Empty Places

By SA Laybourn

The world has its empty places, and so does the heart.

Ellie Freeman, a low-level federal employee, is stuck in a dead-end desert town that no longer feels like home. What makes things worse are the threatening phone calls she's been getting. When Duncan Harris, a British journalist, stops by to interview her for a series he's writing, Ellie feels something close to hope that there's still good to be salvaged from her life. But before that hope can be fulfilled, Ellie is kidnapped.

When Duncan finds out what has happened to Ellie, he throws his journalist's neutrality out of the window and heads off to find her. What he discovers is a cult led by a deluded but charismatic leader. Somehow, he has to get Ellie out of his clutches and he'll do whatever it takes. When the cult leader raises the stakes, the mission becomes very personal indeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: Oct 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781786510778

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Empty Places

ISBN # 978-1-78651-077-8

©Copyright S A Laybourn 2016

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright September 2016

Edited by Rebecca Scott

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2016 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Sizzling and a Sexometer of 2.

EMPTY PLACES

S A Laybourn

The world has its empty places, and so does the heart.

Ellie Freeman, a low-level federal employee, is stuck in a dead-end desert town that no longer feels like home. What makes things worse are the threatening phone calls she’s been getting. When Duncan Harris, a British journalist, stops by to interview her for a series he’s writing, Ellie feels something close to hope that there’s still good to be salvaged from her life. But before that hope can be fulfilled, Ellie is kidnapped.

When Duncan finds out what has happened to Ellie, he throws his journalist’s neutrality out of the window and heads off to find her. What he discovers is a cult led by a deluded but charismatic leader. Somehow, he has to get Ellie out of his clutches and he’ll do whatever it takes. When the cult leader raises the stakes, the mission becomes very personal indeed.

Dedication

Many thanks to Kim for coming up with the perfect name for the dusty little Arizona town. This one’s for my Arizona friends. I can’t say I miss the crushing heat, but I miss you guys.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Walmart: Walmart Stores, Inc.

John Deere: Deere & Company

Kleenex: Kimberly-Clark Corporation

Dos Equis: Cuauhtémoc Moctezuma Brewery, Heineken International

Diet Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

Spam: Hormel Foods Corporation

Sheraton: Starwood Hotels and Resorts Worldwide, Inc.

Three Stooges: Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc.

Hershey Bar: The Hershey Company

James Bond: Ian Fleming, Eon Productions

McDonald’s: The McDonald’s Corporation

Little House on the Prairie: Laura Ingalls Wilder, NBC Universal Television Distribution

Adagio for Strings: Samuel Barber

Oscar: Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences

Kevlar: E. I. du Pont de Nemours and Company

Chapter One

Hey, bitch. Get out before we come for you.

Ellie hit the ‘Delete’ button. She had heard the flat, metallic voice many times before. The threat was the same. There was little point in saving the message. She’d played the original one for the police chief months ago. He’d shrugged, looked at her with sad brown eyes and said there was nothing he could do.

She leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling, counting the tiny holes in the panels until her hands stopped shaking. Beyond the flimsy walls of her office, a forklift truck wheeled in the latest depressing shipment of commodities—tinned meat, boxed cheese, powdered milk. Anonymous boxes stacked on shelves that had once housed a cornucopia of excess before the Walmart had shut down, the last hold-out against the Depression.

Twenty-two, twenty-three… It was taking longer than usual to slow her pulse. Ellie’s hands stopped shaking. She sat up, wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and wished her office had a window. She hated the brightly lit box. All the pictures in the world couldn’t transform it into anything other than a bureaucrat’s cheerless cell—another wonderful day at the office, another day serving penance for her stupidity. Ellie reached for her coffee and tried to ignore the burnt-toast taste. She nearly dropped the mug when Maria rapped on the door.

Ellie?

Come in.

Maria poked her head around the door. Your nine o’clock appointment is here.

Ellie glanced at the clock. It was only eight-forty-five. She hated people who turned up early, especially first thing in the morning, before she’d had a chance to ease into the day. Remind me who it is, again?

Duncan Harris, he’s a journalist. The Brit, remember?

Ellie had a vague memory of an Englishman phoning her. He was doing a series of feature articles for a British paper on Dust Bowl America. Someone had given him her name and he wanted to talk to her. All right. She put her phone on ‘Send Calls’. Wheel him in. I suppose he’ll want to see everything, so keep my diary empty for the rest of the day.

If it’s any comfort, Maria whispered, he’s not bad looking.

Ellie smiled. That’s all right, then. I’ll even forgive him for turning up early.

It’s probably no bad thing. It’s going to be fucking hot today, if you’ll pardon the French. It’s already ninety-five out there. You’ll be better off showing him around now before it gets too hot.

Why the hell would anyone want to come here during the monsoon?

Maybe he didn’t realize…

He soon will, poor guy. Ellie opened the top drawer of her desk and swept everything from the desktop into it. Send him in.

Maria returned a minute or two later with the journalist. Ellie took one glance at him and wished she’d made more of an effort with herself before she’d left the house. She rose and shook his hand. His grip was warm and firm and he offered her a smile made brighter by a day’s worth of dark stubble. He sank into the other chair and Maria disappeared, promising to return with more coffee.

So, how can I help you? Ellie looked at him. She was too used to the local rednecks with their goatee beards, white T-shirts and John Deere caps. Duncan Harris wore a pale blue shirt open at the throat, faded jeans, and already appeared as if he was suffering from the heat.

A friend of mine in DC gave me your name. He said you’d be a good person to speak to about how bad things are in Arizona.

Well, they’re certainly bad. You might’ve noticed that.

It seems fairly bleak.

When you’ve had your coffee, I’ll take you on the Grand Tour.

He removed a recorder from a bag and set it on the desk between them. Do you mind being recorded?

No, just turn it off when I give you any off-the-record stuff. There were things she wanted to say that didn’t need to be getting back to Washington.

That’s not a problem. He smiled again and Ellie tried to figure out whether his eyes were brown or browny-green.

How long have you been here?

Twelve years. I met my husband during our last year at U of A. He persuaded me to move here with him. He was born here and his dad wanted him to take over the family business. I’d grown up back East, in upstate New York, so I liked the idea of living somewhere where I didn’t have to put up with loads of snow every winter. She sighed and looked at the ceiling for a moment. I didn’t realize what a poor town it was. When we moved back here, there was a big housing boom. It was crazy, there were people camping out overnight at sales offices, waiting to buy a brand new house. Everyone here was really excited. They all thought great things were going to happen. It was a good time. Mike’s family had a landscaping business. We were all run off our feet with new clients. All those commuters to Phoenix and Tucson who didn’t have time to maintain their yards, we did it for them. The whole state was going crazy with the boom. She sighed again then sipped her cold coffee. The trouble was, everyone put their eggs into the housing basket. When the economy went south, so did everyone else.

Maria returned with more coffee and a scant handful of cookies. She set the tray on Ellie’s desk and departed with a wink.

Ellie poured his coffee and handed him the mug. She pushed the plate of cookies toward him. It went downhill very fast. When you’ve had your coffee I’ll take you out and show you. It’s better than me sitting here talking about it. You need to see the mess for yourself.

How’d you end up in this job?

When the business began to fall apart, I got a job with the state, in the benefits office. It was a lucky break. It kept me and Mike safe for a couple of years until the state ran out of money. Ellie stared past him, remembering. The budget was a mess. The state government couldn’t agree on anything. It was like trying to spread a little bit of butter on a huge piece of bread. It didn’t help that the state congress and the state houses were full of idiots who were all too busy trying to score political points instead of keeping things ticking over. The governor was an idiot. It got so bad that even the undocumented migrants started heading back home. She put her coffee down.

After two years it got so messed up that the feds had to step in and bail us out. They set up an interim government. Before I knew it, I was a federal employee. I was one of the lucky ones…until Mike was killed. Even after six years, it still hurt.

What happened? Harris’ voice was gentle.

Ellie fumbled in her pocket for a Kleenex. Some morons from out of town were doing a beer run. They helped themselves to a thirty-pack from a convenience store and were in such a rush to get away that they drove on the wrong side of the road. The police said that Mike probably never knew what hit him. It was a head-on collision. They were going about ninety miles an hour. She wiped her eyes.

I’m sorry. That must’ve been dreadful for you.

Ellie nodded. "It was dreadful for everyone. His father took it really hard. He was sick anyway, bad heart. He died about three months later. His mother moved back to California to live with her sister. If I had any sense, I would’ve left town and gone back east. But I didn’t have enough money. I’ve never had enough money. There was no question of selling the house because no one wanted to buy here. My salary pays the bills and that’s about it. I’ve put in for transfers, but there’s nothing. She leaned over and hit the ‘Stop’ button on the recorder. Off-the-record time. They want me to stay here. I’m so low down the totem pole that I don’t merit a transfer. I keep getting threats. I’ve told them, but they tell me not to worry, that all federal workers get threats."

Harris’ eyes widened. What kind of threats? From who?

Ellie pulled a notebook from her desk and handed it to him. There’s about fifty listed there. All saying the same thing and almost every day for the past two months. It could be anyone. There’s all kinds of crazy anti-government groups out here now. One pencil pusher managing a food distribution depot in a dead town in the middle of nowhere doesn’t merit the expense of protection.

What about the local police? Can’t they do something?

No. The chief told me to buy a gun. He’s operating on a wing and a prayer with three men and they have their hands full as it is.

Do you have a gun?

No. I can’t abide the things. I won’t have them in the house.

Don’t you think you ought to get one?

I keep thinking about it. I suppose I should. Ellie took her car keys out of her pocket. We should go before it gets too hot. Even with air conditioning in the car, it’s still going to be uncomfortable later. She rose, wanting to get out of the office, away from the memories and the phone.

Yeah, I noticed it was a bit warm. Harris retrieved the recorder and put it back in his bag.

Why did you come here at this time of year? Didn’t anyone tell you what it was like?

I’m on a schedule. I had no choice. He followed her out of the office into the echoing cave of the depot. The fans were already operating at full tilt, the whomp-whomp-whomp a comforting rumble.

Ellie found Maria checking off boxes against an inventory list. We’re out of here. If you need anything, give me a call.

All right, boss. Have a good time.

I guess we can start the tour here. Ellie paused. This used to be a Walmart until things went really bad. It was the last store standing. The government decided it was a good location for a commodities distribution center.

Commodities?

Government food. We serve a big area. Everyone can come here for food. We dole it out on a rotating basis, according to social security numbers.

What kind of food? Harris prodded at a box on a shelf. Cheese in a box?

Don’t knock it. It’s good stuff. We’ve got Spam, cereal, powdered milk, dried eggs, canned beef, rice, flour, beans. It’s not gourmet but it keeps a lot of people ticking over. We’re lucky here. The Mormon Church has a huge farm down the road and they always send us fresh produce and help out. A lot of people grow their own food and keep livestock. I know you wouldn’t think it, but if you keep things watered, the soil is good here. I’ll show you. Ellie walked toward the doors. They slid open with a hiss, admitting a blast of furnace heat.

Jesus Christ, her companion said. It’s fucking hot.

It’s still early. Wait until late afternoon. She glanced at the sky to the north and east. A few stray puffs of cloud hung over the White Mountains and away to the north. We might get lucky. If those clouds hold together, we’ll get a storm. We’ve had a crappy monsoon so far. She hoped it would come from the north. They were always the best storms, slow moving and wild. Ellie had long since learned not to take rain for granted. Every storm was an event.

How often does it rain here?

She unlocked the car. During the monsoon, if it’s a good one, we’ll get six or seven storms. We get rain in the winter too. If we’re lucky we’ll get about eight inches of rain a year.

That’s it?

This is desert. She smiled at his incredulity.

Christ, we can get that in a day or two on a bad day back home.

Ellie turned the key in the ignition and put the air conditioning on full. Cold, stale air blasted from the ducts. Yeah, I remember those days too, when I lived in New York. She backed out of the space and headed for the main road. The mountains were lost in a haze. A pair of dust devils danced around each other on a distant field. Her companion was silent as she headed south. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him staring out of the window. She recognized the ‘oh my God, this place is a mess’ look.

She took the first right, slowing down to avoid the cracks and potholes on the road that led to an older neighborhood. Most of the front yards had been turned over to gravel and hedged with cactus and bougainvillea, to keep out intruders and provide shade. Elderly mesquites cast shadows on the uneven sidewalks and on rusted, abandoned trucks. There were few weeds here because people still cared for the place. Tired block walls and faded wooden fences hid back yards that were filled with tidy rows of vegetables. A few people sat on their front porches and waved when Ellie drove past.

This is one of the better neighborhoods. Most of the people here have lived here a long time. The houses don’t look so great but at least they’re all occupied. I live just around the corner. She turned into the cul-de-sac and into a drive. I should get us some water. Come in.

Duncan followed Ellie into the house. It was cool and dark with shadows from the trees outside. He stood in the silent living room and listened to the somnolent ticking of the clock while she rummaged through her fridge. It was like any other living room. A comfortable, overstuffed sofa, piled with cushions. A book rested, open, over the arm and on a little side table there was a jumble of photographs in frames. Duncan put his hands in his pockets and wandered around. There were more photographs on the walls, jostling for space between paintings of desert scenes. He recognized a younger Ellie, hair caught in the wind as she smiled for the camera in front of a saguaro cactus. A tall man,