Hell is Hollander

The Beginning

Rowan Walker’s life and career took a drastic turn during the year 1984.

Throughout his life on the force, he resolved that there were two types of days in his line of work—the mundane days of gathering information, and the tense days of following leads and potentially facing dangers on the streets of New Orleans. Today happened to be the latter.

On this day, his car sat on the curb just down the street from a prolific hotel in the city—a hotel containing the two robbers who’d recently fled the bank north of here. The robbers were Noah and Flynn LeBlanc, notorious brothers who were infamous for their slippery tactics and their occasional habit of taking hostages in order to navigate through difficult escapes, as the capture of hostages worked to keep the law enforcement hesitant to act against them. Over the years, they both managed to elude the police on several occasions—but Rowan felt determined to stop them for good now. He knew for certain the brothers had a young woman hostage, and he knew the police were in position all around the block surrounding the hotel, including himself—but despite having the brothers cornered, it was a touchy situation, one that had to be handled with apt tact and timing.

Still, he was certain he would succeed today, even if he had to break a rule or two to get it done. He’d broken the rules before, after all—despite Chief Maxson’s warnings in the past.

For brief spans that felt to be lasting years, Rowan sat slacked back in his driver seat, tapping the steering wheel and making various impatient glances down at his radio. He had a slender face, beautifully-carved with a hint of an overused brow, as well as faint laugh lines along the corners of his mouth, the only slight signs of aging on his otherwise youthful visage, his hair stringy and styled messily in the center of his head, a dark sandy color with a widow’s peak hairline, sharp and pointed atop his forehead. As usual, he wore his suit and overcoat, a long sleek coat colored a deep navy blue—and after a while longer of sitting in idle silence, he chose to dip his fingers into the front pocket of the overcoat, pulling out his menthols and lighting one.

Sighing out a smoke cloud, Rowan rested his arm in the open window of his driver door, glaring down at the radio and feeling a spark of anticipation. For so long now, the police struggled to corner the LeBlanc brothers; this day was a long time coming, something everyone on the force had waited a years to accomplish, and he felt certain that the opportunity couldn’t be wasted. Still, with such an important event of conclusion looming just around the corner, it was irritating to just sit by, simply waiting for orders. Everyone knew where the brothers were—and they had the building surrounded. If ever there was a time to act, it was now.

He took another drag, the nicotine working to calm the slow-brewing storm of his mind as his eyes wandered far down the street, past the shops and the theater, where the intersection resided. Just around that corner down the road, he knew the hotel sat in the close distance, just past that string of traffic lights. Still, he couldn’t act without the order. It was his least favorite thing about working in this profession—the many layers of rules and protocols that often lamented him from taking swift action.

It made some sense, of course—after all, acting too soon or too abruptly would endanger the hostage—but just as well, Rowan wasn’t convinced that the hostage would survive if the brothers managed to escape with her. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that acting now would be their best and only shot at liberating the girl from her captors.

After all—every time the LeBlancs managed to escape with their hostage in the past, the police were never the ones to rescue the kidnapped citizens. Once they succeeded in escaping, the captives always remained at the mercy of the brothers until they were no longer needed. He wasn’t certain what ever became of the hostages, but it still wasn’t a scenario Rowan intended to let play out. Not this time.

For a while longer, Rowan’s distant stare remained on the edge of the street, his eyes now pensive, shining a deep, translucent hazel. He blinked when he heard a faint crackle from his radio.

“On the move—they’re now leaving the hotel, exiting from the north out a side entrance,” a voice spoke from the device, the voice of a fellow police officer announcing through thick static. “They have the girl positioned in between them. They’re heading for their car now.”

“What’re our orders?” Rowan asked.

There was a brief pause.

“Our orders are to stay put,” the voice replied seconds later.

Rowan swallowed an agitated sigh. “We can’t stay put—they’re gonna get away again.”

“They have the girl positioned in between them,” the voice repeated. “No clear shot.”

“The girl is screwed if we don’t act now,” Rowan argued. “They always slip away after this point—they always do. This is the only shot we have.”

“Our orders are to stay put and tail them.”

“What? When has that ever worked before?”

“Don’t argue with me, Rowan. It’s not my call.”

“But this won’t work—!”

“It’s not. My. Call.”

Rowan groaned out a sigh and leaned farther back, running a hand down his face and feeling utterly frustrated. He simply couldn’t understand it; everyone else on the force, namely the higher-ups, never seemed to see the pattern of the LeBlanc brothers. Breaking their routine would be the only way to catch them off-guard, but it seemed no one else had come to the same conclusion.

Rowan slowly gripped his steering wheel, a mad thought overtaking him as he glared intensely out the windshield, directly at that intersection—his grasp tightening, heart beginning to pound.

He’d broken the rules before, but never like this. It wasn’t as if he was blind to the dangers or the consequences, but those things ceased to matter. This was a single and powerful opportunity—because right this moment, the chance to stop the brothers and end their game was just around that corner, and it was about to slip away once more.

“No,” Rowan growled to himself, turning the keys and making his engine roar to life.

Suddenly rushed with adrenaline—Rowan drove down the street, cutting off a large van and narrowly avoiding a collision. He raced toward the destination, suddenly free of hesitance or worry as his tires screeched atop the pavement, his car soaring hazardously through the intersection and whizzing between two oncoming vehicles, the echo of agitated car horns blaring behind him as he sped off with haste.

Noah and Flynn walked slowly down the sidewalk alongside the tall yellowish hotel, a young and terrified blonde meandering glumly in between them as the three steadily made their way toward the blue Impala parked at the curb. Flynn was a little taller than his brother, with short brown hair and a caustic sort of expression, a thin pair of glasses on his face. Noah, on the other hand, looked dead serious—black hair and dark eyes, his hand hidden in the pocket of his sleek black coat, his six-shooter aimed stealthily at the young blonde’s back.

Flynn strolled with ease, hands pocketed and visage casual as if nothing was amiss. Noah, however, appeared severe—his eyes warily coasting up and down the street, searching for undercovers or the arrival of red-and-blues. He knew for certain the police were watching, but they wouldn’t dare act with the young girl’s life at stake.

“Just a little further,” Noah whispered behind the blonde’s ear, making her jump and whimper. “You keep on and you’ll live to see tomorrow. You hear?”

The blonde shakily managed a nod, the three of them slowly approaching the brothers’ blue car.

Then—the roaring of an engine caught their ears.

Flynn had just popped the passenger door open, Noah standing with the driver door open and the girl positioned just between him and his vehicle. The brothers perked up, spotting a black undercover suddenly soaring onto the street from the west, racing toward the Impala and rocketing past.

Rowan whipped the wheel to the side and came to a screeching stop—his car spinning and halting abruptly, stopping crookedly in front of the Impala and blocking its path.

Flynn glanced over the roof of the car, looking to his brother for orders.

“Get in the car,” Noah mumbled darkly, his eyes locked onto Rowan’s vehicle. “Now.”

Flynn and the young blonde sank into the blue car, Noah remaining standing in the road—his hand on the driver door, facing his car and keeping his armed hand well out of sight.

Rowan flew out of his car and cocked his gun—and he stood just behind the trunk of his car and aimed over it, aligning his sights with Noah’s head.

There was a long, tense pause—Rowan glaring daggers into him, Noah slowly turning his head, giving the detective a deep, grave stare.

“Hands up,” Rowan snapped.

Noah’s eyes narrowed, slowly raising his left hand—and his right gripping the revolver tightly, keeping it hidden on his opposite side.

“Now!” Rowan griped impatiently.

Noah took a deep breath, bracing himself and moving with a swiftness that ought to have been admired—turning and firing a shot in a millisecond flat.

Cut to black.

Rowan couldn’t remember hitting the ground, nor any pain or sense of fear. He never heard Noah’s car door slamming, never saw the Impala soaring in a tight circle and speeding down the road the opposite way, nor did he see the small pool of crimson slowly forming beneath his head, just atop the pavement where he lay.

Everything ripped away in an instant—the final imprint on his mind the ominous criminal before him, standing in the road with that dark, unfeeling glare, the muzzle flash along with the deafening gunshot that cut the world to black.

A year after Rowan’s near-death experience in New Orleans, the time came for a fresh start.

Healed and rehabilitated, gone from the police force, and undergoing his new career as a private investigator—a call from beyond the city drew him out of his old life for good.

The mayor of a town called Bluewater called to hire him, and for a while, Rowan mulled over it, wondering if he ought to uproot from the city and head toward the bayou for the job. And, to his surprise, he made the decision relatively quickly. After all, he had no family left in New Orleans, and it wasn’t as if his job kept him tied down any longer. Rowan was a free agent, able to work and travel where he pleased. Besides, he was living out of his van now, so he didn’t even have to pack. All it took was a simple drive.

And so—on the first day of August, during a warm afternoon—Rowan stood atop a hill, parked at a gas station and holding his recently purchased coffee. He paused, gazing over New Orleans and giving his home city a final surveying before sinking into the driver seat of his van and pulling the door shut.

He sat in silence for a moment, flipping open his newspaper and skimming over the ad that had caught his interest days ago—an advertisement for a roommate. He expected it to be difficult to find a place to live in Bluewater on such short notice, but the woman who placed the ad was glad to talk to him when he called, and the arrangement had already been made. Now, he intended to call again, just to ensure that he had a solid destination.

Rowan took a sip of coffee before tucking the foam cup into the van’s cup holder. He reread the phone number on the ad, then grabbed his car phone and began to dial, adjusting the spiraling cord and waiting for an answer. After three rings, the woman’s voice met his ear.

“Hello?” she said kindly.

“Hey… it’s Rowan,” Rowan replied in his usual soft rasp of a voice. “I’m just checking to make sure we’re still on for today. I’m coming into Bluewater… should be there in an hour or two.”

“Oh… yeah, yeah,” the woman agreed. “Are you coming in from the south side of town?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay, listen. You’ll wanna stop at the first gas station you see—it’s also a diner, and they have pamphlets at the counter for the bayou tourists. You should grab one of those pamphlets. They’ll give you all the information you need, and you’ll have a half-decent map of the town, too.”

“All right, noted. Thank you. I’ve got your address, and I can probably find my way there if I’ve got a map, but… would you rather meet up somewhere else first? Since we haven’t met face to face yet.”

“Sure. I’ll meet you at that gas station if you want. We can grab a bite to eat at the diner and talk about the whole thing.”

“Good deal. I’ll see you there, miss… what’s your name again?”

“Nyla,” the nice woman informed. “Nyla Cavalier.”

“All right, Nyla,” Rowan said conclusively. “See you soon.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. Bye bye.”

Rowan hung up and released a sigh, tapping the steering wheel and briefly losing himself to his thoughts. It was quite refreshing to speak to someone so polite, something he encountered rarely in his new line of work. Most times, people hired him during stressful situations, and so far, his job mostly consisted of spying on unfaithful married folks or documenting the activities of people living on worker’s comp. Because of this, most of his clients were either cold or outright angry. But this roommate woman seemed like a nice change—and his phone conversation with the mayor of Bluewater seemed different as well.

The mayor—a middle-aged gentleman named Alexander Landry—had spoken to him fairly briefly. He didn’t seem cold or angry, though he wasn’t warm and friendly like Nyla. In fact, Mr. Landry seemed entirely distant and undecipherable during Rowan’s short conversation with him. When they talked, Landry revealed that he was in great need of a PI, but he didn’t divulge the details, stating that he didn’t want to discuss the issues over the phone. So, he agreed to meet him in Bluewater within the week, and that was that.

Rowan gave himself a mild nod, as if affirming his own decision to uproot and head off to an isolated bayou town. He glimpsed into the back of the van, which contained no seats, only an open space with a makeshift bed in the center, his belongings, duffle bags, and his gun case surrounding it. Even if his roommate plans fell through, he always had a place to sleep. Uprooting and traveling was easier for him than most. Besides, something about Mr. Landry’s vague request intrigued him, and admittedly, he’d enjoy taking on a fresher job, one that hopefully didn’t involve fraud or infidelity.

Rowan inhaled heavily, slicking his sandy-brown hairs back and glancing at New Orleans in the rearview. He turned his keys and brought the engine to life, adjusting the rearview mirror and changing gears, pulling the van out of the parking lot, and observing the city for the last time.

“Seeya, Naw’Leans,” Rowan sighed.

The next hour and a half was spent driving, listening to radio and tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel.

His old dark van coasted far from the city, rolling down various back roads and under vast canopies of treetops, the window halfway open and allowing a windy blast of air to course through his vehicle. The ambiance of swamp life soon fused with the sounds of his radio, the far-distant chirping of crickets and croaking of frogs invading the atmosphere as the afternoon settled in, sunlight bleeding through the woodlands and casting crooked rays atop the back road between the jagged branches above.

As Rowan drove, he pondered on everything he’d read about Bluewater these past few days. It was an oddity of a place, a lesser-known town that apparently saw the occasional swamp-seeking tourists, though it wasn’t particularly prolific in any way. The place was the most isolated town on the bayou, and he’d never even heard of it before reading Nyla’s ad in the paper. But, none of this bothered him. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he found himself pleased at the idea. He’d been living in the city all his life, and he was quite eager to settle in a quieter and more peaceful corner of Louisiana. Even though he was only thirty-one years old, his life in the city made him feel quite exhausted. It wasn’t as if he was seeking some form retirement decades early, but the idea of living in a cozy backwoods town after all he’d been through was comforting to say the least.

Besides—his job as a private investigator was admittedly more peaceful than his previous career, and working as a PI in a serene little town was a sure way to avoid the hazardous situations he’d found himself in during his old line of work.

His final day as a cop always lingered in the back of his mind, most often plaguing him in the night—the last standoff, the cold dark eyes of Noah LeBlanc, and the deafening gunshot that switched the world to black.

Rowan gulped heavily, gripping the wheel tighter as the scar on the side of his forehead gave a faint throb.

Quite honestly, he never blamed Chief Maxson for removing him from the force, and he knew he’d acted much too rashly on the day of his worst close call. But even now—after finding a bit more peace and powerfully reassessing his life priorities—he still couldn’t bring himself to fully regret his actions that day. The police nearly managed to capture the LeBlanc brothers because of Rowan’s interference. It was the closest they’d ever come to arresting the infamous LeBlancs.

Still, it was better this way. Rowan’s resolve and hotheadedness proved dangerous, both to himself and to others. Perhaps working as a free agent—and in a considerably less violent profession—was simply better for him. And beyond that, he felt as if his old hotheaded nature had simmered now. Facing death had a way of changing a man’s perspective, after all.

Eventually, near the late afternoon, Rowan found himself driving down another long back road surrounded by woodlands and fields of tall grass—and off to his left, a building soon came into view. It appeared to be a gas station, but the building was somewhat elongated, and the south side was decorated with long blue lights over the rooftop, which glowed overtop of numerous diner windows. A huge rounded sign stood on display just in front of the parking lot, and the bright neon sign read DINER & GAS EXPRESS.

Rowan slowed the van and rolled steadily into the parking lot, stopping directly in front of the building’s glass double-doors. He hesitated, squinting out the windshield and studying the other vehicles in the parking lot, seeing only three—a gray oldsmobile parked around the corner, an orange sports car at a gas pump, and a single white pickup truck sitting a few spaces away from him. He let out a sigh, suddenly remembering that he’d forgotten to ask Nyla what she was driving. He didn’t know what vehicle she had, and he had no clue what she looked like, either. It seemed finding her here might be more difficult than he initially thought.

For a few minutes, Rowan simply leaned back and glanced around as his radio played a soft string of music, running a hand down his face and scanning over the parking lot in search of a woman, though the place seemed anything but busy. He nodded mildly along with the music as he continued to skim over the environment.

“She always knows her place, she’s got style, she’s got grace… she’s a winner! She’s a lady! Whoa, whoa, whoa… she’s a lady…!”

Rowan glimpsed around for a moment again—and then, his eyes landed on the gas station’s double-doors just as they swiveled open.

A woman sauntered out, sleek and toned, wearing a long baggy flannel jacket that was much too big for her, a black and white one with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. While her tank top underneath was tightly fitted, the flannel overshirt was larger and baggier, and it flowed as smoothly as her hair, a head of wavy sandy-blonde that barely reached her neck and looked slightly messy, though strangely stylish in its swift and aloof appearance. The woman clipped a pair of big reflective sunglasses onto the collar of her tank top, scanning over the parking lot in search of the man she intended to meet.

Rowan gazed out his van’s windows, observing her for a second and inhaling deeply. He wasn’t sure why, but he was expecting someone older, perhaps a mother or a landlord. But this girl appeared to be around his own age, maybe even younger, someone he couldn’t imagine being responsible for a chunk of property. Then again, he knew nothing about her just yet…

The young woman in flannel—Nyla Cavalier—tilted her head and narrowed her eyes curiously at Rowan’s van in the near distance.

Then, she turned and spotted the sports car at the gas pumps, and—if Rowan wasn’t imagining it—her expression seemed to change.

He leaned forward and surveyed her more intently through the windshield.

Nyla’s mouth drifted open, watching as a man across the parking lot pumped gas into his sports car, a tall and somewhat muscular man with a black leather jacket and dark hair shaved down to his scalp.

She seemed to recognize him, though her defensive face and stiffened stance looked anything but welcoming. Nyla gave another glimpse to the van, then slowly slinked back, reaching for the double-doors and preparing to retreat inside.

Rowan continued to watch her, his eyes shifting between her and the man across the parking lot, now piqued with suspicious intrigue.

Then, the man at the gas pump perked up, spotting Nyla just before she marched into the gas station. To Rowan’s dismay, the man quickly abandoned his car, striding briskly across the parking lot and entering the gas station after her.

Rowan took in a slow, anxious breath.

He couldn’t know what was going on, who the man was or why Nyla seemed unwilling to face him, but the way the man followed her put a knot in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he’d unwittingly arrived at the threshold of a domestic conflict of some kind. He’d been forced to deal with numerous similar situations in the past, though he didn’t expect such a scenario to find him today.

Nevertheless, Rowan sighed and popped his door open, stepping out and approaching the glass double-doors. When he wandered inside, the bright shine of fluorescence washed over him, aisles of snacks and goods off to the right, the front counter directly before him, and the elongated diner section perfectly visible to the left. He briefly spotted the collection of Bluewater pamphlets on the front counter, but his attention shifted over to Nyla and the strange man, who were both standing beside the empty diner booths a distance away, the man’s back facing Rowan, Nyla frowning and arguing with the stranger.

“Look—I just—I’m here for a reason,” Nyla insisted, giving the strange man a disdainful look. “I don’t have time for this right now. Can you just leave me alone?”

“I’m just curious,” the strange man muttered in a low, eerie voice, his dark and pensive eyes locked onto her. “What’re you doing way out here? Leaving town?”

“Even if I was—it’s none of your business,” Nyla griped. “Just go away, Brett.”

The strange man named Brett flashed a smooth, caustic smirk. “I’m leaving town again. Busy life, y’know. You don’t wanna head off to Sunlight Drive for a little bit? Just a nice little goodbye night…?”

“No,” Nyla replied firmly. “Just leave me alone.”

“Nyla,” Rowan called out without thinking, taking a wide step closer and giving her a wave.

Nyla spotted him over Brett’s shoulder. Brett spun around, seeing Rowan and grimacing, his face and demeanor both seeming to darken.

“Hey!” Nyla suddenly beamed, moving back and waving for Rowan to approach. “There you are! Finally!”

Rowan brandished a half-smile and spared Brett a glance in passing, approaching Nyla and preparing to shake her hand. Then—his heart gave a faint skip as she grabbed his hand and yanked him into a tight embrace.

Rowan froze, feeling confused and somewhat shocked, but he gently patted her on the back and returned the hug regardless.

When Nyla separated from him, she grinned up at him as if she’d found a long lost family member, grasping his arm and holding it tightly. Brett stood by and glared at the two of them, his frown hardening and his eyes sparkling with an instant agitation.

“Who’s he?” Brett grumbled. “Your boyfriend?”

Nyla spun on her heel, cocking her head at Brett and coiling her arms firmer around Rowan’s.

“Like I said,” she snarked coyly. “None of your business.”

For several tense seconds, Brett simply fumed at them.

After what felt like years, he whipped around and stormed out of the gas station, muttering numerous curses as he did. Nyla remained still, hugging Rowan’s arm and staring out the diner’s windows. She didn’t release his arm until she saw Brett’s car zoom out of the parking lot.

Releasing a relieved cloud of breath, Nyla let go of Rowan, turning and facing him properly.

“Okay… nice to meet you,” she said with a laugh. “Sorry about that.”

Rowan gave her an odd squint. “Who was that guy?”

“An asshole ex of mine,” Nyla explained, plopping down into the nearest booth. “He’s kinda stalkery. Sorry.”

Rowan slowly nodded, sitting across from her and giving her a perturbed look. “Do you have a restraining order against him or anything?”

“I did,” Nyla shrugged with a strange nonchalance, flipping the menu open and scanning over it. “But it doesn’t matter.”

Rowan continued to eye her in befuddlement. “What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

Nyla’s eyes flickered up from the menu, meeting his intently. Rowan only just realized they were a pair of pearly blues, glistening in the diner’s fluorescence.

“Welcome to Bluewater,” she said flatly. “The land of nobody gives a fuck.”

Rowan stared at her, somewhat bewildered.

He remained silent for a moment, mulling over his thoughts and slowly coming to a new realization. This town—an extremely isolated town on the bayou—was likely fairly different from the city of New Orleans, especially when it came to matters of the law. These types of backwoods places weren’t known for great presences of law enforcement. No, these kinds of places were inhabited by people who dealt with life’s problems all on their own. The more he pondered on it, the more he began to understand just what type of place he’d arrived in. It wasn’t a city of law verses crime—it was a hidden nook of old-school folks who simply didn’t rely on the law. It made sense that such a place wouldn’t likely enforce a restraining order with any sense of stringency, or that any of the inhabitants would greatly prioritize abiding by one.

“Whatcha want?” Nyla asked, snapping him out of his thoughts and pushing a second menu across the table toward him. “This is one of my favorite places. I always try to bring the kids here whenever I have the money.”

Rowan opened the menu, though his eyes remained on her. “You have kids?”

“Well… they’re not my kids,” Nyla replied with a sideways nod. “The childcare place went out of business a long time ago… and, coincidentally, that was where I worked. I kinda lost my job, but… not really. The parents just started letting their kids stay at my house. I ended up becoming Bluewater’s defacto babysitter. That’s my job now.”

“Oooh, I see.” Rowan nodded and skimmed over the menu.

“Sharon!” Nyla smiled, straightening up and spotting the plump waitress approaching them. “Hey, how are ya?”

The waitress named Sharon gave her a warm smile as she approached, glancing between her and Rowan. “Hey, sweetheart… oh, I ain’t seen you in forever. How come you don’t come ’round no more?”

“Eh… I can’t always afford it,” Nyla answered with a shrug. “I don’t usually come here unless I can bring everyone. The kids love it here.”

“Ah, I see, I see…” Sharon nodded, her gaze landing on Rowan. “And how’re you, sir? I don’t reckon I seen you before.”

“No… I’m new in town,” Rowan told her politely, offering a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, sweetheart, you too,” Sharon said kindly. “D’you know what you wanna order?”

Rowan glimpsed over the menu again, spotting an interesting meal that involved shrimp. It was a rather delicious looking mixture labeled Shrimp Gumbo.

“Gumbo,” he murmured. “Y’know—I’ve never actually had gumbo before.”

Nyla and Sharon both stopped, instantly staring at Rowan as if they’d never seen anything quite like him before.

Rowan blinked. “What…?”

“You’ve never had gumbo before?” Nyla gasped in disbelief, turning to Sharon. “Okay—get him some gumbo. I’ll pay for it. He’s never had your gumbo, Sharon—and we have to fix that right now.”

“Hey—now—I can pay for my own dinner,” Rowan replied with a chuckle, but Nyla shook her head and swatted at Sharon.

“Seriously—make that kickass gumbo you make,” Nyla instructed. “Rowan—you can order whatever else you want—but I really want you to try that gumbo. It’s amazing. It’s a rite of passage for living here.”

“Okay, okay,” Rowan agreed with another breathless laugh. “Whatever you say. I’ll, ah… I’ll take the shrimp one, I guess.”

Sharon nodded, taking his and Nyla’s orders before shuffling off and vanishing into the kitchen. Rowan watched her go, surveying his environment and taking it all in. The diner was large, shiny, empty, and nearly spotless, as it likely didn’t see many visitors on this day. He’d never seen any diners being run solely by one person back in the city, but it seemed this place didn’t need an extra hand as of now. Bluewater was a different sort of place, smaller and simpler than New Orleans.

Sharon returned briefly to place their cold drinks on the table before marching off again to complete their meals. Nyla sipped on her iced tea while Rowan took a swig of water, both of them meeting eyes again and wondering how to start their next conversation.

“So,” Nyla began, intertwining her fingers and giving him an interested look. “Before we solidify this roommate thing, is there anything you wanna ask about me and my home?”

Rowan hesitated, biting his lip and thinking for a few seconds. “Well… I figured you’d have questions for me first.”

“Okay, fair point. Um…” Nyla folded her arms, making a thoughtful face for a moment. “You said you were a PI… what did you do before that, again?”

“I was a cop. I actually made detective for a short while,” Rowan informed. “But there was an incident… long story short, I ended up off the force.”

Nyla narrowed her eyes at him. “What did you do?”

Rowan swallowed hesitantly, sighing and crossing his arms over the table. “I… miscalculated.”

Nyla eyed him, waiting for him to explain further.

Rowan inhaled deeply. “I miscalculated something. I tried to stop a couple of armed robbers from escaping capture, but…”

He paused, glancing down and releasing a cloud of breath. When he met her eyes again, his expression was considerably more serious, and he gently tapped the side of his forehead, softly grazing the tiny jagged scar across his skin.

Nyla spotted the scar, her mouth drifting slightly agape. “Whoa…”

“Yeah.” Rowan lowered his hand and nodded. “Wasn’t fun. I got out of that line of work, though… haven’t had any other close calls since. Being a PI requires similar skills, but there’s less danger.”

Nyla nodded silently, resisting the urge to give the scar another once-over.

“Okay,” she uttered moments later. “Is there anything else I should know about you? Any substance dependencies, drinking problems, medications… criminal record…?”

“No, no… nothing crazy,” Rowan replied with a laugh. “I drink once in a blue moon, but that’s about it. No addictions, or record, or anything…”

Nyla nodded again, tapping the table and searching her mind for more questions.

“Oh… here’s something I’m wondering about,” she said, shooting him a curious squint. “How are you gonna find work in Bluewater? There’s not a lot of people who can afford PIs here. Hell… if someone needs to find something out, they end up stalking people themselves. They won’t hire someone else to do it.”

Rowan stared at her, pondering on her bizarre statement before giving her an answer.

“Actually, ah… I was already hired by somebody in the town,” he informed. “He called me up, and that’s why I decided to move here. I’m not sure about the details of the job yet, but that’s the first one I’ve got lined up. If I don’t find any more after that, then… I suppose I could join the police force here. Or find another job. Whatever works.”

Nyla gave another nod, leaning back against the booth’s squishy cushions. “Sounds about right. Okay, well… I honestly can’t think of any more questions. You seem like the perfect roommate. You’re saner than everyone else in my house.”

Rowan laughed, then straightened up and shot her a questioning look. “Who else lives there? Anything I should know about them…?”

Following these words, Nyla’s expression seemed to deflate. She stared downward for several seconds, assessing her thoughts before responding. She then leaned forward again, hunching on the table and staring into him sternly.

“All right,” she began, her tone taking on a hint of seriousness. “I’m not gonna lie… there’s a lot you should know. You ready to hear it?”

Rowan nodded, and Nyla took in a heavy breath before speaking on.

“I live with my grandpa, Elliot,” she explained. “He hunts and fishes on the bayou, and he collects stuff out there he can sell. He’s an old-school guy, really self-reliant, but he has a bad leg that he’s supposed to take medication for. I always have to force him to take it. Then, there’s my brother, Wilder. Wilder is kinda… weird. He’s not a creep or anything, but he has some substance dependency problems. I’ve been trying to get him sober for years, but it’s a slow-going process. And, the biggest thing you should know is…”

Nyla inhaled a huge breath, her eyes fixed onto his.

“The house is always full of kids,” she stated. “Now, I figured a roommate wouldn’t wanna deal with the kids all the time, so here’s what I did. We all cleared out the attic room together. We got rid of everything we don’t need, we stored everything we wanted to keep, and we’re gonna have a big yard sale tomorrow to get rid of the rest. The attic room is huge, and it’s totally empty and spotless now. That’s where I planned for my new roommate to live. There’s a lock on the door, so you won’t have the kids barging into your room… but you’ve gotta be okay with the fact that the kids basically live in my house all the time. Is that cool with you?”

“Ah… sure,” Rowan replied indifferently, giving her a nod and a shrug. “I’ve never been one of those people who gets really annoyed by kids. I don’t mind ’em.”

Nyla stared at him for a moment, then revealed a slight smirk. “Awesome. You’re perfect.”

Rowan let out a breathless chuckle. “All right, well… how much is my rent gonna cost?”

“Mmm… I was thinking like a hundred a month,” Nyla replied.

Rowan squinted at her. “Only a hundred?”

Nyla’s smirk widened. “It’s not a five-star place, man. And all I really just need a tiny bit of extra cash to help with groceries. I’m feeding kids all the time.”

“What about electric?”

“Nah, you don’t have to worry about that. We don’t have an electric bill. Grandpa’s had solar panels all over the house ever since the solar panel trend started… and he has two big-ass generators outside, too. We get our own power off the grid.”

“All right… and water?”

“We’ll cover that. We have a well.”

Rowan paused, surveying her closely and feeling as if the offer was simply too good to be true. But Nyla seemed genuine, almost excited to have taken on a new roommate, and he felt a spark of gratitude at her gracious deal.

“Listen,” he said seriously. “I have a good amount in my savings, and I’m gonna be getting paid at some point soon. I can at least do a hundred and fifty per month.”

Nyla stared at him, then took back slightly. “You sure? I’m okay with a hundred.”

“Yeah, well…” Rowan gave a sideways nod. “You’re giving me a damn good deal here. And you’re taking care of all the kids in town, so… no reason I can’t help out a little more. I’m willing to do some chores too, if you need it. Seems like you’ve got your hands full.”

Nyla let out a laugh. “Oh God, you have no idea…”

Rowan smirked, feeling reassured in a way he rarely ever did. For once, everything he planned seemed to be going well. He was glad to have met a decent person here in Bluewater, and his plans with Nyla would certainly give him a decent start in this new town. It seemed much nicer than the idea of continuing life in his van.

“Oh… can I tell you about the kids?” Nyla asked. “Just so you know a bit about them beforehand. I think that’ll help.”

“Sure,” Rowan agreed. “Go for it.”

“Okay… well, the youngest is Jimmy. He’s seven years old,” Nyla elaborated. “His older brother Troy is the one who always picks him up and drops him off. They don’t have any parents, and Troy is kind of an asshole, but he won’t start fights or anything. He’s just standoff-ish. Then there’s Jack. Jack is ten, and he’s like super cocky. He’s basically always trying to be the ‘leader’ of their little gang. Omar is eleven, and he’s more of the snarky intellectual type. Then there’s Milo… the loud clumsy one who’s always scavenging for junk food everywhere. And Tyler is…”

Nyla trailed off rather suddenly, falling instantly silent and glaring down at the table as if it had wronged her somehow.

Rowan read over her expression, sensing that something was amiss. “Tyler is…?”

“Sorry,” Nyla exhaled, shaking her head and frowning deeply. “Not Tyler. Tyler’s not there anymore. But the others… that’s basically all you need to know about ’em. You have any more questions?”

Rowan went quiet, continuing to study her odd change of expression and feeling somewhat troubled. He wanted to ask about this Tyler child, who he was and why he wasn’t around anymore—but the look on her face made him fall speechless, as it seemed to be a grim subject that she’d rather not speak of.

So, he simply sighed and shook his head. “No… no more questions. I think I’m good.”

“M’kay.” Nyla was silent for a few seconds. Then, her posture straightened, and she took on a visage of severity again, meeting his eyes and staring into him rather fixedly. “One more thing. There’s one condition to this whole roommate deal.”

Rowan slowly nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“I need you to help me,” Nyla stated flatly, jabbing her finger to the table’s surface. “If I’m not around for whatever reason—if you end up somewhere with the kids for whatever reason—then I really need you to look after them. They’re adventurous, and they wander off sometimes, and they might get too close to the swamps with the gators and everything—not to mention they end up wandering off near strangers all the time. If you end up with the kids for whatever reason, then please, watch them. I don’t want anything happening to them. Okay?”

Rowan hesitated, giving her a firm nod in agreement. “Okay… all right. No problem. I’ll help out however I can.”

“Good. Thank you,” Nyla said conclusively, leaning back in her booth and seeming to relax.

There was a long pause between the two of them, neither of them speaking when Sharon returned and placed their fresh bowls of hot gumbo in front of them. A few minutes passed by—but when Nyla began to eat, her beaming smile made a full return.

“Mmm… oh God… that’s so good,” Nyla grinned, eating a large spoonful and chomping a shrimp’s tail off with her teeth. “Oh yes…”

Rowan let sip a faint half-smile as he watched her, observing her whimsical grin and feeling somewhat amused. Nyla seemed over the moon now, thoroughly delighted and joyful over a simple bowl of gumbo.

But as he gazed into her, his smile began to fade, the gears in his mind turning and cranking up a storm. It bothered him; something had happened to one of the kids in town, a kid named Tyler. That much was clear. And now, Nyla Cavalier—the hometown childcare provider—seemed overly anxious and paranoid about anything happening to the rest of the kids. It all tied together in his mind, and he felt a dark, nauseated churning in his stomach.

Rowan let out a cloud of breath and shook his thoughts away, briefly scratching at his scar before staring down at the steamy bowl of mysterious lumpy liquid before him. It smelled heavenly, though he’d never seen such a concoction before in his life.

He traded eyes with Nyla for a second, who smiled and motioned for him to take his first bite. Rowan filled his spoon and caught half a shrimp in the mixture—and the warm, perfectly-seasoned mixture tasted surprisingly delightful.

“Oh. Man…” Rowan nodded and raised his brows. “Can’t believe I never tried this before. It’s good. It’s really good…”

“Right?” Nyla laughed. “Get used to it. Hometown tradition.”

The two of them traded conversation as they finished their dinners, and—despite Nyla’s offer—Rowan paid for his own meal. They said their goodbyes to Sharon before leaving, and Nyla broke away briefly, snatching one of the cerulean pamphlets off the gas station’s counter.

“Mike! I’m taking one of your guidebooks!” Nyla hollered at the employee door.

Evidently, the employee named Mike didn’t care. Rowan and Nyla sauntered outside, and she handed him the pamphlet before spinning on her heel.

“This truck is mine,” Nyla informed, waving loosely at the white pickup. “Follow me into town and I’ll show you where you live.”

Rowan replied with a two-fingered salute, and they both broke apart and climbed into their vehicles. Rowan waited for her to back out and roll toward the road before doing the same, and once more, he found himself driving through darkened bayou back roads with the ambiance of swamp life echoing from the woodlands all around.

As he drove, and as the surrounding trees and vines slowly began to reveal various small buildings interspersed between them, Rowan felt a slow, mild sensation rising up inside like a cold fire, perhaps a sense of anxiety as he steadily cruised into Bluewater. Come to think of it, he’d never completely uprooted his life and started fresh in an entirely new place before, and he truly felt himself encroaching upon the threshold of a great life change now. It was only just sinking in, as if he’d just realized it, the steepness of the change indicated by the drastically unfamiliar environment surrounding, by the echo of the frogs and crickets and by the lonesome homes and small shops appearing all around him.

Here he was—driving directly into a brand new life.

“Well’p,” he mumbled to himself, opening and closing his hand around the steering wheel. “No turning back now.”