Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  It was not until Rebecca was on her own street in Cottonwood with her house in sight, that she felt comfortable enough to turn her head and look behind her. The street was empty. She continued to pedal hard until she was on her own driveway. She pulled up to the garage and quickly punched in the security code for the garage door. Glancing once more out at the dark empty street, she pushed her bike inside and leaned it against the wall next to her car. She hurried toward the door leading into the house and tapped a button near the doorframe, and the garage door began to lower. She opened the door to the house, stepped into the dark kitchen, and immediately flipped on a wall switch to her left, and then turned around and locked the deadbolt on the door she’d just entered.

  With her heart still pounding, she moved swiftly around a small table to the sliding glass door leading to the patio, slid it shut and turned its latch. She gave the handle on the sliding door a few hard tugs, realizing it had been years—if ever—since she’d locked the door. On the second tug, the door popped back open. She slid the door shut again, using more force than the first time, reset the latch, and gave it another series of hard tugs. This time the latch held.

  Rebecca turned and raced from the kitchen, through the living room, and to the front door, stopping to lock both the regular lock and the deadbolt. She then closed the drapes in the living room, picked up the wireless phone, and went into her bedroom.

  The candle in the cobalt blue holder on her bedside table was still burning. The very sight of its tiny flame lifted her heart. She lay on the bed, looking at the candle as she phoned her mother.

  Diane was at Rebecca’s house within ten minutes. They sat together on the couch in the living room as Rebecca recounted everything that had occurred with Eddie over the previous few days, including the ride home she’d just endured.

  “That boy has always bothered me, for some reason,” said Diane. “Something’s definitely wrong there, but I’ve never been able to put my finger on it. I think you simply must tell someone in a position of authority about all this—maybe Doctor Reese, or even go straight to the sheriff.”

  “First things first,” said Rebecca. “Before I talk to anyone about Eddie, I need to see Matthew. Judge Reynolds worked his magic—I plan to see Matthew first thing in the morning.”

  Diane stared at her daughter for a moment. “That’s going to be an important meeting for you. You two certainly have a lot to discuss—but, please, don’t let this issue with Eddie go unreported.”

  “If I’ve only got fifteen minutes with Matthew, it could be the most important fifteen minutes of my life.”

  “You’ve got a lot of decisions to make—that’s for certain.”

  Rebecca knew her mother well enough to understand the tone of voice she was now hearing. “I love Matthew,” began Rebecca. “The only decision I’ll have to make is whether or not I’ll be moving to Washington State—if that’s where he’s going to be taken. He’s my husband now. Whatever mistakes he might have made—we’ll face the consequences together.”

  Diane was silent for a moment, watching her daughter’s eyes. Finally, she said, “I wouldn’t want to see you leave Cottonwood—but I respect your love and dedication to your husband. I will support you—both of you—in whatever way I can. Matthew is now my son-in-law, and your fate and his fate are intertwined.”

  Rebecca moved over closer to her mother on the couch, giving her a big hug. “Thank you,” she said. “I waited my whole life for this kind of love, and though it sure could be under better circumstances, I am not going to just let it go. I trust Matthew completely. Whatever he’s done wrong, he’s going to pay for, because that’s the kind of man he is. I just hope that when he’s done paying, I’m still young enough to have his children.”

  Diane looked at Rebecca. “I didn’t know you wanted children?”

  “It’s funny, but I didn’t either, really. In fact, that sort of just came out of me this moment. But as I think about it, I realize that I do want to have children. Isn’t that odd?”

  “The right man will do that to you,” said Diane. “With the few men I dated before I met your father, I never thought of children either, as I couldn’t imagine having children with any of those men. But when I met your father, I began to think about children almost immediately. He was just the right one to bring those thoughts out.”

  Diane turned and stroked her daughter’s hair and cheek. “You’ve told us both something by thinking about having children—I wouldn’t mind being a grandmother some day.” The two smiled and hugged once more.

  Diane insisted on spending the night and Rebecca was grateful. They made popcorn, put on a movie, and sat close together on the couch. The buttery smell of the popcorn and closeness reminded both of them of years gone by, and though the movie wasn’t great, they both remembered there were other reasons to watch movies. Before the movie was over, Diane started nodding off and eventually was sound asleep. Rebecca moved from the couch and almost like a rag doll, her mother slipped down and stretched herself out. Rebecca retrieved a blanket from the hall closet and returned to the living room, where she placed it gently over her mother. She watched her mother sleep for a few moments—feeling a bit jealous—but knowing far too much had happened for her to sleep just yet.

  Rebecca took the empty popcorn bowls to the kitchen, placed them in the sink, and then stood looking out the window over the sink into the dark backyard. She knew the dark gray and black forms in the yard were the trees and shrubs she’d lovingly tended to during the light of day for so many seasons—but now they’d changed. In one night, one person’s actions had instantly made even her own backyard a place to fear, with the formerly familiar now appearing menacing. At that moment, she would have loved to have slipped outside onto her patio and enjoyed the solitude and peacefulness of the summer night—but Eddie had taken that from her, and she resented the fear he’d given in exchange.

  Instead, Rebecca retired to her bedroom. Resting on her side, she watched the small candle gently burning in the holder. Though the flame was tiny, the message it sent each hour it burned was large and exactly the message she needed at that moment. Yes, it was a message of hope, but as she stared at it, she realized it meant far more than only that—the impossible little candle spoke of something far larger than her life and her circumstances. It pointed to, hinted at, some greater reality at work—there was something alive about the flame. It was a miraculous and living connection to the very heart of an entire universe that was alive. The fact that in all the unimaginable immensity of the cosmos, the living universe would chose to comfort her through the smallest and most impossible of means, gave her a uniquely sweet and peaceful kind of joy.

  And then she thought of the one who had given her the candle. What must he know to have given such a gift?! He had been next to her—on this very bed only a few nights before—now such a distant dream…Matthew, I need you! Rebecca’s tears streamed down her face to find her pillow, but sleep would not so easily come to her.

  Sixty-Nine

  Deadzonmechanic

  His fingers moved in a rhythmic dance across the keys. His eyes, though tired, were intense. He felt he was at the very center, the axis mundi of the virtual world of the Internet. From his perspective, no one could possibly now know more than he did about the most amazing event to happen in Colorado and, perhaps, the world. In the mind of Vince Pasternack, he was the source, the expert, the Guru of the Cottonwood Dead Zone. Not only had he personally experienced the effects of the Dead Zone and taken apart a dozen vehicles looking for the cause of the mysterious phenomenon, but now, he was proud to say, he was personally involved in the official government investigation into the event.

  To anyone who knew him in the real world, Vince was a “damn good mechanic,” but as the Deadzonemechanic, he had become the self-appointed expert whose job it was to let the world know all there was to know about the events at ground zero of the Cottonwood Dead Zone. What had caused the Dead Zone? Which branches of the governm
ent were involved? Might it spread to other cities? How were the people of Cottonwood really coping with the crisis? These types of questions, and thousands of others, were just the sort that Deadzonemechanic had all the answers to, and what better way for the Guru of the Dead Zone to reach the world with those answers—than through the gospel of the Internet:

  Deadzonemechanic: This guy had some of the most sophisticated equipment I’ve ever seen. I suspect it’s probably some of the most advanced the NSA has.

  Asianknight: You mean NASA?

  Deadzonemechanic: No, the National Security Agency.

  Riddlemethis: But you said he was from the state government.

  Deadzonemechanic: That’s what he said, but that was just a cover—I’m sure of it. This guy was far too slick to be from the state government.

  Asianknight: What did you say his name was?

  SexySally: Anyone want to chat with a sexy lady tonight?

  Deadzonemechanic: Akash Mumbali, I think. Akash was definitely his first name, but I don’t recall his last.

  Riddlemethis: lol. That’s a made up name if I ever heard one.

  Asianknight: I agree. I bet you’re right DZM. He’s a spy.

  Cityboy77: Who’s a spy? Not this government conspiracy crap again!

  SexySally: I’m available for a private chat. PM me if you want to.

  Riddlemethis: Hi, City. We were talking about some investigator that DZM was working with today. He’s with the NSA. He’s spying on Cottonwood.

  Cityboy77: Oh, the NSA. Wow, right there in Cottonwood, Colorado, eh? Are you sure he wasn’t an alien?

  Asianknight: Don’t start that shit, City.

  Deadzonemechanic: I was working with him today while he was supposedly trying to “map out” the size and extent of the Dead Zone. My theory is that he was getting first-hand results on the effects and extent of the government test on Cottonwood. He was spying on us.

  Riddlemethis: What do you mean—results?

  Deadzonemechanic: Well, if the government were testing some kind of electromagnetic-pulse weapon, then they’d need to get “boots on the ground” and come out and survey the test area. It’d be too obvious if they just drove some electric jeep into town full of troops and started taking measurements and all. So they sent this Akash Mumbali, if that’s his real name, into Cottonwood as a cover, so he could take readings and check up on things. The government isn’t stupid. They know what they’re doing.

  SexySally: If no one wants to chat with me, I’m going then.

  Cityboy77: LOL! That’s right, the government isn’t stupid! Hey, they don’t give a rat’s ass about Cottonwood, Colorado. That town could dry up and blow right off the map, and they wouldn’t come in to investigate. You’re an ass and an idiot if you think the NSA has sent a spy there to take some measurements and check up on things.

  Asianknight: I warned you not to get personal, City. I’m going to report you to the chat room managers. You’re gonna get your butt kicked off.

  Riddlemethis: DZN, how does the missing blind guy you were talking about enter in to all this? Earlier you said you thought he might know something.

  Deadzonemechanic: I just figured that out today. Old Blind Carl, that’s his name, somehow heard or knew something the government didn’t want him to. Even though he was blind, I think he may have picked up some kind of message or signal because, you know, blind people have senses that normal sighted people don’t. I think his disappearance is related. The government probably snuck into town and bagged him.

  Riddlemethis: They killed the blind dude?

  Deadzonemechanic: Probably. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Blind guys don’t just up and walk out of town on their own.

  SexySally: Until tomorrow then everyone…

  CityBoy77: Crap. That’s all crap DZN. You’re just plain old nuts. I doubt you even live in Cottonwood.

  Deadzonemechanic: I don’t care if you believe me or not, City. Nobody’s forcing you to stay here. You’re free to move on anytime.

  Asianknight: Please take his advice, City…please!

  Riddlemethis: Cityboy, I have to agree. You do get too personal here a lot. I’m not trying to bust on you, but you start name calling pretty often.

  CityBoy77: Whatever—I’m out of here…for tonight anyway. Enjoy your talk with the Dead Zone nut-job.

  And so, the hours of Vince Pasternack’s virtual life continued being spent. The self-professed Guru of the Dead Zone chatted to anyone and everyone who would listen to his sermon. Though some of his virtual following hung on every word he wrote and some mocked him, either way, he enjoyed the attention and the spotlight—he loved being part of the mystery that had attracted the attention of the world and chatting with people around the global web who wanted to hear more about it. He found it increasingly difficult to remove himself from his computer. The interest in the Dead Zone seemed insatiable, and Deadzonemechanic was dedicated to trying to fill that need. Except for the day he’d bought Al’s Garage, the phenomenon of the Cottonwood Dead Zone had become the biggest event in Vince Pasternack’s life, and though his theories on the disappearance of Old Blind Carl were erroneous, he was at least correct about the missing blind man sensing things that others were incapable of.

  Seventy

  The Visitor

  Rebecca hadn’t slept at all. She knew that at least an hour must have passed by as she lay on her side staring at the candle by her bedside. She was on the verge of nodding off, when a crashing sound came from a distant part of the house. It was further away than the living room, which was right next to her bedroom. She thought at first that maybe her mother had gotten up and stumbled somewhere in the house in the darkness, perhaps while going to use the bathroom or getting a drink of water in the kitchen.

  Rebecca jumped out of bed, moving quickly but trying to be quiet as well—she didn’t want to make much noise, but she also wanted to move fast in case her mother needed help. She decided not to turn on any lights but picked up a flashlight from her dresser drawer, which she’d kept there for times when the power went out.

  She stepped cautiously across her bedroom floor and then peeked around the corner into the living room, shining the light toward the couch where she had left her mother sleeping a few hours before. Diane D’Arcy was sitting upright on the couch, looking right into the light.

  “Rebecca,” her mother whispered, “is that you?”

  “Of course, it’s me,” whispered Rebecca back. “Who else would it be?”

  “Were you just in here—a moment ago?”

  “No. I heard a sound and came out here to check on you.”

  Diane was silent for a moment. Then in an even lower whisper she said, “Come over here.”

  Rebecca moved over to the couch and sat next to her mother.

  “What is it?” Rebecca whispered.

  “Someone touched me while I was sleeping,” Diane continued, “and if it wasn’t you, then someone else is in the house with us.”

  Rebecca’s chest tightened. She raised the flashlight up and panned it slowly around the living room. She was afraid of what or whom she might see in the light, but she dare not sit in the darkness. As she panned across the wall, the chair, and the bookcase on the opposite side of the room, everything appeared normal, and the room appeared clear.

  “What should we do?” Rebecca said, continuing to whisper.

  “We need to call someone—the sheriff’s office,” replied Diane.

  Rebecca aimed the flashlight at the phone sitting on a table across the room. She felt some safety in just sitting next to her mother, but she knew her mother was right. If there really was someone else in the house, she needed to make that call. Cautiously and quietly, she stood up, eased herself across the room to the phone, and picked up the receiver. There was no dial tone. She pushed the hang-up button a few times and listened; there was only silence. The first thing that passed through her mind was that someone had cut the phone line and the second thing was the increasing fear t
hat this was more serious than she’d imagined. She thought back to her ride home.

  Eddie!

  “It’s dead,” she said to her mother in a loud whisper, trying not to display the increasing panic inside her.

  After a moment, Diane whispered back, “Where’s your cell phone?”

  Rebecca thought for a moment. “In the garage—in my bike bag. Where’s yours?”

  “At home.”

  To get to the garage, Rebecca knew she would need to go through the kitchen to the door that led to the garage. She looked over at the dark kitchen and then back to her mother. “You need to come with me. We’re safer together.”

  Diane crept over to her daughter’s side, and then the two of them slowly moved toward the doorway leading into the kitchen. Rebecca stopped for a moment and strained her ears. There was definitely a noise coming from the kitchen, but it wasn’t one of the usual nighttime kitchen noises, like the compressor on the refrigerator or the icemaker dropping ice—this was something different and unusual.

  “Do you hear that?” asked Rebecca in her lowest whisper of the night.

  Diane cocked her head to one side. “I don’t hear anything, but you know my hearing isn’t so good anymore.”

  Rebecca strained again and knew she definitely heard something— there was a very faint and intermittent tapping noise coming from the kitchen. Slowly, she moved closer to the doorway. She knew the light switch was just around the corner on the wall inside the kitchen. She edged up to the doorway and cautiously proceeded to reach her hand and then her forearm around the edge of the doorframe. Her biggest fear was that someone would grab her arm and pull her into the dark kitchen.