Julee's Bar (10/26, 10:30pm)

Julee's Bar (10/26, 10:30 pm)

A man whose long brown hair has been pulled back into a ponytail is playing an acoustic guitar on stage. Julee’s Bar is busy tonight. The lighting is dim, except for the red lamps on each of the tables and the blue lights that shine onto the stage.

The bartender is a slim man wearing a white button up shirt and black skinny jeans. A red sweatshirt is wrapped around his waist. He has a thin black mustache and goatee. His hair is greasy and slicked back. When he laughs, his face is expressive but he hardly makes a sound.

Most of the tables are full, but two tables have only one occupant: a table on the left side of the bar occupied by a pale woman with blonde hair in a ponytail, and a table on the right side of the room occupied by a young dark-skinned man with cornrows. The woman is sipping a red martini, and them man is looking at his watch.

A tall woman in a skintight black dress walks between the tables. She has an hourglass figure and wavy black hair. She wears dark red lipstick and has thick eyebrows. Her lips are pursed into a curious smile.

Cliff Alset stepped up to the front door of Julee's Bar at 10:35 PM. He started to go inside, then saw how busy they were. Still, he was very thirsty for a cold beer tonight. After a brief hesitation he walked in and stood a moment looking for a place to sit and relax. There was one seat at the far right of the bar. He blinked his emerald eyes, and headed quickly to the spot just waiting for him.

I walk into the bar and realize its packed I think to myself, "Oh god, small town bar crowd, joy." I dont care. Having gone without a beer for longer than I care to admit I needed one. Even if it was over priced, half warm and served by someone who doesnt know a shandy from an ale. I walk in and ask the blonde woman if I can sit next to her.

The bartender is wiping a glass when Cliff takes a seat. He looks up and smiles toward the man.

“Cliff, what a pleasant surprise," he says. "I was just thinking about you earlier. What’ll it be for you tonight?”


* * * * * * * * * * * * * *


The pale woman with her blonde hair in a ponytail looks up at the young man. “Cameron,” she says quietly. She narrows her eyes a bit, and after a few moments of silence, says with a smile, “Johnson, right? Cameron Johnson?”

The woman’s eyes lower to the table. “You got here on the seventh. You’re something of a wanderer.” Her left hand motions toward her red martini. Her red-painted fingernails tap at the glass. She looks back up at Cameron. “You can sit down, if you want. I’m not expecting anyone.”

"Yes, that's me. I haven't seen you around before. Granted, I dont get out much so it's not surprising I don't recognize you. How did you figure I was a drifter if you don't mind me asking?"

"Brandy," the young woman says. She taps at the martini glass with the nail of her thumb. She looks toward the young man from across the rim of the glass. "That's my name. I'm a journalist. It's my business to know everyone's business."

She clears her throat. "But I admit, you're still fresh meat, so I'm lacking a bit of the details. Anything about you I should know about?"

"Waiter, can I get a rum and coke please? Easy on the Coke. I have enough problems and being sober right now is one of them."

"Brandy. You're an attractive woman, so tell me, why are you in this little town? Don't you aspire for more? Don't you want the world to know your name and have people be in awe when they see you in the flesh?"

"Why do you feel like you need to know more about me? Im just a drifter. I probably wont do anything of significance while I'm here."

The waiter looks at the young man for a quick moment and then, after nodding, walks away silently.

"Don't try to sweet-talk me," Brandy says. She looks squarely at Cameron. "I got out of college and was offered a job with the Stakeford Tribune. Thought it was better to be a small-time journalist than end up in a bigger city, working a minimum wage job outside of my field. As for you..."

She takes a long sip of her red martini and licks her lips. "It's like you asked me: What are you doing here? Seems weird that you'd end up sticking around. Seems like there's two big possibilities: either the simple, quiet country life appeals to you, or you're interested in the murder. If I had to wager, I'd guess it's the second that made you stick around. Not that you probably haven't heard of murder before, since you've probably been to all sorts of big cities--right?--but there's something about this one..."

Brandy leans back in her seat. She leans her head back and closes her eyes. "My sister, Jenny... She says that this murder might be the best thing to have ever happened to this town." Brandy opens her eyes and look at Cameron. "You agree?"

"A cold Guinness sounds great.", Cliff returned. "What I have done this time?" Cliff blinked several times. He smiled, and turned his head to look at all the folks enjoying the atmosphere. He then turned his eyes to the band. He gave the musicians a thumbs up.

The bartender returns with a cold Guinness. He sets it down in front of Cliff. "It's good to see people able to relax, in spite of it all, huh?" The bartender looks from Cliff to the band. He is still smiling as he lets a sigh out.

The woman in the black skintight dress walks up to the bar. She stands close to Cliff, between the seat he occupies and the seat to his left (which is occupied by a large man in blue overalls). She leans forward against the counter and turns her face toward the bartender.

She says, "Mil, I escorted Mr. Ackermann out. You were right. He was definitely at that point again."

The bartender looks at the woman and nods. "Figured." His smile flattens a little.

The woman begins to turn away.

"Lesley," Mil says. She stops and looks toward him. Her left eyebrow is arched questioningly.

"Hmm?" Her pitch rises slightly as she draws out the syllable.

"Make sure he found a ride home," Mil says. "I'll keep an eye on Norwood."

After taking a big gulp of his frosty Guinness, Cliff stared at the foam of his black beverage. He listened to the conversations close to him, but his mind began to float into the tiny bubbles in front of him. The band had paused a moment. The voices throughout the Julee's Bar seem to meld together. They sounded like they were underwater.

I pause in mid sentence and take a sip of my drink wincing from the alcohol content in the drink. "More alcohol than Coke, just how I like it. As for your questions, I came here because it was somewhere different and sure you got me maybe the murder is interesting to a point but most of the people act like murder doesnt happen all the time other places. It does." "I cannot believe you people. Thinking that murder is a good thing for a town. Someone died. Someone's life was cut short because someone else got bored. This isnt CSI: Miami sweetheart, this is real life." I take a big swig of my drink and await her response.

Cliff emerged from his bubble-drowning thoughts when he heard someone say something about someone dying. He raised his head and looked to where he heard the voice. He was transfixed. He had usually kept to himself about the murder. He wanted to respond out loud. He whispered instead, "You people, huh." Cliff shook his head and continued a bit louder. "Someone dying is never a good thing." He took a gulp of his Guinness. "Damn!"

I felt something on the back of my neck like a pair of eyes transfixed on me. I look back and see a man drinking a cold Guinness. he looked like a friendly man, at least his eyes suggested as much. "Hold on a second Brandy, you see that guy over there?" I motion in his direction. "He seems like he's interested in what I have to say. Can I have him join us?"

Brandy looks over her shoulder, at the man Cameron seems to be gesturing toward.

"Cliff?" She sighs. She continues to look at her martini as she speaks in a hushed voice, as though to herself, "The cook at Porker's, often seen in the early hours at the river... He's a very quiet man, usually keeping to himself..."

Brandy looks back at Cliff, then Cameron. "It's the quiet ones who interest me most. You never know what kind of secrets they have." Her lips curl into a smile. "The more the merrier."

I wave to Cliff and grab a chair from a table that wasn't using them all and wait for his arrival at the table.

Grabbing his glass of beer, Cliff stood up and walked over to the table where Cameron and Brandy sat. "I could use some company." Cliff blinked his eyes. "I uh, can't promise I can make things merrier, but...I'll try." Cliff pulled a chair out and sat quickly just two feet away from the table. He seemed a little nervous.

After a quick pause, Cliff looks up and smiles shyly. He pulls his welcomed chair closer to the table. "This whole head in the well thing has kinda gotten to me. It's just so horrible." He glances at Cameron and Brandy, trying to keep his sheepish smile.

"I saw something this morning that scared the daylights out of me." Cliff looks back and forth at Cameron and Brandy, waiting for a response.

"What did you see Cliff? Do you think has any connection to the murder? This whole town keeps getting more and more......interesting."

Cliff stares at Cameron a moment in silence. He blinks, and opens his mouth. With a deep breath he returns, "It was...
like, just staring at me. I mean real white like. I swore I was looking at a human head, hanging up there in my sycamore tree." Cliff pauses, and looks at Brandy and back to Cameron. "Real scary, man. Real scary. Then...it moved and took off! It was just a fucking owl, man. A big, white owl."

Brandy was beginning to look at Cliff intensely, but the muscles in her face relaxed as soon as the word "owl" was said. She frowns slightly and looks at Cameron. She studies his immediate reactions to Cliff's words and then, turning her eyes back to the older man, takes a deep breath and begins to speak again.

"Many of us have been shaken up by the recent events," Brandy says. "You're not the only one to have reported seeing something a little out of the ordinary. The mind plays tricks on a person, when he's trying to cope with something like this. It's pretty inconceivable that someone would cut off someone's head and leave it at the bottom of a well. It takes a certain kind of mind to do something like that."

She looks toward the band momentarily. "I'd love to look into a mind of that sort. I wonder what kind of thoughts run through a head like that regularly. Does a murderer think about murder a lot, or do they think about it like how we might think about eating out at a fancy restaurant-- something we only think about when we are in a certain mood with a certain appetite."

"Murder is a virus. It controls everything. How you look at food in the aisles of the supermarket. How you feel a sense of pity for those unable to get the kill for themselves. Everything in this world now is so....easy. Chicken, de-feathered, fish, filleted, beef, ground. Nothing takes work anymore. Nobody gets the satisfaction of feeling things take their last breath in your hands." I apologize, I sure do like to ramble. An owl eh?" "Interesting..

Cliff tips his glass of beer high, and gulps the last of it. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve and responds slowly. "That...
damn... bird...did that deliberately. It... was a beautiful owl."
Cliff waves his empty glass in the air. "I have not gone near that well since the news of the horrible mutilation."

"Kelly Francis, age 24," Jenny says. "Quite a few men found her to be a 'hoot,' I have heard."

Jenny looks at Cameron, then Cliff. "I wonder why she was killed. I'm sure someone in her profession faces plenty of violence. Perhaps she was with a client who has a certain kink, and things went a little too far this time. It's interesting how the mood of the town changed a bit, when the news was released. Did you notice it, too?"

She looks hard at them both before resuming. "The same people who were heartbroken that a young woman had been murdered and that her head was left in our town well soon were the ones saying that it 'made sense' that it would be someone like her. You could even see it in some of their faces, too, that they were happy it was an outsider, not a member of this town. Not only that, but it was someone who 'was around those kind of people.' Someone said that to me, and that 'it's unfortunate, but that's what can happen if you go down that path.' And now all we know for sure is that Ms. Francis's path led her head to the bottom of a well. All the sheriff's horses, and all the sheriff's men, can't put Kelly Francis back together again... Hell, they can't even find the rest of her body."