The Harbinger

by Mary Eicher

  “People call me Temmie.”

  “Artemis is the Greek goddess of the hunt.” He chuckled self-consciously as she took the cup. “I have a lot of time to read.” He bent down and settled beside her on the sand. “Listen, Temmie, I’ve called for a van to take the surviving hikers to Bakersfield in the morning. It’s the nearest city with any real travel options. Do you need help arranging a trip home?”

  She shook her head. She hadn’t really thought about going home. She wanted to stay and wait for Cab’s remains. She didn’t want to leave him in this awful place.

  The man gave her a gentle smile. “It might take a long time before the remains are identified and released. Is there someone I can call for you?”

  “No, thank you.” Her attention was drawn to an ambulance passing by without its siren. There wasn’t anyone to contact. Their parents had died years ago and friends weren’t expecting them back for several weeks. The real reason she wasn’t ready to contact anyone was that she knew she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

  “I have a daughter about your age,” the man said, clearly hoping to distract her. “She has no interest in the PCT. I myself have completed it twice; once in my forties and then again three years ago. I see a lot of people who think they’ll sashay through the trek. They don’t get far. I figured you and your brother were among the few who could complete the trail. You’re strong and resourceful. I could tell just by watching the way you two conducted yourselves.”

  Artemis rubbed the back of her neck and sighed at the weight crushing down on her. She was exhausted, and the air had turned chilly since the sun set. She wondered for a moment where she could find another room for the night. Patting her jeans pocket, she realized she’d left her wallet along with everything else in the hotel.

  She turned to the man beside her and stammered about borrowing a few dollars.

  “I’ve got about eighty dollars on me.” He stood and reached into his trousers. “There’s a fund being set up, and I should have more soon. Will this get you through a day or two?”

  “Thank you.” Artemis clutched the bills in her hand and gave him a grateful look. “If you give me your address, I’ll return this to you as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t worry about the money. I won’t miss it.” Taking her by the arm, he gently coaxed her to her feet where he pulled her into a bear hug and held her for a long moment. “Listen, Temmie, if you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know.”

  He took her to the home of a resident who, like many, had offered to temporarily house the survivors. They showed her to a small room with orange walls and a matching cover on a fat single bed. Sleeping off and on, she dreamed colorless dreams of Cab disappearing in clouds of smoke down a long, gray road leading nowhere.

  Chapter Two

  Artemis lounged in a recliner, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head cradled in the crook of a wingback chair. She wore silk pajama pants and one of Cab’s dress shirts with the sleeves rolled back to her elbows. The top of her ebony hair was tucked beneath a knitted beret. The blanket her mother had crocheted years ago was wrapped around her legs, and she sat motionless peering out of the window. She stared absentmindedly into the quiet afternoon where soft, high clouds pushed shadows across her manicured lawn. The dark shadows in her mind remained resolute and unmoved.

  A press van with a colorful logo splashed along its side pulled up to the wrought-iron gate defending her driveway. Artemis frowned. The media should have lost interest weeks ago. The initial rush of interviews had been unescapable, but it had been more than a month since the accident in Lake Isabella. The dead had been buried, and the world had gone on for other people. It had basically stopped for a grieving sister.

  She followed the actions of the two people who exited the van. One was a photographer with his camera perched on a shoulder. The other was a slender young woman with light-brown hair bobbed at the collar of a clingy pale-green dress. Artemis picked up her phone and waited for an image to appear.

  “Hello, Miss Andronikos. I’m Lucinda Breem with the Riverside Messenger. You can call me Lucy; everyone does. I’d like to talk to you, if I may. I’m doing a story on the accident at Lake Isabella. I understand you’re one of the survivors. You are, aren’t you?”

  Artemis studied the pretty face and smiled at Lucy’s directness. Most reporters had begun by mouthing platitudes or clichés. This one got straight to the point. Reluctantly, she pushed aside the comforter and tapped a button on the phone to release the gate.

  They arrived at the front door simultaneously. Artemis opened it and leaned against the doorframe with her arms folded at her chest. Just shy of six foot, she was an imposing figure, and she caught a moment of hesitation flash across the reporter’s girlish features. Artemis unfolded her arms, slipped off the beret, and ran her hands casually through her hair.

  “Yes, sort of.” Artemis replied to Lucy’s earlier question. “I have nothing to tell you. I just happened to be there on the wrong day. A plane crashed. My brother died. I didn’t. That about sums it up.”

  Lucy stepped forward, conveying an expectation of being invited in. “I won’t take much of your time. I’m interested in a side story. The people in Lake Isabella said they had a warning something was going to happen. I’m trying to find out more about that. Please just hear me out.” She turned back to the cameraman behind her. “We won’t need you, Brian.”

  He lowered his camera and headed back to the van. Artemis watched him make his way down the driveway and then peered at the presumptive reporter with the bright-hazel eyes and sighed.

  “Okay, come in,” she relented. She often wondered about the strange bell sound Cab had experienced. She showed the reporter to the living room and sank back into her chair. Perhaps Lucinda Breem had something new to tell her, she mused; some hitherto unmentioned information that would help her put that horrible day to rest.

  Lucy followed, taking a good look around as she walked. The house was exceedingly large and tastefully appointed. The walls were sage on cream and various shades of gray tiles created a pattern on the polished floors. But the air felt chilled and the rooms seemed imbued with the strong sense of melancholy that emanated from their solitary occupant. Lucy made a mental note of the surroundings as she took a seat facing the woman she’d come to interview.

  “Three days before the plane crash several people experienced hearing a loud sound in their heads,” Lucy began.

  “Bells,” Artemis interjected. “My brother heard bells. He said it was painful. I didn’t hear it. Then we learned that some of the town’s people had the same experience.”

  “Yes, sixty-six people did. And they all died in the crash,” Lucy surprised her by saying. She held her breath and waited for Artemis’s reaction. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Artemis—may I call you Artemis?”

  “Call me Temmie. It’s…easier.”

  “And less mythological.” Lucy smiled and took a closer look at Temmie’s finely planed features. Beneath the grief was a remarkably beautiful face. “Not that you don’t look the part. I mean you are gorgeous, like a portrait of a goddess. Was your brother like you?”

  “Yes. We have…had…the same blue eyes and black hair, but he was more…well, he was less intense.” Artemis smoothed the comforter and furrowed her brow. “I talked him into doing the Pacific Crest Trail. He preferred books.”

  “Like Ichabod Crane?” the reporter noted with an amused grin. “Your parents either had a sense of humor or a premonition.”

  Artemis studied her visitor for a moment. Lucinda was in her mid-twenties at most. She was slender, yet athletic in the way she moved. Inquisitive hazel eyes crinkled at the edges, conveying a sense of perpetual cheerfulness. Or perhaps innocence, Artemis wasn’t certain which. But she got the feeling Lucinda was sincere.

  “Our names? Yes, one could say our parents were unique.” She half smiled. “A trait they foisted on their chil
dren.”

  Lucy was pleased to see Artemis beginning to relax. She was a skilled reporter with a natural ability to get people to open up. And she had a sense that she was onto something big if she could get this woman to move past her loss.

  “Is that Newgrange?” Lucy asked, motioning to one of several photographs on the far wall.

  Artemis glanced at the picture. “Yes.”

  “And the others?” Lucy wanted to keep her talking.

  “That’s Göbekli Tepe.” Artemis swiveled in her chair and pointed to the remaining graphics one by one. “And Puma Punku. I’ve visited them all.”

  Artemis shook her head and leaned back with a sigh. Her whole life had been a search. Not that she had found much meaning even in the most exotic places. She turned back to the window. Life was an act of will, and she had gone looking for a purpose with which to direct her will. But she had not found one other than helping Cab. Now even that was gone.

  Lucy bit her lip, deciding how to launch into the meat of her interview. Artemis was not like the grieving relatives she’d already interviewed. Even in her profound grief, everything about Artemis Andronikos was intriguing: the luxurious home, the travels, and the extraordinary physical beauty. Lucy had devoured what little public information existed about the Andronikos family. They were wealthy—the house alone bore witness to that—and highly private, keeping largely to a small, elite circle of friends. With her brother’s death, Artemis was the sole surviving member of a family whose roots and business affairs were guarded in mystery.

  “So what do you want to know from me?” Artemis asked after a short silence.

  “Did your brother say anything else about what he heard?”

  “He said it felt like his head was exploding. He distinctly heard bells. They rang five times, and then the sound just stopped.”

  “Anything else?”

  Artemis thought for a moment. “He said it felt like a warning.” Her voice trailed off. Thinking about Cab and that dreadful time only served to stoke an emptiness that would never be filled.

  Lucy felt Artemis beginning to slip away. She took out a notebook and flipped through the pages. Artemis was verifying what she’d already learned. Horrible as the plane crash had been, Lucy was certain the story was bigger; unimaginably more important if she could find proof for her suspicions. And she was hopeful that the proof was sitting right in front of her. She leaned forward and put her hand on the arm of Artemis’s chair.

  “I have to tell you something,” she said looking earnest and hesitant at the same time. “The bells have been involved in more deaths since the plane crash.”

  Artemis narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “Other people are hearing bells. And the people who hear them die within a few days.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Artemis pushed Lucinda’s hand away, her eyes darkened in anger. “I knew better than to do this. You want to turn my brother’s death and the deaths of all those poor people into some sort of conspiracy to enhance your reputation.” She tossed the blanket to the floor as she rose swiftly from the chair. “You should leave.”

  Lucy stood but made no movement toward the door. “I personally investigated two deaths in the last week where the people had heard bells in their heads three days before they died. And it’s common knowledge around the news room that there are others.”

  “Were those people in Lake Isabella?”

  “No. That’s just it. Other than the sounds in their heads, there is no connection to the plane crash. One was a truck driver who woke up in the middle of the night complaining of hearing loud bells ringing and was hit head-on three days later. Another was a woman in a hospice who asked her nurse about the loud bells and died in her sleep…again, three days later.”

  She paused and gave Artemis a look pleading to be believed. “I’m not making this up, Temmie. I checked the stories myself. Something very strange is happening; something that began in Lake Isabella.”

  *

  The news room was cluttered, cramped and noisy. It was tucked in the west corner of the second floor of a building that stood between a strip mall and a small, dismal looking Goodwill store. The Riverside Messenger was on the bottom rung of the press ladder. But it had a dependable readership and loyal advertisers who paid the bills. They published twice a week; Wednesdays to get the coupon clippers and Saturday to get more coupons out there and to provide feel-good articles about weekend events. Lately they had been including articles about local people who had interesting experiences. Doing human interest stories was Lucy’s favorite part of the work, and so far, they had been well received.

  Lucy sat in her cubicle and stared blankly at her computer screen. How to tell the story without sounding insane was the problem. She had evidence to support her thesis. But the reader would react just as Artemis Andronikos had. It was completely unbelievable. She didn’t know why she believed it herself. And if it was true, would it even be welcome news? She reread what she had typed thus far.

  “Ah, no, no, no!” Lucy pressed Delete. “That reads like a paragraph in Wikipedia.” She tried again.

  For most people, the end of life is unpredictable. It’s an unfortunate fact of life, relegated to the dark corners of one’s mind. This was not the case for people in Lake Isabella. There is reason to believe they were warned before a plane crashed into their quiet little town.

  She hit Delete again. “That’s not going to work either,” she muttered.

  Her editor peered at her from his office and made a show of looking at his watch. If she had a story, this was the time to submit it. She took a sip of coffee and began again. She wouldn’t tell the readers her theory. She would ask them a question. She would simply state the facts and let them draw their own conclusions. That would make people aware and possibly start a conversation. She glanced at her editor who was tapping on the window with his pipe and nodded. Ten minutes, she indicated by flashing her fingers at him. Then he could decide whether to go with the story or not.

  *

  Artemis parked the motorcycle and removed her helmet before fastening it to the handlebars. She checked the brick façade of the aging building for a hint as to the location of the Riverside Messenger and headed to the second floor. It felt good to step out of her self-imposed exile. Apologizing to the reporter she’d treated so rudely was as good a motivation to get out of her chair as any. And more importantly, she wanted to make sure the story being written contained no mention of her or Ichabod.

  She mounted the stairs, found the office she wanted, and stepped inside. The room was smaller than she’d expected. Half a dozen people sat in cubicles hunched over their keyboards or stretched out conversing on their phones. She spotted Lucy at the back near a glass enclosure Artemis assumed belonged to the managing editor. She walked directly toward the woman she’d come to see. And every head turned to watch her.

  Jake Durant looked up from his desk to see a woman walking toward his office. His jaw dropped as his eyes took her in. She was stunning. He surveyed every curve as she moved gracefully down the aisle. Her black pants hugged long, shapely legs, and the slogan on her sleeveless T-shirt was hard to read since the fullness of her breasts distorted the letters. She carried a leather jacket slung over her shoulder. Her long black hair seemed to float as she moved, and her eyes, amazing crystal-blue eyes, made him draw a deep breath.

  “I think I’m in love,” he admitted, lowering the pipe from his mouth. “Now that’s a woman.”

  He waited for her to reach his office. But she didn’t. Instead she veered and went to Lucy’s cubicle. Jake stuck the pipe back between his teeth and sank disappointedly into his chair to watch the women talk.

  “Hey!” Artemis tapped on the top of Lucy’s cubicle partition. “Got a minute?”

  Lucy looked up from stuffing papers into her briefcase and was surprised to see she had a visitor.

  “Temmie? Wow, you look so…so healthy, er, different.” She closed the briefcase and cleared
folders off a chair for her guest. She stood up and gave her coworkers a frown warning them to stop staring and mind their own business.

  “First, I want to apologize for earlier,” Artemis started. “I’m not always good with people. Cab liked to point that out. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt.”

  Lucy smiled. “No worries. I get that a lot actually. I see two kinds of people; those who want their moment in the spotlight and those who don’t. I figured you for the second kind right away. That’s why I sent the photographer back to the van.”

  Artemis nodded. “You got that right.”

  A reporter stepped into the cubicle and handed Lucy a file. He smiled at Artemis and started to introduce himself until Lucy stepped between them and nudged him out. Still grinning, the man waved at Artemis who gave him a curious look and then watched Lucy settle back in her seat.

  “So, what was second?” Lucy asked as if they had not been interrupted.

  “Oh, yes.” Artemis shook her head. “I was hoping to see the article before it goes to print.”

  Lucy leaned back and tapped her fingers on her desk. Artemis was within her rights, she knew. But if she had to change the piece, there really wasn’t time. She studied Artemis’s face and saw traces of the consuming sadness, which had been so prevalent on their first meeting.

  “Okay, if you must. But it’s already been submitted, I won’t be able to change it. I didn’t dwell on you or your brother, I swear. The article talks about the premonition the victims had and asks the reader a question.”

  “What question?” Artemis stared at her.

  “I ask the reader what they make of the premonitions. I don’t give them answers.” Lucy chuckled. “I don’t have any answers.”

  Artemis knitted her eyebrows. “Neither do I.”

  Deciding to take Lucy at her word, Artemis stood to leave. Lucy asked her if she’d like to get a cup of coffee at the strip mall next door and politely insisted when Artemis initially declined. They found a place to sit among the tables in front of the coffee shop and talked for more than an hour. Lucy told Artemis about her little girl. She hadn’t wanted to marry the child’s father, so she was raising Angie alone with her mother’s help. The job at the Messenger covered their living expenses, and all in all, things were good. She smiled frequently and nursed an iced coffee as she spoke.