The Trees Beyond the Grass (A Cole Mouzon Thriller)

by Reeves, Robert

  Visits to home had never triggered this response. The dream always ended like a scratched DVD with darkness at the same point. Sometimes he would get out the last scream for help, sometimes not. He was always left with the consuming feeling that the darkness was death.

  What kind of fucked-up kid dreams like that? The horrific possibilities of where the dream could go were endless in Cole’s mind. Molestation, torture—or worst, being left alone to die a solitary death. None were thoughts or images Cole wished to dream and certainly didn’t think his juvenile mind should have thought up. Yet, awake, he mutilated his thoughts with the imagery of those possibilities.

  His limited time in the criminal defense arena had provided fodder for the old dream. The sad reality was that his worst thoughts were supported by the reality of just how cruel and evil humans could be toward each other. He had seen those possibilities played out as a public defender in Douglas County, Georgia. Too many child-molestation clients had burned him out in less than two years. It was a final case, child-on-child molestation, that sealed the deal and expedited Cole’s planned exit.

  IN A STRANGE way, he was grateful for the dream. It had unknowingly hardened him to those situations long before he was personally faced with the very acts he daydreamed about whenever he awoke from the dream’s ‘what happened next?’ In that way, it was a gift of sorts, giving him strength and the ability to shield himself from the allegations, more often than not true, of horrible things done to children. His mind had partitioned itself from the harm of emotion, compartmentalizing the analytics of his daily life from emotional interference long before it was exposed to real horror. He wondered if somewhere deep down it knew he would need a shield, the ‘wall’ to survive in the future.

  Prior relationships suggested that the benefits of keeping one’s emotions under lock and key came with the serious disadvantage of coming off cold and calculating personally and professionally. What was the word used? Not mean, but…simply disconnected, aloof. He liked the word ‘reserved’ better. It just seemed more prestigious. He couldn’t ever recall that word being used as a negative; rather, it was used to suggest intelligence, success—things he aspired toward. The mental image of him pompously raising his chin flashed before his eyes, making him quietly laugh at himself.

  But three therapists had agreed with ‘aloof,’ advising him that contrary to what he had come to believe, one should not stare a crying lover in the face and ask for rational, objective justification about why something had happened. Intellectually, he understood rage, disappointment, and panic, but he felt they were wasteful emotions, unproductive in resolving whatever actual issue existed.

  IT WASN’T THAT he didn’t feel emotions; he did, otherwise he would be classified a sociopath—an idea that certainly had its attraction, but all that blood… No, his random bloody noses were enough for him.

  It was the wastefulness of it all for him. The forty minutes or an hour of crying could be avoided, and problem would be analyzed and resolved more practically and promptly. Permitting himself to feel freely, letting emotions wash over him like the waves of a sandy tide, subjected him to danger and harm. He couldn’t afford that again, even if his team of therapists demanded ‘homework’ exercises in emotional freedom.

  Dixie the dog was his current emotional muse. Her ability to just live without the torment of too many emotions was inspirational. He knew her ultimate death in old age would test the therapists’ credentials, but in the short run the worst he could suffer was puppy eyes when she didn’t get her peanut-butter filled Kong. Baby steps. If happiness was measured in empty Kongs, he was set.

  Stop it, Cole. Stop. The wall was back, demanding to be raised. His mental exercises in emotion tormented it. You are starting a vacation, going home. You’ve needed this for a while. Salt air and home cooking is just what the doctor ordered to clear your head and return to Denver refreshed. Mind-fucking yourself was not what the doctor ordered. He said his safe words to push out the emotions. Sweet tea, sweet tea, sweet tea…

  PLANES HAD LONG become a disappointment when airlines started shaving inches from not only the width, but the leg space between the seats. For Cole, trying to fit his six-foot, three-inch frame in economy meant knees pressed hard against the seat in front of him. Travel was utterly miserable if the person in the seat before him tried to lounge his seat. Somehow in this tortured configuration he had figured out how to grab a nap, and a nightmare, on the two-and-a-half hour flight to Atlanta for his connection to Charleston.

  An hour later he was back on a plane. He closed his eyes again and tried to ignore the fact that the man next to him reeked of cheap cigarettes and was pouring inches of his flesh into Cole’s personal space. Skin contact with a stranger sucked. Well, at least contact with one he didn’t want to sleep with… His slight buzz from the Fat Tires had worn off, leaving him groggy with irritated emotions and anticipation. The idea of sleeping again on the short connection to Charleston was even more unappetizing when he realized that his fellow traveler’s drool had just dropped on Cole’s striped baseball tee, leaving a growing wet spot in its navy blue fabric. He busied his mind with thoughts of home in hopes of not purging at the sensation crawling over his body as the moistness reached the skin of his arm. Coach sucks.

  CHAPTER 19

  CHARLESTON

  “HEY BABY! DAMN, you are looking good.” A woman’s voice caught Cole’s attention.

  Landed and walking out of the guarded exit, he glowed as he looked for words to respond. “Well, you are too, sexy. Atlanta is treating you well I see.” Cole’s coastal drawl was emphasized in hearing the much stronger version before him.

  “Damn straight! And I treat Atlanta just as well.” Elizabeth Ann Fray, Ann as she was called, did indeed look good. Curvy in all the right places and gorgeous. Her long, brown and blonde-highlighted hair brushed Cole’s cheek as they hugged. Ann was safe harbor, providing Cole one of the few opportunities to be himself without judgment or fear that she would try to ‘cure’ him of his aversion to feeling.

  “Damn, woman, I’ve missed you.” Cole pulled back, his hands on her shoulders, and admired the view. The pistachio green and brown paisley maxi dress accented her carefree appreciation for life. The thought of her in Boulder or San Diego flashed across his mind.

  She flipped her long hair over her shoulder as she responded, “Me too, babe. I’m so excited to be back in Charleston with you.”

  He channeled a pompous broadcaster’s voice. “Uh, it is the number one tourist destination in the entire world according to Condé Nast Magazine, thank you very much. And the best in the U.S. by Travel Mag. Oh, did I also mention we are from here? If that doesn’t mean something, I don’t know what does.” The two laughed. Cole continued, “So, I think it should be a blast. I can’t wait to catch up and just enjoy you. How long have you been waiting?”

  “Well, I flew in yesterday to hang with my old sorority sister, Patsy, you remember her, and she just dropped me off about thirty minutes ago. Your flight was late, mister. So I grabbed some nasty-ass Yellowtail while waiting on you.” Ann’s tendency to animate her words with head gestures had not been lost over the years with it swinging left to right several times as she talked.

  Cole’s eyes widened playfully. “Look at you, already getting the party started. Yellowtail? I thought you were too much of a wine snob for that bottom-shelf brand? Well, let’s get out of here so you can gargle it out and fix the situation, boozehound.”

  Warmth filled Ann’s face as she spoke. “For sure! It really is good to see you. I’ve missed you.”

  “Good, that means you’ll carry my bags, right?” Cole pushed his old carry-on towards Ann playfully.

  She swiped it away with her leather-sandaled foot. “Ha, not a chance, Jack.” Together they walked out of the airport to find Cole’s rental car.

  COLE DROVE AS ANN filled him in on life in Atlanta. They had met in high school and pretty much been inseparable since, or at least until Cole’s move to Den
ver. She was the strongest reason to stay, but ultimately he reconciled that she was just a telephone call and plane ride away. There were tears in Ann’s eyes when he broke the news of his move almost a year and a half earlier. He gave her six months lead time before the move to emotionally prepare herself, but it didn’t help. It strained their relationship for a time. Yet, things were definitely back on track and the distance actually seemed to bring them closer together.

  “So then he was like, ‘but you told me you didn’t want a relationship.’ What the fuck, do you guys really buy it when us girls say that? I mean, seriously, when has a woman ever just wanted to have sex without there being an expectation of more?” She clapped her hand on the car’s seat to emphasis her feigned frustration.

  Smirking, Cole replied, “It worked for Madonna.”

  Ann gave him an ‘I can’t believe you just said that’ look. “Madonna? Please. Please don’t compare me to Madonna. It clearly has not worked out well for her lately.”

  “So what did you do?” Cole had been through this conversation before. Ann, for all her beauty and intelligence, seemed to be on an endless cycle of dead-end relationships. Each was with a similar guy. Handsome, yet totally lacking in success. Window dressing for a large pile of shit… with a half-chewed Barbie arm in it. But they had aspirations of success. Just, bills, kids, ex’s—fill in the blank—kept them from actually dedicating the time and energy into chasing success. The latest was an aspiring doctor with nothing more than his GED. But for his consistent need to get drunk and waste all his money, he would be the next Dr. Travis Stork ala The Bachelor and The Doctors talk show. Like a first-time home buyer, Ann saw only the potential for a palace and not the long, expensive road through remodeling, bills, and withdrawal from society, in her men.

  “Well, I told him I had changed my mind. That I cared for him and thought he cared for me. Oh, and this is where it gets good.” Ann bounced in her seat like a kid excited to be heading to Disney. “He looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes and said, quote, ‘you’re nice and all, but I have a lot on my plate and really can’t handle a girlfriend right now.’ Can you believe that shit? The man had been in my bed every other night for the past month, me cooking him breakfast—and you know I suck at cooking—and then, when I want it to be legit, he says he’s too busy. Screw him.”

  Filling in the momentary pause, Cole added, “You know how to pick them.”

  “Don’t you start.” She smiled as she cut her eyes away. They knew they could tell each other anything without judgment. Cole exercised his right to make observations of Ann’s choice in men and relationships often. Only once did it result in him being on ‘probation,’ without hearing from her. And that only lasted a week, until she needed a sidekick for a Christmas party at work.

  Exhaling loudly with a huff, she started again. “Yeah, I know. I sent mixed messages, yada yada yada. You’ve told me before, and I agree, I have acted stupid in the past. But I really did change my mind this time. I entered it just as friends with benefits. Then we started seeing each other every night or so and it just grew. Or, I thought it did.”

  “Ann, the men you date are good for one thing and one thing only. Sex.”

  Ann looked down to her lap, deflated, arms limp to her sides. “Ugh, and it was good sex. I mean, earth-shaking, body-trembling good sex. My only complaint was that he was too lean.”

  Cole turned his head from the road at Ann’s comment and took the bait. “Huh?”

  She grinned knowing she had successfully drawn him into talking about sex, something he did not like to do. “I mean he had like no body fat. His body was smoking hot, don’t get me wrong, but his penis was like cold steel.”

  “Oh my god. Please sto…”

  “Just think of having sex with an iron rod and you get the point. How that damn Bella chick does it I will never know. Cold steel touching my girl with my feet in the stirrups once a year is enough for me, thank you very much.” Her head was weaving again.

  “…op”. They both burst out laughing. There were few limits to their conversations and she demanded that sex not be one of them.

  Playing along, Cole added, “Well, look at it this way, Ann, you now know what it’s like to have sex with an android or robot. The first woman in the world who can say that.”

  “Sure felt like it. But, man, did he know how to use that robotic dick.” The laughter returned harder as they arrived at Charleston Place, or the Omni as Cole knew it from his childhood. They checked into rooms that had been unintentionally booked on separate floors, both overlooking Meeting Street and the Old Slave Market. There was no time to waste, drinks were to be had and they were not apt to disappoint.

  CHAPTER 20

  LOOKING AT HIS watch, Cole noted it was half past eight. West to east travel sucks. He was no fan of losing time, especially when he was on vacation. Ann and he had rushed to their rooms to change and were to meet in the downstairs lobby of curved staircases in front of check-in. Cole ran to Godiva first, one of many shops attached to the interior of the hotel.

  As a kid, he had always loved Godiva and frankly, he needed the caffeine to keep up with Ann’s spastic energy. As he walked across the beige marble-tiled floor of the shops into the small store, he recalled being told once when he was a kid that Elizabeth Taylor ate Godiva and ordered it exclusively from Charleston. He would learn in college that Godiva was a chain, like McDonalds or anything else, and that there was better chocolate to be had in the world. But visits to the store evoked enough memories of his childhood that he would routinely stop by and grab a piece. Memories, good or bad, comforted him, make him feel in control. Now, his analytical side suggested that it was chocolate’s impact on endorphin levels in the brain that caused that reaction, but whatever the reason, he did it purely out of tradition—something Southerners revered.

  Halfway through a white chocolate truffle he lifted his head and noticed that he must have been making a spectacle of himself enjoying it because a lady was staring at him from across the interior garden of the Charleston Grill as if she was thinking she wanted a bite, too. His contacts were too dry and blurry from travel to fully make her out, but she was definitely admiring the view. He suspected it was a bite of the truffle, not him, because he certainly wasn’t channeling the Diet Coke guy at the moment. He popped the last bit in his mouth and casually returned to the lobby, chuckling at himself. He was always his own best entertainment.

  Ann was running late as he bit into the dark chocolate truffle with milk chocolate center. It melted in his mouth and tasted of cream and sugar. Ann being late was like the moon rising. It was expected and routine. Sometimes it was quiet, sometimes it flooded everything in sight with lunar tides. Cole always added thirty minutes to a planned meet-up time in an attempt to avoid disappointment. Moments after the second truffle was gone, she finally appeared.

  Casual dress had no impact on her beauty as she stepped out of the elevator in skin-tight blue jeans and a sparkly silver V-neck tee that hugged her in all the right places. She was stunning no matter the attire. This had led to a lot of suspicion among friends and prior co-workers about their dating status. Cole and Ann had made a run at dating for a very brief moment several years before he left Atlanta. It ended as quickly as it started when they both realized they were much better for each other as friends then they ever were as lovers.

  Cole realized that the great advantage of friends is that you don’t have to sleep with them every night. You can listen and live through all the crazy shit they do, say, and think, without personalizing it or attaching a ‘how does this impact me’ to it. Love is defined by those ‘impact on me’ moments. Avoiding that question just isn’t possible when you date, much less marry someone. If they piss off their employer, the first thought is how will ‘we’ deal with this. When a friend pisses off a boss, you think and say, ‘well, that sucks, let’s go grab a drink’ without another thought. When a lover buys an overly expensive car, you wonder how ‘we’ are going to afford
that. When a friend does, you encourage them to drive it like it’s stolen and go partying to celebrate.

  The risks and consequences of Ann’s decisions accumulated fast for Cole. On one side she was intelligent, successful, and driven. Yet, on another, she made poor, contradictory decisions, told one too many people off on a daily basis, and lacked the stability that he had long since discovered was a personal requisite. The feeling was mutual for Ann. By the end of the three-month trial, she described Cole as ‘bossy,’ ‘cold’ and his personal favorite, ‘boring.’ She resented his control and restraint as a lover. She needed excitement, risk, and the careless nature of a dandelion parachute, adrift in the wind.

  The process had strained but not broken their friendship. It would take two years before it was healed. In that time both Cole and Ann came to respect and revere each other for the very differences that made them incompatible as lovers. Several events in each other’s lives thrust them toward each other, forever strengthening their bond as friends. Had Cole known that it would make him fair game for conversations about her sex life, he might have rethought, but secretly he loved that they each felt so very comfortable that sharing even those conversations felt natural.

  ANN WAS READY for a drink. “Okay, babe, where to? I haven’t been out here in ages. What’s hot?”

  Cole reached in to pull a stray hair off Ann’s shoulder and responded, “Jackie says that Tommy Condon’s is still a great spot for a pre-dinner drink.” Jackie was Cole’s older sister and a local police officer in the Town of Mount Pleasant, right across the Cooper River, or the ‘Cooper’ as locals called it. “And, you know if there’s a person who knows what bars are hot, it’s a police officer.”

  “Sounds perfect. You know how I love Irish pubs. Ha.” Ann was referring to last year’s summer trip to Ireland where she and Cole drank at every pub they could find, sampling the local beer and ‘supporting the local economy,’ as they told themselves. The beer made the reality that the euro was almost two for one a little less painful.