I

The Blackbank Mile

Kellan hated Tuesdays.

He didn’t really have a reason. Monday’s were the beginning of the week. Annoying, yet went by quick. Wednesday was hump day. No one hated hump day. Thursday gave you the hope of only one more day to wake early. Friday needed no explanation. But Tuesday. There was nothing good about Tuesday.

This Tuesday was no different in the feeling. Even with his amnesia, once he’s told the day of the week, the deep resonating anger boils beneath his skin.

His captor, or maybe caregiver (he hasn’t figured it out yet), scurries through the antique room. Each step creaking over the original hardwood floor. Kellan watches Cathy tidy the room as though Kellan isn’t even there.

Kellan looks around the room. A feeling like he has stepped back a hundred years eerily comes over him. Antique furniture. Handmade quilts. A leather bound book, with a red sash placed somewhere near the middle, sits on a wobbly nightstand. A gas lantern sits beside the bed. Kellan instantly looks to the ceiling. No light. This small lantern must be the only source of night light.

Kellan looks down to his arms. Bandages cover his right wrist up to his bicep. A burgundy stain remains around the elbow. He tries to raise himself into a more comfortable position. Instant pain strikes over different areas of his body. Mostly centralized in his back, but the pain also radiates down his legs. A pounding headache that was probably always there, just these new surroundings had taken precedent over the pain.

Kellan takes his left hand and touches his head. Just as he thought, a bandage wrapped tightly around his head. Even the gentle touch of his fingers causes more pain to arise in his head.

“Did you say it was Tuesday?” Kellan says. His own voice sounding unfamiliar. Whether it was the deep rasp or his lack of memory having nothing to compare it with, but Kellan is not who he remembers. The setting, this life, much different than anything he can recall.

“Yes.” Cathy responds, without turning. She continues to putter around the room. She grabs a set of washed, beaten clothing and folds it and puts on the side of the bed. She never looks Kellan in the eye. Matter of fact, she never even looks toward him. She works like he is just another part of the room.

“What happened?”

“Breakfast will be ready soon. You should get some food in you. You’ll need your energy.” Cathy says. She moves to the window and pulls a set of dusty, floral curtains apart.

The instant rays of sun burn Kellan’s eyes. He quickly shields them, but it’s too late. The damage is done. His eyes remain slammed shut. “How long have been out?”

“Three days.” Cathy responds, again remaining nonchalant.

Kellan can’t believe the words she spoke. Three days? How has he been unconscious for three days? What’s worse is how he never even knew how he ended up a hundred years in the past.

“Three days? I -” Kellan tries to finish his sentence while trying to move from the bed. Dizzy, weakness comes over him.

Cathy finally turns to her captive. She runs to his aid. “Now, now. You’re weak. Take your time.”

Kellan shakes his head hoping the dizzy spell will subside, but the matter only gets worse. He grips the edge of the single mattress. He steadies his head and focuses on the window outside.

“Where am I?” Kellan says looking out of the window. Nothing but blue sky fills the glass. The strength building in his body so he can make his way to the window. He lifts himself into a standing position. The cover falling off. Once the cool breeze catches his bare skin, Kellan realizes he is only wearing underwear. Quickly, Kellan grabs the cover and wraps it around his waist.

“It’s okay. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. How do you think you got like that?” Cathy giggles to herself. She grabs the folded clothing and lays it on the bed beside him. “I washed it the best I could, but some of the stains just wouldn’t come out.”

Kellan takes the shirt from the top of the pile. The once white shirt has been stained with a burgundy hue. The color runs deeper to the center of a hole. He puts his finger right through the center. He throws the shirt on and lines the hole to his lower left abdomen. He runs his fingers over the area. Smooth. No wound.

“Is this my shirt?”

“It’s not one of ours.” Cathy retorts.

Kellan lifts his shirt and searches his abdomen for any signs of a bullet hole. No wound. No marking of any damage. “Was I shot?” Kellan motions for Cathy to examine the area. He guides her eyes to his semi-six pack. Something he was working on completing, just no quite there yet.

Cathy steps toward him. She softly runs her fingers over the area. No markings or blemishes. “Looks normal to me.”

So many questions flutter through Kellan’s head. How did he get here? What is this place? What happened to him? His brain tries to focus on one single question, but all that comes out, “Do I have any pants?” Not the most important of questions, but important enough in his head.

Cathy rushes around the bed and finds the once folded pair of black jeans on the floor. “Here they are.” She hands Kellan the pair.

“Thanks.”

Kellan grabs them from her hands. He unfolds the pair and looks them over.  A few scuff marks. Patches of what could either be dried blood or mud. Kellan reaches to remove the cover from his waist when he notices Cathy now giving him full focus. Her eyes glued to his midsection. Kellan pauses. “You said there was breakfast?”

“Yep. Ready in a few minutes.” Cathy responds. She realizes her attention had been on him for too long. She quickly averts her gaze.

In a quick flash, Kellan drops the sheet and slides the jeans on. The jeans sit looser than they normally would have. Three days without food would do wonders for weight loss.

“Best eat and be on your way. We don’t need your kind here.” Cathy says. She begins to rip the sheets from the bed. She rolls them up. Removes the pillow slip and takes the blanket from the top. “You’ve been here long enough. If anyone knew you were here -” Cathy hesitates, not wanting to finish the thought, “well, it wouldn’t be good for anyone.”

“And where is here?”

Cathy pauses, “You don’t know?” she continues without giving Kellan a chance to respond, “You’re in the Blackbank Mile.”

Kellan heard stories about the name. All they thought is that they were whispers in the wind. There is no way a prison like the Blackbank Mile could exist without him knowing. All the years working on the right side of Franklin. Something would have slipped.

People would disappear. Kellan knew it. Hell, he was part of it. His job was simple; keep peace in Scotia. If people were unruly, living on the street, or doing something illegal, Kellan, and his partner Zee, were sent in to arrest the accused. That’s it. They would never see them again.

Rumours would flood around where the people would go. Families would disappear. Hardworking citizens who fell on hard times - even a drunkard who made an inebriated mistake would find themselves at the mercy of Kellan and Zee. Neither Zee nor Kellan ever spoke of it.  Neither really cared. They did their job, and they did it well.

One man, Giles Miller, claimed to have been to the outcasted prison. He spoke of the old mining town turned prison. A place where time had been forgotten among the dirt. Forgotten by everyone except Franklin. Giles claimed it was Franklin’s grand vision to use use the dilapidated town to send all the derelicts from Scotia.

Seemed like an easy solution, surround the town with an electrified fence, snipers, and cameras with audio recording devices. An easy solution to rid Scotia of the unwanted people.

But soon after these rumors from Giles spread, the man himself disappeared just like anyone else who spoke out against Franklin’s regime.

If all of this is true, Kellan wonders how he came to be here. He searches his memory for any recollection of the previous events that lead him to be here. Nothing.

“Clean up, and come down.” Cathy says.

A cast iron woodburning stove sits in the corner. Non-matching flower patterned kitchenware is spread across the antique dining table. A glass jug of fresh milk sits in the center of the table. Five full glasses of milk in five different spots on the table. Cut, freshly made bread sits beside the milk. The smell reels kellan into the room.

        Until this point, Kellan never even thought about food, but the don’t remember the last time I ate, but so far, I know it’s been at least three days. Eating an entire loaf of bread seems like an easy chore at this moment. Being that there are four other place settings, I realize the bread isn’t just for me.

        After finally receiving a proper introduction of her and her family, Susan invites me to sit down. James Dryden sits at the head of the table. Thick and bearded, the man spends his day in the fields. Leathered, worn skin. Either he’s not happy I’m here, or this is how he is all the time. I choose to sit beside their son, Michael.

        Michael, somewhere around the age of ten, appears to be following in his father’s footsteps. Calloused fingers. Deep tan from days in the sun. His playful child years are behind him. Now it’s time for Michael to be a man. His eyes study me as I finish my first glass of milk in one large gulp.

        This family has worked hard for everything they have. Everything on the table in front of me is something they used their hands for. When I pour the second glass of milk, I’m a bit more shy. Even though a single cow provides more than enough milk for an entire family.

        “How long’s he staying here?” James says, without moving his eyes of focus toward me.

        “I told him to leave after breakfast.”

        Feeling unwelcome, I reach for my first piece of bread. The center still warm from the bake. I reach for the butter. The first spread causes the butter to melt into each hole of the bread. I can hardly contain my excitement for the first bite. Now, I can feel all eyes on me.

        “Sorry.” I say.

        “We say grace in this house.” James snaps back.

        I drop the bread.

        “No problem.” I say. The melted butter now covering my fingertips.

        “My father doesn’t like you.” Michael says with a grin.

        “Figured.”

        “Hush, everyone. Time for prayer.” Susan says, while taking her seat.

        James and Michael both close their eyes and prepare for prayer. Susan clasps her hands together and readies herself for the prayer.

        “Mighty God, we ask you to wipe our sins clean. We helped a man who many would believe did not deserve it. Please take that into consideration when our days are done.” Susan says.

        I keep my eyes open wondering why there is so much hatred toward me. I don’t know these people. At least, I don’t think I know these people. I don’t even know where I am.

        She continues, “and let us give thanks to all that is provided on the sunny Tuesday mornin’. Even if it means sharin’ it with a criminal -”

        “Wait a minute -”

        “Be quiet.” James says, without opening his eyes.

        “You’re breakin’ bread with me. You can at least tell me why you’re hatin’ on me.”

        “Amen.” Susan finishes the prayer. She ignores my pleas. I look to the empty place setting. The full glass of milk remains untouched. Everyone begins to dig in.

        “Aren’t you waiting on someone?” I ask.

        “Yep.” Susan responds.

        “May I ask, who?”

        It takes several minutes, but finally I get, “My sister. Johann.” Michael says in between a mouthful of bread.

        “She’s been gone for almost a week.” Michael responds without missing a beat.

Putting a glass of milk out for someone who isn’t even here seems strange. I watch as the family continues to eat their breakfast as if this is the usual. I can’t understand their weird habits.

“She’s not coming back.” James says breaking the uncomfortable silence. His eyes stay on the food in front of him. I wonder how he can be so nonchalant about his missing daughter. People deal with trauma differently, but this is something new.

“What happened to her?”

“Don’t know. She just never came home.”

“Did you look for her?”

James scoffs. “Do you know where you are?”

“No. No, I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure it out this whole time.”

“Well, if someone goes missing here. They’re not coming back”

Susan breaks down. She can’t control the tears. Neither James  nor Michael are concerned. Susan bolts from the room. Her broken cries pierce my ears. Finally, a sense of emotion from someone.

I finish my final bites. I wipe the remaining melted butter from around my mouth and fingers. I stand and take my plate.

“Where are you going?”

“You want me to leave.”

I carry my plate to a small sink. I set the dishes aside.

“I’ve thought about it. You can’t go out there yet.”

“why’s that?” I respond. Tired of hearing what I should or shouldn’t be doing.

“I don’t want people to know we were the ones who took you in. Word gets out, our business is done.”

“I can assure you -”

“You can’t assure me shit, Kellan.”

James’s words cut me down quick. This is the first moment he actually stares at me. His cold demeanor burning into my soul. If I had one. Who knows at this point.

All this time, my name had slipped away. Kellan Black. The right hand man of Franklin Moore. Loved by some, feared by many. No job too big or too small. The men I have put down. Many men I have taken away from Scotia City.

That’s it. Rumor of everything I have accomplished has made its way to the lowly neighbourhoods of Scotia. Even the smallest of families fear the great Kellan Black.

“If you know who I am, then you know who I work for and what I’m capable of.”

James stands, grins, and steps toward me. “Maybe a few days ago. But now that you’re here, you have no protection.”

“What do you mean?”

James walks toward the door. He opens it. “Don’t get too close, but have a peek outside”

The sunlight beams in through the opened door. I step into the light. I look out into the western world in front of me. Broken buildings. A town forgotten in time. A ghost town turned prison set in the middle of midwest. I heard all the stories of this place, but I’ve never seen it in person.

A nine-foot electric fence lines the outskirts of the town. Hidden through the hidden plains are readied snipers for anyone who tries to escape. I can see the sun reflect off the scopes of their rifles. A western town prison. From the stories I heard, no one could ever escape. Now I see why.

Criminals, outlaws, derelicts. All flooding the streets. James’s words finally impact me. These people, these criminals, are here because of me. This is where I sent them to live out their days. No trial. No sentence. Each one’s life remains in the hands of Franklin, and I’m the one who pulled the figurative trigger.

I understand now. Me, Kellan Black, being sent to a place where all of my enemies are trapped. Hung out to dry like every single lowlife I sent here. Now they can have their revenge. No one gets out of here. No one checks to make sure someone is still breathing. No one cares if you die here. You’re no longer Scotia’s problem. To the outside world, you’re already dead.

“What do you think? Think you can handle yourself now, hot shot?”

James closes the door and the darkness and reality of the situation sinks in. He’s right. I can never face everyone. Even any of them find out this family saved my life, their farm will be destroyed. Everything they worked for in their meager existence will be ruined. I have to figure something out. I need to figure out how I got here and why. There must have been a mistake.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ I say already knowing the answer.

‘Yep. Kellan Black, welcome to the Blackbank Mile.’