Chapter 5: It’s time to dig deeper

(Jaime)

We’re sitting at a table in a pub called the Howling Wolf. How appropriate, I think sarcastically.

While I’ve never been in one, it’s similar to the images I’ve seen of your typical Irish pub, with lots of wood, green and maroon décor, brass adornments around the bar area, and lots of black and white photos against the walls.

A big screen to the side is showing a replay of last year’s baseball match between the Red Sox and the Cardinals, with the sound turned down low.

There’s only a barman, a waitress and one other patron in here, and they’re all staring at me in a not-to-welcoming way. And this time I’m convinced its me they are staring at, not just us a group.

I shift uncomfortably in my chair as I spin the beer in front of me round and round.

“You going to drink that?” David asks, pointing to my beer.

I don’t answer, just shrug, and take a sip. Yuck! I’ve never actually had a beer before in my entire life. And this thing is bitter, and yeasty. I don’t think I like it. I push the beer towards him.

“Nah. I’m not really a beer person. I’ll try a cider.” I say as I get up to go to the bar. I could have tried to grab the waitress’ attention, but I feel like I need to move.

The barman scowls my way but saunters over.

“Something wrong with your beer?” he asks in a gruff voice. He’s a big, bearded bloke with too many muscles, but I ignore his rudeness.

“I’m sure its fine, I’m just not into beer. Can I have a cider instead please?”

He stares me down as he takes a glass from the cupboard below the bar and holds it under a tap, filling it with a bubbling amber liquid.

“Why are you here?” he asks suddenly, some aggression in his voice. I’m taken aback.

“I came for a job interview,” I answer rather defensively.

“You should leave. Drink your drink and get out of town. Rogues aren’t welcome here.”

I stare at the barman, shocked at this tone and his words.

“What?”

“You better get out while you still can. Not many folks will tolerate your kind here,” he growls at me again and I almost drop the cold pint of cider I was holding in my hands.

My mind spins with both shock and the words he slung at me so aggressively. And that growl. That sounded unreal. He called me a rogue. Dr Fairfield did too. I’m so confused.

I walk back to the table in a daze. When I sit down, the two guys interrupt their own conversation to look at me.

“What happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Mike says, looking at me with worried eyes.

I take a long, deep sip of the cider, not really tasting it at all but needing some Dutch courage, or fortification, or something. As I set the glass down again, I shrug.

“Nothing, I’m okay. The barman is just a bit of an asshole,” I say, and see them both stiffen up.

“Hey, if he was a dick to you, we’ll sort him out!” David says and moves to stand up. Mike shifts his chair back too. I take both of them by the wrists and pull them back into their chairs.

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“No, please, leave it. Let’s just have our drink and then we can go back to our rooms and get ready for more weirdness this evening.”

They look at me funny.

“What?”

“Weirdness? Tell us what happened.”

I sigh.

“Look, it was just a really weird interview, and then this guy said some weird things too, and people keep staring at me in this town in a weird way. I’m just a bit weirded out I guess,” I say, trying to make light of it all.

“Well, firstly, people stare at you because it’s not often a supermodel walks into their town and mingles like a normal person. No offence, but you are actually something to stare at. Secondly, why was your interview weird? I thought mine was pretty bog standard, if a bit on the short side,” Mike says, clearly trying to make me feel better.

I smile at him.

“Mine was pretty standard too. No weirdness, except that I was interviewed by a Senior Resident rather than the Medical Director. Unlike someone around this table,” David piped in too, wiggling his eyebrows at me with that last bit.

I giggle at him.

“Trust me, that Dr Fairfield guy is a card short of a full deck. He asked me the strangest questions, and nothing made sense. He was more interested in my lineage and how I grew up than anything I achieved academically or why I’d like to work here. He didn’t even give me an opportunity to ask questions of my own either. Just weird,” I explain to them.

I conveniently leave out the bit where Dr Fairfield told me I’m a werewolf, or a shoo-in, unlike the two of them.

The mood lightens a bit as we finish our drinks. The cider isn’t too bad, and I’m genuinely feeling better after having drunk the whole pint. It's the first alcohol I’ve ever had in my life.

I’m tempted to drink another one just to get over all the lingering weirdness, but years of discipline kicks in and I get up and move towards the door along with the boys. The waitress standing in the corner, who had pretty much ignored us the whole time, suddenly looked my way and grinned. No, scrap that. She looked like a dog baring its teeth at me, and was that canines I saw?

It’s gone in a flash, and I make a mental note never to have alcohol again. I’m clearly seeing things.

We walk back while I mull over some of the day’s events. Far out, this town is strange. I’m suddenly not all that eager to work here any longer. I’m sure there will be plenty rural hospitals out there that would be happy to get an intern. Or I could do locum work at GP practices all around the country and travel a bit. Yeah, that idea isn’t too bad.

Or I could see if there’s still a spot open to specialize in a field – pediatric medicine maybe.

Back in my hotel room I pull out my laptop and start Googling ‘Claw Ridge’. I’ve done this before, when I first found the advert for the internship. I had read the town’s official page, looked at its social media pages, read one or two articles that had appeared in newspapers, but I didn’t really dig very deeply.

I liked the way the town looked, and from what I read online folks seemed friendly and the town got great reviews from tourists. There were loads of outdoorsy activities, fantastic reviews about the local ski resorts and other facilities.

So now it’s time to dig deeper.

I start with looking for the local newspaper’s website. Or even its name. But I can’t find anything. What has been written about the town in newspapers had been from other regional and even nationwide news agencies.

The articles mostly covered the local school’s prowess against a neighboring town in a football match. There was an article about a group of tourists who got lost in the woods surrounding the town and were rescued by a local three days later. Then there was a small article in a national paper about the town’s moonlight festival that’s held whenever there’s a blood moon or a blue moon event.

I’m reminded again of Dr Fairfield’s comments about werewolves. Aren’t they obsessed with the moon too?

Next, I look for the real estate ads online. I can’t find a single house or apartment in Claw Ridge that is advertised as actual accommodation one can rent on a long-term basis or even buy.

I go back to the town’s official page. While the pictures are mostly of the main street, the ski slopes, the woods and some of the hotels, there were a few featuring locals too. I look at the faces. Everyone looks to be young, fit, strong and attractive. But that’s what most promotional photos on websites look like. Typical stock imagery.

Except, it’s easy to spot a stock image, and these aren’t.

Maybe they just paid a bunch of models to ‘act natural’ around that barbeque, or canoeing on the lake, or selling corn dogs at a fair stand.

There are four guys in particular who appear in photos more than once. They are huge, tall, handsome guys of around mid-twenties in age.

One picture shows them at the opening of the town library, another walking in some kind of a parade, and yet another shaking hands at the artistic road sign just outside the township that announces the town’s name.

There are no names under the photos. In each one, none of the four men seem to be smiling. In fact, their body language is tense.

I sigh and close my laptop. Time to get ready for the dinner with doctor weirdo.