by Dermot Davis
What if this kid was somehow holding the key for him to complete the past? Perhaps the kid's appearance was to help him come to some closure about his wife and maybe even bring some meaning to his life? The poor guy was in so much trouble and clearly way in over his head; maybe he was meant to help Andrew even more than he had managed to do so far?
What further help could he provide the lad, he wondered. The kid didn’t even know who or what he was up against. If fate were pitting him against the might of Fiona’s father and this secret group, on his own, he didn’t stand a chance. He should keep track of Andrew, he decided. He should appoint himself as his ally, maybe even his guardian.
Remembering that Andrew had called his mother from his cell phone, Dowling scrolled through the recent outgoing calls. When he found the one local number he didn’t recognize, he paused. He could ask his mom if she had heard from him or if she had any news of his whereabouts. If the kid was back in jail, he would go visit him. Considering the untapped potential of the young man, he would maybe offer to become his mentor. He dialed.
“Hello?” Angela answered.
“Oh, hello, is this Andrew’s mom?” Dowling asked.
“Yes?” Angela answered warily.
“Oh, excellent. My name is Professor Dowling; I know your son from the university.”
“He’s not here, right now,” Angela answered, thinking the call had something to do with exams or graduation.
“Oh, yes, I’m aware of that, I wasn’t expecting him to be there,” Dowling said, feeling a bit flustered. “It’s you I intended, intend, to be speaking to,” he said, correcting himself.
“You intend to be talking to me?” she asked, thinking the caller a bit weird.
“Well, I know that Andrew and Fiona are on a road trip together and I got your number because he called you from my phone,” Dowling said, losing his train of thought.
“Do you know Fiona, as well?” Angela asked, wondering why everybody else has met the girl except her.
“Yes, she’s a lovely girl,” Dowling said genuinely, “and it looks like they love each other very much.”
“Well, that’s great,” Angela said with an edge to her voice. “Her father would be just thrilled to hear that.”
“You know Fiona’s father?” Dowling asked.
“He came here looking for her, just today, as a matter of fact. The poor man is sick with worry over her.”
“So, nobody knows where they are, right now?” Dowling asked.
“I don’t know, her father doesn’t know,” Angela answered. “He said that he’s going to go find them.”
“Where will he go?” Dowling asked, his concern aroused.
“Well, we talked a bit about that and seeing as Andrew doesn’t know anybody else outside of LA, most likely he’s driving over to visit with his father,” Angela answered, worried that maybe she gave out too much information.
“To his father in Kansas?” Dowling asked.
“He’s the only father he’s got, yeah,” Angela answered, anxious now to get off the phone. “Was there anything else you wanted to know?” she asked.
“I’d just like to say that you have a wonderful, terrific, young son and I know that this past while must have been very stressful for you. I hope you don’t blame him in any way. I know that he loves you very much and he really is trying to do his best.”
“Well, I appreciate you saying that,” Angela said, feeling surprised by his honesty and deeply touched by his kind remarks. “He is a good boy and I only hope and pray that he doesn’t come to any more harm.”
“I appreciate your time, Mrs. Cox. If you need for anything or would like to talk to someone, or whatever, please feel free to call me anytime.”
“I will, thank you,” she said and hung up.
Dowling sat on his bed and thought about the conversation for quite a while. Fiona’s father had visited Andrew’s mother and told her that he was going to physically drive after them all the way across country to Kansas? Who was this father person, he wondered, and why is he so intent upon chasing them across the country? Is it purely parental concern or was something else going on that required such fervent action on his behalf?
Leaving his bedroom to access the computer in his office, Dowling again scrolled through the outgoing calls made on his cell phone. When he found Fiona's number, he entered it into his computer search engine. expecting to find more information about her and her father, he read down through the results. Nothing of consequence came up. He then paid ten dollars to a reverse phone number look-up service.
In a matter of seconds, he retrieved Fiona’s last name, her age, home address and other data that the service had pulled from public records. If Fiona’s father was going to go chasing after them, he most likely wouldn’t have left directly after his visit to Andrew’s mother. Quickly devising a plan of action, Dowling considered that if he was going to be of genuine assistance to Andrew, he quite likely needed to do something bold, risky and out of character.
Perhaps it’s about time I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and did something really precarious for a change, he said to himself, smiling at his new-found sense of badass risk-taking.
Unusually dressed in his casuals, for a Monday morning, Simon parked his luxury SUV by the front door of his home. He then loaded the large vehicle with what he needed for a road trip.
Parked on the street outside of the gates, Dowling sat in his old, beat-up Japanese import. He watched Simon through a pair of weak binoculars. Suitable for the opera, that he used to regularly attend, the opera glasses were less well-equipped for outdoor spying. Hoping not to show his hand too soon, or worse, make a complete ass of himself, Dowling watched carefully to ascertain if Simon was indeed preparing to take his car across the country.
Even though Simon looked like he was dressed for a game of golf, Dowling noticed that he didn’t pack any golf clubs. Deciding that the suitcase and overnight bags the man was packing into his SUV qualified for out-of-state travel, Dowling made his move. Getting out of his car, and casually walking to the front gate, he pressed the talk button on the gate intercom.
When Simon looked over, Dowling gave a friendly wave and smiled. Squinting to get a better look, Simon failed to recognize him. Pressing a remote to swing open the gate, Simon waved him on in. “Hello?” Simon asked as Dowling walked through the gate. “Can I help you?”
“Hello, Simon,” Dowling said cheerfully. “I’m Gus Dowling, a friend of your daughter.”
“A friend of my daughter?” Simon asked, skeptically.
“Well, actually I just met Fiona once, lovely girl,” Dowling said, trying to hide his nervousness. “I’m Andrew’s father, step-father,” he said, smiling as broadly as he could.
“Want do you want?” Simon asked coldly, returning to his task.
“Angela told me about your visit yesterday,” Dowling said, trying to remember his prepared deception. “She said that you were planning to go after them.”
“So what if I am?” Simon asked.
“I’d like to come with you,” Dowling said assertively. “You may not like Andrew but I can assure you that I am just as much concerned about his welfare as you are about your daughter.”
“I don’t doubt that, Mr. Dowling, but, no disrespect, I prefer going it alone.”
“I understand,” replied Dowling, expecting his uncooperative response. “But don’t you think two heads are better than one?”
“Honestly? No, I don’t. Again, no disrespect,” Simon said. “Besides, what would you be bringing to the table, exactly?”
“I know where they are,” Dowling said, getting Simon’s attention.
“So do I,” Simon said.
“You think that they’re going to his father’s place in Kansas but you really don’t know that for sure, do you?” Dowling asked, looking Simon in the eyes.
“Why don’t you tell me where they are?” Simon asked.
“I’ve got a beat-up old car won’t make it ou
t of the state,” Dowling said, referring to his parked car. “Besides, with two drivers you’d get there faster; one drives while the other sleeps, what do you say?” Dowling asked and extended his hand for a handshake.
Catching sight of a tattoo on Dowling’s under arm, he recognized the image immediately: a coiled winged serpent with its tail in its mouth. “You’re a serpent?” Simon asked, looking surprised.
“Haven’t been active in a while,” Dowling answered. “You?”
“You were active in LA?” Simon asked.
“San Francisco,” Dowling answered. “What do you say? You could use the company?”
“You got luggage or anything?” Simon asked.
“Just a small suitcase; I’ll go get it,” Dowling said, smiling to himself as he walked back to his car.
An awkward silence pervaded the car ride. Neither Simon nor Dowling had much in common with which to form a meaningful discussion. Driving through a monotonous, semi-desert landscape, Simon set the cruise control. Dowling looked blankly out of the passenger door window and tried not to think too much about what it was that he was actually doing. Too late to have second thoughts about his earlier pretense, he kicked himself for being so impulsive and not thinking his plan through a bit better.
“So, Gus,” Simon said, breaking the silence. “You say you haven’t been active in a while? How long has it been?”
Dowling had to think a few seconds to catch on to his line of questioning. “It must be over twenty years by now,” he answered.
“That’s a long time,” Simon responded, sounding surprised. “Why did you stop?”
“My wife at the time went missing,” Dowling said, deciding to be brave and go all in. If he could find any scraps of information about his missing wife, his reckless deceit could be considered worthwhile. “I’m not sure if her membership was in any way a factor but for me, I guess, I lost the faith, if you know what I mean?”
“No, not really,” Simon answered. “Your wife was also a member and she went missing?”
“Correct,” Dowling answered.
“And you think that her being a serpent was a factor in her disappearance?” Simon asked, looking over at Dowling as if a read of his facial expressions would be a help in his understanding.
“She was on her way to a meeting and that was the last time anyone saw her. It was like she vanished into thin air,” Dowling said, also looking over at Simon to read his face when Simon wasn’t looking over at him.
“This was in San Francisco?” Simon asked.
“Correct.”
“Huh,” Simon said nonchalantly. “That must have been awful. Not knowing what happened?”
“Yeah,” Dowling agreed. “It was.”
“We’re staying with some friends in Albuquerque; you might know some of them,” Simon said. “I know at least two of them were members in Frisco back then.”
“Oh?” Dowling said, trying not to appear spooked.
“Frank Webster?” Simon asked. “He goes way back up there.”
“Sounds familiar alright,” Dowling lied. “It’s so long ago.”
“How about Herb Sangster?” Simon asked. “You’d remember Herb if you ever met him,” Simon said and grinned. “Larger than life, know what I mean?”
“Sounds familiar, all right,” Dowling said like he was searching his memory banks.
“They’ll know people you used to know, don’t worry,” Simon suggested. “You can talk about old times; they’ll remember your wife, I’m pretty sure. Maybe they might have some answers for you; could be fortuitous, right?”
“Could be,” Dowling answered, feeling himself beginning to sweat. “There are no accidents.”
Driving through the semi-desert terrain of the Mohave Valley, in eastern California, Fiona couldn’t resist taking a detour. She quickly signaled and exited the freeway. “Do we need gas?” Andrew asked, taking his eyes up from scrolling through the song playlist on her MP3 player.
“Ever take a hot air balloon ride?” Fiona asked, as if secretly plotting.
“You know I haven’t,” Andrew answered. “Seriously?” he then asked, as if hit by a sudden realization. Looking around the horizon for clues, he looked back at her face to adore her devious-looking grin. “Where are we going?”
“Lake Havasu,” Fiona answered. “It’s probably like twenty miles south into Arizona.”
“You’ve been there before?” Andrew asked, looking bewildered.
“No, but I did see a billboard for their annual hot air balloon festival.”
“Oh,” Andrew said, looking a bit stumped.
“It’s not on my bucket list but jeez, a hot air balloon festival? Come on!” Fiona said, excitedly.
“Okay,” Andrew said, unable to form any meaningful pictures in his head to imagine what such a thing would look like. “We’re in no hurry, I guess.”
“You’ll see,” Fiona said, following a road sign for Lake Havasu. “I’ve always wanted to ride in one, haven’t you?” she asked as she made a sharp turn onto a narrow secondary road.
“Never gave it much thought,” Andrew replied, sounding unimpressed.
“Floating in the air like that?” Fiona asked, getting excited with the thought. “In a friggin’ wicker basket where you can drink champagne and look all around, in all directions; like you were sitting on a cloud?”
“They won’t serve you champagne until you’re twenty-one,” Andrew commented.
“So we bring grape juice,” Fiona retorted. “Besides, it’s not about the champagne, doofus. Have you never had dreams where you’re flying? I don’t mean in an airplane or a spacecraft or something. Flying dreams? Anybody?” Fiona asked.
“I don’t think so,” Andrew thought and responded. “I don’t dream very much.”
“Yes, you do; everybody dreams. You just don’t remember them. I can’t believe you’ve never had a flying dream! They’re so, what’s the word, archetypal.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Andrew confessed. “I don’t put much stock in dreams, I guess.”
“Well, we’ll have to continue that conversation at another time, old man. Your lack of appreciation for magic and the spiritual realms is killing my flying buzz.”
“My lack of appreciation for magic?” Andrew scoffed.
“Where do you think magic comes from, dude? Dreams. Note to self: get Andrew a dream journal for his birthday.”
“That’s exciting,” Andrew joked.
“Wasn’t it Freud who said that dreams are the basis of the mind? Isn’t that what the whole science of psychoanalysis was founded upon?”
“Psychoanalysis is not a science,” Andrew said surly.
“What is it, then?” Fiona asked. “Sure it is.”
“It’s not a real science, like biology or chemistry or something,” Andrew said, sounding uncertain.
“You’re so full of it, Andrew Cox,” Fiona teased. “We so have to work on unleashing the fantasy and magical part of your brain.”
“Yeah, now that’s a science,” Andrew said and laughed. “The fantasy part of the brain is right below the neo-cortex near the cerebellum.”
“You so don’t know what you’re talking about. Throwing in a few words you think you know about the brain doesn’t mean that you know anything, Einstein. They’re the only two parts of the brain that you know, aren’t they?” Fiona asked, testing him.
“I know enough to know that they have yet to find the fantasy and magical centers of the brain. And I also know that if they ever do find them, they’ll be given Latin names. Something like the magicalistus fantasmigorium or something,” Andrew suggested.
“I like that,” Fiona said, smiling and putting on a mock scientific voice. “Just to the right of the Cortex Vortex—"
"The Cortex Vortex?" Andrew teased.
"We have the Magicalistus Fantasmigorium which is responsible for all higher functions of the human animal. It was discovered by the eminent armchair skeptic, Mr. Andrew Cox."
&n
bsp; "You're so full of it," Andrew jeered.
"He knew exactly where it was but never decided to use it himself because he was just too afraid of what might happen if he did.” Fiona continued.
“What?” Andrew asked, smiling nervously, “are you going on about?”
“I think a balloon ride is going to be very good for you, Coxy,” Fiona said thoughtfully. “Maybe blow away some of those mental cobwebs preventing you from thinking straight.”
“Are we fighting?” Andrew asked, unsure of where she was coming from. “Is this like, how we argue now?”
“No, we’re not fighting, sweetie,” Fiona said reassuringly. “If I was fighting with you, you’d know all about it,” she said, turning to him and giving him a broad smile.
“You are so weird sometimes,” Andrew said, feeling more relaxed. “Cortex Vortex, that’s impressive,” he said jokingly as he tickled her in her side.
“Oh, look!” Fiona said as she pointed ahead.
“What?” Andrew asked as he turned to look.
In the distance they could see specks floating in the sky, all at different altitudes. “Wow, they look like big birds hanging in the sky like that,” Andrew said.
“Big, fat birds,” Fiona said. “Oh, I do want to go up in one. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”
“Looks pretty dangerous to me,” Andrew remarked. “It’s not like those things have motors or guidance controls of any kind. It’s basically a big bag and a furnace thing for heating the air and up you go, totally dependent on the wind for your direction and speed.”
“Do you want a wet blanket with that?” Fiona asked, looking more and more in awe as they came closer to their destination. “Wow, they’re all different, look,” she exclaimed as they could now see that they were all different shapes and colors. “Look how high that one is?”
“Yeah, that one’s called Icarus,” Andrew suggested. “He who flies closest to the sun.”
“Oh, come on, you must have some sense of awe trapped in that stone heart of yours,” Fiona teased.
“They do look pretty awesome,” Andrew admitted, smiling. “Especially young Icarus. Don’t fly too close to the sun, Icarus,” he mock-yelled up at the balloon. “You always do this! Haven’t you learned anything in two thousand years?”