by Wm. Barnard
“Well, I’m sorry… What’s your name again?” I said, really wanting to know.
“John Norstrent. Please call me Jack,” he said, smiling.
“Jack, you definitely make it, whatever this is all about, sound very interesting. When would I have to give you a definite answer?”
“We would like to know by Friday; the sooner the better. You are our first choice to write this. We think your reputation gives the credibility we’re looking for and the public really desires.”
“Okay, let me think about it for the next couple of days and I’ll give you a call.”
“Actually, Zach, we’ll call you on Friday around noon, if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure, that’s fine.” I got up as Jack was rising.
“Until we meet again,” Jack said with an outreached hand and the same warm grin with which he had greeted me. Giving me a firm handshake, I noticed a huge gold ring on his finger with a strange, but beautiful gemstone set in the middle.
“Wow, that’s quite a unique ring there, Jack. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He held it up so I could take a closer look. “Thanks. It’s my flight school graduation ring. I replaced the original stone with this one. It’s called rainbow titanium quartz. They do something with the titanium that causes the crystal to make all the colors look metallic.”
“I’ve never even heard of one.”
“I hadn’t either. My friend makes them and said it had healing properties and would cure my insomnia.”
“Did it?”
“I haven’t had a bad night of sleep in years,” he said.
“That’s interesting,” I said, thinking placebo effect.
“It’s just one of those things that show us how little we truly know. Well, we got to get on the road.” Jack turned to leave.
“Hey, uh, whatever happens, thanks for the offer.”
Jack just smiled, nodding as he headed out the door.
Later that same night, I started looking over some of the concepts for freelance stories I had been interested in writing over the past couple of years, but never had the time to work on. While confident that these stories would draw interest from some publications that had responded to my emails, I simply didn’t feel motivated to write any of them at the moment. Even though I felt I was emerging from the dark cloud that had enveloped me since Africa, I instinctively knew I still didn’t possess enough passion to pursue any of these potential stories and my half-hearted efforts would produce something less than prolific.
Reclining back in my chair and contemplating the things Jack had said earlier that morning, I became even more intrigued about his proposal. While I had to admit the secrecy played a role in my interest, his claims that this story would have an incredible effect on people everywhere had really captivated my imagination. I definitely didn’t want to end up reading “The Story” that made headlines everywhere, knowing I had declined the opportunity.
AFTER ANSWERING HIS PHONE, JOHNNY told me to wait for a second, and I heard a ball rolling down a wooden lane before crashing into some helpless bowling pins.
“That’s right. That’s how we do it,” Johnny bragged after apparently throwing a strike.
Before I could even inform him on why I called, he began to offer his usual insightful commentary.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about that mystery assignment that guy offered you. It has to be about a group of physicists who have finally figured out the exact number for Pi. With this new number, all kinds of secrets of the universe will be unlocked. And with this new knowledge, someone will finally invent the zero calorie beer.”
“Wow. You’ve had several days to come up with something funny and that’s all you got? Needless to say, I’m pretty disappointed,” I deadpanned.
“Yeah, I know you expect more from me. I’m sorry to let you down.” Johnny did his best to sound remorseful.
“It’s okay. I’m more than used to it by now. Look, I called to let you that I’m going to go ahead and do the story. They’re actually going to pick me up this Monday.”
“Geez, that’s pretty quick. Have you really taken the time to think about it? I don’t know if I’d be taking a job with all these unknowns. I mean, weren’t you just complaining the other night about all your bills starting to stack up?”
“Since when have you gone all conservative?”
“Just trying to give you the sound advice of a good friend.”
“You know, ‘friend’ is such a strong word…”
Johnny wheezed out a laugh. “That’s cute. I’ll have to remember that one.”
“Seriously though, I’m going to need you to keep an eye on my place, take care of the mail, the usual.”
“For a small fee, right?”
“Let’s just say that I have a feeling when I get back I might be able to even take care of your bar tab down at Murphy’s.”
“You must think you’re gonna win a Pulitzer because I plan to spend some real quality time over there with that kinda payment plan.”
I laughed to myself as I thought about how large my bill could end up being with this kind of arrangement with Johnny. “Look, I gotta try to get things squared away so I can be ready to leave.”
“Johnny, you’re up.” Todd’s voice echoed in the background.
“Yeah, I gotta get back to putting the beat down on Todd and Chris. The beer-gods have been smiling on me over here and lavishing some free rounds.”
“Cool. Thanks a lot, Johnny.”
“No problem, my man. I’ll talk to you when you get back.”
CHAPTER 6
Just as I brought my laptop outside and gently set it on the rest of my gear on the sidewalk, a customized van pulled into my driveway. As the driver slowly waddled out of the van, I was taken aback at his enormous size. Despite lacking a neck, he still stood close to seven feet tall and I wondered if my hands would even touch if I reached around to bear hug him. When he asked me if I needed help with my bags, I almost laughed out loud; the deep, husky voice I expected to come out of this behemoth of a man instead squeaked in a high pitch like that of a young teenage boy.
Handing him my duffel bag, I grabbed my camera bag and laptop, and we walked to the back of the van to load up. From the opposite side I heard the sliding door open and a short, wiry Asian man came walking around to the back with a cell phone pressed against his ear.
“Yes, he’s loading up his bags right now,” he said before hanging up and reaching out his hand to me. “Zach Miller, nice to meet you. I’m Peter. I’ll be one of your hosts during your stay. Jump in the back with me; we have some refreshments back here if you want.”
Before ducking into the side of the van, I noticed that the back seats had been removed and the only place to sit was on a futon spread out on the floor.
“Mr. Miller, we request that you wear this to protect our location,” Peter said as he handed me a shiny, blue blindfold.
“Well, Peter, that makes me a tad nervous,” I said, stepping back outside.
“I understand. But these are my instructions.”
“I thought you guys said it would take six to seven hours to get there. Why do I need to wear it the whole time?”
“Look, I’m just trying to do my job. Believe me, you’ll come to see why we need such secrecy once you arrive,” he said, handing me the blindfold.
“Okay,” I said apprehensively and climbed back inside. Sitting on the futon, I stared at the smooth material of the blindfold as I rubbed it in my hand. It looked like the ones I had seen on airplanes and I could only guess as to where someone even buys such a device.
Pulling the elastic band over my head, my world went black as I slowly slid the blindfold over my eyes. My mind began sprinting as I speculated the very real possibility that I had just stepped into some elaborate trap.
I tried to ease my concerns by breaking down the situation; it didn’t seem logical that these people would be interested in kidnapping me since I wasn’t fr
om a wealthy family. It also didn’t make sense that they would wait for me to agree to get into their van if they were going to abduct me. My little background search on John Norstrent had uncovered a decorated Korean War pilot who currently owned recycling plants in San Diego and Phoenix.
Convincing myself that I didn’t face any imminent danger, I began to relax and enjoy the jazz music that played softly on the radio, even though I had no idea where I was headed and what I would find once we got there.
“Hey, this place got a pool?’ I asked casually.
“Oh yeah. Jacuzzi, tennis courts; It’s a nice spread,” Peter said, his voice turning more distinct as he turned towards me. “But you’ll probably be so engaged in the coming week’s activities that you’ll find little time or interest in any of that. You could actually go horseback riding because the owner has a whole stable full of horses.”
“So, there is some sort of head honcho I’m going to meet.”
Peter’s chuckle echoed off the windshield told me he had resumed his gaze on the road ahead. “Sort of, yeah. There is, how should I put it, ‘an organizer of events’ and he’s the one you’ll be probably spending the most time with. There will be several extremely interesting people there for you to interact with and they’ll give you plenty of material for your story.”
“Yeah, I’m just anxious, you know, to see what this whole mystery is all about.”
“I’m sure you are. Trust me when I say it will be well worth the wait,” he said confidently, and I could hear him texting someone on his phone.
Trying to peek out from under the blindfold to figure out which way we headed, I discovered that the tinted side windows made it virtually impossible to see anything. At first I had a feeling we had been traveling north, but soon lost my sense of direction once my body began swaying back and forth due to the curves in the road. The gentle and constant hum of the tires eventually lulled me to sleep, and when I awoke I had no idea how much time had elapsed.
Coughing to clear my throat, I asked Peter, “Hey, what time is it?
“It’s just after eight. We’ll be there pretty soon.”
Now continuously ascending upward, the popping inside my ears made it obvious that we had arrived in a mountain range. Without warning, we swung to the side as the van cut a sharp ninety-degree turn, gravel now ricocheting loudly off the bottom as we sped down a side road. Twenty minutes later, we stopped abruptly and the giant driver began speaking to someone outside, informing him that he had the writer in the back. After receiving clearance, we continued driving for another fifteen minutes or so before Peter grabbed my shoulder. Removing the blindfold, he said, “We’re here.”
As my eyes adjusted, I saw a large ranch-style house where smoke billowed out of a stone chimney. The front screen door screeched as a small woman wearing a brightly colored apron came out onto the wooden porch and waved at us. Immediately I wondered how anything “monumental” like Jack had promised could take place at such a quiet, quaint looking residence, and if this wouldn’t end up being a colossal waste of time.
Lumbering out of the vehicle and stopping momentarily to stretch, I inhaled a deep breath of the clean country air and gazed straight up into the black sky. Without any city lights to obscure the view, the stars sparkled like fine diamonds in a jewelers showcase. A cool breeze blew gently across my back, removing the last bit of tension from my body.
We walked over to the house where Peter introduced me to Gloria Hunter, the owner of the ranch. He quickly excused himself, noting that he and the driver would be retiring to a large guest house in the back.
Graciously welcoming me into her house, Gloria explained that her husband would return soon from the store. A mix of Mexican and Native American décor throughout her house made it even more comfortable on the inside than it had looked from the driveway. Leading me back down a hallway, she showed me to the small bedroom where I would be staying and I dropped off my bags on an antique wooden desk in the corner.
The aroma of chili peppers roasting on the stove filled the entire house and I gladly accepted Gloria’s invitation to join her at the dinner table for the enchiladas she had prepared earlier. While I guessed that my hostess had to be in her late fifties, Gloria raced around the kitchen with the energy of someone half her age. Her sweet voice and kind demeanor made it impossible to imagine anyone not liking her.
As I finished up the delicious homemade meal, she explained how she had recently retired from nursing when I noticed her beautiful necklace.
“Hey, is that a rainbow quartz at the end of your chain?”
“Yes. It’s actually called titanium rainbow quartz. How did you know that?”
“I saw the same stone on Jack’s ring.”
“I made that for him. He didn’t believe me when I told him about the power in that quartz, but now he sleeps like a baby.” She smiled.
“What kind of power?” I said, trying not to show my skepticism.
“All kinds: healing energy, promoting healthy thoughts, helping us get in touch with our spiritual side. I have friends who claim it helps them with creativity. You should try it.”
While not convinced, I still inquired, “How do you make them?” but a phone call interrupted our conversation. When I heard her start speaking in Spanish and sensed that the conversation was personal, I decided to head to my room and give her some privacy. I tried to stay occupied by reading until Mr. Hunter returned home, but lying on the warm bed caused me to become too comfortable and I crashed out.
A shrieking rooster jolted me out of my deep slumber and I instantly experienced that odd feeling when you awake in a strange bed. When the bird rudely rang in yet another unwanted wake-up call, this city boy started to wonder if I could handle the country noise. The sun had just started to rise and as I pushed the curtains aside, I saw the enormous black tailed gamecock strutting arrogantly right outside my room. Blaring car alarms and bumping stereos I could deal with, but this constant cockle-doo-doo was driving me crazy.
The smell of huevos rancheros wafting under my door soon replaced my agitation with a healthy anticipation of Senora Hunter’s cooking. Ambling down the hall light footed, not knowing who I might encounter, I only found Gloria leaning over into the back of the fridge.
Trying not to scare her, I softly said, “Buenos dias.”
“Oh, buenos dias,” she replied, smiling and adding, “Please sit down and have some breakfast.”
A selection of fruit as well as a large plate mixed with black beans, eggs and homemade salsa fresca sat at the end of long wooden table.
“Sure. Thanks.” Pulling out a chair and sitting down, I felt someone’s presence behind me.
I turned just as a large man entered the room wearing a cowboy hat with an eagle’s feather nestled in its side. Towering over me with broad shoulders, Bill stood at least six and half feet tall. His tanned leather skin, flattened nose and two long strands of black and gray braided hair hinted at his ancient heritage.
I stood up as he extended his enormous hand and said, “Hi, Zach. Bill Hunter. Sorry I couldn’t be here to greet you last night. I had some unexpected business come up.”
“Hey, uh, that’s okay,” I stammered at his thundering voice, but managed to smile back. “Gloria treated me to some incredible enchiladas.”
“Well, we do make a point to eat good around here. Sleep well?” Bill asked, grabbing a plate off the table.
“Yeah, great.” I said, wondering why he looked familiar.
“Let’s eat and then I’ll show you around my ranch.”
Nodding back, I strained to recall where I might have seen him before. Several years ago, I had done a story on an Indian Reservation gaming scandal that involved several tribe members and Bill resembled one of the elders. His name didn’t ring a bell, however, and I couldn’t imagine him inviting me to the ranch if he had been involved, since the story was less than favorable to the tribe. With my memory still fuzzy during breakfast, I knew it would probably stay so unles
s I consciously stopped thinking about it when we headed outside.
A forest of pines blanketed the rolling hills and surrounded the property with a dark mint green, while majestic snow-capped peaks lined the horizon. Concluding that we stood west of the Sierras, I knew pinpointing exactly where we were would prove difficult since the famous mountain range ran almost the entire length of the state of California.
During the tour of his estate, I observed several men walking horses, repairing a fence, and working on farm machinery. A twenty foot tall pole barn, approximately fifty by seventy feet wide, looked newly assembled, and stood next to a smaller, dilapidated wooden shed that leaned slightly to the side.
My chauffeur from the previous night waved at me from the nearby guest house as he and Peter brought in supplies. After he kept the conversation mainly about the workings of his ranch, Bill finally began to explain why I had been selected to write this story.
“Zach, do you believe that we only use ten percent of our brains?” he asked, removing his cowboy hat to dust it off.
“Well, that’s what they say.”
“It actually makes sense when you think about all the things we don’t understand. But look at the things we’ve accomplished with using only using ten percent,” Bill said, smiling before putting his hat back on.
“I never really thought about it from that angle.”
“For some reason, the things I’m going to tell you are hard for our socalled intellect to comprehend. The great thing is that at the end of your stay, you won’t have to just take my word for it. You’ll actually witness it for yourself. That’s why we wanted you to come out here, to see experience everything firsthand. My ancestors have lived in this region for thousands of years and this knowledge has been in our tribe forever. It’s only in these dire times that we’ve had the vision to share this great knowledge. Our Mother Earth is hurting and there must be a healing of our planet; if not, She and everyone who lives on the earth will perish. Zach, do you recognize the dark days that face this planet?”
