Gateway

by David C. Cassidy

“Damn it, Judd. This isn’t about me and Jared.”

  “Yeah, well, then what is it about?”

  She grew flustered. “I shouldn’t have come. But you’re right, Judd. Jared is in some deep-ass shit. The deepest. I can’t tell you any more than that.”

  “Are ya kiddin’ me?”

  “If he leaves now, things are going to get worse.”

  “Worse, how? You’re not makin’ any sense.”

  “I need you to trust me.”

  “You sound crazy as shit, ya know that?”

  “Bat-shit certifiable,” she said, choking up.

  “Hey,” he said. “Hey.”

  She looked at him dourly. “I need you to talk to him, Judd. Believe me when I tell you he can’t leave. He’s running from something bad, something he thinks will just go away. But it won’t.”

  “Jesus, Marisa. I need more than that.”

  “I know,” she said. “But if you won’t do it for Jared, do it for me. And if you won’t do it for me, then please, God please … do it for my son.”

  ~ 125

  Marisa kept checking her side mirror as she drove away from Judd’s place. She wondered if she’d done the right thing. Wondered if he’d actually follow through. It wasn’t as if he’d agreed with a smile on his face.

  As she stopped at the turn back to town, Kit looked up at her.

  “He looks like Jared, Mom.”

  “A little,” Marisa said. “They both look like their father, actually.”

  “What did you talk about? Me?”

  “No, no, honey. Not you. Grownup stuff.”

  “… Is he my dad?”

  The question rattled her, coming so unexpectedly. Here she was, drowning in her own worst fears, her own unknowns, while her child was drowning in his own. He hadn’t asked such a question in at least three years, hadn’t even asked if Jared was his father. When he’d asked if she used to be his girlfriend, she’d expected the next logical question. He hadn’t followed up, sparing embarrassment for both her and Jared. Now she wondered whether Kit suspected that Jared was his father. And the fact that she hadn’t clarified the point was now clearly the elephant in the car.

  “Oh, baby, you know he’s not,” she said tenderly.

  “I know,” Kit sighed. “I figured maybe he moved back from New Mexico.”

  “California,” she said. “Remember? Near Los Angeles, I think. And—”

  She was about to tell him that Jared wasn’t his father either, but when he turned away and stared blankly out his side window, she stopped. He looked so lost. She watched him a moment, knowing he deserved so much better than she could give. He had so many challenges as it was, and to grow up with no guiding light from a father made every battle more difficult. Especially now.

  She nearly turned left and sped for the highway, to take them anywhere but Torch Falls. But then panic and sorrow fell prey to reason, and before she could summon the will to refuse it, found herself easing her foot from the brake and turning right, taking them back to town.

  ~ 126

  Jared sat at his desk chair tapping the space bar of the Underwood. He kept staring at the black stone on his desk.

  Is this the right thing to do?

  He knew the risks. There was no guarantee that leaving would stop the killing. No guarantee he could close the gateway.

  No guarantee he wouldn’t lose Marisa.

  Was he running away? Running scared?

  He didn’t know. Maybe Marisa was right. Maybe he just couldn’t take a stand.

  He stopped tapping. He could have sworn he heard something. Felt something. Something watching him.

  He turned to the French doors. Shut tight. He glanced about the room and felt a chill ripple along his arms. Something was close.

  He rose slowly and went out to the deck. The air was warm. He walked all the way around to his bedroom and came back. There was no one there. The trees were still.

  Back inside, he locked the doors, unable to shake his unease. He was certain someone else was there.

  He packed his .38 into a small box and brought it out to the Land Rover. He didn’t know whether he needed it, but it was better to be prepared. Besides, he’d probably sleep better knowing he had it.

  At his desk, he slipped his laptop into his suitcase. He started to zip it closed, then stopped. He unzipped it.

  The stone.

  He picked it up and examined it. It looked powerless, utterly benign. Still, his curiosity bested him. Slowly he closed his eyes, and deep, deliberate breaths calmed him as he counted down. At one, he half-expected to chuck the stone in his waste basket at this foolishness. But when he opened his eyes, he found his pulse had slowed. He chuckled.

  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He set the stone in the suitcase and zipped the case shut. He might put a continent between him and Kit, but this shiny black rock would keep them together. And right now, he needed something just to hold it together.

  His sense of calm fleeted as cold ran the nape of his neck. He snatched up the suitcase, and before his zany brainy got the better of him, he was out of the study and hurrying down the stairs.

  His watch read one-thirty. He didn’t have much of a plan or a destination, other than taking I-90 and heading south as quickly as he could. He could be cruising through Wyoming in a couple of hours. He’d find a motel, and God willing he’d get through the night without incident. It wouldn’t prove his theory that distance was a factor, but another night or two might. And that would mean one thing: He could never go back.

  But what if something does happen? What if Marisa tells you that the butcher at the grocery store hacked off his fingers just for the fun of it? What if some postal clerk goes postal?

  Then it was on to South Dakota. Maybe ditch the Land Rover and get a one-way flight to New York. He had no way of knowing the range of this connection between him and Kit, but with so many lives on the line, he had to be sure. If that meant a flight to Europe, so be it. Australia, if it came to it.

  And if the killing still doesn’t stop? What then?

  He didn’t know. He had promised Marisa he would come back, but she was right. By then it could be too late. Torch Falls could be a graveyard.

  Now he stood in the living room, staring at the eagle. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear it was staring back.

  He grabbed his keys and his phone and made it to the front door. No farther.

  ~ 127

  Jared set down the suitcase. Through the slat window beside the door, he couldn’t believe what he saw. Judd was coming up the walk.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  He slid the suitcase against the wall, hurried to the kitchen and set his keys and his phone on the counter. He didn’t want it to look like he was heading out. When the doorbell rang, he waited a moment before he answered the door.

  “Judd,” he said, as pleasantly as he could.

  “Hey, Little Brother.”

  “I, uh … uh … it’s good to see you.”

  Judd eyed the suitcase. “You goin’ somewhere?”

  “This? Oh. No. No. I’m still unpacking stuff. It’s a big place.”

  “Sure is. Jesus.” Judd glanced back at the guest house. “You gonna invite me in?”

  “Uh, sure. Yes. Of course, come in.”

  Jared closed the door behind them. He grabbed the suitcase and set it inside the foyer closet.

  “You can unpack that if ya want,” Judd said. “Don’t mind me.”

  “No, no. I’ll get to it later. I’m just tidying up more than anything. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? A Coke?”

  “Nah. I’m good.”

  “Good. Okay. Okay.”

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah. It’s just that … you know. I didn’t expect you to come. Ever.”

  Judd nodded. “Yeah. About that. I got to thinkin’ after ya come out to see me. That wasn’t easy for ya. Me, either. But here I am.”

  Judd put out his hand, and Jared to
ok it hesitantly. They shook, and Jared didn’t imagine Judd’s lingering glance at his hand.

  “You don’t look so good,” Judd said. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Jared flipped his hands a few times so Judd didn’t get a good look. “This? Allergic reaction, I think. Some new kind of chlorine in the pool.” It was a lie poorly told, and he could tell that Judd didn’t believe him. He was about to direct him to the kitchen—divert him, more precisely—but it was already too late.

  Judd was off to the living room. He gave a long, appreciative whistle as he looked about. He seemed especially impressed with the big-screen television. “I could get used to that.” He did a double-take at the painting above the hearth—specifically the bullet hole in the frame beside the eagle—then looked back at Jared. “What the hell?”

  Jared had already formulated a lie the second he’d opened the door. He wished all of his ideas could come so quickly. “Shit happens. In this case, me.”

  “My brother’s got a gun? You were afraid a cap guns, for cryin’ out loud. So what the hell happened?”

  “… I packed it loaded. I know, I know. Stupid.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Anyway,” Jared said, “when I took it out of the box it was in, it went off.” He added an anxious chuckle, hoping Judd would drop the probing.

  Judd laughed. “Sounds like you. Don’t take that the wrong way.”

  “I won’t.”

  “So why the gun?”

  Jared gave him the New York line. He left out the John Lennon comparison.

  “Like I said before,” Judd said. “Told ya not to go.” He went to the tall back doors and marveled at the pool. “Nice. All this for one guy?”

  “It’s a big place, I know. Too big. I can give you the grand tour if you want.”

  “Some other time. I thought we could have some fun.”

  “Fun?”

  Judd chuckled. “You remember what fun is, don’tcha? They take that away in the big city?”

  “I’m actually kinda busy today.”

  “Unpackin’.”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “No hurry,” Jared said. He pointed to a stack of boxes. “They’re just starting to bug me, that’s all.”

  “Need a hand?”

  “No, no. That’s okay. Thanks.”

  “You sure you’re feelin’ all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Jared had his hands in his pockets, his right index finger tapping his thigh. When he realized Judd had noticed, he stopped.

  “Look,” Judd said. “I know I’m the last guy ya thought would be showin’ up at your door. Just relax. You’re actin’ like ya used to when ya did somethin’ to piss off the old man.”

  “Sorry. I’m just a little stunned you’re actually here, I guess.”

  “You want me to go?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Okay then,” Judd said. “You up for some fun?”

  ~ 128

  Jared rode shotgun in Judd’s pickup as they drove halfway back to town. He still couldn’t believe they were actually doing this, and he’d agreed only because he hadn’t been able to come up with an excuse on the spot. Reasoning that it was better to roll with it, he avoided saying anything that might sound suspicious. Regardless, he figured he could afford a few hours and still be well on his way out of Montana by nightfall.

  They turned onto County Road 3 and followed it for a couple of miles before Judd slowed. He went off-road and rolled through a shallow ditch, parking the pickup in a small clearing.

  Judd got out first, and was also first at picking up a fishing rod out of the back. He handed Jared the other one, and Jared lit up with a smile.

  “Holy smokes, you kept it,” he said excitedly, admiring his old Winston fiberglass rod. He’d caught his very first—and last—trout with it. He wondered where the years had gone.

  “Jesus, don’t get all sappy about it,” Judd said. “I only kept it as a spare.” He motioned to an old pair of ratty knapsacks. “Grab that. No. The black one.”

  Jared grabbed the black pack. He slipped it over his shoulder, and Judd took the khaki-colored one. Judd led the way, heading down a well-worn path. Waist-high grasses cocooned them, swaying in the light breeze.

  Jared studied his brother. Judd still seemed larger than life, and he felt a twinge of anxiety, as if he would never measure up. It was silly, but he wondered how he might feel if he’d led the way. He still felt like that little kid brother, doing just enough to keep up. Still, despite his adolescent insecurities, he began to realize how much he had missed all those years. How much he missed family.

  The hike was long, and if the stiffness in his legs wasn’t bad enough, the heat was getting to him. The winding trail rose and fell through rocky terrain amid thick forest and pesky mosquitoes, and when they reached the last rise, the muted roar of rushing water began to rise with it.

  Judd stopped at the top of the rise, waiting for Jared to catch up. Jared was sweating heavily, and Judd was a little winded. The falls were finally in sight, as was the old rope bridge that crossed it.

  “Oh, thank God,” Jared said, out of breath. “I don’t remember it being this far. Or this tough.”

  Judd patted him on the shoulder. “Gettin’ old, Little Brother. Get used to it.”

  “Tell me you brought some water in one of these packs.”

  “Got some in mine. Yours is for the trout. Come on.”

  They made their way down the rocky slope, stepping over thick, exposed tree roots. Judd reached the bottom first and leaned his rod against a big boulder and set his bag on top of it. Jared put his rod down flat and set his bag beside it. Judd handed him a bottle of water and then opened his own.

  Jared drank. The water wasn’t ice-cold, but at that moment it tasted like the best he’d ever had. He surprised himself when he raised the bottle in toast, and hoped that Judd would take it in the spirit intended. “To the best damn brother I ever had.”

  Judd wiped some sweat from his brow. He tapped his bottle against his brother’s, and they drank together. Judd capped his bottle and put it back in his pack. He picked up his rod. “Ten bucks says I bag the first one.”

  Jared capped his bottle and slipped it in his sack. “You’re on.”

  They picked up their gear and made their way to the bridge. The gorge was nearly seventy-five feet across, the roaring falls dropping more than thirty to the rocky river below.

  Jared eyed the bridge warily. It had always been in disrepair, had always squeaked and swayed in high winds. Now it had more broken and missing deck planks than he remembered. A number of stringer ropes on both sides were missing or frayed. “Maybe we should fish from the rocks, Judd.”

  “You kiddin’? We always fished from the bridge.”

  “You think that thing’s safe? I can’t believe the town hasn’t cut it down.”

  “It’s not town land.”

  “Yeah, I know. Still …”

  Judd patted Jared in the belly. “Big-city livin’s turned ya soft, Little Brother.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a string bean, either. We weighed half this the last time we were here. Not to mention being young and stupid.”

  “Do you always hafta analyze everything to death?”

  Jared stepped to the edge of the gorge and looked down to the rocks below. “Death is exactly what I’m analyzing.”

  Judd shook his head with a grin. Then he leapt onto the bridge. The planks creaked beneath him, and the whole thing bounced.

  “Are you nuts?” Jared shouted. “Jesus!”

  Judd made his way along, stepping over several gaping sections where planks used to be. A third of the way, he had to step carefully over a mound of three planks that had warped and split. At the middle, he grasped the rope railing with one hand and started rocking up and down. He stopped, laughing, and the bridge finally settled, along with Jared’s pulse.

  Judd called over to him. “Ya just go
nna stand there like a pussy?”

  ~ 129

  “This is fucking nuts,” Jared grumbled. He paused at the foot of the rope bridge. The first plank was missing, and the second had a wide split in it. He extended his leg and gently tapped the third one, as anxious as a swimmer dipping toes into a cold lake. The plank seemed sound, but his decision to put all of his weight on it, not so much.

  “Come on,” Judd said. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Are you sure this’ll hold both of us?”

  Judd rolled his eyes. “If it doesn’t, Big Brother’ll catch ya.”

  Jared stepped slowly, a hand firmly on the railing. A slight updraft brought a tease of mist from the falls, and he paused before the heap of warped planks. Sooo fucking nuts, he thought.

  He nearly turned around before stepping over the obstruction. As he went to set down his gear, Judd rocked the bridge. He scrambled to hold onto his rod and reel with one hand while clutching the railing with the other. “What the hell are you doing? Jesus, Judd!”

  Judd was laughing. Jared had to scream at him a second time to get him to stop.

  “Holy crap,” Judd said, still chuckling. “Ya look as white as the falls.”

  “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

  “Satisfied?”

  “About what?”

  “It held, dummy.”

  “Christ,” Jared said. He set down his rod and his knapsack.

  Judd knelt and pulled a small tackle box from his pack. He selected an artificial lime-colored worm as bait and attached it to his line. Before his brother could even decide on a lure, he had his bait in the water.

  Jared chose the same lure and put out his line. He was thankful he didn’t have a fever, but he’d been growing hungrier since shortly after breakfast—six pancakes, three eggs, and toast. “You didn’t happen to bring anything to eat, did you?”

  Judd held his fishing rod between his legs. He slipped a hand into the knapsack and took out a blue insulated bag. From it he produced two wrapped sandwiches. “Tuna, or tuna?”