Snow'den

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. The curve jutted out on the right where a pine tree sat beside the road. It led to the left where it swooped up again. We could see the cabin in the distance when I suddenly woke up inside the living room. The fireplace was roaring before me. I lifted my head as I laid clung to the floor, barely able to raise my hand.

“Wha… what happened?” I stammer out as I check for blood, bruises, or bandages. I have all three. I call out for my partner. “Westin? Westin?” I sit up but there is pushback. My head is pounding.

“Hey,” Westin quietly crouches next to me with a cup of steaming tea and puts a hand on my back. He looks quite banged up himself. I glance out the window to see it’s still snowing.

“What the hell happened?” I take the cup and hold it close to my chest.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know…” Westin chuckles hollowly with a pat to my back as he slinks back on the couch. “I just… woke up first. I was kind of hoping you would know.”

At first I wasn’t sure if I should believe him. We were new to this assignment, both of us being a bit out of our usual element. We were dealing with some peculiar stuff regularly, but who is to say he wasn’t more peculiar than that? At this point, I’m skeptical, but I can’t seem to recall a damn thing. I decide to hear him out.

“You know, I don’t think I’d be of much help.” I sip the tea cautiously after a deep inhale. “The last thing I remember was driving up the snowy, winding road…”

“...towards the cozy, A-frame cabin,” he said in a confused way. Somehow he, knowingly or not, was finishing the very thought in my head. It was almost as if someone put it there and I was regurgitating a story they told me. I felt a bit more at ease that Westin was apparently thinking the same thing, unless he could just read my thoughts or was the person putting them in me. Either way, no matter what, there was a lot that needed explanation. “I woke up next to you on the floor there only about forty minutes or so before you," he points around the room. "I started the fire with the wood and matches set beside the fireplace… Tea was in the cupboard, kettle on the stove… I had a water testing kit for the tap and nothing couldn’t be boiled. I checked your vitals and thought I’d wait. Hoping maybe you knew something I didn’t… Seems like neither of us remember…”

“Yet we have the same story,” I reply so puzzled as I sip this tea. I can only imagine some of the things that could be happening; none so pleasant as to want them to be true. I want to assume we are in this together, but how could I be certain I wasn’t set up? There is a particular… vibe to the cases we get assigned in this division, so this very well may be why we are here. But I know there are people in this department who would happily take our whole team down and every case file to go with it. I’ve seen Hell. It’s them who will burn.

Either way, I ease up into my bearings. I can’t help but pace. We know nothing. Some of these assignments are so mysterious to us because they want a completely unbiased opinion of them. They gave us an address, we went, now we’ve arrived and don’t know how. They must be having these recurring incidents up here. I hope this is for the best. I’m going with my instinct of giving the benefit of the doubt and breaking the ice once more.

“Do you think…” I shake my hands in front of me. “This might be why they sent us here?” I look him dead in the face, almost defeated.

“Oh, absolutely,” he says so nonchalantly and with a smile. “That’s exactly why we’re here.” He sips his tea. “Didn’t they tell you who I was?” He seemed genuinely curious and he clinked his mug on the table.

I was a bit perplexed myself. “I guess not. I figured you were just new to the building.”

“That I am,” he got up with a grunt. “But it’s where I come from that’s a little interesting.” He extends a hand out to me. “I’m Wesley Westin. Aka Whistlin’ Wes?” I’m shocked. I’d heard stories about this guy. I thought he was considered a traitor. Meanwhile my superiors are hiding him out in my department? Assigned me to him without my knowledge or consent? For what possible reason would they have done this? Has this guy gone full loose cannon? What have I gotten myself into? I do my best to remain collected and keep my cool.

“You’ll have to refresh my memory…” I say sheepishly as I shake his hand. He must have seen the look on my face.

“Oh, you don’t have to be polite,” his accent was thick at this moment and maybe others but when Southern folks talk about manners, you notice. He plops back down on the couch and reaches for his tea. “Everybody knows I blew the whistle at NASA,” he takes a sip. It feels like an entire minute of silence. “They couldn’t do anything but keep moving me around with all the information I knew. They promised me money, promotions, fame. But all I wanted was reform. That they couldn’t do. So we compromised. They said I’d be the first guy on the scene anytime one of them came up or down or around so…” He takes another sip and sets his mug back down. He puts his hands on his knees like he’s ready to move but we both know we have no leads and nowhere to go. “I’m here!” He holds his arms out. “I’m in the field now,” he brings his hands behind his head and lays back. He smiles and closes his eyes.

At this point, I’m sure he realizes what he’s telling me is all sinking in. I’ve been on strange cases for a while, but nothing was ever like the stories I’d heard involving Whistlin’ Wes. I had twice the experience and half the reputation he did. Maybe I got the stomach for it or maybe there really is things I haven’t seen myself yet. Either way, I knew this weekend getaway wasn’t gonna be the cozy tryst we joked about on the way up. Not with this guy around.

“So what do you think is going on here, Wes?” I pull a stool up to where I’m standing, pull out my notebook and take a seat. He opens his eyes and looks at me with a twist of excitement and fear all over his face. His movements intensify.

“Remote location,” he keeps a list with his hands. “Time loss, memory loss, location transfer, safe transportation, false memories, rehearsed or otherwise subconscious stories?” He stands up and now is the one who is pacing. “My friend,” he comes over to me with the biggest grin I’ve seen yet. “It looks like what we got here is a classic case of a variety of men.”

“The little green ones?”

“Oh yeah.”