Sebastian frowned. I was betting he was the type who didn’t like to mess up his rich clothes or get his manicured fingers dirty. “Gunther,” he commanded and thrust out his hand. Gunther handed him the Taser.
Our eyes locked. “Don’t think I won’t do this, Maya,” he warned, giving me one last chance to give in and throw myself on his mercy.
I called his bluff. “Do it,” I said.
And damned if he didn’t.
Electricity ripped through my body, frying nerve endings. I screamed and bit my tongue. It was probably only seconds, but the pain seemed to go on forever. I automatically began chanting inside, Om shanti shanti shanti. Peace, peace, peace.
When the jolt finally stopped, my muscles slowly unclenched and a tidal wave of weariness swept over me. From far, far away, I heard a voice say, “You have to give her a good, long zap, boss.”
“Shut up,” Sebastian snapped.
I opened my eyes, slowly lifted my bound hands, and wiped away the blood from the corner of my mouth. I had underestimated Sebastian’s ruthlessness and desperation.
I have never been so afraid in my life. I was in an isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere, tied, weak, completely at the mercy of men who enjoyed violence. Or, in the case of Sebastian, if he didn’t exactly enjoy it, he was willing to use it to get what he wanted. My mind raced for escape. I began to breathe too fast.
Maya, I told myself, you’re panicking.
Damn right, I am. That fucking hurt.
I think I wet myself.
And now I’m crying, and I DON’T WANT TO CRY.
You are the strong one here.
I am not. I am defenseless. I am alone.
Gandhi was often alone.
Oh, don’t bring Gandhi into this and his gentle ways “to shake the world.” I HATE that quote.
Why?
Because Evie would always use it when I got in trouble.
She was telling you that you have power.
I have no power. Here. Now.
You have ALL the power.
What do I have?
You have you. And you are the keeper of the diary.
My breathing began to slow and my mind settled. Sebastian needed me. The diary doesn’t speak to him. But I sure could. Finally, I lifted my head in defiance and stared Sebastian in the eye. I began to chant again, this time aloud, “Om shanti shanti shanti. Om shanti shanti shanti.”
Sebastian stepped back. Gunther was puzzled. “What’s she saying, boss?”
Sebastian ignored him.
Om shanti shanti shanti, you bastard.
The shanti mantra, or peace mantra, is a Hindu prayer. In it, we ask for calm and the removal of obstacles on three realms: the divine realm or disturbances we have no control over such as earthquakes; the physical realm or obstacles that come from the world (torturing, power-hungry maniacs fall into that category); and the internal realm or troubles arising from one’s own self such as an ego run amok (again see power-hungry maniacs with Tasers). The third shanti is the most important. If the inner realm is not calm, we will never know inner peace.
Sebastian knew this mantra. I could tell by the distress in his eyes. I was invoking protection from him, and he knew it. And on some level, whether he would ever admit it or not, it bothered him.
“You want me to gag her, boss?” Gunther asked.
Sebastian shook his head. He backed away further, still looking at me with intense, searching eyes.
“Boss?”
“Let me think.”
I stopped chanting and sighed. “How much longer is this kidnapping going to take? I don’t think I left my cat enough food.”
That infuriated him.
Sasha had gone upstairs to sulk after dinner. Now, Sebastian called her down.
She clomped down the stairs in her high-heeled boots. “What?” Glancing from me to Sebastian, Sasha noticed my confined situation and brightened.
Sebastian gave Gunther a nod. Just as Sasha reached the bottom of the stairs, Gunther backhanded her hard enough to send her flying. I started out of my chair, but Sebastian knocked me back. Sasha was sprawled on the floor, her hand to her cheek, tears running down her face. “What the hell?” she glared up at Gunther then turned to Sebastian to complain. But what she saw in his face frightened her. “Sebastian?”
Sebastian tossed the Taser to Gunther. He snatched it from the air and took a step toward Sasha. She screamed and began scrambling backwards, away from Gunther.
“Stop it!” I yelled at Gunther. “Stop it!” I turned to Sebastian. He was studying me. “Call him off, Sebastian.”
I thought for a moment he was going to ignore me. But then, just as Gunther grabbed Sasha’s arm to jerk her to her feet, Sebastian lifted a hand. Gunther stopped. He held a whimpering Sasha like a doll, dangling in the air.
Still matching me stare for stare, Sebastian said, “Gunther, get Sasha an ice bag for her cheek.” Gunther dropped Sasha to the floor and walked to the kitchen.
“You will help me, or Gunther will shoot Sasha.”
Sasha, still on the floor, squeaked. Gunther crossed the room, handed an ice bag to Sasha, and then stood behind her. He pulled a gun from a holster under his jacket and pointed it at the back of Sasha’s head. He grinned at me, and I made a promise that earned me several turns on the Wheel of Life: I was putting Gunther down—for Tum, for me, for the world. I’ll take the karmic payback.
Sasha tried to get up, but Gunther’s hard hand on her shoulder kept her from rising. “Maya, please . . .”
“I’m beginning to see why Jorn hates you,” I said to Sebastian.
THE TROUBLE WITH NEGOTIATING with crazy people is . . . they’re crazy. Logic has no seat on the crazy train. Any type of argument is fruitless. Your world-view and theirs aren’t even in the same galaxy. In a scary way, Sebastian and I were alike. We both followed the path of yoga and yearned for inner peace, but we let ourselves be diverted down alleys where darkness and violence fed off the rotting stonework like parasites. We were drawn to the dark side.
“Show me the diary,” I said.
Sebastian studied me for a moment then snapped his fingers. Gunther climbed the stairs and disappeared into one of the loft bedrooms. While he was gone, Sebastian helped Sasha to her feet and guided her to the chair opposite me. She sank into it and, with trembling hands, pushed the tangled hair from her eyes. The chair was big enough for a substantial logger and swallowed Sasha, who, without her bluster and spitefulness, was nothing more than a small, frightened woman.
Gunther returned with the diary. Sebastian dropped the book in my lap, but I lifted my hands, refusing to take it. “Remove this,” I said.
Sebastian hesitated but motioned for Gunther to release me. A switchblade sprang to life in Gunther’s hand, and he cut me loose. He stepped back.
I tossed the plastic restraint to the floor and massaged my wrists. I took my time opening the book, slowly and reverently turning the pages. A symphony of smells— shaving cream, old coffee, skunk, cold air—greeted me.
Sebastian picked up something from my reaction to the book. He edged closer. “What is it?” I looked up and saw a strange fascination in his eyes. I wasn’t surprised that Sebastian had no connection to the book. I tilted my head toward Sasha. Sebastian understood that I wanted to speak to him alone. He told Gunther to help Sasha to her room. The woman recoiled when Gunther laid a hand on her arm. I watched the old Sasha slowly return; she insisted on rising of her own accord, swept her still trembling hand down her stained sweater, and tossed the ice bag at Sebastian’s feet. She stepped past Gunther. “I can take care of myself,” she said.
When Sasha had disappeared behind her bedroom door and Gunther had joined Eric outside, Sebastian turned eagerly to me. “It speaks to you, doesn’t it?”
Gently turning the pages, I was overwhelmed w
ith a sense of home, of being owned and owning. For the first time, I truly knew this was mine now: the dog shit and the lilac, the new car smell and the stench of burned flesh. I was the keeper, not Sebastian. He had no right to the Down Dog Diary or its secrets. I reached one of Tum’s pages and the yeasty aroma of beer floated up to me. My heart gave a leap. There, in Tum’s magnificent handwriting, was one sentence: You cannot be found, if you are never lost.
I knew then that I would deliver the diary from Sebastian. As one who has often chosen the unsure path over the well-marked one, I knew Sebastian simply wasn’t spiritually equipped to beat me—he would never allow himself to be lost. But he could hurt many people before this was all over because he believed he could force his way into the diary’s secrets. He would not give up. It wasn’t enough to get the diary away from Sebastian. I had to stop him.
“I need some time,” I said. “Let me reread the diary tonight. Get my bearings.” Sebastian was wary. He suspected I was stalling. He wanted me to lead him to the Tree of Life now. “We’ll start out in the morning,” I promised.
Sebastian clearly didn’t trust me. “Eric will be outside your window, and Gunther outside the front door. Don’t think you’re taking the diary anywhere.”
I nodded.
“And, Maya, if you don’t give me what I need, I will hunt down Peter Jorn, and the misery he suffered in Afghanistan will feel like paradise compared to what Gunther and Eric will do to him.”
Okay. Negotiations had ended, and I needed to get off the crazy train. Maybe Jorn would ride in with the cavalry, but since I was trapped in the middle of who-knows-where, I wasn’t holding my breath. I needed to get out of here—on my own.
Chapter 27
If I Had Wings
NO SOONER HAD SEBASTIAN clicked the lock on my bedroom door than I was on my knees searching through my satchel and duffel for anything I could use as a lock pick. But Sebastian had confiscated my phone, my toiletry bag, and anything remotely sharp. I couldn’t very well pick the lock with a sock.
I sat on the hard floor, cradling the diary to my chest, and talked to Tum. There was a game we played when I was young. It was called the “If I Had” game—if I had three legs, if I had a pony, if I had the strength of an ant. I played it now. “Tum, if I had wings, I’d fly out that tiny window and find Jorn and save the day. And as I was going over, I would shit on Gunther’s head.” See, that always happens. I start out doing the right thing, and then I stray. The peaceful path would be to let go and not even consider crowning Gunther with crap.
The hours passed. I did not sleep. I explored the room again and again for escape options. Finally, I settled in the middle of the bed with the diary and meditated. When I heard a scratching at the door, I listened for a moment then searched the room for a weapon. No lamp, just a sconce screwed into the wall over the bed. Sometimes efficiency in design is so inconvenient. I silently picked up one of my hiking boots by the bed and tiptoed over to the door. With boot raised above my head and ready to clobber the first person through the door, I placed my ear against the wood and waited.
“Maya?”
It was Sasha.
I lowered the boot and crouched beside the keyhole. “What do you want?”
“What do you think?”
I leaned back. “You’re helping me?”
“I’m the one getting shot in the morning if you don’t take us to that fucking tree. I’m not hanging around for that.”
“Do you have a key?”
“Do I have to do everything? I’ve already drugged Sebastian and the Twins. Can’t you get out from the inside?”
“I need some hairpins and a nail file.”
It took Sasha a long time to find two objects that were no doubt standard equipment in her cosmetic arsenal. Finally, a metal nail file and two hair pins appeared under the door. I snatched them up, crouched by the lock again, and went to work. It took a few tries, but I eventually got the door open. When I opened it, Sasha was waiting, all in leather, from her jacket to the tote bag slung on her shoulder. She carried her high-heel boots in one hand.
I hesitated. “How do I know I can trust you? This could be another trick like the map.”
“You want to escape or not?”
If it was a trap, it was a new trap, and I was ready for a change of scene. I pulled on my boots and jacket, stuffed the diary in my satchel, and followed Sasha quietly out of the cabin. On the front porch, we passed Gunther snoring in an Adirondack chair.
Once off the porch, Sasha pulled on her boots. We ran past Sebastian’s Hummer and down the lane to a clearing on the side of the road, where another car was hidden, a big black SUV with tinted windows. “Gunther’s,” she explained, dangling the keys and getting into the driver’s side. The car had been backed in and pointed down the lane. Perfect for a quick getaway. “We’ll coast to the road. Can’t risk waking anyone.”
Before I could vote on this plan, Sasha threw the behemoth into neutral and began guiding it down the narrow path, threading the pine trees. I hurriedly snapped on my shoulder harness and scrunched my eyes closed. I didn’t want to see the tree coming at us when we crashed. When we got close to the paved road, she started the engine then waited.
“Which way?” she asked.
I opened my eyes. “Way?”
“To the Tree of Life. I didn’t spring you for nothing.”
“You’re going to double-cross Sebastian.”
“Why not? He was going to feed me to Gunther. I’m taking the high road here. I could have brained him with a teapot in his sleep.” There was one thing dependable about Sasha. You always knew what team she was on: hers.
“Why did you ever get mixed up with him, Sasha?”
She turned away and stared out the window. After a long pause, she said, “Don’t expect me to pour my heart out to you, Maya. I am not my sister.”
I suspected that Sasha had figured Sebastian for rich husband number four. She had fallen for him. She was still that little girl listening to her sister weave love stories and searching for her own. Sasha lifted a hand as if to wipe away a tear but then dropped it.
“I’m sorry he hurt you,” I said.
Sasha shrugged off my sympathy, lifted her chin, and said, “So, which way?”
It was dark, about three in the morning. I told her to head east and give me her cell phone. I called Jorn. He answered with the wariness provoked by calls in the middle of the night from strange numbers. “Jorn.”
“It’s me.”
There was big sigh on the other end of the line. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m with Sasha.” A curse rumbled through the phone. “She helped me escape Sebastian. And, Jorn, I have the diary.”
“I’m coming for you.”
“No, I’ll meet you. Remember our original plan?”
“Gooseberry? Where do you think I’ve been for the last day and a half? After I checked the hospitals, I didn’t know where else to go. Gooseberry’s closed, and the rangers keep chasing me out of the parking lot.”
“Stay there.”
“I’ll wait for you.” There was a pause. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
After hanging up, I turned to Sasha. “I’ll take you to the tree.”
“Where is it?” Sasha’s eyes gleamed in the dashboard lights.
I shook my head. “Pull over. I’m driving.”
“Why?” When I just looked at her, she threw up her hands. “All right. You really ought to work on your trust issues, Maya.”
I kept Sasha’s phone, slid into the driver’s seat, and waited for Sasha to circle the car, climb in, and buckle up. “Take a nap. You have time.”
At first, Sasha tried to stay awake and watch the roads, but I took one back road after another. Sometimes I got lost myself, b
ut then I would find a marker or road sign that I remembered from the map. Eventually, Sasha fell asleep. I drove into the quiet, into the lightening sky in the east, making my way to Jorn.
WE ENTERED THE PARKING lot of Gooseberry Falls State Park just as the sun was beginning to rise from Lake Superior. I knew this park well. I’d hiked along its five waterfalls, followed the Gooseberry River to Lake Superior. Once, gigantic white pines had covered the area. Then the loggers came, leaving stumps where once green spires reached to the sky. During the recent spring floods, wild brown water had raced down Gooseberry’s concrete and rock stairs along the three-hundred-foot-long stone retaining wall. Repairs were needed. And so, today, on one of the final days in May when the park should be ringing with the clicking of tourists’ cameras and the laughter of children slipping on the rocks, there was silence.
I pulled in beside the Subaru and saw Jorn hunched in the driver’s seat. He woke with a start and was out of the car in an instant. Sasha sat up, yawned, and asked, “Are we there?”
Jorn flung open the door on my side then stopped. He didn’t reach for me. He just took me in with his eyes. I gave him a tentative smile. With a nod, he relaxed.
“What are we going to do with her?” he pointed at Sasha.
“She’s taking me to the tree, moron,” Sasha said, lifting her hair from her bruised face, straightening her clothes. “We have a deal, Maya.”
“The tree?” Jorn asked.
“Sebastian and Sasha are seeking the Tree of Life.”
“The Tree of Life?” Jorn rolled his eyes. “Give me a break.”
Sasha scrambled out of her seat, strode around the car, and faced Jorn. “It’s real.”
“Is not,” Jorn replied, scorn in his voice.
“Is too.”
“Who says?”
“I say.” Sasha fumbled with something in her pocket. “And since I’m the one with the gun, I’m the boss.”
I slowly got out of the car and stood next to Jorn. Damn. She did have a gun, and it was pointed at us. I didn’t know anything about guns so I had no idea what kind it was, how big a hole it could make in us, if the safety was on or not. “Where did you get that, Sasha?”
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