Banishing the Dark
Page 15
“Don’t worry about it.”
“How can I not? You’re being all weird.”
It took him several moments to respond. “Nothing happened between us last night, so stop worrying about it. I’m just . . . sad. It’s not your fault.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes, but I can’t.”
“Sure you can. We’re friends, aren’t we? You can tell me anything.”
“Yes, we’re friends,” he said softly.
“But . . . ?”
“We’ve got enough on our plate right now. Don’t need to complicate matters. What’s done is done.” I didn’t know what he meant by that, but before I could ask, he said, “When did we meet?”
“Umm, what?”
“Just answer the question.”
“The end of last summer, the day after my parents first showed up on the news.”
“Tell me exactly what you remember.”
“Why?”
“Because.” He exhaled a long, slow breath through flared nostrils. “I need to test your memory.”
“Again, why?”
“Do you feel like you’re having memory problems?”
“I feel like someone beat me over the head with a baseball bat.” I gave him a sidelong glance. “You didn’t drug me like you did when we first met, did you?”
A brow lifted. “You remember that?”
“Distinctly.”
He nodded, a little happier for some reason. “I want you to go back over everything you remember about our interactions together from the first day we met. Tell me everything.”
“Has something happened? Do I have brain damage from the coma?”
He blinked rapidly, eyes on the road, hand slung over the top of the steering wheel. “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be repaired.” It almost sounded like he muttered “I hope” after that. “Let’s see what you remember. It’s a long drive.”
And it was. Long and troublesome, because when I went back through all the minutiae of time spent with Lon, I began feeling the same way I felt when I woke up, as if my memories had jagged edges and didn’t quite fit together. Some were like pieces of old furniture covered by sheets: I could make out their general shape, but it was hard to tell what was underneath. But this didn’t seem to bother Lon. He asked a lot of questions, and whenever I struggled for a missing piece of information, it eventually came to me if I tried hard enough to picture it in my mind.
Struggling for memories was a lot of work. And between that, the road’s hidden hairpin curves, and two restroom pit stops (probably all the drinking I did the night before), I was grumpy by the time we rolled into Golden Peak. Grumpy, famished, and tired.
Maybe the PI’s office would be located over a pancake restaurant.
Just off the coast, the resort town was a cozy outpost nestled among redwoods and oaks. I couldn’t see much more than a couple of gas stations near the highway, a handful of restaurants—all closed, and it was only nine o’clock at night—a post office, and a few shops scattered on either side of a block-long Main Street.
“Population: 101 cats and 329 people,” said the road sign when Lon slowed the SUV to a crawl. “Oh, boy. You know how much I love cats.”
“There goes your Valentine’s gift.”
I chuckled, happy that he was in a better mood. Maybe things were normal between us again.
“Just keep an eye out for a private investigator sign,” he said in an even-handed, classic Lon voice, flicking a squinty glance in my direction.
Definitely better.
I ticked off a list of what I saw on Main Street. “Souvenirs, camping supplies, rafting supplies, camping and rafting supplies . . . a skeevy-looking medical clinic—oh, look. They care for people and animals. That’s charming. And weird. You and your cat can get rabies shots together. Like a couple’s massage for bestiality fans.”
Lon quietly snorted. “This whole community’s a little kooky. I took Jupe camping out here when he was younger.”
“Lordy. I can’t imagine Jupe camping.”
“I think his exact words were ‘Sleeping on the ground is God’s way of saying he hates you.’ We haven’t been back.” He smiled to himself for a moment but didn’t elaborate. “The state park entrance is a mile or so away. In the summer, this whole place is packed with tourists.”
“How? There’s not even a grocery store.”
“There is . . . somewhere. Let’s ride around and see what we can see.”
Which was exactly nothing. Twisty mountain roads led to dead ends and a handful of houses, most of them tucked away in the woods. We spent a half hour combing the area for any sign of a PI and found jack-diddly-squat.
“Maybe we should call the number listed on his website,” I finally said.
“Not from our phones. I don’t want him tracing us.”
“Then we have two choices. That motel or the gas station off the highway.”
Lon drove back to the gas station. No one was filling up, and a single beater was parked at the side of the convenience store. We made our way inside, past shelves of beef jerky and Funyuns, and over to the lone employee, who sat on a stool behind the checkout counter. A secondary room filled with camping supplies was beyond an open doorway. I’d never been camping, but I had a feeling Jupe and I would agree on the subject.
“How can I not? You’re being all weird.”
It took him several moments to respond. “Nothing happened between us last night, so stop worrying about it. I’m just . . . sad. It’s not your fault.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes, but I can’t.”
“Sure you can. We’re friends, aren’t we? You can tell me anything.”
“Yes, we’re friends,” he said softly.
“But . . . ?”
“We’ve got enough on our plate right now. Don’t need to complicate matters. What’s done is done.” I didn’t know what he meant by that, but before I could ask, he said, “When did we meet?”
“Umm, what?”
“Just answer the question.”
“The end of last summer, the day after my parents first showed up on the news.”
“Tell me exactly what you remember.”
“Why?”
“Because.” He exhaled a long, slow breath through flared nostrils. “I need to test your memory.”
“Again, why?”
“Do you feel like you’re having memory problems?”
“I feel like someone beat me over the head with a baseball bat.” I gave him a sidelong glance. “You didn’t drug me like you did when we first met, did you?”
A brow lifted. “You remember that?”
“Distinctly.”
He nodded, a little happier for some reason. “I want you to go back over everything you remember about our interactions together from the first day we met. Tell me everything.”
“Has something happened? Do I have brain damage from the coma?”
He blinked rapidly, eyes on the road, hand slung over the top of the steering wheel. “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be repaired.” It almost sounded like he muttered “I hope” after that. “Let’s see what you remember. It’s a long drive.”
And it was. Long and troublesome, because when I went back through all the minutiae of time spent with Lon, I began feeling the same way I felt when I woke up, as if my memories had jagged edges and didn’t quite fit together. Some were like pieces of old furniture covered by sheets: I could make out their general shape, but it was hard to tell what was underneath. But this didn’t seem to bother Lon. He asked a lot of questions, and whenever I struggled for a missing piece of information, it eventually came to me if I tried hard enough to picture it in my mind.
Struggling for memories was a lot of work. And between that, the road’s hidden hairpin curves, and two restroom pit stops (probably all the drinking I did the night before), I was grumpy by the time we rolled into Golden Peak. Grumpy, famished, and tired.
Maybe the PI’s office would be located over a pancake restaurant.
Just off the coast, the resort town was a cozy outpost nestled among redwoods and oaks. I couldn’t see much more than a couple of gas stations near the highway, a handful of restaurants—all closed, and it was only nine o’clock at night—a post office, and a few shops scattered on either side of a block-long Main Street.
“Population: 101 cats and 329 people,” said the road sign when Lon slowed the SUV to a crawl. “Oh, boy. You know how much I love cats.”
“There goes your Valentine’s gift.”
I chuckled, happy that he was in a better mood. Maybe things were normal between us again.
“Just keep an eye out for a private investigator sign,” he said in an even-handed, classic Lon voice, flicking a squinty glance in my direction.
Definitely better.
I ticked off a list of what I saw on Main Street. “Souvenirs, camping supplies, rafting supplies, camping and rafting supplies . . . a skeevy-looking medical clinic—oh, look. They care for people and animals. That’s charming. And weird. You and your cat can get rabies shots together. Like a couple’s massage for bestiality fans.”
Lon quietly snorted. “This whole community’s a little kooky. I took Jupe camping out here when he was younger.”
“Lordy. I can’t imagine Jupe camping.”
“I think his exact words were ‘Sleeping on the ground is God’s way of saying he hates you.’ We haven’t been back.” He smiled to himself for a moment but didn’t elaborate. “The state park entrance is a mile or so away. In the summer, this whole place is packed with tourists.”
“How? There’s not even a grocery store.”
“There is . . . somewhere. Let’s ride around and see what we can see.”
Which was exactly nothing. Twisty mountain roads led to dead ends and a handful of houses, most of them tucked away in the woods. We spent a half hour combing the area for any sign of a PI and found jack-diddly-squat.
“Maybe we should call the number listed on his website,” I finally said.
“Not from our phones. I don’t want him tracing us.”
“Then we have two choices. That motel or the gas station off the highway.”
Lon drove back to the gas station. No one was filling up, and a single beater was parked at the side of the convenience store. We made our way inside, past shelves of beef jerky and Funyuns, and over to the lone employee, who sat on a stool behind the checkout counter. A secondary room filled with camping supplies was beyond an open doorway. I’d never been camping, but I had a feeling Jupe and I would agree on the subject.
