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Dillan Blight: Paranormal Investigator

July 26, 2008

It took a day in the hospital before the staff became exasperated enough to give in and discharge Dillan. The bandages, cane and heavy limp were perfect parting gifts. Dillan sighed and stepped out of the hospital and started up the street into town. On the up side the town was small enough to get most anywhere on foot in half an hour. The downside being that there were no cabs and with the bad leg it was taking Dillan a bit longer to get around.

First stop, clothing store for some none battered clothes. Then, directions to the police station. Going without a gun in what could very well be t he town people were trying to get him to was not his idea of a great way to spend his time. Finally he made his way into the police station.

“I am here to see the Sherrif,” Dillan said to the woman working the front desk.

The woman gave him a disinterested look. Then motioned vaguely to the worn row of chairs against one wall. “Sit. I’ll let him know.”

Dillan stood a moment, watching her, then sighed and moved to ease himself into a chair. The woman at the front desk pressed a button on her phone and whispered into it, eyeing Dillan distrustfully the entire time. Dillan watched, waiting for sign of a quick response. When it seemed that none was coming, he leaned his head back against the wall and fished a bottle of pills out of his pocket, shaking one free. He dropped it in his mouth and swallowed it dry.

After what seemed an interminable wait, the Sherrif stepped out of the back part of the station. “Come on back, Mr. Blight.”

Dillan winced his way to his feat and made his way after the Sherrif. “No need to be so formal.”

“Well, Mr. Blight, I think it best to keep things formal sometimes,” the Sherrif answered and lead the way into a small office. He sat down in his big leather chair on the other side of the desk and motioned Dillan to the rickety looking wooden chair on the other side.

Dillan took the seat and waited for the Sherrif to get started. The two squared off for several beats before the Sherrif did finally start.

“Well, we took a look around. Found a few casings, but no sign anything else except a little blood where you probably got shot and slid into the ditch,” said the Sherrif, steepling his fingers and leaning forward. “Seems your story checks out.”

“I try not to make a habit of lieing to the authorities, especially when I know they’ll just go check on it,” said Dillan.

The Sherrif smile was all teath, “I also made a few calls back to your home town. Seems you tend to stir up some pretty wierd shit.”

Dillan couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Yeah, I do tend to find the stranger cases. Keeps life interesting.”

“Well, I’ll be keeping an extra bit of attention on you until you get yourself back out of here. We don’t need that kind of interesting occurance ’round these parts,” said the Sherrif.

“Hand me my gun and I’ll start looking into getting out of your hair,” said Dillan.

The Sherrif slowly reached down and opened a drawer, pulling out the revolver and holster, “Seems your ammo got lost somewhere in the shuffle. Paperwork and all. Very sorry about that, Mr. Blight.”

“Hopefully I won’t be needing them anymore,” said Dillan, picking up the gun and shrugging off his suit coat. He slid the holster into place, ignoring the glare across the desk. He took a moment to pull out the gun and check it, making sure nothing else was wrong beyond the missing bullets before tucking it away and shoving himself to his feet.

“I’m sure we can arrange you a ride to the next town, Mr. Blight,” said the Sherrif.

“No thanks. I’ll figure things out myself. I’d hate to impose any further,” said Dillan before turning and heading out the door.

The Sherrif called after him, “Keep your nose clean! We’re watching you.”

Dillan shook his head just a little and continued for the door. Good cleanup, high-end necromancy and the local law enforcement breathing down his neck. He was going to need bullets and a bottle. Well, maybe not a bottle. The pain killers said something about avoiding alchol. Damn. This was going to be a rough one. Dillan paused a moment to get his bearings straight, then wound his way back into town toward the local motel to get a room for the night. Hopefully they’d be appreciative enough to have a customer to give him some directions to the nearest place that sold ammo.

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