Chapter Three: Number Seven

After another two days, Gabriel crossed over the state line between New York and Vermont. The pull was so strong now, it was making him dizzy. He passed the small city of Rutberg and followed the old highway until he arrived in an unlikely small town called Pete’s Peak. He drove slowly from one end to the other, but there wasn't much to see.  There was a gas station attached to a mini mart, a garage with a tow truck that looked like "Mater" from Cars, and a snack bar with picnic tables arranged outside.  To the south of the village there was a public High School that served several of the surrounding communities, and beyond the school, a slate quarry.  To the north of town, the only thing resembling accommodation was a dilapidated collection of little cabins surrounding an old farmhouse and a faded sign that read "Cora’s Cottages".  A "vacancy" shingle hung precariously by one hook underneath.

 

Gabriel parked his truck on the gravel drive beside the sign and headed toward the farmhouse.  The word “office” had been painted by hand in uneven letters next to the front door.  He knocked on the door and heard a raspy female voice call "come in!" from the depths of the house.  He let himself inside.  The foyer of the old house had been renovated into a sort of reception and office, with a counter blocking the passage and a couple of worn chairs facing the desk.  A guest register was on the counter, and a few keys hung in a box on the wall.  A quick glance at the register revealed that the last guest had signed out months ago.

 

After a moment a blue-haired lady in a bright pink muumuu shuffled in and stood behind the desk.  She pulled out a pair of glasses and shoved them on her face, peering at him suspiciously.  "Can I help you, Sir?" The scent of cigarette smoke wafted around her.

 

He nodded.  "Yes, please.  I would like to rent one of your cabins."  He flashed her his most handsome and alluring smile and rolled his words with a sweet southern drawl.  He was good with women of all ages, or at least he thought so.  The elderly woman on the other side of the desk seemed less than impressed by his bad-boy good looks and southern charm.

 

"Say what?  Are you lost?"

 

"No Ma'am." An idea popped into his head, "I'm applying for a teaching job at the high school."

 

"Oh, you don't say?  I thought maybe you were one of those goons running drugs out of the city."  She poked her gnarled hand over the desk.  "I'm Cora Haskings.  Nice to meet you."

 

"Gabriel Shepherd."  He shook her hand and was surprised at the strength.

 

"Well, most of the cabins are in bad shape.  We don't get many customers out this way anymore, not since the new highway went in ten or twelve years ago.  But I got a couple I've tried to keep up.  How long do you want it for?"

 

"Can we do it week by week until I'm settled?"

 

"Fine by me.  Cash only.  Pay in advance." 

 

He nodded and pulled out his wallet.  He had enough cash on hand to cover the week, but he would need to visit an ATM soon.  "Where is the nearest ATM?" He asked.

She cackled and coughed.  "There ain't no ATMs here.  You gotta go back to Rutberg.  That’s about 45 minutes east, back on the highway." 

 

"Okay."

 

"There's a little kitchenette in the cabin.  If you want food, you might want to get that in the city too.  Nothing here but the snack bar and the gas station.  And I don't cook!"  

She took down a set of keys, "Number seven."

 

Gabriel took the keys and found his way around the farmhouse to the line of small cottages that circled the house in a half-moon.  Cabin number seven was a little sad.  The little porch sagged, there and there was moss growing on the roof.  Inside it smelled a bit musty and the air was stale from being closed up too long.  The shag carpet was straight out of the 1970s, along with the ugly faux wood paneling on the walls.  The bathroom was done in unsightly avocado, but it appeared to be clean.   A kitchenette was in the corner, with a little fridge, a two-burner stove, and a microwave.  It was humble but functional.  Gabriel had certainly stayed in worse places.  He had no idea how long he would be here... but his idea of getting a job at the high school was brilliant.  It gave him an excuse to stay in the tiny village without looking like a creeper, and if his mate was still a student... well, she would be right under his nose.

 

He nodded to himself, confirming his own plans.  He opened all three of the small windows to let in some fresh air, before going back to pull his truck around in front of his new, temporary home.  He unpacked his few belongings, shoving his clothes into the battered dresser, and arranging his toiletries in the cramped bathroom.  When everything was in order, he sat down at the small table beside the big window and took out his laptop and his cell phone.  There was work to be done if he was going to pose as a school 

teacher.  He needed a resume, he needed a work history and references, he needed a fake degree and certification.  Lucky for him, Gabriel had a lot of friends who owed him favors.  A few emails, and a few phone calls, and he would have everything he needed in place before he contacted the principal of the school.  

Gabriel glanced up and caught his reflection in the tarnished mirror over the dresser. He ran a hand over the rough stubble on his jaw.  He would have to clean up, buy a nice shirt, and maybe a tie.  Did high school teachers still wear ties?  He straightened his shoulders and gave his mirror image his best stern-teacher glare.  “Hello, class,” he said, in practice.  “I am your new teacher, Mr. Shepherd.”  

  He turned his head and used his finger to smooth out the crow's feet at the corner of his eye. He squinted at himself and wondered what he would looked like in the eyes of an eighteen-year-old girl.