Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  “Getting back to my question,” continued the agent. “What made you think I would shoot Eddie Flynn and not Matthew Duncan? You must have some logical reason.”

  Akash stopped eating, put down his fork, and wiped his mouth. He smiled broadly. “That’s the wonderful thing—I don’t have a logical reason. For the first time in a very long time, I know something—I’m absolutely certain of it—but there is no logic behind that knowledge—no real thinking. It feels wonderful.” He smiled again and took a big sip of his chocolate shake.

  Agent Westmore stared at Akash. “There must be some basis for your certainty—some hint or small piece of data? You’re a scientist after all, right?”

  “I’m actually an engineer—not a scientist; though I admit that the process of scientific analysis is fundamental to my profession.” Akash looked once more at the now nearly empty chocolate shake glass. “But what I seem to have forgotten in my worship of the scientific process is that there is a quality of human experience not fully accessible to science—and that’s a good thing. For example, science can tell me what the ingredients of this shake are—down to the last molecule, if necessary—but it can never tell me about my actual experience of enjoying the shake. In short, it can’t tell me what the shake means to me, because meanings rest inside the person—never with the external cold facts of science.” Akash took the final sip of the chocolate shake, slurping the last few drops from the bottom.

  The agent shook his head. “You must have had some personal experience then—something that led you to know that I would not shoot Matthew Duncan? After all, you were completely uninterested in him when you came to my hotel room the other night.”

  Akash smiled. “You’re right—I was uninterested in him. It appeared he had nothing to do with my search for the cause of the Dead Zone. There was simply no scientific reason why he should be involved.” Akash steadied his gaze on the agent. “Yesterday, everything changed for me though, and a moment later, I dropped some very expensive scientific equipment on the highway—shattering it into a million pieces.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear about that,” replied the agent, with a look of uncertainty on his face.

  “Don’t worry, the State of Colorado won’t be happy with me, but they’ll get over it. Do you know, in fact, where I was when I dropped that equipment?” asked Akash.

  The agent shook his head; his eyes wrinkled in confusion.

  “I was at the boundary of the Dead Zone.”

  “I guess I’m not following you here, Akash,” replied the agent. “I thought we were talking about Matthew Duncan?”

  “That is what I’m talking about. The boundary of the Dead Zone has been a real puzzle to me, but just before I dropped that equipment, I found the only key to that puzzle. Do you know what’s at the boundary of the Dead Zone—at least at the northern boundary? There’s a roadside memorial. You know—the kind people put up to honor accident victims.”

  “Still, what’s that got to do with Matthew Duncan?” asked the agent.

  “I was reading the names on the two crosses there—they were Deborah and Frederick Duncan. It’s a small community, Agent Westmore—I think you see where I’m going with this.”

  The agent stared at him. “Still, you can’t be certain they have anything to do with Matthew Duncan. You’ve got no proof.”

  “Just as I had no proof or evidence to support my certainty that it was the other man you had shot. I’d forgotten about intuition—repressed it for so long. Matthew Duncan is somehow related to the Dead Zone, and though you’ve apologized for your drunken outburst the other night, I should have listened to you—for it’s now obvious to me that you know this is all true as well. Now that you are sober, tell me—did you realize it because you were drunk, or were you drunk because you realized it?”

  The agent looked down at the table and then up to Akash. He knew everything Akash had said was true. “I got drunk…because I realized it,” he replied.

  Akash nodded and smiled. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. And so you see, instead of alcohol, I’m drinking chocolate shakes; I suppose it’s all the same.”

  The waitress came with the agent’s meal and shake. “Will that be all for now?” she asked.

  Akash eyed the agent. “Did you want to ask her about the memorial?”

  The agent looked up at the waitress. “Oh, yes…” he began haltingly, “Do you live around here?”

  “Mister,” she said, “even when traffic is runnin’ normal, people don’t commute to work here at Ernie’s. It just don’t pay that well. I’ve lived here in Cottonwood my whole life—and don’t you ask me how long that’s been, or I might accidently have to spill some coffee on you.”

  Both the agent and Akash chuckled.

  “No, I’m not going to pry into any of your particulars,” continued the agent. “I just have a question about a family in town here or that maybe once lived here.”

  “Honey, if I was a whole lot a years younger, you could pry into any of my particulars that you cared to. But anyway—who do you want to know about?”

  “The Duncan family? Did you or do you know them?”

  “Sure, I knew the Duncans,” she replied. “Deb and Fred were good friends of mine. We used to get together all the time. I taught their son, Matt, the piano, but I could tell he liked baseball a whole lot more. God bless them all. Deb and Fred died in an accident out north on the highway many years ago, and well, you might have heard about the tragedy with Matt, yesterday up at the falls?”

  “Yes, we did hear about it,” said the agent, looking at Akash and then back at the waitress. “It’s very sad.”

  “I don’t understand how things could have turned out this way,” continued the waitress, shaking her head. “Just don’t understand it.”

  “Deborah, Frederick, and Matthew—that was the whole Duncan family?” asked Akash.

  “Yep, that was it. After Deb and Fred died, Matthew was supposed to go live with an uncle in Tucson, but the wonderful Yamamoto family offered to take him in, and I guess everyone agreed it would be best if he could stay here in Cottonwood. He lived with them throughout his teen years, up until he went off to college. Who could have guessed it would end this way, with him coming back after all these years, only to die up there at the falls—just a pity. And dear Rebecca, she must be heartbroken.”

  “Yes, I heard he had recently married her,” replied the agent.

  “It’s all so sad,” the waitress added, shaking her head.

  “Well, thank you for that information,” said the agent. “I’d better not keep you from your other customers.”

  The waitress nodded and left the table. Before taking a bite of his sandwich, the agent took a long sip of the chocolate shake and then looked up at Akash, who was smiling.

  “What’s the smile for?” the agent asked.

  “Two reasons,” began Akash. “First, it just dawned on me that I might owe Ernie Martinelli an apology. And secondly, I also just realized how wrong I was to compare my drinking chocolate shakes to your getting drunk. My intuition tells me you were drinking out of pain, but I was drinking out of celebration—celebrating my freedom to accept that there are mysteries beyond the reach of science. I plan to drink chocolate shakes the rest of my life.”

  The agent thought of all the things he hadn’t yet told Akash—like the muddy footprints that led from the sidewalk right through the intact glass at Rhonda’s Bridal & Floral. Somehow, it didn’t really seem to matter now—he and Akash had both tasted a broader world that science could never touch. The agent raised his glass in a toast. “To chocolate shakes then,” he said smiling, before taking a long, cool, creamy, chocolaty sip.

  One Hundred One

  The Candle

  After saying good-bye to Chelsea, Rebecca and her mother both agreed it would be a good idea if Rebecca once again stayed at Diane’s home for the night. The previous night, after the events at the falls, had been an awful one for both of them, and it wasn’t until
Dr. Reese had come over and administered some sedatives that Rebecca was able to sleep at all. Both women were hoping this night would be better. After sharing a simple dinner, they did the dishes, and while standing at the sink, they talked about all the disturbing revelations from the meeting with the sheriff.

  “How do you think Sparky would have answered—if the sheriff had let him?” Rebecca asked.

  “You know Sparky better than I do,” replied Diane. “Who would he have aimed at?”

  “I want to—no…I have to believe he aimed at Eddie.”

  “You could always ask him someday…when the sheriff is not around.”

  “Perhaps I will,” replied Rebecca.

  “I do think that Agent—Westmore? Wasn’t that his name? I think he seems like a very fine man,” said Diane. “It tells you a lot about his intuition that he chose to shoot a total stranger instead of the man he was supposed to take back to Washington. He must be very good at what he does.”

  “Maybe he just wanted to take his escapee back uninjured.”

  “I don’t know,” said Diane. “I sense there might be more to him than that. There was something in his eyes that seemed to have a certain—I don’t know—quality to it.”

  Rebecca looked over at her mother. “Quality, eh? Well, whatever it was,” said Rebecca as she dried the last dish and put it away, “I’m grateful for it.”

  The two women headed off to bed, with Rebecca sleeping in the same room she had slept in as a child. Her mother had changed the decorations very little over the years since Rebecca had moved out, adding only a fresh coat of paint now and then. As she entered the bedroom, Rebecca immediately looked for the small candle in the cobalt blue holder on the dresser where she had left it. She had carried the candle to her mother’s house on the night her house was broken into, and the candle had remained there ever since, except now as Rebecca looked for it—it was missing.

  She scanned the room quickly and then walked down the hallway to her mother’s room. The light was still on, and her mother was sitting on the bed, taking off her slippers.

  “Mom,” Rebecca said, “did you do something with—” She then stopped. Sitting on her mother’s tall dresser was the candle—still burning brightly. She walked over to it and picked it up, staring down into the flame. “I thought maybe you blew it out,” she continued, carrying the candle over and sitting on the bed next to her mother.

  “I moved it in here last night after you finally fell asleep,” said Diane. “You were so upset. I just thought it would be better to keep it in here.”

  Rebecca again stared into its flame. “I understand. Thanks for keeping it safe.”

  “I’m just amazed it’s still burning,” said Diane, now also staring at the flame. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Neither have I,” replied Rebecca. “Matthew told me that as long as it was burning, he would be coming back.”

  The two women sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the tiny yet joyful flame. “The night I heard you were missing,” Diane said finally, “I also brought it in here. I admit it gave me a lot of comfort.”

  Rebecca continued staring down into the flame. “Then it has meaning for both of us.”

  Diane nodded. “I suppose, though, you want it back in your room tonight?”

  “Mom,” replied Rebecca as she looked up from the candle. “Would you mind if I stayed in here with you tonight? That way we can both enjoy this little candle.”

  Mother and daughter lay side by side that night. It was the first time they had done so since Rebecca had been a little girl. The candle sat on the dresser, burning with its tiny flame, painting the walls with a dancing dim light. The two women slept soundly, as sleep moved in quickly and comforted them, wrapping the two in its merciful and misty veil.

  One Hundred Two

  Revelations

  A complete search of Eddie Flynn’s house revealed the full story of the deceased man’s hidden life. Videos recorded over the span of several years were found showing different female residents of the Home in various states of undress. In addition to the videos, there were other items which clearly displayed the depth of his sickness.

  At the Home itself, a complete survey and investigation was undertaken by an independent security team selected by the State of Colorado. The additional illegal cameras that Eddie had installed throughout the institution were identified and removed. The families of all of Eddie’s known victims were fully notified about the scope and nature of the crimes. The fact that the man who had perpetrated the crimes was now dead, brought little comfort to most of them—though only a few families chose to move their loved ones out of the facility. The majority recognized they had limited viable options for the long-term care of their family members, and with the departure of Eddie Flynn, the staff at the Home remained an exceptionally talented and dedicated team.

  Dr. Reese held several very somber and apologetic meetings for the families. During those meetings, he expressed his true remorse over the events, along with a vow to make the quality of the security for all residents an equal priority with that of the quality of care offered. Behind the scenes, Dr. Reese was reprimanded by the State of Colorado for his failure to be fully aware of the security issues at the Home; however, the voices of those who called for his dismissal were muted greatly by the fact that it was his own chief of security who had committed the crimes.

  Rebecca took several weeks off from working at the Home, with much of that time spent down by the Little Bear River, hiking up and down the shoreline, looking for any evidence of her husband’s fate. At first, she convinced herself—though part of her certainly knew it was quite irrational—that Matthew had only been knocked unconscious by the tremendous fall, and that he’d been safely washed to the shoreline and simply needed to be discovered. As the days wore on and it was obvious that he would need to be getting nourishment and water, she changed her internal rationale to include the idea that, though he may have been knocked unconscious by the fall, he had subsequently woken up with amnesia and was walking around in the thick primitive woods on the eastern side of the river, living off of berries and other foods as he could find them. Matthew’s forest ranger background—Rebecca told herself—would have easily prepared him for this kind of survival. She never shared her rationalizations with anyone, as if somehow she knew that putting them into words would quickly expose their absurdity. Though Rebecca knew her desperation to find Matthew alive and well was the primary force behind the creation of her internal rationalizations, she also knew that the small candle in the cobalt blue holder continued to burn, and that small miracle alone meant anything remained possible.

  During the first week of her search efforts, several of her friends and even co-workers joined her, but as time went on, the numbers dwindled down, until occasionally her mother and sometimes the Reynolds would accompany her. By the third week, she usually searched alone, hiking for hours along the thick brush on both sides of the river. She also spent some time searching the hillside near the highway north of town, where instead of searching for her missing husband, she searched for her wallet and cell phone that had been lost when she was knocked from her bike by the tree branch—the night Eddie abducted her. Eventually, she located both of the items, though finding them brought back the painful memories of that night, and she found herself sitting and weeping for quite some time on the hillside above the highway.

  By the end of her third full week of searching, Rebecca decided she would continue to search in her spare time, but that she needed to get back to work. With the state investigation underway during her absence, she knew the Home had been in complete turmoil, and it was a good time for her to have been gone. As things settled at work—and she slowly accepted the fact that it was unlikely she could find Matthew—she hoped that by returning to the Home and focusing on the needs of the residents, she could get her mind off of her own pain. Throughout it all, she continued to wear her wedding ring, and though all in town now kne
w of her marriage to Matthew Duncan, she realized she was thought of by most as his widow and not as his wife.

  Even though she was ready to go back to work, one thing Rebecca wasn’t ready for was getting there by bicycle. Sparky had found her bike hidden in Eddie’s basement and had returned it to her, and although she knew that Eddie was gone, she also knew it would be a very long time before she could ride north on the highway out of Cottonwood and pass by his old house. Fall and then winter would soon be drawing near, and those seasons offered fewer days for riding a bike to work anyway, so she hoped that by the following spring she could find the courage to ride.

  With the Dead Zone unwavering in its potency and effect, it was to her delight to learn that the Home had been given a small fleet of electric vehicles for employees to use for commuting. Most employees now carpooled regularly to the Home, both from Cottonwood and from other nearby communities, and once Rebecca announced she was ready to come back, she was gladly picked up by a carpool of smiling co-workers, happy to see her return.

  “It’s nice to see you back,” said Dr. Reese, giving her a warm hug as she came in the front door of the Home and was heading to her office. “You’re looking very well.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she said, stopping and smiling. “I’m feeling much better.”

  Other staff members immediately gathered around, offering hugs and expressing their pleasure at having her back.

  “Thank you all,” said Rebecca. “It’s nice to be back. It’s been a tough month, but I’m ready to get back to work.”

  “We’ll do whatever we can to make your transition back to work easier,” said the doctor. “If you need to work shorter hours or to come in late or leave early, just let me know.”

  “I appreciate that,” replied Rebecca. “I’m just going to take one day at a time and see what happens—but you don’t have to go easy on me. I’ve missed the residents and am ready to do my share.”