She took the gear that Tristan handed her, and they began to walk. They must be thirty to fifty miles from civilization. No one would hear her scream. Maybe he would be the one to die. She didn't want that. Two murders in a lifetime were more than enough. Any act of violence took a little bit of the soul. Something as terrible as murder left empty gaps in the center of a person. Emily was not whole.
Emily wondered why she had ended up this way. She knew very little about her family. She had been raised by a grandmother, whom she had loved dearly. Even that dear old lady would clam up if asked to discuss her parents. When her first boyfriend died, she disappeared before questions were asked. They had lived on a small farm in Iowa. Emily had taken as many buses as she could afford to get as far away as she could and ended up in Los Angeles. Determined to succeed, she had created miracles. She had fought her way through university, found her first job, and built everything from there. Everything was perfect until Tom.
They had left the dry lakebed behind and were climbing into the mountains. Emily was feeling tired and hungry. It felt forever when he finally stopped, and they had some food.
“Do you know where you want to camp?” She asked.
“I was thinking right past that hill over there. I bet the view is rather amazing.”
She ate heartily, wondering whose last meal this would be.
TJ56823
Journal 1
The sun was setting when they settled into a circle of rocks that created some shelter from the window. Tristan knew he should have waited at the lake for Geoffrey. As he drove, he realized he was enjoying himself. There was a tension coming from Emily. He wasn’t sure if he distrusted him, or she was attracted to him. The result was a sensation of power he enjoyed. Geoffrey seemed a bright man. If he really wanted her, he could find her himself.
He sat beside her after dinner, and they looked at the stars for a long time trying to figure out the shapes of the stars. They laughed. Tristan was aware Emily didn't want to go to sleep. She kept making excuses. He thought she wanted him to sleep first. It was a way to feel safe. At the same time, she placed herself totally vulnerable to violence. Something inside her knew she was more dangerous than he was. It fascinated Tristan. He found he was having fun.
After seeing her squirm long enough, he laid down and faked sleep. She waited until his breathing was stable and also got into her sleeping bag. Tristan waited until he was sure he was asleep. Then he grabbed the food, the water, and both packs, and walked back towards the dry lake. It took him most of the night to get back. He was grateful there was a full moon. It made the walk through the desert easier. He heard a few coyotes in the distance. Other than that, it was silent. He expected more active wildlife, but it was almost as if they avoided the area.
When he got to the car, he curled up in the back seat to sleep. His last thought was of Emily. She wouldn't stand a chance out there on her own, but there was a chance Geoffrey would find her. There was even a chance she would see him. In the late afternoon, he figured he should move the car for the whole next day. It would take Geoffrey a couple of days to arrive, and he couldn't afford Emily seeing him. He drove into the dirt road. Then he waited.
He saw Geoffrey walking down alone, and it would get complicated. Geoffrey was at least ten years older than Tristan. He was sure that if it came to a fight, Tristan would win. He just needed to make sure he got his money, and then he would disappear. Tristan drove towards Geoffrey and waited. They met closer to Tristan's car.
“Where is she?” Geoffrey asked.
“Up there somewhere,” Tristan said. “I couldn’t keep her here. I brought her here promising to camp, and I could hardly camp by the car. It would not be fun.”
Geoffrey looked up into the desert in panic. Tristan didn’t even have time to step back when he felt Geoffrey’s fist against his face. He was flying through the air and landed hard enough he couldn’t quite stand up. Geoffrey turned around and walked straight back into the desert.
“You need to pay me,” Tristan screamed from the ground.
“You have already been paid,” Geoffrey said and kept walking.
Tristan took out his cell phone. There was just a little bit of signal by the lake. He opened his bank account, and the money was added. Geoffrey did pay him. Damn. He hadn't expected it to be that easy. He dragged himself to his feet and stumbled to the car. When he got inside, he looked at his face in the mirror. It would make for a nasty bruise. The strength of that man could not be underestimated. Tristan feared Geoffrey hadn't even put much effort into the punch. He was richer now than before the adventure. He thought briefly of Emily. She would be dead very soon. Whoever she killed just got their well-deserved justice. Tristan turned the car on and drove away.
EB26392
Journal 1
It was unbearably hot. Emily was so sure Tristan was evil. She could see it in his eyes, and yet she was still here. There hadn't even been an inappropriate advance. It was unnerving from a man who had no respect from boundaries from the moment they had met. Maybe it was a coincidence that he looked so much like Tom.
She opened her eyes, still surprised she survived the night. Tristan was gone. The only thing left was the sleeping bag. There was no food and no water. This was the play all along. She climbed up to a rock to see if she could see him, but there was nothing but desert. She picked up the sleeping back and retraced their steps. Emily figured if she found him, she had a chance. Again, she was surprised by her own desire to live. She had fought for so long through the intense self-loathing, but now she could have let it all end. Instead, she walked on.
The sun was setting, and she was looking down at the dry lakebed. The car was long gone. There was no way she could get out alive. She sat on that rock and thought for a long time. This was the end, and it was not comforting. Actually, she was really, really angry. She made a small shelter against the rock and sat alone, knowing she would die of dehydration faster if she tried to walk during the day. If she waited until the sun fully set to start walking, she might survive another day. Emily had no clue what was eatable and what was poison in the desert.
At some point, while she waited, she decided she would not die. The future did not hold many options. Even if she managed to survive this mess, eventually, she would have to pay for her crimes. The chances of her walking out of the desert alive were very, very slim. A little fire within her felt hope. She decided to listen to it.
As soon as the sun set, she walked. On and on, she continued facing what she believed to be west. The chances she would find another human were higher if she headed west. As the night continued, she exhaustion battered her. Towards dawn, she saw another small circle of rocks. She went into it and curled up in the sleeping bag.
She woke to parched lips and a desperate need for water. She looked at the tiny plants on the ground and licked them, hoping for some dew. Without liquid, she would be dead in a day. She stood up and walked again. She felt dizzy and was aware that she wasn't really making much sense. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she had no clue how to survive. Her desire to keep going was unexpected. She let it drive her protesting body.
Emily looked out onto the bleak landscape, searching for any sign of green or even a sign of civilization, but there was nothing: rocks, desert plants, and mountains. She stopped several times to lick the plants hoping for a little moisture. In a few cases, she was rewarded. It gave her just enough energy for the next step. The dizziness was not improving.
She stumbled and fell hard. Blood flowed freely on the injury on her leg. She tried to pat it down with the sleeping bag smearing everything. She stood up, tried to balance on the good leg, and kept walking. She was almost to the top of a mountain. From the top of the mountain, it would be possible to get a sense of direction. She looked for the moon. It would be daylight in a couple of hours.
She reached the summit and looked around her. Ahead, below her, was an odd cloud cover. She could not see anything beyond it. Clouds meant
water. Thrilled by the discovery, she immediately continued down the mountain towards the cloud cover. The moment she stepped into the cloud cover, she realized the mistake. She could barely see a foot in front of her. The climb down became painfully slow. It was not terribly steep, but it was slippery, and there was little to hold her.
The cloud cover went on and on. Emily thought that she would never reach the other side. As she stepped through it, she felt the ground begin to shake. An earthquake. This was the last thing Emily needed. She tried to grab the rock, but the land shook harder as if trying to shake her off the mountain. She lost hold of a stone and fell.
Chapter 4
EB26392
Journal 1
Emily opened her eyes and felt as if she had fallen through a rabbit hole. She was surrounded by green. She briefly wondered if she was dead and then realized she was simply being absurd. There was no possible explanation for the change in her surroundings, but she figured whatever happened was pure luck. She was still alive after a terrible fall. She looked up at the sky, and it was blue with some scattered clouds. There was no sign of the desert or even the mountains where she had been.
Her body ached with such intensity she figured something must have broken. Still laying where she was, she tested herself. Both legs worked. Her arms worked. Her head hurt. She touched it, but there was no blood on it. Her knee ached where she had fallen before. She briefly wondered how long she had been unconscious. She was still profoundly thirsty. The priority was water. She sat up and saw she was lying in some sort of deep grass. Birds, crickets, and other animals sang through the trees. There was no logical explanation for her predicament.
She wondered briefly if this was part of Tristan’s plan. It was now obvious he was Tom’s brother. It made sense he would want her dead. It made no sense she would fall through a rabbit hole and end up in a weird paradise. She pushed herself to her feet. Her ungraceful movements made the pain much worse. She took a few steps just to make sure she could walk unassisted. Her head felt horrible. She fought nausea and dizziness.
In the distance, she heard water. Emily stumbled towards the sound. Through the trees, she saw a small stream, and immediately got down on her knees and drank. She washed her face, took off her ripped shirt, and tried to clean herself up. The cold water felt amazing. It wasn’t until much later, she realized there was no sleeping bag.
She put her shirt on and hoped for warm weather in this new place. She walked along the stream and saw a path. It meant people were nearby. Besides, she was not that far from Los Angeles. In the distance, she saw a structure. She ran to it, only to see that it was a long-abandoned building. The only thing left was the fireplace, but at least it would provide some degree of shelter. Food would soon be necessary. Her head hurt so terribly the only thing she wanted to do was close her eyes and rest.
She felt the softness the moment she regained consciousness. Emily hadn’t felt such incredible sheets since the death of Tom. She didn’t really want to wake up. It was heavenly. She thought about the required clichés such as “where am I,” but she figured she was a woman who killed men in ways she still didn’t understand. Absurd and illogical was part of her life. Truth be told, so were clichés, but she didn’t want to go there. The black widow stereotype felt unrealistic. Why would anybody find pleasure in death?
She sat up in bed. It was not a hospital. Some good Samaritan must have found her and called for help. She did not expect to be in a room more suited to a small girl than an adult. Her sheets were pink. The quilt covering the bed was full of flowers. The furniture was old. A few ceramic dolls sat on an ancient chair. In a closet, a world of clothes spanning a couple of centuries hung abandoned. She looked down and realized that her clothes were gone. She was wearing a flowered flannel nightgown and not much else. Immediately she felt self-conscious. Someone had undressed her. They couldn’t have done much more, or they would be dead. That was a small comfort.
The door opened as she was about to step out of bed and go exploring. Nothing prepared her for the image standing at the door. It was the demon from her nightmares. He was exactly as she had imagined him: his balding head, the mischievous eyes, the handsome face. She stared unabashedly at this man.
“Emily, I am glad you are awake. I have breakfast ready.” His words came out dry as if he was not used to speaking.
“How do you know my name?”
He shook his head at the absurdity of the question.
“Get dressed,” he signaled the closet. “There is food downstairs.”
She tried to place his accent, but it didn’t quite sound like anything she had ever heard. It was not quite European. It was not English, Australian, or American. He spoke English as if it was his mother tongue, but it was as if he wasn’t comfortable with speaking. The statement was an order, but not threatening. It was more the kind of request made by a man who has never had anyone disobey his orders. It had the kind of arrogant benevolence that made Emily want to hit something.
If this was a new adventure, she better embrace it. There was still a possibility she was dead, but she was sure that the pain from falling was real. She stopped suddenly, noticing the pain was gone. She felt in perfect health. Emily looked down at her knee, lifting the ridiculous nightgown. There was only mild scarring.
Emily grabbed the first thing she found in the closet and put it on. Once the mid-twentieth century dress was on, it was apparent it needed underwear. There was a drawer with older underwear, at least seventy years old. It was better than nothing. It took her a bit to figure out how to put it on. In the end, she looked perfect for a 1940’s housewife and some very, very scratchy lacey underwear that covered an enormous amount of her body. She had a brief vision of the person she had been three years before, dressed in fashionable clothes and underwear that didn’t leave anything to the imagination.
She laughed as she saw herself in the mirror. Her sense of joy was unexpected. This was a dangerous situation. She was in a house with her own personal demon and had no clue where she was. The expectation of death traveled with her for the last few days, but so far, she was still alive. It was an adventure of epic proportions. She hadn’t felt this alive, this real in a long time, maybe never. She walked downstairs to find out who the demon was and what she was doing in this house.
The house surprised her. As she stepped out of the bedroom, again, she felt there was something off about the whole thing. The house looked out of a cheap western movie. As she walked down the stairs, the fascination grew. Every object felt like a story. As she reached the first landing, her heart stopped. In front of her was an old painting. It was probably done in the 1700s. She recognized the face. It was one of the many faces from the fateful nightmare the day Tom died.
As she continued down the hall, she saw two other paintings from different periods, also in her nightmares. It was her own very personal rabbit hole. She thought of Tristan and wondered how far he had gone to get revenge. She was reliving the worst day of her life through these faces, and she was facing her own demon.
The demon was cooking scrambled eggs. It was an odd occupation for a demon. His back was to Emily, so she had a bit of time to study him. This was a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. He could not have been more than forty-five. Somehow, he felt older. His movements felt a little delayed. The demon was entirely at home in the kitchen. This was a man who lived alone. He turned around and looked at her standing there. His natural movements changed. He was uncomfortable. The demon put eggs on two plates and placed them on a table. He motioned for her to sit.
The food smelled amazing. There was some kind of toast and eggs. They couldn’t be so far from civilization if he could buy food. The bread looked homemade. There was a plate of fruit. At least, she assumed it was fruit since she had never seen shapes like those. He handed her a cup with coffee and took one for himself.
“Are you going to sit down?” She asked.
She enjoyed seeing his discomfort. He grabbed his plate and place
d it next to her. He definitely was not used to being around other people.
She waited to see if he would say something. She took a sip of coffee and a couple of bites of food while she waited. He focused on his food.
“How do you know my name?” She asked again. “Did Tristan tell you?”
He looked up at her, confused. “You were not surprised to see me. You recognized me.”
“Did Tristan find you? Did he see my drawings?” She asked again.
He sat in silence for what felt like an eternity.
“I know a Tristan. He is not a good man. Sometimes he does some odd jobs for me.” He responded. “He is irrelevant.”
Emily continued to eat, wondering if more would be said, but silence reigned.
“Who are the ladies in the paintings?” She asked.
He looked up at her, “They are you.”
Emily laughed.
“Enough of this. Nothing makes sense. I am sure I saw your face someplace. You must be an actor. Tristan just set this up because of Tom.”
He stared at her for much longer than made her comfortable. He was looking at her as if she was a puzzle that he needed to solve. He smiled at her, and she was taken aback by the warmth.
“It will all make sense in due time,” he said.
Dance of Life: The Belief Chronicles: Book One (Chronicles of a Planet's End) Page 3