THE PRICE SHE'LL PAY: For the secret she never knew she had...

by Cara Charles

  The traffic came to a crawl. The mile markers on the freeway signs were warning her, ‘Choose. South. East. Or North? Which way to the rest of my new life?’

  Bon Jovi spoke to her.

  Another big rig rolled by on her right just as she caught a glimpse of a billboard, a blur of black, white, Green and blue.

  Orcas?

  The big rig moved.

  She waited, stopping traffic. She saw it.

  An advertisement for Western Washington and Orcas, her beloved Orcas.

  ‘Now that’s a great idea, a gift of an idea! Go North to the Emerald City!!’

  Her favorite countryside would be blustery, wet, and cold. Perfect. She’d flown into Seattle for conferences at UW Law Clinic or Federal Court, yet never had time to explore. From above the San Juan Islands, she’d seen the Orcas in May pursued relentlessly by paparazzi tour boats and it made her sad.

  Monitoring and encouraging the U. S. Navy to limit their sonar exercises to the open ocean only, she wanted the oil tankers to take a different route through the islands. She encouraged Canada to stop dumping raw sewage in the ocean near Orcas habitat. Those had been her firm’s issues.

  The big rigs were going to I-5 North. She followed.

  Elise felt a release. A decision that profoundly pleased her was made. Elise was on her way to a new life, a new beginning, a new Elise. The skies opened, washing away some of her heavy pain.

  Something new to love was on the horizon.

  Desiree was playing Duplicate Bridge at the Mullis Center, she desperately needed a distraction. Her Blackberry vibrated.

  “Excuse me, darlings.” Desiree excused herself. She sighed as she read the text, letting out the crushing tension she’d been carrying, then she replied.

  Southern California people cannot drive in the rain. The Pineapple Express that brought the snow was now dumping torrents. Elise’s wipers barely kept up.

  “Slow down out there everybody,” radio DJs pleaded, but no one listened, unless a wreck reminded them.

  By seven p.m. the roads cleared, and the rain slowed. Passing Cal Arts, home to Tim Burton, John Lasseter, and Brad Bird in Valencia, Magic Mountain and Hwy 126, the suburbs disappeared, the tired commuter traffic thinned, except for the hundreds of big rigs on their trek north.

  Truckers owned this stretch of I-5. Slow them down when they’re trying to keep up their momentum going up hills and they’ll run you down or box you in with a fellow trucker, who thinks you’re a danger to their brotherhood. So, if you have an old car that can’t take those hills, be forewarned. Stay over or go around the Grapevine.

  Elise knew the rules of the Grapevine, but truckers violated rules too. Elise drove in the center lane. Now some trucker behind her was flashing his lights at her, wanting her to move out of her lane.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE -- NORTH TO ALASKA

  ELISE LOOKED IN HER MIRROR. It wasn’t a C.H.P. cruiser, but an aggressive trucker. His headlights in her mirrors were blinding. She flipped the mirrors so his own lights would blind him. He could get over. She was staying put.

  A black and red eighteen-wheeler tractor without a trailer with fire painted on its wheel hubs and naked women decals on its mud flaps was tailgating her. You could feel his raging impatience in the way he drove. The aggressive trucker moved over to the right lane, barely missing her fender. She’d noticed an aggressive trucker without a trailer back in Tarzana. Here he was again. As he flew past her, giving her the vibe she was driving like “The Little Old Lady From Pasadena,” she made a mental note of his D.O.T. number on his door. Up ahead of her now, he threw out his big ham of an arm and flipped her off.

  ‘Bluto’ she named him, got his point across even in the rain. He got in front of her, blinding her with the spray from his mud flaps. He slowed to get back at her. He barreled ahead again, and tailgated the next driver. Traffic never moved fast enough for him. Bluto weaved in and out of all the lanes, tailgating everyone. Everyone moved over. Many leaned on their horns. Who wanted to argue with a mad dog trucker?

  Elise followed him, because she was going to bust him and call the C.H.P. and the D.O.T.

  Elise was out for justice, any kind of justice. Right now, any victory over tyranny was what she needed to give her, her life back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO -- PROMISES TO KEEP

  DESIREE’S SHOP NAME was chosen to represent the fleeting beauty of now, the Rose, and the timeless beauty of forever, the Amaranth.

  Her shop was a popular destination for town folk, children, and tourists, decorated to look like a cozy country house parlor found in many a Merchant-Ivory period film or PBS mini-series. The shop gave her soul a much needed comfort and reminded her of home in Warwickshire, England near Stratford-on-Avon, Shakespeare’s home. Desiree delighted in the patron’s sweet sighs when they walked in, greeted by the tinkling of her shop bell.

  The parlor was complete with a wood burning fireplace. The shop had been a home, built a hundred years earlier. The walls held copies of Old Masters.

  Desiree had an amazing copy of the Mona Lisa, a present from an incredibly gifted patient of her beloved father.

  French tapestries adorned the walls. An overstuffed damask sofa and loveseat invited people to sit and read. Books were everywhere as if someone had just fetched a cup of tea, tired from sorting the books in their library.

  The dining area she’d painted in the palest Wedgwood Blue. Antique china settings waited in the hutch and everyday stoneware set upon the table, encouraging patrons to sit at the large oak table dressed with embroidered Irish linen and napkins.

  The country kitchen display in the back of the shop, featured antique rolling pins of every size to fit every hand, an oak work table, crocks, copper pots, antique corkscrews, wooden kneading boards, and rising bowls that surely had seen thousands of loaves prepared in some Lord’s kitchen.

  The display bedroom painted in pale lavender brought the biggest sighs from hopeless romantics. A French brass four-poster bed was piled high with silver down comforters, and square lounging pillows.

  The favorite area for the children and their grandparents was the adjacent nursery with its old toys, old bears and tea sets, children’s chairs and tables, rows of antique children’s books with the most exquisite covers and illustrations.

  Underscored by classical music chosen for mood enhancement, Desiree so wanted to use music as a positive element and she was succeeding.

  In her former life, her use of music as an interrogation tool was the biggest regret of her life. Her regrets were never far when certain classics played, reminding her of her hand in ruining lives for the National Security for two countries.

  Desiree was a refined beauty, her golden hair always styled in her signature pageboy, sleek and modern. She dressed in Cashmere and tweeds from England and Scotland, enveloped in her mother’s custom blended perfume from Paris. She was exotically charming, with a great sense of humor, told wonderful stories, cooked like a French chef, and was the life of any party.

  Her reputation for story telling became legend as each antique she sold seemed to have a legacy, all its own. Desiree relished the telling. She was a popular volunteer at story hour in the local library. Children loved her.

  Lots of retirees called the island home, claiming the biggest retiree population in the state. But there was a darker side to this island paradise. The island school districts lost students every year, as young families couldn’t make a go of it, unless they had steady but rare construction work, building dream homes for the wealthy retirees or a family business to work in.

  Many prayed they’d make enough summer tourist revenue to get them through the rest of the year. The cost of transporting goods and groceries didn’t compare to the inflated prices charged in the grocery stores or hardware stores.

  Soon buying off island was required to save money. Four dollars a pound, for summer produce was outrageous destined for the summer boaters. The middle class was small. You owned a successful business or were an
employee of the State. Businesses were seasonal.

  The island saying went, “you either have three million or three jobs.”

  But for the lucky Islanders who could stay through the year, lambing and calving season was upon the island by March and April, Bald Eagles came in March to June and left to find salmon in October, the baby foxes played on the warm roadways in warm June evenings, doe and twin fawns grazed on lawns, the tourists and college students with summer jobs came in heavily in May, and left after Labor Day.

  The Islanders looked forward to the leaves turning September through October. Fierce November winds would blow down trees, cut power and strip the trees and a rare snow would fall in November through February, decorating the holiday seasons with picture postcard scenes. Trumpeter Swans came in late October and stayed through March. Folks would run outside to watch them fly over their houses, followed by the resident Canadian Geese and wood ducks.

  Paradise.

  DESIREE PUT the finishing touches on her Christmas window display of old children’s books, antique toys, stuffed bears, and ponies. Perfect. Desiree knew how to sell to her flock. Desiree put out several, decades old Golden Books in the window.

  She walked upstairs to her cozy little apartment to make herself a pot of calming tea, while a batch of gingerbread cookies baked to make the shop smell like Gran’s house. Smell was the most powerful memory trigger known. Desiree still made her living, triggering memories.

  Desiree sipped her tea, and turned the pages of the old album, knowing what was to come. Her heart grew more anxious with every tick of her mother’s antique mantel clock, as she anxiously awaited the status report.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE -- NORTH BY NORTHWEST

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN HARD. Elise and her road companions had been down from the slushy Grapevine for a while. The snow clouds fled north to Mammoth.

  Elise had stuck close to Bluto. It was madness following a maniac who probably had a gun. Focusing her mind on retribution made her feel alive. This duty forced her to live in the moment. She had to co-ordinate her gas tank with his bladder.

  ‘Bluto, you colossal ass! Stop at Kettleman City. Get more Red Bull. Take a leak.’

  She wondered how often Bluto looked for the CHP. They were doing 80 mph, eating up gas. She had less than a quarter of a tank. If she stopped first, she could lose him.

  ‘Probably the best thing.’

  A road sign. ‘Kettleman City, 20 miles.’

  Fifteen minutes.

  Bluto changed lanes. Elise hung back, waiting.

  Bluto was getting off and so was she, with several other cars. She kept behind them, as he rumbled into the truck stop, but the cars kept on going, leaving her exposed. No one else was at the truck stop. He didn’t fuel up.

  He parked next to the fuel pumps, one lane away from the store. He got down out of the cab. He was a body builder young Arnold type.

  Elise shut off her lights and pulled to the curb. If Bluto looked into the shadows, he’d see her.

  He reached back inside the cab. True to form, Bluto jerked a leash and a medium sized black and white wiry haired mutt jumped onto his shoulder. Bluto dropped him on the tarmac. He jerked the frisky young dog toward the dead grass pet area. You could see him berate the dog to hurry.

  The dog circled and circled, and finally settled enough to relieve himself.

  Too soon, Bluto jerked the dog back toward the truck, leaving droppings with every step he took. Bluto got some on his boot. Bluto yelled. He jerked the cowering dog up into his arms, spanked him once, took giant strides to the truck, threw the dog inside, and smelled his forearm. Bluto headed inside, holding his arm away from his body.

  Elise quickly eased into the fuel pit. She parked near the truck’s blind spot. She turned off the dome light, jumped from her car, and watched the little dog look for the brute. Her mind was racing as she held the nozzle down to maximum. She had about a minute.

  The pump clicked off. She was so thankful for a fast pump. She paid with her credit card, said no to the receipt, left her door open, she’d pulled out her keys to stop the bell warning, opened her passenger door lock, went around the other side of her car, and opened her back passenger door. No other cars or trucks were around.

  She looked at the pup. He was looking at her, wagging his tail. She smiled at him, and nodded, relieved he wasn’t territorial.

  Quickly, she crossed the space between her car and the truck, climbed the steps on the driver’s side and cracked opened the cab door of the truck, the happy dog looked her in the eye and then, climbed onto her shoulder, still in his leach.

  “Come on, Buddy. Wanna go for a ride?” Elise said softly, in her high-pitched friendly voice, praying he wouldn’t bark.

  Arm around Buddy, she felt her way down the steps, gently closed the door just enough to turn off the dome light. Let him think he left the door open and the dog ran off. Elise closed the space with three steps, placed him in back, and quietly closed the door, her heart, pounding. Running around the rear of the car, she prayed Bluto wouldn’t appear. She jumped in her car. Fumbling with the keys, she couldn’t get them in the unfamiliar ignition.

  Finally, the key slid into place. She started the car, and shoved it into reverse. The road was empty. She stuck out like a sore thumb as she backed out, keeping her foot off the brake. She did a quick K turn and headed back the way they’d come in. She remembered she couldn’t turn off the lights, they were on all the time. He may have seen her.

  Speeding now, she headed toward the L. A. on-ramp. He wouldn’t think to look for her doubling back. Making sure to keep her foot off the brake, she looked into her rearview mirror. She got a glimpse of the truck’s cab.

  His dome was light on.

  With one last look, she saw him standing in the service station perplexed, his hands on his hips, calling the dog, trying to figure it out. As he disappeared from view and she knew he couldn’t see her anymore, her paranoia sprouted.

  She was still the lone car on the road. It was so dark, her lights would stick out. Bluto would be able to see her if he climbed up in the cab. He might see her brake lights as she had to brake to turn onto the on-ramp, so she down-shifted, and drove just fast enough to make a 45-degree turn without braking. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck, as she turned parallel to the freeway.

  Elise took a breath, feeling she’d been holding her breath. She glanced east and Buddy jumped into the front seat.

  “Buddy!” He was so happy, he kissed her.

  She put her hand on Buddy’s back and petted him. He wagged his tail. He knew she was kind. He knew he had been rescued. She couldn’t see Bluto, but she felt any minute she’d see the high beams of his truck running her down.

  Elise strained to see the truck stop up on the crest of the hill. She couldn’t, hoping that meant he couldn’t see her. With a sigh, she turned her full headlights on, quickly getting over into the fast lane, and headed south.

  She smiled, then a laugh erupted from her. She was laughing like a crazy woman and then came a tear.

  ‘God, it feels great to win one.’

  Elise looked over her left shoulder and in her mirrors. He hadn’t followed. Her strategy had worked. He was probably screaming for the dog and scaring the clerk.

  ‘Oh, shit, the credit card. He wasn’t smart. Hopefully the clerk played dumb.’

  “Simple duty hath no place for fear, Buddy. My Daddy taught me well.”

  Buddy barked. He understood and wagged his tail like he was going to take off. His eyes were on his new life ahead, looking out the front window, ready for his new adventure.

  Elise was amazed at how intelligent he was. He really knew what was happening. Elise would speed south, down the freeway two or more exits to the motel/store complex she saw and camp out there for the night.

  She was tired now, the adrenalin dissipating, turning into intense fatigue and hunger. They both needed food, rest, shelter, and a hot bath.

  “Welcome to our new life, Buddy.”r />
  Elise said petting his wiry black head with the white stripe down his forehead over and over, like a mother dog would, but mostly to comfort herself.

  Buddy the ever-grateful dog, turned and licked her ear, her cheek and her mouth as if he enjoyed his new name, and her talking and wanted more soothing words to come forth. His gratitude was all it took to make her cry.

  Buddy licked her tears as fast as they fell and enjoyed her giggles and her kisses.

  “Thank you my darling little angel.”

  She held him tight and kissed him over and over, and she stroked his white bearded chin and kissed his head again, her gratitude understood.

  The white Range Rover was familiar.

  Doug, Elise’s “Bluto” pounded on the motel’s doors.

  “Chico? Where are you, boy? Chico? Chico? Let’s load up!”

  Elise sat up with a start.

  Buddy jumped up in bed next to her, shaking.

  The brute was outside on her balcony, just down a few doors.

  Elise put Buddy in the bathtub on a towel, quickly put on her clothes, her running shoes, unzipped her gun bag, grabbed a pistol and stuck it in the small of her back. She did a few practice kicks then, dialed 9 for an outside line then, 911 hoping they’d heard from other frightened guests. She unplugged the lamps. She rehearsed her moves, several times. Ready.

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “Crazed guy kicking in doors upstairs. He’s after me! Got this address?”

  “Yes ma’am, we’ve sent a unit. ETA, four minutes. You in immediate danger?”

  “Yes so hurry up!” Elise knew not to hang up.

  He was coming for her. She was going to kick his ass. She needed an outlet for her rage. She stretched quickly, ran hard in place to warm up.

  Bluto was enraged, kicking in doors next door, finding an empty room.

  There was deadly quiet.

  Elise braced, knowing he was outside her door.

  He kicked it in and stood in the doorway like a back-lit mountain of flesh.

  “Chico? Dude? I know you’re in here.”