Carson Knight
*This is Part II of a four – part series. If you would like to read Part I, you can find it here: Therapeutic Stumbles – Horror Obsessive
Bangor, Texas
Bangor, Texas, was a bit like a small town in Texas would look like in the emerging century. Small enough to suck the life out of you but American and cookie-cutter sufficient to feature all your corporate bile. You’ve got a Starbucks, a Target, a Walmart, and any number of other corporate giants that killed a lot of America’s mom-and-pop stores ages ago. The good news? It gave the high school kids jobs, and the older local folks could move into middle management or whatnot.
Being on the outskirts of Dallas, in a strange twist of fate, was what gave it a different feel than what an out-of-towner would picture of a small Texas town. Unlike the redneck portrait that often (unfairly) comes to mind when people picture Texas, Bangor was one of about a half dozen suburban/cities around Dallas that was chock full of dinero. It was up there with Plano, Frisco, and McKinney as some of the wealthier parts of all of Texas.
By the grace of the wealthy families who resided there, it still had some of the small-town charm that would have otherwise dissipated. This included a small local theater, a few bars, a winery, bookstores, and museums (“Biggest Bank Robbery Museum in Texas!”). Where did the money come from? Blood. Oil. Hell, plastic surgery, maybe. Who knows? All he knew was that they built neighborhoods full of 4,000-square-foot homes, golf courses, and country clubs to entertain the residents.
Main Street
As Thomas slowly drove down Main Street, he always went 1 mph under the speed limit; the cops here were itching to pull anyone over. Thomas was a teacher and worked with several cops at the school. In a small town, it only took knowing a few cops to put you on their good side. They all recognized Thomas from the school events like Field Day or Homecoming, and he had become good friends with a police officer named Jan, who worked at the high school most days. That said, he didn’t want to put any of them in an awkward spot between doing their job and being friendly.
As he drove, he saw the bank opening and families already pouring into one of the town’s favorite breakfast joints, Sunnyside Up. This Saturday jaunt had been his routine ever since he had found this support group. He didn’t mind the drive, as it took him past a local used bookstore, Paperbacks, where he would often stop on his way home.
Thomas was a high school English teacher and couldn’t get enough books. In fact, the only book he seemed not to read for pleasure was the big blue one that sat shotgun on his way to AA. It wasn’t that he hated the book. Quite the contrary. He thought it was a great read and damn valuable to boot. The issue was that he didn’t like reading or talking about his problem when he wasn’t in the AA meeting. He thought of it as he thought most of his students thought of his class. They didn’t mind doing the reading for class and getting the grade, but he didn’t exactly picture them running home to read The Great Gatsby for fun, either.
Therapy
So, filled with regret that he hadn’t been doing his share of “homework” and devoting enough time to his recovery, Thomas got past the bookstore and slowly pulled into the strip mall where his group met. Pulling in, he already started to recognize the regulars’ vehicles. Bill’s lifted pickup truck, Chuck’s yellow Corvette (always parked way at the edge and shining bright), a couple of Mercedes parked up front, and of course, the damn Harleys. The Harleys, always parked in front of the door, damn near obstructing the sidewalk, and their owners revved their engines until the meeting was about to start. He loathed that kind of biker. The attention seeker, but he had to admit, loved their bikes.
Thomas grabbed his Big Book and Houston Astros hat to keep that unrelenting sun out of his eyes until he got inside the shelter of the meeting. The parking lot was gravel and not kept up very well. Right in the center, making it a bitch for anyone to park in about a quarter of the lot’s spots, was a decrepit sno–cone stand that probably hadn’t seen business since the 90s. Thomas couldn’t confirm this date; he had moved to Bangor about a year ago.
He walked past it, the Big Book held tightly and waved at the others who had arrived as early as he had. Some people were making a quick trip to the Dollar General in the same strip center, but he didn’t need anything this morning. He opened the discreet, unlabeled doors, felt the blast of the air conditioning hit him like a slap in the face, and went inside.
The Bangor group’s meeting place was rather Spartan in nature. It featured the bare – necessities that could still allow it to be comfortable and a place people wouldn’t mind spending an afternoon (or a night, or two nights) hanging out in. These included comfortable chairs, decorations throughout (Thomas was told they’d liven the place up for big holidays like Christmas or Thanksgiving), general announcement boards, and other things like that.
Where the Magic Is
In the rear of the place was where the real magic happened, though. Starbucks had nothing on that kitchen area in the back. An endless supply of coffee is pumped out of five or six coffee machines around the clock. The place offered all the fixings one could want, sugar, creamer, low–fat, non–dairy, blah blah blah, but most of the guys (or girls) preferred it like God intended – black.
In Thomas’s experience, the kitchen usually had an assortment of breakfast goodies to go with the gallons of coffee. These entailed donuts (“If I can’t drink my carbs anymore, I’ll eat ’em,” an old timer had told him), kolaches (Texas style, with jalapenos, cheese, and sausage, not to be confused with the Czech style that featured fruit), and whatever else somebody would bring in (oftentimes a spouse would bake some treats for the group, cupcakes, brownies, etc.) In this place, there was always a lot of laughter, smiles, and room for more.
Thomas greeted everyone, said hello to a couple of guys who had been helping him a lot since he joined the group, and found his usual seat near the magic buffet in the rear. The bell rang in the center of the room, and it was time for healing.
A Stable Sponsor
Thomas felt tremendous when the meeting was over. He always did. Not once had he ever regretted going to a meeting. There was something about being in a room with people who, in at least one respect, had nothing to hide. They had all run the gauntlet of addiction and its subsequent behavior and were vulnerable and upfront about it. Thomas always thought to himself that it was what church should be. Not the hypocritical Baptist shit he had grown up with, everyone abstaining on the front porch and drinking on the back porch. No. In this group, everyone had a problem, admitted it, and wanted to move forward.
Thomas walked back into the Texas sun and found nothing had changed in an hour or so since he had been in his version of church. Except there were more cars on the road, and the town was coming to life – slowly, like the dancers in a ballet coming to life one by one and eventually putting on a show. He was about to get into his car when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“Thomas! Hey! You got a minute?”
Thomas turned around and saw his friend, Clement, behind him. Clement was a stout guy who stood about 5′ 10″. He was in a nice pair of cowboy boots, pressed jeans, and a white collared shirt. He had a big smile on his tanned face and an outstretched hand.
Clement
“Hey, Clement!” Thomas said. “How are you? What’s going on?”
“Not much, I just wanted to grab ya before ya left. I appreciated what you shared with us back there. I can relate. That’s why I want to talk with ya.”
Clement was Thomas’s sponsor, which meant that he was supposed to keep up with Thomas on a more personal level than the other guys in the group. Clement was meant to be Thomas’s “mentor” of sorts or guide on his journey through sobriety. Thomas had asked him to do this because, though they came from very different backgrounds, Clement, a small–business owner in town, and Thomas, a schoolteacher, the two seemed to be on the same page about a lot of things, especially the elephant in the room – God. Both men had a skeptical approach to the notion.
“Sure,” Thomas said.
“I love to see you coming into the meetings and sharing. That’s very important and all, but I’m a little worried about the fact that you aren’t calling me more often to check in. I think that’s important.”
Service Unavailable
This drove Thomas crazy to no end. How many times did he have to explain to these damn people that he was off the grid with his cell – phone? At least until he was able to deal with stress in a healthier way than a handle of Jack.
“Clement, we’ve been over this. The cell phone is poison to a guy like me. I’m a fucking news junkie who hates the fucking news. I’m a sociable person who hates to get text messages or hear the phone ring. My mother and ex-girlfriend drive me up the wall with their phone calls, and I love them.
“I’ve talked to my therapist about this, my intensive outpatient girl, and we’ve both agreed that the last thing I need is unnecessary stress. At least for the summer. I’ll get a few months under my belt and then try to get back to ‘normal’ or whatever the hell that means.”
Clement stared at him through squinted eyes. He kept staring before finally tossing his head to the side in capitulation and putting a hand on Thomas’s shoulder.
Doctor’s Orders
“Okay.” He began. “Okay, but I don’t like it. But if that’s what that damn shrink is –”
“She’s not a shrink. She’s a respected doctor from the University.”
“Well, if that’s what some doctor and you have come up with, and you think it’s working, then who am I to say otherwise?”
“Right,” Thomas said, nodding in agreement.
“All that being said, it’s the 21st century. Eventually, you must get a grip on reality and face reality. Cell phones ain’t going anywhere, bud. You can’t hide under your blanket forever.” Clement said.
“Not forever, Thomas. How about to the end of summer?”
Clement seemed to think this over for about 15 seconds before relenting. “Okay. I can live with that, and I guess you can, too. Let’s make a deal. For three weeks, you try limited phone access to stay in touch with your ol’ pal Clement. That’s how the program works. One drunk talking to another so the two can heal. How’s about it?”
“Fine,” Thomas said with a smile. “I’ll get the damn phone back in a few weeks and call your ass. In the meantime, if you’re that worried about it, you know, where I live, you can pay to set up a landline in my house, you know?”
Clement chuckled, “I’m your sponsor, not your dad. We’ll stick to our little plan. Just remember, if you need anything, anything at all, never hesitate to drive over to my place. I’m not too far from you. We can throw some steaks on the grill, just us guys, and have a chat.”
“Thanks, Clement. I appreciate that, and I might even take you up on that offer.”
Officers on the Scene
Two cop cars pulled up abruptly in the empty spaces around the Kia. Four cops emerged from the cars and instantly recognized Thomas. “Hey Thomas!” Jan said, smiling at him.
“Excuse me one second, Clement. Hi Jan, good to see you and the guys this morning. Missed catching you at work, now that it’s summer and all!”
“Yeah, I miss our lunches at school together and coffee chats. The summer will be over before you know it. I’m kinda looking forward to it ending. They have me working the night shift for the summer. Anyway, see you soon,” she said, tipping her hat and walking towards the café. The group of officers all gave a wave and a smile as they went on their way.
“I didn’t know you were friendly with all the 5-0,” Clement said, smirking, “But anyway, remember my offer about the steaks. And just remember, get in the car and drive my way before you have had that drink that your homicidal mind is telling you to have. Don’t drive over crying and telling me that you’ve thrown everything away. You’ve got to do it before that happens. Understood?”
“Understood. Well, I’m off to the bookstore, but thanks for looking out for me.” Thomas extended his hand, and Clement shook it.
“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. Remember, any time.” He smiled and turned towards his Lexus. Thomas stared after him for a few seconds before getting into his car, turning off the radio, and heading toward the bookstore.
Burning Up
Violence and heat are known to correlate. Infamously, the Son of Sam stalked the streets of NYC during a blazing heatwave and city-wide electrical blackouts. And that was up North, down in the South, in a study published in September of 2025, Tulane University in New Orleans found domestic violence to rise dramatically during “prolonged extreme heat”. Still, no one in the South needed a fancy university to prove what Southerners knew innately: temperatures rise and things get a bit more dangerous. Maybe watch your mouth a bit more, or lay off that car horn to save a life that might be your own.
Bangor’s heatwave was part of a larger one that burned through the South like Sherman, setting records that people unfortunate enough to be caught in it would not see again. Cities like Phoenix, Houston, Tampa Bay, and Dallas, already known to cook, turned into virtual charcoal pits, with temperatures cracking 120 degrees and heat indexes that matched Iraq. People in the South were advised to stay indoors, and parks and walking trails became eerie scenes reminiscent of the early days of COVID-19. People were mainly content to remain indoors at first. Then another girl disappeared, sending shockwaves through the community, and it was something akin to a can of gas flung onto something that was already burning up.
Marissa
The girl’s name was Marissa Starkey, and she was an all–American, brown-haired girl, according to all accounts. She had gone to the local cinema with her friends, her parents said, and her bank accounts proved she had made it. What wasn’t proven was the “friends” part. The geeky clerk who had been working that night later told the police that Marissa was alone and appeared nervous. A few phone calls from her dad to the friends he knew of (thank you, social media) left him with more questions than answers. Nothing added up. Why would a popular local girl spend her Saturday night watching the latest “Mission: Impossible” movie alone? Nobody knew.
The clerk described her as acting casual enough but didn’t know whether he was being honest .”It was a crowded Saturday night showing, and he must have seen 50 girls who looked the same to him. Didn’t he know her? No, he was a college student, a senior, working a few shifts before his Fall semester resumed at Texas A&M. He wasn’t familiar with the high school crowd around town. Security cameras showed her walking in, buying a Coke, and walking into the cinema. She was later seen leaving the theater on cue. Alone.
What no one knew was that she had walked to the park, about three blocks from the cinema, talked to someone, got into a vehicle, and would never be seen alive again. So much for a happy ending.
The Search Is On
By midnight, her parents were scared to death. No one had seen her, so they gathered her friends and their parents for an impromptu search of the neighborhood. The night was pitch black, and the heat oppressive. The kind that took one’s breath away and put tempers on edge. Her mom, at one point, remarked that she had never seen triple digits in the middle of the night before. Shouts from her friends went unanswered, and headlights that loomed over the pavement came up with nothing but shadows. The cicadas taunted them as the search went on with a constant banter that pushed everyone’s stress level further north.
After the longest night in the parents’ lives (up to that point), the cops were called. They would put out a notice but couldn’t do anything official until 24 hours had elapsed. Besides, she was probably with a friend. Kids do this all the time. Yes, they knew it wasn’t like her. That’s what all parents say. She’ll turn up. They always do. You’ll be laughing about this in the morning. Get some rest. Have some pancakes ready when she walks in the door.
The parents were not so sure.
*Follow Carson Knight Carson Knight (@CarsonKnightwr) / X
or read his previous serial, Shadow Man – One Man’s Redemption, Another’s Horror – Horror Obsessive
