Desert Son Trilogy: Desert Son, Wayward Soul, Spiritual Intervention (Books 1-3)

by Glenn Maynard

  “I wouldn’t put it past him,” she said.

  Carter’s expression turned to stone. “So, how are you gonna handle this…us…him? When are you gonna tell him that you…are you…that you’re here?”

  Brenda looked over at the old black rotary phone on the bedside table. She reached over Carter to get to it, pressing her chest firmly against Carter’s. “I think I should call him and tell him now,” she said.

  “Thanks,” said Carter, thinking about how great she felt.

  “Thanks?”

  “For calling him,” he said. “I think it’s a good idea that you do, just don’t tell him where you are.”

  Brenda pushed the buttons on the phone, and then sat up in bed awaiting an answer.

  “Hi Reggie, it’s me,” she said. “Remember that old white house on Arapahoe that we always talk about? Well I’m inside of it now…yeah. I slept with a guy named Carter. He’s from Boston. He…”

  Carter snapped the phone out of Brenda’s hands with all the energy he could muster. Sheer terror mixed with mistrust that disfigured his face. Reggie looked like a sizable guy to Carter. Panicked, Carter went to slam the phone down when he heard a loud recording of a female voice bellowing out from the receiver: The time is…two…thirty-four…and twenty seconds…”

  Slowly, Carter let fall the receiver, glaring at his hysterical bedmate. Only following a silent minute was Carter able to calm himself enough to laugh with her. Then Brenda dialed the phone again, and rose from the bed, walking toward the bathroom, and then closing the door behind her. The phone cord could not afford another inch, even with Carter anchoring the base. Carter believed that this call should be a private issue, but had trouble coming to terms with how she was able to go from tears of agony to tears of laughter in a heartbeat. It was like she was two different people.

  He would not have passed up the opportunity to be a fly on the wall in the bathroom, however. He thought that, if given the chance, he would return to this fine earth as a fly, and take up residence on any wall that he would pass, provided he’d have the capacity to listen and comprehend.

  Brenda emerged from the bathroom quietly, her sarcasm removed.

  “How’d it go?” Carter asked.

  Brenda didn’t answer immediately, and when she started to speak, she covered her mouth with her hand as if she was trying to muffle feelings.

  “What is it?” asked Carter, rising from the bed in nothing but boxers.

  “Oh, he’s just being…Reggie,” she said. “Mr. Tough guy.”

  “What did you tell him?” Carter was dying to know.

  “I told him that I was staying with…a friend.”

  “Did you happen to mention gender?”

  “I didn’t have to.”

  “I’m here for you, Brenda,” Carter said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed the tears out. There weren’t a lot of them, but enough to show Carter that she feared for her life.

  “Please keep me here, Carter,” she said.

  “You bet. Martin told me that I could stay at least a few days, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome. If he doesn’t approve of you being here, then I’ll have to sneak you in and out, but if that’s what it takes. I don’t think he’ll mind, though. He did say he wanted the company. He seems to be a pretty lonely guy. He…”

  “Carter,” she interrupted. “If he doesn’t want me here, then I’ll just have to return to Reggie, but I just don’t want for you to get too involved in my problems. If it’s not meant to be…”

  “No,” said Carter. “I won’t let you return. You deserve better, and Martin won’t mind having a pretty young lady around the house again. I bet he misses that. You’re probably what he’s been wanting in his presence for a long, long time.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A familiar wind whooshed trees back and forth outside, creaking even the house, and the sun had pretty much gone into hiding. Carter could hardly say it had been a wasted day. He remembered what relationships were all about, and then wondered if he even missed them. Of course he did, he thought. It had been over a year. He certainly wanted to have a relationship, even with all the riders associated with one.

  Having discovered a game of Backgammon on the bookshelf in the bedroom, Carter grabbed it and asked Brenda if she knew how to play. Brenda admitted liking the game probably more than Carter, but he was having none of that. He used to play the game every Sunday as a family event growing up, and this continued even into adulthood. Brenda did love the game and played often, but could not compete with Carter’s story.

  Carter and Brenda sat Indian style on the bed as they rolled dice and moved chips. However, Carter’s expertise became apparent early on, sweeping as many games of Backgammon as Brenda had with darts. Carter noticed that Brenda’s enthusiasm for the game diminished considerably from her first roll of the dice. After the third game, he folded the board shut, and then asked her what she wanted to do.

  “Let’s…just talk,” she suggested. “I really enjoy talking to you, learning about each other, and I love hearing the sound of your voice. Say something to me.”

  “Well,” said Carter sheepishly, “what is it that you’d like me to say?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Just…talk. Say anything…anything at all. I just love your voice. It’s so…so sexy, I guess.”

  Carter giggled, changing a couple of shades of red in the meantime.

  “Tell me about that near-death experience that you had. What about that lady you saw and said something to you? What was it again?”

  Carter put his arms out in front of him as if he were leading an orchestra and slowly, softly answered, “Welcome, son.”

  “Did she say anything more about what business of yours was unfinished?”

  “She tried to,” said Carter, “but everything became muddled as I was receiving the news that I was not there to stay.”

  “Do you think that when she said ‘son’ that she was implying she was your mother?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not likely, but it’s certainly bizarre and worth my effort to find out, keep my eyes and ears open. That’s pretty much what she was trying to tell me to do.”

  “Isn’t there an easier way to find out?” Brenda asked.

  Carter felt like he was taking Brenda’s lessons about following signs and running with them. Now he seemed to be leaning towards Reggie’s approach, but this school of thought was really becoming part of Carter now.

  “There’s several ways to do things,” he began. “Being on the spiritual level, answering a spiritual message with spiritual proof seems to be the best way for me to go…especially since my parents are the only ones who knew the truth, and they’re no longer around. I’m an only child. Following signs is my spiritual form of investigating my dilemma, don’t you think?”

  “Of course,” said Brenda, looking at Carter sideways, unsure of his transformation. “Don’t get me wrong, I really admire what you’re doing. I’m actually anxious to find your answer too. I’d like to share this experience with you, and perhaps I could help. Just one thought about a more conventional approach. What about asking people back home…friends…neighbors?”

  “I’m sure that if there are people who know the answer, they would not disrespect my parents by blabbing the details. Besides, I wouldn’t put them in that dilemma,” said Carter.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Carter convinced Brenda to go downstairs with him to have a casual chat with Martin. He felt a little guilty that he invited her to stay without Martin’s permission, but he thought that Martin would understand, especially since they had gone out
drinking the night before.

  Martin was at the foot of the stairs as they descended, and it appeared to Carter that he had been there listening for some time.

  “Carter,” he said. “I thought you were dead to the world. If it weren’t for the creaking I heard last night, well I’d think you didn’t even come home. I was gonna just go up and check ya fer yer pulse. Last night seemed you had trouble sleeping…this morning you had trouble waking.”

  Carter took a deep breath, and thought about his unbeknownst participation in the “creaking” in which he was not really a part, and he became more disappointed than before.

  Brenda came down the stairs behind him, deciding to just go for it and get his reaction. Silence ensued, enabling them all to hear another flipping minute. Carter had to think quickly.

  “Ahhhh…Martin…there’s…there’s someone I ahh…want you to meet.”

  The house became silent for the minute between flips, and the discomfort level skyrocketed, but Carter continued the best he could. Through thick air, Carter spoke.

  “Martin meet Brenda. Brenda…Martin.”

  Martin slowly offered his old, scaly hand, and Brenda met him halfway. They locked eyes, saying nothing at first, so Carter again had to initiate the conversation. He could only guess that Martin was struck by the presence of a woman in his house, and Brenda perhaps taken aback by Martin’s tall, stick-figure stature. The stares on the stairs blew Carter away, and he couldn’t begin to imagine the underlying reasons. He knew that they did not know each other, so it had to be something else. He wondered if they just didn’t like the way the other looked, or maybe they did.

  “Brenda stayed the night because we went out drinking last night, and she couldn’t make it home to her parent’s house,” said Carter. “She’s not exactly getting along with her parents these days…to top it off.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame,” Martin managed slowly. “It’s important to have a good relationship with your parents.”

  The glares continued as they all made their way into the living room. Carter could sense the thick air, and hoped that the two would talk about something, anything. The weather was always a popular subject in Colorado. Even Carter knew that the country was in the middle of a warm spell. Anything to break the tension, he thought.

  Brenda seemed to be in a trance-like state as she slowly turned to the picture on the wall. “Except that,” Carter mumbled, but before he could think of a simple, yet immediate way to divert her attention, she said it.

  “Who’s this beautiful woman?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Martin had mentioned to Carter just one day prior that he leaves the house only once or twice a week. Today would be one of those times since his Sunday morning ritual included eight o’clock mass. Carter awoke to the bang of the front door being slammed shut. He peeked out the window to see Martin in his Sunday best, hobbling his way to his beat up Valiant with the help of his cane. The walk appeared even tougher because of the violent winds that whipped the trees back and forth.

  Carter took this opportunity to try to figure out what his roommate of only two days was all about. He knew that there was something missing. Carter rushed into the bedroom to rouse Brenda. They had decided on a plan the night before, after the incident between Martin and Brenda. Martin was much too strange a character to write it off to him just being elderly. He’d gone too far. They had planned to poke around the place during Martin’s absence, and this morning provided a couple of hours if he did his usual grocery stop.

  Carter hollered as he ran into the bedroom, diving onto the bed, which swiftly opened Brenda’s eyes, faster than morning eyelids should be raised. He didn’t think she’d particularly mind such a wakeup call, especially after the way the old man had treated her. Carter couldn’t come up with a reason for anyone to treat them the way Martin had, especially upon first meeting. Carter could shake off the little shake up he had received after asking about the portrait, but resented the man for his treatment of Brenda. Martin’s emphatic apologies coupled with Carter and Brenda’s need to understand this old man and keep hot on the trail of any and all clues were the only reasons they stayed.

  Carter watched Brenda rise from the bed and glide into her faded blue jeans, beginning with the insertion of her slender legs. He knew she abhorred Martin after that initial encounter, and admired her for even wanting to stay, but he was very glad she did. He felt he needed her around, and it was easier for Carter to work with a partner.

  She needed Carter as well. At first he thought that Brenda must really want to be with him, but maybe her choice had been influenced by the craziness of her own world. Perhaps she was just used to bad treatment from Reggie, he thought, or really did not want to go back to him and had nowhere else to go except the lawn of the Pearl Street Mall. Carter felt determined to stand between her and Martin should the need arise. Martin had convinced them otherwise, but wasn’t to be trusted. He had also planned to stand between Brenda and Reggie, should that need arise. Always the middleman, he thought.

  Martin had barely backed out of the driveway when Carter and Brenda began their investigation. Carter and Brenda knew where to start. They stood before the portrait of Martin’s wife, Shirley. Based on calculations, and it being the picture of a woman with dirty blonde hair in her early 40’s, they were fairly confident that this indeed was a portrait of Martin’s wife, Shirley. However, nothing of what Martin said could be taken at face value.

  Carter looked into the woman’s blue eyes as they looked back just as hard. In fact, Carter began to get a little bit uncomfortable. Brenda was pulled in as well. “Holy shit!” she said, staring into those eyes. Then Carter locked eyes with Brenda, but no words came out from either party. They both looked back at the portrait, and then at each other again. “I just feel freaky,” said Brenda.

  “And how!” said Carter.

  They couldn’t examine or reveal why, but they did know something was very unsettling. The only thing they could confirm was that there was something here.

  Brenda needed a minute downstairs in front of the portrait to look for obvious signs; things out of place. Carter followed suit, and together they went so far as removing the questionable portrait from the wall.

  “Nothing,” said Carter, disappointed that nothing jumped out at him.

  “Let’s try his bedroom,” Brenda said excitedly, as the two teamed up to return the portrait and wire back onto the nail.

  “Shit,” said Carter, watching helplessly as the nail fell out of the wall and landed by his feet.

  As Carter held the picture up, Brenda grabbed the nail and attempted to return it to the wall, but the wall did not hug the nail.

  “Hold on,” said Brenda.

  She reached down and took the sandal from her foot, and tried pounding the nail into a new spot right next to the old hole in the crusty drywall. Her shoe was not weighty enough.

  “We cannot waste all of our time putting this God damn picture back on the wall,” a frustrated Carter said. He began to get more and more anxious.

  Brenda went around opening every drawer in the living room until she found what would be equivalent to a junk drawer. “Aha,” she said, grabbing a nail and a heavy pair of vise grips. “Take this.” With a grunt, she swung her newfound tool at the nail after getting it started with a couple of taps. The nail not only pierced that wall entirely, but the weight of the vice grips dented and cracked the drywall.

  “Brenda!” Carter groaned. “You have to make sure you’re lined up with a two-by-four. Tap the wall for solidity.”

  She tapped the wall, and then used her long nails to dig out the nail she’d sunk. A couple of taps, then crack…the nail started.

  “Okay now, keep going,” said Ca
rter. “Easy now.”

  Brenda swung until the nail held about an inch into the wall, leaving the other inch to hang the portrait. She could not pull it out with a gentle tug, and was quite happy about that.

  “Yes,” Carter exclaimed, lining the wire behind the portrait onto the nail, which not only held the wall, but disguised the damage.

  “Let’s get upstairs fast,” said Carter.

  Brenda followed Carter as he ascended the stairs two at a time, as if he was trying to make up for the time they’d just lost. Although aware that they’d probably discover nothing, they were revved up by the ‘practice what you preach’ mentality, and every minute counted with these odds. They believed that there had to be something going on, and it was now or never. Why would the old man freak out over a picture on the wall? They both needed answers to this query. Carter couldn’t imagine, but his desire for some sort of explanation burned within him, and he knew he did not yearn alone. Carter thought about terminating his stay that very day should nothing out of the ordinary make him remain.

  The pair dashed upstairs to Martin’s room, stopping just inside the entrance. Looking around, Carter saw a disaster area. This was great, he thought, since they could leave no stone unturned, and still not leave a trail. The mess would cover up any snooping. He looked over at a chair to the side of Martin’s bed. Dirty clothes were piled on it, nearly blocking the entire chair, spilling over onto the floor, and a stream of clothes even meandered from one side of the room to the other. Shoes strewn about the room made for a hazardous project, but again, Carter believed this to be beneficial for a cover up.

  An antique bureau blocked an idle closet. Carter and Brenda looked at each other blankly. The closet aroused suspicious feelings in both detectives. Although the room was in shambles, the bureau really looked like the only item out of place.

  Carter could tell by the look on Brenda’s face that she was interested. Whether she was interested for his sake or hers…well…the jury was still out on that, but that was inconsequential at this crucial time. He needed her, and she appeared willing, so Carter needed to ride this wave.