Archers, the yawning portal into the existential abyss of true damnation. The building stood innocently before him, but Scott was not fooled. He knew the truth. The pervasive unseen terror that dwelled within was an insidious darkness that polluted the mind and corroded the soul. Entrance into that tempting nirvana of retail wonderment was truly none other than a path to damnation. Once inside its plaster coated walls, there was no hope left to the entrant. Their very soul would be ripped brutally from still quivering flesh, claimed by the eldritch abomination that disguised itself as an innocuous retail establishment. Woe, unto any who tread upon its forsaken tiles. Naught but death and madness eternal awaited.

"Gonna go inside, or just stare at it all day?" asked a voice from nearby.

Scott, torn from his grand reverie, looked to see who had spoken to him in his time of mourning. Tyrone, one of his co-workers had arrived. Next to him stood his heterosexual life partner, Other Scott.

"Big T," said Scott before he looked to the other guy. "Other Scott."

"Man, why do I keep getting called that? It's not even my first name," said the man cheerfully. In truth, his first name was James, but his last name was Scott. People, being people, they called him Other Scott because it annoyed him.

Scott shrugged. "There can be only one."

They shared a laugh at the forced Highlander reference. It was an old joke passed around amongst the team members. The three did not spend much time working together, but did run across each other on occasion when one or the other was sent to the front to run a register during busy periods.

"Made it back, huh? You looked pretty wrecked the other day," said Tyrone. He made a production out of stretching then curled his biceps. "Had to carry you out of here, fam."

"Somehow I always knew I would have to be carried out of this place one day," said Scott lightly. "Thanks for that."

"No problem..." Tyrone slid forward then bumped Scott with his shoulder. "Say, fam... You ever heard of the UFC?"

He started to answer his co-worker when yet another voice called out to him. This one held a ring of familiarity, but it was not an entirely welcome voice.

Neither of the trio had been paying attention, and somehow a large man had appeared behind them. Larger than even than Tyrone, the one person Scott both liked and hated to see in this world appeared before him.

"Sheriff Payne," said Scott softly.

The professionally attired sheriff removed his hat, one Scott recognized as being a gift from his father to his longtime partner on the force. His bald head gleamed darkly in the sun, a feature only outperformed by the masterful prowess of his well-appointed mustache.

"I see you kept the mustache," said Scott.

"Of course," said the sheriff.

Tyrone and James were instantly curious but the made an excuse and drew off to one side. Whatever was happening, they wanted to know about it.

"Checking up on me?" asked Scott, a slight edge in his voice.

"Every chance I get, not that you return phone calls or email," replied the sheriff.

Scott ran his fingers through his hair. "Associating with someone like me might be bad for your re-election campaign, sheriff."

The sheriff's eyes narrowed. "You think I care about that?"

Scott snorted derisively then looked away. "No. Someone has to think about it, though."

"Listen, son. I—" began the sheriff.

Scott held up his hand. He did not say something trite or cliché such as, "You're not my father." His expression and that hand silently said it all.

"I did nothing wrong." Scott raised his head and looked into the older man's eyes. One of only two people who even tried to believe his story, Sheriff Derrick Payne. He was his father's partner on the force and had tried to step up as much as he could after his longtime friend had been killed in the line of duty. "People don't care about that, though. This town needs someone like you protecting it."

Sheriff Payne looked Scott in the eyes then slowly closed his. "Scott..."

Scott's eyes narrowed slightly then he snorted in a way that made his coming words sound more derisive than they truly were. "Might want to send one of your deputies out by the cemetery on Green Street... Vandals have taken to leaving garbage and pissing on gravestones."

"What... Did someone—" began the sheriff only for Scott to snort once more.

"Someone?" he asked the sheriff. "We both know damned well who it is..."

"Don't do it, son." The sheriff reached out and placed his arm to Scott's shoulder. "That bastard stole your childhood. Don't let him steal your future, too."

Scott ripped his shoulder free of the sheriff's hand, but said nothing. His eyes spoke everything that needed to be said. Every moment that his step-father drew breath was a slap in the face to him, his sister, and everything right in the world. Yet, he was required to stay away from the man by the courts.

The powers that he possessed would make it easy to kill him now, of course, but there was something else that held his anger in check. Murdering the bastard would be the easy way out. It was too simple. Even torturing the fucker to death would just be a momentary thing. His sister deserved justice, and some day he would find a way to prove the truth. The laws that were used on a small boy in defense of a monster, would be used to drag that monster down.

Of course, Scott had spent the last few years wallowing in his own broken nature. It was only recently that he began to gain the confidence necessary to confront the people who wished to continually take from him.

He looked into the sheriff's eyes. Strength came to his voice in that moment. "He deserves to die, but there's a better way. My father taught me that."

Sheriff Payne's eyes widened slightly and for the briefest of moments they seemed to mist over. "He did, didn't he?"

The big man collected himself, however, then nodded his head. "Give me something to work with, and I'll see to it that it happens. There's still a few guys down at headquarters who..."

Scott raised his hand up and waved the man off. "Thanks. I have to go to work now."

He turned away then walked into Archers without another word spoken. Sheriff Payne watched him leave then stood silently for a moment before he put his hat back on his head. "There he is... Really did take after his father, huh?"

The sheriff left the store front and headed to his black and gold squad car parked nearby. Tyrone and James watched him leave then slowly looked toward each other. Neither of them knew what to make of what they had heard. It seemed the goofy guy who ran the front-end was secretly a well-connected man with a dark past.

Tyrone acquired a smug expression. "Damn. It all makes sense now."

"What does?" asked James.

"Come on, fam. There's no way a white boy would be as strong as all that," said Tyrone.

James snickered at his buddy. "Never heard of them Russian power lifters, huh?"

Tyrone snorted at James. "Man, when's the last time you saw a Russian dude with half a mullet?"

"Right. Right. What's the other half of his hair supposed to be then?" asked James in a playful tone.

"I don't know, and I doubt old boy knows either." Tyrone laughed at his own joke and James soon joined in as well. Scott wouldn't know a proper hair style if one crawled up on his head and died.

"Gotta be careful with what we say to him now, though," said James. "Him being half-black and all."

"Yeah. He might take something the wrong way and get halfway mad," agreed Tyrone.

They looked at each other, then grinned like morons. It was the little things in life that made it worth living, really.

"Whitest black dude I've ever seen," said James, "And I've met Will Smith."

"Naw, fam. Don't even try. You know you didn't," said Tyrone.

"Yeah, I did. He was getting gas," said James.

"No. No, you didn't," said Tyrone. He started toward the door. They were in danger of being late for work, not that anyone cared about two or three minutes.

"Why you always gotta bring me down? Can't you just be happy that Will Smith was lucky enough to pump gas next to me?" asked James.

"You right," said Tyrone. "I'll let you know about it next time Kim Kardashian rolls up at Chipotle and asks me to wax her car."

"Why? There's a lot of big booty girls in the world who have a whole lot less drama attached to them," said James.

Tyrone nodded lightly. It was true. Why should he hold out for sloppy fifths, or whatever Kim Kardashian counted as, when there were so many lonely big booty girls in the world? It was a damned shame not to help them in their time of need. Criminal, really.