Why, USA

Why, Robert Allman thought.  Unlike the usual meaning of the word, this time ‘why’ wasn’t a question. It was the name of his destination. Not in some hippie-dippy, philosophical way either. Why was the name of a town in Arizona, two hours south of Robert’s home in Phoenix. Why was he going there? It all started a week prior when Robert had been working in his cubicle.

            Robert was a reporter for Arizona’s second-best gossip magazine, The Rumor. When he had graduated from ASU, he had dreams of writing ground-breaking pieces that thousands would read, but after being turned down a job in three of the top newspapers, he decided to settle for any job. Thus, he began his career for The Rumor. Now, he had been there for five years. 

            As he sat at his desk in the dimly lit office, he watched as the clocked ticked steadily on the wall and counted how long he could hold his breath. Usually, he could make it forty-five seconds consistently, and the longest that he could hold his breath was a minute. It wasn’t usually this slow in the office, but everyone else had wanted to go to the Phoenix July 4^th parade. Robert was impartial about the parade, so he was voluntold (half-volunteered and half-told by his boss) to stay in the office and hold down the fort. 

            Now, he was going for his record. He had to beat sixty seconds. He waited until the seconds hand hit the 12 on the clock, and then, he drew in a deep breath and locked it down in his lungs. Fifteen seconds passed, and he felt great. He might actually beat his record. Suddenly, the door opened behind him. Twenty seconds. He turned to see who it was. It was a USPS employee carrying a manilla envelope. Twenty-five seconds.

            “Is this… The Rumor?” the young man said. Thirty seconds. The USPS employee couldn’t have been older than twenty-one with his disheveled hair and slightly broken-out face making a landscape of small bumps on his face that would turn into full pimples if it wasn’t cleaned properly. Robert looked at the clock (thirty-five seconds) and slowly released the breath, giving up on the record goal for the time being. 

            “Yes, it is,” he said as he stood up and walked over to accept whatever delivery the young man had. 

            “I have a delivery for one of the employees. It says Robert Allman of The Rumor,” the young mailman said, and his voice cracked as he said Robert’s name. Robert’s eyebrows raised when he heard the delivery was addressed to him. He rarely even got mail at home, and he never got anything at work. 

            “Uh, that’s me. Thanks,” he muttered as he took the envelope and peered down at it. He didn’t acknowledge the mailman anymore, and when Robert looked up, he was gone. He returned to his desk and focused his attention on his unexpected mail. 

            He tore the envelope open and found a single piece of paper with a message scrawled across it in cursory handwriting:

“Avenge me. They aren’t innocent. -Gracie Humphrey, Why, USA”

            He turned the paper over to see if there was any other writing for him. Nothing. He looked on the outside of the envelope at the return address:

            Why Not Travel Store

            230 S. Ajo Way

            Why, Arizona 85321

            Robert didn’t know what it was that compelled him to go to Why. He didn’t know Gracie Humphrey, and it wouldn’t be an article that he would be paid for. However, he knew it wasn’t something that he could ignore. The next day, Robert told his supervisor that he needed to take off the next two weeks for a “personal reason”. There was little objection from his boss because he had plenty of personal days saved up. 

            Here he was now, driving steadily down Highway 85 as the blistering heat of the Arizona Sun beat down on the hood of his car. He was close to the unknown town, and as he took a slight right turn, he saw a sign reading, “You are now entering Why, AZ!” He smiled at the quant sign and looked to the right to see the Why Not Travel Store. He continued down the road for another twenty seconds, but stopped when he approached a different sign. “You are now leaving Why, AZ!”

            His jaw dropped. This cannot be the whole town. He pulled out his phone and looked up Why again. After modifying his search to pull up the Arizona town and not the question, he was astounded to discover that this town had a population of only 122 people. He turned his car around and parked outside of the Why Not Travel Store. Just from the fifteen second from his car to the store’s entrance, the heat caused droplets of perspiration to form on his forehead. Robert pulled the door open and walked into the air-conditioning. 

            “Welcome in,” a voice called from the checkout counter. Robert flashed his faux smile that all reporters have and approached the clerk.

            “Hey, my name is Robert Allman! I was hoping to speak to the owner,” he said as he stuck out his hand to complete his friendly identity. 

            “Well, that’s me, I’m Alex!” the owner accepted the handshake. “What can I do for you, Mr. Allman?”

            “I’m a reporter out of Phoenix, and we’re doing a piece on the treasures that are small Arizona towns!” Robert was surprised at how easily the lie formed in his mind and slid out of his mouth. “Would you be interested in being a part of our story?”

            Alex’s already-enthusiastic face lit up more and graciously accepted. Robert pulled out a small tape recorder and pressed the red record button. Many reporters had switched to simply using their smartphones to record, but Robert liked the old-school method. 

            “So first off, tell me your name, and how long you’ve been in Why.”

            “My name is Alex Stevens, and I’ve been here my entire life.” Alex’s wide smile showed all of his teeth as he flashed it after answering each question.

            “What prompted you to open the Why Not Travel Store?”

            “Well, actually, my parents opened the store, and since they’ve passed, my brother and I have kept it running.”

            “What made you want to stay here and continue working the store?” Robert continued asking irrelevant questions, so that the owner would believe that he was actually writing a story about the small town. Alex’s smile continued but turned from a giddy show of enthusiasm into a thoughtful grin. 

            “I could’ve moved, I guess. Probably could’ve done something better with my degree in Business, but when Mom passed, we owed it to her to continue her legacy.”

            Robert nodded sympathetically at Alex’s answer and related to the sentiment because it was only after his own father had passed that he had wanted to pursue writing. After a few more general questions, Robert decided to move the interview closer to his true intention. 

            “Well, other than yourself, who do you think would be open to being interviewed for this piece? I know this is a small town with not many residents, so I want to make sure I exhaust all options.” Robert said and Alex’s teeth made an appearance again in a startlingly large smile. 

            “You should try to talk with Carter Browning! His family built this town with their investments. They live a little bit outside of town, but they’re loaded with money. The family came from oil, and they used their wealth to purchase all of the land Why sits on!”

            “And what about a lady named Gracie Humphrey?” Robert asked as he looked down at his watch. It was a little after three o’clock, so he could probably still fit a couple more interviews in before he would call it a day.  Robert only looked up when he realized that he had been answered with silence.

            Alex’s chipper demeanor had disappeared and been replaced with a burning stare of hatred that would have seemed impossible to be on the owner’s face a minute ago. Robert tilted his head curiously before Alex finally responded.

            “Why are you really here?” the owner spoke softly, but with anger dripping off every word. 

            “I don’t understand,” Robert started to object, but it only added fuel to Alex’s rage.

            “Get out of my store!” the owner yelled as he stomped toward Robert. Robert took a step back and genuinely believed that he was about to be attacked. “Get out of my store! Get out of my store!”

            Robert continued to back up in horror until he reached the door and left. The yelled phrase repeated until he was outside. Robert quickly turned toward the car, but stopped before he took a step toward it. He bent down where there were a pile of Why’s town newspaper. He grabbed a copy and jogged over to his car. Once he was safe in his car, he glanced back at the store. 

            Through the window, Alex could be seen pacing across the floor. He had his phone against his ear, talking frantically to someone and glancing out the window at Robert. 

            Robert reached in his pocket, took the tape recorder, and stopped it. This trip was turning into an even more terrifying mystery. The quick switch of attitude in Alex had startled Robert and put doubts about continuing this investigation. However, there was something exciting about it. This was the kind of intriguing writing he had been interested in when he had graduated. Therefore, he backed out of the parking spot, drove away, and made his way in the direction of where the Browning’s lived. 

            He passed the Why exit sign again, and within five miles, he could see the roof of a luxurious manor. The gate read, “Browning of Why”. He almost turned in but continued until he reached another destination where he would stop to get some supplies he might need later. Then, he returned to the Browning gate and pressed the Call button. 

            It rang for a few seconds before a voice answered. 

            “Hello?”

            “Uh, hello! My name is Robert Allman. I was hoping to speak to-”

            Before he could finish speaking, there was a beep, and the gate slowly creeped open. He pulled forwards and followed the paved driveway to the mansion. Outside, there was a man waiting for him. Robert stepped out of the car and approached the man.

            “Hello! I’m Carter Browning!” the man exclaimed with a smile, but Robert recognized it as a fake smile that he would use. Carter was dressed in formal wear, but despite the sweltering heat outside, his skin didn’t break a sweat. Robert mirrored the genial grin and shook his hand.

            “I heard you were asking some disturbing questions, Mr. Allman,” Carter laughed, and Robert’s smile faltered for a second. “Don’t worry, Robert, I can explain everything inside.” 

            Carter led the way into the house, and Robert hesitantly followed after he secretly hit the record button of his tape-recorder in his pants pocket. Inside, Robert was taken aback, both by the chilling air-conditioning and the grandeur of the home. It was breathtakingly beautiful with a glistening chandelier hanging from the tall ceilings. They stopped at the foyer of the house though, and the two men sat in leather chairs against the wall. 

            “I wanted to explain Alex’ behavior,” Carter started as he waved down one of his staff to bring them drinks. “I’m afraid that Alex has been a little upset lately. Especially when it pertains to Gracie.” Robert glanced up when Gracie was mentioned. Carter sighed. 

            “Gracie was a disturbed young lady. She dated my son Chris for a little while, but I never trusted her. When Chris, bless his soul, passed away, Gracie was falling apart mentally. Alex had a soft spot for her and hated to see her struggling, so he gave her a job,” Carter explained. The drinks came and were set on the table. Both of the men picked up the glasses, and Carter raised it for a toast. 

            “To Chris, rest in peace,” Carter spoke, and the two of them drank. “Anyways, Alex tried to help Gracie, but she couldn’t cope with losing Chris. She’s gone missing and hasn’t been seen in over a week.  Alex is taking it hard, so that’s why he freaked out when you mentioned her. He called me after, and I calmed him down. But I wanted you to know why he was upset.”

            Robert felt much more relaxed as he heard the explanation for the strange behavior earlier. He glanced around the house from the larger-than-life paintings that were hung on the walls to the square decorative table where an elegant lamp sat with their two drinks that sat on embossed napkins. His head had begun to swim. I probably am dehydrated and should have gotten a water with this desert heat, he thought to himself.

            The two men reached for their drinks again, and this time, the napkin stuck to the condensation on Robert’s glass. He held the napkin in his hand and was about to set it back down on the table when he noticed there was some writing on the napkin. Robert quizzically focused on the napkin.

            “Don’t drink this. He’ll kill you like Gracie,” the note read. It was the same handwriting as the envelope he had gotten in the mail. Robert swallowed another gulp as he read the napkin which he regretted immediately. The employee who had brought the drinks stood to the other side of the room with wide eyes staring at Robert. Robert’s vision was blurring slightly, and he tried to play it cool by setting the napkin back down. Unfortunately, Carter had already seen that the napkin had a message and he sighed.

            “Well, you might as well know the truth now,” Carter said with a solemn voice. “Chris was planning on taking my company from me without my permission. I had to… deal… with him. Gracie would not let it go, and apparently Chris had told her that he was worried for his safety. Gracie kept pushing for me to confess or she would go to the police. So I sat her down for a drink, just like the one you just had. Once, she was asleep, I dealt with her the same as Chris. Alex somehow figured out what I had done, and it was only with the threat of him meeting the same fate that kept him silent. But It was a very humane death that Gracie and Chris endured, so I hope you aren’t worried. You won’t feel a thing.”

            Robert was suddenly very hot, and it wasn’t caused by the weather. Carter reached for Robert’s napkin, read it himself, and then turned toward the employee.

            “I really wish you hadn’t done that,” he said with a tone of seemingly honest regret towards his employee. Then, within the blink of an eye, in a smooth, continuous action, Carter Browning pulled a pistol out of his jacket and shot at the staff member. 

            The bullet landed directly in the employee’s ribs, and after recovering from the recoil of the shot, he immediately bolted forward to charge his boss. Robert did not stick around to watch though, and as soon as Carter was occupied with the employee, Robert darted out of the door to his car. He was already feeling dizzy as he pulled the tape recorder out of his jacket, quickly worked on the supplies he had bought earlier and drove away. He had very limited time. 

After he was sure that his work was done, he turned back onto the highway and played the game where he held his breath. His vision was already fading when he started, but he played nonetheless. With his foot pressed against the gas, he tried to match the speedometer to the seconds he was holding his breath. He succeeded until the end.

            Thirty minutes later, Carter Browning pulled his BMW up to flashes of red and blue police lights. He got out of his car and approached the scene. 

            “What’s going on?” Carter asked a nearby officer. There was a car crumpled against a large boulder on the side of the highway. It was Robert’s car. 

            “This guy was speeding down the highway, hell, going at least ninety. We were right behind him when he drifted off the road and crashed,” the cop responded.

            “Is he…?” Carter suggested Robert’s demise. The cop nodded, and Carter backed away with a sly smile on his face. He was still safe.

            A month later, Harold Eastman, a state trooper, walked into the station and sat down in his office. He had been a member of law enforcement for thirty years and would be retired in four weeks. He took a sip of his black coffee that he had gotten from the station’s kitchen. He grimaced at the bitter coffee that was too stale to be enjoyed. On his desk, there was a box. 

            He pulled a pocketknife out, cut down the middle of the packaging tape, and opened the box. Inside, there was two items. The first was Robert Allman’s tape recorder. The second was a note with Robert Allman’s best writing of his entire career that he had mailed out minutes before his death.

            “On this tape recording, you will hear Carter Browning’s confession of murdering Chris Browning, Gracie Humphrey, and myself in the small town of Why, USA. My hope is this will result in strict justice. Thank you. -Robert Allman”