Human Flesh

1

Selkie Island had sat at the southern midpoint of the Puget Sound for millenia. Uninhabited for 1,000 years, in 1856 Scott and Irish waded ashore. Finding a taste of home, it was little more than a fishing village then. Soon after, the immigrant colony set out into the forests to harvest its lumber. By these trades they prospered and survived.

They held fast to tradition and faith. Fishermen’s sons became fishermen, the lumber mill kept families together hand in hand with Saint Andrew’s Benedictine Monastery. United in the misery of survival at first, by the turn of the century they gorged themselves on the strawberries of Kawakami farms. Ichiro Kawakami had bolstered the island’s economy, his family well beloved for that fact. It seemed survival was no longer at stake. They spread fast over the 36 square mile land mass, establishing their own police force, hospital, schools, and townships.

137 years had come and gone. Selkie Island had been incorporated into Royal County and found itself centered between Seattle to the North and Tacoma to the south. The island boasted a population over 9,000. The majority of whom, partial to their relative isolation and rural character, were currently cross at the proposition of a fixed bridge connecting to the mainland. “An obscenity,” it was called by locals.

While the towns of Maury, Ichigo, and Douglas Hollow, dotting the inland, would relatively remain unaffected. Residents had banded together, insisting their port of entry, Fingal Bay, would be robbed of its natural beauty and the ferry workers financially ruined.

It was at this time officer Alasdair McCleary found himself at the iconic, Strawberry Fields Diner. The fiery red head observed his reflection in the pitch black liquid inhabiting his coffee mug. Spotting flapjack crumbs in his mustache, he flicked the remnants away, and leaned back in the ruby red booth.

It was 7:30 AM. His partner and childhood friend, Cameron Baird, sat across with his nose buried deep in this morning’s newspaper. Alsdair took stock of the inhabitants surrounding them. The usual suspects, two fishermen occupied the far corner of the diner to themselves, stinking to high heaven of this morning’s catch. Just behind Cameron, Naomi Hideki and Luna Kawakami gossiped in whispers. Although, they might as well have been doing so with a megaphone. The two friends were daughters of Selkie Island’s largest economic power houses. Naomi, the daughter of Philip Hideki, was subsequently the destined inheritor of her father’s luxury, Overlook Suites. Luna, the granddaughter of the famed Ichiro, was the beloved heiress to Kawakami Farms. Alsdair had gone to school side by side with them. And while he did not know Naomi as well as Luna, he was remiss to stick his nose up to them like many of his other schoolmates.

Seated at the stool top counter, the infamous Sullivan brothers, Arthur and Edmund. In their youth a rough pair, now in their 60s they looked meaner than they let on. After the Korean War they had spent the following years on the road in an outlaw motorcycle club. Which one was anyone’s guess. Claims ranged from the Chosen Few, the Diablos, and the Hells Angels. Whoever they had roamed with, by the time they returned to their native Selkie Island, they were through. Resigning themselves to work in their own bike shop, where they managed repairs and manufactured custom parts. When away from their shop, the faintly aloof siblings could be found practically glued in place at their usual stools. Usually chit chatting with whichever waitress was on shift or guarding the jukebox to ensure a steady rotation of rock was played.

These faces he had grown custom too, having spent his whole life on the island. Only ever having spent a significant time away when he had joined the LAPD.

“New Nirvana album released today,” Cameron spoke out of the side of his mouth, never breaking eye contact from the column.

“What?” Alasdair asked, turning away as he made eye contact with Luna.

“New Nirvana album,” Cameron turned the newspaper to face him, “In Utero it’s called, funny name for a record, you ever listened to them?”

“No, never,” Alasdair replied, taking a sip of coffee, “Em was really big into them before she left for the mainland, all she ever talked about..”

“You serious?” Cameron peered over the thick black rims of his glasses, “even I’ve listened to Nirvana. Look at me, I go over to the mainland. I’m bigfoot to them. You ain’t listening to the radio these days? Come on, Al.”

Alsdair grinned, careful not to choke on his coffee as he chuckled, “Radio’s a bunch of junk these days, my old man raised me on Jennings, Cash, and Hank Williams.”

“Didn’t know you were such a hick, McLeary.”

“Look who’s talking, your first job was a farmhand for your oldman.”

“Touché,” Cameron nodded, his eyes growing wide as he reached the crossword, “you got a pen? I’m feeling lucky today.”

Alsdair reached into his brown duty jacket and procured a black pen, “here you are sasquatch.”

Initially, Alasdair had reservations when Chief Mulligan had partnered him with Cameron. Not that his friend was an incompetent officer by any means. In fact for a small town cop he was excellent. Alasdair’s main grievance and fear was that their friendship, stretching beyond the walls of the station, would hamper their police work. Since leaving the LAPD a year prior and joining his hometown department, he had been pleasantly surprised. Cameron kept to his due diligence, he was sharp, and in spite of his lumbering frame, he was quick on his feet. In truth, having his friend made the days easier on Alasdair. The sting of retreat to Selkie Island didn’t pain him so much that way.

“What’s a five letter word for uncover?” Cameron mused outloud, “Reveal…fuck that’s six.”

“Strip.” Alasdair blurted out

“I wanted to figure it out,” Cameron glared over his glasses.

A smirk grew across Alasdair’s face, he pushed the empty syrup stained plate, speckled with eggs and bacon to the edge of the lacquered beige table. A bell hung over the diners doorway chimed signaling a new arrival.

Cameron looked up, his jaw tightening, and his eyes flooding with disappointment. “Aw, Christ,” He sighed, “Al, you got trouble.”

Alsdair furrowed his brow and glanced over his shoulder. There, stood frozen in the doorway, cald in his blue and grey letterman jacket, was his youngest brother, Wyatt. Clung to his arm, trying to unlock the puzzle of petrified shock on Wyatt’s face, was his girlfriend, Elanor Koskela.

Alsdair rose quickly, unfurling the bottom of his jacket. Elanor had put the last missing piece together far too late. She tugged on Wyatt’s arm and anxiously crossed her legs, shuffling her feet as if she was stuck in cement.

“Why the hell aren’t you in school?” Alsdair barked before turning his attention to Elanor, “Your mom is one radio call away, Elanor, I wouldn’t try it.”

“I ugh,” Wyatt stammered raking his fingers through his red middle parted hair, “There’s no practice today and I ugh.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Wyatt. Coach Jacko called dad yesterday, said you’ve been late to practice everyday at best and at worst missing outright for the past two weeks.” Alsdair exhaled hard and put his hands on his hips. By now, Cameron was stood watching from afar, procuring a $20 bill and motioning to their waitress behind the counter.

“I’m sorry, Al,” Was all Wyatt could muster, holding his gaze firm to the ground.

Alasdair could feel the eyes of every last patron fixed upon him, he steadied his nerves, cautious to not let his anger boil over. “Come on, Wyatt. You’re not that kid. So what? You’re gonna get kicked off the hockey team, let your grades drop, and be ass out of luck come time for college?”

“I could work at the mill. Besides, I’m a good goalie, coach would never kick me off.”

“You know you don’t want that, I don’t want that for you. And trust me, Me and Cam know Coach Jacko better than anyone. His patience doesn’t last forever.”

“I know, your right,” Wyatt hung his head in defeat, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

“You know I’m gonna have to tell dad about this, Elanor, your mom too.”

“Please!” Elanor exclaimed, “come on, I promise we won’t ditch again. You work with her, you know she’s batshit insane.”

“To be frank, I probably would be too if I was your mother.”

Before Wyatt could plead their defense, Alasdair’s radio croaked, “Unit 012, we have a 10-67 reported at the Adair farm, are you available to respond?” The familiar voice of Selkie Island Police Department’s dispatcher, Nancy Koskela, echoed throughout the diner.

Alsdair clutched the sides of his radio, “Unit 012, 10-4 Nance, we’re on our way,” He paused momentarily, stealing a glance at the teenagers in front of him, “Oh, by the way, your daughter is at Strawberry Field, Nance.” Alasdair released the radio, Cameron pushed past him, heading for the parking lot. “I’m sure I can trust that you’ll find your way to school? We’ll talk more about this later.”

As Alasdair vacated the premises, the phone inside rang. Without a word, the blonde haired waitress lifted it off the receiver and pointed it towards Elanor,

“It’s for you,” She said plainly, Arthur erupted into a fit of laughter, Edmund called for Alasdair.

“Careful out there, Al,” The gravely voice of Edmund caused the office to stop in the doorway, “The trees have taken more than they’ve been giving. What little they give now is sorrowful, watch your back now.”

Alasdair stood frozen, a befuddled look hung on his face. His eyes shifted, catching the gaze of Luna, worry spilled over her eyelids, he nodded and left, the diners bell chiming once more against the door frame.