by Frank Redman
Tyler sensed something was wrong. I heard him jump off Jenny’s bed below me and then stand, placing his front paws over the top of my bed.
Because my fold-up bed was only halfway up the rear wall of the cab, it was easy for him to do. He said, Ellie.
It was the first time he’d ever called me Ellie.
I wiped the tears off my face with the sheets and rolled over.
He looked at me, mouth closed, in intense concentration.
I was glad it was Tyler and not Ray or Jenny staring at me, or I’d have been embarrassed. Even in the low light, I’m sure it was easy to see I’d been crying.
I’d never thought about whether dogs or other animals understood the significance of crying in humans. I have no doubt dogs can sense emotional strife in us. Maybe even cats too. I’d heard people tell stories about times when they were upset and their dog jumped up next to them on a couch or in bed to provide comfort. Maybe it’s just imagination, but I don’t think so.
After Billy died, I’ve never been close to another animal.
But I still believe it to be true. Billy knew when I was upset.
Tyler could have easily jumped onto my bed. But I’m not sure the extra 90lbs would have been good for it. Jenny might get a painful surprise.
I think he sensed that as well, because he made no attempt to jump onto the bed.
I scratched behind his ears and said, “Thanks.”
He said, Want some Cheetos?
I smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
Tomorrow. I’ll get you Cheetos.
He dropped and returned to Jenny’s bed.
Drained, I closed my eyes. And slept.
“Ellie. Elllllllieeeeee, time to wake up.”
Someone shook my shoulder gently. I opened my eyes and snapped them shut to protect them from the evil sun. I hate mornings. I gingerly opened my eyes to slits, allowing them to adjust to the harsh light.
Sunlight gushed through the windshield of the cab. It wasn’t directly burning my retinas, but still bright enough to hurt until I was accustomed.
Jenny stood in front of me. When I opened my eyes, she smiled and said, “Hi.”
It was a very surreal experience. Here was the true girl of my dreams—not some short-term fantasy—standing two feet away from me while I was lying in bed, smiling. Wow.
I tried to say hi back, but instead said, “Hhf,” my mouth dry and uncooperative. I’m sure my breath smelled like I’d been chewing on three-weeks dead opossum too. I hate mornings. I did not make another attempt to speak.
Jenny kept smiling at me. She was a vision in the truest sense of the word.
The sunlight behind her highlighted strands of her hair. Wow. She kept smiling at me, expectantly. I eventually caught on that I was supposed to react in a certain way to a certain something, though I didn’t have a clue as to what.
I took a quick peek: Thank God, she had on clothes.
She lifted a bag of Cheetos above the edge of the bed so I could see.
I laughed and quickly covered my mouth with my hand. Carcass breath! Toothpaste. I needed toothpaste. Mission critical.
I leaned over and saw Tyler sitting on the floor looking up, grinning, his tail swishing enthusiastically.
How did he…?
I sat up, smiled, plopped onto the floor, and muffled, “Let me brush my teeth.”
Taking advantage of the sink in the cab under the microwave, I then felt human. Or at least my mouth tasted like I was human.
Jenny gave me a hug, a real hug, then handed me the Cheetos bag. “I cooked breakfast.”
I got two Cokes from the small fridge.
Jenny opened the bag, poured a few Cheetos on a paper plate for Tyler and we all ate breakfast.
I said, “Where’s Ray?”
“He went into the truck stop to take a short nap. He said this place is nice and has clean beds, long enough for even him. He said truckers stop here to catch some Z’s. Dogs on a leash are allowed in the store. You’d be surprised how big it is in there. So Tyler and I went hunting for breakfast. He got all excited when he saw the Cheetos bag.”
He projected to me, Told you I’d get you Cheetos.
Good dog.
I had a flurry of questions I asked Jenny between bites:
“What time is it?”
“11:00.”
“Where are we?”
“Amarillo.”
“Why are we here?”
“Ask Ray.”
“How long have we been here?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“What’s next?”
“Ask Ray.”
“More Cheetos?”
She smiled and poured some more, also for Tyler.
Tyler said, I like her. You should marry her. She’s a great cook.
I laughed, drawing a weird look from Jenny.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Tyler thinks you’re a good cook.” Oops.
She smiled. “He does, huh? How do you know?”
“Um, because uh… he thinks whatever I think. Yeah.”
“Is that right?”
“Um, yeah.” I looked at the Cheetos bag. “He also thinks you’re beautiful.” Only by eating Cheetos with a Coke for breakfast in the parking lot of a truck stop in Amarillo could I be so bold as to say something like that. The perfect storm. Still, I could feel my cheeks flush.
Tyler said, What? No offense, Ellie, but she’s not my type.
I backhanded him on the side.
After a pause, Jenny said, “Well, your pickup lines are getting better. Using the dog is a nice touch.”
I was suddenly warm in my long-sleeved shirt.
She gave me Perceptive Smile catalogued as #9, then said, “You have Cheeto dust on the side of your mouth.”
I stood, looked in the mirror by the small sink, wiped the food from my mouth, then said, “Did you sleep okay last night?”
She pushed her lips out as if in thought and said, “Yeah, I slept well.” She thought for a moment, seemingly trying to make a decision, then said, “I heard you crying.”
Oh. Great.
“Were you having a nightmare?”
“A nightmare, yes.” Thanks for the save, I thought. “I had a bad nightmare.”
She looked as if she wanted to say more, but decided not to, leaving it up to me if I wanted to continue.
Nope.
She didn’t need to hear about my past, anyway. She just lost her dad. Then I remembered some people receive healing by helping others. Jenny was definitely somebody that looked out for the welfare of others. It was evident in the way she treated customers at Buy City. It was evident in the way she treated me.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I couldn’t’ talk about it. I’m sorry. I’m selfish.
I said, “Did Ray say anything about using the showers in the truck stop?”
“I asked, he said they were clean if we wanted to use them. From what I saw of the store, it does look like a nice place.”
“Good. I need a shower. But you go first. Take your time. I’ll go when you return.”
“All right.” She grabbed her backpack and left.
I sighed, wondering why I had to be such a dweeb. I almost felt like Jenny was starting to like me, for more than a friend. I reminded myself that was exactly what I wanted to happen more than anything, and yet my self disagreed, didn’t want me to get close to anyone. Stupid self.
Well, speaking of self, it was good to have some minutes by myself for a while, Tyler notwithstanding. I get antsy when I’ve been around other people too long.
Tyler relaxed on the floor, keeping his thoughts to himself. Then he said, I need to pee.
So much for solitude. I stood to connect his collar to the leash and take him outside. “I’m going to get you diapers.”
If you ever try that your gonads will be mine.
“What!”
The hero said that in a movie once. He kicked butt.
“You w
atch movies?”
Of course. Don’t you? Action movies are the best.
“Figures. Aren’t you done yet?”
If you’d give me some privacy.
“Oh brother.”
I let Tyler draw out the rope in the retractable leash. He found a suitable trailer wheel on a neighboring eighteen-wheeler and did his business. I felt bad letting him urinate on the trucker’s wheel, but I’m sure it’s seen far worse.
Returning to the cab, Tyler picked up where he left off and napped.
Because of my gift-curse I’d never owned a dog, but I was sure I was going to have to get him outside to an open space sometime soon so he could run around and get some exercise. He’d been cooped up for a couple of days.
The hydraulic table rose with a slight airy sound, delighting my inner child. I placed my laptop on the table, smiling. I had to get a hydraulic table for my apartment.
Apartment… Uncle Joe… I still hadn’t talked to him since all of this started. I had to find a way to contact him soon.
I fished for the flash drive with the data from Mr. Broxton’s computer. I started to wonder if something yet again, some sort of crisis, was going to keep me from looking at the data, but quickly averted my thoughts, not wanting to jinx the opportunity.
Chapter Twenty
I decrypted the drive and accessed the data. I opened the folder named Recipes and perused through the list of subfolders: Chicken Marsala, Fettuccine Alfredo, Veal Parmesan… I started with a folder titled Miscellaneous because it was not named after a food, even though it still sounded innocent enough. I’d work my way through all the other folders if there were no clues in Miscellaneous.
It felt good to use a computer again. To be is to compute.
The only subfolder was named Briarstone. Interesting. I knew Mr. Broxton was on the board of directors for a financial company called Briarstone, possibly the chair. I didn’t know a lot about Briarstone, other than it was a Goldman Sachs level firm, only because Mr. Broxton had told me.
Inside the folder Briarstone were additional folders labeled with the names of people, ten in all. Nick Broxton and Bob Meredith were two of the names. The rest were people I’d never heard of, which made sense considering I knew little about Mr. Broxton’s work. I did know there were ten directors on the board, again because he told me. So my immediate assumption was these were the ten.
I let out a whistle. I could only imagine the money and power this small number of people possessed. What, maybe in the top 5% of American wealth? Top 1%? I wasn’t good at that kind of thing.
Mr. Broxton once told me, speaking while watching me work on his computer, “As you progress through your adult life, succeeding—for I have every expectation you will—do not succumb to pursuing a position of executive leadership for a financial company, or a seat on the board. Money is ultimate power. Money can be evil. And to control the money of tens of thousands of lives is to control them. Power obtained from money creates a constant temptation to become corrupt. It changes. It captivates. It consumes. There are ten individuals on my board. I trust only two. And sometimes that number is halved, not trusting even myself.”
He said this with great conviction, his tone grave. I turned to glance at him briefly, he wasn’t looking at me, but staring at something in his mind I couldn’t see.
He continued, “Elijah, there is something I need to tell you, something in which I could use your help in trying to investigate. I should have sought your assistance some time ago, but I made a poor choice—his cellphone rang. “One moment.” He answered, then quickly left the room. He never finished confiding in me. He did not bring it up again. I did not ask, not wanting to infringe. That was a few months ago.
Now I’ll never know.
Yet, the memory of that odd interaction seemed to be an omen for this moment. So far, two people had lost their lives for the data on that drive.
The sunlight filtering into the cab darkened significantly. Concerned, I got up to peer skyward through the windshield and saw a large cloud moving in front of the sun, casting a shadow over my small part of the world.
I opened Mr. Broxton’s folder. There were some spreadsheets containing formulas and figures I didn’t understand, plans, documents that looked like meeting minutes, goals… nothing real exciting.
I figured that if my hunch was right, and there was some bad mojo about the board members save one other person, I’d bet Mr. Meredith’s folder wouldn’t be exciting either. I looked anyway, anticipating Jenny asking me.
There was more of the same: strategic plans, spreadsheets, etc... There were also multiple lists of investors, but no investment numbers.
I looked around to see if anyone was watching me. Tyler napped. No one watched me. My scars didn’t burn, but my “warning system” didn’t work that way, considering I didn’t seem to be in danger. I was just paranoid… and procrastinating. I was afraid of what I might find in the other folders. Both dreading what might be in there, and dreading what might not be in there, as in nothing, as in losing my one good lead so far as to why all of this was happening.
My heart was in exercise mode even though I sat unmoving in a chair.
I took another look around. Nothing. I opened the first folder, named Aaron Lynch. There were a few subdirectories, all labeled with dates and years. I opened one of them. My heart went from beating too fast, to stopping. There were dozens of pictures. The files had simple names, like 001, 002, etc. but I could tell from the file extensions they were pictures. There were no images or thumbnails, just the file names. I could change the settings to display images.
I was afraid to. They may have been nothing more than someone’s vacation pictures.
Yet I doubted it. And I felt unclean just sitting there.
I opened a picture. A second. A third. I closed the folder. The name Aaron Lynch still highlighted. A tear slid down my right cheek and fell onto the table, splattering into remnants.
The pictures were of a grown man and a little blonde girl, she couldn’t have been more than twelve. Someone had blurred the portions of the pictures, but it was obvious the pictures portrayed sexual acts. In each of the three pictures, the girl’s mouth was open in a scream I couldn’t hear.
But I could feel it.
Bile crept up my esophagus, burning, like a volcano about to erupt. I tried to swallow the acid and force it back down. And again.
My God.
I stood, staggered to the sink and splashed water on my face, and just stayed there, hunched, my breathing trivial, my head leaning on the sink. I did not want to look at myself in the mirror.
That little girl, that poor little girl in the pictures… her life, ruined. Emotionally, socially, psychologically, painfully…
I had seen kids like her in the system. Some abused before they were placed in children’s homes, some after, some both. There is a filter in our brains, even as children, telling us that this is wrong. It is meant to be a barrier to guard our minds, and our bodies, from being violated. But when some perpetrator breaks that barrier, tears it to shreds, and forces himself, or herself, on that child, the psyche is ruined. There are so many wrong messages that are sent and believed, the brain telling you you’re ruined.
This is not to say there is no hope for sexually abused children. There is. And we must fight for that hope. We must fight for them. We must do everything we can to help them recover, and have a “normal” life, even a good life. But that place in their brains where they were broken, in many ways, will be something they will have to deal with the rest of their lives. In the good times, the bad times, all of the time. It never goes away.
I felt my jaw begin to ache as I clenched my teeth. I felt a massive pressure inside my chest. With it, a wave of anger coursed through me, through each arm and leg, through my head. My body began to shake, shake with anger, with rage. With something darker than rage.
I shook my head in disgust. Rage replaced my nausea. I wanted to break something, to scream and yell
and… to kill something. No, to kill someone.
I wanted to kill Aaron Lynch.
I knew that was fallout from my own upbringing. From exposure to the violence that Allister so embraced. Such hate.
Maybe what I believed was wrong, maybe I should let God seek vengeance. If I was honest with myself, I would not debate whether I was right or wrong. I’d know that God would indeed take vengeance.
But this was one of the areas that I really didn’t want to be honest with myself. I believed there should be a death penalty for repeat sexual offenders. Child molesters, rapists… Death penalty. No second chances, or third… No rehabilitation.
I promised myself if I ever caught someone raping a child, or an adult, I would kill them. And deal with God later.
I raged.
This doesn’t mean that I’m some vigilante. It just means they deserve to die. Worthless piece of—
Jenny opened the door and entered the cab, her backpack slung over one shoulder. “Hi the—” She stopped in mid step. “What’s wrong?”
I was standing in the middle of the floor, mouth curled in a snarl, fists clenched, shaking. I’m sure I looked like some kind of maniac.
I was.
She pulled the door shut behind her and walked closer to me, but kept her distance.
I could see fear in her eyes. She was afraid of me. That stung.
I closed my eyes and kept them closed, trying to take slow, deep breaths. My heart was still hammering. I worked to bring myself down, to calm the storm.
“Ellie, what’s wrong?”
I knew if I talked, my anger would only escalate. So I pointed at the laptop.
She looked bewildered, but took the cue, put her backpack on the floor and sat down at the table, facing the laptop.
Tyler woke up when Jenny entered the truck. He padded over to her, seeking affection. But he sensed something wasn’t quite right. He either did not talk to me, or in my angered state, I could not hear him.
I heard a few clicks of the trackpad buttons on the laptop, then Jenny said, “Oh God.”
There were some more clicks from the laptop, then Jenny repeated grimly, “Oh God. Those poor children.”