Conscience

By Cathleen Haskill

The most notorious man in Miners Point has just returned to town, and people have started dying. Others have gotten deathly ill, and no one can seem to figure out why. Jim Craig is a small-town sheriff thrust into the middle of something that falls outside the realm of protecting and serving and outside of what seems plausible. Hoping to find some answers before any more people die, Jim engages the help of Mike Flannagan from the neighboring town. What they think they have found will change everything, if only people would believe them.

How is it possible that two respected men in their communities are considered crazy? Or is that insanity itself now contagious?

Something is going wrong in this small town in the middle of nowhere, and it's starting to spread.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638604587

Book preview

Contents

A Little History

The End of History

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

A Little History

Small towns seem to have a history, even in America where history is, in relative terms, almost nonexistent. Despite this relative youth, small-town memory seems far longer, older, so to speak, and events are rarely forgotten. Miners Point was such a place. While the town itself seemed to lack some of the charm of the typical American small town, it was and still is an undiscovered country in an ever-shrinking world. Even back in its heyday, it was too small to be noticed by many, and being more of a blue-collar town than a quaint metropolis, it did not offer enough to attract those who did notice. The hills, so referred to by the people of Miners Point, though most others would have categorized them as small mountains, had sheltered the town and protected it and hundreds of miles around it. It was a veritable island in the sea of trees that separated it from the population around it.

The town consisted of a single main street and a few offshoots from that main street that held the odd businesses or shops. While technically there was one traffic light in the town, no one in Miners Point paid attention to it since its transformation from a functioning traffic light into a blinking light almost ten years ago. The transformation was little more than a formality even then since there were too few people left in the town to offer anything in the way of a traffic jam. There were far more accidents outside of the town than there had ever been at the main intersection of the town in its entire history. The last reported accident at that intersection had happened long before there even was a traffic light.

According to the aged yellow records housed in the old storefront that now served as the town hall, Herman Wysner had been drinking too much of the moonshine that was one of the more lucrative endeavors of yesteryear. After three drinks beyond the point where he could not see clearly without covering one eye, Herman had driven his wagon into that of Morgan Holland, who technically had the right of way. It didn’t help that Herman’s twenty-eight-year-old gelding was half blind, which meant he could see only slightly better than Herman on too much moonshine. That little tidbit about the gelding existed as town lore rather than actual record, though in a town this small, there was likely as much truth to those very old rumors as there was flotsam and jetsam floating around them, obscuring the idyllic crispness of the entire truth. Old memory, it seemed, was more reliable than new memory, or perhaps the contributors to old memory were more stoic and dedicated to honesty. Whatever the truth, the only people who did more than the occasional slowdown as they approached the blinking light were the odd passerby who glanced quickly at the town on the way to somewhere else, usually without stopping.

May Winters had spent her entire life in Miners Point walking past that light, wishing for a life elsewhere, wishing she were one of the people in the cars that kept on driving. On quiet nights when her loneliness and boredom overtook her, she would dream of getting out. In the morning, she would get up and go about her life as usual. She would tell herself she had never found the time. The truth was, she had never found the courage; sometimes she would even admit it in the sporadic quiet moments of the morning. It was then that she would sometimes wonder what life would have been like in another town, born to another family, perhaps a better family.

Unfair, she thought to herself. Her mother was a good woman, a strong mother who taught her the value of hard work. In her own way, May was sure her mother had demonstrated as much love as she was capable of, and May did not begrudge her for not being more compassionate…in a way. May shook her head as if to shake the cobwebs loose and put her coffee cup in the sink.

To this day, May worked hard, going from day to day doing what needed to be done, and she did thank her mother for her strength. Sometimes, though, she wished she had learned to laugh more, to dream harder, and perhaps things would have been different. Then thoughts of her father pervaded her mind and caused her to rethink things a bit. Perhaps things weren’t quite as bad as she imagined, and she thanked her mother even more, mostly for not letting her father have any more influence on their lives than he did. May didn’t know much about her father, but what little she knew was enough. He didn’t have the same work ethics her mother had by any means; maybe he had none at all. May didn’t remember her father but heard enough around town. According to that old town memory, her father hadn’t worked very hard at anything except trying to convince other people of his superiority and thereby trying to make them work for him—a tactic that never did quite work for him. Emma did not speak much of her life with Martin, and therefore, the information May had came mostly from the constant permeable small-town gossip that occasionally revolved around her father rather than from her mother’s stingy memory. As gossip goes, it was pretty typical, which is to say that it was probably overdramatized yet oddly essentially true, intermixed with bits and pieces of lies and fantasy, and therefore could never be fully believed but was somehow still real. May didn’t know what she wanted to believe or even if she cared. But she did wonder. May’s mother had done her best by her daughter, and yes, May had to be thankful for that.

Today, unfortunately, May could not get the thoughts of her father out of her mind. Moments like this did not happen often to her, but when they did, the world seemed a little grayer. Events from yesterday didn’t do very much to help the situation.

According to many accounts, May’s father had tried to change things once, had tried to make the town more than it was when he arrived, and had he succeeded, perhaps the coming history would have been different. Unfortunately for Martin, and perhaps the entire world, things didn’t change very easily in this small town and almost never without the support of the townspeople. The townsfolk had stopped coming to the diner of May’s mother in response to Martin Winters’s actions, and the diner had all but gone out of business. It appears that even being the only diner in a small town could not guarantee its survival.

May did not know much at all the history that was her mother’s life or of her father and the grandparents whom she had never met. Sometimes she would imagine what things had been like for them, but as it was with most daydreams, the truth was far grander…and darker than the odd imagining of a small-town girl.

It seemed that May Winters’s father wasn’t happy with small-town life. That was true and well-known by almost everyone in town and therefore well-known by May. The rest, though, no one had even come close to.

Martin Winters had grown up in an affluent part of Philadelphia, himself the child of a businessman who had worked hard and been rewarded handsomely. His mother had benefited from his father’s good fortune and used it to the fullest potential.

Samantha Reynolds had been a social climber with little ambition other than to be taken care of by a man of means. Victor Winters had been captivated by her charm and beauty and married her almost immediately after they had met. One would have felt sorry for Victor had they not understood that he had ulterior motives of his own. Samantha was beautiful, vivacious, and full of connections that her own father had cultivated. She was also very fickle and not at all concerned about fidelity. Victor had been entranced by Samantha and truly loved her; however, that was not the primary reason he had married her. He had loved a couple of women before her, but they could not offer him the position or at least the opportunity he so deeply desired. Samantha was love to Victor, but she was also a step-up.

Life was good for the couple for about five minutes before Samantha found greener pastures. Her first affair had begun not more than a year after they had taken their vows. Samantha had gotten pregnant fairly early in their marriage, but not before the affairs had begun. Martin was born into a household that really did not want him and certainly did not have the time for him. His mother was too busy contemplating how to keep herself occupied in the mansion that housed the man who would support her but whom she did not love while involving herself in an inconspicuous affair so as not to offend any of the powerful friends and acquaintances her husband had cultivated. Affairs were acceptable and almost expected in their particular social circle, but one could not flaunt them. The appearance of propriety needed to be maintained. Children were also required within their circle, and that was the primary reason Samantha had not terminated Martin when he resembled a prawn. Her maternal instincts were comprised more of social expectation than desire. Fortunately, the wealth of Samantha’s husband afforded her the best nannies in addition to her sizable line of credit.

Victor retaliated in kind. He had initially been angry and then despondent to his wife’s foray into adultery. His coping mechanism had been burying himself even further in his work and allowing himself the same freedoms with women that his lovely wife had taken with her men. The fact that his son had so closely resembled the woman who had betrayed him and looked nothing like himself did not help, and Victor was essentially as absent in his son’s life as Samantha. Victor occasionally wondered if the boy was his if he thought of him at all. Their complete apathy for their son and their propensity for extramarital relationships seemed to be the two major things that Samantha and Victor had in common fifteen years into their marriage, that and a desire to give up nothing either of them felt they were due, and so they stayed married. After they had worked the bugs out of the affairs they were both determined to have due either to boredom or spite, they settled into a fairly innocuous lifestyle, filled with subtle deceit and stellar success.

By the time Martin had been a teenager, he had discovered he despised his parents. This did not seem to be a failing in his familiar surroundings. However, the fact that this actually bothered him did, and because he did not have the integrity or strength of character to break away, he learned to despise himself. He was smart enough to know he was weak, but too stupid or apathetic to correct the problem, and so he lied. He took advantage of all his parents would provide, convincing himself that he was entitled and that working had nothing to do with power and success. Had he not been so good at fooling himself, he might have realized that the vultures with which his parents had flown could tell their own but, more importantly, could identify the weak, and this particular species of vulture did not wait for the weak to die before they began to pick them apart. Martin had barely survived college, his father being the cornerstone of his collegiate existence. About this, he had lied to himself as well.

His flailing college career had provided him with a degree in business, but no business sense, and as his upbringing had provided him with no common sense, for all intents and purposes, Martin Winters was senseless. He meandered around adulthood with no purpose or goal. The women in whom he was interested in could smell money and had a born-in intuition that successfully navigated them around those who could not provide it.

His first really big mistake (other than his mere existence) seemed to have been marrying a small-town girl. Emma was completely captivated by his bullshit. To Emma, the city was a strange large creature without discernable head or tail but with an overwhelming appetite. While she was here only for a college experience, and hopefully a way out of Miners Point in the process, Emma had found so much more than she could have expected. In her dreams, the city was a pristine metropolis full of truth and light. What she found when she arrived terrified her more than she could have imagined. This mouthless, limbless creature would find a way to absorb and devour the unsuspecting, much like the fungus she had seen in a book at the local library. Because her parents did not have a television, she could only put animation to the pictures using her imagination. In Emma’s mind, the city was much like the fungus, but with more allure and viciousness, fueled by a cold, ruthless heart. This creature would also consume and destroy its prey slowly and stealthily, with more pretty lights and fragrant anesthetic than was within the genetic grasp of a mold. In such a way, the city would have a firm hold on a person before they were aware of it, and by the time they were aware of how deeply they were snared, there was little time for panic. Very shortly, numbness and apathy settled in, forever changing them and the landscape they had once occupied.

Her first days at college were overwhelming and scary. Emma was unaccustomed to the sheer life of the city. Even on a college campus, things moved far faster than she was used to. She settled in fairly well after a few weeks but could already see that she would find a way to not be back for a second year. Working at the diner was good enough for her, which was exactly what Emma’s mother did not want. Judy Tossley wanted better for her daughter, as most people want for their children. She didn’t want Emma to settle in Miners Point if she could in any way prevent it. It wasn’t so much the small-town life that was to be dreaded but more so the small-town mentality. Edmond was a good man, but after twenty years, give or take, Judy was more than bored. She was numb. Judy didn’t know for sure if she could prevent the same fate for Emma, but she sure was going to try. So Emma went off to college and coped.

It wasn’t until almost halfway through her first year that Martin made his appearance. Martin Winters was a senior on his third or fourth go-round, not really wanting to decide what he wanted to do so he wouldn’t have to actually make a move. On some level, Martin knew his father wasn’t going to bring him into the family business, though on a level a little closer to the surface, he had always hoped. Like a murky swamp, the stuff closest to the surface forms a repulsive barrier, causing one to try to identify what’s really hiding without having to go into the water. Martin only looked as far as the surface would allow without actually having to get dirty and so only dealt with the shallow things. And with that, Martin always dealt with the disappointment—the disappointment he was to his father and his disappointment in his father.

Girls on campus knew better than to get involved with Martin. Though his father’s money got him into an Ivy League school, it couldn’t make Martin an Ivy League player. Had Victor been old money, that might have been enough to make Martin somewhat palatable, thereby preemptively aborting the future that had come to be, but even the money of Samantha’s father wasn’t old enough to buy her son any leeway. Ultimately, Martin had to go off campus to get the kind of attention he felt he deserved. Off campus, Martin was able to bullshit his way around the ladies fairly well. He was careful to avoid any who even seemed to have another guy interested in her. Martin’s cowardice was so deeply ingrained that he made a fairly decent job of avoiding confrontation without even knowing it. There had been a few girls who had been interested in him, and one or two who were even almost not repulsive. Beverly Windnago was an attractive girl, and for a while, Martin thought he had a chance with her. Beverly was initially enamored with Martin, but once the new wore off the relationship, she began to wonder. It seemed women with brains or experience ultimately came to the same conclusion about Martin. Beverly thought perhaps she could overlook all the doubts she had; understanding Martin came from money was good at first, and after she verified his credentials, though not as glorious as Martin made them out to be, they were better than a lot of the guys on campus and certainly all of them whom she would ever have a shot at. It wasn’t until Martin finally worked up the nerve to seduce Beverly that she realized there was no way she could spend enough time married to this man to obtain a sizable divorce settlement. The sex was more like one of the really old roller coasters at the nearby amusement park, the kind made out of wood. Not only did it not look appealing once you got closer but it was also rickety and bumpy, and the mere jerking of it almost made her want to vomit. On top of it, Martin’s mewling like a hungry kitten for her to tell him how good it had been made her skin crawl. It took Martin almost a month of not getting return phone calls to realize that Beverly, too, was out of his reach. Once again, somewhere deep, Martin knew he had failed, but his mind had conjured some reason for it to be her fault. On the single occasion after their demise that Martin saw Beverly, he made every attempt to humiliate her without seeming like a wounded asshole. He failed miserably, and though Beverly had the decency to walk away without playing into his little temper tantrum, she and her friends found weeks’ worth of pleasure in mocking and tearing apart in detail the pathetic excuse for a man that Martin Winters had turned out to be.

Martin had almost run out of excuses to stay in college when he met Emma. She was quiet and didn’t talk with many of the girls on campus, so chances were that Martin was still undiscovered country to her. Further, while Emma had a brain cell or two in her head, she was somewhat naive. Martin latched on to her like a leech. Though not particularly striking, Martin could certainly have done worse. And most of all, she liked him. Emma truly liked Martin Winters, which was almost enough to save him.

The first time they had met was so typical of old movies that it was almost comical. Martin had been looking at a rather tall leggy brunette (funny how they always seem to be floating around college campus) and hadn’t been looking where he was going. The mousy Emma, as she usually did, was looking at her feet as she pushed her way out of the science building door, hoping to catch a few minutes in a quiet place in the sun before she made her way to her literature class. Martin and Emma rather mutually walked into each other with such force that they knocked each other on their butts. Emma unwittingly had almost preempted the disastrous future that consumed her world. Had she pushed the door open a second later, she could have knocked Martin clear down the steps and, with any luck, broken his neck. Unfortunately, she only mildly bruised his tailbone.

Martin sat stunned at the top of the stairs to a building he had no business in, looking at a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl who had such a look of shock and surprise on her face that he couldn’t help but smile. It might have been the first genuine smile that had swept across Martin’s face since he had been a small child filled with wonderment at a stray cat that had come up to him, purring as it rubbed its scruffy head on his leg. Had Emma seen anything of Martin Winters before she had seen that smile, she would not have looked twice at him. As it was, his was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

Let me help you with those, Martin surprised himself by saying. He shocked himself by actually picking up several of the books that the collision had ejected onto the foot of the stairs. Martin had never before stooped to picking up anything off the ground—that was what temper tantrums and servants were for. Emma blushed looking up at Martin, the smile still there, but now softer and surprisingly prettier. When she opened her mouth to say thank you, Martin was captured by her melody.

For the next few hours, Martin and Emma walked around in the early spring sunshine, talking and laughing with each other. Martin had found in himself an honest laugh that he hadn’t really understood was there before. Emma found the first person on this whole ridiculous campus whom she thought she could actually be herself with.

The midmorning seemed lazy yet captivating. Was it that there was beauty on the campus that neither of them had noticed before, or was it that they had only learned to see through the postpubescent haze that all young adults managed to succumb to? While Emma had not eaten breakfast and was desperately hungry for lunch, the thought that this charming man would be repulsed by the sight of her chewing or the accidental burp or slurp kept her from accepting his invitation for lunch. She insisted that she did not want to break the charm of the early spring sunshine. Martin found this behavior charming for reasons he could not understand. Was it the fact that she seemed more than human to him at this moment or that he didn’t have to spend any money on her and she would still be captivated? Either way, and without too much deliberation, Martin followed this creature in a hapless path around the campus that seemed perfect and right.

The afternoon ended with neither of them wanting to say goodbye. For the first time, Emma had missed two classes and didn’t even mind really. Their parting was hesitant with no real promise of anything further but a mutual hope that there would be more. Emma didn’t tell Martin where she lived, a promise she had made to her mother upon leaving home, but planned to make a concerted effort to be visible.

For his part, Martin found something he had never known before. This little girl from the country seemed to care about him, not his money and not his family. She didn’t ask him what he was going to do with his life or how he was going to take care of her or why he had been in college for almost seven years. She just talked to him. If the rest of the world, which had momentarily faded into the background during this little encounter, could have stayed just a bit further back for just a bit longer, Martin might have been able to find the one thing that would have saved him. As it was, it lasted about six months.

As the springtime matured into the beginnings of summer, Emma and Martin still found ways to be completely happy with each other. Emma, having lived a small-town life with her own overbearing mother and milk-toast father, had found that compliance was the better part of a relationship. Her mother wore the pants in the family and made it clear to Emma that she would until the day she died, with her husband as well as her daughter. Emma learned to be compliant while not being terribly resentful. This tool had served her well in her relationship with Martin.

For his part, Martin found a part of himself that he almost liked. Emma had her failings—he unfortunately found out during the four months they were together—but her quiet spirit and easy smile more than made up for them. She was also modest and naive in a way that warmed his heart. It took the pressure off him having to perform. After his encounter with Beverly, he had developed a phobia against sex (with anyone other than himself) and was grateful that Emma was content with hugging and kissing. Somehow, this mild creature had found a way to not only accommodate all his eccentricities but also counteract them without trying. She seemed to be the antidote to all that ailed Martin Winters. For the first time in his life, Martin felt hope. He didn’t know what to do with an emotion so pure and foreign, but he was grateful for its presence and clung to Emma in a way that he could not understand.

If only Martin had been able to convince Emma to stay in the city, things might have been different for both of them.

Emma did not even have to give the thought any consideration. She would not live in the big city permanently and had no intention of going back to school to complete her second year. Martin, still not willing to admit defeat even though he had wallowed in it his entire life and willing yet to follow this lovely creature anywhere, if for a short time, had decided to return to Emma’s hometown. Fearing reproach from Emma’s family and possibly the town, Martin and Emma made hasty plans to get married. Emma had dreamed of a beautiful wedding with all her friends back home but could not even mold one of the existing boys in the town into her dream man and could never before see the wedding in its completeness. Martin filled the empty space beside her in all her dreams of a wedding, so not having the rest of the dream did not really bother her. Emma truly loved this man, and a quick wedding at the justice of the peace was more beautiful than she could have ever hoped. Martin did not have a clue who he would invite to a wedding, having no friends or family he cared about or respected enough to inconvenience for a wedding, and found the justice of the peace equally as perfect.

The walk out of the courthouse was a quiet and nervous moment for Emma. What little she had heard about sex, she had heard in passing from the girls on campus, not having the courage to partake in the conversations herself. It terrified her, and here she was. Their wedding had been put together so quickly she had little time to concern herself with what would come after, and now she was plodding toward it with a sense of trepidation. She had a little bit of an idea what to expect, but no knowledge of how to participate. Kissing Martin had been the high point of her time at college; spending time with him had made it bearable. What if she messed that all up with what was to come? She slowed her steps, Martin’s hand trailing behind him in hers as he noticed her hesitation.

What’s the matter? he asked her, embracing her gently, putting his lips softly against her forehead.

Emma didn’t know what to say, didn’t even bother to open her mouth. Around her, the sounds of the city mocked her silence, taunting her to say anything that would keep this wonderful man from realizing what a mistake he had made.

Martin was not known for intuition but found himself connecting on a level he had never known with any other person before.

Don’t be afraid…there is nothing to be afraid of, he whispered, his lips still pressed against her forehead. He hugged her and rocked her as the people bustled by them on the streets. The city was still a safe place, and people still did their best not to bother the young couple blocking the sidewalk.

Instead of heading back to his apartment to carry his bride across the threshold (a feat Martin was not sure he could carry off; among other things, sports or anything in the way of physical conditioning was not in Martin’s nature), he stepped back from his literally blushing bride and squeezed her hand. He looked around hastily for something that might possibly distract his young wife. Wife. He smiled at the idea. Emma saw Martin smile and was sure he was laughing at her inside. This was not the way she had pictured her wedding day at all.

Come on, he whispered to her. I know this place that has the best strawberry rhubarb pie in the city. I know we didn’t have time for a wedding cake, he whispered, brushing a stray hair that had blown across her face with the passing of a speeding truck, but I’m pretty sure this will make up for it.

Emma, for a moment, thought Martin was mocking her again, until she saw the smile that lit up his face. He was really quite handsome when he smiled. It would not take long for Emma to realize that this same smile could make his face menacing as well.

The pie was as wonderful as Martin had promised, and between bites, they had conversations like they had had on the first day they had met, filled with wonder and excitement. They each had two pieces, and Martin was wondering if he could stomach a third when Emma looked at him, head tilted downward, as if studying the remaining piece of pie she knew she would not finish, eyes looking directly into Martin’s.

It’s time to go, she said.

Martin did not say another word, nor did he wait for the waitress to bring his bill. He walked up to the register, put his money next to it (more than enough to cover the check and leave a sizable tip), then walked back to the table, taking his wife’s hand, and escorted her out of the restaurant.

That late spring afternoon would be one of Emma’s fondest in the days that followed.

Martin did manage to carry his wife over the threshold and straight into his plain bedroom. Martin’s skills had not progressed much since his encounter with Beverly Windnago, but Emma was a virgin and did not know any better. Their first experience was awkward and painful, as was the second, but Martin’s tenderness between early afternoon and early evening comforted Emma.

After a quiet four-day honeymoon in Martin’s neat, rather roomy apartment, they made their plans to head back to Miners Point. Emma did not know it yet and would not realize for several months—life had a way of sneaking up on you and punching you in the face when you least expected it—that she was already pregnant. In any other circumstance, this would have been a happy event. Had Emma agreed to stay in the city, the outcome still might have been a somewhat happy occasion. As it was, Emma’s honeymoon was the beginning of the undoing of her marriage.

Are you sure I can’t talk you into staying? Martin almost pleaded for what seemed like the twentieth time. Emma was almost short of temper by this point. While Martin had been kind enough to buy her a few things to wear prior to their spur-of-the-moment marriage, most…no, all of which centered around the bedroom—a completely inappropriate nightgown (in Emma’s unsophisticated opinion), a robe that was only slightly less inappropriate (at least layered on top of the nightgown, the attire would pass for opaque), and a pair of slippers that had heels and feathers on them (who would have ever thought such ridiculous things were possible?). Emma had nothing but the clothes she had worn over to Martin’s apartment several days ago.

I need my clothes, Martin. I need to get something to wear. Is there a place I can wash my…delicates?

I gave the maid the week off, Martin responded earnestly. From the looks of the place after a week without Mrs. Stinton, Emma thought for the first time that Martin might be lying to her. She felt a twinge in her chest, the first hint of betrayal. The look of utter sadness that came over her stopped Martin short. He looked around. In four days, they—he—had managed to make quite a mess of the place. Martin was not used to having to clean up after himself. He didn’t understand what she was thinking but tried to comfort her anyway.

Oh, honey, we will fix this. I have an idea.

Martin had seen Mrs. Stinton pull a bottle out from under the sink and wash the dishes, which were really piling up by the way. He went over to the cupboard and opened the door; he found underneath a foreign land. There were many things under there he could not identify, nor would he want to try. After moving a few things around, he found what he thought was the correct bottle. For the first time in his life, he had wished he had paid attention to things he thought beneath himself. As it turned out, Martin was right. He pulled the bottle of dish soap out from under the sink, took Emma’s plain white bra and underwear, and went to the bathroom sink. He was used to a sink full of dishes between Mrs. Stinton’s visits