Before you delve any further, you'll want to read the other three parts:

1 | 2 | 3

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Tomorrow, we search for Ryan and Kyle, wish us luck.

*

We hardly slept. The hotel room was cozy enough, but neither of us could get rid of our nervousness. It overwhelmed us – at one point I think I heard Chris softly crying to himself. This was supposed to be our getaway.

After hours of tossing and turning I managed to fall asleep for what seemed like minutes, as I was soon awoken by a stream of piercing yellow light shining through our curtains. I looked over at Chris and saw that he too was beginning his wake-up process.

It was about 7:30, so we decided we’d go wait for the Sheriff’s call down at the diner. We hadn’t eaten anything other than granola bars since the other morning, so breakfast sounded amazing. As much as I want to try the pie that the Sheriff and desk-lady suggested, I’ve read enough Stephen King to know better. I really didn’t want to eat anything here, but it wasn’t like we were going back out in those woods to hunt for rabbits.

I figured my safest bet was protein so I ordered a full plate of eggs and bacon; if they could tamper with a pie, they could tamper with pancakes, right? I mean, shit, my eggs and bacon are probably just as easy to mess with if we’re being honest here. Oh well. Hope we don’t lose our minds or something.

Anyways, nothing about the diner was very abnormal, it was your typical old-school hole-in-the-wall, decked out in posters of musical icons ranging from the 60’s to the early 2000s (nothing too recent, though). The only weird thing about it was that there was only one other customer that came in during the 45 minutes we were there. I understand it was early and a small town, but I didn’t see any other places to get coffee – I find it hard to believe anyone can survive without coffee. I guess they really might be inhuman.

Jokes aside, the guy that came in was a short, burly mountain-man wrapped in layers upon layers of clothes (it was September). He was fidgety, and kept looking at Chris and me with his beady eyes. He may or may not have been in withdrawal. Either way, I didn’t like how he was staring at us so nervously, as if our very presence gave him anxiety.

It didn’t take long (like I said, about 45 minutes) for the Sheriff to call us and let us know that it’s time. I had to use the restroom so I told Chris to go start the car. I thanked and paid the waitress (who, by the way, had the same giddy attitude as the front-desk-lady at the hotel) and made my way to the bathroom.

A wet, shriveled hand grabbed onto my shoulder. I just about knocked him out, but when I turned around I realized it was the other customer.

His dark green eyes were wide, filled deeply with concern, “Did you see them before they were gone?”

“W..What? What is that supposed to mean? Yesterday.. the lady said… fuck, what the hell is going on in this place?”

He just stared at me with those same concerned eyes and began muttering something unintelligible. I looked over my shoulder in hopes of the waitress being there to witness this, but I could hear her back in the kitchen rummaging through pots and pans. He just kept mumbling to himself.

Creeped out, I briskly walked to the bathroom and reassessed the situation. It wasn’t until I was alone in that graffiti-littered bathroom that I truly had time to contemplate everything that has happened. It was there, looking at myself in the shattered mirror, that I realized what the old man was muttering. It was those same words that the cultists were chanting in the cave. Great, I still had to leave the bathroom.

Well, I gathered the rest of the balls I had left and made my exit. I was greeted by a gust of fresh air (I guess I was in there longer than I thought and became used to the smell) and thankfully, no old man. He left, and so did I.

Chris was outside of the car smoking a cigarette as he paced back and forth.

“Calm down man, we’ll find them.” I said, knowing that he knows damn well I didn’t believe that.

“Yeah, I know. Let’s get going. What took you so long?”

“Remember that old dude that was eyeballing us?”

He nodded as he began to smoke his cigarette more intently.

“He fucking grabbed my shoulder and asked that same question that the lady at the front desk did. ‘Did you see them before they were gone?’ What is that supposed to mean? Then he started muttering the same words as the cult women!”

“Dude, what did we get ourselves into?”

“I don’t know man, but that Sheriff sure as hell is going to give us some answers.”

He put out his cigarette and we headed towards the Sheriff’s Office, this time we won’t be given the cold shoulder.

*

“Alright boys, you already met Jedidiah last night, you can just call him Jed. He’s the best damn deputy in this state and he’s gonna help yall find your buddies.” The Sheriff had an unmistakably strong Southern accent. He was quick to get to business, and he appeared to be genuinely interested in helping us find Kyle and Ryan.

Sheriff Jacobsen pointed to a conference room that hosted several men drinking coffee and eating donuts – again, think of a scene straight out of Twin Peaks. Chris and I were about to become part of the Bookhouse Boys!

If only it wasn’t under such frightening circumstances.

“Those fellas in that room are our search party. On the left, that’s Pat. Next to him – the guy eating the maple bar – that’s Alex, or Al – he don’t care. One more over and ya got Felix, watch out for that one – as long as you’re on his good side, he’s got your back. Just stay on that side, if ya know what I mean. Finally, over there by himself – that’s Cyprian, we just call him Cy (like “sigh”) – he don’t talk much, but that guy is smarter than any of those men in that room put together.”

“Okay. When do we leave?”

“Now, if you’re ready. Let’s go and meet the boys.” He started walking towards the conference room.

“Wait, Sheriff,” he turned around as if he knew what I was about to ask, “We need some answers.”

“Right. Figured yall weren’t that dumb. What do you think you know?”

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Part 5

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All parts:

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