Chapter Text
OS COXAE - a large bone forming the main part of the pelvis on each side of the body and consisting of the fused ilium, ischium, and pubis.
Roseville is a haunting little town. The snow had just begun to settle over the dreary, grey streets winding between boarded up houses and remnants of a population that once cared about this little city. The streets in question were almost never used, the cracks and potholes making any ride over 30 mph feel like a shitty carnival ride.
A beat up Ford Fairmont made it’s way around those potholes, carelessly swerving between the lanes as to not destroy the already somewhat fucked up exterior of the rust-covered shitbox. Somewhere beneath the roaring sound of the exhaust trying it’s best, the soft beats of a Tiffany cassette filled the empty space in the car. The driver, clad in all black with one hand on the wheel, and a cigarette in the other, mindlessly bobbed his head to the cheery, teen-bop beats fighting their way out of the speakers, occasionally skipping, repeating, and falling out of tune with every bump he hit. He smacked the speaker on the dashboard, muttering out a “Shit” before deciding to pull over and spare himself from the rest of the fight with the car’s sound system.
Getting out of the car, he put out the cigarette and made his way into the sleazy looking dive bar he pulled himself in front of, deciding nothing could be worse than being stuck in that car sober .
Inside the bar was a different picture than the one painted by the empty neighnourhood outside. It was lively- people packed into tiny booths, friends gathered around pool tables sipping on local beers and laughing at their mundane lives, and people lined up at the bar to all order the same kind of drink over and over and over again. He takes a seat at the bar, and orders a whisky sour.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
He turns to see someone standing behind him, a guy who looks no more than 21. He doesn’t respond to his question, instead turning back to face the bar.
“Take it you’re not much of a talker either. I’m Frank.”
There’s a pause.
“Jed.”
“And he speaks!” Frank responds, sliding to the stool next to Jed. “What brings a guy like you to a shithole like this?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Frank pauses for a minute, considering the question.
“Can’t a guy just be curious?”
“Curiosity’s a dangerous thing, kid.”
“Buzzkill, much?” Frank sighs, playing with the bar peanuts. Without another word, Jed slides $15 out of his wallet and onto the bartop, before making his way to the door.
“You’ve been a pleasure, Jeddy!” Frank sarcastically beams from the bar, as the door swings shut behind Jed. “Dick.”
Back at the car, Jed reaches into his pocket, fingering around for a cigarette before realising something- That little shit took my wallet.
Storming back into the bar, he scans the area for the guy from earlier, for Frank , but he’s nowhere to be seen. Maybe he snaked out a bathroom window, or through the back exit. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to have a well thought out exit plan, Jed made his way through the kitchen to the staff exit out back, making his way into the alley behind the bar. There, he found Frank leaning against a dumpster, searching through the wallet.
“Is that yours?” He asked, Frank looking up at him. Once the look of fear had made it’s way across his face, it had become one of confusion.
“You said your name is Jed, right?”
“Give me back my wallet.”
“Answer my question first.”
Jed didn’t say anything else, making his way over to Frank and grabbing him by the collar, ripping the wallet from his hand and paying no attention to the card that had slipped out into the snow at his feet. Once he shoved it back into his coat pocket, he tossed Frank back against the dumpster and started to walk away, with the speed of someone with something to hide - something that had just been found.
Frank found his footing in the snow again, keeping his eyes locked on the ID that Jed had dropped before leaving.
DANIEL J. OLSEN
JUNE 18, 1972
By the time Frank had read it, Jed was already gone. He stood there, turning the card over in his hand. ‘ He can’t go very far from here.’ He thought. ‘ Not in this city’.
₊˚♱‧₊˚.
Jed sat in the car for a minute, pulled into a motel parking lot, thinking about what to do next. Everything tonight was going so smoothly, up until Frank showed up. He would be in and out, just a ghost passing through town leaving no trace behind. Instead, here he was, having to figure out how to steal his ID back from some kid he met in some shitty little dive bar.
Honestly, he wasn’t even sure how he managed to get a hold of his wallet. He didn’t notice his hand brushing past his side, sloppily undoing the zipper on the left side pocket of the jacket he threw over the chair, slipping the wallet out before he left. That was some real David Copperfield type shit. Either way, he had an identity and a reputation to protect.
The motel room he had to spend the night almost perfectly mirrored his time in Roseville so far. The light had been broken, only one of the bulbs could struggle enough to light up small portions of the room, showing off the small twin sized beds opposite a TV set that looks like it could pass as the first TV ever created. Jed almost felt like every surface in the room should only be touched with thick rubber gloves and enough lysol wipes to circle the earth three times over.
Putting his disgust aside, he pulled out a few of the days newspapers and the bible in the bedside table and got to work. Pulling at the pages, sloppily holding them up against the windows and, with his other hand, taping them down as to not let anyone see in - or out. One would think that covering the windows in a motel room like this would be suspicious - but considering the stains littering the floors and sheets, and the curiously placed mirror in front of the beds (of which Jed had covered up as well with one of the bedsheets, for safety’s sake)- he knew he was the least of anyone’s worries here.
He spent the rest of the night attempting to find something to watch on TV, scrolling through seemingly endless reruns and pay per view channels, before falling asleep to god knows whatever sitcom a place like this airs at three in the morning.
By the time he woke up, it took him a moment to come to his senses and realize where he was. He pushed himself up, only to see someone sitting across from him on the other bed in the room. Acting on instinct, Jed reached for the knife he slid into the bedside table, and made a start at the man on the bed, pinning him down, balancing the blade against his throat.
“Usually a guy has to buy me dinner before we end up like this.” He said, dryly. That’s when it clicked in Jed’s head.
It was Frank.