by Paul Sating
He didn't need to remind himself of where he went off-track, every time he looked around the empty house he knew, he understood. The quiet. The motionlessness realm he only shared with a dog. Jared was thankful for this constant stream of site visits because it got him out of the morgue that the house had become.
Molly got up, moved in front of the sliding glass door, did three circles and plopped down, sighing deeply at the effort of finding a new resting spot.
"Alright girl, be good," Jared ordered. "And don't shit on my floor." He patted her head one more time, convinced she would leave a steaming pile for his dog sitter to find and walked out without much of a protest from Molly. He locked the door, noticing that the black and white Border Collie didn't bother to come to the window to watch him leave.
Quinault was a ninety-minute drive from Olympia so he had to get on the road soon. But he needed to stop and see Peter first to deliver printed copies of his pictures of the Forks prints.
He couldn't wait to see what Peter thought of them.
*****
"Good morning, sunshine," Peter squinted against the rising sun as he opened the screen door covered with the white metal grate. "Getting an early start?"
"I'm sorry for bugging you on a Sunday morning but I thought you'd like to see these."
Peter moved away from the door, forcing Jared to let himself in. The house was dark, the shades all closed. "Jesus, man, it's like a cave in here."
"Call me crazy," Peter said, alternating between scratching his head and his ass, "but I like to sleep in on the weekends. That's the thing about having a real job, they make you tired."
The slight didn't bother Jared. Hell, he'd worry if Peter didn't try to insult him at least once during a conversation.
"Hurry up with the coffee. I've got stuff to show you."
"From the way you sounded on the phone, I don't doubt it."
"You excited to see them?"
"How could I not be? I haven't heard anyone that excited since my kids believed in Santa. Sugar and cream?"
"Yeah, please," Jared laid the pictures on the table, spreading them out so Peter could see everything at once.
Carrying two cups over, Peter set one in front of Jared and slowly squeezed into the chair. While doing all this, Peter's eyes never left the pictures. "Those came from Forks?"
"Yeah, I met a retired couple who were out on a hike along Eaten Creek. The husband saw something cross the creek a few hundred yards from him."
"A 'squatch?"
"I don't like to jump to conclusions, but—"
"It's just us here, Jared. What're you thinking?"
Jared pointed at the pictorial spread in front of his friend. "You tell me."
For a moment, Peter looked overwhelmed. "What do you want me to say? These are great! Did you cast any of them?"
"Yep. They're in the car. Really impressive. I can bring them in later if you want to see them."
"You bet I do," the enthusiastic reply made Jared smile. "What other pictures did you take? I'm sure you aren't this spun up because of prints, no matter how good they are."
Jared had been waiting for this moment. The question that would lead to him showing the last set of pictures.
The pictures of the nest.
Peter didn't reply. He looked through the pictures, a confused expression etched on his face. Jared waited while Peter cycled through the set two more times. "Wow, is ... is this what I think it is?"
Jared beamed with pride. "That's why I wanted you to take a look at them. Is that not a nest?"
His friend whistled, flipping through the pictures again. "Buddy, this is good. You sure they weren't made by people?"
"I can't be completely sure, but those tracks were a direct line from the water to that site."
"Damn," Peter finally set them. "This could change a lot of things. You know that, right? This could—"
He'd already thought of that, already considered it. "Oh, I'm well aware of what it could mean, and don't you dare get started on that again."
"Jared, you can't keep ignoring it. What's it going to take for you to start taking them seriously?"
Them.
He didn’t want to think about them.
"I do!" he snapped and then took a deep breath because he was tired of ruining relationships. When was Peter going to let it go? When would his overactive imagination stop constructing the narrative he created for himself? He loved Peter as much as he could love another man who wasn't a relative, but this rubbed him wrong. Jared didn't like hypocrisy in anyone, but least of all in people who should know better, like those who spent their entire lives focused on evidence-based work. "I'm sorry, Peter. I do take their threats seriously. I promise I'm not blowing it off. I would rather focus on this right now. Plus, I need to get out to Quinault." It might be weak, but it was legitimate, and that was what mattered.
Peter, for his part, didn't look like he wanted to escalate the conversation. They'd done this dance before and both knew where the other stood. Peter was much more conservative, but it'd become a point of contention between the two only once the external threats started coming more consistently. More menacingly. "Okay, buddy. Just think about it, okay? Promise me that much?"
But Jared, reminded once again of yet one more thing he 'should be thinking about' but could never seem to get around to taking seriously, nodded. There wasn't evidence for Peter's opinion but that didn't mean Peter wouldn't cling to it for dear life. He wasn't so forgiving when it came to Jared's work. Jared got it; it wasn't that simple. They were dancing again, but Peter was the only one who could hear the music. Jared respected his friend, but this was getting old. When there was significant evidence of a threat against him he'd listen, but not until then. No matter how much Peter begged, pleaded, or pouted.
"I'll think about it," Jared lied. "But I have to get going. Let me grab you those prints."
Peter walked to his car with him, not bothering to change out of his pajamas. "Not embarrassed?" Jared poked.
"At our age, you have to ask that question?" Peter smiled at his effective retort.
Jared popped the trunk and Peter let loose another whistle when he pulled back the blanket Jared covered the casts with. "These are gorgeous. They are ... huge," he exclaimed.
Jared pointed at the print to the right of Peter's hand. "That one's roughly seventeen."
"Inches?!" Peter shouted.
"No, feet," Jared replied, checking around them to ensure Peter's vociferousness hadn't drawn unwanted attention.
"Sorry, bud, wasn't ready for that."
"You weren't ready to see the nest either," Jared pointed out. "This is why I wanted to see you. I told you it was an extraordinary find. All because some old tourist wanted to get out of his motorhome and stretch his legs."
Peter gripped the ball of Jared's shoulder, almost like a father would. There was a twinge of pain—emotional, not physical. "It's because of your work, Jared. If you didn't bust your balls like you do every single day, that call would never have made it to you. Some jackass would have gotten it instead, gone out there, pissed off this tourist if they did bother going, and wouldn't have been nearly as thorough as you."
"I'm not so sure about all that."
Peter shook his head. "There's no such thing as luck, Jared. This happened because you created the opportunity over the past twenty years. Please stop thinking you've wasted everything or that nothing you did before matters because of what's happening now with Maria."
He could only nod in response, nothing else was appropriate because it would have been disingenuous. "Thanks, man."
"You got it," Peter said, but his eyes bore into Jared as if he were searching for the truth inside his head. Then he gave Jared's shoulder one firm squeeze and moved to pick up the casts.
"Want a hand?"
Peter sneered, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. "Just because I work in a lab doesn't mean I can't hang with you outdoorsmen, alright?"
"Come hiking with me som
etime and we'll see if that holds true," Jared needled.
"Can't hear you," Peter yelled over his shoulder as he walked up the path toward his house.
*****
Jared pulled away, giving a wave to the empty front porch, and started the trek across Olympia and out to Quinault.
So Peter wanted him to think? Add him to the list of people who told Jared, directed him, to do some thinking over the past few years. Whatever their reasoning, they all sounded the same. Baseless, full of opinions and bias; none of them got his attention. How could they? Even when Maria was standing next to him all those months ago, holding his hand in hers and looking deep into his eyes as she explained why she was leaving through the tears and the sobs, he hadn't heard. He didn't register the message of concern from her then, so how in the hell was he ever going to hear it from anyone else over anything that wasn't her?
Even his own safety.
There was only so much energy and time he had for those types of things, something he considered as he passed through western Olympia on Highway 101.
Like her.
He was always thinking about her now. Of course.
But it was damn hard to not let his mind slip back to their last conversation. Just when he thought he was managing himself well he realized the entire time he was holding onto a heavy, wet rope.
Like now.
Like when his phone rang and he nearly drove off the shoulder trying to grab it out of the cradle. It was Maria. "Hello?"
"Hi, Jared." There was a hint of hesitation, of apprehension, in her voice.
His day brightened. The highway became less crowded—even though that was imagined, and the sun finally broke through the clouds--it hadn't. "Hey, ba--Maria. Sorry. How are you? Is everything okay?"
She sounded firmer when she answered. "Yeah, I'm fine. Listen, I don't have much time. Did you get the package I left with Brenda? She said she was going to drop it off when she saw you get home last night."
The package?
She couldn't call it what it was. Didn't she have the courage to even do that? Why the fuck not, if she was so sure of herself? Peter's assertions that he needed to be careful in the face of some invisible group of bullies was enough to set him off, but this ... this was not what he needed, not what he wanted. Not now. Not after showing Peter the finds from Forks. Not in the face of a possible robust Bigfoot community in Quinault. This was all about her and it was bullshit.
The package.
"I didn't," he tried to sound as cold as his temper was hot. He knew what the answer was, but he wanted to hear her at least have the courage to say it, "What is it?"
"The agreement," she sounded apprehensive. "Jared, I need you to look at it as soon as you can, please."
He didn't want to deal with this right now. He didn't want to deal with it at all. "Fine. I'll try to get to it this week."
She breathed. Even through the phone, he could tell she was trying to calm herself. "I've been trying to get you to look at it for weeks now. Can you please take a little time tonight to see what you think about it? I think I'm being fair."
Why was she in such a hurry now? She suffered through hundreds upon hundreds of expeditions over the course of their marriage and when things turned dark for them, when they got their worst, she was still there, slugging along beside him. Why was she now in such a damn hurry to finalize everything and move on? Why was she in a rush to close this chapter of their lives when there was possibly more story to tell?
Jared's hand gripped the wheel tightly. "I'm actually on my way to Quinault right now. I'm not sure if I can get to it tonight because I don't know if I'll be home. I might end up doing an overnighter."
"You need me to take care of Molly again ... don't you?"
Now it was his turn for a victory, small as it was. "No. A neighbor is watching her."
"Good," Maria replied softly. Was that disappointment? There was a pause, the type of pause he knew meant the temperature of the conversation was changing. He was ready; he would not get his hopes up this time. "You're a frustrating man, Jared. You know that?"
Her tone made his heart double-time its rhythm. "That's why you fell in love with me in the first place if you'd admit it."
He could hear the smile in her voice. "Among other attributes, yes."
"Too bad I can't seem to remind you those attributes are still in my possession," he tried to not sound like a pathetic, love-struck teen being broken up with at prom. He wasn't sure how it sounded to her though.
"You're a good person. That's not the problem. You know that." Did he? "Anyways, I've got to run. Please take a look at the agreement as soon as you can, okay? I'd like to not drag this out. Be careful tonight, Jared. Bye."
"Bye, Maria," he said, hanging up. Jared stared at the phone, willing her to call him back.
She didn't.
He replaced the phone in its cradle.
The agreement Maria was referring to was something she'd had her brother, a lawyer, draft up. It seemed that the separation was progressing toward an uncontested divorce. At least for Maria. It wasn't for him.
He'd received her email of the draft two weeks ago and ignored it, not wanting to think about it or deal with it. If he gave her time and space it was possible she would change her mind about all this. He had to hope. But with each passing day, with each follow-up request, it was getting harder and harder to stay positive. He'd misjudged how motivated she was to move on with her life. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was still something there though, some embers glowing. If he could just spark them, give them the oxygen they needed so that she would catch fire for what they had once, what they could have again ...
... for him.
9
Jared stopped to meet a local at the Lake Quinault Lodge, a quaint, rustic monstrosity that overlooked the water. He was more than happy to give Jared information about recent sightings around the famous resort, because, as he said, the nature and amount of information put him out of his depth. What was happening around the lake, sandwiched between the southwest corner of the Olympic National Park and the Quinault Reservation, was more than he was ready for or wanted to deal with.
This kept getting better and better, coming to a head. Evidence leading to more evidence. Everything was moving toward a discovery.
This edge of the lake was eerie, enough that Jared scribbled a note to encourage his future listeners to make it a stop if their travels brought them out to the Pacific Northwest. It served as an excellent example of how even uncomfortable environments could be exquisitely beautiful. Words, written or even recorded for the podcast, failed him. People had to be standing here to understand it, but looking at the tree-covered hillside that ran up and away from the lodge, Jared couldn't think of any other way to describe it. It was the type of place you wanted to be away from as soon as you got there, especially on the days when it rained. But it was also a place whose beauty enraptured, silently urging you to spend eternity in its embrace.
Jared enjoyed his trips out here, even this time when his conversation with Peter went longer than he wanted and the traffic was worse than it should be. The local amateur investigator he met with more than made up for it when he offered up a buffet of information. After the meeting, Jared was glad he came prepared for an overnighter. With everything the man said it was easy for Jared to see himself staying for a few days. Thankfully, Haley the Dog Sitter knew to check in on Molly a few times a day until she got paid by Jared, her signal that he was back in town and her dog sitting services were no longer required.
He followed the South Shore Road to the Colonel Bob Trailhead, just east of where the Quinault River fed the lake. It was the general area where there were a number of mysterious sightings over the past few weeks and, from what the locals told him, it seemed as if the river was the hot spot. So that's where he decided to start.
The creek was a tributary of the Quinault River. Thanks to climate change, the river wasn't exactly bursting at the seams. For t
he last few years, it was nothing more than a deep creek by every measure. That could be why a Sasquatch, coming down out of the Olympic Mountains, might be getting more sightings, Jared figured. If Merriman Creek flowed more robustly, Sasquatch, if that is what they were dealing with, might have continued to go unnoticed. But with the creek drying up from a disappointing snowfall over the past few winters, depriving it of run-off, it would be understandable that wildlife would have to extend their search for food and water. That would push desperate animals closer to the river and lake, even if that meant risking exposure to humans.
Jared wasn't a fan of trout or any seafood, but he couldn't fault a hungry primate if he or she were. Seeing the conditions in Quinault was critical to understanding, or at least laying the foundations of understanding, of what was going on. You can't conduct investigations over the internet, though there were a number of enthusiasts who tried. The only way to investigate was to get your feet wet and your hands dirty.
Boots on the ground.
He was going to need some time here. If he was lucky, he'd pick something up tonight or in the morning. The feeling was in the air.
*****
A few hours of strenuous hiking later, Jared set up for the night. He took a deep breath of the crispy Washington air. It filled his lungs, refreshed his system. There was no better place in the world to be. People could have their crowded coastal beach towns and their heat in the south. To him, there was nothing attractive about fighting for a spot to throw down a blanket on a beach some kids spent the night getting drunk on, pissing and vomiting where they pleased. And, as for the heat, ask all those people who love the south where they spent most of their time and you'd discover they never saw the outside world, preferring to remain in the realm of air-conditioned homes. So what was the point? So you could sweat on your way to the car, praying its air conditioner would return your body to its pre-sweat state? No thanks. Humans didn't evolve for that type of existence. This was what billions of years of evolution were about. The only way he could possibly be happier than he was at this moment would be to have her by his side.