42Playing with Fire
Chapter 4: Fezzes, Fixes, and Action Figures
"So I'm sittin' there, mindin' my own business and smokin' another cigarette while I'm waiting for you to get back..."
"Mmm-hmm?"
"And the goat pops outta nowhere. Just trots outta the forest all nonchalantly, like he owns the place and is just gonna waddle on by. So I give a shrug. I'm like, 'Eh, the ugly thing'll just be on its way and I'll never see it again'."
"Mmm-hmm."
"Then he just makes a beeline for me. I didn't mind much. That is, until he started goin' after my pants leg. I mean, these are designer jeans. Designer. As in, not cheap. I mean, I bought 'em thinkin' that it'd be hot women tryin' to pull them off. But no. It's a goat goin' after them. A freaking goat."
"Uh-huh..."
"So there I was, face to face with the ugly thing. He looked up at me with his creepy yellow eyes, and I glared down at him, doin' my best to intimidate 'im and to get him to back down. It was hard, I admit, to keep a straight face when some butt ugly goat's starin' daggers at you. But I remained vigilant. Couldn't let the thing win. I just couldn't."
"You do realize you're talking about a goat, right?"
"Didn't I already say that?"
"Yeah, but seriously: you're talking about a goat. A goat."
"Just let me finish the story!"
"Do I have to?"
"Yes, you do. Anyways, I get sick of kickin' him off of my leg and so I try to walk away. He keeps followin' me. Eventually I get in the car, thinkin' it'll get him to stop. And it did. But then I looked out of the window and, lo and behold, I realized I'd left my cigarettes on the hood."
"Let me guess: he-"
"Snaps his slobbery jaws onto the pack and starts runnin' away with 'em! I burst outta the car and chase after 'im, tryin' to get 'em back. We're tearin' down the pavement. He's cloppin' along, I'm trippin' over myself and speedin' like a bat out of hell. I mean, they're all I got left! I wasn't just gonna let the son of a bitch get away with my last cigarettes, right?"
"Right..."
"And then he turns. Just stops in the middle of the road like he's been paralyzed or somethin' and stares me down, the Marlboros gleaming with their shiny... shiny... I don't know, what's that stuff called?"
"Cellophane?"
"Yeah, that stuff. They're gleamin' in his goat maw, and I'm comin' to a stop. All of the sudden, he drops 'em. So I think, 'Thank the heavens! He didn't ruin 'em!'."
"And?"
"And then he starts eatin' them. I mean, smokin' 'em's not the most healthy habit in the world, I admit. But eating them?"
"Sounds gross."
"It is gross. So I make a beeline for the goat and my cancer sticks. By the time I get there, all but three are gone. Goat-napped and sittin' in his belly by this point. And... and so I picked the last three up from the asphalt, cradling their goat-spit-soaked bodies in my quiverin' fingers and pity for the poor things welling inside of me, hopin' they'd make it through. At least, until I needed another dose of nicotine."
"And?"
"And that's why I hate the goat."
I let out a disappointed sigh and turned to look out the truck window.
"What? Was that not a good enough story for you?" Stanford asked, staring at me through the crooked rear-view mirror with an irritated expression. I glanced at his reflection for a moment and then returned my gaze to the scenery outside.
"No, no. It was... it was the most exciting tale I've ever heard."
There was a long pause. Then, finally...
"You're lyin'."
"I know."
We didn't speak for a long time afterwards; just looked outside and waited for McGucket to get back. On the way to town, we'd stopped at what was probably the most expensive house in Gravity Falls, what with its mansion-like structure and red velvet curtains hanging on the inside of its many, many windows. In the front sat a large gate with ivy entwined about its black skeleton, a relatively big garden beyond it, and then a red door where the path met the house. Tall pines surrounded the lot like a dark veil. Small wildflowers grew at its sides and back. Its porch swing squealed softly, rocking back and forth in the Spring breeze.
But despite how nice it was (and how much I'd wished to have a house like that someday), it seemed lonely. Cut off, if you will. Separated from the rest of town and even looking like it didn't belong here. It was elevated on a slope, overlooking the town, watching Gravity Falls but not actually a part of it.
For some reason, it made me feel down. Cold. Even depressed.
Staring longingly out the truck's dirty back window, I then wondered how McGucket - who looked to be a poor mechanic - was friends with the guy who owned this house. Maybe they'd grown up together, or were childhood friends? Maybe they had a business deal of some sort? Maybe he'd fixed this guy's expensive car for free once? Maybe they were distantly related?
But a fez? Why did he own a fez? Why did he wear it to McGucket's house? Why had he left it at McGucket's house? Who even wears fezzes anymore?
My questions remained unanswered. For a long time, at least, and at this point in my life I was clueless. What I didn't know then was that I'd come back to this house one day, knowing full well who owned it and what that fez meant.
For now, though, it was simply a mystery.
The mechanic came walking out of the house when my watch's long hand was at twelve and the short was at two. Which meant that we had two hours before we had to be at our house for the closing. It made me shuffle in my seat, nervous energy wracking my body. I hoped dearly that McGucket would fix the car in time. Also, I'd never even seen our house before; which meant, in other words, that we were buying something we had no knowledge of.
Stanford had said that the real estate agent insisted it was the only property open in town. That that was our only option. Stanford told her that we would buy it. At the time, I'd been so angry at him. "Why didn't you ask me before you said yes!?", I'd yelled.
He had given me a solemn look and muttered, "Because, if I let you have any say, it'd be off the market before you finally made up your mind."
I'd remained speechless. He was right. Though, I wasn't going to admit it. We were taking a huge risk. Personally, I was terrified of what the house was going to be like. But Stanford?
He always liked to take gambles.
The truck door screeched open and McGucket hobbled inside, mumbling something about fish and old men. It left me and my twin perplexed, but we didn't ask any further. We both knew the mechanic was a bit screwy in the brain; probably the only answer we'd get would make us more confused, anyways.
Without another word, he started up the car and we drove back into town, leaving the lonely mansion behind and a cloud of dust in our wake.
It was ten minutes to four when McGucket finally finished the repairs. We'd thanked him and were quick to be on our way, but before we could leave he pulled me back by my arm and back into the garage. The middle aged man twisted me around and looked me right in the eye. Green irises versus brown. Serious versus surprised. We stared at each other for a moment longer and then, reaching out the hand he wasn't using to keep me there, mumbled:
"Ya forgot to pay me."
"Oh!" I replied, relieved that he hadn't said something weird. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. "I'm sorry. We were in such a rush that I forgot to-"
"A hundred."
"What?"
McGucket's mouth furled downwards. "Ya owe me a hundred for the repairs."
"Oh, of course." I paused to tug two fifties out of my wallet. I handed them to him and then tried to turn away. But he still wouldn't let go. "Sir? You're... you're not letting me go..."
"Wait here."
"But we have to go-"
"Wait."
Before I could reply, the mechanic had scurried into the other garage. Some crashes. Some metallic clanking. Wondering what the heck he was doing, I walked to the other side and craned my neck around the corner. McGucket came back with something in his hand. Something familiar. But I didn't figure it out until he took my hand in his and placed the thing in my fingers.
"It's for you. As a 'thank you' for yer business."
My gaze scoured the item until I realized that it was the picture of the creature I'd been looking at earlier. Jaw dropping, eyes widened, shock coursed through my veins and I... I didn't know what to say. Wordless, breathless, I just stood there and looked at it.
"Stanley! Hurry it up!" Stanford yelled outside from within the Galaxie, whose engine had already grumbled to life.
I turned my head away from the photograph, shot my brother a nasty look, and then returned to face McGucket.
"How did you-"
He started retreating into the darkness of the garage. "Keep yer eyes open, kid. Don't let 'em blind you."
"What?"
The last thing I saw before he disappeared completely was a smile. Just a simple grin tucked inside his scraggly brown beard. Perplexed, I remained there staring into the shadows until Stanford gave another call. I jolted out of my daze, shoved the picture into my wallet, put them both back into my pocket, twisted around, and ran to the Galaxie, not sure if I, too, was starting to go crazy.
"What's that?"
I realized Stanford had been looking over at me for quite a while. Surprised, I quick tucked the photograph in my pocket and gave him a fake smile. "What's what?"
His eyebrow raised. "Don't gimme that dorky grin. I know you're freaked out by that thing."
"What... what do you mean?"
"Stanley..." he paused and let out a sigh. Whether it was because he knew I was lying or because we'd stopped at an unecessary stop sign, I wasn't sure. "I've been stuck with you since birth. I mean, you're not very good at tellin' lies in the first place, but to me? I would've thought you'd know better."
"Um... we can go now. You've already stopped-"
"Stop worryin' about the stop sign and look at me."
I kept staring out the window. A pair of hands clamped onto my face and jerked my head to the left. "Look into my eyes and tell me you're feelin' alright."
"I'm fine, really."
"No, you're not."
"Stanford, we really have to go. We're going to be late to the closing and it's illegal to park at a stop sign-"
"Since when have I cared about the law?"
"Never?"
"Exactly."
I wrestled his hands from my face and threw them away. "Well, you should start caring about the law. I'm going to be working for the police department-"
"And you're gonna be the greatest detective ever and you don't want me to screw it up." Stanford cut in, bouncing his eyes back and forth in exasperation. "Yeah, I get it. I get it. Now stop changin' the subject and tell me what's got you all spooked."
I turned away again. "I still have no idea what you're talking about."
Stanford settled back into his seat once more, body crumpling in defeat. Brown eyes cast towards the floor, brows furrowed, he let out another sigh and muttered. "Alright, Stannie Boy-"
"Stop calling me that."
"Stanley, would ya just look at me for another second? I know it's hard, me bein' your ugly brother and all, but I want to know you're listenin' to me."
I bit my lower lip, guilt starting to well up inside. I hated when my twin did this. This... this out-of-character, not-sarcastic-or-mocking-or-telling-me-how-much-of-a-dork-I-was...thing. Whenever Stanford acted like this, I knew that I'd made him feel bad or that he felt responsible for something. I wanted to turn and yell at him; to tell him that it wasn't his fault and that he should stop acting like he had to take responsibility for my mood or that, even with his role as the 'big brother', he should stop making it his goal to protect me. I wasn't little anymore. I mean, I appreciated that he cared, but...
Ugh, it's too hard to explain. It's a sibling thing, I suppose.
I finally gave in and twisted to face him. Seeing that I'd obliged, he perked up and then, smile fading once more, looked me right in the eye and said:
"Just know that I'm here for you. I know you don't wanna talk about it, but if you ever need anyone to chat with, I've always got an open ear."
It was so corny and heartfelt that it made chuckle. My grin being infectious, it spread to Stanford's face, too, and he began to laugh. When done, he wiped his eye and then, expression suddenly serious, he muttered, "Just don't tell anyone I ever said that."
"Nah, I won't. Wouldn't want people to think that you have a heart, right?"
"Right."
Mood lightened, he started driving again and we headed for the house. Its address was '618 Gopher Street'. Stanford insisted that the agent had told him it was a slight ways out of town, but as we continued onwards, it seemed impossible to find.
"Jeez, you'd think it'd be easy to get a glimpse of this sucker." Stanford said, head moving back and forth as he searched for any signs, his eyes squinting. "Woman said it was huge."
"Huge?" I asked, interest suddenly piqued.
"Yep. Lotsa rooms, too."
"And how are we able to afford this?" I replied, suspicions starting to rise. I was afraid of what Stanford would say next, because if it was big but was cheap, that meant-
"Well, you see..."
"Oh, God." I said, not wanting to hear the rest of it. But I supposed I'd find out sooner or later.
"Don't get your panties in a twist, kid. It's fine! It just... well, it needs a bit of repair, that's all."
Fear pulsed through my chest. When Stanford says, 'a bit', he usually means, 'a lot'. Knowing this, my heart began to thunder. Oh, God. I thought. It's gonna be a trash heap-
"It's not a trash heap, Stanley." Stanford replied, as if hearing my thoughts. "It's just... old and needs some love."
"In regular talk: it's a dump and needs a lot of fixing."
He cast me a sour look, but it was interrupted when he saw a sign with bold, black letters: "GOPHER ROAD". Caught off guard and realizing we were almost past the turn off, he ripped the wheel to the left and skidded onto the street. The furniture on the top of our car threatened to fall off, and what we had in the back seat deafeningly slid into the right back door. I grimaced as it passed, and afterwards careened my head back to see the damage. Nothing was broken, but it wasn't until I saw my Spock action figure still in one piece that I let out a sigh of rel-
I mean, my, um... my book. My book collection, yeah. Not a Spock action figure.
Ahem.
Gopher Road was long and sloped, gently curving upwards for what seemed like forever through sparse woods. But when we finally got to the top and saw the house for the first time...
Well, I'll let you guess what kind of reaction I had.
Formed like a huge rectangular pyramid, the house had a steeply sloped, rotted-shingled roof that stuck up into the sky like a small wooden mountain. Many windows were cracked, and the few that weren't weren't actually windows; just duct tape where the glass should be. The sides were faded. The steps leading up to the main entrance were broken. The other entrance (which was on a small box-shaped part of the house that jutted out from the main 'pyramid') had half a door. There was an eagle's nest in the smoke stack. Spiderwebs glistened between the building's supports and the ground like a thick bundling of cotton.
We made sure to avert our gaze for the rest of the drive up to the house, trying our best not to look at its decrepit structure as much as possible. At the front door was a curvy woman with dark skin, thick hair shaped into an afro and a silk orange shirt tucked into her white bell bottoms. When she realized we were there, she twisted to face us, hoop earrings dangling and shining in the late afternoon Sun.
"She's a bit too fancy to be a real estate agent, don't you think?" Stanford asked, trying to change the subject from the house to something else. "Looks like she belongs on a runway."
We got out of the car and the agent strode over, hand outstretched towards us. Each of us shared a handshake with her and then, when finished, she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and gave a big smile.
"You two must be the Pines twins. I'm Belinda. Belinda Blubs."
"Blubs?" I asked, instantly recognizing the name.
"Yep. Wife of the sheriff, in fact."
A slight tinge of fear ate at my chest. If she was the wife of the sheriff... then that meant she was the wife of my boss. Stanford was here. And so was the wife of my boss.
Stanford.
The wife of my boss.
Stanford.
And the wife of my boss.
I returned the smile and then, knowing that my life depended on it, asked her if me and my 'great older twin' could have a moment alone. She seemed surprised, but didn't argue as I pulled him aside and started whispering urgently into his ear.
"Stanford, I swear to God. If you say anything in front of her... anything! If you hit on her, if you share any stories about your 'adventures' in crime, or if you tell any embarrassing stories about me-"
"Eh, don't worry Stannie Boy-"
My face contorted with anger. "And don't call me Stannie Boy in front of her."
"Relax, Sherlock. I ain't gonna make you look bad. In fact, if you want, I can spruce you up. You know, lie about how great you are."
"No."
"Well, why not?"
"No. Just... no. Just... for once in your life, keep your mouth shut."
"But-"
"Shut."
Before he could protest, I turned around and apologized to Mrs. Blubs about the interruption. She said it was no trouble. And, much to my dismay, Stanford replied back right after I told him to shut up:
"You're lookin' good today, Miss Belinda!"
My elbow flew into his ribcage. He let out an obvious 'ow' and then asked, "What'd I do!?"
Belinda just stood there on the busted, lichen-smothered porch with her hands on her hips, one carefully trimmed eyebrow raised above the weirded-out look on her face. She stared at us for a while, glancing back and forth between what she perceived as two very bizarre brothers, and then, not able to make any sense of it, just shook her head and muttered, "Why do I always get stuck with the weird ones?"
The woman twirled around, jammed a key into the rusted lock, pushed the squealing front door open, looked back at us, and then made one sweeping swoosh of her arm to encourage us inside.
"Well, come on. I haven't got all day!"
She left us standing out there, feeling like there were donkey ears plastered on our heads as we heard her heels' clacking grow distant. Irritated beyond belief, I turned and looked up to Stanford, my eyes squinted and mouth drooped into a frown.
"Seriously, what'd I do?" he asked.
Without a word, I just shook my head and followed Belinda inside, leaving Stanford behind.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Once again, I apologize for this being another relatively inactive chapter. Most of it is dialogue and Stanley's internal reflections, and thus, not a lot is going on.
Because these beginning chapters are slow, I want to assure you that the story will not always be this way. The pace will pick up, more important details will emerge, and the story will get a lot more interesting after the twins fully settle down in the town.
But, for now it's plodding along and if you're the kind of reader that likes action-ey, fast paced, exciting stories... then I apologize if it bores you. But I promise that the pace will pick up and the more important events will start to occur.
BUT... I must say this: there are a LOT of subtle hints in these beginning chapters that try to nudge the reader to suspect certain characters, notice seemingly insignificant details, and get a feel for what characters might do in the future. I'll tell you now that EVERY character I've introduced is important to the plot, and there are a lot of hints I've dropped into their introductions that may suggest there's something more to them.
I suggest, if you haven't been picking up these hints, that you re-read the chapters and pay close attention to what characters do and say. Because, frankly, it might help you solve the mysteries in the plot that will come later.
BTW, the 'Mrs. Blubs'/Belinda is the modern day, in-the-show's Sheriff Blubs' mother. In other words, the Mrs. Blubs and Sheriff Blubs of this story are the parents of the one in the show. Just wanted to clear that up, just in case that was confusing.
Also, I'd like to thank the people who reviewed chapter three! Thanks goes out to Mrs. Cipher, The Snazzy Scribe, and Racheal Weasley for commenting! Your input is much appreciated. :D