Bloodlines: The Juice Chronicles: The Juice Chronicles, #1

By Michael Clutton

If a single dad can survive financial woes, dual love interests, an annoying mother, and a growing list of gory murders—staying alive long enough to save the world should be easy, right?

Dak, a struggling entrepreneur, stumbles onto an impossible product he dubs  'Juice,' slamming him into a heart-pounding fast-forward effort to protect it and the untold wealth it represents. Juggling that potential is a task of epic proportions and it's not long before a blonde angel and a trail of bodies assault Dak's belief structure and vault him into a chaotic twister of threats and mystery. The brutal murder of his best friend and his daughter's disappearance vaporize the lines between myth and reality. To save her and Juice, Dak faces a life-altering ultimatum in a pulse-pounding confrontation that will risk everything. Brace yourself for a thrill ride laced with humor, romance, secrets, and betrayals that unravel truths hidden since time began.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Clutton
• Release date: May 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224500062

Michael Clutton

Michael P. Clutton isn't your typical storyteller. Since he was young, he loved drawing cartoons and writing stories, which not only kept him busy but also helped him learn more words. This early passion for fiction laid the foundation for his unique voice—rich, imaginative, and brimming with wit. Michael's sarcastic and unique perspective on life adds intrigue to his daily routine and captivates those around him. Known for his quick wit and self-deprecating humor, he can generate a giggle or a guffaw at the drop of a hat. His creative toolbox is well-stocked with both artwork and the written word, making him a versatile and dynamic creator. Discover the captivating world of Michael P. Clutton, an author who combines humor, heart, and a deep passion for creativity in his stories and art.

Book preview

BLOODLINES NOVEL

Bloodlines

The Juice Chronicles

Michael P. Clutton

Copyright © 2024 Michael P. Clutton

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9798327809406

Cover design by: Michael P. Clutton

Printed in the United States of America

www.michaelpclutton.com

The Juice Chronicles is about power worth dying for.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

1 - Beneath the Surface

2 - Mornings and Missteps

3 - Echoes of Disdain

4 - Brief Encounters

5 - Jillian

6 – Unveiling Genesis

7 - Alchemy of Blood

8 - Trust in the Balance

9 - Secrets and Surprises

10 - Morning Revelations

11 - Critical Choices

12 - Shattered Limits

13 - Shadows and Allegiances

14 - Whispers at Doyle's

15 - Tangled Terms

16 - Tender Tensions

17 - Moonlit Confessions

18 - Spontaneous Escapes

19 - Entourage

20 – Delivery Man

21 - Descent into Darkness

22 - Mysteries Unfolding

23 - Confrontations

24 - Covenants Unsealed

25 - Cryptic Alliances

26 - Behind the Westland Curtain

27 - Eternal Gambits

28 - Carnage at Dawn

29 - Dawn of the Duke

30 - Unwrapped Shadows

31 - Farewell Forever

32 - Embrace and Eclipse

About The Author

1 - Beneath the Surface

As dusk enveloped the small town of Murphy, the silhouettes of Caleb Westland and his associate, Silas, could scarcely be discerned atop the gentle rise that overlooked the main street.

From their vantage point, the pair observed the scene with analytical detachment.

The quality of the cattle continues to decline, Silas remarked, disappointment in his voice. This place is no different from the others. After centuries, you'd expect improvements, given our massive efforts to manipulate them. But their bloodlines have been tainted by synthetic corruption and crossbreeding, making them almost unpalatable.

As a young couple exited a diner, their arms linked, Caleb's gaze remained fixed on them. Yes, it makes me long for the old days. Now, though, you can smell the decay from here. It's becoming intolerable, he responded, calm and detached.

They watched an elderly man shuffle past, his steps uncertain and weary, and a group of teenagers assembled around a flickering streetlight, their laughter piercing the twilight calm.

It's crucial we advance our plans, Silas asserted, eyes scanning the crowd. The revolution must succeed. We can't survive on contaminated cattle alone. Most of the common varieties are practically inedible now.

Caleb nodded, his expression thoughtful as he observed a man coming out of Parker Drugs. He scratched his head, picked his nose, and lit a cigarette on the way to his nearby car.

While gesturing toward a man opening the door of an old Impala, Caleb commented, Look at that one, so pathetic and repulsive.

Silas followed his gaze, a slight frown creasing his brow as he considered the potential. Indeed, but we must tread carefully. They must not perceive our true intent.

Caleb murmured to Silas, Starting with him, the revolution will be propelled by my influence on the local cattle.

As the sky darkened, merging the horizon with the outlines of the mountains, the figures turned, their forms blending into the shadows. They departed the normalcy of Murphy's night and the one known as Dak—an unwitting pawn in a game far greater than the simple life he believed he led.

**********

As the mountains gave way to the mundane heat of a North Carolina summer, Dak Kent drove along Highway 74 West toward Murphy. The August air clung to his skin like a thick blanket, the sun's relentless beat making him yearn for the coolness of nightfall. He thought a dog would make better company on the endless road.

Dak wanted a fresh shirt, a clean shave, and, most importantly, silent companionship. His fingers ran through unruly brown hair as he mulled over his solitude, the curl of smoke from his cigarette forming a hazy veil that appeared to mirror his thoughts.

He muttered, imagining a misbehaving mutt. His reflection on romance was bitter; love seemed as distant to him as the fading horizon.

His old Chevy Impala hummed along the highway, and Dak lost himself in Van Halen's Right Now music blaring from the speakers. Each lyric struck a chord, a reminder of the immediacy of life's decisions. Right now! There's no tomorrow, sang Hagar, his voice a rallying cry for Dak as he navigated the road and the complexities of his life.

Each mile weighed on his cluttered mind, like the backseat of his car. The upcoming intersection at Marble signaled a pause in his journey. The scattered contents of his life paused briefly.

As he tapped the brakes, his gaze caught the disarray in the rearview mirror—a fitting metaphor for the chaos of his businesses and personal life. Elite Concepts was struggling to survive under heavy overheads, while DataOne in Asheville was stuck in stagnation.

Jesus Christ.

Dak resolved to cut the losses, feeling the urgency of impending change. The road ahead wasn't just paved with asphalt but with critical decisions that could redefine his future.

He reached for his phone clipped to the dash, the screen's glow piercing the dimming light as he dialed his father. After several rings, a familiar voice answered, bringing momentary comfort.

Hello, Dad. It's me.

Are you heading back now, or are you still stuck out there a while longer? His father's steady voice cracked through the speaker.

Nope, all done. I'm just rolling into Murphy now, but I've got a few errands to run, and it's been a hell of a day. Where are you at right now? The burden of the day weighed heavily on Dak, straining his attempt to maintain a casual tone.

We're home. I won't be stepping out tonight. Just fed the horses, and Mom's cooking dinner.

Got it. I just wanted to give you a heads-up on my whereabouts. Dak hesitated before adding, Are you going to be at the house in town tomorrow?

"Most likely. Got some painting left in the backyard, and we're fixing those damn shutters. The sound of his father's voice, absorbed in mundane home tasks, curiously grounded him.

I'll try swinging by to see you. Maybe late morning works?

"Sure thing. I'll be around until mid-afternoon. Your mom invited the Westlands over tomorrow evening. Remember them? A pregnant pause lingered on the line.

Not really, Dak admitted, racking his brain for any memory of the Westlands but coming up short. Listen, hug Mom for me, and see you sometime tomorrow. Dak ended the call, his thoughts shifting back to the tasks.

He snapped his phone shut, tossed it onto the passenger seat, and steered his car off the highway onto the 'Old Road' that led straight into Murphy.

The quaint town, nestled in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, unfolded like a storybook painting as Dak journeyed through its winding streets. The aged oak trees gracefully bowed, their leaves whispering ancient tales in the gentle breeze. With their colorful facades and picket fences, the cozy cottages exuded a welcoming charm that beckoned him closer.

Venturing deeper into the community, he overheard townsfolk's conversations, creating a mysterious atmosphere. Cobblestone pathways led him past historic landmarks adorned with intricate carvings, each silently telling the tale of Murphy's rich heritage. Time crawled here, with every corner holding secrets waiting to be unveiled amidst the tranquil beauty of this small country town.

Upon arriving at his rundown office on Regal Street, Dak parked the Impala and ascended the creaking porch steps. Inside, stained carpet, dark paneling, and dim lighting created a unique ambiance, as nostalgia mingled with neglect. While rinsing her coffee mug in the kitchen, Patty felt startled when Dak mischievously pinched her elbow.

Dak! You goofball! Why didn't you holler? Patty scolded, her tone light but eyes scanning Dak's for signs of the usual stress.

Any luck with the new building?

David Fritz called. The old Remax office down on the four-lane is finally up for grabs. They cleared out last week. Her voice was cautious, not wanting to stir too much hope.

Did you get the numbers? Dak prodded, knowing their financial situation was more than just tight.

Patty shook her head, her expression resigned. "We're broke, Dak. You'll have to figure it out if you want it. Her blunt honesty was one reason he trusted her unequivocally.

Okay, set up a meeting with David tomorrow afternoon. I'm off to Dad's in the morning, but I'll swing by after, Dak planned out loud, his mind racing through the financial gymnastics he'd need to perform.

I'll call your cell once I've got the details, Patty assured him, her loyalty steady in his turbulent life.

Dak patted her shoulder as she rose to leave. I can't do this without you, Darlin'. I've got plans in motion; we'll make it work, he declared, more to convince himself than to reassure Patty.

Moments later, Dak stood alone in the softly lit room, the peeling paint on the walls mirroring the state of his enterprises. No option to change course. Full speed ahead into whatever challenges and rewards awaited, with peace for all as the ultimate prize. Dak felt the weight of his decisions, each more significant than the last, as he prepared to steer his life through these tumultuous waters.

Noting a missed call notification from Shyanne on his phone screen, he went back to his car. He dialed back, his heart lightening as he heard her voice.

Dad? Shyanne's voice crackled through the line, filled with the subtle notes of urgency that only a parent would detect.

I'm in town. Is everything okay? He tried to keep his tone casual, but his parental instinct tingled at the edge of his words.

I just need some family time, she deflected smoothly, her voice conveying more than her words. The call ended with a promise of a visit, leaving Dak puzzled but content that she wanted to reconnect.

Before Dak went home to prepare for Shyanne's visit, he had to stop at Walmart. The list included groceries, socks, cigarettes, and headache remedies. Each item was crucial for his fragile sense of normalcy. As Dak drove back, he reflected on Patty's hope, his dad's updates, and Shyanne's vague request for time.

Murphy was quiet as he passed through, shadows stretching over worn streets. Dak felt a connection to the town's uncertain future. Returning home offered a brief respite from the chaos. With the task of unpacking, each item fell into his routine. Yet, the silence emphasized his loneliness. Tonight held promise - Shyanne's visit, a hopeful project, a changing town.

Dak poured himself a drink, the ice clinking against the glass a counterpoint to the clock's steady tick on the wall. He allowed himself a moment to reflect, to breathe, to plan. Tomorrow would come with its demands, its decisions, its crises. But in a surprising turn of events, there was a semblance of peace tonight, a momentary pause in the relentless pace of his life.

He raised his glass in a silent toast to the future, family, and Murphy. Armed with a newfound determination, Dak Kent was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

**********

Nestled at the crossroads of civilization and the untamed wilderness of the Great Smoky Mountains, life in Murphy moved at a measured pace beneath a deceptive calm. The town's wild heart lay hidden beneath its tranquil exterior, wrapped in the beauty of nature. Towering trees cast long shadows, as if keeping watch, while the winds carried whispered secrets.

As the transplants, dubbed halfbacks, arrived, the air became infused with a restless energy. After they had retreated from the supposed paradise of more tropical climes because of unanticipated costs, these individuals found solace in Murphy's mountainous backdrop. As darkness fell upon the town, a noticeable anticipation permeated the streets, showing the existence of unseen powers.

As night fell and entertainment options dwindled, the softly lit Walmart became the only refuge for those seeking to escape their solitary thoughts. Filled with the muted shuffle of feet and subdued conversations, the aisles bustled with activity.

Amid the stark fluorescent lighting, Dak walked through the aisles with a headache throbbing in rhythm to his footsteps. With a nod to simpler, carefree days, his flip-flops slapped against the cold tiles. As he walked through the store, worry pressed down on him, burdening him with each step.

His routine abruptly came to a halt as he and Mark Vickey, a friend dressed in camouflage and exuding a rugged cheer, collided carts. They greeted each other with a mix of rough handshakes and genuine laughter, rekindling a camaraderie that had been built on years of shared experiences. Mark's cart, an unusual blend of hot dogs and shotgun shells, caught Dak's attention, showing his plans for the night.

While engaging in light-hearted banter about local legends and peculiar cow attacks, they navigated through the store. Despite the laughter, a tension simmered below the exterior. The creeping outside darkness infiltrated their conversations, which suggested that the serene facade of the town might hide more sinister secrets.

Under the moon's spectral glow, Mark recounted incidents of mysterious cow mutilations, which deepened Dak's curiosity. Inquiring minds want to know, what's the real story here? Are we talking about some rogue predator?

With a serious tone, Mark responded by pointing out, It's not as simple as that. In my experience, it's completely unnatural, like nothing else.

To make sense of the unsettling details, Dak leaned against his shopping cart, feeling puzzled. Are you staking out tonight, then? Curiously watching for the cause of this?

Determined to discover what it was, Mark, with a serious tone, confirmed, Yeah, there's something out there. It's strange, Dak, isn't it? Despite all the attacks, how did no casualties occur? It doesn't make sense.

Acknowledging the bizarre nature of the events, Dak gave a nod. Be careful, buddy. It seems like you may have to handle more than just stray dogs or wild animals.

Giving Dak a final hearty slap on the back, Mark left him to ponder the mysteries swirling around Murphy as they parted ways. As Dak resumed his shopping, the mundane nature of his groceries—milk, bread, and cereal—was a stark contrast to the conversation he had just had.

While his thoughts swirled with Mark's unsettling stories and the eerie secrets creeping through the shadows of Murphy, Dak opted for the self-service lane at the checkout. Despite the mechanical voice of the checkout prompting him, his attention was elsewhere, fixated on the enigmatic puzzle that appeared to surround the town.

Exiting the store, Murphy felt the evening chill, a reminder of the thin line between the mundane and extraordinary. With every stride he made, the intricate blend of emotions swirling within him was a constant reminder. Devoting himself to his role as a single father, he fully embraced it after his divorce a few years back, always striving to provide stability and reliability for his daughter. Despite his dedication, a conflicting turmoil brewed within him. Two years had elapsed since he had last been romantically involved with anyone, causing the burgeoning desires he felt to conflict with his commitment to parenthood. No matter how hard he tried to suppress them, these yearnings constantly tugged at his heartstrings, reminding him of his human nature and the accompanying innate urges.

Sitting in his car, Dak pondered on a few minutes earlier. His gaze had fallen on a striking blonde woman while still inside, casting a sudden brightness in the store's fluorescent-lit monotony. Holding a bunch of bananas, the soft, artificial light outlined her figure as she stood with a casual grace. Her hair framed her face, cascading in golden waves, while her eyes, a deep blue, seemed to hold their own stories.

After their carts had nearly collided, Dak clumsily waved the bananas he'd just picked up to smooth over the mishap. Her response, characterized by a smile that was both knowing and mesmerizing, and a light and melodic laughter resonating softly in the vast space around them, left a lasting impression. The sound, seeming to dance around Dak, pulled him deeper into a spell of instant, unacknowledged infatuation.

His hands, surprised by her allure, fumbled with those bananas, his actions clumsy and his cheeks flushing red. Watching him with an amused twinkle in her eye, she intensified his embarrassment yet piqued his intrigue even more. In a fleeting second, everything else faded, and he fixated on her, this intriguing stranger who had awakened an indescribable feeling in him.

With the Impala as his only company, he couldn't shake the feeling that Murphy's darker secrets were looming larger. There was a newfound lightness that followed the encounter with such unexpected beauty. Like the woman he had just met, the distant howls now carried a different tone, hinting at the unknown.

Replaying the encounter in his mind, Dak made his way home. Chuckling at himself, he recalled the absurdity of his gesture with the bananas and her amused reaction. Her smile and the brief exchange of laughter sparked an undeniable pull beneath the humor, leaving a significant imprint on Dak's heart.

With a mix of emotions churning within him, he parked his car and headed inside. Captivated, tales of mutilated livestock and now a beautiful woman consumed his thoughts. Although Dak realized that he would have to delve into these threads to form a narrative, he still allowed himself to be captivated by her memory for the night.

Entering the kitchen, Dak placed Arby's fast-food bag and soda on the island counter. The scent of roast beef wafted around, urging him to make a beeline for the shower and wash away the day's stress. Enveloped in steam, his mind wandered to thoughts of the blonde woman from earlier, stirring a trace of desire within him.

Lost in contemplation, Dak finally jolted himself with cold water, clearing his head before shuffling off to bed. The next day, filled with plans to streamline his businesses and reclaim peace in his chaotic life, seemed overwhelming.

Settling into bed, he left his meal forgotten on the kitchen island. The 20-ounce soda cup, as it sweated beads of moisture, trickled over the edge and formed a small puddle on the floor.

2 - Mornings and Missteps

The whisper of sunlight punctuated the morning as it eased through the blinds. Dak woke, the remnants of a rare, undisturbed sleep clinging to him like a comforting shroud. As the cocoon of his bed released him, he stretched, the sheets cool against his skin. The digital clock displayed 7:10—a testament to a night unmarred by his usual restlessness.

With a sigh, he rolled out of bed, his limbs heavy. As he shuffled toward the bathroom, his reflection caught his eye—hair tousled, eyes rimmed with the shadows of too many late nights. It was a stark reminder of his restless mind's toll on him.

Today was necessary—a pivot point laden with new beginnings and steep challenges. The house lay dark and still around him as he went to the kitchen, driven by a pulsating sense of determination. He needed the promise of coffee to kick-start the day, but fate intervened. His foot caught on an unseen puddle from last night's carelessness, sending him sprawling across the cold marble floor. His arms flailed wildly to regain balance, inadvertently sweeping the previous night's Arby's bag off the counter. It flew across the room, spewing its contents in a spectacular arc before it landed on the mantel, juxtaposing fast food with family portraits in an absurd tableau.

Whoa, shit! Dak cursed aloud as he hit the floor with a jolt reverberating through him, soaking himself in the soda his flailing limbs had also knocked over.

Gingerly rising after the shock of the fall, Dak assessed the damage to more than just his pride, realizing the impact it had on him. Immediately after regaining his footing, a knock at the door injected an extra dose of adrenaline into his already frazzled nerves. Peering through the glass, relief washed over him at the sight of a familiar face.

Jerry Roberts stood outside, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. Dak opened the door, his tone a mix of irritation and embarrassment. Floppy! What brings you here at this ungodly hour?

Jerry's eyes flickered with amusement as he stepped inside. Saw your car and thought I'd check in. You look like hell, by the way.

Dak couldn't avoid chuckling, the tension easing. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I think I just broke my ass bone.

Throughout Dak's life, Jerry had been a steadfast companion, a friendship weathered by time and shared experiences. As they settled into the familiarity of old friendship, the conversation turned towards the unsettling events that had been the talk of the town. Jerry mentioned the strange occurrences with the local livestock, his tone severe, It's not just weird, Dak. It's downright unnerving. Animals are being hurt but not killed. It's like whatever's doing it is playing a sick game.

Dak listened, his mind shifting into its natural investigative mode, despite his initial reluctance. The mystery of the injuries nagged at him, presenting a puzzle that was intriguing yet distant from his everyday concerns.

I'll look into it, he said, more out of a reflexive curiosity than any real sense of duty, I don't have a stake in cattle, but there's something odd going on, and I can't help but want to know more. His commitment was more about keeping an ear to the ground rather than actively seeking answers—a casual observer of the town's quieter, stranger happenings.

As Jerry prepared to leave, he paused, his gaze landing on the mantel where the Arby's bag lay scattered among family photos. You keeping fast food as a new kind of decor now?

Dak followed his gaze and laughed; a bit embarrassed. That's a new interior design trend. You like it?

Very avant-garde, Jerry quipped.

Dak's morning had started with a literal and figurative fall. Still, Jerry's visit had injected a necessary dose of humor and concern, reminding him of the importance of the connections that grounded him amid life's chaos. As Jerry prepared to leave, Dak caught his arm.

Hey, Jerry, give me a call later, alright? There's something I want to run by you, Dak said, trying to sound casual, but with a serious undertone that hinted at more than just a friendly chat.

Jerry nodded, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. Sure thing, Dak.

After locking the door behind Jerry, Dak made a mental note to clean up his 'decor' before diving back into his daily routines. The brief interaction had rekindled his sense of purpose in uncovering the town's mysteries and reevaluate his ventures with the potential help of Jerry. This was a conversation for later, one that could steer their lives in a new direction.

Resolved yet cautious, Dak recognized that delving into this local mystery deviated from his typical focus. While intriguing, it was a detour that could lead down unfamiliar paths.

Murphy might present a facade of peaceful ordinariness, but whispers of deeper secrets persisted beneath its serene surface. The mystery had piqued his interest but wouldn't consume him; he had business and personal challenges to navigate.

As Dak stepped out of his house, the day greeted him with the vibrant hustle typical of a small-town morning. The streets of Murphy were alive with neighbors chatting, children biking to school, and shopkeepers opening their doors. Life in Murphy carried on, serving as a gentle reminder of normalcy amidst the mysterious undercurrents.

Dak headed towards his main business office, his mind switching gears from the strange incidents to the pressing demands of his businesses. He had meetings to plan, calls to make, and pending decisions that couldn't wait. The morning's incidents had been a brief detour into the unusual, but now it was time to focus on the concrete and familiar tasks that defined his daily life.

His first stop was the local cafe, where he often caught up on work and met with potential clients. In order to discuss renovations needed for one of his properties, he had scheduled a meeting today with a local contractor. As he entered the cafe, the familiar chime of the doorbell and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee welcomed him—a comforting routine that grounded his day.

Dak found his usual spot by the window, setting up his laptop and spreading out his notes. The contractor, Mike, arrived shortly after, and they launched into a detailed discussion about timelines, budgets, and materials. Dak's adept handling of the meeting, sharp questions, and clear directives showcased his competence and experience in effectively managing his ventures.

With the meeting wrapped up and Mike on his way, Dak took a moment to enjoy his coffee and catch up on emails. The cafe buzzed around him, a microcosm of community life. It was here, amid the mundane, that Dak felt most at ease, his entrepreneurial spirit at home in the hustle of business and daily interaction.

While focused on tasks, Dak remained alert for conversation snippets about the disturbances. He wasn't investigating, but his natural curiosity made him an attentive listener, piecing together bits of overheard dialogue that might later form a clearer picture.

His phone buzzed with a reminder of his next appointment—a meeting with the local bank manager about financing options for another one of his projects. Fluidly shifting his mind from one priority to the next, Dak prepared to leave while gathering his things.

Upon stepping out into the crisp air, Dak took a deep breath, feeling the heaviness of his responsibilities and the thrill of potential opportunities. While walking down Main Street toward his car, he passed familiar faces and exchanged greetings and the occasional joke. In these moments, Dak was just another community member woven into the fabric of Murphy's daily life.

The earlier conversation with Jerry lingered in his thoughts, gently reminding him of the complexities hidden in everyday interactions. Dak wasn't one to let such things lie dormant for long. He couldn't ignore the lurking shadows in his backyard.

The focus was on immediate business matters. Dak focused on his life and work in the tranquil town, with the mysteries of Murphy waiting in his mind.

Upon reaching his car, Dak visited his father. He knew that these interactions often involved unsolicited advice and disguised criticism, but he couldn't easily ignore family ties in a small town like Murphy. As he drove towards his parents' home, Dak braced himself for the inevitable clash of perspectives.

Known for his solid convictions and traditional values, Gordon Kent, Dak's father, was a respected man. He had worked tirelessly to restore the old Victorian house, which symbolized his dedication to preserving Murphy's heritage. The house was also a constant reminder of the high standards he set, standards that Dak often felt he fell short of.

With his paintbrush in hand, Dak's father was working on one shutter as he pulled up to the house. The house looked impeccable, a testament to Gordon's relentless attention to detail.

Hey, Dad, Dak called out as he approached, forcing a cheerfulness he didn't feel.

Gordon looked up, his expression neutral. Dak, he acknowledged, then immediately returned to his work, What brings you by?

Just wanted to check in, Dak said, stepping onto the porch. He paused, watching his father for a moment. The house is looking great, Dad.

Gordon murmurs, not meeting his son's eyes, If we're going to get the right price for it, it needs to be perfect.

Dak nodded, knowing better than to argue. I've been thinking about the business … about expanding, he ventured, hoping to steer the conversation toward something resembling approval.

Gordon set down his paintbrush and finally looked at Dak, his gaze sharp. Expanding, huh? And how are you planning to manage that? You're already stretched thin as it is.

Dak felt the familiar frustration rise within him. I've got some solid plans, Dad. And I'm thinking of bringing Jerry in to help manage things.

Gordon scoffed, a sound that grated on Dak's nerves. Jerry? You think a guy you call 'Floppy' is your solution?

He's reliable, Dad. He knows the work, and he's looking for more responsibility.

Gordon shook his head, unimpressed. You need to think bigger, Dak. Stop scraping by and start building something worthwhile.

The words stung more than Dak would ever admit. I am building something worthwhile, he said, his voice tight with restrained emotion.

Gordon sighed, his features softening. I know you're trying, son. But you need to think about the future. Be more strategic.

Dak absorbed the words, the old familiar lecture. I'll think about it, Dad.

He knew this visit was a mistake, a reminder of his ongoing struggle to meet expectations. With a curt nod, he turned to leave.

As he drove away, the distance from his father's house did little to ease the tightness in his chest. Murphy was tiny, but at moments like this, it felt suffocating, filled with the ghosts of past failures and the heavy shadows of family expectations.

Dak meandered toward Parker Drugs, feeling the impending headache pressing against his temples. The need for those tiny white pills to silence the oncoming pain drove him forward, a physical reminder of the personal battles he faced daily. The town's mysteries whispered around him, but his inner struggles fueled his determination.

**********

Dak, worn out by the midweek grind, nursed a persistent headache that was only somewhat relieved by the cheap acetaminophen. It was Wednesday, the epitome of hump day, and his mood matched the overcast skies above Murphy.

He pulled into the office parking lot to find Patty lounging at her desk, her attention divided between an overstuffed sandwich and a vampire novel.

Really, Patty? Back to the bloodsuckers? Dak teased as he entered, eyeing the book.

Patty shrugged without glancing up. It's light reading. Helps me unwind.

Suppose we all need our escapes, Dak conceded, sinking into his chair with a sigh. Was there anything urgent while I was out?

Just the usual lull. You've got a call at three, and your mom called earlier, Patty replied, marking her page.

What did she want?

She said to remind you about dinner tonight. They've changed plans. You're meeting the Westlands for pie and coffee.

Ah, right. Dak rubbed the back of his neck as the heaviness of the evening's commitment settled in. The Westlands sparked endless local high-society gossip with their polite mystery. Many had opinions, but little knowledge.

After slogging through minor tasks and downing another dose of painkillers with too much coffee, Dak prepared to leave. On a whim, he swung by The Hut for a quick bite, savoring a moment of solitude with a Bud Light and a Meat-Lover's pizza, bracing himself for an evening under his mother's watchful eye.

He regretted not grabbing a second beer when he arrived at his childhood home. Eager but nervous, his mother bustled about inside.

Dak, you're just in time. We need to leave now. They're expecting us, she announced with a blend of excitement and anxiety.

The senior Kents took their Ford Explorer, which prohibited smoking—or farting—forcing Dak to follow in his smoke-filled Impala.

As Dak followed his parents, the quiet drive allowed him to take in the rolling landscapes of Murphy. They approached the Westlands' residence, an estate that suggested the blurring of lines between modern luxury and historical grandeur. The automatic gates whispered open, revealing manicured lawns that stretched towards a stately home, its