I sat in the corner of my room underneath the window view of downtown Wilton. I pulled out my tablet and typed a few notes of everything that had happened throughout the day. From what I could see, nothing appeared to be happening on the street, just a few people walking underneath the warm lights. It was quiet. I relaxed my shoulders and reclined in the chair.

There was a part of me that imagined living in Wilton and having a quiet life.

What if I just worked alongside Martha and took over as sheriff when the time came? I could settle down. Blips of Vicky entered my daydreams.

On the strip of downtown Wilton, I didn’t see any other activity to keep my interest, so I got ready for bed and slipped underneath the sheets. But it took me a while to fall asleep, even though it was late.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it felt like I had lay there for at least an hour. Muffled footsteps from the hallway stopped at my neighbor’s door. I heard two people giggling before unlocking their door and going inside. I tried to hear more from them, but there was total silence.

The next thing I remembered was walking through a dark corridor with bright blue lights passing me by, like stars stretching at the beginning of warp speed. I wasn’t sure what was up ahead, but my spine tingled.

An echoed slither filled my ears.

The lights flew by faster and faster with each step, and from the center of my vision, I saw something that made me freeze. Snakes hissed, and a giant head emerged from the shadows with the curls encased in the dark, but I could see the hair moving. It was Vicky’s face, but her eyes were white. She opened her mouth, and a forked tongue floated out and slipped into my mouth. My tongue was gripped by hers and then ripped out.

I shot up in bed. Coated with sweat, head to toe. Even though I had blankets on, I was shivering. Checking the time, it was 6:00 in the morning, and I was wide awake. Another night of only a few hours of sleep. I couldn’t keep doing that. More rest was needed. I took a few deep breaths, went to the bathroom, crawled back in bed, and closed my eyes.

Three hours seemed to blink by. When I checked the time, it was 9:30. I could work with six hours of sleep.

I went down to the lobby and was greeted by the heavenly scent of fresh coffee, giving me a pre-caffeinated jolt of excitement. I passed on the cookie, but I poured myself a cup of coffee. Sitting in the lobby, I pulled out my phone and checked out the Wilton Observer. There was nothing too interesting on the front page that captured my attention. More feel-good stories and town features on local businesses hosting events of some sort. None of it seemed like a loose thread, but I still perused the articles as I finished my coffee.

When I returned my mug up to the counter, I waved to Christopher. “Good morning.”

“Agent Wright. How are you this fine morning?”

“I’m doing all right. I have a busy day ahead of me.”

“On a Sunday?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, don’t work too hard, my friend. Nothing wrong with a day off. Wilton is a good place to relax in.”

I smiled. “You’re not wrong. Say, Christopher, I have a bit of a random question for you. Does the name Charles Green or Vincent Nelson mean anything to you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize either of those names.”

“No worries.”

Christopher had a look of concern. “Anything to be worried about?”

“No. I just want more information on them. That’s all.”

“I wish I could help you.”

“That’s quite all right. Thanks anyway.” The coffee at the inn was too good not to have another mug. I sat back in my chair and continued reading about the articles in the Wilton observer.

The elevator bell dinged, and the doors parted down the center. A hushed conversation with intermittent snickering came from a couple I hadn’t seen before. I wondered if they were my new neighbors, but they were tall and model-like. Both the man and woman looked like they could belong on the cover of a magazine. The man was wearing a plaid button-up and slim-fitting jeans. The woman wore a cream-colored romper with a golden necklace.

“Good morning,” Christopher said to them.

Both of them were all smiles with their perfect teeth. “Good morning,” they said in unison.

I watched them as they left the lobby right away. They didn’t even stop and have a cookie, nor did they seem to notice the coffee carafe. Part of me wondered if they were models, and if so, what business could they have in Wilton?

I finished my last drink of coffee exited the lobby. Outside, the sunlight was strong, and the humidity made my clothes stick to me. I noticed the couple had just entered Buckwheat’s. I’d be having a late breakfast, but it was better than nothing at all. I went straight to Buckwheat’s.

As I stepped inside, I could hear the sizzling and frying from the kitchen. The beeping buttons came from the cash register as someone paid their bill. The smell of syrup and bacon lingered in the air, coffee too. I looked around for an empty table. It was crowded. I found one at the very back, a booth underneath the window. I was right behind the couple from the lobby. Perfect. Before I started walking to the empty table, I looked to the right side of the restaurant. There was a man with blue circular glasses, a bald head, and wearing a white suit staring at me. He was sitting by himself at a booth that could only fit two people. I stared at him for a second and narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t see his pupils or his eye color. His lenses were too opaque. My spine tingled. He was radically out of place compared to my surroundings of solid color, plaid, and plainclothes.

I turned around and went to the booth in the back behind the couple. As soon as I sat down, a server came up to me, blocking my view of the man with blue glasses. She was wearing a black t-shirt that said Buckwheat’s on the front with black pants and shoes. It wasn’t the same server from yesterday. She was probably mid-20s, dark hair in a ponytail, with warm brown eyes.

“Hello, can I get you something to start with?” She asked.

“I’ll just have the western omelet,” I said.

“Is that it? No coffee?”

“Water is fine.”

I noticed there was a tattoo on her right arm as she jotted down my order. I could only see the bottom of four limbs of some sort.

“Excuse me, I was just curious what your tattoo was?” I pointed.

The server beamed. “Oh yeah, it’s Cerebus.” She rolled up her sleeve so I could see the whole thing. A three-headed dog on all fours, the expression on each face was stoic, but the brow was slightly furrowed.

“That’s a beautiful tattoo. Where did you have it done?”

“I got it done a while ago at work.”

“Here?” I asked.

She cracked up. “Yup, the busboy inked me.”

“But seriously, where did you get it from?”

“My other job.”

“I just thought about maybe getting one someday, and I was curious if you may have had any recommendations.”

She shrugged. “It’s not really a traditional tattoo place. One of my friends did it, and she’s an amazing tattoo artist.”

“I agree. She did an amazing job with that one. So where’s your other job at, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I actually do mind,” she said politely.

“That’s okay, I understand. Forgive me for asking so many questions.”

She smiled, and although it looked genuine, I felt like she was uncomfortable. I frowned; the conversation didn’t go as I had hoped. Perhaps I should’ve told her I was FBI studying a case? Maybe that would have freaked her out even more. As she walked away from my table, I noticed that the man in the white suit was gone.

The table in front of me was giggling about something. I leaned closer to them to listen to their conversation, but it was tough with the constant flow of dialogue from the entire restaurant.

“I still keep smiling about last night. My face hurts from smiling so much,” the woman said.

“So you don’t think it’s too much to go there again?” the man asked.

“We have another invitation. We may as well use it. That place was a blast.”

I left my table and approached their booth. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. May I ask what place you’re talking about?”

Both of them stared at me as if I had just spoken gibberish, and they couldn’t understand me.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. It’s weird because it seems like a private club because they only let people in with an invitation. But yet, if you’re in town at night, you’ve probably noticed the blue neon sign?” the man said.

“Club Novus, yes?”

“Yeah, have you been there before?” the woman asked.

“No, but I’m very interested in going. I’d love to get an invitation. May I ask how you got one?”

“Uh, we got one from the owner. He was just sitting over there, actually.” The man stared at the corner where the man with the blue glasses was sitting. “Huh, I guess I don’t see him anymore.”

“That was the owner who was in here?”

“That’s what he told us, at least.” The man shrugged. “He gave us an invitation for tonight.”

“But how did you get an invitation in the first place?”

“Oh, I’ve had a friend who traveled through town and said it was one of the best nightclubs he had ever been to, and he actually had an invitation and gave it to me. He told me he would have used it himself, but he wasn’t going to be in the area anytime soon.”

“Do you know where your friend got the invitation?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. What was the nightclub like? I’ve been dying to go in. I’ve heard nothing but great things,” I said.

“You heard correctly. It’s amazing,” the man said.

“What makes it different than other nightclubs?”

“It’s hazy inside. They’re big on the fog. But there’s also a lot of neon in the club. People are everywhere, dancing, drinking, just, you know, having a great time.”

“But you’re forgetting the best part,” the woman said. “It’s quite risque.”

“Risque? How so?”

“The servers and staff are walking around in tight-fitting clothing that shows a lot of skin, but the outfits are tasteful like a real art deco design to them. It’s surprising at first, but it adds to the ambiance. We were invited to a private suite with the owner and sat around with his people the whole night.”

“Wow, sounds like you had a great time. I’m a little jealous. So you have no invitations or know how I could go about getting one?”

They shook their heads.

“Well, thank you for letting me talk with you two. Please, allow me to pay for your meal. Have a wonderful day.” I smiled at both of them, and their faces lit up at my offer.

“Cheers, man,” the guy said as I went back to my table and waited for my omelet to come out. When the server came back with my food, I said, “Hey, I’m really sorry about asking all those questions earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable at all.”

“That’s okay. I just wanted some privacy.”

“I understand. Again, my apologies.”

The diced ham, green pepper, and onions filled my nose with delight. My mouth watered. I grabbed my fork and knife, sprinkled on pepper and salt, and dug in. Each bite was omelet perfection.