by Jeff Vrolyks
Chapter Five
It was the next day when Norrah and I went for a drive, away from her house. Anywhere beat being there at her house. The media was still beside themselves. Norrah was looking for an escape and I was happy to give her one. We took my Chevy Tahoe because it was four-wheel drive and it had been snowing off and on all afternoon. It was almost evening, the roads a little icy, and the road from her house was lined with news vans. I had a surprise lined up for her. She knew we were going to Don Pepe’s Mexican restaurant in the nearby town of Twin Peaks, but didn’t know I had arranged earlier that morning to meet Aaron there at six.
There was one precondition set by Aaron before agreeing to the meeting, and that was he didn’t want to talk about the twenty-fifth masquerader. I agreed to the stipulation because I wanted his company, and if that’s the only way he’d agree to meet us, then so be it. But I didn’t plan on adhering to the negotiated terms.
Twin Peaks is a small town, just far enough away from Arrowhead to ensure we wouldn’t be hounded by the media. The restaurant is small, only one waitress, and there were only three other parties there when we were seated, five minutes before the hour. The waitress took our drink orders after dropping off a tray of hot chips and salsa: I imperiously ordered three margaritas. The lady walked off. Before Norrah could ask why I ordered three, I said we were having a special guest. I then recalled the guy who had an idea that some amount of time had lapsed between the beginning of the party and the conclusion.
“Really? He’s coming?” She sounded delighted by the news.
I nodded. “He made me promise I wouldn’t ask him about the twenty-fifth masquerader.”
“What do you mean twenty-fifth?”
“There were twenty-three people down there. Twenty-three people confirmed to have gone missing. Paul was the twenty-fourth, but then he never went missing. There was another man, according to Aaron—the guy who is meeting us here shortly. He thinks the twenty-fifth masquerader has something to do with what happened.”
“The hell I’m not going to bring it up!”
“I know, I know,” I said with a smile. “I want answers, too, you better believe it. But it was a condition of this meeting, not to bring it up.”
“Then what’s the point of meeting him? What are we going to talk about, the weather?” she said sarcastically.
“Is it normal for it to be this cold out?” I intoned and humored. I glanced out the window by our table, spied a silver Toyota Tacoma shrouded in road dust pull into a parking spot. It was Aaron. “Maybe he’ll talk about it on his own. I’m a little curious how he fits into the picture. He’s older than the rest; I doubt he goes to college with the others, but maybe I’m wrong.”
The margaritas were dropped off just before Aaron entered the eatery. I held up a hand and beckoned him like a mafia Don. He came our way.
I introduced the two. I relocated across the bench seat beside Norrah. He sat facing us and looked undecidedly at the mug of green slush on his side of the table.
“Have a drink, bud,” I said.
“Sorry, but I’m not a drinker.”
“No?” I said. “You weren’t drinking at the party? Why go to a party if you’re a teetotaler?”
“Must we delve into this topic so soon? I’m starving, was hoping to enjoy some of what I eat.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,” Norrah said to Aaron. It is commonplace to recognize most people on the mountain. They are small towns up here, a tightly-knit community. If you don’t recognize someone, there’s a good chance that either they are new to the area or a flatlander (a disparaging term used for anyone who doesn’t live on the mountain) visiting a relative or up for a day of skiing.
“I don’t live around here.”
“Where do you live?” she pursued.
“Fresno.”
“Fresno?” Norrah and I said together.
“Yes. This area is new to me.”
“Why are you here?” I asked him. “Do you have family or friends here? One of the kids at the party?”
“No.” He gestured at the waitress. Once he had her attention he asked for a glass of water.
Norrah and I waited for him to elaborate, or at least feed our curiosity in the slightest, but he had nothing else to add.
There was an awkward silence that ended when the waitress dropped off three glasses of water and asked if we were ready to order. Norrah and I were both knowledgeable of the menu, having had eaten there innumerable times, so we ordered. Aaron hadn’t looked at the menu, but said he’d have the same thing I was having, a carne asada burrito. Once the chick jotted the shit down and left, Aaron took the opportunity to begin a new topic before Norrah and I could dictate the conversation.
“So what do you do for a living?” he asked her, but looked at me as well.
“I’m a cop, as you know,” I said. “I assume you know.”
“Yeah, I heard you say that. And you?”
“I work at a grocery store,” Norrah said shamefully, “but go to college,” she added hopefully.
“Good for you.” Aaron sipped his water. “How long have you been a cop?”
“Six years.”
“Love it or hate it?”
“Something in-between.”
“How about you, Norrah? Love it or hate it?”
“Hate it. That’s why I’m going to school.”
“To become what?”
“I’m majoring in accounting. Maybe I’ll work at H&R Block or something, I don’t know. I’m good with numbers, and accountants make decent money.”
“Sure,” Aaron said.
“How about you?” Norrah asked. “What do you do?”
Now we were getting somewhere. Maybe it wouldn’t lead to anything tangible to our inquest, but it was a step in the right direction.
“I’m a teacher.”
I could see that, him being a teacher. He had that smart-guy kind of look. Clean shaven, dark hair tightly cropped and parted at the side. He was slender and at least four inches shorter than me, putting him at about five-nine. He wore a red checked flannel shirt under a black woolen jacket.
“Oh? What do you teach?” Norrah inquired.
“Middle school, history and English. I’m a substitute teacher. I took a little time off work, am staying in the area for a couple weeks—though I got short-changed out of a week of my vacation,” he said with a wink.
“You teach in Fresno?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We both wanted to ask it, but it was me who got to it first. “What brings you here to Lake Arrowhead?”
Instead of answering he sipped his water, then bit into a chip.
“Not wanting to answer that, huh?” I said.
He looked at me undecidedly. “Eh… my answer would stem new questions I’m not eager to answer.”
“Who invited you to the party?” I asked.
“Nobody.”
“Nobody? You crashed the party?”
He nodded.
“Forgive me,” Norrah said, “but I find it intriguing that a teacher would crash a party hundreds of miles from where he lives. Can’t you tell us more?”
Before he could shoot us down with a frustrating non-answer, I asked another question: “Paul was okay with you joining the party? A stranger?”
“That’s the beauty of a masquerade party. It’s customary not to ask who the others are. I suppose most people can figure out who the masked people are, but not always, and not everybody. Nobody asked who I was. People just assume you’re friends of someone’s and that’s just fine. Alcohol is the social lubricant of the machine that is a party, and folks are having too much fun to police the party by finding out who shouldn’t be there, who wasn’t invited and who was. I was just another guy wanting to have a good time. People can appreciate that.”
“But you don’t drink,” Norrah said quizzically.
/> “I don’t.”
“Then why were you there? Can’t you understand how confusing this is to us?”
“I can.”
“What if I told you that I swear on my mortal soul,” I said, “that what you tell us will stay between us now and forever. You can tell us anything and it won’t leave this room.”
“I swear, too,” Norrah said. “I think I’ll die if you don’t tell me what you know.”
Aaron grinned at us both, ate another chip. While chewing he said, “You must think I’m enjoying this, keeping what I know mum. It isn’t so. I just fear being the subject of interviews and accusations. I live a quiet life and want to continue that. Just having been present at the party has put me on the radar. I don’t wish to travel farther along that path of fame or infamy, if you know what I mean. But I do believe you. You seem like good people. Are you two a couple?”
I said no as Norrah said yes. I gaped over at her. She was embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” she squeaked. “I shouldn’t have assumed that.”
“Don’t be sorry! I just thought I’d freak you out if I said yes. I really like you, Norrah, and I’m honored that you consider me your… well, that we’re a couple.”
She looked satisfied with that. I kissed her briskly on the lips.
Aaron smiled at us. “I’m a pastor,” he said.
“Beg pardon?” I said.
“A pastor. I’m a pastor.”
“I thought you were a teacher?” Norrah said.
“Isn’t that what a pastor is?”
“Touché,” I said.
He chuckled. “I’m both. I teach on the weekdays, give sermons on Sundays at Calvary Chapel.”
Norrah was agape. She then blinked the incredulous expression away and apologized. “It’s just that you look so young to be a pastor. And a teacher, for that matter.”
“I’m twenty-eight, not that young. I know I look younger, I hear it a lot.”
“A pastor-teacher, crashing a teen party hundreds of miles away. Nothing unusual about that,” I said jocularly.
“Nothing at all, huh,” Aaron said and laughed harder this time. “As a man of faith, my word is stone. When I promise something, you can take it to the bank. I’m hoping you two share that creed. You made me a promise and I don’t take that lightly.”
“As well you shouldn’t,” I said. “I know a cop isn’t as moral or venerable a profession as a teacher and pastor, but my word, my honor, means just as much to me as it does to you.”
“Have either of you read the bible?” he asked, looking first in her eyes, then mine.
Neither of us had. We reluctantly admitted it.
“You should try it,” he said. “It’s a good book. Not just the message of love and salvation and everlasting life, but in a literal sense, it’s a good book. Like any book, it has a kind of story, a plot, and it’s fascinating, enthralling. I say this not as a pastor but as someone who adores reading books.”
We both nodded, curious as to where the heck he was going with this.
“I have a friend sermonizing in my stead, at Calvary, for two weeks. But I have to get back up to Fresno by Sunday evening to teach classes on Monday. So I don’t have much time left down here. If you two would like, we could get together a few more times before I head back. I’d be honored.”
“Sure,” Norrah said. “All right,” I said.
“I don’t know anyone here, so it’s nice to have met you two. Back to what I was getting at, the bible. It’s a big thing I’m about to ask of you two, but would you read the bible for me?”
Aaron was looking at the knitted brows of his company. What’s the point of this request, our expressions said.
“Think of it as payment for me sharing with you what I know,” he said. “Deal?”
“I guess I could,” I said. “Any part in particular?”
“The whole thing is worth reading, but I guess the New Testament is a good place to start. The ending is what I really want you two to absorb. Pay extra attention.”
“Why is that?” asked Norrah.
“Like I said, it’s payment. I’m a pastor, you can hardly blame me for trying to teach the word of God to two non-believers.” He hung and shook his head. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have presumed you to be non-believers. But I’d feel better with our relationship if you gave the bible a read.”
“If we do that, you’ll tell us everything we want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Do we have to read it entirely before you tell us?” Norrah asked.
He considered it. “I don’t know. I’ll give it some thought.”
“How about instead of reading the bible,” I said, “I give you a more tangible payment; say, some cold hard cash…?” I winked, then chuckled.
“You’d be doing yourselves a favor by reading it. Have an open mind, please. Maybe when you’ve finished the book I’ll drive back down, and if you’d like I could baptize you both. If you’re willing, of course.”
“You’re trying to convert us,” I said, “and that doesn’t offend me, but you should know that I’m already a Christian.”
“Me too,” Norrah said.
“Stating you’re a Christian and being a Christian are two different things. Only God knows what’s inside your heart of hearts. But if I had to guess, you two…” He cut himself short of finishing his thought.
“What?” I said.
“Let’s just say that when I die and if God is generous enough to have me in Heaven, I wouldn’t be surprised to not find you two there.” Quickly and sternly he added, “Don’t take that as a strike against your characters, or that I think you are unworthy of His grace. I’m just saying that I wouldn’t be surprised. Most people won’t get into Heaven, that’s all.”
“What’s this all about, really,” I said kind of cryptically. “What’s all this religion stuff have to do with anything?”
“Jay…” Norrah chided. “Be respectful. That’s what pastors do, you know. They talk about God. Is it that unlikely that he’d want to do the same with us? Think of it as a compliment, that he likes us so much that he wants to hang out with us more, namely in Heaven.” She smiled bashfully at me. It was such a pretty gesture, from such a pretty woman. I reciprocated the smile, and couldn’t resist kissing her.
“You’re a tender soul,” Aaron said to her. “You would be proof, if nothing else, that God exists. He created a gem in you.”
“Aww.” Norrah blushed. “That’s so sweet of you to say.”
“Watch it, bub,” I said. “That chick has become the property of Jay Davis, going on five minutes now. Go hitch your wagon to another dame, Father Aaron.”
He laughed. “I’m not a father. I’m not Catholic.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“So when can I expect you two love birds to begin reading the New Testament.”
“Man…” I said exasperatedly. “You really are intent on us reading it, aren’t you?”
He shrugged with a poorly concealed grin.
“I’ll start this evening,” Norrah said. “How’s that strike you.”
“Awesome.”
“I guess I could too,” I said. “But I don’t have a bible.”
“You mean you didn’t have a bible. I have two extras in my Tacoma, one for each of you.”
“Two? Is that a coincidence or planned?” I asked.
He smiled broadly. “The latter. But to be fair, I have more than two. I always carry several, in case I encounter someone interested in learning the Word of God.”
I asked him where he was staying these two weeks of his vacation. The Lake Arrowhead Inn. It was about eight minutes from Norrah’s, a little farther from my own house. He apologized for his bluntness before asking if we’d mind getting together at either my place or Norrah’s, as he couldn’t afford to be eating at restaurants too frequently. He was having a hard enough time paying ninety bucks a night for two weeks at that inn. As poorly as teachers get paid, he said substitutes have it even worse. And h
is congregation at Calvary wasn’t too vast, his salary almost nothing at all. The good Lord provided, though, and he was happy with what he was given. He would bring over some side dishes purchased from Stater’s, said he wouldn’t think of freeloading.
“We can get together at my place,” I offered. “And you don’t need to bring any food over, Aaron. You are a good man, do a lot for your community. Allow me to repay some of that kindness by feeding you. I can cook some mean rib-eyes.”
He hummed enthusiastically at the idea of a rib-eye. “That sounds delicious. Did I mention I’m starving?” He humored.
“How’s tomorrow sound?” Norrah asked Aaron.
“Sounds great. Would you guys mind if we dined at Norrah’s instead?”
“I don’t see why not,” she replied.
“Not that it’s of much importance to me, but I wouldn’t mind returning there. For personal reasons. Don’t read too far into it, it’s nothing like that.”
I had sipped to the bottom of my margarita. Norrah wasn’t far behind me. When the senorita delivered our three hot plates of savory goodness, I ordered another ‘rita for the lady, and got to drinking Aaron’s untouched green drink. The pastor wasn’t kidding about being hungry: that dude tore into his burrito like it was his salvation. The remainder of our dinner-date was enjoyed with lighthearted topics, nothing about what happened on Valentine’s day. I guess a lot of that could be chalked up to knowing we’d see him again tomorrow and a few more times before he embarked up north. We could afford to get a little chummy, and I thought it would make it all the easier for him to tell us what brought him hundreds of miles south, to a party that would live forever in history books, perhaps the very ones he’d teach his students. I could be a patient guy, I knew he’d tell me what he knew soon enough, assuming there were things to tell. For all I knew he might have only had a hunch that something would go down that fateful night, with nothing more to reveal to us than that.
Before we parted ways that evening, after a hand shake and genuine “It was a pleasure to meet you,” he reminded us that we both promised to start reading the bible, and bestowed upon us a brand new copy of said book. Inside them, handwritten on the first leaf, was: To Jay (Norrah on her copy), may the Word of God live within you for eternity. Your friend, Aaron Mendelssohn.
