I could potentially end all of this in the next breath. I could just move. But I am choosing not to, so what’s the answer?
Smythe took in a slow breath and gazed at the beauty around her. She willed herself to begin to appreciate the green hills of the valley. The tiny grasses shooting up from their slumber, the grayness of the sky offering a modicum of cool air. She grinned. It was the only place that was important, and up until now, she was choosing to discount it.
She thought of the city. City folks longed for the countryside, country folk longed for the experience of the city, valley folk longed for the ocean, and ocean folk longed for the valley. They all chose restlessness instead of contentment.
This being in the moment of “what is” sucks!
Smythe continued to drive, and like a feather drifting upon the path of a gentle breeze, her Beloved spoke.
“It is the why.”
Smythe, in an instant, remembered a vision she had one morning shortly after moving to the valley. It was a vision she dismissed, believing it to be the result of her longing to move away from the valley. She remembered feeling stressed and grumpy about the traffic in the valley before experiencing the vision. For her, it was disconcerting to feel a sense of peace while at home, only to drive and experience the aggressive energy coming at her from all sides as she navigated morning or evening traffic. She recalled holding ill will toward those who tailgated her, willing her to go above the speed limit.
In her vision, she sat on the back deck of a farmhouse between a smattering of Monterey Cypress trees and the ocean. Walking into the house, she strode to the front window and peered out. About a quarter mile away, she could see a two-lane road. Four small, quaint shops lined a portion of the street, catering to the occasional tourist who would wander by. As she passed through the living room to return to the deck, she smiled at the eclectic furniture—a mixture of farmhouse and mid-century pieces. She sensed it was her own home. She returned to the deck and sat upon a patio chair with a cup of coffee warming her hands. She noticed her tablet sitting at the table and recognized it as a piece of a novel she was editing. The image was so strong and real that Smythe could smell the mixture of pine needles and ocean air, even hearing the occasional car pass by. She also noticed she could hear the sound of the ocean as it lapped onto the shoreline. Then, the vision abruptly ended.
Here, now, it occurred to her that this energy of the vision she felt caused her to take the back roads often. It was her “why.” She had grown weary of the demonstrative doing, instead of just being, and she longed to remove herself from the drivenness the city residents were demonstrating.
It also occurred to her that her soul’s need was to set in motion an unconscious action to manifest a way to permanently move to this place she held within her heart—a place where this driven energy did not live.
The whisper of her Beloved responded, “It is the why that is important.”
As she felt the feeling which accompanied her why, she felt at peace. It was as if her spirit aligned more fully to this vision of a different environment, and her act of driving along the remote road, here and now, was only practice for what her vision had shown her. Somehow, she knew it was vital in manifesting all that she longed for.
But when?
In that moment, she also experienced an additional truth. It is the heart, the seat of our soul’s desire, that will offer us our why. She knew she had to feel this place fully and wait for inspired thought or action to manifest what she longed for. She also knew she could not rush the timing.
“Patience,” came the reply of her Beloved. “Your freedom lives unbound, regardless of your circumstances.”
Returning to Darkness
ARTIE SPOKE AGAIN, “SMYTHE! PULL OVER. THIS ROAD IS TOO dangerous!”
“Fine, you drive! I need to think, anyway.”
God! I just need to breathe! Why can’t she understand that!
Incensed at Artie’s demand to pull over, Smythe scanned her surroundings. The road had become straight and allowed her to safely pull to the side. Thankfully it was quiet, without a car in sight. In fact, she had not driven the road at that time of the morning. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the lush green hills flanking either side of the road. Pine trees had released a smattering of their cones, and debris dotted the hillside.
Team 2 pulled in behind Smythe’s car while Team 1 idled their vehicle in front of her. Disgruntled at the length of time it took Smythe to pull over, Artie exited the car and peered up and down the road before trading places with Smythe. Artie wanted to speak, but decided now was not the time to chastise her client. Instead, she allowed an uncomfortable silence to sit between them.
Artie began to pull away from the curb, but suddenly sensed danger and stopped. Something was coming—she could hear it. She squinted her eyes as an SUV approaching from the opposite side of the road blended into the gray skies, its position only given away by the glimmer of its silver bumper. Unencumbered by traffic, it barreled down the remote road, picking up speed the closer they neared Smythe’s vehicle. Artie honed in on the driver’s side window. It was down, and the muzzle of a handgun was pointed in her direction.
“Gun! Smythe, get down!”
Artie hit the gas pedal and moved forward. In a perfectly orchestrated movement, Team 1 veered backward toward Smythe’s vehicle and swerved their car between Artie and the gunman. Dennis drew his weapon, squinted his brown eyes, and focused on the driver’s window, waiting until the last possible moment before squeezing the trigger. He fired past his driver into the window of the oncoming SUV. The SUV lost control, momentarily moving along the gravel curb, but regained control and sped past Smythe and Artie without firing a shot.
Smythe crouched her head low between her knees. As if in a dream state, she experienced a moment of déjà vu, reliving the morning she witnessed the murder in sickening detail. She felt the sound of the gun in the deepest parts of her soul—the noise jarring her chest. She began to tremble uncontrollably, squelching the need to scream.
Team 2 peeled away from the caravan and drove off in pursuit. Team 4, tasked to serve as a trailing backup vehicle, was one minute behind Smythe’s caravan. As the gunman passed them, Team 4 picked up the pursuit, allowing Team 2 to rejoin the convoy.
“Keep your head down, Smythe. Don’t look up.”
Smythe remained perfectly still, save the jostling of her vehicle, as Artie navigated the roads. Though the morning sun had only just begun to break through the clouds, Smythe was engulfed in complete darkness. Her only thoughts were the repeating images of the parking lot. Over and over again, Smythe’s memory emanated the sound and violence of the gunshot and the image of the dead man crumpling onto the pavement. Smythe squeezed her eyes shut, covering her ears in an attempt to force the sound and images from her mind. She began to feel sick as Artie made no niceties when navigating turns.
Artie continued to remind Smythe to keep her head down and used her com link to keep in contact with her teams. She drove for roughly 30 minutes in the opposite direction of Smythe’s apartment before taking an exit, turning into a gravel road lined by eucalyptus trees. She barked an order for Team 2 to remain hidden just off the road as she continued to follow the well-hidden path.
She found a pull-off along the abandoned roadside sitting across from a burgeoning marigold meadow and parked, quickly jumping out to check the underside of the SUV. When she did not find what she was looking for, she ordered her teams to check their vehicles with meticulous detail. She grabbed Smythe’s messenger bag and rifled through it, finally locating her cellphone. It was off. Meanwhile, Dennis checked all of his team’s electronic devices to ensure they too had been turned off and made a mental note to have each vehicle re-inspected.
“For now, she’s safe. Team 2, remain where you are,” Dennis commanded, using the com link.
He spoke with an irritated Artie to confirm safety protocols were in place while they waited for Team 4 to check in. Satisfied that the pres
ent danger had passed, Artie strode to Smythe’s SUV and opened the passenger side door to find Smythe still crumpled into a human ball.
“Hey, baby. It’s ok.”
Smythe had yet to lift her head from her knees, her body convulsing in uncontrollable spasms.
“Where-where are we?” she asked weakly.
“Safe. C’mon, let’s get you some fresh air.”
“I don’t seem to be able to. I’m having trouble sitting up, Artie. I’m—”
“You’re ok, baby. Give me your right hand,” Artie gently whispered.
Smythe, engulfed in darkness, hesitated to unfurl her arms. Yet, slowly, she pulled her right arm out from under her torso. She inched it toward Artie’s voice, searching for Artie’s presence. Artie lightly wrapped her hand around Smythe’s trembling, outstretched arm.
“Do you feel this? It’s me supporting you,” Artie whispered. Smythe nodded slightly, attempting to remain present, begging quietly for the panic to subside.
Artie tenderly held Smythe’s hand in the palm of her own. She allowed her thumb to softly trace the veins on the back of Smythe’s hand, offering just enough pressure to enable Smythe to concentrate on the human touch.
“I’ve been with you from the beginning, and I am here now. We’re ok. Can you sit up for me?”
“Yes.”
Commanding all of the courage she did not know she possessed, Smythe painstakingly sat up. With her eyes still closed, she gently lifted her head. She shivered as she felt the cold air sweep across her forehead.
Now seated upright, Artie noticed Smythe was sweating profusely, her forehead glistening under the breaking gray skies.
“Baby, slowly open your eyes. You don’t need to relive the murder. Just open your eyes.”
“I’m having trouble, Artie.”
“I know. Turn your head toward my voice.”
Smythe complied.
“Good, now slowly open your eyes. It will be me you see.”
From her darkness, Smythe gradually opened her eyes and beheld the tender expression of Artie’s gaze. She shifted her bottom to allow her legs to swing out the door. Drained of physical strength, she leaned into Artie’s arms, a tear trickling down her cheek.
Artie held her until she could feel Smythe’s shoulders begin to relax.
“What you’ve experienced was a flashback. You’re not alone in this. A lot of people who have witnessed violence like you have tend to have them. It’s perfectly normal, just breathe.”
Smythe nodded her head. “Ok, I understand. It-it really sucks, though.”
She took in a jagged breath, inhaling the lavender scent of her protector. After a few minutes, she began to look beyond Artie. She sat back from her embrace, disoriented, for she assumed she was in front of her apartment.
“Where-where are we? I-I don’t recognize this place.”
“It’s a place I visit to center myself. I have a few. I enjoy this one because it’s not as barren as some of my other spots, and it’s off the beaten path. You have to know where you’re going to find it. It’s a safe place for me, and now you.”
Smythe began to peek around, the chirping of birds filling her ears. Through an opening in a cluster of trees, she could see portions of the lower valley and its urban sprawl. Around Artie’s ankles, marigolds and other wildflowers danced in the light breeze. She could hear the whispers of Team 1 as they maintained a vigilant eye. Her body still, Artie’s eyes were soft as she reached in and held Smythe’s hands to steady her.
“How long are we going to stay here?” There is so much of this place I want to experience. This is Artie’s safe place? I would have never guessed.
“Until I hear back from Team 4. I have water in our team’s car if you’d like some.”
“I-I’m good. I still have the rest of my coffee.”
“Work on that slowly. You still haven’t gained your color back yet.” She tenderly brushed the back of her hand against Smythe’s cheek. “Now, I want to help you become more grounded. Take your hands and rub them together like this.” Artie demonstrated by rubbing her own hands together and watched as Smythe mimicked her, facing the palm of her hands together and slowly rubbing them against each other.
“Good. Now wiggle your toes.” Smythe blushed a bit, feeling a bit foolish, but did as Artie asked. After a few moments, Smythe stopped. She looked sheepishly into Artie’s eyes.
“Artie, my stubbornness did this. I’ll follow your instructions. I’m sorry. I could’ve gotten you—”
“Stop,” Artie began, her voice gentle and low. “What’s done is done, and we’re all alright. Trust me. You’re not the first client to buck my directions, and you won’t be the last. Just know this is the real deal, Smythe. Someone wants you dead, and it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I know that now. I guess I just thought the last time was a fluke.”
“Well, I would’ve wished that were the case for you, but it’s not. Just rest a bit. There are some malasadas left in the box. I can snack on the other team’s.”
“How did they find us?”
“I don’t know. They came from an entirely different direction, but I’ll find out. Just rest for now.”
Artie took a step back and allowed Smythe to exit her car. Smythe opened the backseat car door to retrieve a malasada from the box. As she took a bite and savored the sweetness of the pastry, she thought about how amazing the malasadas at Leonard’s Bakery on the island of Oahu must be. She peered around the grove, taking it all in. The eucalyptus trees across the road reminded her of Hawaii, and her thoughts wandered to the island of Oahu.
She recalled her first visit was as a teenager, accompanied by her parents, siblings, and grandmother on a family vacation. At the time, she stomped around angrily and then pouted at the thought of going with them. She had hoped to tend to her highly introverted self by spending some alone time in the house. Her mother, however, was insistent she join them, reminding her daughter she was much too young to remain at home alone. Her only other option would have been to send Smythe to stay with her aunt and her two sons. That option was enough to encourage Smythe to make the trip.
On her arrival to the island, Smythe wondered why she was so resistant to coming. The air was humid, but a gentle breeze cooled the temperature down, and the air was infused with the smell of sweet pineapple and hibiscus. Set amongst sandy beaches and blue sky with a diverse culture in language, art, music, and dance, the island and its residents enchanted Smythe. The people were friendly, laughing often, and willing to share their culture with anyone interested in hearing the history of the island. Helpful and gentle in all ways, Smythe could not help but fall in love with the people and knew she wanted to call this island home one day.
Her second visit occurred several years later when she entered the island’s full marathon. Her one and only time entering a race of any length, she jumped at the opportunity to return to the island she had fallen in love with and scraped enough money together to buy a round-trip airline ticket and hotel accommodations. After the race, once she recovered from the stiffening ache of her endeavor, Smythe toured the island. Locating a couple of secluded beaches off the beaten tourist path, she met and befriended several locals who lived in the area.
Over the course of her remaining week, she held deep, soulful conversations with them. They “told story” about the island and the colonization of it, and Smythe was fascinated. She learned current Hawaiian people make up less than 20% of the population and, similar to the indigenous people of the United States mainland, Hawaiians suffered the horrors of first contact—massive depopulation, landlessness, Christianization, and economic as well as political marginalization.
“When da U.S. military invaded our land, they overthrew our Queen. Our fate was sealed then, and the Empire was built. They banned our language, and it was replaced by English. Our land and water rights are no more, given to da corporations,” her friend Kona had recounted. As a mixed-race woman, Smythe un
derstood the deep pain and grief of marginalization in their own land and the desire to reclaim it. She also remembered leaving with a heavy heart, concerned for the future of her beloved friends and their land.
Her third trip had been with her partner at the time, who attended a business conference. While her partner spent days in meetings, Smythe found her way back to her secluded beaches to find many of the same locals still living there. For her, it was a heartfelt homecoming, a moment in time which she held as sacred. It offered her a connection to people very different from herself, yet wholly accepting of who she was.
She looked down at the malasada she held in her hand and glanced in Artie’s direction. She was genuinely grateful her protector had been to Oahu and that she loved malasadas. Her eyes scanned the grove again. It looked as if it could have been plucked from the island and set secretly into this valley. She began to feel connected to the grove and made a mental note to ask Artie for directions to this piece of paradise—after the trial had ended. She needed to feel safe enough to return alone.
Dennis approached Artie with news.
“Hey boss. Team 4 tracked the SUV to a warehouse on the edge of the city. The perps were no longer in the car, but there was a trail of blood leading away from it.”
“Where are they now?”
“Don’t know. Heavy foot traffic in the area. Our team is not going to find them. I called off the pursuit.”
Artie sighed at the news and looked over toward Smythe. On the one hand, she was grateful her client was not injured. But she also wondered what would have happened had Smythe not taken her annoying route. Would the occupants have tracked Smythe to her apartment? More importantly, how was it that the occupants in the SUV, coming from an entirely different direction, tracked Smythe? Artie immediately thought of Carole. She knew relaying the information to her would cause yet another conversation about moving Smythe to a safe house out of state. But, for the present moment, she needed information on the owner of the SUV.
“I need the license plate number, Dennis.”
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