Preservation

by Charles Lemoine

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He twisted her wrist down and to the right. A whole new level of pain. Mariska knew bones, and she could see them breaking inside her. He could snap her in two. He was going to snap her in two.

  He leaned in closer, and she could smell the tobacco on his breath. The sweetness of a cigar, but the stale stench of old coffee and decay. Is that what a dead soul smelled like? He breathed out his words with a hint of a growl. “You have something that doesn’t belong to you. Give it to me, or I’ll start taking. And you won’t like what I take.”

  “I swear to you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mariska wanted to plead with the man. Beg him just to leave her alone. How could he even know about the tooth and bead, if that’s what he came for? She’d found it. She’d been alone. “Please…”

  He glanced over her shoulder and back. “Close your eyes and put your head down, now.”

  She did as she was told. How was this man so brazen to do this while there’s a cop in the building? He’s either really stupid, or he doesn’t care if he got caught…but why? The smell of his breath seeped into her nose once again, but it was his words that made her feel sick. “You had your chance, bitch.” And then with a sick, childlike voice, he whispered, “It’s going to hurt. I promise you. It’s going to hurt.”

  The table jiggled as he slid out from behind the booth. Her stomach threatened to purge, but there hadn’t been anything in it.

  “Are you tired? We can get going if you want.” The table jiggled again as Wulf sat across from her.

  She looked up but didn’t speak. Mariska sat up tall and craned her neck as she searched the diner. Her breathing continued to be quick, and the sweat that had formed over her body began to trickle down her back and along her hairline.

  “Are you okay?” Wulf asked. “What happened?” He looked down at her hands. “Oh my god. Your wrist…”

  Her wrist was discolored. The distinguishing marks of fingers were growing darker by the second, and the swelling in her hand made her fingers feel like stuffed sausages. Mariska pulled her hand in close to her body, cradling it like a delicate puppy.

  Wulf stood next to the booth, scanning the diner. “Mariska, tell me what happened. Who hurt you?” He didn’t look at her but continued to look around the restaurant.

  “I…I think it was the guy that broke into my apartment,” she said, her voice thick and raw.

  “Quick, tell me what he looked like.” He paused. “Mariska. Hurry. What was he wearing?”

  “Umm, I’m not sure. He was so big. Dark hair. White guy. Umm. Black leather jacket…maybe?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Stay here. I’ll call for backup.” He thumbed a number into his phone and hurried outside into the parking lot.

  Mariska looked around the diner, feeling very alone and scared. No one saw the guy come in or leave and here she was sitting alone, again. Searching the table and surrounding booths for some means of protection, the butter knife on the table drew her attention. She picked it up and palmed it. Holding it like a dagger, she slid out from behind the booth and went to the far back corner of the main dining area. Sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, she tried to make herself invisible. A fake potted tree and chair stood between her and whatever dangers were hiding there.

  “Mariska?” Wulf said as he entered the diner. She watched him as he hurried back to where they’d been sitting. She didn’t make a sound. He rounded the corner, his expression focused, but concerned. “Mariska?”

  He spotted her. A few hurried steps, and he was there, bent down on one knee. He slid the tree and chair out of the way and said, “You’re safe now.”

  “I didn’t hear any gunshots. So, I’m guessing you didn’t get him. How again am I safe?” She started to push herself up from the floor, but Wulf helped her stand.

  “He got away, this time.”

  Mariska brushed herself clean and swallowed hard. It was time to pull herself together. “I gathered that. Please take me home; I need to get some rest.”

  “Let me make a call.” Wulf pulled out his phone. “I can bring you to your parents’ house. You’ll be safer there.”

  She put a hand on his arm and pushed it down, pulling the phone away from his ear. “No, take me home. And don’t you dare call my parents.”

  The look on her face must have told him how serious she was because he put the phone away and took her arm in his. Wulf lead her out of the restaurant and to his SUV. Opening the door, he waited for her to get inside and closed the door. She heard him get in the driver’s side but didn’t look over at him, preferring to stare out the window.

  In silence, they made their way through the ever-busy streets of Los Angeles. But at that hour it didn’t take long to reach her apartment. She’d waited on the landing for him to make the initial sweep of the inside and then followed him inside. He led her through the kitchen, living room, and back into her bedroom, flipping on all the lights along the way. Despite the disaster of overturned furniture and broken things, she preferred to be home, rather than anywhere else.

  “Do you have a piece of paper?” Wulf asked. “And a pencil?”

  Now, what? She thought. “Sure, in the kitchen.”

  He went and sat at the kitchen table while Mariska retrieved the items he’d requested.

  When she reentered the room, Wulf was hanging up his cellphone. “Here.” She placed them in front of him and sat in the chair across the table. “What do you need them for?”

  “I was hoping you could give me a description of the guy who attacked you.”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “Okay, I’ll ask you about each one of his facial features. I find it helps if you close your eyes and think hard. Place yourself back at the diner and really try and see it in your mind,” he said.

  It was worth a try. “Are you planning on drawing it?”

  “Yes, I’m going to try, anyway.” He put the pencil to the paper. “I called the station, but there weren’t any artists available. Technically, I’ve passed all the training needed to do it myself, but I prefer the allure of detective work to sitting at a desk with paper and pencil. Anyway, whatever I draw is considered official so why not give it a go?”

  “I never really thought of cops being artists. Where did you learn to draw?”

  “School. High school, mostly.” He smiled. “I had a good teacher.”

  “I guess we do have something in common. I loved my high school art teacher.”

  “Small world,” he said. “Okay, if you’re ready, let’s get started.”

  Mariska closed her eyes and answered all of his questions. As she thought about the man, she started to see details of his face. The three pockmarks on his left cheek. The cleft chin, uni-brow, and the lopsided jawline. It had to have been broken and poorly set. She recalled his smoker’s teeth and blood-starved greyish gums. His breath.

  “Unfortunately, the sketch isn’t a scratch and sniff,” Wulf said. “You can open your eyes.”

  Mariska looked at the picture and sat back for a moment. “That’s him. That’s the asshole.” She gently massaged her bruised wrist and flexed her swollen fingers. “Damn, you’re good.”

  He smiled, “So I’ve been told.”

  His eyes twinkled, and she looked away. A moment later she yawned and looked at the clock above the stove.

  “It’s getting late,” he said. “I should let you get some sleep.”

  They stood from the table and faced each other. She looked around the brightly lit apartment and felt a chill.

  “I’ve never been afraid in my own home before.” She took a tentative step toward him.

  “You’ve been through a lot.” He moved in her direction and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’d be more worried about your mental state if none of this bothered you.”

  She reached up and took his hand in hers. “Would you spend the night here…tonight?”

  His
expression didn’t change, but he didn’t answer right away. She was about to laugh away her invitation when he said, “Sure…if you want me too.” His voice was a bit more strained than what it had been a few moments ago. He moved ever closer to her as she could feel the heat emanating from him. Looking up into his kind eyes made her belly flutter. His lips parted as if inviting her in for a kiss and his large hand tightened around her with a sense of protection she couldn’t remember feeling before.

  She nodded. “Yes, I want you…to.”

  He brushed a stray hair from her forehead with such care; she melted under his warm, affectionate touch. Then suddenly, as if the moment grew too uncomfortable for him, he cleared his throat and stepped back, but didn’t let go of her hand.

  She was unable to contain her smile. “Thank you for staying.” She led him into the living room which was still a disaster area. “If you wouldn’t mind helping me to flip the couch back over and put the cushions back on, I’ll get some sheets.”

  He let out a soft snort through his nose, “No problem. I’d be happy too.”

  Relief. Security. She’d sleep much better tonight knowing Wulf was nearby.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The night sky began to swirl above her as constellations took form before her eyes. Ursa Major, more commonly known as the Big Dipper, was known down through history as the Great Bear. To Mariska, the pictorial imagery looked like a hybrid animal or one that no longer existed. A bear-like body with some feline features and a wolf-like tail. Considering this constellation has been part of the written and oral histories dating back more than thirteen thousand years, it seemed possible an unknown animal from the Pleistocene Epoch could have been the inspiration.

  The North Star or Polaris remained in its spot while the rest of the heavens seemed to spin around it as an axis point. Science, nature, and history…they always brought her focus and calm in a modern world of chaos and danger.

  Mariska’s imagination had been taking her to far-flung parts of the world and in times past when suddenly light from the horizon began to emerge. She sat up straighter in the recliner and listened to the end of the astronomer’s presentation at the Griffith Park Observatory.

  The astronomer’s voice was tailor-made for this kind of work. Equal parts soothing and inspiring, she brought the entire auditorium to places many could only imagine. Holding a glowing sphere up over her head as the lights in the planetarium slowly brightened, she said, “Our ancestors, tens of thousands of years ago, looked up into the night sky with wonder. They made up stories to make sense of the movement and positioning of the celestial bodies. Even without telescopes, computers, or cameras…man was able to observe, remember, and predict the movements of the stars, planets, and moon. They used this information to predict the seasons. Seasons for hunting, planting, and migration. We know more about the heavens today than we did in times past. However, the more we see…the more we know, the more we wonder. We are a curious bunch, we human beings, it seems the more we question the universe around us, the more we desire and seek out answers. Until then, keeping looking up into the night sky. Maybe, you’ll be the one who makes that next discovery, or solves that next mystery.”

  The glowing orb she held high above her head, slowly darkened. Without a word, she lowered it and walked to the back of the planetarium, out of sight. The mesmerized crowd sat for a moment in silence. At first, one by one and then as a large group, the audience filed out of the auditorium. Mariska found herself alone, the room dimly lit with soft blue, twilight colored light around the base of the domed screen. She felt at peace, filled with wonder and awe for the mysteries of the universe that were still there, waiting to be solved.

  She always came here to the observatory when she wanted to think—clear her head to allow for problem-solving. It’d helped her get through college, and she hoped it’d help her figure out her current situation. Not wanting to be disturbed, Mariska only told Theresa she was coming here in case she needed to get ahold of her. She closed her eyes, seeing the night sky once again, replaying in her mind how the constellations moved across the sky signaling the change in seasons. Then it struck her. The La Brea Woman. Had she been a night sky watcher? Were her people attuned to the sky as many others down through history had been, like the Mayans, Greeks, Romans, and the Iroquois people?

  Mariska patted her jeans and felt the lone blue bead and mystery tooth she’d planned to keep on her person until she knew what she was dealing with. She got up and walked out of the darkroom and into the bright light outside on the lookout deck of the Observatory. In the distance, the city of Los Angeles laid spread out in all its glory. A general haze of smog, or marine-layer, as her socialite friends often referred to it. From her vantage point, she could see all of downtown, Century City, and with a turn of the head, the iconic Hollywood sign. At night, the city would be lit up with awesome, glitzy lights, but even at midday, it was beautiful. The best part of being up in the hills was the silence. She couldn’t hear the traffic, sirens, or horns. The ever-present background noise of life in a big city was absent. It was the perfect place to think. Many of her big life decision had been made in the hiking trails of the surrounding park and in the hallowed halls of this time-honored institution of learning, exploration, and imagination.

  Mariska walked around the side of the building to the entrance to the telescope. The door was locked at this time of day, but that was fine with her. She was more concerned with finding a less trafficked area to take another look at the bead. Sitting down onto the top step of the entrance, she fished the small hand-carved blue cube from her front pocket. In the bright light of day, she held it up and let the sun gleam off its surface.

  She didn’t know what the bead was made of, but it was definitely stone of some kind. Rubbing the pad of her index finger over the surfaces, she felt the tiny imperfections, worn by time and tar. On the underside of the bead, she felt a rough patch of solidified tar. Using her fingernail, she picked at it. Careful not to scrape away any surface structure, Mariska managed to remove the adhesive substance.

  Taking a closer look at the newly cleaned surface, a series of tiny indentations became visible. The tiny carved holes made up a pattern of some kind. It wasn’t something that readily came to mind, but could it be a constellation or part of one? She’d better ask. Back inside she went, but this time, down into the basement. Two flights of stairs and a few minutes of hunting, Mariska spotted an elderly-gentlemen in a red sweater-vest. His, white, frizzy hair reminded her of the crazy scientist on the classic 80’s movie, Back to the Future.

  Mariska hurried over to him and waited patiently while he explained to a couple of German tourists how much they would weigh if they were standing on the surface of the moon. The woman smiled from ear to ear, clearly wanting to make the trip where she’d be a whopping thirty-three pounds. The old scientist was thrilled he’d made her day, patting her on the shoulder before turning away. Mariska stepped into his path and smiled.

  “Excuse me.” Mariska extended her hand, and he shook it. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Would you like to know how many moons orbit Jupiter?”

  Mariska shook her head, “I know that at last count there were sixty-seven named moons orbiting Jupiter.”

  The man’s eyes widened with surprise. “That’s correct. Very well done. I can see you’ve been studying your astronomy…” He paused and waited her for her to introduce herself.

  “My name is Dr. Mariska Stevenson. I’m a Paleontologist down at the Page Museum.”

  “Ah, impressive. My name is Dr. Conrad Billings. My friends call me, Doc.”

  Of course they do, Mariska thought with an inner smile. “I need your help with something.”

  “You name it.”

  Mariska took him by the hand and led him to the back of the hands-on-learning center where people of all ages could weigh themselves on the planets of the solar system, study the methods used to garner scientific informat
ion regarding planets we’ve never set foot on, and how to track the path of comets, among other things. A second of doubt filled her belly as she wondered if he’d somehow know she’d taken the bead without permission. But how could he? She shook off the self-doubt, and once they were alone, she pulled out the bead and showed it to him.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “It’s a bead.”

  He looked at her with a questioning expression. “I don’t see how I could possibly be of any help. I’ve spent my entire adult life studying objects in the sky, not down here on Earth.”

  “I kind of figured you’d say that.” She turned the bead over and showed him the tiny carvings.

  He gave a chuckle. “I’m going to need a magnifier for this. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  Doc turned and began walking into the back room, through a door she hadn’t even noticed. She followed close. There was no way she was going to let the bead out of her sight. The doorway opened into a short hallway with offices on both sides. The second office door on the left was marked with Doc’s name, and he entered without the use of a key.

  “Have a seat.” He walked around to the other side of the desk and sat.

  He took out a magnifying glass from the top desk drawer and began studying the bead. He turned it over and over, making little sounds of interest.

  “So? What do you make of the carved pattern?”

  He put the magnifier down on the desk and handed the bead back to her. “Again, this is not my area of expertise, but I think this relates to my field of study. The pattern is far from perfect, but resembles the Long Sash Constellation of the Tewa people.”

  “The, what? Who?” Mariska shoved the bead back into her pocket. “Tell me more…please.”

  “The legendary Long Sash told the story of a people moving westward. They were seeking a new land a refuge from their enemies that had been attacking villages. But once settled into the new land, the people began to fight among themselves. Long Sash was then said to make an ultimatum. The people of the village could either choose to stay or make a new trail. But if they stayed, they would have to give up all violence.”