Parker Security Complete Series

by Camilla Blake

  “Shh,” I said. “Julia. Hey. Julia. It’s okay. Listen. I can understand why you’re upset. And I’m truly sorry. I don’t want to see you like this. But you’re going to be okay. I promise, you will be okay. I’m going to get you a taxi and get you back to your place.”

  She lifted her head, looked at me with her tear-streaked face. “Are you coming with me?”

  “No, I can’t. I told you, I’ve got somewhere else I have to be. But you’re going to go home, and maybe go to sleep early, and tomorrow you’ll wake up and you’ll feel fine. Trust me, Julia; I am not the only guy out there. There are plenty of men out there who would be lucky to go on a date with you.”

  “You’re really telling me this? You’re going to stand there and tell me that ‘plenty of men out there would be lucky’ to go on a date with me, yet you’re saying that you don’t want to? What the hell am I supposed to make of that?”

  “You don’t have to make anything of it,” I said. I needed to make my exit; the longer things got drawn out here, the worse it was going to be. “It’s truly how I feel.”

  “Fine.” She took a deep breath and refused to look at me. “I’m not going to beg you. And I don’t need you to get me a taxi; I can get home just fine on my own.” She turned abruptly on her heel and marched off. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  ***

  I really did have another commitment; that wasn’t bullshit. Ever heard of the band Field of Vision? No? Didn’t think so. Well, if you were at all interested in the underground punk-rock scene (which is still alive and thriving, thank you very much), you might’ve heard of us. Yes, I was the bassist in a punk-rock band, had been since high school. FoV was my current band, but there had been dozens over the years. Because I was the bassist, and had no vocal duties whatsoever, I always played wearing a lightweight mesh balaclava. No one knew who I was, and that allure made FoV all the more popular.

  We were playing at this dingy little place called The Basement, and we were indeed in a basement. There was a restaurant above the club, which served greasy burgers and even greasier French fries, the exact sort of food that drunk people would want to order.

  There were three of us in FoV—myself, Hugh, and Steve. Hugh was the lead singer and guitarist, Steve was drums and backing vocals. There was a moment when we’d thought it would be funny if Steve changed his name to Stu—then we’d be Hugh, Drew, and Stu, but he was against the idea on principle, and also, no one was supposed to know my real name anyway.

  Hugh kept my bass with him and brought it to whatever show we played at. I never played unless we were holding practice, which had become a rarer occurrence as of late. It was fine with me; I liked playing shows because I enjoyed the energy of a room full of sweaty, slamdancing people, and that energy just wasn’t there when you were practicing in a garage with maybe two or three other people in attendance, tops. Hugh and Steve both had other projects they were involved in, and day jobs to boot, so the limited time we all dedicated to FoV was perfect. We weren’t looking for national acclaim or commercial success, just an audience that would come out on some weekend night, pay the five-dollar cover charge, drink beer, and dance.

  I was running a little late, so I took a cab to The Basement, and pulled the balaclava out of my back pocket before we pulled up.

  “There you are!” Hugh exclaimed when he saw me. Several other people had stopped and turned, were pointing, whispers abounding about who exactly I could be.

  “Look at that suit!” someone exclaimed.

  I followed Hugh to the back of the club, where there was an old storage room that the bands waiting to go on could hang out in.

  “You’re looking spiffy tonight,” he said. Hugh was wearing ripped jeans, trashed Vans, and a T.S.O.L. T-shirt. Steve, who was sitting on a beer-stained couch, was wearing something similar, except instead of the Vans it was Chuck Taylors, and instead of a T.S.O.L. shirt it was The Damned. Steve grinned and toasted me with his can of Miller High Life.

  “Always trying to outdo us,” he said.

  I returned the smile, but didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t be hard to outdo either of them, at least when it came to clothing. But that’s not what they cared about, and that was fine with me. I liked that they were two middle-aged men who refused to let go of the bands of their youth, even at a time when pretty much everyone else had moved on. And I guess you could say the same about me, as well. Okay, I no longer had the Mohawk or wore the ripped plaid pants held up with a bondage belt, but the spirit of the whole punk-rock movement that I liked—the DIY sensibility, the bucking of conformity—remained. I had settled down a bit, it was true, but that part of me that had always felt so enlivened by the raw, aggressive energy that was so prevalent in that scene, that part of me still existed, still thrived on it.

  Hugh socked me one on the shoulder. “Nah, it just adds to his intrigue! Whatever is going to make more people turn out for our shows, that’s all I care about!”

  And Steve gave me another toast, because I knew that he was just giving me a hard time, too, that he was really just doing this for the music, not so much the celebrity or fame.

  Chapter 2

  Gwen

  If I hadn’t stayed in touch with Grace all these years, I never would have known Joshua had died.

  When I read her email, I felt nothing. For several seconds, as I stood there in the lobby of the yoga studio I taught at, students milling about as they pulled on their fair-trade cotton hoodies and wool leg warmers, I felt nothing, and then I began to feel something. Relief. My uncle, who had tried to be more like my father after my own parents had died, was no longer of this earth. Though I hadn’t had anything to do with the family for years (aside from Grace), I felt as if I could breathe a little easier knowing that Joshua was gone.

  Hallelujah.

  Call me when you have a chance was how Grace had ended her email.

  I tried to imagine what she would have to tell me. Perhaps it was just that she wanted to hear my voice and felt that now it was finally safe enough for a phone call. But I had a feeling that there was something more. An inheritance? Doubtful, and even if there was, I wouldn’t take it. No way. It didn’t matter how badly I was struggling financially, I would never take anything that had belonged to Joshua.

  “So, I think everything is all set for this weekend.” That was Laurel, my boss and the owner of Shine Yoga. I looked over at her, my mind still on Joshua.

  “What?” I said. “Oh, this weekend?”

  “Yes. If you could plan on getting there around seven to help set things up, that would be great.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “And we’ll hope that this year will go much more smoothly than last year. I think the precautions we’ve taken will ensure that.”

  The studio had been hosting an annual yoga festival in Golden Gate Park, which had only grown in size since its inception. Last year, there had been an incident between students from two different studios, which had ended with some injuries, though nothing too serious, fortunately. I had been teaching a class when the melee broke out, so I hadn’t witnessed it, but the police ended up being called and the festival had ended a day early.

  “That’s good,” I said to Laurel. “I think that things will go smoothly. I’m looking forward to it,” I added, because Laurel liked it when I shared her enthusiasm, and I had been looking forward to this, before I’d received that email.

  Finally, I was able to leave the studio. I made myself wait until I was at least around the block before I reread the email, and then called that number that I never thought I would call again.

  “It’s me,” I said when Grace answered. “It’s Gwen.”

  “Oh, Gwennie,” Grace said, and then promptly burst into tears. I waited patiently, not saying anything, until her sobs started to subside. “It’s been so long,” she managed to get out. “I’ve thought about you so much. I’m sorry that the best I could do was send emails.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s good
to hear your voice. How... how are you doing?”

  “I’m doing the best I can. But it’s hard.” She sniffled. “Joshua’s dead, Gwennie. The Lillie line is officially dead.”

  “Well... we’re still alive, Gracie.”

  “I know. But you’re not going to be passing along the last name, and I certainly won’t be bearing any children. So that’s it. I knew this day would come, but I hoped never in my lifetime. I always wanted him to outlive me. Not that I’m saying I want to die. Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying. All I know is that now that Joshua is dead, I’m completely alone.” She started to cry again.

  “Shh,” I said, feeling completely helpless to do anything. While it was true that I had left what you could call the Lillie family compound, Grace had never done me wrong. She had always been there for me, had always been a kind face in a sea of chaos. I hated thinking of her there by herself, crying with no one to comfort her. “There’s no one else there with you?” I asked.

  “Who?” she said. “Who else is left? Everyone is either dead or has moved away. Joshua burned a lot of bridges toward the end of his life.”

  “How did he die?” I asked. Not that I really cared, but there was a part of me that was curious.

  “A heart attack. It happened so quickly. He was fine one minute, then the next thing I knew, he was on the kitchen floor.”

  So there was no justice in the world, because if there was, Joshua would’ve died a long, slow, death. I felt bad that this thought flittered through my mind, but there it was. I hated the man. Even though he was dead, I still hated him.

  “Gwennie,” Grace said, “I’ve got to ask you something. It’s not easy for me to ask this, because I know it’s asking a lot but... I need you to come home. Please.”

  “Oh,” I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. “Grace... I... I have a life here that I can’t leave. I’m happy. I don’t want to—”

  “No, no, I don’t mean for good,” she said. “No, I just mean come out here and help me get rid of some things. Clean out the house. There’s just... there’s too many bad memories here and I don’t think that I can take care of it all on my own.”

  “Of course not,” I said. “And yes, I’ll come help you. When were you thinking?”

  Just hearing Grace’s voice was bringing back a flood of memories. Not all of them were bad, actually, and I had her to thank, in large part, for that. After my parents died and Joshua tried to step in as my new parent, it had been Grace who had provided encouragement and support and kindness. Joshua had never been interested in offering any comfort, even though my dad had been his brother; he seemed to think that I should just forget about him, I should move on and take my place as just one more blind follower in his cult.

  “Anytime would be fine. This weekend?”

  “I can’t this weekend; there’s a yoga festival we’re hosting. I have to be there—my boss would probably fire me if I wasn’t. I’ve got some time now, Grace, if you want.” It wasn’t exactly what I had planned to do with the rest of my day, but this also wasn’t the sort of thing that you wanted lingering over your head.

  “Really? I don’t want to inconvenience you. I know it’s a bit of a drive.”

  “It’s okay. I think I can borrow my roommate’s car. Let me just check with her first and then I’ll get back to you.”

  I called my roommate, Jill, who worked at the Department of Public Health. I lived with two roommates, whom I had found on Craigslist, but who had turned into the best friends a girl could ask for. Jill was a rarity: a native San Franciscan; and our other roommate, Austin, was a gay boy from the Midwest who had fled his small-minded hometown the day he turned eighteen and had no plans on ever going back.

  “Hey,” I said when Jill picked up. “Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if I could borrow your car for the rest of today. I just got an email from my aunt, informing me that my uncle died. She wants me to go down there and help her clear some stuff out.”

  “Your uncle?” Jill said. “Joshua?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Wow. How are you doing?”

  “You mean how am I doing now that I know he’s dead? Nothing much has changed for me.”

  Jill had been one of the first people I met when I escaped to San Francisco. I was working at a coffee shop and taking classes at City College, and we sat next to each other in a comparative literature course. I had told her some of my story, but not the whole thing. She knew enough, though, to know that no condolences were necessary.

  “And of course you can borrow the car,” she continued. “I rode into work today, so I only have the house key with me. The car key should be hanging on the hook.”

  “Great—thanks,” I said. “I’ll fill up the tank on my way back.”

  I probably wouldn’t even use that much gas—Jill’s car was a hybrid—but my place of origin was a little place called Shelia, in the North Bay. It would take a bit of time to get there, which wasn’t a bad thing, since I had some thoughts that I wanted to try to work out. Such as how strange it was going to feel, returning to this place I hadn’t seen in years yet had spent most of my childhood in.

  I went back to the apartment, took a quick shower, found the keys, and then got the car out of the garage. I had moved past the stage where I wondered why my particular life had to be mine—why did my parents have to die, why did my uncle have to be this crazy religious leader, why was it expected that I was just supposed to follow along like a good little sheep?—but all those thoughts had come back. I’d spent the better part of my late teens and early twenties just trying to forget about my past and focus on having as normal a life as I could. I’d mostly succeeded, I thought, but I feared there would always be this lasting trauma from everything that had happened that I had been powerless to stop.

  As I got closer, I turned off the main road, onto a smaller, less traveled road, then onto another even less busy road, until I reached the long, winding driveway, the main house barely visible. At one point in time, many generations of the Lillie family had lived here; it had been its own sort of bustling metropolis, and other people—Joshua’s followers—had lived there, too. They had built several yurts that I drove past now—all in disrepair, as no one had lived in them for some time.

  Over the years, via email, Grace had given me little bits and pieces of information: the way Joshua’s insanity had eventually chased off every Lillie except for Grace; the way his followers began to diminish until only the most fanatical were left, and how eventually they, too, went away. There was a part of me that was curious, that wondered what happened, but a larger part of me wanted nothing to do with it. It was why I had left, after all. I refused to live my life on someone else’s terms.

  I stopped at the end of the driveway, which made a horseshoe shape right in front of the large barn where Joshua used to hold his sermons. I ignored the barn as I got out of the car and walked toward the main house. It was a typical farmhouse, with a wraparound porch and a screen door that made a slapping sound anytime anyone ever went in or out. It made that exact sound now as Grace stepped out, one hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes.

  She was the youngest out of those siblings, my dad and Joshua’s little sister. But she looked much older now, she had put on weight, her sable hair had weathered and was shot through with gray. I hoped my face did not show that I was thinking this. And who knew what she might have been expecting? I had left here at eighteen and never looked back—maybe she thought I looked old, tired, washed-up. Despite my best efforts, sometimes I did feel that way.

  “Gwen!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms open. I let her envelop me into a huge hug that lasted for nearly a minute. “Look at you,” she said, when we finally broke apart. She held me at arm’s length. “You look the exact same as I remember, yet somehow also completely different. You look well, Gwen. I can tell that you’re living a good life. But come in, come in. I want to hear all about it.”

  It was like stepping back in time. Very lit
tle had changed inside the house. There were the same gingham curtains, the hutch with the decorative plates, the spider plant on the window sill. I did notice, though, all the religious memorabilia was gone. There were no scary paintings of a crucified Jesus, no stacks of Bibles; the straw hat that Joshua was fond of wearing when he preached was nowhere in sight.

  “It doesn’t look too bad in here, Grace,” I said as we sat down in the living room. There were a few cardboard boxes that sat in front of the TV, half-filled with things I assumed were Joshua’s. “I see you got started already.”

  “Oh, I’ve been doing what I can here and there,” she said. “A little bit at a time. That’s the only way that I think I can manage it—otherwise it seems like too big of a task. But before we get to all that, please, Gwennie, tell me how you’ve been. Tell me about yourself. I know we’ve kept in touch all these years, but it’s so different actually seeing you in person, hearing your voice.”

  I gave her the CliffsNotes version of my life since I had left. I told her about taking classes at CCSF, trying yoga out for the first time and how I really fell in love with it, completing my yoga teacher training.

  “So you’re a certified yoga instructor?” she asked, her eyes wide. “My goodness, that’s quite the accomplishment!”

  I told her about my roommates, and what the yoga classes that I taught were like. She nodded eagerly.

  “And what about a love interest?” she asked. “Do you have someone special in your life?”

  “Uh, no. I don’t really have time for that. Relationships can be a lot of work, and I’m pretty happy with the way things are going right now.” That wasn’t entirely the real reason why I wasn’t with anyone right now, but I didn’t want to get into it. It wasn’t the sort of thing that you would talk to someone like Grace about anyway.

  “Well, I think that just means you haven’t met the right person yet. When you meet him, you’ll just know. You’ll find the time.”

  I smiled but didn’t say anything. Grace, as far as I knew, had never had a serious relationship. I didn’t remember her ever having had any boyfriends, or even guy friends, for that matter, when I was a kid. She mostly seemed there to help Joshua with whatever it was he decided he needed assistance with. Had that been her choice? Or had he forced her into it? Perhaps this whole time she had been longing for a different life, and now, even though she was older, the opportunity had presented itself.