Straight Town (Chapter 2)

“Daaaddyyy!”

“Dad, it’s time to get up dad! Mom says it’s almost time for breakfast!”

Steve opened his eyes blearily at the two small children who had climbed up on the bed and were crawling all over him, and for one horrifying moment, he simply had no idea who they were. Just...two strange children, no older than ten, that he had never seen before in his life--but then it was like some gear in his mind, one that hadn’t quite been running correctly, kicked into gear, and he recognized them--they were his kids, Jessica and Graham, of course. Who...who else would they be? He pushed the horror away as best he could, and wrestled them off in the bed, playing with them both until Christine--their mother and his wife--appeared in the bedroom doorway, apron on and dusted with a bit of flour. “Kids, let your father up! He’s going to be late if you keep roughhousing.”

The kids muttered and moaned, but did as their mother asked, and climbed off the bed, allowing Steve to swing his legs off the side, and look around him, at the bedroom he’d woken up in--at his bedroom. Why was all of this so...strange to him, this morning? Perhaps it was a dream he’d had? He could...seem to recall something like a dream, but with the morning, it was already evaporating, and something told him...was whispering to him that it wasn’t much worth remembering anyway. In any case, Christine was right--his shift at the station started at ten, and he didn’t usually sleep in this late, but last night...had been strange.

He headed for the bathroom, hoping that a shower would help him feel better, and in some ways, it did. He felt cleaner, at least, but the act of getting out of his pajamas and looking at himself in the mirror--it was unsettling, even though he knew nothing in the mirror was out of sorts. It was just...him. Thirty-five. Hairline receding more and more each day, it seemed like, but buzzed short to keep it less noticable. His mustache was neat and tidy--he got it trimmed at the barber’s every Tuesday, and it was Wednesday...wasn’t it? He couldn’t quite remember going to the barber yesterday. In fact, he wasn’t quite sure what he’d been doing yesterday. He could...vaguely recall driving a car, someone in it with him, but when he turned and tried to look at the passenger, it was like...a void. Like the inside of the car was just a black hole, and he shuddered. That, he was certain, was part of the dream last night. Of course he’d been to the barber yesterday. He always went to the barber, and his mustache and hair were trimmed up, so what other explanation was there? 

The shower proper was disconcerting as well. His body felt...off, when he ran his hands over it. Too hairy in some places, too fat in others. He was still well muscled, of course--he had to be, in his line of work as a deputy with the sheriff’s department--but ten years with Christine and her excellent cooking and sizable portion size, had rounded out his midsection into a small gut. He washed quickly, trying to scrub away the unsettling feeling that something was wrong about all of this, but while he was able to ease it back down to a dull simmer, the sensation remained all the same.

He got out of the shower and dried off, went back into his bedroom, and found his uniforms in the closet. Again, putting it on felt...alienating. Everything fit perfectly--Christine was as masterful with her sewing machine as she was with her cooking, after all--and when he was all dressed in his khaki shirt and slacks, his perfectly polished shoes, he looked every bit the part of the small town deputy he knew he was...but something underneath it all was squirming awkwardly, like a weird slug sliding around in his guts, telling him it was a lie, a lie, a dirty, shameful lie. He was a liar, a liar to everyone, a liar to himself. It wasn’t a new feeling, was it? He’d felt that before, when he...when he was younger, in another town like this one, so much like this one, but not this one, but hadn’t he always been here? 

“There you are,” a voice said from the doorway, and Christine was there--a bit fuller of frame, with a few more wrinkles than she’d had when they’d gotten married at the age of twenty, but still...her. Still beautiful, he told himself. He still loved her so much, so deeply, he told himself. She made him so happy, he told himself. But if all that was true, why was his throat so dry, and why did she look so...dismayed in her eyes, even though she was smiling? She walked over to him, and kissed him gently, a kiss he’d felt so many times, and yet a kiss that felt so jarring, he almost didn’t kiss back--but he did, and he threw himself at her, his own desire for her too sudden that even to him, it felt disingenuous, but he kissed her on the lips, on the neck, holding her close, listening to her giggle for a moment, until she pushed him away, blushing, that slight dismay in her eyes now betraying a bit of panic. “Not now, the children...and you have to eat and get to work! Tonight...alright?” She asked, but she didn’t sound particularly sure herself, and he nodded, a bit relieved himself.

Together, they went downstairs, where their two children were at the table, feasting on their pancakes. Christine went to the oven and pulled out a third plate for Steve, who sat down, and together, they ate. They ate, and they laughed, and their children were so happy--so happy that even their parents were happy, even though Steve could see that the panic and hopelessness was still sitting at the corner of her eyes, and she could still see the confusion and disgust in his, but they’d been married for so long now, perhaps this was just who they were now. They did love each other, after all--they had to, or else, why were they married? The question sounded ridiculous to him in his mind, but he didn’t have an answer to it. He could...imagine answers. He could even remember answers. But he didn’t feel any of them. Steve found himself rolling it over and over in his head as he ate, rolled it around enough that he could feel it becoming pearlescent in his mind, like the nonsense of it held a certain truth that he had lost, and if he could just...well, he didn’t know what he might do, but things would come clear, right? Things would come clear, and he wouldn’t feel so...confused anymore.

Christine cleared the table and the children, bellies full, rushed out of the house and into the backyard to begin their summer adventures, and together, they watched them out the kitchen window. “Are...are you alright?” Christine asked him.

Steve didn’t really know how to answer that in a way that wouldn’t betray his worries, and so he just muttered something, but Christine turned to him, and fixed the collar of his shirt.

“Listen to me. Relax. You’re going to be fine--we’re going to be fine now. I know...but you’re happy, right? I’m happy--I can be happy with this, I...” she blushed, and looked away, “Oh, listen to me, I don’t know what I’m saying, do I? You’re going to be late if you don’t hurry on.”

“You...You know something. Something...” Steve said, and even his voice didn’t sound quite right to his ears. It had the same slight drawl as everyone in town had, but it didn’t should like it should, to his ears.

“Forget it--I mean it. Forget I said anything. I just want to make you happy. The happier you are, the happier we all are, the easier it is, alright? Just trust me. Give it a few days, settle in. You’ll feel like yourself in no time.”

“I don’t...understand what you mean...”

“Don’t make me worry about you Steven.”

“I don’t want you to worry, Christy, I just...I don’t...feel like myself this morning, is all. Did...something happen last night? I feel like something happened, but I can’t remember anything between...between the barber, and...and I think I had a drink, and there’s this dream, and...”

She kissed him. This time, she was the one driving into him, and again, there was that repulsion, that slight horror, but Steve...knew what to do, what he’d done already, and kissed her back.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked. “Now go on, Pa...hates it when you’re late, or...or was that me?” she muttered to herself, still looking out the window at their two children.

“Are...you alright?” Steven asked.

“Yes, yes. This...we can talk about it later, maybe. If you run into the Mayor today, be sure you say hi. I’m sure he’d like to chat.”

Steve retreated from the window, more uneasy than before after the strange conversation with his wife. He went to the safe, and retrieved his service pistol and badge, pinning the latter to his shirt, and clipping the holster to his belt. Then, he went out into the backyard, said goodbye to his kids, and then gave his wife a kiss on the cheek before leaving the house. The police cruiser he drove on the job was parked in the driveway, and he climbed inside, and headed into town, feeling the oddest sense of deja vu, and wishing...wishing that all of this made more sense. He just couldn’t shake the sensation that something was wrong, that he was forgetting something, and someone, and...and that all of this was fake. That he was going through the motions, that he was doing everything he ought to do--as a father, as a husband, as a deputy, as a citizen of Potters Creek--but that they were nothing more than that. Motions. More like a puppet--no, not a puppet, like a windup doll. Like someone had wound him, and now here he was, sliding along his little track, looking at everyone else in town on their own tracks...

He couldn’t think about this anymore. He couldn’t. It was too much, and he didn’t feel good about it, and it wasn’t right--what was he really thinking, that there was some conspiracy? He’d had a bad dream in the night. He was feeling out of sorts. But the best thing he could do, really, was follow his routine. It was safe, and it was right, and...and he liked it, didn’t he? He loved his children more than anything. He loved Christine. He loved his work, and he loved this town. He belonged here--there wasn’t anywhere else that he wanted to be, after all. Why question it? Why feel bad when he didn’t have any reason to? Any reason beyond that slug he could still feel, that thing inside him, telling him that...

He shoved that thought away, and put on the radio, humming along to a country song he didn’t even realize he knew until he caught himself doing it, until he arrived at the sheriff’s office, pulled into his parking spot there, and headed on inside to check in. Marcy was at the desk, face all dolled up as she always did, looking perky. She threw him a wink when he passed her by, asking her how things were with the town. She was wearing a dress cut low in both directions--showing off far more cleavage than necessary, and riding up so high that Steve could probably sneak a look at her panties--assuming she was wearing any. He knew better than to ask though--Marcy was the sheriff’s territory after all--she flirted with anything that had a cock, but he wasn’t about to mess with that--as...attractive as she was.

Thinking about that, about the fact that Marcy was attractive, and young, and desirable by him--it was like thinking about his wife earlier. He knew all of these things, they were self-evident. However, they felt...detached from the emotions he knew he should feel with them. She was attractive, but was he horny, thinking about whether she was wearing panties right now? Wondering if, not minutes earlier, she had been back in the sheriff’s office, getting plowed by him over the desk--fuck, now that would have been a sight to see, wouldn’t it? Sheriff Guthrie had quite a fucking bulge in his pants after all, and Marcy had dropped hints, more than once, at his stamina--and his virility. Marcy was married of course, but of the five children she’d popped out, who knew which belonged to who, really. Marcy’s husband--Dennis--didn’t exactly seem to mind...was that odd? It was hard to know, really--everything seemed a little strange today, and it was hard for him to focus on one strangeness before another rose up and replaced it. In any case, he maintained his respectful distance with Marcy--made sure she knew he thought she looked attractive, without letting on that he was interested, of course. Then, he went back into behind the front desk and found his father-in-law in his private office, looking a bit...disheveled and red in the face. He could smell sex in the air, and marcy’s perfume--still fresh from that morning. So they had been fucking--at least Steve wasn’t known for coming in early.

How should he feel about that? His father-in-law, after all, was still married to Christine’s mother. Something told him, in his gut, that this ought to disgust him, that it was wrong, but something else was smoothing it over. It was just how things were around here--for the sheriff especially. Hell, Steve imagined that his wife probably knew, and might even condone it. Did Christine know? He would never ask her, of course. You didn’t talk about things like this around here, about how the sheriff was banging the single secretary, how of the three kids she at, one was the spitting image of the sheriff, another identical to the tavern barkeep, a third from who knew where. Kids just...sprang up around here. Steve tried not to think about his own two children, about how little he could really recall from their childhoods. Tried not to think about that dream, tried not to worry about any of this. Christine had said something about him needing to settle down--no, about settling in, that was it. She said that it would get easier. But why was it so hard? Why did everything feel so strange?

“There’s my boy!” the sheriff said, wheezing a bit as he sat back, sweating a little still. “Don’t mine me, just...finished my morning calisthenics is all. Can’t run this department and not be able to chase down those dang troublemakers, right?” He laughed, and Steve laughed too. The sheriff certainly didn’t look like a man who knew how to do calisthenics--he probably hadn’t done a pushup in years. He had a thick gut from sitting around here all day, minding the shop as he called it, while Steve and the other deputies handled calls around town. He didn’t begrudge him for it, but he wished he would at least be honest about it.

“Sorry I’m late, Sir, I had a slow morning. Had a hell of a time getting...just feeling off today, is all.”

The sheriff chuckled. “No worries boy, I know all about a man’s need in the morning, trust me. Don’t be ashamed of it! I need another three grandchildren at least, after all, so I need you to get busy, boy. Keep that girl of mine good and pregnant like she ought tah be.”

Guthrie laughed at his own joke, and Steve tried his best to laugh along with him, but it made his stomach churn again, like how he’d felt seeing his wife this morning, like something wasn’t right about her, or about him, or about everything else. It didn’t help that looking at his father-in-law, at his confidence, at his swagger--something else was stirring in him, something he didn’t have words to describe, but something that had him thinking about that dream in the car, about that empty void beside him, about how he could almost imagine what that void could sound like. What it could feel like. What it would be like to kiss it, and...

What the hell was wrong with him today? He pushed his concern away as best he could, and maneuvered Guthrie back to discussing work. The town had been quiet over night, just the usual drunks being a bit disorderly on Main Street after the tavern closed. Nothing much bad ever really happened around here--not since the mayor had been elected, and helped sort everything out. Steve...knew he should be able to recall that better, or have more context, but it was just a thought, hanging in his mind. Something he knew to be true, but which wasn’t grounded in anything else around it. He excused himself from the sheriff’s office, and went to his own desk. He had some paperwork he understood but couldn’t recall seeing before--he did it anyway, to try and settle into things a bit better, and by the time lunch rolled around, he was feeling a bit more...at ease. With the paperwork done, he got up from his desk, told Guthrie he was going to walk the town for a bit, and Guthrie gave him a wink, and told him to take his time. The other deputies were out as well--probably Guthrie was going to have another round with Marcy, now that the offices were empty again. Steve tried not to think about, both because he still didn’t understand how he could feel so comfortable with his boss and father-in-law’s extramarital excesses, and also because he still couldn’t quite understand the unsettling disgust he felt, the same disgust he’d been feeling all morning, to be honest.

Being outside and walking the sidewalks of the town didn’t seem to help much at all, either. He followed his usual route, winding his way through the center of town, waving and shaking hands with strangers he somehow knew, and who somehow knew him. Perhaps even knew him more than he knew himself, though that made no sense, really. Men would shake his hand, and he would feel a flutter. He would look them in the eyes, and he would see something there, in some of them, something intensely familiar and yet impossible to speak to. Others were like the sheriff, pleased with themselves, pleased with the town, pleased most of all with the children, the children that were...everywhere. School was out that day, for the summer, and so the town was full of them--some of them escorted by parents who already looked exhausted at the summer, and others simply running wild, like animals through the streets, screaming and screeching.

He should love them. He had to love them. His own at least, if nothing else. He knew he loved them, and yet, there wasn’t anything inside him that felt like love. What in heaven’s name had happened to him last night? He tried to recall the dream more as he walked the streets on his beat, but it had already faded more over the course of the day, the void in the seat beside him spreading, taking in more and more of the memory, making it even harder to make out the distinctions there. He thought forgetting it would make it easier to deal with, but he found himself panicking instead, trying to grip onto him, cling to him--

Him--him who?

There was nothing there, but it was a him, the void was a him, the void was someone. Who? Who had it been? Who--

“Afternoon deputy, good to see you up and about on this fine afternoon.”

Steve shook his head and looked around. He was behind the tavern, leaning against the wall, shaking slightly, and there before him was the mayor. Seeing him...terrified him. Terrified him in ways that Steve couldn’t even understand or remember, even though the short, chubby gentleman was the exact opposite of threatening, right? But why then was he shaking so hard, why couldn’t he dare look the man in the eye? He had to say something, he was supposed to say something! He had to be normal, he was supposed to just be normal! “A-Afternoon sir, I...have to confess that I haven’t been feeling quite like myself today, so my apologies.”

“Nonsense, you’re doing just fine. I fully understand how difficult it can be, adjusting. But just know that I see great things in you, Steven. I’m so happy you found your way here to us, such...marvelous stock. I saw your sweet Christine today, and those two angels of yours at the store. Such beautiful children. They’re the future, you know. The future of this town. The future of this country.”

Steve just nodded. He wanted to say something, but his mouth was suddenly dry, and the mayor was...unsettling. The way he talked about him, about his wife and children. It reminded him of...of someone he couldn’t remember, reminded him of how someone had once spoken about the animals on a farm.

“Are you alright Steve? You’re looking a bit faint.”

“I...I’ve just been feeling so strange all day, Mayor. I can’t explain it, but something feels so...wrong, and I don’t know what it could possibly be.”

“This is what you wanted Steve, I know it is. I could see it in you. You just have to let yourself be happy, and accept it,” the mayor said, and then moved closer, “Listen, take the rest of the afternoon off. The sheriff will understand completely--I’ll speak to him. I want you to go home. Go home to your wife, Steve. Let her make you happy. Don’t disappoint me know--I have so much hope for you.”

The words were...different. They had a force to them, a force that Steve recognized, the same force that his odd thoughts had possessed all morning. They were intrusive, and demanding. He nodded--of course the mayor was right. He walked back to the sheriff’s office a few blocks off, and got in his car, and drove home. All the way, he thought of her, of Christine, thought of her naked, thought of fucking her, thought of...filling her with his seed, of claiming her. He got home, and the house was quiet--the children must be somewhere else--and he worried, for a moment, that she would be with them, that she wouldn’t be home for him, but upstairs, in the bedroom...there she was. 

She was waiting for him, she must have known. Or had the mayor spoken to her, told her to come here, told her just as he’d told Steve? She beckoned him closer, but she didn’t...seem as eager as he wanted her to be. She seemed resigned. Her eyes were empty, and distant, but he...shouldn’t care about that. He wanted her, didn’t he? He’d wanted her all the way home, she was all he could think about, but then...why was he so soft? He stripped out of his uniform, and his cock remained limp. He looked at Christine and blushed--horrified that he suddenly couldn’t perform. She beckoned him over anyway, and he climbed on top of her, and they kissed.

They kissed, and she was so soft. He was afraid of her. Afraid to touch her. Everything about her felt alien to him, and even though he knew that he had to have fucked her at some point, he couldn’t...remember ever doing so. She was patient, but he could sense that she, too, was growing anxious, pushing harder against him, trying to drag something out of him that he was not sure was even there. It didn’t feel right. Her breasts under his hand, the curve of her hips, her long hair, the makeup she had on. He tried to climb off of her suddenly, and she gripped him hard, and pulled him close.

“You have to,” she said, “If you don’t he’ll know.”

“I don’t know why I can’t, Christine,” he said, panic in his voice, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t...want to do this, I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

She pulled him closer, and her strength surprised him. She stuck two fingers in her mouth, got them slick, and then reached behind him, probing for his hole, and he...let her, let her slide her fingers inside him, and when she did, he gasped in sudden delight, his cock throbbing. “Let me help,” she whispered to him, “This will be best, for both of us.”

“She probed deeper, sliding her fingers in and out of him, and he was hard in a matter of moments, hard, and sliding inside her. It didn’t feel right, be he tried not to think about it, and focused on her hand instead, focused on his own hole, feeling pleasure throbbing inside there, and in a matter of moments, he exploded inside of her, filled her with his seed, and he...felt better, almost immediately. Feeling that he had cum, Christine pulled her fingers free of his ass, keeping them away from her, and got up and headed for the bathroom to clean up, leaving Steve alone on the bed, shaking and shuddering. He’d done it--he’d done it, but why? 

He asked Chritine if there was something he could do for her, but she shook her head. He was relieved--he didn’t think he’d be able to stomach being any closer to her, not after what they’d done. He felt filthy, and he could only imagine how she felt--but if anything, she just seemed indifferent. She got dressed, as he did, gave him a hug and a kiss, but while they were warm, there was no intimacy there. The children came home from playing, and were thrilled that their daddy was home early for work, and insisted that he play with them outside--and Steve did as they demanded, trying not to think about how much they looked like him, especially his son. Tried not to think about the sheriff, or the mayor. Tried not to think about Christine, and what she had done. Tried not to think about that void, about who he’d been, most of all.