She makes a small mewling sound and rolls over settling against the seat with one hand cupped around her cheek. Jared shrugs a shoulder then slides the door closed with a small click. I hear Jared tell Caleb and the other two members of the band to be quiet because his sister is asleep. It confirms my notion that he cares about her very much.
With the two vehicles loaded, the four guys and Lance discuss final details under the outdoor lights of the castle. Lance is doing most of the talking. He seems as excited as the members of Mostly Mayhem. Some of the words penetrate my consciousness. I hear fragments of sentences, “play for friends,” “opening act,” “other producers and managers,” “let’s write up a contract,” and “big party.”
I’m slipping and I need to rejuvenate. Making a physical appearance takes a vast amount of energy. I’m invisible now but the energy I’ve used today is more than I have ever attempted to use before, and I can feel the incredible drain on me. My consciousness needs to rest and revive. It’s similar to sleep but without a body. With focus becoming more of a challenge, I’ll have to leave soon. With Juliana asleep, this will be the best time for recuperation.
The group is saying their goodbyes and shaking hands. Derrick and Dan head over to the Subaru.
Lance says, “Jared, will you ask Juliana if she’ll come to the party?”
“Of course she’ll come,” he answers.
I highly doubt she will, but Jared has no way of knowing about Mason. I look over at the five car garage as we pull out and wonder if Juliana would’ve been in the situation with Mason had I not helped her at the creek today. I have to force myself not to dwell on the what-ifs because it’s pointless. Then I see him. The rotten hulk is standing in the shadow of the building. An orange glow from the tip of a lit cigarette flares bright as he inhales. He watches us. Jared and Caleb are talking about the upcoming party and the set list in the front seat. I’m sure they don’t see Mason, and if they had, they wouldn’t know they should care, I remind myself.
As the van rolls past I see him drop the cigarette and crush it under a boot. He walks away, not to the stairs where he said he lived or toward the castle, but across the parking area where we had just been parked. It’s either the purposeful steps or the late hour, but something sets off alarm bells and causes me to tense up. This man is dangerous and I need to see what he’s up to. I can rest later.
I follow him down a trail through the slumbering forest. He’s not being discreet but I sense he doesn’t want company either. Why else would he wait until the middle of the night to take a stroll through the woods? Matching my pace to his, the trail turns left at an overlook. I pause to see a small pond and meadow below. Mason moves like a badger scurrying down over the rocky trail toward a shabby looking old building. I recall with the dimness of a single watt bulb the partial conversation between him and his friend about cleaning out some old junk, but that wasn’t quite right. He’d said Lance would think he was cleaning up and the setup was “perfect.”
Mason bypasses the first door for another one on the opposite side of the stone building. He reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves a key. He works at the lock and then the door opens with a whine of protesting hinges. His eyes skip over me as he checks behind himself before entering. I slip inside undetected, noting that he closes the door completely before turning on the lights.
The room fills with the crackle and buzz of a struggling light fixture and then fluorescent light shines on the meager space. There are no windows and the walls had been whitewashed once but the gray stone shows through the thin paint giving the room a dingy appearance. Two folding tables are pushed up against the walls and there is a partly full trash bag on the dusty floor. Mason fiddles with a padlock on the front of a metal utility cabinet as I survey the contents of the tables. Pots, pans, and miscellaneous utensils make up the majority of the items. There’s also an electric burner, glass beakers, shopping bags, and small boxes of pharmaceuticals. Mason turns around and places a respirator mask over his bullish face and pulls gloves over his hands. I wonder how toxic the air in here must be, or will be, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t smell anything and it won’t affect me. He gets busy working over the tables and I feel pretty confident I know what he’s up to. I hadn’t thought it possible, but my distaste for this man just grew tenfold.
Chapter Nine: Signs
Juliana
I wake up remembering Nathan’s smell. It wasn’t a smell, not exactly. It was more of a physical current causing the air around him to react, making an odor, like after a lightning strike. It was sweet and cleansing, subtle but penetrating, and unlike anything I’ve ever smelled on anyone before. Twice I’d noticed the odd sensation coming from him and it was leaving an imprint, not only in my nose but permanently fixed in the pleasure center of my brain. Heavenly. Yeah, that’s it.
His feel was different too. He was impossibly strong. He’s tall and nicely built, but how had he carried me so far? The memory of his arms and chest is worth keeping is some secret inner vault I didn’t know I had until right now. He radiated warmth last night too. I feel warm now. I wiggle into my soft sheets and let my comforter shield my body like a protective cloud.
What! My eyes pop open. I see my bedroom door and my closet next to it. It’s daylight in my room. How did I get here? Panic robs me of my next breath. I duck under my covers, and with enormous relief I see I’m still in the same clothes as last night, thank God! Think Jules. A vague memory filters in of Jared and someone else telling me I weigh more than a dump truck — must have been Caleb — and then being flopped down onto my bed. Remember to thank Jared later for not leaving me in the van. The van, I’d been in the van with Nathaniel. What happened to him?
Pictures of the previous night’s events start to flash like a slideshow in my brain. Castle Hill, Lance De’Lao, Yvette, Jared on stage, and Mason. My heart skips multiple beats as Mason’s wickedness replays in my mind. His yellow stained teeth inside that evil smile make me cringe into my pillow. Urghh. What if, oh God, what if…? What if Nathaniel hadn’t been there? I lay tense in my bed and it hits me like a bucket of ice water.
Oh no! It dawns on me too late. I say a silent prayer anyway. Oh saints and angels, what happened to the little boy? Please forgive me. I never went to go get help. How had I forgotten him? Some part of my brain answers by saying, because he wasn’t really there. What had I seen then? It’s just as confusing now as it had been yesterday. Had I made the whole thing up? He looked so real, but there were no tracks, no blood, and there was no toy under the stairs. Was it possible to hallucinate with such clarity? I’ve never hallucinated before, but if it looked real, would I even know if I did? That’s a sobering thought. Did crazy run in my family? No, but seeing ghosts does.
I thought I had seen ghosts before, but I always tried to ignore them. They resembled wispy cloud-like things that floated around, and one time, I saw a woman who was somewhat transparent. It scared the piss out of me. I told Grandma about it and all she said was I had seen a spirit, it couldn’t hurt me, and it was nothing to be afraid of because it was a part of the natural order of things like anything else. Her answer wasn’t satisfactory, but at the time I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t like them. Pretending they don’t exist has been my solution, but the boy and the mountain lion had looked absolutely real. It had been a hundred times more intense than anything else I’ve witnessed, and I couldn’t chalk it up as make believe this time.
I take a long deep breath inside my purple cave. The air is thick and used, so I uncover my face in search of a fresh supply. What about Nathaniel? Had I made him up too? How is it possible he was there right when I needed him, twice? Is he friends with Lance? If he is, then wouldn’t he know Mason? What had Lance said? “It’s complicated.” Why would Lance have such scum working for him? Should I report the slimeball? What would I report exactly? He tried to force me to have a drink with him and then he was going to kill me, I swear it officer, cross my heart and hope to die. If I repo
rted Mason to the cops would it impact Jared and the band’s chance at a record deal? I couldn’t do that to them. All these questions and uncertainties zing through my head like a laser show, it’s dizzying.
The phone rings, breaking the spell. I want to ignore it but curiosity makes me look at the caller ID, C. Crowson. It’s Grandma.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Good morning, Julie.” I hear on the other end.
She is too perky for my morbid mindset; and she called me Julie, too. Only Grandma Charlotte and my dad ever called me Julie. After he died I forbade anyone from calling me that. It reminded me of being a kid, a girl who was happy and had two parents — my before life. After he died, I grew up and left that name behind with much of my kid self. Grandma completely ignores my request to not be called Julie. She is an elder, and can call me whatever she wants, but I don’t have to like it.
“Hi Grandma. Need me to work today?”
“How did you know?” she asks with her sweet as caramel cream voice. “Are you perfecting your psychic abilities?”
“Nope, I’m not psychic, but I am working on perfecting my mind reading skills.”
I’m never a hundred percent certain if Grandma is being serious when she says things like that. To me she is down to earth, but at the same time sort of out there, a little too metaphysical.
She doesn’t reply. I wonder if she failed to get my joke, so I add, “Plus, you told me you might need me on Saturday, so it must be Saturday.”
“It is, and I have private consultations later and a back room full of herbs that need attention. The sooner you can get here, the better.”
“Okay Grandma. I need to shower and figure out a ride but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you, honey,” she coos back. “I need you to close today.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” I answer, thinking I don’t have any other plans anyway.
“Love you, see you in a bit.”
I hang up the phone and stare unblinking at the wall trying to find motivation to move. My eyes shift to my window. It’s too bright, again. From what I can see, the sky is cloudless above spiky green tree tops. Sometimes when it’s gray outside I relish the change and appreciate a nice cloudy day, but I wouldn’t get that day today. I edge out of bed and walk over to the window. Sliding it open, I close my eyes to the bright light and breathe in the crisp air and smell the morning dew burning off. It clears my head a tenth of a degree so I stretch and take another deeper breath.
With fresh air circulating around my room, and my head, I walk over to the closet in search of clothes. Most of what I own is in a heap on the floor. Laundry Jules, don’t forget to wash your laundry, I tell myself, or you’ll be stuck wearing something horrific. I find my last pair of clean jeans. They’re old and threadbare on one knee, but will suffice. I grab my long sleeved teal shirt that’ll pass for work attire and decide my outfit will be mostly covered up by my work smock anyway, so it doesn’t matter all that much.
After showering I comb out my long hair. It’s my one asset. The rest of me is just so, hmmm…, I stare into the foggy mirror and try to decide on the right word. Average is all I can come up with. Average height, average nose, average ears. I’m undecided about my multi-colored eyes, and my mouth is too wide, but I like my thick and shiny dark hair. I comb down my bangs over my average sized forehead and shrug my shoulders. Average is better than hideous I assure myself but then re-examine my thought. Hideous is at least interesting and I’m just boring. Truth be told, I’d have to care more about my looks for me to do something about it, and I don’t care that much. The vanity gene in our family must have gone to Jared. He spends more time looking at his reflection than anyone else in our house.
Before going downstairs I peek into my mom’s room. The lump on the bed confirms she’s home and asleep. She’s committed to her job as a nurse, and I can’t fault her for it, but her graveyard shifts mean I probably won’t see or talk to her, except by phone, for the next couple of days. Jared’s room is next. I have a couple of questions for him about last night. I determined in the shower that I had not made up my encounter with Mason based on the evidence of the bruises on my arms.
I tap on his door with the back of my knuckles, then open it a crack, “Jared, are you awake?”
“No,” he mumbles.
I open the door wider allowing in some light. He has dark sun blocking curtains like my mom has in her room but I can see him sprawled across his bed, the long pale bottoms of his feet hanging off the side.
“I need the car to go to work.” We share one car which we had bought together and so far the arrangement is working out pretty well.
“Just take it.”
“Did you meet Nathan last night?” I ask into the gloom.
“Who’s Nathan?” One eye cracks open, peering at me like a sleepy Cyclops.
“Tall guy, brown hair.”
“Older dude with all the muscles? Too much hair gel?”
“No,” I say in horror, seeing Mason’s ugly face. “Not him, another guy, younger, thinner, wearing jeans?”
Both eyes squint at me now. “No Jules, why? I’m trying to sleep.”
He whines as if he’s in pain from the effort of talking.
“Nothing, sorry. I’ll talk to you later.”
I close the door on Jared’s “whatever,” and go downstairs, not having any of my questions resolved.
After a quick bite to eat, I slip on my Chuck Taylors and grab the car keys. My 1989 Saab waits for me in the drive like the reliable old steed she is. I love my car, I think, as I open the heavy metal door and climb in. The resounding click of the latch closing assures me I’m ready for takeoff. The engine turns over with a single try, as it always does, and as I give it a minute to warm up I see a flash of burnt sienna in my garden.
Leaning over for a better view, I train my eyes on the spot. A red fox reveals itself as it pounces on something. I watch for a moment longer, my mind searching for a sign this little guy might be trying to show me. I’ve seen him now and again; foxes in the mountains aren’t uncommon, but never in the middle of my herb garden in broad daylight. What would a fox have to teach me this morning? I come up with nothing of significance. I normally try to read the signs given to me from the heavens, but this morning I already have too much swirling around my head to add anything new. Deciding he’s a blessing of some sort, I silently urge him to find whichever miserable rodent keeps destroying my Echinacea and chamomile. I back out of the drive wishing him, or her, a prosperous hunt, and let it go at that.
Behind the wheel, my body automatically goes through the motions of driving while my mind busies itself with thoughts of Castle Hill. Jared hadn’t been any help. How did he not see Nathaniel? I thought he was with me in the van until my brother came. And what had happened to Mason? I could report him to the police, the bruises on my arms were obvious, but he could lie about it. No one had seen us, except Nathan, and I don’t know where he is. What would it mean to Jared and the band if I were to file a report on Lance’s employee? What would the charges be? Assault, attempted rape? My insides shrivel into a prune at the thought. Would it have gotten that far? What was Mason’s problem anyway? Maybe he was a woman hater, or a racist. I never thought of myself as a minority but maybe other people do. I’m half Native American, after all. Maybe he’s a woman hating racist. My mind is reaching for an explanation, trying to make sense of the insensible. He’s a total maniac, I conclude. Just stay away from him.
I turn right onto the highway. Lost in thought, I was oblivious to my surroundings until now. Geez, pay attention, I order myself. The highway is quiet, only one other car up ahead. I press on the accelerator, coming up to the speed limit for the minute or two before I’ll be within city limits and have to slow back down. The highway runs straight through the center of town and my grandmother’s shop is in the middle of the old town.
It’s called Native Naturals. My grandma sells every medicinal plant or virtually every
plant that exists, in some form or other. Grandma is convinced I’ll run the shop someday and be her successor. I’m not quite convinced of it myself. I love studying the herbs and their multitude of uses but I’m unsure about listening to the customers. Grandma Charlotte is the epitome of patience and empathy. She listens to people complain about everything from their bowel movements to their cheating spouses, and then she gives them some herb that’ll help them feel better and sends them on their way. I don’t want to know that much about anyone. As it is, I hear more than an earful on a regular basis. It’s a good job though, and Grandma is a wealth of knowledge. The money I’ve earned bought my car and pays for the gas, which is expensive, for my commute to college.
Brake lights flash in front of me and I let off the gas, noting I’m at the edge of town.
I wonder if Nathaniel will stop by to see me at work. He’d said he might. I can hear his velvety tone in my head. A little warmth spreads through my chest and across my back at the memory. Gray eyes under stern eyebrows and an angular jaw. Jules, you’re being ridiculous. You may never see him again. But my brain won’t stop. The more I try to quit thinking about him the more I have to do it. It’s maddening the way my brain operates sometimes.
“Don’t be daft,” I say aloud. Then I give myself a silent speech. You are not that girl. You don’t wait by the phone or obsess about your looks to impress a boy. You made it through high school without getting goofy over boys and you don’t have to act that way now. I want to believe the self-talk is beneficial, but as soon as my little speech is over, I can hear another voice say, maybe you haven’t met the right boy yet. “Hmmph,” I snort back and turn my attention to the road where it should have been all along.
Automatic reflexes kick in and I slam on the brakes, narrowly escaping a rear end collision with a silver sedan. My head jerks forward and I white knuckle grip the wheel. As I try to recover from the near miss, the silver car swerves into the center of the road and then wildly jerks back into the right lane.
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