by Kurt Newton
But things were different when James had come home for the holidays. His cockiness had been reduced to a thin, polished veneer. His unwillingness to talk about what he had seen spoke volumes. The morning after Christmas, as he was leaving, James gave Ethan an uncharacteristic hug. "I love you, man. Be good," he had said. Ethan didn't know it at the time but it was the last moment they would share together.
Until the wake: his brother dressed up and laid out as if he were sleeping, the sound of their mother's inconsolable wailing filling the funeral parlor, and all of it accompanied by an overwhelming feeling that his brother's life wasn't supposed to end the way it had, blown from his vehicle by a roadside bomb, a bomb so powerful, when the medics arrived, it was difficult for them to tell the charred engine parts from the charred body parts. For Ethan it was all just a stupid heartbreaking dream he would soon wake up from.
But the dream ran uninterrupted, like a Broadway play of grief on an unlimited engagement, forcing Ethan to think hard about what to do with his life. He could die tomorrow from something as ridiculous as swerving to avoid a deer and slamming into a tree. Or having a cutting blade kick back on the lathe at the shop and hit him in the temple just so. So Ethan adopted a new philosophy. Why not die doing, or attempting to do, what you loved most? Take life before it takes you. He owed his brother that much.
So something like a fifty-mile hike through a beautiful state forest under a clear blue summer sky with no one around to tell what him to do and how to do it, was a leisurely stroll compared to the gauntlet his brother had gone through.
Pull that tampon out of your ass, Morales, and get marching!
Ethan stared ahead. The power lines began a gradual ascent that culminated at the top of the next ridge, the highest yet, where the white faces of stone outcroppings poked through the green. He picked a spot in the distance halfway up the slope, a small dark shadow that, according to the map, looked to be a plateau, as a finishing line for today's leg. It looked to be only a couple miles. Or it could be three. Or five. The accordion-like effect of the power lines made distances difficult to gauge. He figured he had a good two hours of sunlight left. He hoped to set up camp before nightfall.
Less thinking and more doing, Private! Did you not hear me the first time? The difference between those who do and those who don't is those who do do not think about it, they just do! Do I make myself clear!
He said do-do, thought Ethan. Twice!
Is that a smile I see, Morales? What's so god damned funny?
The smile felt good on his face. Sweat entered his mouth and he tasted salt. He pulled out his water bottle and sprayed it on his forehead, then filled his mouth with the lukewarm fluid and swallowed. He tucked the bottle away.
He wished his brother could see him now.
As night fell at the Richmond estate, the party noise appeared to increase in volume, as if the darkness were a domed ceiling magically lowered into place. The night had a way of separating and isolating, providing smaller more intimate settings where the lamp lights burned. Under tree-mounted spotlights, a game of horseshoes was in session along the edge of the woods, a single elimination tourney involving sixteen participants competing for bragging rights as the Richmond Fourth of July Fireworks Lawn Party Horseshoe Champion of 2008. Cheers alternated between thin clanks of metal on metal. Elizabeth Richmond sat on the stone terrace with a dozen others, most of which were the financial and political brain trust of the Quiet Corner, the collection of small towns that made up the northeast corner of Connecticut. The large stainless steel grill Mr. Richmond had installed shortly before his death was manned by one of the widowmen, a Mr. Stuart Randolph, a retired real estate developer, who arrived this year in a brand new Lexus Sport Coupe, hoping to impress his hostess. Stuart donned the customary apron and chef's hat and grilled the beef, shrimp, and chicken kabobs Maria had prepared earlier that day. "Pick of the Pieces" by the Average White Band had just faded from the speakers and the deep rubber band-sounding intro to Rufus's "Tell Me Something Good" had begun.
The potent scents of citronella, smoke and spices drifted down over Lindsey and her friends, who had kept near the pool all day. Hayley, Saga, and Kirsty had formed a party of their own in the shallow end of the pool, making up words to the songs they heard and drinking as many wine coolers they could snatch, while Lindsey sat in the small circular whirlpool with Jared Whitford. She and Jared had a lot more in common than she had first believed. She began to see that he wasn't that much of jerk anymore. In fact, she found it hard to remember just what had broken them up sophomore year. But a lot can change in four years' time. She wasn't the same impetuous teenager she was then, so maybe Jared wasn't either. And it didn't hurt that the "harmless" wine coolers her mother allowed them to drink worked to keep the conversation light and flowing.
"Your father must have been a great guy," said Jared. "I wish I would have met him."
Lindsey liked the fact that Jared kept his attention focused on her. Ethan's mind tended to wander, and there were times, like this morning, where she felt left on the outside of an entire world operating inside his head. Jared was different. His thoughts and concerns were more readily accessible, and it was nice to not have to work to understand where he was coming from.
"This was his favorite day of the year," said Lindsey. "The long summer day, the warm night...the fireworks...he just loved it."
"The rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air. Freedom. Independence. It was probably why he was so successful. You need to take chances in life. Go your own road. It's the only way to make a difference."
Lindsey looked at him. Jared appeared unaware of what he had just said, which made it all the more genuine. At that moment Lindsey felt drawn to him. His hair was wet and wasn't so perfect, the muscles on his arms and chest gleamed beneath the subdued lighting. Her life would be so much simpler if her mother approved of her boyfriend. Jared would fill the job description with ease. It didn't matter if this was her mother's intent, Lindsey was actually enjoying herself, and Ethan was miles away both physically and in her thoughts.
"Tell...me something...good..."
"Bwah bwah..."
"Bubba dubba dooba do..."
"Bedawg..."
"Tell me...that you like it...yeah..."
Hayley, Saga, and Kirsty sang their individual parts, joining in for the chorus, all the while posing and gesturing like three gangsta rappers. And when the "panting" part in the song came, Kirsty must have choked on a mouthful of wine cooler because she began coughing instead. Hayley and Saga didn't miss a beat and simply pounded Kirsty on the back in time with the music.
Lindsey couldn't breathe she was laughing so hard.
Jared shook his head. "Your friends are crazy."
Lindsey pointed her near-empty wine cooler bottle at him. "You like them don't you?"
"They make you laugh. You have a beautiful smile. You should smile more often."
For the second time that day, Lindsey felt herself blush.
Jared's eyes didn't stray. "Are you seeing anyone?"
Lindsey nodded her head. "I kinda have a boyfriend. Ethan."
"So, where is this Ethan-I-don't-have-a-brain-I-should-be-here-with-my-beautiful-girlfriend?"
Lindsey smiled. "C'mon, it's not like that. He just couldn't be here tonight, that's all."
"That's all? Wow. If you were my girlfriend, I'd be parked right here every night."
Lindsey felt the night spin a little. She couldn't remember how many wine coolers she'd had, but Jared was definitely saying all the right things.
An explosion of cheers erupted in the distance. The horseshoe tournament must have ended because the terrace quickly became mobbed with guests hungry for Maria's kabobs. With them came the throbbing beat of "Disco Inferno." Hayley, Saga, and Kirsty continued to keep Lindsey in stitches as they tried to spell DISCO with their arms, in the manner of "YMCA," and were not doing a very good job at it.
"And the winner of this year's Richmond Fourth of J
uly Fireworks Lawn Party Horseshoe Tourney is...drumroll please...our esteemed and honorable Mayor of Pomfret, Tom Bankitis." Lindsey's mother handed a bow-tied bottle of Chivas to the mayor. A healthy round of applause followed. "At this time I'd like everyone to grab their food, their drinks — each other — and turn their attention toward the sky."
Widowman Stuart had been sent to kill the lights. The backyard suddenly went dark, leaving only the underwater pool lights and the tiki torches lit. Down near the edge of the pond flashlights moved like ghostly specters as the pyrotechnic team launched the first salvo. A high, rocketing screamer burst into the starlit sky overhead. More applause followed.
Lindsey stood. She slipped on her shorts and grabbed a towel and Jared's hand, "Come on, it's better from the pond."
"What?"
Lindsey led Jared down to the pond's edge and past the platform.
"How do you know where you're going?" said Jared. Lindsey didn't answer. She simply pulled him through the steamy dark to a grassy hill on the opposite side of the pond, where she laid the towel down for them to sit on. They were just in time to watch the next rocket whoosh into the air. It exploded directly overhead, showering them with cinders.
"Isn't this a little dangerous?" said Jared.
"Shhh...Just watch."
A volley of smaller rockets followed, each exploding in rapid succession. Red stems with white blossoms. Lindsey sat with her knees held to her chest, her chin resting on her kneecaps. She looked like a child.
"She never turns off the music," Lindsey said in between rockets. "When my dad was alive it was totally quiet, except for the fireworks. When I was little I used to sit on his shoulders and after every whoosh, whistle and crackle he would say, 'Hear that?' They told me I freaked out the very first time and started screaming, 'The sky is falling.' I must have been real little."
"Looks like you got over it," Jared said.
Lindsey kept her eyes on the sky.
Another series of colored bursts lit up the night. Comets, halos and bridal veils. Their reflections were mirrored in the pond's surface. Most of the cinders burned out before hitting the ground, but some landed close by. Lindsey felt Jared nuzzle against her as a piece of smoking rocket shell landed within several feet.
Another rocket cut into the night —
Hear that?
— and opened up a bleeding heart.
"Beautiful," said Jared.
Lindsey turned and Jared was looking at her. His deep blue eyes and his disarming smile were so close, so within reach. In fact, she felt him reach up and slip his hand behind her neck. He pulled her toward him. At that moment Lindsey wanted so much to receive that kiss, to just let go and let whatever happened happen, but an image of Ethan suddenly entered her mind. The image was not from a past experience or from a photograph; she was sure of it. The image was of Ethan standing before a wall of flames, the look on his face one of utter desperation and fear.
Jared's lips had barely grazed her when she pulled away. She stared at Jared as if he were a stranger, then got to her feet and ran off.
"Lindsey, wait!" Jared called after her.
She was running from the image as much as she was running from Jared. She didn't know what the image meant and it scared her. Jared caught up to her by the canopy on the lawn.
"I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."
"That's right, you shouldn't have. I told you I have a boyfriend."
"Some boyfriend."
"And what's that supposed to mean? He's not here, so I should cheat on him?"
Jared shrugged his shoulders.
"You know, you guys are all the same. You see something you want and you just think you can reach out and take it. Well, I'm not that way."
"Okay, whatever. I think I should leave."
"Yes, I think you should."
Jared's tone turned angry. "You know, your mother was right."
"My mother? Right about what?"
"She said you were crazy. She said you were throwing your life away over some loser, and you wouldn't know a good thing if it stared you in the face."
Lindsey slapped him then. Hard. So hard her hand stung.
Jared rubbed his cheek and laughed. He grabbed an unopened bottle of champagne off the table and turned it toward the light. "1998...a good year. At least the evening wasn't a total waste. Enjoy your stupid fireworks." He then stormed off toward the pool to get his things.
Lindsey stared at the people gathered on the terrace whose attentions were focused on the sky. All appeared oblivious to what had just happened. All except her mother, who was looking her way. Even from a distance, Lindsey detected a subtle shake of her mother's head.
"Fire" by the Ohio Players burst through the speakers and it sent a chill across Lindsey's skin. She pulled her cell phone from her pants pocket and called Ethan's number. It went directly to voice mail. "I miss you," she said, before folding the phone shut.
She thought about her father and how much she missed him. She found herself wondering why the men in her life were never there when she needed them most.
She leaned against the canopy and watched stardust fall from the sky, as tears fell from her eyes.
Ethan had reached his goal and had found a level spot at the base of a large stone outcropping to camp for the night. After a dinner of cold chicken and canned fruit, he now sat watching the embers in the fire burn. The crackle of their demise matched the static coming from the wires overhead.
The power line stanchions loomed like obelisks in the night and appeared connected by silvery strands spun by an immense spider. In the far distance he saw tiny bursts of color and heard the faint pops of private July 4th celebrations. He wondered if any of those he saw were over Lindsey's home. He pictured her face and smiled. It was odd, but even though she was miles away, he felt a certain connection to her that made it feel like they never far apart. If there were such things as wormholes in space maybe love was the only thing that could travel through them.
Ethan laid back and stared up at the stars. He opened his cell phone. Still no signal. On the cell phone screen the tiny satellite rotated and rotated, forever searching. He held the phone out in front of him until the satellite became part of the stars in the night sky. With a few button clicks, he switched his current screensaver to the picture of Lindsey he had taken that morning by the roadside. She looked at him, her eyes trying to understand. "Good night, Lindsay," he said aloud, hoping she would hear him.
He closed the cell phone and tucked it into the backpack. He then closed his eyes and let the hum of the power lines and the hum of his own fatigue wind him down, draw him toward sleep. He felt the cool air brush against his cheeks. From space he was nothing but a spec against the vast landscape of the planet, but he felt like he was a part of it all, part of the universal consciousness where animal and shrub and even stone played its infinitesimal role. The heaviness of his being lightened until it felt as if he were barely there at all. Sleep had come to tuck him in at last, but quickly retreated as the ground beneath him shook and a deafening roar filled the night.
Ethan sat up, his heart pounding. A large black shadow scraped the sky directly overhead. Tiny white lights blinked as the sound became more identifiable, the object more concrete.
Ethan watched the low-flying military transport plane shrink as it flew off in the distance. It slowly banked and then disappeared from view altogether. At last, he lay back. As he closed his eyes he wondered what other surprises this trip had in store for him.
10
Pike checked the bank of monitors to see where the chute had landed. Triggered by a motion detector, outdoor spotlight #5 was on. Pike spotted the crumpled chute. He left the monitors and walked down a narrow hallway that led to a set of concrete steps. On the wall hung a hunter's vest. Also on the wall: a rifle. He donned the vest and grabbed the rifle. He entered the five-digit code into the keypad that released the bulkhead doors. When he stepped out into the night a nearby spotlight automatically
switched on, bathing him in yellow incandescence. He closed the bulkhead doors and keyed the lock. The #5 spotlight had since blinked off, but Pike knew the top of the ridge as well by night as he did by day. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and hiked toward the chute.
The night drops were generally on target. Only once did the chute come down outside the facility perimeter and Pike had to wait until morning to find the chute hung up in a large pine, his supplies suspended twenty feet in the air.
Spotlights lit the way, blinking on as he crossed into their photo-sensitive path. The rifle was for any circumstances that might arise. An encounter with a wild animal. An encounter with another person. His well-being and the facility's secrecy needed to be protected.
The chute lay draped over clot of elderberry bushes. Pike quickly collected the chute and stuffed it into the compartment on top of the cargo case. He hefted the case onto his shoulder and headed back inside, the spotlights clicking off in his wake.
After storing the supplies, Pike decided to look in on Pit #3 to see how his latest charge was doing. He stared at what he saw, fascinated by the unexpected result.
Blood painted the floor of the pit with artistic strokes and splotches. The cougar leaped about, playfully tossing what appeared to be a furry cat toy in the air. It pounced on the toy, adding more blood to its concrete canvas.
"Why you naughty little girl," said Pike.
He made note of the aberrant behavior.
"Subject self-mutilated, severing right front paw. Pain intercept possibly due to frequency-induced euphoria. Subject irreversibly harmed. Study terminated at 0:30 hours.
Pike observed the cougar for a final time before turning a lever below the Pit #3 monitor. Inside the pit, a panel in the far wall opened. The cougar stopped playing and darted for the opening and disappeared into the night.
"You forgot your play toy."
Pike stared at the empty black space through which the cougar had fled, as if anticipating its return. After a moment Pike turned the lever and the panel closed. He also returned the oscillation, modulation, and amplitude controls to zero. He decided against resetting the trip on the trapdoor above the pit until morning. There was no sense in catching the cougar all over again. It was best to wait until her crazed mind took her far afield.