Love Never Dies

by Loren Lockner

  Julia had never witnessed anything like it before and it must have been the unrestrained hatred directed toward the man who’d nearly killed him the past winter that gave Simon superhero strength. One second Adam was stable upon the wide balcony and the next hurtled toward the lowlying bushes framing the pool. Adam must have had his own evil guardian angel, for instead of plunging to his death upon the concrete, he landed with a tremendous splash into the deep end of the chilly pool.

  If Simon was disappointed, he didn’t waste any time reflecting upon his foe’s good luck.

  “C’mon Julia!” he shouted, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her down the steps two at a time, the handbag slapping violently against her as she tried to keep her balance. By the time they’d reached the bottom steps, Adam had surfaced, sputtering and flailing; his ruined ear tingeing the pool pink, his gun lying useless upon the green outdoor carpet of the upstairs balcony where he’d dropped it during Simon’s enraged attack.

  For a man in such extreme pain, Adam had bolted out of the icy pool by the time Julia and Simon sprinted across the street to the Chrysler. Simon gunned the engine of the LeBaron and turned on the windshield wipers full blast as the rain pelted down. The road was slick and treacherous and the tires of the rental squealed as it sought traction on the wet road. Julia cast a glance over her shoulder to observe a drenched Adam Gable running after them for almost a hundred yards before raising a bloody fist and screeching obscenities at the top of his lungs. It was a long time before Julia’s pounding heart returned to its normal rhythm.

  Simon headed toward the mission, finally parking the powerful black car under the shelter of a beautiful oak tree in the historical site’s parking lot as the rain hurled from the skies. He pulled the trembling Julia into his arms as she shivered violently.

  “Everything’s alright now… hush, sweet love,” Simon soothed reassuringly. “Why don’t you take off that wet jacket and wig and I’ll turn the heater on full blast. It’s okay, love.”

  He helped her removed the sodden wig and garments as the hot air from the engine’s fan tried valiantly to warm them up. Simon threw his own wet jacket on the back seat and taking her hands once again, rubbed his fingers gently over their cold surface. They sat that way for a long while until Julia slowly calmed and they both warmed up. Julia finally opened her purse and pulled out the black floppy disk, flashing it victoriously at him. He smoothed back his long wet hair, and replacing the baseball cap grinned in relief.

  “We need to get out of town Julia. He’s seen the rental and will be calling in favors to find us. I should have known when he lost us in LA he’d head back to Santa Barbara.”

  “At least we have the disk.”

  “Thank God for that. So now you have to be my navigator once again.” Simon started the engine and waited for her instructions.

  The drive was one she’d always remember. Cautiously, they merged back onto the 101 and after a few miles turned onto Highway 154 and San Marco’s Pass Road. For eighteen to twenty miles, Simon drove as fast as he dared, constantly glancing into his rearview mirror. The recent rain had made the road slippery and the mountainous grade turned incredibly twisty as they headed northwest toward the lake. Halfway up the road, heavy fog clamped down. While they knew it made travel safer in regards to Adam Gable, the road was highly treacherous.

  “Can you remember if this road is a dead end Julia?”

  “No, it isn’t. There will soon be many turnoffs heading into various wilderness regions. The first will head toward the Dick Smith Wilderness and later on to the San Raphael Wilderness area. We’ll pass over an incredible bridge called the Cold Spring Canyon Arched Bridge, though I’m not sure we’ll be able to appreciate it in this fog. This is a direct route to Los Olivos and later the 246 bisects it. Several roads run into the 166, which is on the west-hand side of the Calinte Range near the big valley, but we don’t want to head that way because we need to stay west of the Sierra Madre Mountains.”

  “Do lots of people go to Lake Cachuma?”

  “They do; it’s a very popular spot to visit near the Chumash Painted Cave, but it’s a Monday in November. I can’t imagine there’d be whole lot of campers this time of year.”

  “The camp is open all year?”

  “Yes, I believe so because the spot is famous for its largemouth bass and bird viewing. Lots of eagles and osprey call the man-made lake home.”

  “Let’s hope the dreary weather proves to be a deterrent for nature lovers and fishermen. Even as he spoke, the fog lifted and pale sunlight illuminated the road as it curved and meandered through the beautiful lower range of the Sierra Madres in the Los Padres National Forest. A squirrel scampered across the road and Simon swerved, barely missing its long bushy gray tail. Simon glanced down at the odometer just as a sign stating Cachuma Lake Recreation Area, 3 miles came into view. Simon drove the LeBaron at a more leisurely pace as they pulled into the heavily wooded RV Park.

  “It’s more modern than I expected,” said Simon, noting showers, public phones, and even a grocery store and gas station. The camp, for all of its size, was almost deserted and Julia replaced her wig and shouldered her handbag. The cloud cover had finally dissipated to reveal a bright blue sky and the tar road was now nearly dry.

  “I’ll get us as remote a site as possible. It seems to me that toward the northwest part of the camp there are lots of private tent sites. Hopefully we’ll get lucky.”

  The female attendant chuckled when Julia asked if they had any tent openings.

  “Are you kidding? It’s too cold and damp this time of year. We have a few die-hard fishermen and their luxury RVs during the weekend, but you’re my only customer this morning. You can have your choice honey.” She pointed to a large wooden map behind her, indicating the location of all the different sites.

  “My boyfriend and I would like to have some privacy and be away from any other campers that might arrive. Could you recommend a spot?”

  “This is a nice one, right under a stand of oak trees. It is a little bit away from the lake and mighty quiet. As you can see I don’t have any other campers.”

  “I’d really appreciate it if someone does want a tent site, you’d place then away from us.”

  The heavyset middle-aged woman gave her a wink. “I get the message dear. It’s site forty-seven. Just follow the road to the right, then take the second left until it ends. There’s a cozy little parking space right by the tent site. It’s fairly flat and has a fire pit. Please be careful about putting out your fire and remember the store and gas station close at five.”

  “Is firewood provided?” asked Julia.

  “Unfortunately not, but you can buy at couple of packs right here and I suggest you get some fire starters unless you’re some kind of first-class Girl Scout.”

  Julia paid the woman a very reasonable fee and sticking the fire starters under her arm, grabbed the two bundles of wood, and hurried back to the waiting LeBaron.

  They couldn’t have asked for a more remote spot. Gray squirrels ran up the abundant pine and oak trees while a gentle breeze lifted its song through the brushy spikes of the pines. Tall brown grass edged the site and Julia could hear the screech of some water bird in the distance. The tent was relatively easily to erect after they had spread out the blue ground cloth and Julia began to stack the wood beside the round fire circle.

  “You really held your own back there at the apartment,” said Simon unexpectedly.

  Julia grinned. “That will teach people to underestimate teachers with hidden weapons in their purses. He never knew what hit him.”

  Simon laughed. “I have to hand it to you, I never expected you to be so stalwart in the face of danger. You’re an amazing woman Julia Ann Morris, and personally I’ll never underestimate you again.”

  “I just wish we were here under better circumstances,” she answered, basking in the warmth of his praise.

  “Why don’t you get a fire going while I scout around and make sure no one follo
wed us into the camp? Since there’s a grill, I’ll buy some charcoal as well.” Julia watched the tall denim-clad man limp quickly down the dirt path that led to the central section of the county park.

  A gentle warmth tugged at her heart and Julia realized that Simon was reassuring her all was well. For a moment, overcome by the enormity of all that had transpired, she sank down upon the log bordering the fire pit and gazed at her trembling hands. While ecstatic Simon had revealed himself as Seth, she fretted she might once again lose the man she loved so dearly. She roused herself from her lugubrious thoughts and igniting one of the fire starters, soon had a roaring blaze.

  Simon returned fifteen minutes later, lugging a heavy bag of briquettes upon his shoulder and carrying a bottle of red California wine.

  “There’s no one else in the camp except for an older couple in a huge Winnebago with a satellite dish on top. From the sounds of it, they’re totally immersed in One Life to Live. So much for enjoying the peace and tranquility of nature.”

  Simon squatted before the fire and stretched out his hands. Even though midday, it was definitely chilly. He scanned the sky, relieved no storm clouds marred the beautiful clear sky. A white-breasted nuthatch descended a huge California sycamore, searching for insects; while a gray tree squirrel scurried up a huge canyon live oak in its endless quest for acorns.

  “Let me get the briquettes going,” he said, “while you open the bottle.”

  “Can’t. I left my handy-dandy knife in Adam’s earlobe.”

  Simon laughed loudly as he dumped half the bag of charcoal onto the round elevated grill. “Thank goodness I purchased a can opener and corkscrew in the store, since I don’t think Mr. Gable is going to return your knife anytime soon.”

  She laughed as well and scurried about light-heartedly, uncorking the wine, dumping the chili into the cheap pot, and buttering some bread. Waiting until the coals were ready for the chili, she unpacked their sleeping bags and inflated the air mattress, adding two cheap pillows that lacked cases but hopefully would provide enough comfort. She had to admit the blue down sleeping bags looked mighty inviting.

  Soon the smell of chili filled the air as Julia placed bread, meat, and cheese upon their plates while Simon spooned out the spicy beans as he sat upon the rough log.

  “This smells great!”

  Julia grinned, “Yes it’s my gourmet chili, right out of the can. I can zest it up by adding a little cheese.”

  “Julia,” he said quietly as she finished crumbling the cheese. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Her dark green eyes widened in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve put you through hell and back and here you nonchalantly make me lunch.”

  Julia dusted off her hands and knelt at his feet, placing her slender hands upon his knees.

  “Seth Simon Steven Hayes Hamilton, it doesn’t matter what name you go by, you’ve been and always will be my own true love; my soul mate. I’d rather remain on the run with you for the rest of my days than spend another minute bereft and lonely without you.”

  “I’ve always loved you,” he admitted hoarsely, dropping his eyes as a sudden suspicious sheen covered his dark gray irises.

  “I just wish you hadn’t been so dreadfully hurt.”

  “Those were just physical wounds my sweet Julia; it was losing you that tore me apart.”

  “But you didn’t lose me did you? I’m still here, half of your soul locked safely within my breast. It’ll always be that way, no matter what your name is. I want to call you Steven but it sounds so foreign to me, and I can’t call you Seth anymore.”

  “Pick a name then,” he said hoarsely. “Any name you like; a name you feel comfortable with and that no one else would ever suspect. I can’t be Seth or Simon anymore and you never really knew me as Steven Hamilton. Dub me, sweet lady.”

  Julia leaned back on her haunches and gazed into his dark gray orbs, mesmerized by the love emanating from them. “I’ve always been rather fond of the name Mark. I thought that if I ever had a son I’d name him that.”

  “Mark,” he repeated. “It’s sounds so nice on your lips.” He leaned forward and pulled her into his arms.

  “Is that tent ready?” he whispered, and Julia nodded mutely. He ignored the steaming chili and rose, pulling her to her feet and leading her into the tiny green tent where she’d spread out the two down sleeping bags and polyester pillows. Simon zipped up the opening to the tent and stood in its domed dimness for a full minute, just staring at her. Her heart began to burn and pulse as his hands slowly moved to his shirt, never removing his eyes from her face.

  “I love you,” he said softly. This time he didn’t hide in the darkness, afraid to reveal his dreadful scars or the incriminating tattoo. His smooth torso was lean and well-sculpted, though still too thin for his frame. The raised golf-ball-sized scar hugged his right hipbone where the hot metal of the burning Jeep had passed through his abdomen to exit out his back. It was a most beautiful and terrible scar. Opposite it, as he slowly peeled down his denim trousers to reveal blue hip hugger briefs, the top of the entwined rose tattoo appeared, its pink and crimson flowers begging to be totally exposed. The tattoo glowed beckoningly, and even in the dimness she could make out the telltale initials proclaiming his commitment to her. Julia’s eyes lowered to his ravaged leg and her heart jolted. Could she even imagine the horrible mangling pain he’d suffered nearly a year ago?

  Julia hadn’t meant to cry out in anticipation or lunge at him, but suddenly she was lying flat on her back, his kisses trailing over her body as her hands caressed his dear, dear flesh. It was fortunate their tent was located discreetly distant from the main camp and that only the noisy blue jays and busy squirrels heard their impassioned encounter, as their ragged breathing and occasional gasps penetrated the thin nylon of the small tent. They lost total knowledge of time or space, only intent on their love; a love that finally held no secrets.

  “Seth!” she called out at first, and then later “Simon,” as she passionately loved the man of her soul and her heart. “Sweet Steven,” she finally gasped, never before having made love to the man using his real name.

  “Julia!” he cried, and straightened against her, intense joy shining upon his damp face.

  It was a long while before their furiously pounding hearts returned to their normal pace and they lay for a long while just savoring the feel of their relaxed bodies nestled against one another.

  When he finally spoke, she felt an awesome burning in her heart at his quiet words.

  “I swear to you now that I will never leave you again while I’m alive on this earth. Trust me my love, that all will work out for us, and remember that love never dies. Promise me you’ll never forget that.”

  Julia could only nod mutely against his warm chest as the jays threw their raucous cries over the tent’s domed top. Later, as she succumbed to sleep, Steven Hamilton; alias Seth and Simon Hayes, tried desperately to figure a way out of this mess.

  Chapter 13

  Adam Gable cursed up a blue streak as he jumped into his gray BMW. One of Julia’s elderly neighbors screamed as he pulled away from the curb, and if he’d had time he’d have wasted that nosy old hag who was probably phoning the police right now, if only he’d had his gun. His delayed reaction to the fall suddenly hit him and he pulled over and spilled his guts onto the pristine flowerbed bordering an old Spanish style Mediterranean house covered in red adobe tiles. Adam reached inside his pocket for his handkerchief, forgetting everything he owned was soaked. His fingers tightened up on the limp gum packet and the dripping receipts. He squinted. These receipts were recent. One was from a mini-market for food, matches, and something else he couldn’t decipher, so he checked out the other. Adam whistled; the water-soaked script barely revealed the words Sporting Quest Adventures. Well he’d be damned.

  Stomach still rolling he flipped open his soaking cell phone, recognizing it was time to call Roy Geiger. Thank God it worked and he wasted no pleasantries
upon the florid-faced man; giving his present location and asking for some advice.

  “If you wanted to hide in the mountains so no one would find you but still be close to Santa Barbara, where would you go?”

  For the next half-hour, with a map of the Santa Barbara region spread out over his knees and his ear glued to the cell phone, Roy and Adam finally came to the same conclusion; the fugitives would make for the Los Padres National Forest. Roy gave him several options; they could head back toward Los Angeles and drive up through Toro Canyon, or they could veer toward Cold Springs on East Mountain Drive, or lastly, venture north on Gibraltar Road.

  He and Roy chatted for a few more minutes and then Adam sat for a long time parked next to the sunny curb and tried to dry out. He finally decided that since he wasn’t familiar enough with the region to know where all the best hidey holes were located, he’d need some help; so Adam headed for the nearest book store.

  “Do you have any campground guides for the area?”

  “Yeah,” yawned the skinny girl, barely out of high school. Her customer’s wet, bedraggled appearance didn’t seem to faze her. “They’re in the travel section over there. I suggest you get a Woodall’s.” She turned back to her teen magazine as Adam headed for the travel section and picked up the large orange and blue book. Minutes later he sat in the comfortable seat of the BMW, after changing into set of dry clothes he’d retrieved from his trunk, and scanned the campground guide feeling thoroughly frustrated, his right hand straying to the ravaged ear, which still throbbed and ached. At least it had stopped bleeding.

  There were so many campground sites in the Santa Barbara area, so how in the hell was he supposed to figure out where they’d bolted to? Adam forced himself to calm down; he’d learned a long time ago that the most important aspects of his job were to be, deliberate, methodical, and thorough. He finally determined they could easily have doubled back and headed toward Toro Canyon. So that was where he was going to start, and the best way to begin was to call all those campgrounds possessing phones and ask if his two cousins had shown up for some weekday camping. He turned his luxury vehicle south and headed toward Toro Canyon after swallowing a couple of aspirin and washing them down with a warm beer. Perhaps, he thought, the young lovers would try some of the more rustic and primitive campgrounds. One thing was for certain; no matter where they were he’d search each and every site until he found them.