by Tom Howard
“You ok?” She asked wearing a grin like a second skin.
Wyatt had to collect himself. “Yeah.” He said trying to alter his gaze so she wouldn’t read his mind. “Aright, I’m going to step out and let you get some sleep, I’ll be right downstairs. If you need me, all you have to do is holler, I’ll be here in two seconds.”
Michelle’s brow furrowed as she remembered the events of last night and the horror she went through. “Actually…” she felt like a scared little girl for even considering her next question. “would you mind staying up here with me? Just until I fall asleep.”
Wyatt nodded, “Ok.”
Michelle climbed into bed while Wyatt took the oversized chair. He didn’t exactly fit, but that didn’t stop him from trying, with his head resting on the arm and his feet hanging over the other side. Apparently, he was more tired than he thought. He intended to stay awake, but when his eyes closed, he could feel himself beginning to drift off. Michelle wasn’t far behind, and for once, she didn’t feel any fear, nor did she see any disturbing images. In fact, it was just the opposite. The little bit of light which shown through the window created a cross which could barely be seen behind her eyelids, however, when she saw it, it gave her a sense of peace which passed all understanding, so much so, a grin formed on her lips without her even being aware she had done it.
The sun climbed higher in the sky as if reaching for Heaven itself, then realized it was just beyond its grasp and began a descent, bringing part of the world to evening. Wyatt awoke to find Michelle still sound asleep on her side wearing the same smile she had fallen asleep with. He hadn’t meant to sleep as long as he did, but upon looking at the clock found he was out for nine hours. Rubbing the stiffness out of his neck as he sat up, the tempting thought to wake Michelle flew out of his head as quickly as it had entered - with all she had been through, Wyatt felt it best to let her sleep as long as possible. They never knew when something…disturbing…would happen. Quietly, he tiptoed out of the room and headed downstairs to work on a few things. The nights around there would send a chill through the air, and without central heat, it wouldn’t be long before its effects were felt. If they wanted to keep warm, Wyatt knew he’d best pay a visit to the wood pile out back. Grabbing a soda from the fridge, and the ax from the garage, he walked outside.
Staring back at him was a pile of logs six feet high by eight feet wide covered by a blue tarp. In front of them sat an old tree stump which belonged to an Oak he had cut down when he was updating the place. It was clear by all of the split marks it was well used. Not only was it a good anger management stress relieving tool, but chopping wood gave Wyatt a chance to process his thoughts, one of which being him wondering what was going on in the world. Up until last night he had never been one to believe in ghosts, but there was no denying what he’d seen. And why did it sound like Damon knew something would be going on at his house right then when none of his boys showed up until later that night? And as for the dream of the man with the burned face, he had written it off as being overworked plus a horror movie marathon a few nights before…that was, until seeing the girl in the camera. Sure, she could have just been an intruder made to look ghostly, but as he thought back, Wyatt remembered there were no signs of intrusion what so ever. No broken windows or locks or even cut screens. So, he wondered, what is going on? And why does everything seem to be centered around Michelle? Who is she and why is she so valuable? As he brought the ax down, splitting yet another log, he began to think about what he knew for sure, Michelle was clearly in trouble, and Damon wasn’t going to stop until he got her. What baffled him were the paranormal things which also seemed to surround her. And breathlessly gazing into the sunset, he wondered what was the connection? The only absolute in the equation was for him to accomplish what everyone before had failed to do – bring down Damon Carver.
As Wyatt was carrying a bag of chopped logs back inside, he passed through the garage and stopped to look at his beat up, used to be classic car. He realized he was well equipped to deal with the situation and restore the vehicle to its former glory, well, all except for the bullet holes, that is. He took a quick peek and a listen inside to see if Michelle was awake, but she hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed even to use the bathroom. If Wyatt didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was in a coma, it was the occasional miniscule movement which gave her away. So, with that in mind, he decided to give the Challenger a once over.
Aside from his love of cooking, Wyatt was also pretty handy with a wrench and had, in his younger years, both boosted and rebuilt cars. Mostly learning the craft in one of Damon’s chop shops before moving up to be his right-hand man, although, it served him well on many occasions. He used to jack a car in less than sixty seconds then outrun and outmaneuver cops no matter what he was driving. In most circles he was a ghost, the uncatchable thief, and later, the untouchable hitman.
Most of his tools were kept at home, but the more valuable stuff, like his automatic jacks, painting supplies, and all power tools were kept there at the cabin. He found it quite peaceful to be among nature and work on his car undisturbed by the hustle and bustle of city life. Giving the classic another look, Wyatt knew he would be able to handle the challenge – all except for the seven bullet holes which spiraled into the trunk and the driver’s side floorboard. The one which took off the mirror left only a slight mark which could be easily fixed with some sanding and paint prior to reattaching the mirror. However, first thing was first, pulling out some dents which were made during the sandwiching of his car. In all honesty, he and Michelle got lucky the agent missed and took out Damon’s guy, otherwise they’d have been another fatality story for the front page.
As Wyatt knelt down by his car, popping out dent after dent, the more he thought about the incident, the more he wondered if the agent was really working with Damon, or if he was just using Wyatt’s car to get a good vantage point to take out a few of Damon’s boys. But he was sure the agent was aiming his gun at Michelle, wasn’t he? If that were the case, there were a lot of better ways to go about offing a few of them than using his car as a duck blind. And that posed another question, what was going on at the restaurant when the agent not only walked in with a couple guys, but also tried to kill Wyatt over Michelle? Clearly everyone was after the same thing, but was the reasoning the same? With Damon having his hand in every organization, maybe Michelle had inadvertently stumbled across sensitive information and Damon found out causing him to want to kill her for not giving it up. And on the other hand, maybe the FBI wanted to interrogate her to find out what she knew. Just theories, Wyatt thought to himself as he let his detective mind wander while he readied the paint.
It was getting late, and Wyatt could feel a nip in the air, so he tossed another log on the fire whose heat seemed to slowly radiate throughout the house. Wyatt leaned back in his leather recliner as he took a drawn-out sip from his long neck while watching the glow from the fire light the room. As the flames flickered, light danced on the walls as if a Native American ritual, beautiful and elegant. He preferred the radiating light of a fire to that of a bulb whenever possible, always thinking it felt more natural. There was something more tranquillic about watching the luminescence of a flame as they were constantly broken and reborn in an instant.
Standing next to the chair was a wooden table, finished with a shine, Wyatt had made from part of the Oak tree he had cut down years ago. On it stood several pictures, one of which had been taken many decades ago in the ‘60’s, of a man and woman in which the man was well dressed in a suit, seated in a wooden chair, while the woman, who looked absolutely beautiful in a pure white dress, stood behind the chair with her hands placed ever so gently on her new husband’s shoulder. His grandparents. The next was of a young happy family taken just over twenty-nine years ago. They were all smiles as they jumped in a pile of leaves on a cool Fall day. The parents and two twin six year old boys used to have so much fun together. They never really had to go anywhere to have a good time,
just their own back yard. Gazing at the picture, Wyatt barely even recognized the older of the two boys – it had been so long since he’d seen him. The third and final picture was of a young man about seventeen years old leaning on an orange Challenger with his arms crossed and a huge smile from ear to ear. It was clear to see it was the kid’s first car. He didn’t pay much for it, but he sure loved that old Dodge. There was nothing he couldn’t do when he was behind the wheel, always feeling invincible – and that was the problem.
Wyatt’s eyes didn’t falter as he picked up the picture. “It’s been a long time, bro, ten years next month.” His voice was soft and had no rugged edge as he spoke. “Things have changed for me since I last saw you. I told you I was going to go straight, and guess what? I’m lead detective at the precinct.” He sat there for what seemed like endless moments fighting back tears. It wasn’t like him to get emotional, but when it came to his brother, or the people he cared the deepest for, those buried feelings tended to fight their way to the surface. “I just wish you were here to see it. For once in my life, I’ve actually done something you’d be proud of. I know I wasn’t the best big brother in the world, but everything I did, I did it for you, I only wish I hadn’t rubbed off on you so much. I was supposed to be the reckless one, not you.” His jaw clenched. “You were supposed to live a long life, get married, and have a bunch of kids…not go out like that. God knows, if there was anything I could have done…maybe if I’d just gotten to you a little sooner…but I’ll get him, if it’s the last thing I do, I promise, I’ll bring him down.”
Wyatt sat there staring at his brother, recalling every detail of their life together. Mitch had always looked up to his brother. Though they were twins, Wyatt had him beat by six minutes and never let him forget it. When they were younger, they were practically inseparable, except for when Wyatt would have to go on a run for Damon – there was no way he would ever let Mitch tag along, not with the things he had to do. He always tried to hide the true nature of what he was doing, but Mitch was pretty smart. When Wyatt told him he had to go see a man about a stone, it was clear he meant tombstone. The more Wyatt’s gaze lingered on the picture, the more he began to look over the car as well. “I’ve still got her. She’s one of the only things I have left of you. She’s a little worse for wear right now, but I’ll have her fixed up in no time.” Wyatt always made it a habit to keep the Challenger in pristine condition because his brother never let even the slightest spec of dirt get anywhere near his car. And that was also the reason behind the mechanic’s shop in the garage. “Don’t worry though, she runs just like she did the day you got her, better even.” He grinned, but it soon faded as he looked at the picture of the family, and suddenly his eyes began to grow misty. “Do me a favor, will you? Tell mom and dad I said hi and I miss ‘em.”
Unknown to Wyatt, Michelle had woken up and was standing on the loft behind him which overlooked the living room. She had heard the entire thing and felt genuinely sorry for him, not that she was going to let on she’d intruded on a private moment by mentioning anything. Instead, seeing as Wyatt had fallen asleep where he sat, she decided to quietly grab a quick bite to eat and return to bed. Surprisingly, she was still exhausted – feeling as though this was the first time she’d slept in her entire life. As she laid there, after woofing down a chicken leg and biscuit, Michelle wondered what had actually happened to Wyatt’s family. Was that the reason he had such a rough personality or was it more of a defense mechanism, learned over the years to keep people away so both he and they wouldn’t get hurt? Either way, he had been forged through the flame and become a force never to be trifled with. And for those who were on the other end of his hand…God help them, because in his old life, Wyatt’s face was the last thing most men would see.
The next morning, a light scent of cinnamon wafted around the house, eventually making its way into Michelle’s room, waking her up. Stretching as she sat up, she looked out of the window to see a gorgeous day staring back at her. It was intoxicating, the birds chirping in the trees, the baby blue sky with puffy white clouds hanging about as the morning sun shown just over the mountain in the distance, all the while realizing the night passed peacefully with not even a hint of evil lingering. She began to think maybe there was something to this place, something so pure no malevolent spirit could enter, therefore making her truly safe. However, for the time being, all she knew was the smell hanging around was making her truly hungry.
As she walked into the kitchen, still dressed in her pajamas, she watched as Wyatt finished making pancakes and eggs. Apparently, the cinnamon from the hotcakes was what was making the house smell like a Fall day. He looked a little strange wearing an apron, but as Michelle smiled, it did make his blue eyes pop.
“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to wake up.” Wyatt said as he made her a plate.
“How long was I out?” Michelle played off the fact she woke up in the middle of the night.
“A full day.” Wyatt sat down at the table across from his friend as he placed the plates in front of them both. It was quite lovely, Michelle thought. The front door was open, with the screen hanging there to prevent bugs from getting in. The sunlight lit the room beautifully, with just a hint of a cool breeze from the Fall weather outside. She was able to see what she had missed yesterday due to being so fatigued, and as she looked around the kitchen / dining room, she found even more pictures of Wyatt’s family than just those which stood next to the leather chair. The table was also set with the plates, freshly squeezed orange juice, and toast, all sitting around a vase of flowers Wyatt had picked just after waking up.
“Wow, I can’t remember the last time I did that.” Michelle grinned. It seemed for the moment not having a memory wasn’t bothering her. She took a bite of her breakfast and her taste buds danced. “Oh my gosh this is good! Where did you learn to cook?”
“Oh, this is nothing, I’ll make you my Diamondback Steak and Potato Bites for dinner.”
Michelle’s brow furrowed, “How do you get steak from a snake? Isn’t that a little impossible?”
Wyatt let out a little chuckle. “It’s just a name. You see, when you grill it, it’s the pattern made on the steak by the grill. But the way you make it is by taking bacon, green onions, bleu cheese, and garlic, dicing them all up, mixing them together, and stuffing them into a pocket in the steaks, grill that on high, and cover it with a reduction sauce…now that’s good eating.”
“Where did you learn all of this?”
Wyatt thought back to a former mission and his demeanor suddenly became soft. “It was about twelve years ago when I was working for Damon. He told me there was an old man who was giving him trouble because he wouldn’t sell his restaurant, so he sent me to deal with the problem. Most of the jobs I was doing were way across the line anyway, and I’ve never had an issue doing that kind of thing before, so why should that time be any different? But when I got there, I saw the look on his face when I was about to put my knife through his heart, and I just couldn’t do it. He was the one guy I was ever sent after who talked me down. And a job that should have taken me no more than ninety seconds ended up taking me four hours. He showed me I could use my knife to create, not just destroy. So, I found any excuse I could to go back and over the next few months, Chris taught me everything I know about the art of food. He was one of the guys who made a difference in my life, I mean a real difference. And it was because of him I even began thinking about leaving Damon’s organization.”
“So why didn’t you become a chef instead of a cop?”
“Technically I did. Chris was also a culinary instructor. In the amount of time I was with him, he said I had the equivalent talent of a master chef and wrote me a diploma from his school.”
“And we’re just having pancakes and eggs for breakfast?”
“Sometimes I like the simplicity better.” Wyatt replied. “But to me, food is art, it’s like letting a stranger in your head – just for a second – and you allow them t
o feel what you’re feeling. Sometimes I crush it, sometimes it tastes like cardboard, but either way it makes me feel something. And for a long time, when I was doing the things I did, I learned to put my feelings aside in order to get the job done, and by doing that, I didn’t feel anything for a long time. When Chris taught me how to cook, it opened me up and I began to feel again, so to me, food is life.”
Michelle sat there in awe of what she heard. She couldn’t believe how passionate he was about something most people find trivial. Usually, they’re just happy to have a burger and fries from a fast food joint and think it’s good cooking. Michelle scoffed at the thought and knew they could learn a thing or two from Wyatt, that is, if he ever got away from law enforcement. While they ate, she kept looking at the pictures around the top of the kitchen on the shelf which circled the area. “That you?” She asked, nodding to a picture of a happy family as they sat on a stone step in front of an old building, posing with big smiles.
“Yeah, the kid on the left.” Wyatt looked to be about five years old in the picture and was nearly impossible to tell apart from his brother, except for the haircuts. “That’s one of the only pictures I have of my family.”
Michelle wasn’t sure if she should ask, but the question just kept pressing on her mind. “So how does a kid like that go from being so happy to joining a criminal organization?” Wyatt let out a low sigh and his brow furrowed, almost looking as though he didn’t want to talk about it, like remembering the past was too hard on him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s ok.” He took a deep breath and with a heavy heart began. “It was my brother. When we were twelve he developed a brain tumor.”
