Strawberry Fields Forever [Deacon]

[Casey]

Deacon helped the kid get into his car before slamming the door and running to the other side. He was about to make Glen Grove a spot in the rear view mirror when the kid spoke. His hand hovered over the gear shift as he considered his opinions. The villagers probably survived the blast but they wouldn’t search the boy’s home first, they’d go to the interstate or something. That was unless they had scouts still in town. Swearing he shifted the car into drive.

“All right but you better know a way in that fast and keeps us off the beaten path kid,” he glanced at the passenger side, “And please make it fast”.

He really didn’t want to stay in the town any longer. Like he’d rather be exposed to anthrax at this point but the kid had been through a lot. See people, Deacon guessed his parents, die? That couldn’t be easy and it wasn’t like the villagers would take care of their possessions. He waited for the kids instructions before following the roads carefully, headlights off to avoid attention. When they arrived at the house Deacon stepped out to the car and walked over to the passenger side.

“You got ten minutes,” he said quietly, “and I’m coming with you”.

[Miles]

The interior of the car felt...safe. Through the window he could see the glow of the spreading fire, the leaves of the trees browning and withering away in the heat. Crackling wood echoed through the orchard, which suddenly seemed much larger than it always had. The fire would ironically nourish the soil, and maybe new life would grow...but he couldn't say the same for his parents. Any evidence of their physical being was now destroyed in the heart of the fire. He felt sick, he was angry, scared, he felt like his lungs were shriveling up inside of him. His eyes burned from the combination of smoke and tears, the salty liquid stinging at his skin. He was supposed to wake up...it was supposed to be a nightmare. Not reality.

Yet the car was cool, it brought solace, security. It meant escape, escape from the fire, from being a sacrifice to some god, escape from this stupid community....an escape from his previous life. His heart rate was slowing, his body communicating with his brain to stop the process of sweating. Closing his dark eyes and looking away, Miles noted that he needed to leave, maybe have this man drive him to a relatives house. His aunt lived a few cities over, it wouldn't be that long of a drive. He also needed to thank him, if the man hadn't cut him free when he had, he would have surely been stabbed. He owed this man his life. But then his mind jumped back to his parents...it was all over the place, and finally, it arrived at the idea that he needed to go home.

He could see that this man didn't like the sound of Miles wanting to go home, but in his own mind, it was something he had to do. He nodded quietly to him and gave him silent, simple directions that took him in a roundabout way to his home. It was clear, no one had been in town--no doubt they were in the process of trying to save the tree. The car stopped across the street, and Miles was out, and walking towards the door. He felt mechanical, like he wasn't even in control of his body as he moved. He just did it on his own, fishing in his pocket for his keys only to realize that they'd removed his belongings. It was no matter, he reached over to a pot, pulled out the fake plant, and removed the key. His house was just as he left it, the ceiling fan in the kitchen still on, sink dripping, lights humming.

Within a few minutes, Miles came downstairs with one item, the one that was his priority; his modified laptop. He set it and its charger by the door, and then looked at Deacon. "My aunt lives a few towns over...I'll get a bag of clothes, do you think you can drive me over to her house? I'll pay you for gas," he croaked out, rummaging around in a nearby closet for a large backpack he could stuff some clothes into.

[Casey]

Deacon carefully picked up the laptop and held it securely in his arms the way he held Art’s. If this was the first thing he grabbed it had to be important to the boy. At least it wasn’t a book cases, or something else difficult to carry and heavy. He took the backpack from him when he was done packing it.

“I’ll take you to your aunt’s later,” Deacon shouldered the bag, “The cult might look their escapee. For now I’ll take you back to my place, you’ll have your own room, I promise.”

He motioned for the kid to follow him and opened the door to his car for him and closed it when he was in. When he got to the other side he set the kid’s stuff behind the seat. Once secured he turned around and started the car.

He gave one last glance at Miles as he shifted into drive, “Name’s Deacon Rook, you got one too?”

[Miles]

Coming home had been a different experience from what he expected it would be just minutes before. Seeing the pictures of his family only locked in his fate, that he was now an orphan due to some supernatural being, and that he couldn't just go tell the police because they would think he was insane. He was strangely calm as he moved through his own home, the last time he would be calling it that. From now on the dainty little house in Sioux Falls, with his boring cousin that still played trading card games as a senior in high school. Off to that, maybe his computer could just keep him away from all of that.

Yes, his laptop was the most important thing to him. It was what gave him power, and now it was one of the only remaining items that held his life inside of it. There were files of the pictures around the house--an old project his mom had done a few years back--so he could browse through those occasionally. Deacon didn't complain, though, as Miles thought he might have, and for that, he was thankful. He didn't want pity, he wanted safety first and foremost. The town was still out to get them, especially since their tree had been burned down. Thanks to Deacon, no more sacrifices to that god could be made. No more parents would be taken from their children right before their eyes.

Miles looked at Deacon awkwardly when he told him that he wouldn't be going to his aunt's. As much as he was grateful, he still didn't understand completely. "Why your place? Do you know what they were doing back there?" he asked, making himself comfortable in the Ranchero. "Miles Geiger," he added, looking to the road as they drove away. In the mirror, he could see shadows being cast on the houses by the glow of the fire; the townspeople were coming, and they weren't happy. "Take this right," he said quickly, watching the mirror. He reached back and pulled his laptop over, propping it up (thankfully it was still on) and entering his password. With a few keystrokes and clicks, he had entered the towns electricity grid, and with another few strokes, the power to Glen Grove had been cut off, immersing the road in darkness.

[Casey]

"Because my place is safe, plan and simple," Deacon turned right as the kid said, "I couldn't guarantee what would happen at your aunt's. The people I set a light, can find your family members well enough, all they have to is spin a yarn. Tragedy makes it easier to get info out to people." It was true, tragedy and liqueur resulted in Deacon knowing much more than any regular citizen should have been privy too. He doubted anybody but him and the navy seals knew what actually happened in Cape Town in 1995.

"I'm harder to find and if they do find me I'm prepared," His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel as he got on the interstate, "They may know I'm in Keystone, but that's it. Besides I got two people to help me watch you. If the cult tries to do anything they'll either send up the bat signal or take care of them themselves."

"I'm not positive about what they were doing, I figure once I explain it to Art he'll figure it out. My wild ass guess is human sacrifice, what too? Haven't the slightest."

Deacon looked down and then back at the road, "Look Miles, I'm sorry I didn't get there soon enough to save your parents. This probably ain't the best timing but...ya gotta know that. I did everything I could and it wasn't enough."

He was quiet then said, "We should be hitting Keystone soon", and then nothing else.

[Miles]

Miles frowned as Deacon basically told him that his family wasn't good enough. What, explaining what happened to his family, and most likely to the police wouldn't bring more protection to him? Heck, the whole town was involved with his near death, and the death of his parents, so wouldn't they all be detained at the least? It didn't make much sense, unless Deacon knew what was going on and he was just lying to Miles. Miles wasn't exactly thick headed or dim witted, so biting the inside of his lip, he turned his gaze to Deacon, and trained his eyes on him, like they were digging into him. "Mr. Rook," Miles said, being polite, "you know something, don't you? My imagination isn't easily insulted, just tell me, please. Whatever it is, it caused my parents' deaths." His voice was shaky, and his eyes fell a few moments afterward.

"Yeah, but more prepared how?" he protested, his voice rising in its irritation level. "You've got two people compared to my whole family! That doesn't make sense!" He sunk in his seat, closed the laptop, and turned and looked out the window. None of this made sense! A human sacrifice, no, sacrifices, and now this mystery man that had saved him was telling him that three people watching over him wold be safer than his whole family. There was something that was missing, something that wasn't being said.

"Yeah..." he said quietly, in response to the comment about his parents. He remained silent when Deacon mentioned they would be hitting Keystone, and finally decided to do a little research. He had outfitted his computer to be able to hold onto internet signals, so driving with his laptop would be no issue. He brought up a program he had...'borrowed' from someone, though...they probably weren't aware of that. He typed in the name Deacon Rook, and then waited for the results to come up. "Deacon Rook, owner of the bar named The Wesson, location Keystone, South Dakota. So how does a bartender think that he can keep me safe?" he challenged.

[Casey]

Deacon closed his eyes for a split second before looking back at the road.

“I’m not trying to insult your imagination kid, I just really don’t have a clue. They were human so maybe they were witches or some giant ass coven. If they were possessed, which I’m doubting even though they were doing something that involved killing people. Vague but demons do that, killing people that is. Or it could be something I haven’t thought of, this is why I gotta talk to Art, he can figure it out. Usually.”:

“Safety in numbers, good thinking,” he rolled his eyes, “tell me has you aunt ever faced off with a shapeshifter? Your good ‘ole gramps exorcised a demon? Gone after a ghost? I doubt it, but if I’m wrong then I’d be more than happy to hand you over. We deal with the things you probably never would have considered real until the last few hours.”

He glanced over at Miles typing on his computer. Art was going to get a kick out of this kid.

“Smart boy,” he chuckled, “I’m going to keep you safe by protecting you from the things people think are just in stories to scare children or adapted into bad movies. I’m also going to keep you below the radar. How do plan on explaining to your family that your parents were killed by a crazy village? Then who are the police going to believe, a kid or a town that just had their source of income barbequed with a good story? With look they’ll think you dead and we can just wait for this to blow over.”

[Miles]

This man...was clearly insane. Miles sat idly by, giving Deacon an incredulous look from the passenger seat. Did he say...possessed? Yeah, that could be used as a figure of speech, like 'what possessed him to do that' sort of thing...but this man was seriously talking about possessions...and demons? He felt strange, like he'd gotten in the car with the wrong person, and that he would have been better off calling the cops back in town. He blinked a few times, and remained silent. His earlier protests were lost in his mind, which was now focused on the fact that Deacon Rook was nuts, and now Miles was trapped with him.

When he continued on, naming off different monsters from fables, Miles had enough. Unlocking the door, Miles glanced at Deacon. "Thanks Mr. Rook, but, uh, I think I can take it from here. I just remembered, there is a friend I can stay with in this city here, I can, uh, lay low." he said. He didn't want to outright accuse the guy of insanity, but he couldn't just sit in the car any longer. "Good luck with those, uh, demons and shape shifters, and whatever else," he said, waiting for the car to stop. It didn't. His stomach sank.

"Right...well, you do know that none of those things exist, right? There is no such thing as ghosts or demons or shape shifters. Its impossible, and if there was, I'm sure we'd know about them by now. Can you please just let me out of the car? I owe you my life, yeah, but...I'm sorry, you're clearly insane."

[Casey]

“Says the kid who was almost a human sacrifice,” Deacon drawled. He threw the kid a quick smirk and shook his head. “Listen a few months ago I was in the same boat as you but I kinda had a close encounter. Ever since they I was drafted into this.”

His hand shot out and grabbed Miles by the arm, “Do you knows what happens to the body when it hits asphalt at sixty-five miles per hour? Now that’s insanity.” He looked at the boy with a dead serious expression before reaching across him and relocking the door, “I don’t want the kid I just saved dead or with a broken neck. Even if you did make it your lap top wouldn’t so you’d either have to leave it behind or get it lodged in some part of your body after jumping. As much as Art would like a new computer I don’t think it’s worth your life.”

“It does exist as much as I hope and pray it doesn’t,” Deacon said looking back at the road, “Something happens at least once a week to remind me. How about this, I make sure you get a good night sleep, and then I take you to your friends. Besides a crazy person’s place is the safest to be. No one messes with crazy.” He winked at the boy as he exited off the interstate. While he looked relaxed he kept an ear out for the boy trying to open the door.

When they got closer he pulled out his phone and dialed Art.

“Hello?” Came a groggy voice.

“Quite playing I know you haven’t gone to sleep yet.”

“Fine,” Art said normally, “what do you want or are you just checking in on me?”

“I need you to meet me outside The Wesson. We got ourselves a new guest, figure he’d find you more approachable.”

“A new…guest?” Deacon could practically see Art’s eyebrow raise.

“Just put whatever book it is your reading down and meet me outside,” Deacon said, “And make sure your decent.” He hit the end button and slipped it into his pocket.

“Almost there kid,” he muttered to Miles as they turned onto a back road outside of town that would get them to The Wesson in a few minutes.

[Miles]

"You're insane!" Miles yelped as Deacon grabbed his arm. "I'm not going to throw myself out of the car, you idiot! I asked you to pull over!" This man was psychopathic, going on about demons and supernatural beings, and trying to justify his claims by saying that Miles was a human sacrifice. Sure, he'd been sacrificed, but not to some demon, not to some shape shifter! "Let me out, you're raving on about things that don't exist! Seething in his seat, he let Deacon drive on, silently consenting to his request that he stay with him for one night.

When he pulled out the cell phone, Miles listened carefully to the conversation. It was vague for Miles, but it probably spoke wonders to this person. More approachable?! So he would be dealing with more delusional people, that was just great. He sat in his seat, staring out the window, and watched as Keystone came into view. Tourists lined the sidewalks, and as they moved closer into town, the car slowed. When it stopped, Miles grabbed his bag, and his laptop, and climbed out of the car, looking at the tall youth standing outside of the building designated The Wesson.

[Casey]

Deacon sighed and shrugged, “Probably, and forgive me if I’m a bit distracted. It’s been a long night kid and just because you asked doesn’t mean you wouldn’t have bailed. Happened to a friend of mine freshman year of high school, true he was wasted as hell but I’m guessing trauma might have a similar effect. That and the added incentive you think you’re in the car with a crazy person. If my mother was here then that’d be true but for now it’s debatable.”

“And don’t worry your little head,” he huffed getting out of the car, “I promise I’m going to take you to your aunt’s tomorrow morning. Even if I am crazy, you can sure bet I’ll keep my word.”

“So you’re admitting to being crazy now?” Art said slightly amused with his arms crossed almost comically due to his oversized black sweatshirt.

“Ha, ha,” Deacon huffed closing and locking the door, “Help the kid up to a room.”

Art stuck his tongue out at his brother before walking up to the kid and out of reflex, gently taking his bag. He gave the younger boy a weak smile, his eyes kind behind his glasses and motioned for him to follow. As he stepped on the porch he stopped and turned to Deacon, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten that you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Deacon just rolled his eyes and waited for the boys to go inside.

“I’m Arthur by the way,” he held out a hand to the kid only to stop and pull up his sleeve so he actually had a hand to offer, “Who are you?”

[Miles]

Miles didn't even glance back over at Deacon when he spoke again, instead he rolled his eyes at the window, thanking whatever force was out there that it was night, and that the window wouldn't show his reflection. He didn't know how many times he'd have to make it clear, but he really wasn't stupid. He knew full well what the term road rash meant, and he intended to keep his body in one piece, thank you very much. Aside from that, they were on a pretty busy street, so jumping out would be a death wish, and wasn't that what he had just escaped? He supposed that Deacon didn't realize this because of that whole being insane thing, which Miles couldn't really help.

Miles grabbed his bag, and closed his laptop and slid it beneath his arm as he exited the car. The Wesson didn't look like much of some stronghold where nothing could get to him, in fact, wasn't this thing open to the public? Holding his tongue, he walked forward and let the guy take his bag, his laptop still firmly beneath his arm--no way he'd be getting that too. "Miles," he said, following him inside and glancing around as they passed through the main bar area, then up the stairs to where the rooms were. "Assuming that you know that man, Deacon, does that mean you're equally as crazy? You're not going to babble on about...what did he say...shape shifters too, are you?"

[Casey]

Art raised an eyebrow at the other boy as walked up the stairs, “I’d like to think so but you can never really be sure if you’re crazy when you are crazy. Well according to catch 22 anyways. Good book.” He stopped and scratched his neck when he realized he was starting to go on a tangent.

“No I’m not going to go off about shapeshifters,” he answered honestly and given the vibe the kid was projecting he wasn’t going to go off on any “the truth is out there” topics. “I’m just going to get you settled in a room, food to if you want any.”

He took a right down the hall and unlocked the first door. Art set the Miles’ bag on the bed and gave him another small smile before turning to leave.

“If you need anything me or Deacon are usually up. The bathroom is out your door and to the left, end of the hall. I’ll be downstairs for the moment though,” he waved bye before shutting the door behind him, “Sleep well.”

Art waited a minute or so to see if their new guest needed anything. Sighing he turned and went down the stairs to talk to his brother. Something told him he had a lot to say about the night’s events.

[Miles]

Ultimately, Miles gave up. He wasn’t in the mood to sit there and try to talk to this guy, who was dodging the question by alluding to a novel. The events of the night were beginning to bore down on him, his adrenaline falling with great speed. His body now felt tired, his mind looping the sight of his parents being slain before his eyes. All he really wanted to do was sleep, and wake up at home, with his mother cooking breakfast like she had the tendency of doing, and his father watching the morning news, while Miles would type away on his laptop. But he knew that wouldn’t happen, that he would wake up the next morning in the same bar and hotel, with the events of the prior day all very real.

“Thank you,” Miles breathed when Art told me he wouldn’t be going on about shape shifters. He shook his head at the offer of food, his stomach not liking the idea. He walked into the room, glanced around at the rather plain and simple make, and then watched Art walk out the door.

He sighed and sat on the bed, setting his computer beside him, and then fell backwards, arms sprawled out to the sides. He closed his eyes, breathing in slowly, breathing out slowly, and trying to find some orifice of his mind where he could lock all of the pain away permanently. The cushiony bed felt comforting, and it drew him in. However, unable to quell his mind, his eyes opened again, and he moved over to the desk on the side of the room, opening his laptop and pulling up his web browser.

Two hours later, at the start of a new day though the sky outside didn’t hint to that, Miles descended the stairs down into the bar area, finding Deacon behind the bar, and Art sitting on one of the barstools. With his laptop in hand, he set it on the bar, the screen still hidden from view. Looking straight at Deacon, his face showed just how exhausted he was. “I heard the people that were guarding the cellar talking about some guy that looked like he knew too much and snooping through town. How did you know what was going on?” he asked, and then spun the laptop towards him. “And I thought I heard that tree scream, but I told myself it was someone, a person. Yet you said that it might have been a pagan god. How could that thing be a god?!” he asked, voice raising slightly, looking between Deacon and Art.

[Casey]

Art sat at the bar pouring over more of his books, note pad to the side. Since he made Deacon give every detail, twice, began researching. It was relatively easy to narrow down the field to what it was but something wasn’t making sense. Of course his OCD wasn’t helping with him let this go. At least he had a tangible reason for staying up.

“You’re paranoid, aren’t you?” He asked his brother in a bored tone.

Deacon continued cleaning out the glasses behind the bar, “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I gotta get this place clean and that trip ran up my time.”

Art tapped the pencil against his lips, but kept his head down, “Right.”

He sighed and set the glass and rag on the counter, “I don’t know what I’m going to do Art. Told the kid I was going to take him to his Aunt’s, and I intend too. But, it’s like I got this feeling that if I do, something bad’ll happen.”

“I got the same feeling,” Art said looking at his brother for a second.

The Rooks were silent for several minutes until Deacon finally said, “Oh God, we sound like our mother.” Art felt a chill go down his spine and the two looked at each other, making a nonverbal agreement to never think a thought like that ever again.

Both brothers looked up when they heard Miles coming down the stairs. Art closed his book and slid the notepad underneath. He didn’t think Miles would appreciate knowing that he was involved in hunting like his brother. Deacon just straightened behind the bar and watched the stairs.

They both listened to him and letting him have their full attention. After he was done they glanced at one another, trying to decide how to handle the situation. Art titled his head and raised an eyebrow and Deacon sighed and nodded.

“I got a message telling me to go to Glen Grove,” Deacon began, “This guy, Casey has been telling me and others that work in this…field I guess. He knows his what he’s on about but never gives enough details. The Pagan god was just a guess,” he said honestly.

“But,” Art said pulling out his notes, “He wasn’t wrong.” He hoped down off the stool and showed Miles the pad and the pages he’d just been reading.

“I was looking for some other explanation at first. Mostly because the area the god was supposed to come from wasn’t the temperate for orange trees, which is what Deacon said it was. The markings however were to specific to be anyone else. So I’m figuring they transplanted a branch from the original tree to the orange tree. Either someone was actively trying transport the god or it was some stupid attempt to hybridize the trees. Farmer sometimes do that. The last one that is, not the god transplanting one.”

He shifted after he was done, “Was that what you were asking or was it about the more metaphysical thing about the tree being a god? Don’t really got a short and sweet answer for that other than, it just happens. It’s not the first case from what I’ve been able to read.”

Art was quiet again and Deacon moved so he was standing opposite of Miles, “What do you wanna do now kid? And while your deciding that, you want some water or milk?”

Art gave a Deacon a face that was along the lines of “What are you smoking?”. He just shifted and shrugged, “What?”. Art rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of his brother being hopeless.