Chapter Text
You stand at the end of the walkway leading up to your childhood home in Oakvale, New Hampshire, holding your luggage in one hand. You take deep breaths, preparing yourself for a nasty welcome home. You can still hear your father’s rage filled voice from your phone call a few days prior. You had decided to drop out of college. You were failing your classes and you couldn’t cope with hectic college life. Your mom, on the other hand, while disappointed in your decision, understood that this was your choice and that you were an adult now.
You had gone to college at the University of Illinois majoring in accounting under your father’s strict guidance in hopes that you would graduate and then run the finances for his car repair business. He was only going to help pay for college if you majored in accounting, so you had agreed begrudgingly. You were terrible at math and hated working with numbers, it was no wonder you were struggling.
You collect your thoughts, exhale loudly and approach the front door, wheeling your luggage behind you. You stand before the front door, giving it a few light knocks. You hear movement inside the house and the sound of your mother yelling down that she is coming. The front door opens and you’re greeted with your mother’s smiling face; a very welcome sight, beating the alternative.
“Sweetheart!” your mom exclaims, wrapping her arms around you, “how was your flight?”
“It was alright, I was able to sleep most of the way,” you reply as your mom leads you into the house.
You glance into the living room as you walk into the house, seeing your father watching the weather channel. He won’t even look at you or acknowledge you. Your mom sees the distress in your face. She stands in front of you, grasping your arms gently.
“Pay him no mind, sweetie, I’ve given him strict instructions to not talk about college with you. Give him time, he’ll get over it,” your mom lets go, continuing to lead you to your bedroom, “he needs to understand that you are an adult and can make your own decisions. He knew going into this that you hated math, it’s his own fault for pushing you so hard.”
You're comforted by your mother’s words as the two of you reach the precipice of your bedroom. She opens the door for you and you are met with your childhood bedroom, exactly how you left it before you went off to college three years ago: floral bedding, light pastel pink walls, matching white furniture and boy band posters and polaroids of you and your friends attached to the walls. You make a mental note to redecorate, but that can wait until later.
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Later that evening, you join your parents in the dining room for dinner. Your Mother made your favorite: pasta in tomato sauce with kielbasa, squash and zucchini. Despite the fact it was late September, the family garden was still providing fresh vegetables. At first, you all eat in silence; you don’t dare make eye contact with your father. He seems to be too absorbed in the newspaper anyway. After agonizing minutes of silence, your father finally speaks to you for the first time since you came home.
“I got you a job at the gas station, you start Monday.”
You stop mid-bite, looking at your father dumbfounded before glancing at your mother, who smiles at you. He’s referring to the one gas station in town, just on the edge of town leading to the highway.
“Th-Thank you, Dad… that’s very kind of you…” you say before continuing your meal.
All the while, you hear the TV that’s still on in the living room, playing the news, “Fish and Game is still searching for 25 year old Alicia Walker, who hasn’t been seen since Wednesday when she told her family she’d be hiking up Mt. Lafayette--”
“Oh dear… they still haven’t found that hiker, Mick?” your mom says, looking over at your father.
Your father shakes his head in dismay, “nope. Seems to be happening a lot lately, that’s the third hiker in about a month, too.”
“Hikers are going missing?” you chime in before chewing your food.
“Unfortunately. That’s what happens when you go hiking in the Notch unprepared. Promise me you’ll never hike alone,” your father says to you in a stern tone.
“Of course, Dad, I’m not stupid.”
“Good,” your father replies with a nod before he continues eating, “pasta’s delicious Sandi.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
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The weekend goes by in a flash and, before you know it, it’s Monday; your first day at your new job at the gas station. It’s an easy enough job, just working the cash register as people come in to buy things and get gasoline for their vehicles. What your father had failed to tell you, however, is that he got you the late shift: 6:00pm to midnight. The day shift person, an older woman named Peggy, who also trained you briefly, let you know that police officers often stop in at night to check on things, giving you some comfort. Oakvale wasn’t a bad town by any means, but this gas station was also close to the highway; anyone could come in.
That is made apparent when the chief of police himself stops in around 10:00pm, Chief Robert Dion, but most people in town just call him Chief Bob or just Chief. He was a burly man with a large mustache that he used wax to curl the ends; he almost looks like a cartoon character. His hair and beard are starting to show his old age. You recall he’s a nice man; you smile at him from behind the cash register as he walks through the door.
“Chief Bob! Long time no see!”
“Well, hey there little lady! Mick told me you were working at the gas station now! When did you get back into town?”
“Friday afternoon. I’m… not cut out for college, I guess…” you reply, your tone becoming morose.
“Hey! Don’t get down! Take some time to yourself and try again.” he says, leaning up against the counter on one arm.
“Thanks Chief. What’s the latest gossip in town? I’m sure I’ve missed a ton in three years.”
“Mostly about those missing hikers. I’m sure you heard--”
The sudden roar of a motorcycle cuts him off as a Harley Davidson motorcycle pulls up to one of the pumps outside before cutting the power. You watch from your peripheral vision as the driver gets off the bike. You draw your attention back to Chief Bob.
“As I was saying… I’m sure you heard about the missing hikers.”
You nod, “yeah, it was on the news when we were having dinner on Friday.”
You hear the electronic chime on the door go off as someone walks in and that’s when your eyes settle on what is quite possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in your life. Tall, with short blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing a leather jacket with worn denim jeans and work boots. Chief Bob moves out of the way to let the man come to the register. Your heart can’t help but race in your chest as your eyes are locked on the man.
“Can I get $5 on pump uh…” the man leans to look out the window at the number of the pump he parked at outside, “four?”
“S-Sure, of course! $5 please,” you reply, kicking yourself internally for stuttering.
The man pulls his wallet out from his back pocket, setting down a five dollar bill. Your eyes drift to his hands to check to see if he’s wearing a wedding band on his left ring finger; you don’t see one. Shifting your gaze back up, you see that his eyes are suddenly locked on yours; he gives you a playful smirk and winks before he turns to walk out.
“You’re out awfully late,” Chief Bob says to the man as he walks by.
“Had some errands to run. Take care Chief,” the man replies before walking back outside to fill his bike.
Your eyes are once again locked on the man before Chief Bob’s voice draws your attention back, “I think that’s the guy that bought ol’ Archie Mason’s place about a month ago.”
Archie Mason. Now that’s a name you haven’t heard in a while. You knew him as Mr. Mason, a curmudgeon of a man that lived on a dead end road in the woods by himself in town. As kids, you’d dare each other to go to his house, knock on his front door and see who could run the fastest before getting caught. Mr. Mason hated children.
“When did Mr. Mason die?” you ask as you get the $5 bill the handsome man gave you into the cash register.
“I think… two years ago? The house finally went through probate and was sold. That guy moved in and has been fixing it up ever since. Usually see him at Rocky’s.”
Rocky’s is a hardware store in Oakvale, a popular spot for all the younger and middle aged men in town, right up there with Moe’s bar, which was conveniently right next door to the hardware store. You hear Chief Bob talking to you still, but you can’t focus. Instead, your attention is on the mystery man pumping gas into his motorcycle, your heart all aflutter.
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You wake up around 9:30am Wednesday morning, shuffling over to your closet to put on some clothes. Afterwards, you go into the bathroom to fix your hair, brush your teeth and put your makeup on. All the while, you can hear your father hard at work in the garage on someone’s car through the various open windows in the house. You decide to pay him a visit after you get yourself put together.
You go outside, walking over to the adjacent auto repair shop, stopping to glance up at the sign hanging off the building: Mick’s Auto Repair. Every business in town had this unspoken rule that their business had to have their name in it; Mick’s Auto Repair, Rocky’s Hardware, Moe’s Bar and Grille, Sally’s Sew Shop, just to name a few. You continue walking, walking into the shop through the open garage door.
“Hey Dad!” you call out, looking around before seeing your father’s legs sticking out from under the car he’s working on.
You watch as he rolls out from under the car, his face, clothing and hands covered in oil stains. He looks up at you, his eyes squinting from the sun leaking into the garage.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks.
“You didn’t tell me Mr. Mason had died.”
“Oh… yeah… died in his sleep. The old fart was 92. Didn’t really come as a shock to anyone.” your dad replies, rolling himself back under the car.
“Do you know anything about the guy that bought the house?” you continue to pry, crossing your arms as you look down, addressing your father’s feet.
“Yeah, his name’s Leon, I think. Moved in from D.C. if I heard right. What about him?”
“Oh… nothing… he came into the gas station the other night…” you reply, your voice trailing out as the butterflies stir up in your gut thinking about him.
Leon… that suits him , you think to yourself.
“Now don’t you go getting any ideas, the last thing you need right now, young lady, is to be distracted by some boy. He’s too old for you anyway-- oh fuck!” your father curses as you hear something snap from under the car, rolling back out with a broken wrench in his hand.
“That’s not good,” you comment, watching as your father shoots you a glare.
He lets out a frustrated sigh, “can you run over to Rocky’s real quick and get me another one? I’d go but I’m caked in oil. Don’t need Rock yelling at me for tracking oil into his store again. I’ll pay you back.”
“Sure, no problem! I’ll be right back!” you say, heading back into the house to grab your purse from your bedroom.
You grab the broken wrench from your father so you make sure to get the right one and head out. The hardware store is about a 15 minute walk from your house, so you decide to just walk, enjoying the crisp hair and sun of early fall. Coming upon Rocky’s Hardware, you step inside, a bell hanging off the door ringing as you walk in.
“Well, well, well! If it isn’t Mick’s little girl! How’s it going, sweetheart?” Rocky says from the cash register.
Rocky is another older man, medium build with a head full of gray hair and a big, bushy gray mustache.
“Hey Rocky!” you reply as you pull your father’s broken wrench from your purse, “Dad broke another wrench, sent me to get another one for him.”
“Jesus… they don’t make them like they used to, do they? Aisle 6 dear, on the left.” Rocky says, gesturing into the store.
“Thanks Rock,” you say before proceeding to the aisle in question; however, when you turn to walk down the aisle, you stop dead in your tracks.
Leon, the man from the gas station the other night, is standing in the aisle looking at hardware, which is on the opposite side of the tools. You stand there, staring at him like an idiot, your heart pounding in your throat. As if sensing your presence, the man turns to you, giving you that same smirk from the other night.
“You’re that cute girl from the gas station,” he says; it wasn’t a question, it was a statement.
He remembered you. He also called you cute, making your stomach twist in anxiety.
“Y-Yeah…” you manage to say before working up the courage to walk into the aisle to look at the tools.
Leon’s eyes stay on you as you approach, watching as you draw your attention to the tools.
“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a hardware store?” he asks playfully, you can hear him smirking as he moves to stand next to you.
“Oh… my Dad broke his wrench. He asked me to get him another one.” you reply, trying desperately not to let your nerves get the better of you as you show Leon the broken wrench.
“Oh dear! Let’s see…” Leon starts as he looks up at all the different tools, reaching up to grab one of the wrenches hanging off the display, “this one looks like the same wrench, here you go.”
Leon hands you the new wrench, his fingers lightly caressing yours as he pulls his hand away, a gesture that is not missed by you. You feel your cheeks flush as you tuck the broken wrench back into your purse.
“Thank you mister…?”
“The name’s Leon Kennedy. But please, just call me Leon.” he replies, making eye contact with you, “what’s your name?”
You pause for a moment before you practically stutter your name out. You watch as Leon smiles at you, his eyes taking you in as he looks up and down at you.
“That is a lovely name,” he says, the compliment hitting you straight into your core; you feel your panties become slick.
“Th-Thank you… you have a nice name, too.”
Leon gives you a gentle pat on your shoulder, “I gotta go pay for my stuff. Hopefully we can see more of each other, yeah?”
You stare at him in awe for a moment before nodding, “Yes! I… I’d like that, too…”
He gives you a wink before he turns to walk out of the aisle and up to the cash register, where you hear him make small talk with Rocky. You are frozen in place in a desperate attempt to calm yourself down. You wait until you hear the bell on the door ring before you go up to the register to pay for the new wrench.
You couldn’t get home fast enough, your entire being a bundle of nerves. Once you get home, you walk through the open garage door to give your father the wrench. You find he’s not in the garage, so you walk back into the house, only to find him standing in front of the TV in the living room, watching the news.
“Dad, I got the wrench--” you begin to say as you cut yourself off, seeing there’s a breaking news report playing on the TV, “what’s wrong?”
Your father turns to you, his look is forlorn, “another hiker went missing, they were last seen Monday.”
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That night, after getting home from your shift at the gas station, you toss and turn in bed, unable to get comfortable. You can’t get Leon off your mind. Tossing your comforter off you, you lay on your back, propping your legs up and spread them as your right hand dips under the hem of your underwear, your fingers finding your clit to rub slow circles into it.
As you lose yourself to your own pleasure you moan Leon’s name softly, closing your eyes to picture the way his beautiful blue eyes looked up and down your body earlier today, the way his jeans hugged his slender hips. You could almost smell his leather jacket. Your fingers pick up the pace on your clit, causing your hips to buck into your fingers as you chase your high, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning loudly.
You turn your head towards your windows, slowly opening your eyes, only for your breath to be caught in your throat as you spot a pair of glowing red eyes peering into your window. You watch as the eyes suddenly dart away from the window, thumping sounds quickly following. You quickly pull your hand out from your underwear and practically jump out of bed to your window, throwing it open to look out. You look around, seeing nothing in the darkness. Your bedroom is on the second floor, it couldn’t have been a person. People don’t have glowing red eyes.
You take deep breaths, realizing your thoughts are only psyching yourself out. It was just your imagination in the heat of you getting yourself off, you decide, before you shut your window, locking it. Just in case. You walk back over to your bed, collapsing into it, your arousal having been scared out of you, so you quickly drift off to sleep.