Family Reunion

by Nicholas Sarazen

  "Okay, ma'am," whispered the deliveryman, "have it your way." When the clipboard came through the crack in the door Stephanie hesitated, then took it and read the typewritten message:

  I, Stephanie Kenyon, do hereby agree to grant an unconditional pardon to Randy Ebert, and promise to provide him the opportunity to prove his worthiness of the attentions of the aforementioned Stephanie Kenyon.

  (s) ____________________________

  Stephanie saw that the shadowy figure had thrown back its hood. She undid the chain and opened the door.

  "Randy, you jerk! Do you have any idea how scared I was?"

  In the same disguised voice, Randy continued, "Ma'am, the form. Are you going to sign?"

  "Come on Randy, I don't--"

  "Stop," he whispered, pressing his forefinger to her lips. "Don't say anything. Just kiss me."

  Even though Randy had long since fallen asleep, Stephanie was still awake, wondering why she was doing this to herself. Why wouldn't she admit that she couldn't change him? She had tried many times to discuss her feelings, but he was not one for conversation when it came to the emotional aspects of a relationship. She knew that he was probably only using her at this point, and she took no comfort in knowing that she was probably only using him as well. She wanted so much more from a relationship, and it was clear she was not getting what she wanted from Randy Ebert. The ringing of the telephone interrupted her thoughts.

  "Hello?"

  "Steph, this is Hal. I know it's late, but you wanted me to call about The Family thing. I've decided it's too risky, for you and the Trib. Sorry."

  Chapter 7

  It was raining Thursday morning when Stephanie ran her four miles. Her left knee seemed to bother her more on those rare days when it rained, and today she favored it over the last half of her course.

  She called the office and left a message for Hal that she had to pursue a few leads and wouldn't be in until Friday. She didn't want him to know what she was doing, at least not until she could come up with some new reasons why the Trib should go ahead with a series about Mother Earth's Family. She had already decided that nothing was going to stop her from doing it.

  Stephanie spent the rest of the morning working on her story on abortion clinics. Recently some of the pro-life demonstrators had put down their picket signs in favor of clubs and pipe bombs. It struck her as ironic that some of the more militant pro-lifers might even resort to killing to protect the rights of the unborn. Hal had assigned her to do a piece on the rising violence and she wanted to finish it so she could devote all her energy to the story on The Family.

  After lunch Stephanie thought of questions she would ask former Family members. She wondered how they would respond to her. There were skeletons in everyone's closet, but a close link with Mother Earth would be something most people would not want to discuss. She found herself glancing at the clock every few minutes. At three fifteen she changed back into her running shoes, grabbed her notebook, and set out for Xeno's cabin.

  Her nerves had been taut the first time she had driven to Xeno's hideaway, but today she found herself surprisingly relaxed. She remembered how to get to the cabin, but she took out her cassette recorder just to listen one more time to Weasel's description of the landmarks. She switched it on but the batteries were apparently dead. She took out the tape, slipped it into the cassette deck in her dash, and rewound it to the beginning. When Weasel's voice started describing his first encounter with Xeno and the death of Lonesome Lou, his graphic narrative made her think about what fate might await her down the road.

  It was four twenty-two. She would arrive at Xeno's cabin later than planned, but she'd still have enough time if Xeno was out cruising or whatever he did between the hours of four and six. For the third time she looked over her shoulder to make sure she had not forgotten the five-gallon gas can. She knew the motorist-in-distress story was shaky but she had been unable to come up with anything better. She started to look for the rock cliff with the protruding drain pipe. She couldn't help wondering what Xeno would do if he caught her inside his cabin with the book.

  Stephanie hoped she would not have another Good Samaritan stop to help her. She slowed down and the car that only seconds before had been a speck in her rearview mirror sped around her. As she coasted onto the shoulder she popped the hood latch. She started to check her hair in the mirror, then realized that no one was going to see her. Or so she hoped. She grabbed the gas can and her purse and scrambled out of the car. She raised the hood and propped it up. After two more cars passed she left the highway and started up the dirt path.

  It was a gorgeous day and as Stephanie inhaled the scent of the wild flowers and listened to the birds sing she wondered how anyone who surrounded himself with such beauty could be so evil. The giant conifers created a natural big top under which a troupe of ground squirrels vied for her attention. The trees and underbrush were alive with sounds and she found it odd because there had been nothing but silence the first time she had walked the path. It was a lovely setting and it brought back memories of the long walks in the woods with her father the summer her mother died. He could identify every type of flora, and he had often spent time teaching her the names. But that summer there were no lectures or lessons, just a father and daughter holding hands, walking through the woods, and being there for each other.

  She checked the time--it was four fifty-eight--and started to walk faster, now sorry that she had gotten a late start. It struck her that if Xeno strayed at all from his schedule it would have been better for her to run into him when she was walking toward the cabin with a gas can in her hand than to face him as she walked away from the cabin with the book.

  Stephanie looked down at the path and for the first time realized it bore no tire tracks. The dirt was firmly packed and did not show her footprints, but surely a vehicle would be heavy enough to make an impression--or would it? How did Xeno get from place to place? There were countless questions but very few answers.

  Stephanie made the final bend in the path and saw the cabin. She stopped and listened for a moment, but there were no sounds coming from inside.

  "Hello? Is anyone home?" She found the sound of her own voice--quavering, unfamiliar--to be unsettling. "Can you help me? I ran out of gas." The only reply was the cry of a mourning dove overhead. She approached the cabin, her eyes searching for any movement. After knocking twice and waiting, she turned the doorknob and gave a gentle nudge. The sunlight formed a long white rectangle on the cabin floor.

  Everything was just as she had remembered--the small propane stove, ice chest, couch, coffee table, the locker with the padlock. She stood in the doorway, motionless. She knew the moment she put down the gas can and entered the cabin there would be no turning back, no alibi to offer. The can made a muffled metallic echo as she set it on the floor.

  Stephanie had focused on the book the first time she was there and it was only now that she realized how stark the cabin really was. She walked to the ice chest to see what it held. Empty. She turned a knob on the stove, but it failed to produce the anticipated hiss--the propane tank was apparently drained. There wasn't one thing to eat anywhere in the cabin. There were no cupboards, no cooking or eating utensils. She looked around for light switches and electrical outlets. None. There wasn't even a single candle. She took the orange hunting jacket from the nail and looked at it closely. It was a size 46. The pockets were empty. She sniffed it but couldn't pick up a smell other than that of the newness of the material. She walked over to the couch and sat on it, bouncing up and down several times. She got on her knees and peered under it and then ran her hand behind the cushions.

  "Ow!" she cried out. Stephanie jerked her hand from the cushions. There was a pine needle lodged under her fingernail. As she pulled it out a thin red line formed along the quick. She put her finger into her mouth and bit down.

  A pair of hunting boots in the corner caught her eye. They looked and smelled brand new. She picked up the right boot, a size 14. The mental
image she now had of Xeno was even more frightening. She moved to the locker. Why was it padlocked? What did it conceal? She tugged at the lock and for an instant it seemed to give way. She pounded on the front panel but couldn't tell from the hollow echoes inside if it contained anything. She bent down and inspected the arc-like scratches on the floor at the base of the locker.

  Suddenly the room darkened. Stephanie held her breath and slowly turned toward the doorway, fully expecting to be face to face with Xeno. It was only a cloud passing overhead. Seconds later the sunlight once again streamed through the open doorway. Still, the icy feeling stayed with her, so she abandoned her snooping to concentrate on getting the book and leaving before Xeno returned.

  She went straight to the wall and reached overhead to remove the planks. The book showed no signs of having been disturbed since her first visit on Tuesday. She set it on the table and put back the planks, even though it mattered little now. She wanted to flip through the book to see if she could find any new entries but first she checked her watch. It still read four fifty-eight! That meant it must have been later than four fifty-eight when she was still on the path. She tried to think how long the trip had taken, how long she had been in the cabin. She was too terrified to piece it all together. All she could think about was Xeno coming up the path.

  She tucked the book under her right arm and picked up her purse. At the door she grabbed the gas can. As she started down the path she noticed that the woods had become silent. The only noise was the squeaking of the handle on the gas can and her shallow gasps of air. With each bend in the twisting path she was afraid she would confront Xeno, wild-eyed and crazed when he saw the plunder she now possessed. In her haste she didn't see the root that stuck up from the path like a stirrup. When her left foot caught the root her ankle turned. A sharp, searing pain shot through her bad knee, causing it to buckle. She pitched forward and the gas can flew from her grasp. She turned in midair, landing on her left shoulder. Over and over she rolled. The gas can bounced down the slope and into the underbrush. Dazed, Stephanie sat on the path for several seconds, then struggled to her feet. Her blouse was torn, her shoulder scraped and bleeding. She could hardly bear to put any weight on her left leg. She limped and hopped, wincing every time her foot touched the ground. In her pain the path became an endless passage in a maze. Just when she felt she could walk no more she reached the edge of the woods and the safety of the road and her car.

  She put the book on the front seat and hobbled around to lower the hood. Trembling, she got into the car, rolled up the windows, and locked the doors. She sat back and let out a long sigh. She looked down and saw she had left the cassette with Weasel's directions in her tape deck. Smart, Kenyon. She turned the key in the ignition. The engine kept turning over but would not catch. Damn you, Randy! She frantically pumped the accelerator. Again her efforts failed. She pounded the steering wheel. Her watch still read four fifty-eight. She felt trapped, helpless. There wasn't a car in either direction. She had no idea what time it was and no idea when Xeno would arrive. She knew she couldn't flag someone down for assistance--what if it were Xeno and he saw the book? In her rearview mirror she spotted a truck. As it got closer she saw that it was a battered, rusting pickup, the sort of vehicle she thought Xeno might drive. She closed her eyes, mouthed a silent prayer, and again turned the key. This time the engine came alive. Thank you! She floored the accelerator, made a screeching u-turn, and raced back toward more familiar territory.

  Chapter 8

  Hal looked surprised when he opened the front door of his apartment. "Stephanie! What on earth happened to you?"

  "It's just a scrape." Stephanie brushed more of the dirt from her torn blouse. Her hand came away with small streaks of blood. "Hal, we need to talk." She waited a moment. "Are you going to invite me in?"

  "Of course. I'm sorry, I just can't get over the way you look. Come in."

  They walked into the kitchen where he pulled out a chair for her. He grabbed two cans of Cherry Coke from the refrigerator and set one in front of her.

  "Now what the hell happened to you?" Hal asked.

  Stephanie placed the book on the table and turned it around so the two words on the cover were facing Hal. He looked at her.

  "This is it?" he asked. She nodded. "Is that what happened? Did you have a run-in with that Xeno guy?"

  "No, there was no one there. I just tripped and fell, that's all." She pushed the book closer to him. "Look at it, Hal. It's everything I said it was."

  Hal turned a few pages. "You shouldn't have done this, Steph."

  "Why not? I told you, there's not even a lock on the door. That's where he keeps the book, but I'm sure that's not where he lives. That's national forest up there anyway, so it's probably just an abandoned cabin that someone used for who knows what. The point is, Hal, I didn't break into anyplace or steal anything from anyone. I happened to borrow something which I'll return...somehow. So I now have exactly what I need to start a story on The Family. And don't tell me that it's too controversial for the Trib. We cover things hotter than this all the time."

  Hal lit a cigarette. He closed his eyes and took such a deep drag his thin cheeks caved inward. He exhaled the smoke in a long, slow stream that rose lazily to the mandarin cut glass light that hung over the kitchen table. Stephanie watched him unconsciously run a finger up the bridge of his nose as if to push his glasses into place, even though he hadn't worn them since he had gotten his contacts.

  "I'll be honest with you, Steph. You've got a great idea. I've felt that way since you first brought it up. But anything about Mother Earth would be very, very controversial. You didn't live here back then. People ran out and bought guns left and right. I even bought one, and you know how I feel about guns. For a month no one knew who did it or why. L.A. was in a state of panic. People don't forget those emotions. I'm just afraid that if I let you do it and it doesn't go over the right way, I'd be the one held accountable."

  "You'd avoid a story like this because you're afraid of a little heat?"

  "It could be more than a little heat. And if the wrong people got upset, I'd never get the City Editor job."

  Stephanie's jaw dropped. "Are you listening to yourself? Hal, there are journalists serving time in jail for contempt of court. That's heat. We're only talking about some pressure from advertisers. If that's the way you feel about taking chances, you don't deserve to be City Editor." She got up to leave.

  "Wait a minute," Hal said. He sat in silence, seemingly stunned by Stephanie's words. He took a drink of his Cherry Coke and kept it in his mouth for awhile before swallowing. His face was blank. "I guess I had that coming."

  Stephanie waited for an answer. A different answer.

  Hal raised his hands in surrender. "Go ahead and do the damn story."

  Chapter 9

  It was seven thirty when Stephanie stood at the wall phone in her kitchen. She had hesitated making the call, but she knew she had to tell him.

  "Weasel's summer home. Some're home and some're not." He giggled. "Who's this?"

  "Hi, Weasel. I didn't expect you to answer."

  "Miss Stephanie, how are you doing? I answer the phone a lot when Colonel Willis or nobody else can. I'm glad you called. I was just tellin' one of the guys here that I got me a real important friend, but I wouldn't tell him who it was. Said it was for me to know and for him to find out."

  "Weasel, I know it's a bit late, but do you have any plans for tonight?"

  "I'm not doin' nothin. Why?"

  "We need to talk, but I'd rather it not be over the phone. Can I pick you up in about half an hour?"

  "I'll meet you at our usual place, in front of the drugstore. There's nothin' wrong, is there?"

  The concern in Weasel's voice only added to the guilt she was now feeling. "No, everything's fine. See you in a little bit."

  Stephanie unlocked the door and Weasel climbed in.

  "Hi, Miss Stephanie. Want some?" He offered a strand of red rope licorice.

&nb
sp; "No, thanks, Weasel."

  "Did you know that licorice stays in your stomach forever? It does, but I eat it anyway." When he grinned Stephanie could see some of the candy stuck to his front teeth. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

  "Let's wait until we get back to my place."

  Stephanie took the Hollywood Freeway and got off on Santa Monica. As they began to pass Hollywood Memorial Park Cemetery, Weasel asked, "Hey, Miss Stephanie, do you know how many dead people are in there?"

  "All of them," she replied. "That's an old one, Weasel."

  "No, there's 7,483. At least there was when I counted them last year."

  "You're kidding. Why would you do that?"

  "I just wanted to know. Besides, I didn't have nothin' better to do that day."

  "Weasel, you amaze me," she said. "I never know what to expect from you."

  As they drove on, Weasel pointed out other landmarks as if he were a tour guide. He told Stephanie he sometimes drove the Severman House station wagon to pick up donated items and that those errands took him all over the city. As they neared her apartment Weasel took great interest in the neighborhood. Magnificent homes lined both sides of the boulevard.

  "Wow," he said. "You live around here?"

  "Yes, but don't be too impressed. I could never own one of these places. I live in a glorified garage."

  "I bet you'll live in one of these big houses someday, Miss Stephanie. You're real smart and smart people get rich."

  "Thanks, but I could never afford one of these places on my salary."

  "You like bein' a reporter?" Weasel asked.

  "I love it. My boss isn't looking over my shoulder all the time, so I have a lot of freedom to do what I want. My hours are flexible, I get to travel, and I have a chance to meet a lot of interesting people. Like you." She smiled at him. "But most of all, I feel that what I do means something. I'm helping the public by seeing that they get the truth. No matter what it takes."