art not wax.
I name thee Gavin St. Cloud!
Thou art between the worlds!”
With his last earthly breath, Gavin's scream echoed throughout the plantation, the plantation he was now bound to.
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Chapter 2
Abingdon Virginia (formally Wolfs Hills), October 27, 2009
Willow Run Apartments
Rena Williamson sighed as she climbed the last flight of stairs to her apartment floor, thankful to be off work from the Poor House Diner. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to climb into a hot bath, then slip into her favorite pj's and sleep. But, like clockwork, her neighbor yelled her name before she could even fit her key into the lock of her front door.
“Rena! Child, you wore out, ain't ya?” Ms. Fern Skeet (her neighbor) shouted from the couch in her living room. The woman always left her door open during the daytime, claiming she liked the fresh air blowing off the mountains, especially in the fall. No matter how many times she had tried to tell the old woman such a practice was not safe in this day and age, her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. The woman claimed to be protected by some powerful mountain mojo, and no one would or could do her harm. But deep down, as silly as it seemed, Rena actually sensed that what the woman said was true, because she always felt safe and at peace in the apartment.
Smiling, she turned and walked into the woman’s open apartment. “Tired? Yeah. But got to earn that money. I feel lucky to even have a job, especially since the lumber mill shut down, not to mention the Eastman Kodak plant in Kingsport Tennessee. A lot of people from here were employed there, as you well know. The Kodak plant, I mean.”
“I know, child. I've know many a man and woman who worked there over the years. Never thought a plant that size would fall on such hard times.”
“Jobs just aren't that plentiful.” Rena sighed. “I have a degree, and can't do any better at the moment than my job as a waitress. I know most people my age have left the area, but I love it here, too much to leave.”
“Well, that's touching, dear.” the older woman smiled.
Not wanting to think about the hard times the town was facing, she smiled and held up a big greasy paper bag. “Elric made this just for you. Chicken fried steak, heavy on the gravy, scalloped potatoes, collard greens with a ham-hock, and top it off, peach cobbler.”
Eyes lighting up, Fern's always friendly smile widened to a grin that stretched from ear to ear. Part of The Poor House Diner's charm was the greasy paper bags, which were a deliberate appeal to blue collar tastes and habits. And it worked. No matter how hard times had gotten for everyone in the small town, people still managed to somehow set aside a little extra to eat there, just as they always had. The place was always filled to capacity at both lunchtime and dinner, by people wanting a good meal at a fair price.
Taking the food into the kitchen and putting it in the woman's refrigerator, Rena's thoughts wandered. Ever since moving to the quiet apartment building years before, she and the old woman had formed a strong bond. Maybe it was because they were both alone. Rena's parents had died her senior year in high school, when a drunk driver had plowed into their car head on, and Ms. Skeet had told her the only remaining family she had had left (a sister) had died decades earlier, though she declined to elaborate on what manner of death it had been. But one thing was for certain, the older