by Roman Klee
“And I need to check your shower head.”
Nathan wondered if Carla had used this line before, because there was no way he could object. And there she was in his bedroom, in her nightclothes and he was half naked.
She didn’t take long in the bathroom—the check could have waited until the next day. When Carla re-emerged, she smiled and casually walked toward Nathan, placing her right hand on his shoulder.
He hesitated, but what the hell … and he moved in closer, until their lips touched.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered.
“I know, but you know you want to.” And she slid her right hand down beneath his towel.
The door … the bedroom door was still open!
Nathan tried to kick it closed. But there was still a narrow slit of light shining through from the corridor. And in a moment of panic, Nathan thought Dirk had seen them.
“It’s best if we wait,” he said.
His fears were misplaced, but he still imagined Dirk about to come manically strolling down to the end of the corridor, carrying a massive axe.
“How about early tomorrow morning? I’ll bring you coffee, an OJ and a BJ.”
Nathan was taken aback by Carla’s direct approach. This was a side to her, he had not expected.
“How about when your husband’s not around?”
“But that’s half the fun!”
Yep, for her it probably was, thought Nathan, but just who was she kidding?
He knew Carla could behave in certain ways he could never hope to copy and he imagined her husband tolerated her transgressions because of the bigger picture—being married to one of Budd Wright’s daughters had its privileges.
“Okay, have it your way, just don’t forget to check out the bathrobe. It’s tough packing a hefty item like that.” Carla quietly let herself out.
And Nathan breathed a sigh of relief.
For one thing, he had delayed getting graded. He slipped the bathrobe on and immediately felt an object vibrating in the front pocket.
He pulled it out.
It was a cell phone and Carla was calling him
Δ = T –20,463,840
Nathan set the alarm on the nightstand for three o’clock. His idea of trying to catch up on lost sleep had been blown clean out of the water.
He had a small Maglite with him, which was just what he needed. Being in an unfamiliar house, there was no point in turning lights on and waking everyone up. He could only hope they hadn’t fitted the place with automatic sensors that came on whenever they detected movement.
Given the high tech spec of the house, it would just be Nathan’s luck if there were motion detectors everywhere and all his moves once outside his bedroom, would show up on some giant screen in Dirk’s secret observation room.
He got up on the first ring of the alarm clock. It was a reflex action, just like in the old days, when he had to jump out of bed on the dot at half-past five, to be in time for the Solomon morning meeting. And just like the old days, tiredness started to seep into every pore of his body.
In truth, he wasn’t feeling very amorous and would have preferred the extra sleep, but then the tone of Carla’s voice suggested that if he didn’t make an effort, she would feel let down. She said early in the morning and in his book three o’clock was early.
Nathan slipped on a pair of sneakers and carefully opened his bedroom door. Everything was quiet, the corridor which ran the full length of the house was clear, so he continued along to the staircase and down to the entrance hall.
He breathed a sigh of relief—none of the main lights came on.
As a helpful gesture, along the sides of the stairs, low wattage LEDs provided a useful glow. But Nathan still kept hold of his flashlight, just in case. The main stairs continued down to the basement, which contained a number of storerooms, plus the media room. It was also Dirk’s favorite part of the entire house.
Best to keep on going. Nathan now needed his Maglite. He couldn’t remember exactly whether Carla had said to carry on to the end and turn right or whether to turn left after the slot machine.
Nathan chose left and found himself in Dirk’s fishing den. Shining his flashlight around the custom appointed room, Nathan was surprised to discover a collection of fishing rods (some antique) reels and bait boxes, containing intricate and brightly colored imitation wet and dry flies.
Everything was carefully arranged in specially designed glass cases. Directly beneath the window was a work surface with various tools set out in order of size. A collection of feathers and animal fur had been placed on one side.
Some new shiny hooks were waiting to be converted into appetizing insects for hungry fish. Neatly placed together in one corner were nets, some more hooks and reels. Clearly Dirk took fishing very seriously.
On the wall above the desk were two trophies, won at local angling competitions. But curiously something was missing. There were no preserved fish hanging on the wall, or staring vacantly from behind glass cases.
Nathan wondered why. It was usual for a keen fisherman to provide evidence of the one that never got away, then everyone could see with their own eyes it really was as big as he boasted.
He assumed the reason for the absence of preserved dead fish was because Carla disliked seeing them pinned up around the place, and just like his ex, she had the final say on all matters relating to the interior design of their home.
His ex told him that most women hated being reminded every day of dead animals. It was a typical male thing to want to stick trophies of heads with antlers and horns on the wall. Somehow it went right back to the hunter-gatherer instinct men still had trouble suppressing.
Maybe Carla felt the same way.
There was a pool table in the middle of the room, with an incomplete set of balls—the number eight was missing. Carla had thrown it at an inquisitive young brown grizzly after it poked its nose in through an open window one day.
Double French doors at the far end of the room, opened up onto a cantilevered wooden platform, extending above the Roaring Fork River.
“Best trout fishing in the Rockies,” said a voice coming from the other side of the room.
“So you couldn’t get no sleep neither?”
Nathan turned around, embarrassed because he’d been discovered. And confused as well.
Because the voice certainly did not belong to Carla.
Δ = T –20,460,240
“You won’t find none, if that’s what you’re looking for.” It was true. Nathan had been snooping around the room, trying to find a family photograph with Liz in it. Cunningham had supplied him with an old photo, but he was still confident of picking out Liz’s distinctive features.
But so far he was out of luck. Ideally he wanted to see her standing near some favorite place she liked to visit frequently, or next to someone, other than a member of the Wright family, who he could track down at a later date. They might have an idea of the places she liked to hang out—secret places maybe, where she hid to get away from the rest of the world.
Nathan nervously walked over to the side of the room where the voice had come from. There were two high backed leather chairs. The one directly facing him was empty. The other one contained the bulky frame of Sanchez. He turned on a small table lamp.
“Sit your ass down, there’s no use standing. Wanna drink?”
Nathan could see the guy was grinning from ear to ear. The badly behaved guest had been caught out of bounds, with no good excuse, or at least not one he could reasonably get away with. Nathan thought it best to say as little as possible, he would only volunteer information if pressed.
Sanchez was holding a bottle of Becks, and judging from the empty ones stacked on one side of his chair, it looked like he had already worked his way through the first six-pack and was starting on the next.
Nathan accepted the guy’s offer.
“Yeah, Carla’s sister Liz is a sad tomato for sure. Did ya know no one’s seen her in years and years?” Nathan figured as much—nothing new there then.
“So what ya doin’ up at this hour man? Why ya sneaking around the place?”
Nathan struggled for a reply, saying he had trouble sleeping in a strange bed. For some time now he had problems getting to sleep even when he was at home. Often he found going for a night time walk helped. Hopefully he’d feel drowsy enough, just as soon as he returned to his room.
Sanchez didn’t seem very convinced by the explanation, and in any event wasn’t interested. He was in the mood for sharing what he knew about the Wright-Bruenings.
“I figure ya think Carla knows where her sister is, right?”
“Well, yes. I guess she likes to stay in contact with someone in the family, even if she’s not speaking to her parents.”
“Do ya know what happened? Do ya know why she stopped speaking to her folks?”
Nathan had already heard one explanation from Carla. Budd’s disappointment at her decision not to join the family business had created distance and then they gradually drifted apart, she wanted her independence, she took a spiritual path.
“She’s a nutcase; ya know gets real down on herself. They tried everything, from shrinks to drugs. Nothin’ worked.”
Sanchez started to tell the stories about how Liz had spent long periods in the Cedar Clinic, trying to get better.
“Carla made sure to hide all the photos, before you came. They spent weekends in Newport a lot. Liz was always happy in Newport or Long Island. She changed … something changed in her.”
“Is she a Buddhist or something now?”
Sanchez laughed out loud at the mention of the word Buddhist, which Nathan took to mean of course she wasn’t.
“Ya know, I never told ‘em.”
Nathan wasn’t sure what Sanchez was talking about now.
He was about to ask a question, when his new best friend said, “It was me, it was me all the time. I’m the guy who exploded kittens in the microwave! You can’t believe the mess them guts made. They smelt real tasty!”
Nathan realized he’d been left out of that little joke, if indeed it was a joke.
“I was the guy who shot them SOBs three times in the head. And now look at me!”
Nathan wasn’t sure what had suddenly brought about Sanchez’s confessional, still the positive thing was that the guy wasn’t trying too hard to engage him in a meaningful conversation.
“Ya gotta lot to learn Nathan, a lot …”
Then Sanchez started talking about where he’d grown up again, the gangs, the drug culture, the facts about urban life in Harlem.
Nathan could only listen, and at some point Sanchez would ask him where he was from—that was, if he didn’t already know.
When Sanchez had finished he stared directly at him. His gaze was penetrating, as if he was trying to look into Nathan’s mind and suck out its secrets. Nathan wasn’t sure what to say, but more than ever, Sanchez made him feel very uncomfortable.
Then he started again.
“Bet ya don’t know how Carla got this fancy house?”
Nathan admitted he had no idea. Either she or her husband had purchased it just like anyone would. But this was obviously not the right answer.
“Budd gave it to her. She got it from her old man!”
Nothing very earth shattering, though it made Nathan smile, because Carla didn’t want her daughter growing up as a spoiled brat.
“How do ya think he got it?”
Nathan assumed he had bought it in the normal way. And once again it was the wrong answer.
“Ha, ha … he won it in a game of poker. He meets at his club with his buddies—the Beverley Hills Hotel, once or twice a month. It’s so cool, because he always wins.”
This was news to Nathan, and it sounded more than a little far fetched.
“It’s funny. Can you imagine Budd Wright playing no-limit Texas Hold ’em?”
Nathan had nothing to add. Sanchez probably enjoyed making up stories. He thought he had to impress, and since he obviously knew the intimate lives of the Wright family better than most, he could exaggerate here and there, invent a few anecdotes that sounded good to an outsider.
If nothing else, it was designed to boost his ego.
“And there’s more … see …”
Nathan knocked back the rest of his beer and Sanchez immediately offered him another.
“The thing is, Liz, she’s the one, if ya know what I mean … see here’s the thing … she’s not really …”
But before Sanchez could finish the sentence, he looked up. Carla was standing in the doorway. She seemed annoyed and Sanchez realized he’d said too much. He stood up, holding onto the chair to steady himself and claimed they were talking about the next day’s boat trip.
Carla knew he wasn’t telling the truth, but her idea of a quickie with a stranger in her husband’s fishing room, was obviously not going to happen any more.
“Quit filling Nathan’s head with your scare stories, Ricco, he’s got enough to think about,” she said.
As they left, Nathan was not totally certain, but he thought he could see a man’s silhouette outside the window.
Carla didn’t appear to have noticed and then Nathan figured it was nothing to be concerned about, because if there was anyone outside, the guy was probably part of the family’s security team.
The light from the fishing room had made the guard curious and he went to check it out. Nothing more than that.
If Nathan wasn’t careful, he’d start to imagine someone was watching him.
Δ = T –20,373,840
The next day, Carla acted as if nothing had happened the previous night, and in one sense nothing had. Nathan hoped that they would have a good day ahead of them and he would get the chance to know Carla and the rest of her family better. Because he was starting to get concerned about his lack of progress in gathering any useful information on Liz.
The trip across town to the rafting center was a short drive. The girls wanted to go with Sanchez, so he followed Dirk, Carla and Nathan in his black Humvee.
The next obstacle for Carla to negotiate was how to choose who sat where on the raft. She suspected that Sophia wanted to sit next to Sanchez.
Help was at hand, when their raft guide Mitch Dodds, told them that he would be in command of steering. Since it was a critical role no one objected, not even Sophia. And it also put Nathan’s mind at ease, because at least someone would know what they were doing.
Their first stop was the outfitters, where Mitch helped everyone select the right helmets, wetsuits, neoprene booties and rafting vests. Mitch then showed the new crew to the locker rooms, where they got changed.
Nathan was right all along. Even though he’d never been rafting before, he was sure people didn’t bring their gear with them, as Carla pretended the previous night. Still, he admired her for creating an imaginative pretext for coming to see him—the only thing was, he had forgotten the sunscreen.
Next, it was into the shuttle bus and a short ride in the direction of Stein Park, where they would begin their trip down the Roaring Fork River. After a twenty-minute safety drill, Nathan thought everything was going pretty much as expected. And he already guessed who he was going to be sitting next to in the raft.
But before they did the put-in, there was just one more thing left for their guide to explain—Mitch had to tell them about the rallying cry. This was what they must shout in unison when things weren’t going right and they all had to pull together.
“Can anyone think of a good team bonding cry?”
The newly turned out crew looked at each other, not sure who should offer the first suggestion.
“How about, kill all emo kids!
” said Sophia, with a broad grin directed toward Sanchez.
Carla noticed the look on her daughter’s face and wanted to tell her that they weren’t there to kill anyone. But fortunately, Mitch stepped in.
“A good try Sophia, but the idea is to have a positive, energizing call to action like, all for one and one for all!”
At this point Nathan felt a strange sensation in his stomach—just how positive was this rallying cry supposed to be? He had visions that later they would meet a spaced out New Age pot smoker, demanding they all start singing Kumbaya around the campfire.
“What about, keep on, moving on! Or, when the going gets tough, the tough get paddling!” said Dirk, in an attempt to inject a more positive tone.
“Or how about, we kick ass! No time for losers!”
Sanchez had thought of using some other choice words, but thought better about it, with Carla present.
In the end, they settled for Dirk’s second suggestion, because it was the best out of a bad bunch.
With Dodds in command of steering, Sanchez was positioned in the front section, with Sophia at his side. Sitting directly behind, were Kirsty and Dirk with Nathan and Carla at the back.
Mitch told them that on the river rating scale, the course was a Class IV—not exactly the beginners’ level Carla promised. Why was Nathan surprised? Nothing ever turned out as he expected.
The scenery was totally stunning; white-barked aspen trees set against a mountain backdrop. Nathan imagined that for most people, taking a picnic and having a sleep in the shade was enough effort for one day. But it was not enough for Carla Wright.
Before they got to the first set of rapids, they had a short practice session, where Mitch taught the basic techniques of using a paddle and reminded them what to do if anyone fell in the river.
The initial stretch of water was calm enough. But Nathan could feel the strength of the current. And in no time he heard the sound of rushing water ahead of them, as the river propelled their raft ever closer to the Slaughterhouse Falls—just half a mile below the put-in.