Thomas'd been driving for at least three hours before he'd arrived at the town. What sort of place didn't have an airport in a two hundred mile radius of them? The closest airport was in Youngstown and that was far enough away from here. He'd left the airport a few hours ago, civilization along with it. He hated being stuck in a warm car with crappy air conditioning and no one but his own mind for company, which seemed intent on bringing back bad memories, as though it wanted to remind him of every single thing he'd messed up (there were a good few things he'd messed... the list was extremely long).

He'd taken his jacket off half an hour into the journey and he'd felt sickly and sleepy an hour in. By the time it'd gotten to two hours in, he'd gone over every single stupid thing he'd ever done, from pouring his father's martinis all over his work documents from when he was six (he vaguely remembered that but his father's fury had been enough to make sure he never forgot it) to arguing with the man at the petrol station over the price of petrol half and hour ago. When he'd been in the car for two and a half hours, he felt like vomiting and had all the windows of the car pulled down in attempt to feel the fresh air. By the time he'd reached the town, he'd been begging to die and felt extremely dehydrated and wanted to take a good long nap.

His eyes looked the tiny town up and down. It seemed nice and quiet, somewhere someone could get over a troubling past. To make a new living. But as his gaze lingered on the town, an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. He broke his gaze though and focused instead on the swinging needle of the speedometer.

He parked the car and climbed out. He relished the feeling of the fresh air of his skin and the way the cold bit at his cheeks. He breathed in the cold air, feeling better almost immediately. His legs felt wobbly from the several hours spent in the car. And he still felt like retching. He held onto the car door to steady himself and he looked around the town. It was a small place but he didn't have a clue where anything was.

The cold began to get to him and he took his jacket out of the car, wrapping it tightly around him. It was March after all, and the bitter breeze wasn't helping the already chilly air. He cursed himself for refusing the map that he now realised he clearly needed. Andrea had always said he was too proud for his own good.

He noticed a police station. Not his favourite place to go for directions, but since it was the closest place to him, and he wanted to get to his house as soon as possible. He sighed and walked up to the station, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets in attempt to warm them up.

He pushed open the door and walked up to the receptionist. He wasn't talking much, scribbling stuff down onto papers. Thomas wondered what they were for. The man had a large shiny bald spot on the top of his head as though he were some sort of monk. He had a rather big hooked nose that was almost brushing the papers and he was thin as a stick. He looked strict and similar to the sort of orphanage mistress you'd hear about as a child. Except that he was a man, and the size of his nose.
Thomas cleared his throat after about ten minutes of waiting for the man to notice him. The man looked up, annoyance etched clearly on his features. "Yes?" he asked, in a deep voice which Thomas hadn't been expecting. "I've only just arrived here," he said, his eyes having a hard time focusing on the man's eyes and not his nose,"I need directions to my place of residence." The man's eyes narrowed. "It would be nice if you were quick," Thomas added, which probably wouldn't help his situation with the man, but he really was frozen. It wasn't too cold but it was a drastic change from the warm air of Florida.

The man glared. "This is a police station," he said,"Not a place where you pull over for directions." The man spoke with a slight slur, as though he'd been drinking beforehand. "Eh, well, I just assumed-," Thomas started, taken aback slightly by his rudeness. He had been rude but he hadn't expected that poisonous a reply. "I don't care what you thought," the man said, interrupting him, his voice beginning to rise,"Get lost. We have more important things to do than give directions."

Thomas tried to keep his cool but he didn't have a history of keeping his temper. "Like insulting everyone who comes knocking on the door," he muttered, fury building. "What was that?" the man asked, his ugly sneer changing to a livid expression. "I said," Thomas said, as loud as he could without yelling, "Like insulting everyone who comes to the door." "Why yo-" the man started, his hooked nose wrinkling in anger, but he was cut off by another man entering the room.

The man was taller than Thomas, around six foot four and he had his dark hair gelled back. He had small watering eyes and he was rather muscular. He had an air of authority surrounding him. "What's going on, Yates?" he asked in a slight Mississippi twang. The man seemed to recoil almost immediately.

"This dibshit," Yates said, a hint of anger still in his tone,"Was making fun of me." Thomas raised his voice so that he'd be louder than him. "He's lying officer (he assumed that the tall man was an officer... why else would he be in a police station?)," he said angrily,"He refused to give me some bloody directions." The man looked between them, as though wondering who to believe.

Yates glared at him furiously, as though Thomas had ruined something he'd been working for weeks (his reputation, no doubt). "Chief Lagasse," he said, his face returning to his ugly sneer,"This man was yelling for directions on where to find his 'place of residence' in a really rude way." Thomas wanted to punch the man's sneer off his ugly face. Maybe take his nose along with it. "Excuse me, sir, but I think you should hire officers that are polite and would be delighted to tell you where the location of your bloody house is!" Thomas retorted, his cheeks flushed with anger.

Lagasse sighed. "Yates please," he said,"Which one of you are genuinely lying?" Yates' face seemed to go through a number of expression, anger, confliction and remorse before he muttered,"He's telling the truth." Thomas struggled to control the smile that was growing on his face, and the feeling of warmth in his chest at the realisation that he'd won. Though that feeling soon became tinted with a pang of guilt for the expression on Yates' face.

"I'm genuinely glad that's over and done with," Lagassse said, clapping his hands together,"Well then, where are you headed?" His beady focused on Thomas. "Sechsundsechzig Street," Thomas said quickly,"Number Six." The sheriff nodded. "Well," he said, then patted his pockets, as though searching for something. "Um-do you have a map?" Thomas shook his head. "Yates?" Lagasse asked, glancing at the man scribbling things down behind the desk. Yates glared at Thomas furiously, taking more time to send loathful glances at him than to find a map. "Quickly, Yates," Lagasse said, sighing.

After Lagasse had told Yates to hurry up a good few more times, he finally gave them a map. Thomas listened intently while Lagasse explained where the house was and gave a few more pointers on where everything was. "I'm genuinely sorry about Yates," he muttered to Thomas under his breath,"He's usually cranky. Works the night shift, you see. Hates it, but he hates the day shift as well." Lagasse sighed. "I don't know what to do with him sometimes. Besides being rude, he's a good cop." Thomas just nodded.

Lagasse finished up giving instructions and handed the map to him. Thomas took it without question and turned to leave. "Welcome to Dorsville," he said, smiling. Thomas smiled in return and pushed open the door.

He pulled his coat tight around him as he met the cold January air and walked to his car. He drove to the house in silence (who would be there for him to talk to? He didn't want to talk to himself for certain). He hoped not every cop was like Yates. Then he didn't think he'd be able to deal with them. Maybe he'd just lock himself inside his house and refuse to speak to anyone. Didn't seem too bad... except for the lack of company.

He was glad there wasn't any bloody traffic and the roads seemed almost eerily quiet without the familiar loud motors of the cars. He didn't like the feel of this place much and he felt an uneasiness in his stomach. The place seemed... isolated. All alone in the middle of nowhere, a hundred miles from civilization of any sort. He shrugged the feeling off as best he could. The creepy sensation of this town was better than the painful memories of home.... right?

Okay I know the street name is ridiculously long but if you google translate it you'll find out why I made it so long. >:3 >:3