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

by Glenn Maynard

  Since Carter had tucked these diaries into the front of his shirt, and folded his arms as he walked out of Martin’s room, Martin never noticed them. Martin must have just appeared at his bedroom door, since he did not mention seeing anything, and Carter brilliantly explained their presence away by saying that he was taking Brenda on a grand tour.

  Carter believed that Martin would have spoken up had he seen or heard anything. The only other scenario he could envision would be that Martin felt bad about assaulting Brenda the way he had. After Martin had knocked Brenda to the floor, Carter intercepted him as he tried to get on top of her. But then Martin apologized profusely, convincingly enough that Brenda agreed to stay one more night, rather than having to crawl back to Reggie. She was basically stuck there.

  Carter agreed that Martin had behaved irrationally, but the old man was edging into his 80’s, and did act as though he possessed an imperfect mind. At least the apology could signify remorse, competence, sanity, or even temporary insanity in Martin’s favor. Martin never admittedly caught on to the diary theft, or loan, which put Carter in this position to move past the cover and onto page one. Brenda spread out next to him on the bed, resting her chin on his shoulder as they began reading the highly anticipated text.

  April 1, 1974

  Dear Diary,

  I’ve never done this before, so I hope that my deepest, darkest secrets may stay between these very covers, locked up long after my death, and never found. I order this diary to disintegrate before another eye spots it. Please remain confidential. Otherwise, my brain, or the darkest part of me, which even I didn’t know I had, would be revealed. I’m not proud of it. Well, this is only a test, so I’ll see you again real soon. Alexandra.

  April 10, 1974

  Dear Diary,

  I need to use you to follow my pregnancy, but you should know how things never go as planned. So now here I am with so much shit going on in my life. I’m feeling so alone in this, and now I’m so deep into it that there’s no turning back. I very much want to keep this baby, but I don’t know so much that I want this baby to be raised with the help of my boyfriend, Darren.

  That damn guy cannot seem to go more than an hour before he feels the need to light up. He’s terribly addicted to marijuana, but he doesn’t think he is. He keeps saying that it’s just a phase he’s going through. I don’t believe him. It’s obviously more than that, but the denial. I’m afraid this baby is going to be affected by all the drugs. He doesn’t think so, but of course an addict is going to say that. I don’t love Darren, and I want him out of my life. However, Darren is the father of my child, which is a lifetime commitment. Although I’m scared at the thought of raising this kid alone, I’m leaning toward running away with my baby and not letting him know where we are.

  Darren was never meant to be more than a quick-fix rebound from my previous relationship. I was only using him to make my previous boyfriend jealous, but things got out of hand, and I got pregnant. This was by no means supposed to happen, but I cannot give up what is now part of me. Here I am, regretful that we met, six months later, wishing that Darren isn’t the father. I don’t want to be a single parent, but it seems like my only sane option.

  Alexandra.

  April 20, 1974

  Dear Diary,

  Darren’s behavior is becoming increasingly bizarre as the days go by. He stones in hopes that his high never fades, and he scares the shit out of me. He’s becoming more irritable too. Today, he pushed me down the porch steps because I wasn’t moving fast enough for his liking. I told the doctor that I fell. Why I bother protecting this madman is beyond me. I guess I’m afraid and embarrassed. And he convinced me that if I told the doctor the truth that it would be bad for the baby. Stupid me believes everything he says. He’s so conniving.

  It’s very embarrassing to live with an addict, but I don’t want for him to die. I would never wish for the death of another human being. I would feel responsible for his death if I left Darren to die. I’m even afraid to leave him alone. I know I’m an enabler, but I can’t help it, and people should not judge without truly knowing the reality of this world. Of course I want a two-parent household for our child, but that’s not even the primary reason for my staying.

  Darren is so lost. He’s a great person and all when he’s not using, but that daily window is very small. In fact, sometimes that window is sealed for a week. Everybody tells me to leave him or stop complaining, but I can’t seem to do either. I can’t seem to leave him and have been alienating my family and friends in favor of this diary. I used to be a social butterfly flitting out and about with family and friends, but now I’m holed up in this house that is not even ours. Venting to a diary about an addict who is driving me crazy seems to be the only remedy because I can’t seem to leave and people are done hearing about it.

  The doctor doesn’t think the baby was affected by my fall, but I needed 21 stitches to close the wound on my left knee. Darren was too God damn stoned to even know what he’d done, only aware enough to convince me not to tell. Then he passed out cold, leaving me to take care of the situation at hand. I had to tie an old shirt around my wound and drive myself to the hospital. I have to go now. The pain comes and goes, and now it’s unbearable.

  Alexandra.

  ***

  Carter and Brenda sat puzzled on the bed. They resumed reading, but one question remained: Who’s the author? It was unlikely that Shirley wrote the diary entries, thought Carter, since the man’s name was Darren. Carter then wondered if it was Shirley, and she was having an affair with this Darren. Brenda reminded Carter to think in terms of himself. They moved on to the following entry. Since the name was not filled in on the inside cover, Carter and Brenda figured the author would reveal herself within the body of the text. They kept reading with an insatiable appetite for an identity.

  May 10, 1974

  Dear diary,

  I apologize again for not writing in weeks, but something has come up. Darren is getting worse, which I didn’t think possible, and now he’s found a new religion. Buddhism has introduced Darren to reincarnation. Now he’s determined to test this doctrine of reincarnation, and he’s willing to bet his life on it. I never ever imagined that I’d go along with a plan involving the death of another human being, but I’m not even sure that I can categorize him as human. I didn’t know it was possible to hate somebody that much.

  Darren is planning to end his life…accidentally, so he says (with a wink of his eye), and he’s determined to return as his own child. He says that he needs me to look for signs of reincarnation, and he’ll teach me how to look for signs of past life memories within our child. If that’s the only way for me to rid him from my life, then I’m willing to play along and humor him.

  Alexandra.

  ***

  Carter looked to Brenda for an explanation.

  “Does this make any sense to you?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she began. “It’s awfully extreme, but take a look at the demented mind we’re looking at here. Darren has nothing to lose, and souls who meet tragic endings are said to reincarnate faster than those who don’t. Suicide is believed to be a deal-breaker, but Darren was trying to make it look like an accident. And another thing: Souls are said to be able to choose their own mother’s womb…and usually return to earth within the same family. Maybe Romeo and Juliet figured that would be the only way for them to become tied?”

  “You’re really into this,” said Carter, cocking his head back as if he could more so believe Brenda from afar.

  “I tell you what,” she said. “Reggie drilled it into me. He actually quizzed me on the philosophical principles of Buddhism. Darren probably was screwed up enough to believe that he would only lose a couple months on earth, plus h
e’d be able to start over. This was all just a game to him. Read on.”

  May 28, 1974

  Dear Diary,

  Maybe it was a delayed reaction, but I have lately been mourning this pregnancy more than ever. Maybe it’s because my child, due in a week, may never get to know his biological father. I don’t know the answer, and I know this sounds stupid, but maybe deep inside, I fear that Darren will return to earth and become the personality of my child. I find myself trembling from the very thought that Darren’s spirit is inside of me; inside my child. My child would then be born possessed.

  Maybe Darren has a way of getting inside of my head now, and he’s toying with my brain, planting these very fears. Maybe he’s sending me subliminal messages that I should mourn his loss. I really can’t take this. I just want to have the baby and forget about him. I think everything will be fine when I have the baby and know that Darren is a separate soul.

  Alexandra.

  June 5, 1974

  Dear Diary,

  I really think that this baby is on its way. The contractions are unbearable, and getting closer together. I think it’ll be any day now. Here it comes again.

  You probably didn’t notice that I stepped away for about 90 minutes, but I sure did. Gotta go again.

  ***

  Carter made it to about the middle of the diary in book one, only to discover that the entries had ended. However, he found it coincidental that the entries abruptly ended the day before his own birthday.

  He began flipping through the blank pages of the diary hoping to find more entries, and on the final page next to the back cover, Carter found a withered newspaper clipping pasted onto the page. Underneath the article was written “THE END,” but the writing was not done by the same hand as the diary’s author. The headline snapped up their attention: Train Kills Man.

  Carter looked up at Brenda and said nothing. No words were necessary at this point in time. They were starting to get comfortable with each other and this silent conversation proved such communication existed. No words were required. Carter fully understood Brenda’s message about following signs. He didn’t need to ask anything when he saw those newspaper headlines.

  Carter had a feeling what the story was going to tell him, and he read on, as Brenda looked over his shoulder. They did not speak to each other, but Carter did not wish to carry on any conversation at this time. He settled into the article and read.

  Boulder - An unidentified white man was killed late Wednesday afternoon by a passenger train on the outskirts of the Town of Boulder. Boulder police are only saying that they believe that this man wandered onto the train tracks, but it was too early in the investigation to confirm this. Police ask that anyone with information about this accident, or if anyone is known missing, to please contact the Boulder Police Department.

  The accident occurred just north of town in a sparsely populated area of Boulder County. This is the second train accident involving a person in as many months. In March, an unidentified man was killed by a train about five miles from this accident, and he has yet to be identified. He was buried on May 17th at the Green Mountain Cemetery.

  Carter ripped apart the second diary with an appetite for answers. Not only did they find her boyfriend Darren’s death article, but there were also wallet-size photos of this lady. The photos were unidentified, but Carter was confident that they were the two characters in the diary. The photo of the woman, however, sucked the wind out of Carter upon second look.

  “Brenda!” he screamed. “This is the woman! This is the woman I saw!” Carter took a step back and gasped for air. He was shaken by a mix of emotions that should not even be in the same room with each other. He got lightheaded again, angry, curious, scared and enormously bewildered. This mix of emotions was nearly a lethal combination, but Carter had maintained just enough peace of mind to remember Brenda’s lessons and to keep his eye on the ball. He became lost for a bit, but his determination helped him to refocus on the photo for a positive identification. He had never been so sure. He had studied that image and replayed it over and over in his head.

  Her image stayed with Carter, all right. He had her pegged like a DNA test. He immediately identified with the photo on several levels. Aside from looking like the woman he saw during his out-of-body experience, he identified the dimple on her left cheek and a second one smack dab in the middle of her chin, but smaller, like an inverted pinhead. Her darker complexion also reinforced his certainty. She had a light tan skin tone which was a canvas for that vertical line that appeared and disappeared whenever she spoke or moved her face in any way. That signature line was vertical and ran from her right nostril to the right corner of her lips. With all of those features, perhaps the most telling identifier was the dark unibrow. Carter was also awash with that strange feeling, which Brenda had instilled in him to embrace and move towards rather than retreat.

  “This is the woman who called me ‘son’ up there in heaven.

  “Carter, keep it down,” warned Brenda. “Martin’s going to hear you.”

  Carter felt his adrenaline flying out of control. He was hyperventilating, but tried the best he could to whisper. His face reddened and he became sweaty. A dizzy spell swept over him.

  “This is her. I swear this is her,” he repeated. “This is unbelievable. What the…”

  Carter and Brenda followed the signs until the pieces dangled right in front of their noses.

  “If the woman claimed to be your mother, then this lady was pregnant with you,” Brenda exclaimed. She then paused long enough to solidify her argument. “So if you’re this baby…then you…wait a minute. You could actually be your own father…reincarnated. This is so bizarre!”

  Brenda shot into an upright position, continuing enthusiastically. “That’s your mother, and that’s your father. He died for an experiment, and if your mother survived, then she would have…”

  She stopped mid-sentence, then paused in thought. Carter was hoping she had more. He was blown away, yet relieved that there were signs of a breakthrough.

  “But that doesn’t follow,” she continued. “You have no memory of this and you grew up in Boston.”

  “That’s exactly right,” said Carter, somewhat relieved. “This doesn’t prove anything. It just doesn’t add up. What happened to this lady? And if this was my mother, then how did I end up 2000 miles away before I was old enough to know?”

  Brenda stared into the air, and then met up with his eyes again, and reeking from those eyes seemed to be reasonable answers, and Carter easily bought her arguments.

  “Your mother died…and you were adopted,” she said.

  “Possibly,” said Carter.

  “Then you’re the only one left who can finish this experiment,” Brenda said in an excited whisper.

  “Whoa!” said Carter. “Wait one minute, Brenda.” The challenging tone of his words nearly accused Brenda of outright lies. “I have nothing to do with this experiment. It’s NOT mine. It never WAS mine. It never WILL be mine.”

  Brenda grabbed Carter, holding his shoulders and shaking them slowly to accompany her words. “Say your father did return, and took the role of personality inside your capsule as a baby. Then your father’s personality is still inside you to this very day. He could be responsible for bringing you here, and leading your mind to take you into Martin’s closet. Do you think that this is all your own doing?”

  “But…”

  “But nothing. You are the only one left on this earth who can find out if you are the reincarnation of your father. Your father died for this experiment, so it would be the ultimate disloyalty to your father if you ignored the signs, and you wouldn’t exactly be doing yourself any favors, either. Remember what you were investi
gating. Remember that your job is to follow any and all signs. You have nothing to lose, except your identity…if you don’t do this! If you ignore this one, you could be disregarding key evidence. Now do you want to find out who you really are, or would you rather not?”

  “It’s just all…”

  “Just trust me on this one,” said Brenda. Her confidence rolled as smoothly as her whisper, and Carter was becoming a believer. Brenda continued to bowl him over with convincing arguments.

  “If it turns out that you died for this experiment, then you had better search for the answer.”

  Carter remained silent, but his mind raced. Was it really up to him? Did his mother write the diary? How could he prove that this lady was really his mother, and that he was even adopted? And if Carter was kicked out of heaven for not fulfilling his work on earth, he wondered if these answers would complete his mission? Would he then die?

  Then Carter was struck by the fact that the baby in the diary could have been born at a different time. After all, it wasn’t due for another week or two. He grabbed for the second diary again, desperate to disprove Brenda’s theory. He ripped it open and discovered to his sheer dismay that the woman never made it to further diary entries.

  “Damn it!” he said in frustration. Carter stared into Brenda’s eyes, numbed by the findings thus far.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Carter fought with Brenda, but deep down she had made so much sense. As much as he wanted answers, he didn’t want her answers to be correct. He wanted to fight this thing, but he wouldn’t exactly put money on it. The ugly truth may be rearing its head, he thought, but it was the truth that he was after. He was so torn about wanting the truth.