Instinct by Jason Hough (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

the length of the blade, turned and fled. No metaphor here, no sir.

“Is that where you saw Big Foot, too?”

“Now, now, Officer, I sense a bit of skepticism in your tone.”

I grin at him. “It must be difficult.”

“What must be?”

“Trying to convince people of a true Sasquatch sighting in a town positively buried in Sasquatch bullshit is like… I’m too tired to think of an analogy.”

He says, “Well, I know what I saw. And it was up there by Fort Curtis. The old army base.”

The base, which closed more than three decades ago, is on the opposite side of the mountain from the silver mine. Between it, the old mine, hundreds of shuttered old houses, and the mess of abandoned Conaty Corp. facilities, Silvertown overflows with tailor-made settings for tall tales.

“Hey,” I ask, “speaking of that. Remember that army convoy that came through this morning?”

“Yep. Morons.”

“Someone asked them if they were coming up here to tear down Fort Curtis, ‘before anyone else gets hurt.’ What was that about?”

Kenny makes a farting noise. “Classic Silvertown B.S. Ask Kyle, he loves to spread that rumor.”

“Okay. I will. What was the base for, though? I’ve heard everything from secret super-soldier experiments to a torture black site.”

“Shit.” He laughs. “Truth is they trained soldiers for wilderness survival. Boring, I know, but the truth usually is.”

And this coming from the guy who says he saw Big Foot. I let it slide. Of course, half the town loves and perpetuates such stories. Good for tourism, assuming you think becoming the next Roswell, New Mexico, is a tourism goal worth pursuing. The other half are either retired or would prefer some real jobs make their way back here. Yet another half—yes, three halves, math is not my strong suit when I’m this tired—are just waiting to be old enough to move away, like Johnny Rogers and all his friends no doubt dreamed of doing.

In the end I pass on all the fancy bottles, settling instead on a boxed wine.

As he rings me up, I take a closer look at him. “You okay, dude?” I ask. “You look like you’ve lost some weight, and no offense, bud, you didn’t have any to lose.” His lips are so dry and cracked I want to buy him a tube of balm right then and there.

He just shrugs, though. “Allergies,” he says simply. “New meds killed my appetite, but at least I can breathe.”

I get behind the wheel again, and immediately my mind conjures up the face of Willy Jupitas standing at my front bumper. Hyperaware now of my lack of focus, I drive the last hundred yards to the police station at a snail’s pace, scanning the sidewalks for anyone who might decide to suddenly step in front of my car. Fortunately everyone else is behaving normally.

At the station I find the front desk deserted. Clara comes out of the break room at the sound of the door, though.

“Oh good, just in time,” she says.

“Do me a favor,” I say over her. “Call down to Granston and find out—”

Clara’s grabbing her purse and she gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry, babe, I’ve got my shift at the diner now.”

“Oh, damn it, I forgot. I’ll handle it. You go. Shoo.”

“Thanks. Hey, are you okay? You look… befuddled, I guess.”

“Just had a close call with Mr. Jupitas. It shook me up.”

“With Geezer? What happened?”

“Don’t know, really. He stepped out in front of my car. It was almost suicidal.”

“We’re talking about the guy who takes ten minutes to cross the street most days?”

“I know, that’s exactly what I thought. It was like that hiker.” The words are out before I really know what I mean.

“Mary?” Clara asks. “Explain?”

“I didn’t think about it before, but now… Willy and the hiker. Neither one recognized the danger they were in. Didn’t even flinch.”

Clara frowns. “I think you might need a night off, Mary. That’s one hell of a connection to make.”

“I suppose you’re right.” I shake my head.

“Besides, Geezer is like a hundred years old. Probably just didn’t see you.”

I nod.

Clara squeezes my shoulder. “Look, I’ve gotta run. I’m sorry. We’ll talk later.”

“No worries. How’s our patient?” I ask as she’s opening the door to leave.

Clara’s eyes dart toward the cells in back, and she lowers her voice. “Quiet. Like, really quiet.”

My understanding nod turns into a yawn. One of those eye-watering, couldn’t-stop-if-you-wanted-to kind of yawns.

“You need some rest, Mary,” Clara says.

“Don’t I know it.”

Clara holds up a finger, then fishes around in her purse. She comes up with a prescription pill bottle and tumbles one of the pale blue tablets into her palm before handing it to me. “Take that,” she says. “They’re supposed to be amazing.”

“Supposed to be?”

“Just picked them up yesterday, but I spaced on taking one last night. Anyway, my sister swears by them, so I asked Doc for a scrip.”

I pull a face. “Taking someone else’s prescription medicine is usually a terrible idea.”

“My sis said they’ll be OTC soon. Doc confirmed it. Harmless and extremely effective.” This last she does in a mockery of Doc’s voice.

When I still hesitate, she folds my fingers around the object and says, “Seriously, Mary. You’re pushing too hard, with Greg gone and all this other shit. Go get eight hours. The town will still be here.”

“I… okay, I will. Thanks, Clara.”

She waves and heads off to her actual job, grilling burgers and frying up onion rings at the town’s lone diner.

The pill I pocket and try to forget about, tempting though it is. Sleep via medication is always a last resort, for me.

I move slowly through the station. Despite Clara’s reassurances, I still can’t quite shake the idea that there’s some connection between the hiker and old Willy. I just can’t for the life of me imagine what it is. Halfway to my desk my stomach emits a loud grumble, reminding me of the pizza I’m still carrying.

In the break room I take two red plastic cups from the cabinet and fill them with