The Disappearance of Saltpine’s 573 Residents (Part 9)

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“This isn’t right, dear.” Eloise’s voice rouses me from my despondent state, eyes cast out the small window of her kitchen as she dries dishes, and my coffee grows colder. Her words are startling in other ways as I turn to her and find her gaze fixed on me in a solemn worrying look. “It’s not good for the mind, or the spirit.”

I feel her gaze like a thousand weights, suddenly scrutinized as if I were the patient and her the doctor. Do I always look at my patients with such careful sympathy? With an edge of reason and knowledge of something that’s so much better for them? Even when they can’t fathom it in their own current state? I always ask them to try, Eloise’s eyes are asking me to try too.

I want to say I’m fine, or something else similar, but I hate being a liar. I hate what lies do to people. Most of all, Eloise’s gaze is sharp, as if it’s cutting through me, seeing right through any empty platitudes I might give.

I tell her, “It’s finally stopped snowing.”

She nods, dries a cup, and reaches for a plate. “For now.” Her smile is large, crinkled at the edges. “I think you should go out, dear, see the town a little more, greet people. I am running low on some supplies, and it would be nice if you could pop into the shops quickly for me. There’s also a restaurant here, did you know? A small thing, but we all try to go once a winter, to help out. We like helping each other out here. Small towns are like this.”

I nod along. “I think I remember that.” I’m sure I saw something when I first came here, when I went to the grocery store once, but other than that I don’t go out. Eloise is right about that. I go out to see my patients, but that’s it. It’s December, a couple months have passed, Eloise is properly right. I need to see others on a social basis, perhaps even crave that interaction without realizing it.

As much as I’d like to decline her words, I feel a slight elation of excitement of getting out of here for a couple hours that’s not seeing patients, or having Dr. Schile dodge expertly all my questions. A couple of hours of not thinking about Colten Donahue’s eyes glazed over, greying ever more with every shaky gargled breath. Or Amy’s smile, sinister, but almost painfully terrifyingly happy. Eyes long gone.

Still, I can’t help but think of the other residents. What they must think of me. Two of their people have died. Under my watch, and under my care. Despite this, they have been different towards me. Ever since Amy Sullivan died, my other patients have looked at me differently. I thought it was just them, but Dr. Schile and Beth are the same. It’s sympathetic, but it’s also filled with a level of respect and reverence I’m sure I must be imagining. How could they hold such regard for me, after what I did? What I failed to do.

“The roads should be clear enough for walking by tomorrow. It’s supposed to be a clear day, there’s only half an hour of daylight left, I’d make use of it, dear, before it’s too late.” Eloise insists.

I nod, smiling as much I’m able. “What did you need me to pick up? At the store?”

Her face flashes confusion for a second, until I clarify, and then she smiles, wide and charming. “Ah, of course. I’ll have a list for you at noon.”

–

I soon find out that it’s not just my patients, Dr. Schile, or Beth. It’s all of Saltpine. I walk down the busy street of downtown surprised by how many people are out. Most of them look as if they’re simply going for a walk in the last of the daylight. Kids aren’t in school like they’d usually be, they’re running around, playing with one another, smiling and happy screams. The grocery store is busy, and the small restaurant nearby as people coming and going. It instantly brings a smile to my face, and a lighter feeling in my heart. But what’s even stranger is the way a lump forms in the back of my throat, the way I feel tears threatening. I don’t know why.

Everyone looks at me, not as they did when I first arrived with hostility, or disdain, or as if I was some stranger invading their sacred space. Instead, they glance at me, and smile, and nod. Their eyes seem to say, ‘it’s okay.’ And, ‘you’re doing what you can.’ Most of all, ‘thank you.’ Which leaves me baffled. Two people have died under my care, last year there was only one suicide, and the years before that less as far as I know.

It feels like a lot, feels almost like too much.

I look away from their quick gazes back to all the storefronts, and see that there’s more to Saltpine than I first thought. There’s also a small second-hand store with a sign on the front that says, ‘Trade And Sell.’ There’s another building with large aging letters that gains my attention even more, ‘Saltpine’s Public Libray.’ These all seem to have lights on inside the small windows. They all seem to be active, and alive. That, and the grocery store and small restaurant.

The rest of the buildings do not.

One holds a sign that reads, ‘Saltpine Broadcast Station.’ With signs in the window that looks aged, half-torn down. They have the unmistakable maple leaf on a newer looking one. The government’s signature on most. But the building is completely dark, and the blinds are completely shut, it looks almost abandoned. But it can’t be, the radio station for Saltpine continues to play. I glance back over to the treeline, above the few buildings and houses, looking for the broadcast tower above the trees, but I find that I can’t see it.

I blink, heart stumbling a little as I realize the pine trees seem almost bigger, larger, taller than ever, as if blocking half the sky. My heart picks up even more, a strange unnatural feeling pressing through my chest. Like a snake, coiled tight.

I gulp, and turn away.  Maybe I’m just hungry.

I walk into the restaurant, unsure if I’ll find a seat. It’s quite busy, and when I look around I do indeed find it packed full. I find numerous sets of eyes suddenly on me, my skin flushes hot as I give a tentative smile, and a small step back, ready to leave.

“You can have my spot, Dr. Cotts, I’m all done.” Dakota Nelsen smiles at me from his spot in the back corner, waving as my eyes find his.

The other’s inside give me small nods like the residents outside, and then go back to their meals, their light conversations. The clatter of dishware resumes, and eating too. I move through the crowd to Dakota who is already getting up, chewing the last of his pancakes.

“Please, don’t leave so quickly on my account.” I tell him.

He looks up, smiling sheepishly. “I uh, I need to get back.” His eyes have a sheen of desperation. He doesn’t like leaving his house, I know this, but he’s been okay going out to shovel, to help out the neighbors. I’ve never seen anxiety about it before, but maybe this is different.

Before I can ask, he’s walking away from me.

I’m left looking at him as he leaves the building, and then startling when another presence walks up beside me. “Let me just clean this up for you.” Mr. Lindbeck smiles, his eyes full of that strange respect, and reverence towards me that the others have. A look of sympathy too, but his eyes are tired, dark circles underneath. It’s hard not to analyse.

“Thank you, Mr. Lindbeck.” I say, politely as he clears off the table, and wipes it down.

“Coffee to start?” He asks.

I nods. “Please. Do you have a special today?”

He smiles. “Pancakes.”

“I’ll just have those, thank you.”

“I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

It doesn’t take long, and soon I’m nursing a cup of coffee that is quite frankly one of the best I’ve had in years. It’s strong, rich, and delicious. Despite the lack of fresh cream, making do with the dried stuff, it’s still really good. I could drink it black if I had to, I like it both ways. But, it’s much better with a little sweetness.

Mr. Lindbeck comes back soon with the pancakes just as the door to the restaurant opens again. I expect another Saltpine resident, another person enjoying what daylight is left, not bothering to look up myself at first, until the sudden halting silence echoes throughout my brain. Dishes clatter to the table, eating stops, and easy conversation is wiped away mid-word. Not one person moves, speaks, or does anything but stare up at the entrance where my eyes naturally follow.

I startle only a little, not because they are obviously not from around here. As in not white, not dressed in city fashion or small town, but in furs and half-manufactured clothing, but because the two people that have just entered are staring at me directly. Their dark eyes rest solely on my being, as if piercing right through me. Their stance is stock still, tense, and the atmosphere in the restaurant grows grave, uncomfortable, and their body language screams a predator poising to make a move. Their hands grip something tightly at their sides, and I startle as I realize it’s a rifle in one of their hands. The other has a bow and arrows.

Slowly, carefully, one of the two men raises his hand, palm up, fingers spread. All five as if giving a high-five across a distance, or a wave hello, some form of normal greeting. But it’s obvious and clear from their tense expressions, and the unbearable pressure of the moment and room, that it’s anything but normal. Something isn’t quite right.

My eyes can’t look away from them as Mr. Lindbeck, whispers quiet, and harsh in me ear, “It’s okay, just do it.”

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I listen, unsure of what else to do. I feel strangely compelled and am reminded of Lisa in this moment. She loves other cultures, other customs. She always said that the reasons wars started was always because of one simple gesture ignored, and manly arrogance.

I remember her smile, the way her eyes shone.

I remember the way she held me.

Slowly, I life up my hand, palm up, fingers spread. As if giving a high-five through space, as if greeting hello in a stilled manner, not even a wave, just held up.

The man glances at my hand with intensity, and slowly lowers his, relief in his eyes. He breathes, and the tension dissipates somewhat, but no one speaks, or moves for a long time. Finally, the two men look to Mr. Lindbeck and nod. He nods back, and they disappear out the door.

Once they’re gone, it’s as if everyone in the room gives a collective sigh of relief.

Quietly, but urgently, I whisper to Mr. Lindbeck, “what was that?”

He smiles tightly. “Nothing. Just visitors. From the local reservation, a few hours away. Did you want butter?”

Suddenly, I’m not very hungry.

–

TAPED SESSION: TRINITY ERLING WITH DR. COTTS #7

Dr. Cotts: This is Dr. Cotts conducting session #[redacted] with patient #[redacted], Ms. Trinity Erling.

How are you this evening Trinity?

Trinity: That’s not what you want to ask me about though, is it?

Dr. Cotts: We’ve been through this before, I won’t push you. It is entirely your decision when, and if you wish to speak to me, about him. But yes, I do think it would be beneficial for your health if you were to choose to.

Trinty: Just ask me.

Dr. Cotts: Are you ready to talk about him?

Trinty: Everyone called me batshit, but I know what happened.

I know how he disappeared.

Dr. Cotts: Your boyfriend?

Brian Howe?

Trinty: We were together seven years.

I…

I can tell you about him.

Dr. Cotts: Has something happened? Has something changed? Is it perhaps the timing? It is close to the twenty fifth.

Trinity: Ha. Yeah, the timing.

Saltpine isn’t like that.

We don’t celebrate birth, it’s a different type of return, but no. It’s not because of that. It’s because of Amy.

Dr. Cotts: Amy Sullivan?

Trinty: Yeah, you tried to help her, doc. You really did.

Dr. Cotts: I’m not sure I did, help her, in the end. But I did try, as I do with all my patients, as I want to do with you.

Trinity: Well… you can ask.

Dr. Cotts: Your file says that your boyfriend left you, that’s how you described it to Officer Davidson. Is that what happened?

Trinity: Not exactly.

It uh, it happened slowly at first. So slowly, I didn’t even realize how bad it was until it was too late. Until I couldn’t do anything, I felt trapped, and frozen.

I could come and go from our home, but I couldn’t stop it, you know?

Dr. Cotts: When did it begin? Do you remember how?

Trinity: Brian liked drugs.

Everyone in Saltpine knew it, and they disliked me because of it. Because I’m one of the only teachers here. I teach the children, and even though I don’t touch the stuff, they just uh, felt like I was bad somehow because of it.

Huh. Or maybe it’s because we weren’t conventional.

Dr. Cotts: How so?

Trinity: We were together seven years officially, but we started getting together ten years ago. It was three years of sex basically, sorry doc.

Dr. Cotts: Please don’t apologize. You’re an adult, it’s your decision. I make no judgements here, only observations.

Trinity: …

Yeah, well, in a town like this… everyone knows everything. And it was hard not to know Brian.

Dr. Cotts: What happened, exactly?

Trinity: Over the summers he’d go out with some of the rest of the men. Work in the mines, like their grandfathers did, only they’re different mines now. Mines held by corporations, not a small town just trying to make it. Ours hasn’t been in operation for years- decades. In the winter, he didn’t have much to do. He started taking more than a little weed. Some Oxy after he hurt his back in one of the rigs.

He just kept taking them, his eyes wouldn’t even look at me, they looked right through me.

And then his brother killed himself, after he… he wasn’t Brian anymore.

Dr. Cotts: What did he do, Trinity?

Trinity: One day he just… stopped.

He uh- sorry.

Dr. Cotts: It’s okay, take your time, I have some tissues here.

Trinity: Thanks.

So uh, as I was saying, one day he just stopped.

He laid down on the living room floor, on the floorboards of pine my daddy put in the year before during the summer he was working. He just laid on them, even though it must have been cold, and uncomfortable.

I remember walking around him, upset, and scoffing. I had another bad day at work, at the school. It was a parent-teacher thing, and all the parents were judging me. Acting as if I was the plague itself.

I was so angry, and upset, I just felt so fucking helpless. And angry at him.

I had shit thrown my way my whole life too. Who hasn’t in Salt-fucking-pine!? But I never stopped. I never had the luxury to lay down, and just stop, okay!?

I kicked him, I’m not proud of it. I hurled insults at him. I yelled, I screamed, but it did no good. He just laid there, looking up at me with that gaze that was looking, but seeing right through me all at the same time!

He didn’t move once.

Not a finger.

I don’t know how it happened, but slowly, every day I looked at him a little less.

A small glimpse, and that was it.

And then I saw it.

I saw what was happening.

Dr. Cotts: What was happening, Trinity?

Trinity: One of his hands had disappeared into the floorboards. Not completely, not entirely, but it was most of his hand. It was as if it was melting into it… but that’s not he right word… it was… it was sinking into it.

I thought I saw it wrong, I looked away, but I was terrified. I felt it, you know? Like a sixth sense, I knew it wasn’t right. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t bear to look at it.

I drank a lot that night.

After that, it was like a sick curiosity, a sick fascination. Every night after work, I’d glance at him, and see a little tiny bit more of him disappearing into the floor, sinking in.

Until one day, half his face was gone, and his one eye was looking at me. I mean, really looking at me, doc. Terrified, scared out of his mind. I’ve never seen him look so afraid. His pupil was so tiny, a pinprick going back and forth in his eyeball with such rapid, fearful speed. He was begging me for help.

I didn’t help him.

I shut my eyes.

I couldn’t look at him. And yet, I couldn’t look away.

A few days later, when most of him was gone, I reached for him.

I grabbed, and pulled, and cried desperately, but he slipped through the floor, and it was as if he was never here at all to start with.

That’s when I grew hysterical. When I uh, vandalized downtown. When Grahm was called, and Officer Davidson.

They didn’t believe me.

Said he must have ran out while he was high. Got lost in the forest.

But, doc, you believe me, don’t you?

-Dr. Laura Cotts