The clock on the plain white wall behind the service desk in the Tranquility city building drummed at Twila’s ears like a dripping faucet into a metal sink.
Tick … tick … tick … tick
She shouldn’t have been able to hear the thing from all the way across the cavernous room, some fifty feet away, but the other people waiting their turn were as still as the air.
The place was like a tomb, punctuated only by the faint aroma of almonds mixed with Naugahyde — not completely unpleasant, but sickening in a nostalgic sort of way.
Twila shifted in her chair, the plastic leather scrunching in protest beneath her.
A man three rows over looked up from his newspaper, squinting. He smiled and nodded, went back to reading when Twila mouthed, “Sorry.”
“Number 31,” a young lady’s voice called from the front of the room.
Twila sighed, relieved, and stood from her chair. She could feel more eyes fall on her, and she dropped her own gaze slightly, trying not to cause a ruckus.
She walked gingerly across the tile floor, every step thundering like a cannonball in the silence of the crowd despite her small frame and delicate gait. Even though she was focused on the clerk standing at the counter, Twila could see the other waiting patrons.
She was astounded at how many of them there were — must have been a hundred or more, none of them making a peep!
Well, except for one middle-aged man with a greasy pompadour and wearing a dark suit who twitched in his chair — leaned back, hunched forward, drumming his fingers, sighing.
He was clearly in a hurry. Or had been there a long time.
Twila had been there a long time, too. By her count of the clicks of the clock, she had sat there in the Tranquility lobby for one hour, twelve minutes, and thirty-seven seconds.
At least since she’d begun counting.
“I’m sorry for your wait.” The young blonde at the counter smiled. “How may I help you, ma’am?”
“Hi,” Twila smiled. “I just moved here, and …”
“Welcome to Tranquility!” the clerk said, a smile flashing across her face before the previous flat expression swallowed it up. “I do hope you like our town.”
Twila nodded. “Well, it certainly has lived up to its name so far. Very peaceful. And the people seem so nice.”
The young lady forced a smile back across her lips. “We surely try. Now, how may I help you?”
“Well,” Twila said, “I need to see about updating my parking tags.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the clerk said. “You’ll want our Parking Tag department, just down the hall to the left.” She pointed to her own left.
“Oh, OK,” Twila said. She wasn’t sure exactly what to do but began walking in the direction the clerk had indicated.
“Number 33,” the blonde called behind her.
“What?” A man’s voice. Loud. “You skipped 32!”
Twila stopped and looked out at the waiting room, where the pompadour had stood and was adjusting his suit. A sea of heads peered out from behind newspapers, gazing blankly at the agitated man.
“I’m tired of waiting, and I demand to be served right now!” The man stomped toward the clerk.
“Sir, you’ll have to wait your turn.” the clerk said. “Number 33.”
The man pounded a fist on the counter. “Listen, missy — I demand to speak to your supervisor, right now.”
The young woman blinked. “I’m afraid the only available supervisor right now is in our Missing Persons department,” she said. “Would you like to speak to Mr. Hush?”
“Yes, I would!” The man was near spitting-mad.
“Down the hall, to the left.” The clerk pointed to her left again, and the businessman huffed past Twila, nearly toppling her as he brushed by.
The young lady at the desk watched him go, then turned her attention to Twila.
She smiled. “Ma’am, you’ll want our Parking Tag department, just down the hall to the left.”
Twila nodded, confused, but turned and followed the path the angry man had taken moments before. Hopefully, someone in the bowels of the place could be a bit more helpful.
Twenty feet down the hallway, she found herself in front of a set of double doors. Across the hallway was a bulletin board on a dark wall between the men’s and women’s restrooms.
Just as she was about to push into the space beyond, one of the doors swung outward, and a chunky older man rushed out, a piece of paper in one hand, stapler in the other. He marched across the hall, slapped the paper flat against the bulletin board, and stapled it in place.
Twila didn’t even realize what she was doing it, but she had trundled along behind the man and now stood in front of the darkened wall. Up close, she could see there were paper letters stapled to the top of the bulletin board.
They spelled out “MISSING.”
Twila’s gaze fell to the lower righthand corner of the board, where the thick man had made his post. Glowering out of the dimness was a familiar face — a middle-aged man with a greasy pompadour haircut.
“So, are you the young lady who needs to update her parking tags?” the older man said, thrusting a hand forward. “Name’s Hush. Welcome to Tranquility!”