Magic (The Remarkable Adventures of Deets Parker Book 2)

by J. Davis Henry

  Another kick, another shove, and I found myself swallowing cold mountain water. He held my head under the swift current. Water shot up my nose, spluttered in my lungs. I pushed and scrabbled and finally gasped air.

  He roared into my face, “You double-crossers ain’t taking this home from me. No way.”

  Gripping my hair, he plunged me back in deeper, scraping my nose and mouth against sand and rocks. Wanting to breath, holding my breath, I wrestled with a frantic memory of Teresa describing how the murder had happened so quickly. It had been a short and loud scuffle. He had grabbed the nearest weapon, the lamp, and struck in a rage without thinking.

  Her father was killing me.

  Squirming and straining to raise myself to the surface, panic shrieked through every cell of my body. And then oddly, a voice, my voice, somehow seemed to be all I was.

  It’s all ending now. The dream, the vision, the curse. My life. I found him for you.

  I flashed on Teresa in the apartment, and we were face to face. I knew she was asleep. Dreaming. She brushed a lock of hair away that tickled at her nose, her eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled, sleepily pleased I was visiting her. Her eyes looked like the eyes I would have prayed for to see as I took my last breath.

  And I knew the curse had been lifted or had never been.

  She seemed happy to be dreaming of two men that loved her.

  And Abracadabra... Charlie Little dragged me from the water as he rolled backwards and collapsed on the stream bank. I lay with my head on his stomach, coughing and sputtering. We both gasped, catching our breath, trying to find sanity.

  “Jesus, the stars look wonderful tonight, Charlie.”

  “Yeah, they do. Is Deets your real name?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. Did you see that?” He hiccuped in excitement.

  “Yeah, it’s like you’re right next to the sky up in these mountains, and those shooting stars can whiz by just over your shoulder. If you step to one side without looking, one could just smack right into the back of your head.”

  “Yeah. It’s like crossing the street in New York.”

  “No, this is much more beautiful.”

  “You’re a hell of guy to drink with. Man, oh man.”

  We lay there, lost to unanswered questions, both feeling like we had been found. Charlie, by me, the outside world finally catching up to him. Me, by Teresa, knowing in the deepest recesses of her sleep she had discovered places where she could always be in love with me.

  “Deets, you know what I’ve always wondered on a night like this?”

  “No, what?”

  “You see Pico de Tigre over there. It’s the snow-capped mountain to the left of our cliffs here, up beyond the ridge. You can just make out the whiteness of the peak.”

  My head bounced on his belly as he spoke.

  “Yeah, I know which one it is.”

  “It looks taller on nights like this.”

  “You mean when you’re lying on a path with some guy’s head on your stomach who you almost drowned?”

  “No, no, on nights with no moon. It’ll probably be almost dawn when the moon rises tonight, yet look at that peak.”

  “I’m looking.”

  “Look at all those little flashes of light in the snow. What the hell causes them? Couldn’t be starlight, could it?”

  “Why not? Starlight reflects off water. Lot of ice and snow up there.”

  “No, they’re flashing. Like some kind of signal. They’re too bright for a mountain that’s, maybe, fifteen miles away.”

  We watched the array of twinkling sparkles. I knew they were Teresa’s eyes watching both of us. “Charlie, here’s what I think they are.”

  “What?”

  “They mean someone, somewhere in this world is dreaming of you.”

  He was silent for a good ten minutes. I felt his chest heave rapidly a few times, and he sniffled once or twice.

  “I like that, Deets.”

  “C’mon, Charlie, stick your head in the creek a few times. It’ll help sober you up.”

  Chapter 28

  We stoked the fire to life. Charlie sat staring at the burning logs. I lay in the sleeping bag studying him and wondering about my relationship with constant revelation and mystery.

  A week earlier, I had been lost on a mountain that once had only been a flash in my mind, a remnant of the time with Teresa in the Poconos motel. And now, in the peak’s metaphysical shadow, a magical drawing, identical to the one in Monster Alley, had appeared scratched into the dirt just a few feet away from where I discovered my rescuer and host was Teresa’s father. I didn’t have any hope of understanding how dreams materialized into actions or events as they skipped through time and space, but letting the concept tumble around in my mind, I began to think of why it might have occurred.

  Okay, I’m meant to be here. Everything really clicked. I’m learning that this is how the mystery I’m living, works. It all makes poetic sense, but there’s no way to logically explain it.

  Why is there a drawing of the four-legged creature here and in the New York alleyway? It’s not a universal symbol. It’s a gift or a curse from a part of some magical realm manifesting itself to me. Of all the hundreds of symbols on the alley wall, the one I inspected most closely shows up here. For it to have appeared so dramatically and perfectly is exciting but also just further confounds me.

  Was I called to this mountain, and I answered? Or was the mountain a symbolic vision of future events that have now unfolded? Which?

  How much do I tell Charlie? He’ll want to know about his daughters, what they’re doing, and that they’re healthy, talented, and pretty. They smile and laugh. Do they miss him? Would they want to see him?

  Charlie spoke to the flames, lost in his own dilemma. “What do you bastards want? Have the rules changed, and you’ve decided to put the squeeze on me again?”

  “What kind of wild animals do you capture and sell?”

  “Parrots, monkeys, small cats, odd birds, lizards. Snakes and caiman on my long trips. It’s working for me. Why do you guys need to know any more than you already do?”

  “Who’s changing what rules?”

  Charlie turned and grunted in distaste. “Cut the crap.”

  “I’m not who you think I am. I don’t know about your operation here.”

  “Then who are you?”

  “I...um. This is going to sound insane, but I know your daughters.”

  He rose quickly, towering over me. His fingers flexed on one hand while the arm groped wildly off to one side. His face contorted in the same rage that must have twisted his soul the day he killed his wife’s lover. I realized his hand was trying to find the deadly lamp, all these years later—this time to smash me.

  “You sneaks. You leave them out of this.” If his hand had been able to clutch onto a weapon, I would have been dead.

  “Charlie. I’m not one of whoever the sneaks and bastards are. I’m here with a message, that’s all.”

  He grabbed my sleeping bag and dragged it close to the fire. An edge of the cloth smoldered. Small embers flared, greedily welcoming the new material.

  “What the hell are you doing? Can’t drown me, so now you’re trying to burn me?”

  “What’s the message?” He gripped the bag opening near my head and knelt on my stomach.

  I tried to buck him off and squiggle out of the bag, but he had me trapped.

  “You’re a murderous madman, Charlie. You already messed up Teresa’s life with your prison time and running out on her after the murder. I’m here because of her.”

  “They’re not part of my life anymore.”

  “She’s your daughter.”

  “The deal was I’d help with your drug setup, and you’d leave me alone. No arrest and no harassment. Okay, you didn’t drag me back
stateside, and I’ve kept my mouth shut, so why are you using my family against me now?”

  “Against you? I know Teresa. She’s beautiful and talented. And… I don’t know, I had to find you for her. Let her know you still exist.”

  In that instant, I saw myself walking Sam home after telling her I didn’t want our child. Telling her I didn’t want to be a father—being lost to my child forever, like this mountain man was to his.

  Charlie jerked the sleeping bag into the fire.

  “I always wondered when you’d sink your hooks into me again. I ain’t going along with whatever you’re peddling now. Your buddies will never know you ever contacted me, and I’ll be gone by the time reinforcements arrive.”

  Flames sliced along the zipper side of the bag.

  “Is everybody on this mountain insane? In my knapsack, Charlie. My knapsack. There’s a picture of Teresa.”

  “I searched it the first day, up in the hut. There’s no picture of my daughter.”

  “There is. Let me find it for you.”

  The lower part of the bag burst into a brief fireball. Charlie jumped aside to save himself, and I scrambled to free myself, dragging the fiery trap across the dirt floor with my enclosed legs kicking wildly.

  Charlie lunged at me. My hand grabbed at the nearest object as his must have so many years ago. I felt the chill and thin neck of a glass beer bottle. Charlie went down, knees buckling, the instant I struck the side of his head.

  My first thought was if I had incapacitated him. Was he knocked out? The next thought was had I just killed Teresa’s father?

  “Charlie.” I shook him, couldn’t make out if he was breathing. I found his flashlight and shined the light on his face, looking for signs of life or death.

  Finally, he moaned, rolled over onto one side.

  I grabbed my knapsack and dumped everything out.

  Panicking when I couldn’t find the picture of Lola, Maureen, and Teresa taped to my sketch pad any longer, I spread the Polaroid prints out in hectic, uneven rows in front of me.

  Johnny with a sympathetic grin, Cecilia on a horse, a trio of musicians at Maria’s wedding, Señora Gutierrez with a drink in her hand, Monkey Man blowing smoke out of his devil dance mask, me posing with the vinyl blow-up anaconda, Andrea’s and bikini-girl’s flirtatious smiles. The prints were dirty, water stained, some faded into oblivion by jungle moisture. About to toss aside the picture of the ghostly curandera standing in half-shadow at the beach in Santa Paloma, I noticed the thickness of the print wasn’t right. Another Polaroid was stuck to the other side. Slowly, I started to pry it loose, watching in horror as bits of color that I recognized as Maureen’s face and hair peeled away.

  Working as patiently as I could with Charlie groaning back to life next to me, I tensed as a water-fogged Maureen was revealed, then Lola, with black mold blotting out her shoulders and neck. Her face was clear though, still painted with pink and green stars. I held my breath as I made decisions on my separation technique.

  Charlie’s hand slowly rubbed the side of his head. “Oh, Jesus.”

  I put the photo aside, gathered up Charlie’s rifle and machete, went outside, and hid the gun behind some boxes in the donkey shed. When I returned, Charlie clumsily shielded his eyes from the flashlight’s beam. Setting the machete beside me, balancing the light on my thigh, I continued in my attempt to peel the stuck film without destroying Teresa’s image.

  The space between Lola and Teresa had been totally washed out, but I could make out Teresa’s blonde curls and a cheekbone. Freckles along her nose were mixed with small mossy stains, though her eyes, still shining with life, had escaped unblemished. My vision went foggy and wet. Slowly flexing the film caused part of her chin to come away, still attached to the back side of the wrong photo. Her left ear disappeared into a soggy mix of color on my last gentle tug.

  Not planning on being around when Charlie regained full consciousness, I tore a page from my sketch pad and began writing with the Purpura Prismacolor.

  Charlie,

  I can’t stay and try to reason with you. You’ve tried to kill me twice and won’t listen to my truth. I don’t work for the CIA or any other agency. I stumbled onto you by amazing coincidence or divine grace. Your secrets, your location will stay safe with me.

  I know your daughters Cynthia and Teresa. They are pretty young women. They own a successful business together in New York. Cynthia runs the business side, Teresa, the day-to-day operation. Teresa is a creative painter and recently had a very good art show.

  Teresa and I dated for almost a year, and it was through one of her memories about you that I figured out who you were. She told me how you used to make her happy by your little game of “Fiddle, faddle, fiddle, Teresa Ann Little, what’s abracadabra and kisses? Magic.”

  For me to stumble on you is magic, Charlie. It seems it’s true. I was here for none of the reasons you accused me of. Mai may be closer to the truth of who I am than you are.

  Too bad, but I can’t stay and rap. I’m taking the machete, flashlight, and that damn burned bedroll. I’ll leave them at that store you marked on the trail. Your gun is hidden, but you’ll find it.

  Tell Mai that you got the white demon out of the valley for her and that he regrets his actions and hopes she forgives him.

  I haven’t decided what to tell Teresa and Cynthia if I ever see them again.

  In the photo, Teresa is the blonde, curly-haired girl. Cute smile.

  Deets

  I took the blankets off the bed and draped them around the groggy wild man. After placing the note and photograph on a chair, I weighted them down with the beer bottle that I had used to knock Charlie senseless.

  I stuffed my knapsack with a few beers, a box of crackers, the Polaroids, my carton of cigarettes, matches, and my sketch pad. Not sure if the flash attachment on the instant camera would work, I aimed the flashlight at Charlie’s face for extra light. He half-opened one eye.

  “What’s that? Turn the damn light off.” He raised a hand to his face. “What the hell did you do to me?”

  “Move your hand, Charlie.”

  “What?” He dropped his hand as he sat himself upright. I adjusted the flashlight and my aim. He was squinting. His lips were peeled up in an uncomfortable grimace, revealing his upper teeth. I pushed the camera’s button down, praying the batteries still had juice. The flash sputtered a dim blue. I yanked out the film and counted, then peeled the cover off the photo. The picture was dark with Charlie’s face a deep orange, but his features were clear.

  “Okay, that’s cool.”

  “I need a beer.”

  “You going to be all right?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Bye, Charlie.” I gathered my stuff together, slipped out the door, and blinked the light a few times in the direction of Teresa’s dream mountain. “See you later, Pico de Tigre.” Anxious to get away, I stopped only briefly at Mai’s tangle of spells to illuminate the scratchings depicting the four-legged creature from Monster Alley. This time, it seemed more a beacon pointing down the river trail than part of the blockade to her house. I whispered, “Bye, Mai.”

  From behind me, came a slurred yell. “You tell your asshole friends I won’t be so hospitable with the next damn fool they send.”

  Chapter 29

  During my week recuperating at Charlie’s, I had only ventured about a mile down the valley path, where upon coming to a section that cut through a patch of crops outside a shack, I had felt like an intruder and turned around. The trail was unfamiliar, but I knew from Charlie’s map the stream flowed on my right, with the occasional house dotting the descent. The dirt-way was worn smooth and eventually became wide enough for a cart to negotiate. Not wanting to broadcast my location, I turned off the beam of light and used the starshine sprinkling through the gaps in the trees to guide my steps. The crisp air kept my senses tu
ned, and I traveled without incident while the moon began to creep over the ridge behind me.

  The nearby gurgles turned to splashing and heavy rolling sounds as the waterway grew wider and deeper. Buoyed by the news that would take me to Teresa, my mood was one of hopeful determination as I navigated the downhill trail on the outskirts of civilization.

  I had to preserve the photograph of Charlie at all costs, but what was I going to tell Teresa? What if she didn’t want to know about him? Maybe she would be happier with her childhood memories, painful as they were, than the knowledge that her father was a homicidal maniac—that the murder in New York might not just have been an unfortunate accident.

  Teresa, I had to get back quick, just to see you. I need to tell you something important.

  Deets, I have no interest in what you have to say.

  But I just wanted to tell you. Your Dad’s alive. I know, because he tried to kill me. Twice. Once by drowning, another time by fire. I’m only alive because I clobbered him with a beer bottle.

  My mind wandered from the improbability of finding Teresa’s dad to the near-incomprehensible notion that Mai might not even conceive of me as a human or a man. I had been a bearded, long-haired, white-skinned, dirt and mold, leafs and sticks demon, shrieking strange sounds, who came into her valley and spent a week trying to bewitch her. Her protective spells had worked, and they were chasing me down the mountainside, no matter the drunken and convoluted way they had enacted themselves.

  There were no answers, only more questions, as I pondered the mysteries I had encountered on my trek up to and over Pico de Tigre. Despite the circumstances by which I was leaving the area, I felt a buoyant sense of wonder at the intrigue that surrounded my way through life.

  Man, there is something incredible happening all around us all the time. To sense the miraculous with every breath feels like wings spreading across my chest. I’m about to burst. What an energy. Is this life? It seems alive. Why things go wrong is beyond me. Another mystery. Ha. Ha.