The Intern

Beneath endless blue skies littered with snow-white clouds, a sleepy little town with less than ten thousand people, known for being at the foothills of the Colorado gold rush, remained as quaint and unsullied as the vast countryside surrounding the town. Lancaster Colorado, listed as one of the most boring cities in the entire country, had its' charms and attracted hikers, sightseers, and travelers in search of a quiet mountainside getaway. There were nice restaurants by Colorado standards. A movie theater that occasionally got the newest summer movies--usually weeks after their actual release dates, and the town diner, three bars, and a dance hall served the social lives of the residents. The most excitement the town saw in a typical year would be the high school games on Friday night during football season. All in all, it was a boring town that did little to attract, or for that matter keep, the attention of the younger generation. It was a retirement town by every sense of the word.

It was midday, on a Friday in September, when a black 1967 Impala roared into town, its engine rumbling as its' exhaust crackled. The rain fell from the thick, black, clouds that hung over the valley. Streets were soaked and there was barely a person in sight, other than those running from cars to businesses, and vice versa.

The Impala pulled up in front of a building with an old sign that read The McClaren. The two-story building housed twelve rooms on the second and third floors that were there from when it was a hotel. While it was old, a little run down, and in need of repair, the McClaren rented the rooms on the second floor as a bed and breakfast while the third floor was rented out by the week or month and was remodeled into apartments. It was what the driver of the Impala was looking for, a place to stay as she explored the country while trying to find herself.

Getting out of the Impala, dragging a duffel bag out behind her, she ran through the rain and into the lobby before dropping her hood. The soaked, five-foot-six-inch brunette stood there, looking around, as she dripped rain on the faux hardwood flooring. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the elderly lady behind the counter staring at her.

"I'm sorry about the water. It's really coming down out there," she said.

"Don't worry dear, I'm used to it. These days, you can never tell what the weather's really going to do until you look outside. Damned climate change," the front desk attendant said.

"Right..."

"Can I help you, dear?"

She'd already done her research and this was the best chance of her finding a place to stay for a while. After six other towns, there wasn't a lot left in her savings account and it would be a while before her next payday hit her account. The McLaren would have to do so she walked up to the desk, reading the name tag on the flannel blouse the woman wore.

"Well, Helen, I could use a room," she explained.

Helen pulled out a form for her to fill out, sliding it across the counter with a pen. Writing down her information was not her favorite thing to do. She constantly had to keep things straight, from town to town. In the last town, Des Moines, she was Carly Gray. Here, in Lancaster, where she hoped to stay awhile, she wrote down Courtney Morris. Morris was the sir name of her mentor and surrogate father figure. She had the identification to prove her cover, at least in the face of any civilian scrutiny. After signing the resident agreement, Courtney shoved it back to Helen with a hundred-dollar bill to cover the first week.

"Alright, Courtney, you'll be in room seven. That's up the stairs to the third floor and on the right. There are towels, linens, and residents can use the laundry room except for between eight and four. That's when the maid service is here for the tourist rooms," explained Helen.

"Great, I'm sure I'll be able to make due," Courtney told her, grabbing her bag, keys to her temporary home in hand as she headed up the stairs.

The room was everything she hoped it would be. It was at the top of the stairs. There was a window fire escape that she could use to get down to the ground. The door had double deadbolt locks and appeared sturdy, despite its' obvious age. She closed the door, locked each one of the locks, and threw her bag in the corner. Courtney flopped down onto the bed, sinking into the soft mattress, her body relaxing after a very long drive. Looking around, she had her own bathroom, a chair, a lamp, and a small sofa. There was a kitchenette that she could prepare food and a private bath.

Sitting up, she kicked off her boots, peeled her wet sweatshirt away, wiggled out of her jeans, and walked barefoot to the shower. The long hot shower felt great and Courtney stood underneath the waters as they cascaded down her back. She was glad to land someplace out of the way, someplace she could stay off the grid, but the road had been long and painful. As the stress of getting to where she was released from her, Courtney started to cry. Leaning against the shower wall, she pounded her fist against the tiles until it ached.

Courtney wrapped herself in a towel and stepped back into her room. She pulled her bag over to the bed and began to unpack. She pulled out several pairs of jeans, tee shirts, a couple of bras, several pairs of panties, two pairs of shoes, a bag containing soap, shampoo, toothpaste, and a toothbrush, and a hairbrush. With her hair soaked, she wanted that most of all. After setting things on the dresser, putting her clothes away, and sitting back down, she finished unpacking. First, she pulled her favorite boomstick out of the bag, a sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun. Next, she pulled out a Colt 1911, twin Glocks, a Smith and Wesson, and two stiletto blades.

She wore the blades on her sides in a shoulder holster and kept the Smith and Wesson tucked in her pants. Courtney never went anywhere without them, not since Chicago. With everything put away, Courtney rested her favorite gun next to the bed she would sleep in for the foreseeable future and closed her eyes for the first time in a while. After three days Courtney drifted off to a deep and desperately needed sleep.

Waking up in a strange bed, early the next morning, Courtney heard a noise in the outer hall, Courtney was startled and lurched up, grabbing her nine-millimeter and aiming it at the door. She looked around the room confused before realizing where she was. Dropping her head back against her pillow, she laid there a while, contemplating what she should do next. The girl hadn't had a regular home for three years and was out of practice at living like a normal person, whatever that meant. It was going to take a month or so before her checks started to hit her new accounts, so she needed to find an income. She had to eat while she waited for everything to get situated.

Courtney got dressed and went down to the lobby to check on her car and get some breakfast. Helen was back at the desk. The old gal was wearing a blue flannel shirt instead of that bright red she wore yesterday and was wearing a pair of reading glasses as she went over a ledger. Looking at Helen, Courtney could tell she was invested in the old hotel.

"Good morning," she announced herself as she walked down the last set of stairs.

"Good morning, and how was your night?" asked Helen.

"I took a shower and passed out. I didn't wake up until a little bit ago," she announced.

"Well I never, not in a million years could I sleep that long. There's too much to do around here," Helen told her.

"So this is all yours?" Courtney asked.

"Since my husband died ten years ago. Jack Mclaren was the best man I knew, God rest his soul," said Helen.

Courtney was sympathetic to Helen. She remembered when her grandmother passed away and how hard it was on her grandfather. To live such a long life with one person was an incredible accomplishment. Helen sort of reminded her of her grandmother. She smiled at Helen and told her what a lovely place she managed and how her husband would approve of the job she was doing.

"Thank you, dear, and what are you off to do today?"

Courtney looked outside, seeing it was sunny, and told Helen she'd probably just go explore Lancaster. "I'm going to get a bite and do some sightseeing. I might look around for a job while I'm here."

"Thinking about putting down roots here?"

"Maybe, it seems like a pretty town," Courtney admitted.

"Well, a pretty girl like you, you should find something pretty quick. I think the sheriff's station is looking for help."

Courtney didn't want to work for the police. She really looked forward to living a low-profile life in Lancaster, for however long she would be there. There were always bars, restaurants, and diners that she could find work. She planned on looking for something as a bartender or waitress. Courtney bid Helen a good day and headed out the door to find the local diner.

Saturday nights in Lancaster were the busiest nights for the towns' Sheriff's Department. When Jim Graff started his shift he was dispatched to three pending calls on the east side of Lancaster. Two parties were getting loud, which was a usual complaint about Lancaster after the football team scored a victory. After breaking up the first party, Jim went out to the Franks Ranch.

Brett Franks was a cocky, annoying, and extremely popular senior at Lancaster High as well as being the towns' star quarterback. His folks were hardly ever around so after the games the biggest party of the week would be at their ranch. Jim drove out on County 8, past the edge of town, and could see the lights from the ranch. This was going to be a doozy of a party so he grabbed for his radio and alerted dispatch to send an additional car.

"Negative Jim," the dispatcher advised. "Redirect to Golden Pass Road. Passersby are reporting a possible accident about ten miles past the city limits. They say it looks like a car went into the gulch."

"10-4, show me code 3 to the area."

Jim knew the area well and if there'd been a car that lost control and went off the road out there, ending up in the gulch, it was unlikely that anyone survived. If there was a crash out there, he knew he was going to be stuck working the scene for the rest of the night and then doing paperwork in the morning. It wasn't what he hoped for, and his wife Jenny was going to be anything but pleased. Jim hadn't made it to Sunday services in two months.

It took Jim about a half hour to find the spot. Getting out of his car and shining a light into the tree line he could see where the vehicle went through the brush. He radioed in, telling the dispatcher there had been an accident and that he was out on foot looking for the vehicle. Jim hiked into the thicket, following the tracks and the damage path left behind by what he thought had to at least be a large utility vehicle. He thought about what to say to Jenny when he called her, trying to come up with something other than, "I'm sorry."

"Damn drivers, damn drunks, damn whatever put you here," Jim said to himself as he caught the reflection of a window in his light.

As he looked at the Cherokee sitting on the edge of the gulch, he could see the broken glass and bent metal. Jim walked down to the side of the Cherokee to see if there was anyone inside the wrecked SUV. Standing by the driver's side, the rear window had holes in it and the door was full of holes. Jim rubbed the sides of his temples with his hand as he looked into the driver's seat. Standing there, he realized it was more than just an accident.

"Dispatch, this is Graff," he spoke into his radio. "Send me a second unit, call the Sheriff, and dispatch a wagon. This is a crime scene. It looks like the vehicle and the driver were in a rolling gun battle."

"Did you say gun battle," asked the dispatcher on the radio?

Jim keyed his radio, telling her, "Yes, so get me some help out here."

"10-4 Jim, helps on the way."

Courtney walked into the Mclaren after a very long day of seeing what Lancaster had to offer, hunting for a job, and doing some research at the local library. She knew it wasn't the best idea but she called a friend from a spoofed phone using a wifi connection at the library. She needed to buy a laptop to replace her old one. Leaving it in Iowa was a tough call, but somehow it was traced to the i.p. address where she was staying. Her instincts told her that it was time to start with fresh gear, which would be a trick considering she was down to her last fifteen hundred dollars. Fortunately, she had friends that she could trust and if one of them ordered it online from the local computer supply store and let her pick it up the purchase wouldn't be traceable to her.

It was after eleven and she was tired, anxious to get back to her room, and excited she could look up some information. From her computer, Courtney hoped to find out the status of her mentor.

"Child, are you just getting in?"

Courtney heard Helen's voice coming from the seating area. She was sitting there alone, watching the nightly news, and sipping on a glass of scotch. She looked desperate for company. As tired as she was, Courtney decided to go sit with her. As she walked over, telling Helen how she'd spent the day exploring, Helen held up a glass offering her a drink. Even though she wasn't much of a drinker, she accepted the woman's kind offer.

"Sure, I'll have one before I turn in," she smiled as she accepted, setting her bag down and curling up on a leather sofa that was perhaps the nicest piece of furniture in the entire building.

"So," said Helen, "Did you find any places hiring?"

"Several," she told the old gal. "I'm going to drop some applications off tomorrow. If I find something soon I might just stick around a while. It's a nice little town."

"That's good to hear."

Helen went on to tell Courtney how the town had aged poorly and struggled to attract any young people. She mentioned how most of the older members of the Lancaster community were seeing their businesses falter due to the lack of youth. Young people were free with the money, she told her.

"So, what ya got there?" Helen asked, noticing the shopping bags.

Courtney wasn't shy. Everybody had needs. She'd picked up some toiletries, a couple of books to read, and her new computer.

"What's the computer for?"

Courtney slammed the rest of her drink and faked a yawn. She couldn't very well tell her the truth. Before she stood up to go to her room she just smiled and lied to the old gal.

"I've always been interested in writing," she said. "My last computer burned up a while back. They do that after a decade or so. Now I have a new one, maybe I can write a review about this lovely little place. Perhaps I'll interview you for the piece," she told Helen, watching her eyes light up.

"But, tomorrow or the next day. It's late and I'm exhausted," explained Courtney.

"Sure, I understand. Thanks for sitting a spell with an old woman. I'll be around when you're ready for that interview."

"Good night, Ms. Helen," Courtney smiled as she walked by, giving the old gal a squeeze on her shoulder as she passed.

"Good night, Ms. Courtney."

Courtney went up to her room and secured the door behind her. She set up her laptop and attached a Hughes device into the USB port. Punching in a code given to her by her mentor she opened up a secure link. Once it was open she was able to receive messages. As she read the screen, she breathed a sigh of relief.

I'm alright. I pray you are too. We'll get through this. Hopefully, you remember what I taught you when we first met.

Tomorrow I'll be able to arrange the transfers you requested. I still think you should come back in, but that's up to you. Until then, I don't want to know where you are. It's safer that way. I wouldn't willingly talk but at my age, I don't know how well I'd hold up if I was put through what they put Davis through. Stay safe kid, as soon as I'm out of the hospital I'll reach out to you again.

Love,

M

Courtney closed the computer and disconnected the uplink device. She was relieved. It had been weeks since she had heard any word on her surrogate father figure's condition. Now, it was just a waiting game.