Of Salt and Sand

by Barnes, Michael

  And that’s just what she did.

  “Miss Henington?” The most senior of the three men held out a hand.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Scott Poulson. As the good Sergeant Bench has said, we represent Mrs. Gracie Reitman, and her company, Reitman Enterprises. We understand that you may need legal advice. We are here to offer whatever assistance we can. Mrs. Reitman was most adamant about the care and release of Jessie and Sam.”

  Teresa was dumbfounded. She didn’t quite know what to say. This was completely unexpected, and unorthodox. “I think we’re fine, actually,” she managed. “My understanding, Mr. Poulson, was that I would be calling Mrs. Reitman back and updating her of the situation.”

  “Yes. She understood your arrangement, but she also thought you might require some additional assistance,” Poulson replied. He pulled a letter out of his coat pocket. “I have authorization from the DCFS to act in your behalf.”

  “To what!” Teresa didn’t mean to shout. “How did you get that?”

  The man deflected the question like a bug on a windshield. “We are also authorized to cover any and all costs which may have accrued due to these circumstances; and to provide legal counsel as deemed necessary.”

  Teresa gawked from one manicured face to the other. These guys were serious!

  “Miss Henington. Might we hurry things along. We have a car waiting to take the Goodwin’s to Sandcastle Estate.”

  “To—! Oh no you don’t!” she stammered. “Mr. Poulson. I can’t just allow you to take the kids. Surely you understand that there are protocols that must be followed. The State of Utah has very specific policies on this. These two kids just can’t be released on a whim. Firstly, a representative from our agency must make a thorough check of the premises in question. I’m sure the Reitman Estate will check out, but a visit to the residence, and a corollary sign off, are absolutely essential! Not to mention background checks, medical records, financial status—”

  Mr. Poulson appeared unruffled and stoic. He did blink a few times.

  “—there is an entire gamut of criterion which must be met,” Teresa aimed a loaded finger. “I’m shocked that you would suggest such a compromise.”

  He finally nodded, as though a robot, like he didn’t hear anything she said. Again, he reached in his coat pocket—the man’s pockets were like a magician’s hat! “Yes. You are quite right. Here are the documents you need. As you can see, they are all in order . . . signed and completely within the law.”

  “But . . . but!” she gasped. She yanked the documents from his hand and glanced quickly at them. “How did you—?”

  “As I said, you will find that everything is in order. Now, if you don’t mind, Miss Henington, we would like to get going.”

  “But I do mind!” Teresa stomped. “No one’s moving an inch until I call my supervisor. Mr. Poulson, this is extremely heretical.”

  “Perhaps, Miss Henington. But legal. Absolutely legal.”

  “Hmm!” she snorted. She glared from Sergeant Bench to Poulson and back again.

  The Sergeant just shrugged. “There’s no place else for them to stay the night. They might as well go.”

  Oh, he’s a lot of help, she thought. A real advocate! Teresa sighed, she wasn’t giving in, yet. “Give me five minutes. I’m calling Sara.”

  The phone call lasted less than thirty seconds, and when she shoved her phone back in her pocket, she still looked very aggravated. “Okay,” Teresa finally acquiesced, hands in the air. “It seems this comes right from the top.” She shook her head in aggravation. “Sara said that the Governor was even involved.”

  “Yes mam,” replied Mr. Poulson.

  “You could have mentioned that.” Teresa eyed him, frankly.

  “I felt that we were already pushing you to the edge,” he added with a cynical smile.

  “That and beyond,” she muttered under her breath. This was certainly an education. “I am still required to accompany the children to Sandcastle . . . tonight, however. And after that, I will be visiting the residence twice a week. Twice a week,” she emphasized. “That much was not circumvented, Mr. President,” she parodied.

  Poulson nearly laughed. Nearly. “It will be a pleasure to have you along. Shall we go?”

  She shrugged and snorted obstinately one last time. “Fine. Let’s go, then. I’ll follow in my own car,” she stated, tossing him a glare. “I want to arrive alive,” she mumbled.

  “Works for us.”

  Jessie and Sam had been sitting nervously in the room, and had watched the lip-action of the entire exchange through the glass. It had been obvious that some kind of altercation was taking place between the nice Miss Henington from the DCFS, and the man in the fancy suit from . . . wherever he was from. At least now they seemed to be at ease with each other. That was a good sign.

  Sergeant Bench opened the door and peered in. “Let’s go kids,” he said, his voice more pleasant than it had been the entire evening.

  Jessie looked at her brother and smiled. Then she took his hand and they followed Sergeant Bench from the room.

  “It looks like you two are heading to Sandcastle tonight,” said Teresa. “Are you still okay with that?”

  Jessie nodded. “Hey, it’s a place to sleep.” She turned to Sam. “We good, Little Bro?”

  The boy swallowed, then nodded back. He still looked frightened and unsure, but his hand was clasped tightly to his sister, and it seemed that as long as this grip was in place, he was content.

  “Mrs. Reitman has sent a car. You can ride with these three gentlemen or with me. It is completely up to you.”

  “What about our stuff?” Jessie asked.

  “I will pick up all of your personal belongings and get them to you by tomorrow afternoon. Agreed?”

  “Agreed. Thanks for doing that,” Jessie said. Then with a pause, she glanced up again and mumbled “in fact. Thanks for everything.”

  “Oh you’re not done with me quite yet,” Teresa pitched back with a smile. “The law requires that I visit you twice a week for the first month or so.”

  Jessie smiled. “Good. I think I’ll look forward to that.”

  “Sure you will,” Teresa chuckled facetiously. “Let’s get going then,” she said, and with hand on arm, steered the two toward the exit.

  “We’ll drive with you, if that’s alright,” Jessie said, as the three of them stepped out and down the steps toward the darkened street. The streetlights cast their orange hue in small pools of light, and the light from the station’s front entrance illuminated the sidewalk and area just ahead of them.

  “This way,” said Teresa, pointing them toward her white Honda Civic parked against the curb. Jessie turned and reached for Sam’s shoulder, but the boy had stopped several steps back.

  “Come on,” she hurried. Then she spotted what her brother had caught in a glance. “Whoa!” she gasped, “a limousine!”

  There at the curb, Mr. Poulson stood, along with his constitutes, next to a large, dark limousine, its door alluringly open. “Are you going with us or with Miss Henington?” the man asked, matter-of-factly.

  “Um . . . with you?” Jessie blurted out. She turned toward Teresa. “Sorry” she whispered over her shoulder. “I’ve never ridden in one of those babies before. Do you mind?”

  Teresa snickered. “Do I mind? Girl, I’d join you and take my Honda in tow if they’d let me. Come on,” she said, routing the two toward the opulent car. “I guess they’re with you, Mr. Poulson.”

  He nodded. “Very well. Hop in.”

  Jessie slid in first, then Sam.

  Poulson shut their door then moved to the front of the car and opened his own. “There’s room for you, Miss Henington,” he tempted with a sweeping gesture.

  “Hmm.” Teresa threw her head back and whirled on her heels. “Just don’t you try and lose me,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Then keep up.” Poulson replied, wryly. He grinned mischievously.

  In the next sec
onds, the limousine started up with a deep purr of the motor.

  Teresa hurried to her own car and got in. “Keep up,” she steamed. She started her own motor and revved it much louder than usual. “The arrogant a—!”

  Beep!

  Teresa jumped! The sudden horn-blast from a passing motorist caught her off guard. When she looked up again, the limousine had already pulled out. She gassed her baby and squealed out in hot pursuit. She was not going to fall behind!

  Soon, the small convoy had merged onto Interstate 15 and were heading west. It would be at least two-hours before the secluded exit which would then take them far into the west’s salty desert—the mysterious domain of Sandcastle. The kids would probably sleep most of the way. Probably.

  Chapter 31:

  It was nearly dawn when the limousine turned off the interstate and onto what seemed to be an endless asphalt line running west on a bleached horizon. Behind it, following perhaps a little too close, was a white Honda Accord. Road dust and sand, flipped up by the limo, pelted the trailing car, but Teresa would not be intimidated by a little dirt. She was determined to—what was it Mr. Poulson had said? Keep up?

  The group drove for several more long miles before finally rolling to a halt at the base of a large steel gate. The barricade drew itself dauntingly across the road. Supporting the bulwark on both ends were tall, heavy-squared supports; and to these, a formidable wire-mesh fence—topped with barbed-tipped coils—ran in opposite directions far into the distance. Above the gate was a single word lettered meticulously in metal script: Sandcastle. Attached to the fence below, was a series of evenly placed signs—midway up—which ran the entire length of the mesh. The wording read: Private Property, No Trespassing, Violators will be Prosecuted.

  Not exactly a friendly invitation, thought Teresa. But then again, signs like these were often posted on private land, especially remote land which could easily be encroached upon without the owner being aware. And since Utah’s deserts were often used for illegal night-hunting—mostly poachers spotlighting for rabbits—it made perfect sense.

  The obelisk-shaped supports also held an assortment of powerful spotlights—which fortunately had turned off in the emerging light of dawn—as well as a bank of cameras. The probing lenses were placed in such a manner as to cover every inch of the junction. These, like the many eyes of some concealed desert arachnid, now leveled themselves at the group.

  As Teresa pulled behind the idling limo, Mr. Poulson had already exited the vehicle and was standing, brandishing his ID toward one of the larger cameras. The gate suddenly groaned with effort, and drew itself slowly open on recessed tracks. The vehicles headed quickly through what was to be the first of several, even more daunting, barricades.

  There were three—Teresa counted—additional, and equally impassable, checkpoints. She was astounded by the security, and the cost of such an impenetrable system. She could only wonder what drove individuals to such a state of seclusion. Was it to escape the populous of thousands, and the uncertainty of a changing world? Was it to hide something away; a dark secret or past event? Was it as simple as the fear of interacting with others? She could only assume that whatever the reason, this family—a mother and son duo—were not your average homegrown pair.

  In her pondering, Teresa hadn’t noticed that the dust and rocks which had pelted her car, had mysteriously stopped at the last gate. Then, looking out at the roadway more clearly, she realized why. The paving on the road had changed from the grimy asphalt to something else. Was it cobblestones? No. These were somehow different. The stones had an almost shiny, ceramic surface, and were festooned in bright colorful designs. The unique alignment made the road seem strangely smooth. Again, Teresa focused, not necessarily on the unusual engineering and beauty of the strange surface, but on the cost. “Unbelievable,” she whispered. She also noted—as if the road’s veneer wasn’t enough—a series of arrow-shaped patterns proportionally placed in a direct line at the center of the road. They were all pointing forward in the direction of the estate and were made, not of ceramic or clay, but of something else? Was it desert topaz? Yes! It was topaz! “Gads!” she amended.

  Finally, the silhouette of a fantastic structure began to form in the distance. At first, only it’s spirals and high arches peered above the crested horizon. Then, as though a great ship sailing toward land, more of the structures appeared, until, like some futuristic castle on another world, it was there!

  Teresa had viewed images of the estate online—all photographed from a distance of course—but nothing could have prepared her for this. The bleached sand benches that had paralleled the road through most of the drive now gave way to lush green foliage of all kinds: flowering bushes and trees; assorted wildflowers to pale even the gardens of Salt Lake City’s Temple Square; and thick, bejeweled ground-covering which spread out like dark emerald paint, climbing right to the road’s edge. How on earth did they get these things to grow clear out here, she wondered. And then, just ahead, there it was: the great rock perimeter wall! The thick, steel gate had already opened up to them, and within was the courtyard of Sandcastle Estate.

  If the outside greenery was impressive, the inside yard was nothing less than spectacular, and for a moment, Teresa actually paused and considered parking her car outside and walking in . . . the courtyard just seemed too perfect to drive a vehicle on. But when the limo sped through the gate, she followed.

  The topaz drive formed a large circle whose inner circumference enclosed a fabulous center garden of manicured greenery; mostly flowers, but also plenty of heavy-leafed hedging of all varieties. Situated among these were lifelike clusters of towering statues—Greek perhaps? or maybe Byzantine? Teresa didn’t really know. And at the center of the garden was the yard’s crown jewel: a fantastic fountain in the form of a school of playing dolphin. It was massive in size, and must have contained as much water as a small lake. It portrayed the ocean mammals jumping, twirling and spinning—all seemed to have been captured in time, solidified in their white marble forms.

  Near to the house, the driveway opened up into a large decorated patio punctuated by the most exquisite outdoor furnishings Teresa had ever seen. And behind these, a high-bricked support wall which tiered down in multiple layers, each covered in plants and accommodating cascades of flowing waterfalls. The pathway connected to a wide arcade which ran off to one side. It was capped in green vine and lined with more lavish décor. From there, granite steps led upwards to a great, yawning doorway, whose deep arched eaves above displayed meticulously carved ornaments. On either side of the rising steps were columns of lavishly painted vase planters—taller than a man—each with flowers spilling down their necks.

  For a time, the group just stood outside the vehicles gawking at the surroundings.

  Jessie and Sam were speechless. They still couldn’t help but question the outcome of this advent. It just came upon them so quickly. One moment they had no one, not even a place to spend the night; and the next, they found themselves akin to one of the wealthiest women in the world? This wasn’t how life worked. Things like this only happened in stories, fables and tales. It was no wonder then, that Jessie couldn’t shake the feeling that things just weren’t as they seemed. But for now, she was overwhelmed, like everyone else, and until she figured it all out, she’d go with the flow. She’d be the Alice in this desert wonderland.

  “What do you think?” called Teresa, shutting her car door. She walked briskly and soon joined the kids.

  Interestingly, only Mr. Poulson had exited the limo and stood just outside his opened door as if waiting for further instructions before proceeding. “Here’s where we leave you,” he spoke practically. “Our task is complete. The children have been delivered safely.”

  Teresa stopped short. “What?” she replied, shaking her head, then laughed sarcastically. “Just like that, and you’re out-of-here? You’re not even going to walk us up the steps?”

  Her sarcasm bounced off the man with little effect. He did, howe
ver, allow a subtle curve on his otherwise straight lips. “Our instructions were explicit. We were to aid in the release and safe delivery of Jessie and Sam Goodwin, then exit the premises.” He turned and coughed once. “So no, Miss Henington. We will not be walking you up the stairs. Sorry.” He glanced momentarily at the rising granite steps now sparkling in the morning sunlight, checked his watch, then smiled and held out his hand. “It was a pleasure.”

  Teresa’s mouth was still open, just slightly, but she reached and shook his hand all the same. “Can I call on you if I ever need some tough legal muscle?” she joked, despite herself.

  The man grinned—finally some emotion, she noted. “Oh my dear Miss Henington. I’m afraid you could never afford us.” Then with a wink, Mr. Poulson was back in the limousine . . . and gone.

  Teresa shook off her dazed exterior and focused instead on the matter at hand, which was the kids. “Well,” she said in a more pleasing tone. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m getting very sleepy. How about we get you settled in.”

  Jessie nodded, still too rattled to say much. She didn’t know whether it was nerves, or something else that had firmly set itself in the pit of her stomach.

  Sam on the other hand, seemed to have found his voice. He had let out a cool! several times since getting out of the car. His eyes were as wide as plates and Teresa thought it was nice to see that the color and features of a happy child had returned to that dejected, characterless face of a few hours prior.

  The three headed up the steps—there weren’t many—and soon found themselves in front of a very large door. It was wider and certainly taller than your average front door, Teresa noted. Not that she normally noticed these things, but this door was unique in several ways: the metal exterior, which appeared be solid stainless steel, had been etched in some kind of strange geometric designs. And then as if on cue, the sunlight—which had been to their backs—suddenly touched upon the aperture, and it exploded in a rainbow of images which danced and reflected nearly the length of the steps.