The Quest of Perkins Vale

by L. B. Dunbar

  I’d saved myself for her. I’d forgiven whoever I needed to forgive that prevented her from saving herself for me. I gave up the fantasy I had that my love would be waiting for me before I ever met her. I didn’t fault Hollister for losing something that she had no control over, but I was hopeful that I could renew in her a feeling that what she lost physically could be restored emotionally. I could love her, and it would be new and different. Our bodies would make it special like it should have been for her.

  Then she walked away.

  I worried for almost two weeks, but in that time I watched one of my best friends drink himself into oblivion over a girl he merely dated, but didn’t love. Love was patient, love was kind, but love could be hurtful and destroy. Of course, the girl staying with Lansing tried to explain that it wasn’t love that drove Layne to do what she did. It was desperation and a sadness that Lansing had no control over. Lansing was too drunk to understand. He mumbled and cried, and I didn’t know how to help him. I wasn’t as desperate as Layne, but I felt so rejected by Hollister, I could almost sympathize with Layne. She had loved Lansing. She had worshipped him for so long, she’d built a fantasy around him, and it destroyed her.

  I didn’t want to be destroyed any more than I already was, so I drove north in hopes of finding one of my best friends.

  I knew these woods like the back of my hand, but stumbling upon Mure Linn’s place could be tricky, as it was only two-tire trails that led to his home. I don’t know why none of us had done this yet, but I think in our sorrow over losing Arturo, then this new devastation with Lansing, we couldn’t think straight. So back to the woods I wandered. I had plenty of time to think as I crossed over familiar paths I hadn’t covered in years. Just like I had done as a kid, I walked for miles. Headphones on, I was lost in the music and my mind.

  I tried to block out thoughts of Hollister and focus only on Arturo. It didn’t take long to stagger upon Mure’s shack, deep in the woods behind Arturo’s historical home, Camlann. I wandered around his large house, feeling like a stalker as I peered into covered windows. The Barn, the outbuilding where we practiced was locked up tight. After a brief search of the grounds, I found it empty as the day we’d left back at the end of June. There wasn’t a sign that anyone had been there, not even a cleaning crew, which seemed even more unbelievable.

  When I reached Mure’s, the same was even more evident here. Overgrown weeds and thick foliage covered his place. It looked like a forgotten hermit’s home. There was no hint that he’d been there in months. Nothing made sense when it came to Mure Linn and the way he handled Arturo’s affairs. I never questioned it as I had my own mentor: Goneman.

  Jon Goneman always felt responsible for me because of the loss of my father. He taught me how to play the drums as I learned his secrets. He was my only source on my father. My father, who loved music, but let it destroy him. I didn’t plan to be like that. My father, who walked away from a woman who would have loved him for eternity. Who then grew bitter because of that love. I didn’t want that either. Deep in my heart, I loved Hollister: always had, always would. But if she was only going to run from me, I wasn’t sure my heart could continue to take it. I worried I would be like my mother.

  When I didn’t find anything in either Mure’s shack or Arturo’s mansion, I continued to find solace in the deep woods. Most trees were bare and the temperature was brisk in late November, but I didn’t mind. My walk was keeping me warm, and the music flowed through my veins. I must have wandered farther than I thought. I was tapping out a rhythm from some new music when I stumbled upon the Corbin estate.

  The clean stone wall and formal lawn was quite different from the yard I came across in that horrible rain. That night I thought was all a dream. I was beginning to believe that, until I found Hollister the second time. I stood at the foreboding entrance with its polished gate and stared up at the limestone mansion. Finding this place had always been a mystery to me. I had this feeling I was meant to go there all those years ago, but for what purpose I might never know.

  I didn’t bother trying to enter the yard. There was nothing here for me. Hollister was safe back in New York City, and while she wasn’t necessarily with me like I hoped, I felt confident that she was more secure in a big city than out in this old house.

  I turned to walk away, letting my thoughts of Goneman return to my rambling mind. He was the only one I told about Hollister, this house, and the mysterious old man who accused me of not asking a question. I thought Goneman might be able to help me, but he didn’t seem to know any more than me. He did say the hunt for the girl was like a quest. An adventure. He assured me that love could be an adventure, although not always sweet like legends make it seem. Love is hard, he warned me. Sometimes we ask the right questions, and sometimes we don’t. He also told me not to be afraid of the unknown. I remember his grin as he told me love was the great discovery: constantly changing and yet always constant.

  The song I was listening to switched out to the classic “Sunshine of Your Love,” and I immediately thought of Hollister again. I had been waiting so long for her.

  It was like an omen. I had been waiting, and there I was right where I started, with no more answers than twelve years ago. I sighed deeply and walked on toward the lake when I came across Roy Fisher sitting in his chair. A red plaid blanket covered his lap as he sat alone, staring out into the waters of Lake Avalon. I was prepared to walk away from him as I was behind him. He would never know I was present, until I stepped on a small branch blown into the grass that gave off a sharp sound, like that of a gunshot in the silence of the early afternoon.

  “I knew you’d return,” the old man said in a somber tone that seemed to travel across the lake and back to me. It echoed and surrounded me, and I shivered.

  I had no choice but to approach him. He didn’t turn to face me.

  “You seem to think you know me,” I said, as I stood looking down at this crippled man, who continued to stare into the cold gray water.

  “I know you better now than I knew you back then, my boy.”

  I nodded without knowing what I was agreeing to.

  “You have questions,” he said. It sounded like a question in and of itself, but it was just a statement.

  “Too many,” I mumbled.

  “Ask. Maybe we’ll get to the right one.” There was a hint of teasing in his voice, and I decided to humor the old man.

  “What’s your favorite color?” I laughed.

  His responding tone was playful, but serious. “Gray.”

  I looked out at the water that he continued to stare into and realized the lake was the same mysterious shade as Hollister’s eyes. Gray.

  I snorted at how ridiculously I was turning everything into a connection to her and decided to ask something I really wanted to know.

  “Where’s Arturo King?”

  The old man did look at me, then. His liquid eyes scanned my face before he sighed and returned his gaze toward the water.

  “That is a good question. Mure Linn always did have his plans for that boy.” Roy’s fingers tapped his chin in a methodic rhythm. I continued to wait, but it didn’t seem that he was going to offer information for this question.

  “Who’s Hollister SanGrael?”

  Roy turned to face me again and a slow smile crept over his old face.

  “That’s more like it,” he said softly.

  I waited again, and just when I thought he wasn’t going to answer this either, he spoke.

  “She has something that many men want, but only she can give. Some think they can take it from her, but it won’t work that way. Some think it’s an object to possess, but it can’t be owned. Some think it can be held in their hands, but it can’t. Some think it will save their soul, but the only saving that needs to be done is within her.”

  His words were a mystery to me, but I immediately worried that Hollister was in danger.

  “She was stolen from your home. Used and abused. How could that happen?”
r />   Roy glared at me, and a puff of air came from his nose. He wasn’t going to afford me an answer.

  “She was taken again. Did you know?”

  Roy shifted in his seat, balancing one hand on the armrest as he continued to stare up at me.

  “A priest. He took from her, as well.”

  Roy’s shoulders slumped and his hand returned to his lap. He gazed out at the water again.

  “I did a terrible job of protecting her. She was put in my charge in hopes to keep her safe and secret, and instead she’s been tortured and exposed. I thought….” Then he paused.

  “You thought I’d save her, didn’t you?” It was as if I’d never thought of it.

  “I did,” he sighed. “But I can’t tell you what to do. I can only answer if you ask.”

  I shook my head exasperated.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, rubbing my hand over my hair, then across my face.

  “When you’re ready to ask, I’ll be here,” the old man said, lightly tapping his fingers on the armrest of his wheelchair. His smile was weak and there was no humor in his voice, although it seemed he was trying to jest.

  “How can I help her?” I blurted.

  Graying eyebrows rose.

  “Not sure,” he shrugged, “but not by standing here.”

  My eyebrows pinched in puzzlement, and then it hit me. I needed to return to the city.

  Giving thanks…

  [Hollister]

  I’m coming to get you on Thanksgiving.

  I’d been avoiding my phone. I was purposely declining to charge it, and then Marie would warn me I might need it, knowing Jordan and Michael were both out there. I was constantly on edge, continually looking over my shoulder, and cautiously aware that I wasn’t safe. I needed something. I wasn’t sure what, but Marie said it was a day off. I worked every shift for weeks, since the first of November, in order to forget Perkins Vale, but the more I fought it, the more I missed him.

  So when I got this text, I didn’t respond, until he sent another.

  Wear something nice.

  I bit my lip. I didn’t own fancy clothes. I had never been on a real date, so I didn’t know what nice meant. Nice for me was jeans without holes. I didn’t respond again. I wasn’t going anywhere with him. I couldn’t. I would be too tempted.

  Dress. Heels. 5:00.

  I had to work on Thanksgiving Day. We fed hundreds of homeless people on that day. It was sad how many people had nowhere to go for the holiday. No home. No family. No friends. When I thought about it, though, I was just like them in a sense. I had no place to call home. I lived at the shelter. I didn’t consider the Corbin estate home. I didn’t interact with Roy, Elaine, or Elliott. My family was dead. I had let all my friends go. I had Marie, my protectress, but my first friend had been Raine Valentine, who was really Didraine Vale. I realized I might have never really known her. The only friend I’d had in years was…Perkins. My heart thumped at the thought.

  I responded.

  Have to work.

  I figured he’d give up. I hadn’t heard from him since the kiss in the kitchen. He went to search for Arturo, but I hadn’t heard anything further. Apparently, Arturo had been spotted in the city recently, and it must have brought Perkins’ travels upstate to an abrupt halt. There was a rumor that Arturo had been in the city all along. Some tabloids said he had a nervous breakdown. Others said the accident was a ploy to cover his need for rehab. I didn’t know about either of those stories, but the blood from the images continually shown seemed a bit realistic to me. How could you fake that much blood?

  My phone pinged again.

  Be ready. Already approved by Marie.

  I smiled to myself, despite my thoughts of traitorous Marie. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was actually excited.

  I got dressed in a borrowed dress. It was an off-white color and it seemed a bit out of season, but it was soft and warm. My hair hung down, straight black as always, but my shoes made the outfit. I might have passed for the lady of the night Perkins accused me of being, except the color of the dress was angelic. But the shoes? They were dangerous. Thick strapped, thin heeled. For a woman, I was already tall, and the shoes screamed power.

  I felt strong and confident. I was going to go out with him and then return to the shelter. I was going to be able to walk away to protect him from the mess of my life. Then I saw him talking to that sweet little girl.

  Lila Lovelorn worked the Thanksgiving Day meal every year, from what Marie told me. She brought her daughter, Fleur, with her. The sweet smile and angelic face of that child lit up the entire room of women. I worried she might be a reminder of what some of those women lost. Family. Children. Unborn babies. Instead, she brightened what I considered an already somber day. Women loved to talk to her. They would pet her hair or pat her face, and Fleur took it all in stride. She was grace under pressure for a four year old, and Lila had done an amazing job raising her alone.

  When I saw Perkins, squatting down to Fleur’s level, addressing her, my heart skipped a bit. An image of a child and that bulky man flickered across my mind. My heart leapt so hard it almost took my breath. It was something I thought I might want and equally refused to allow myself.

  “Flirting with the help,” I said, as I cleared my throat to get his attention. He stood quickly. The look in his eyes undressed me and laid me bare right in front of the other people in the kitchen. With my heart racing, and the sudden pulse between my legs, I was a set of drums, being played.

  “Never,” Perkins breathed, as he crossed the floor in two steps and kissed my cheek. Once his lips finished brushing my face, he sighed into my ear, “You look beautiful, my treasure.”

  I blushed deep enough that I suddenly felt warm in the sweater dress. Perkins stepped back, but I knew the pink in my skin had not faded. Embarrassed, I fumbled through the introduction of Lansing Lotte. We didn’t need an introduction as we had met years ago, but I let it go. I was too flustered with Perkins’ close proximity. I could smell his woodsy, manly scent and the sensation was making me lightheaded.

  Once Lansing and Lila exited, Perkins helped me with my coat and walked me to his car. The power shoes were beautiful, but they were not conducive to walking. My shaky legs only added to my awkward wobble. Perk guided me before closing the passenger side door. Our drive was quiet as it often had been, and while I didn’t mind silence, there was definitely a tension between us. We fumbled through small talk about the shelter and his trip upstate until we pulled into his garage. I hardly paid attention or questioned where we were going until we stopped.

  “I…I can’t eat here,” I blurted.

  “Why not?” Perkins twisted in the driver’s seat.

  “I…I just can’t…” My voice gave away my panic. I couldn’t enter his home. It held memories. Memories of how sweetly he made love to me. Memories of how much I enjoyed it.

  “I…I just thought…” I thought we were eating at a restaurant. When I looked at Perkins’ face, my words shattered. He looked crushed and my heart broke. I sighed slowly as I peered out the windshield one more time before giving in with a simple, “Okay.”

  I was opening my own door when Perk made it around the car.

  “There’s no place to get a reservation on Thanksgiving,” he quickly rambled to explain. “Plus, this seemed to be our thing. Eat here. I just wanted to…”

  “It’s fine,” I said, cutting him off, an edge to my voice.

  I walked around him, heading to the door, and I heard the soft click of the car door behind me. I could almost feel his defeat.

  I waited as he opened the entry door, even though I knew all the codes. I warned myself. I shouldn’t know the codes to his home. I shouldn’t know anything about him. I shouldn’t be here with him.

  As I entered the room, two smells overtook me: roses and turkey.

  Perkins Vale had made me a Thanksgiving dinner, and two dozen red roses were on the large kitchen island.

  “What’s this?” I bit
. I cursed myself under my breath, but decided this was best. Maybe if he thought I was rude or ungrateful, he would walk away.

  He sighed behind me.

  “I had bought some for you after our night together. I thought that’s what men should do. Give flowers.”

  “For sex,” I blurted.

  “Not sex,” he said disgusted, as he passed me to enter the kitchen area and press some buttons on his stove. He turned to face me, bracing his hands on the island. He looked like he was holding himself up, and it was taking all his strength.

  “I made love to you, Hollister. You were my first, and I wanted it to be special. For both of us.”

  He turned his back to me when I didn’t respond. I only stared at the large red petals. Two dozen roses – there were twenty four. One for each day we had been apart. My heart ached. He continued to face away from me. I removed my coat before approaching the side of the island.

  “Perkins. I can’t give you what you want. You want a sweet innocent girl. And I’m not that.” I said it delicately, as if I was addressing a child.

  He was a silhouette to me as he shook his head and huffed out air.

  “That isn’t true,” he sighed. “I love you.” He faced me and the look almost shattered me. He was a big man, but he looked like he might cry in desperation.

  “You can’t,” I whispered.

  “I can. I have. I will.”

  “You want someone sweet,” I repeated. “Innocent. I can’t be that.”