by Jeff Vrolyks
I backed out of the lot and pulled forward. As I idled we all found ourselves looking behind Calico Gas in the direction of the granite tomb that was beyond our view’s reach. A minute later we were driving by the new campgrounds. As we had expected, several people were camping here. Barbecue pits wafted tendrils of smoke. Nawien closed her eyes, bobbed her snout. Some teenagers held fishing poles in one hand, cheep beer in the other. I was that kid six years ago.
Lake Berryessa is one of the largest reservoirs in California at fifteen miles long and up to three miles wide. The drive to the old campground was twenty minutes from the new. The road matched the contour of the wavy shoreline. We had an unobstructed and panoramic view of our verdant environment. It was an unforgettable twenty minutes of resplendent vistas of the lake mirroring the low orange sun. Kern Road traffic was all but non-existent on this half of the lake. Nawien sat on Alison’s lap with her head out of the cabin and into the forty-mile-an-hour wind of passage. She panted with a grin, tiny smiling eyes; tongue a pink streamer flapping at her face. I began to wonder if Nawien was indeed the preternatural anomaly I figured her to be. As I glanced at her through the side-view-mirror, there was no indication of her brilliance or divine protective service. She was a simple domestic dog, man’s best friend, enjoying the wonders of a world rich in beauty and countless simple pleasures that we, as adults, had long established as our inheritance. Only a child could share her wondrous appreciation, an appreciation instilled in each of us and slowly grown out of until it becomes wholly taken for granted. The idea that Nawien is a source of trepidation—a predatory monster, all jaws and claws—would be laughable if it weren’t such an injustice. Beyond these wolves’ nursery-rhyme villain exterior is a lamb’s interior.
Something like two hours remained of waning sunlight when we pulled into the farthest site of the camp grounds. As we had hoped, we were alone. One of Holly’s bags had a pair of new pup-tents inside; Mike and I set them up. I stuffed a sleeping bag in each pup-tent and wondered if Alison was game to sleep with Mike in the actual sense of the word. I had to imagine Ali was with her when she purchased the tents and sleeping-bags; the topic would have surfaced then. I only hoped Mike wouldn’t roll over and crush her.
The forecasted daily high of ninety-eight degrees had been surpassed hours ago. The dry heat was ebbing and we were rather comfortable at the moment. Holly whispered something to Alison, took a little blue-box out of her CVS bag and walked off, citing she had to tinkle. I manned one of two communal barbecues and dealt out a stack of recently frozen hamburger patties over the smoldering briquettes. Alison prepared the fixins on paper plates as Mike told us a story. It was more like a series of stories, told in his signature fashion: between guffaws of laughter, typically requiring me to finish them while he catches his breath. Today he chose to enlighten Alison of his dumb luck, which he had in spades. Nawien sat beside him and listened.
Mike has a tendency to flower up his stories, but there was no need to embellish the ones regarding the Five-Oh (as he called the police). The Twinkie tags story was my personal favorite, and he told Alison that one first. That story diverged into a drunk driving story, his first of two—both times I was with him. The first occurred when we left The Parched Piper, a restaurant and club in Davis, at two in the morning. Mike had forgotten to turn his headlights on. Street lamps lined both sides of the street, so I didn’t blame him for not noticing, but when you’re going to drive drunk you’ve got to check and then double check those red-flag indicators. I could still see the neon Parched Piper sign in the side-view mirror when we got popped by The Law. Inside the Ford Thunderchicken (as Mike liked to call his Thunderbird, which would become a Hyundai after a non-serious accident), reeked of robust hops and barley with the slightest tinge of spearmint chewing gum that Mike had stuck in his mouth ten seconds before showtime. To Mike spearmint gum is a magical cloak of invisibility for beer breath. The only thing that stunk as badly as the beer was Mike’s over-confidence. He lowered his window and immediately asked the officer what the problem was. I half expected Mike to say, “Is there an officer, problem?”
“License and registration.”
Mike handed over his license and began searching for his registration in the glove box-turned-trash bin. “Penrose,” the officer mused. Mike affirmed. “Any relation to Rick Penrose?” Mike said his cousin is Rick Penrose. “Well I’ll be damned.” He went on about how Rick was a rookie on the force and like all rookies, Rick was the ass end of innumerable practical jokes. He amusedly recalled the most recent pranks and how Rick reacted to them. Mike laughed and said, “That’s Rick for you!” Mike told the cop how Rick use to get the shit kicked out of him by a Chinese girl named Ling Li in junior high school. Rick volunteered his lunch money to quell the attacks. Those were the days, Mike sighed dreamily. The cop laughed and couldn’t wait to see Rick again so he could tease him about Ling Li. The cop flicked Mike’s driver’s license back inside the Thunderchicken like a playing card and told Mike to be more careful and recommended driving straight home, almost cryptically—he knew we were drunk.
“Yeah, I’d say you’re lucky,” Ali said to Mike. “It’s always good to have a cop in the family.”
Mike agreed, although he didn’t have any cops in his family or know anyone named Rick. I guess it was more or less created luck. But luck, nonetheless.
Before Mike could recite another adventure, Holly had come back from behind a distant thicket. I flipped the burgers and asked if she wanted cheese on hers. “I guess,” she replied dryly.
I paused my burger rotation and gave her my attention. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh nothing,” she said with a little pout.
Alison brightened. “Honey,” she drawled.
Holly frowned and shook her head as she tossed the crumpled box in the rusted metal trash bin. Nawie took a break from inhaling the fragrant cattle flesh to gaze lovingly at Holly.
“I don’t understand,” Alison said, “I thought you didn’t want to be pregnant.”
As my eyes goggled, Holly replied, “Yeah, so did I. I guess I got excited thinking about it. But it’s for the best.” She sat on the park bench in front of the grill and said, “You know the feeling you get when you just know something, even though you don’t? That little tickle at the bottom of your stomach? Damnit, I was so sure. I’ve even been nauseated the last couple days.”
“If you thought you were pregnant, why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, a little hurt in the feelings department.
She glanced vacantly at me, seemingly indifferent to the guy who kneaded the bun that was almost in her oven. It dawned on her that I was seriously dismayed over it. “Sorry. I didn’t want to bring it up without knowing for sure.” She moved behind me and wrapped her arms around me as I pressed the sizzling meat with a spatula. A plume of smoke engulfed the burger patties over the hissing briquettes.
“I’m shocked, Holly. I’d imagine you would freak out if you were with-bun.”
“It’s different when you think you’re preggers. You can’t relate, you’re a guy.”
“I suppose. It’s definitely not a good time to double-up, though. But you know what? You’ll make a great mother someday.”
Nawien chuffed.
“Even the peanut gallery agrees,” Alison said.
Over the distant mountain ridge, in the pink and orange horizon, a red sun descended. There was an evening breeze, but it wasn’t cold, but instead pleasant. We sat on a pair of blankets near the shore, fat and happy. I made a stone pit by the shore and wed fire to a pair of chemically impregnated logs. Nawien stood patiently in the lake’s shallows waiting for bluegill to swim by her paws. When we observed her licking her lips, we knew one was near. If she caught one, I never noticed.
Holly broke out a bottle of Opus wine and four Styrofoam cups. I’d be surprised if Opus had ever been enjoyed from cups so crude, but it tasted amazing regardless. She unzipped the side pocket of her bag and presented me with an expensive cigar.
I shared it with everyone. She had a single serving of chocolate cake in a plastic container and put it on a paper plate and stuck a single candle in it. She lit it and almost started singing Happy Birthday before singing The Star Spangled Banner.
That’s how the evening went. One surprise after another. Even with her life in disarray and her brother’s future unknown, she remained buoyant enough to plan the most memorable night of my twenty-three years. I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t notice Nawien had given up fishing and wandered off to the trash bin. The twilight was now darkness. The fire logs glowed hypnotically. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, Holly leaned in to kiss me and whispered, “From now till eternity, baby.” We kissed for a timeless moment. Then came an interruption.
Ptaang!
All four of us bolted upright and spun around. Nawien had tipped the tin drum over and was sifting through the trash. “Are you kidding me?” I said reproachfully to Nawie. A little stunt like that makes her no different than any other four legged mongrel. She had eaten twice as many burgers as any of us; she was being a glutton. Or so I thought. She soon came trotting back from the drum with something in her mouth. She dropped it between Holly and I and sat down. She looked at the little blue box, then Holly, then me.
“Why did you bring me this?” Holly asked her as she picked up the pregnancy test. As she held it in front of her, Nawien moved in and twice tapped Holly’s test-clutched hand with the bridge of her snout.
“Let me see it,” Alison said.
“Why?” She opened the box and took the plastic indicator out of the box. “It’s not going to change. I waited plenty long enough.” Alison tried to take it from her but Holly recoiled away from Ali and looked at the indicator’s results.
Holly thrust it at Ali and exclaimed, “See! Not pregnant! Nawien is mistaken or maybe confused.”
Alison took it from her and looked at it. At the same time, Holly read the crinkled box. It was like watching a gold-medal synchronized swimming performance. Holly and Alison’s eyes widened, mouths were agape, and they gasped sharply. Their eyes then met. Holly finally broke the routine with a smile, carving dimples into her soon-to-be-wet cheeks. Nawien’s tail whipped back and forth like a game of Paddle Ball. Somehow Holly managed to spring off her seat and into a full stand in a split second. The girls embraced and I was thunderstruck.
“Woohoo!” Mike cheered. “Congrats, guys!”
I wanted to be happy. I should have been happy. Instead a dark cloud of panic rolled in. I welcomed the idea of having a family, but the timing… the timing could not have been worse. Being with child would create greater difficulty in staying incognito. She would lose her agility and stamina and need to go to the doctor’s regularly. Risky. If I failed to keep Holly safe from whomever or whatever sought her, it wouldn’t just be Holly who perishes anymore. It would be a two-fer. Inside my gut, the cauldron of dread began boiling over. Sue Ellen’s Pa gave me that same damned advice again in my head; and of course, he was right—well, almost. Planned Parenthood makes an eraser for this kind of ink, though we would never consider the option. I suppose I should have guessed this would happen after what Sue Ellen had said in the RV, but I thought it would come way down the road, after we were married.
A cyclone of worry and panic stormed in my mind, transfixing me.
Holly released her hug of Alison and turned toward me, beaming exuberance. But it was short-lived. I was in my own little world and must have worn an unfavorable expression. Like a knife to a tire, her smile (two sizes too big for her face) deflated and drooped to a miserable frown, and I didn’t notice.
“Kevin?” she squeaked.
What if Holly gets killed because I got her pregnant? In the moment of passion I wasn’t responsible, and now she will be a sitting target—a rather bulbous target at that—in the doctor’s office. If (when is probably more appropriate) the assholes hunting her get word of the pregnancy, they’ll know where to start looking. Doctor’s offices and hospitals. The time will come when they find us. They have nine months to get it right, which is probably more than they’ll need.
All at once it hit me. The baby. William Reed. Will Reed. Of course! That’s what this is about! That’s why the phone stopped ringing after we had sex: I got her pregnant. I have no idea why that matters, but it makes perfect sense. Same with the apparition in the mirror—I don’t see them now that she’s pregnant. It wasn’t that they didn’t want me to be with Holly, they didn’t want me to impregnate her. And now that I have, they’ve stopped caring about me. They simply want to undo what I’ve done. Which begs the question: why now? Why not when she was a helpless child? It wasn’t until our paths crossed that they took action. Why?
I then recalled the words from (whom I perceived to be) Sue Ellen: There are consequences for doing these things. Dire consequences that deter them from acting… usually.
On the list Pea Willy Will Reed. That’s why Pea Willy wanted his wife to shut up about The Deerlick in the RV. He learned that my last name is Reed, and when Holly said her future son would be named William, or Will, he made the connection that eluded the rest of us.
The Deerlick. I then had another epiphany of sorts, and this one made my heart skip a beat. I had played Dungeons and Dragons as a teenager and named one of my characters my name spelled backwards: Deer Nivek. Sounds a little like Deerlick, eh? Only when you say Deerlick backwards it becomes something a whole lot nastier.
I was so thrilled (and horrified) that things started to make sense that the most incredible news had been overshadowed.
“Kevin, I can’t believe you,” Alison said contemptuously. I snapped out of my thought and looked up at Holly, who was standing before me crying.
With a wet voice Holly said, “You don’t want me to keep it, do you?”
I got to my feet and hugged her. “Of course I do!”
She accepted my kiss before saying, “Then what was that look for? Why were you shaking your head?”
“I’m sorry, I was thinking about something else. Something that doesn’t matter right now. I’m so happy for you. For me. For us.”
Chapter 49
I dreamt that Holly had sextuplets and died during child birth. Each one of our six kids were girls with Holly’s face. The thing that pursued Holly was now after each of our offspring. I was relieved when Holly nudged me awake.
“Kevin,” she whispered. “Kevin, wake up.”
I opened my eyes to pitch blackness, hadn’t a clue where I was. I might have been blind. I gained my bearings and asked what she wanted.
“They aren’t here. They’re gone.”
“Who?”
“Mike and Alison. Who else?”
“What did you do, go inside their tent and check?”
“Yes! Before I fell asleep Mike was snoring. When I woke up it was quiet. Too quiet. I listened for a minute before getting up to peek inside. They’re gone. Where do you think they went?”
I squirmed out of the sleeping bag and pushed the pup-tent flap away, got out. Holly followed. It was exceedingly dark. When I fell asleep it was dark, yes, but the moon and star spangled sky cast abundant moonlight. The lake had been dead-calm and reflected the lunar light. Now plates of fog eddied through the misty air. Could I have been asleep long enough for this dramatic a change in the weather?
“Where’s the lantern?” I asked.
“Right here.”
She disappeared for a moment and then there was light. The lantern brought the fog to life; we couldn’t see but a few yards around us. I called to Mike and Ali. Then Nawien. Nothing. When the tail end of a cloud scudded past me, I saw the embers in the fire pit smoldering. We couldn’t have been asleep for long.
“Maybe they went for a walk,” Holly said. “Maybe they wanted to… you know… and didn’t want us to hear it.”
“If so, I wonder why they’d bring Nawie along.”
I was in my boxers and tank-top but wasn’t cold. Holly was in sweat pants and tee-shirt.
“
Did it warm up or is it just me?” Holly asked.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
I walked barefoot on the pebbled sand to the silt shoreline. Holly followed. I stuck my big toe in the still water. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t anything. The temperature, just like the air, was neutral. I stuck my foot in and then the other foot. The fog began parting away from the lake like curtains to a play. “Baby, come check this out.”
She followed me into the water and was equally perplexed. We continued until we were knee deep in Lake Berryessa.
“Mike!” I shouted. “Nawien!” My voice didn’t travel. It got tangled up and lost in the mist and fog.
I became aware of just how silent it had been when it suddenly thundered, like a thousand tree branches snapping at once. The electricity in the air bristled my hair, tingled my spine. I looked up. The black sky flashed purple and seared with a bolt of lightning, ripping down and forking before extinguishing on the surface of the lake before us. The blinding electrical discharge scarred the sky, but faded quickly under a new coat of darkness.
Thunder before lightning?
“Oh my God,” Holly whispered.
Thirty or forty feet before us, the diverging tips of the forked bolt had gone too far in returning their darkness. Two shadowy figures took their place above the water. They began moving toward us. I didn’t need to wait for their arrival to identify them. They weren’t reflections in a mirror this time. My heart pounded so hard that the breakwater around my knees may have rippled outward with each explosive beat.
