?!” Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Sam had always thought Cass was younger, though that was probably because he’s terrible at guessing people’s ages. He really only had two categories: the ones younger than him and the ones older than him. The older ones were obvious: white hair, wrinkles, not laughing at his terrible childish jokes. 

The younger ones were harder for Sam to tell. Or more precisely, gauge their actual youthfulness. Although all of them shared the same disdain for his existence, some seemed more mature than others. In his head, the younger ones who hated him and had no patience for his dumbassery were above 18 and those he got along with were younger than 18. Cass, unfortunately, fell in the latter category in his head. “Huh. I always thought you were, like, younger.”

Sam tried to protest but at the same time agree with Cass. He, too, was disgusted. More or less. “That’s what I’m saying! I’m not into kids, and I’m really glad you’re much older than what I thought you were because that means I wasn’t actually befriending a little kid online. That’s… That would’ve been… Oof.” He barely understood what he was saying, though, so he just stood there and watched her fight the thing, even cheering her on occasionally. “Damn, girl! That was fierce! But don’t worry about me. I got…” He suddenly pulled out a gun from behind him and started pointing it at the costumed lady. “...this. Hey, ma’am, you better stop or I’ll be forced to blast you in self-defense.”

“Yes,” Cass replied, exasperation clear in her tone. Sam was focusing on all the wrong things here, really; questioning her age instead of the vampiric thing that was obviously trying to eat him, flirting with a supernatural beast instead of doing literally anything else. It was kind of frustrating, but at the same time, it was so incredibly Sam that it was kind of hard to really be annoyed. He was being himself. There was something a little touching about it, in a strange way. Maybe it was just because Cass was so rarely herself in front of anyone who she didn’t already know would accept her for it.

But it still wasn’t, like, ideal. Not in this situation, where Sam being himself might end with Sam being dead. Cass rolled her eyes as he spoke, shaking his head. “Really not the time for this conversation, buddy!” She ducked another swing from the creature, though she did find herself smiling faintly at Sam’s compliment.

And then there was a gun. She had no idea where he’d even gotten it from, only that it was absent one moment and there the next. The beast didn’t seem to care much about it, but it became the only thing Cass could focus on fairly quickly. “Uh, dude, what the hell! Do you even know how to shoot that thing?”

“Hmm, you’re right,” Sam shrugged and then stopped pointing the gun. Instead, he took a moment to stare at it, as if it was such an alien object, before putting it away. Sam does in fact know how to shoot the damned thing. He’s shot it before. A lot of times. Even started as a kid because his deadbeat dad thought it was a good idea to teach a seven-year-old how to fire a gun. Might have been right. “It’d be too loud.”

Probably sensing the stupidity in Sam’s actions, the cosplayer suddenly lunged at him, forcing him off his feet and down on the ground. “Ow!” The creature growled at him as it tried to get to his neck while Sam tried to push it off of him. “Okay, this is getting too hot to handle, and I don’t mean it that way! Lady, get off me! No one gets to ride for free!” In his head, those words sounded cool, maybe even very sexy. Not as capitalist, and in the wrong way, as they actually were.

In the confusing struggle, Sam found the opportunity to put both his hands around the damned thing’s neck, and he pushed as far as he can, digging his thumbs into her throat out of desperation. He could her the damned thing choke but not as much as he expected it, too. “See? It’s not fun for you either is it? Just get the fuck off and I won’t report you for sexual misconduct.” He would, if he was sure she wouldn’t just eat the local police. And not in a fun way. 

Cass wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved when Sam put the gun away. On one hand, it was definitely better to avoid firing bullets in the streets, especially if Sam really didn’t know how to handle the gun. But on the other hand, Cass wasn’t sure he ought to be carrying it at all. She’d never really cared for guns. And the fact that his reasoning for not firing it was just the sound wasn’t, like, great. But the gun was away, and that was the important thing.

Well, that and the vampire monster. The vampire monster was pretty important, too. As if to prove that it was, in fact, still a threat, the thing turned its attention from Cass back to Sam, who might have been the easier target now that he was unarmed. It jumped for him, trying to get its teeth into his neck while he continued to seemingly misunderstand the situation, and Cass felt… overwhelmed, to say the least. She wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed, wasn’t sure how to move forward.

Sam, at least, wasn’t totally helpless. He wrapped his hands around the thing’s neck and, to Cass’s surprise, it wasn’t entirely ineffective. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t exactly like a vampire. There were ways to incapacitate it that didn’t involve a wooden stake. Armed with the new knowledge, Cass ran for the thing, tackling it off Sam and hitting it as hard as she could in the head.

How many times has Sam found himself on his back, mounted by some strange person-monster-thing that wanted to take him out for good? If he remembered correctly, he’s actually met a lot of White Crest’s stranger denizens on his back, with them either trying to kill him or saving him. He was glad that Cass seemed to be on the latter category, though he did have a brief moment of stupidity when he made a joke in his head about her being on the other category. Not an appropriate time, sure, but would being appropriate be appropriate when he was about to die?

Fortunately for him, though, Cass extended his remaining time on God’s green Earth by kicking the living, or, well, unliving shit out of the monster-woman-thing, forcing it to get the hell off of him. Sam instinctively crawled away, far from where the cosplayer-monster had been punted to, so he could get back on his feet as soon as he could. That actually put him right behind Cass, where she had the great experience of hearing him scream in her ear with how close he was. “Quick! Kill her! Kill her with your spider webs or something!”

Cass turned to glance at Sam, trying to make sure he was all right even as she fumbled with the thing that had been attacking him. He seemed to be in one piece — certainly well enough to scream in her ear. The sound was so unexpected that it startled her, giving the creature beneath her time to snag the upper hand and throw her back. She landed on the sidewalk with a yelp, the air forced from her lungs with the impact.

“I don’t — have — spider webs,” she grunted, scrambling to her feet just in time to avoid the snapping of the creature’s teeth. It had knocked her next to a dumpster, and she took a moment to be glad that she’d avoided hitting the metal structure when she’d landed. Concrete wasn’t soft, but it was definitely better than that. Less smelly, too. Scrambling back, she looked down beside the dumpster in hopes that she might find something to use against the creature. She doubted enthralling it would work, after all. There was a broken bottle at her feet and that, she figured, was a lot better than nothing. “Sam! Grab that bottle and hand it to me. I’m a little busy trying not to get eaten here.” 

No spider webs?! Sam almost looked offended. What kind of superhero doesn’t have spider webs? If he could think clearly, then maybe he would have found the answer in plain sight: A lot of them actually. Instead, Sam just stared at Cass with his mouth open, a scowl on his face. Maybe he should just shoot the damn thing. Or maybe he didn’t want to go to jail just in case he was wrong and it was just some non-sober civilian on a trip. Either way, it was probably best to let Cass do all the work. She wasn’t even underaged.

At Cass’ directive, Sam immediately looked around for whatever bottle she wanted him to go get her. It didn’t take him that long to find, so he immediately went for it. Unfortunately for him, in his panic, his foot accidentally got to it first, unintentionally kicking it far away. Shit. He tried to go for it again, and again, his foot kicked it away. What the hell?! On his third try, he threw himself at the bottle, managed to get it in his arms after a few seconds of fumbling for it, and instinctively threw it at Cass without even checking if she was ready to catch it. “Here! Catch!”

Sam looked at her like she’d grown a second head, and Cass took a moment to marvel at the fact that he found her not having spider webs to be odd but could easily rationalize a monster trying to eat him as a pickpocket or someone in want of a hookup. He really was a weird guy. Right now, she decided, he was a weird guy who was really lucky she liked him and didn’t want him to get eaten. Otherwise, she’d totally leave him behind. (She pretended there was any world where that was true but, of course, she knew that wasn’t the case.)

But he wasn’t exactly making this easier. Usually, when she teamed up with someone on one of these patrols, they were helpful. Sam was kind of the opposite. Cass groaned as he kicked the bottle away, unable to watch him fumble for it due to her attention being primarily focused on not getting eaten. Because of this, she also wasn’t ready for him to throw the thing. “Are you serious?” She yelled as the bottle sailed through the air, shoving the beast back in an attempt to catch the weapon. Instead, she inadvertently shoved the monster into the path of the flying projectile. The sharp broken ends of the bottle struck the beast in the back of the neck, sinking in deep. The monster let out a shrill screech, fumbling for a moment before falling. Cass gaped at it. “Okay,” she muttered, “I guess that works, too.” Then, a little louder so Sam could hear, “For the record, you’re, like, the worst sidekick ever.” 

“What do you mean?!” Sam loudly gasped in shock, as if offended that the truth was thrown in his face. Plenty of things have been thrown in Sam’s face, but none felt more offensive to him than the truth of that very moment. Of course, water and most other liquids were easily wiped off and bruises from solid objects were a good excuse to see that hot doctor at the hospital, but the truth? The truth was harder to face, even swallow. “I literally just saved your life.”

“Didn’t you see me kill that monster with one throw? I’m like a sniper with those bottles. If this was the NBA, I’d be, like, I don’t know, that Shaq guy. Three-pointers all day!” Sam even made an awkward attempt to air-shoot an air-ball, very much like an air-guitar in that it was very, what the kids call, cringe. Misuse of the word ‘literally’ and obvious ignorance of the NBA and basketball in general, Sam was about to make another terrible mistake: After checking out the corpse of his attacker, and grossing himself out, he took out his phone and started to call the local police department. Worst sidekick ever. “Let me just call the cops so we can get this criminal out of here and you can buy me dinner as a thank you.”

“You’re the whole reason I needed saving!” Cass shot back, clearly frustrated. Levi would have never been this tragic as a sidekick! She was starting to miss her usual partners in crime. Still… she was glad she’d happened by. Sam definitely would have been toast without her and, as terrible a sidekick as he might have been, Cass definitely didn’t want anything to happen to him.