Desert Son Trilogy: Desert Son, Wayward Soul, Spiritual Intervention (Books 1-3)

by Glenn Maynard

  At second glance, Carter looked at Brenda and she was anxious to uncover almost anything. She was clearly into it, in the mood, and rearing to go. This too enhanced Carter’s connection to Brenda, and this pairing searched rigorously as if they were in this together equally. Brenda’s reasons seemed to be on par with Carter’s, and for this reason Carter was invested in her completely. He felt like he was heading down the right path.

  “Grab an end,” Carter urged, hoping that Brenda wouldn’t hate him after the search, even fully aware that Brenda yearned for an explanation as much as he, since Martin had directly affected her just one day prior.

  Carter let out a dull groan as he rolled the heavy bureau away from the closet, squeaking its wheels, which sounded as if they’d break.

  Brenda chimed in, “Careful of finger and hand prints in dust.”

  Carter quickly ripped his hands away from the bureau, and could see it was too late. Damn she’s a good one to have around, he thought. He began to feel that he could not have pulled off this job himself. He looked at the prints in the dust and decided to do nothing about them, thinking that he could easily cover them with clothing of some sort. Then he opened the closet door, careful not to leave a footprint of evidence in the dust that had accumulated under the furniture. Now he began to think like a criminal.

  A door slammed shut downstairs, and Carter and Brenda met each other’s panicked eyes. A gusty wind whistled through a drafty window. They both agreed in a whisper that the door downstairs had shut. It was definitely clear in both their minds that it was the same door that Martin had closed on his way out. Carter quickly looked at his watch, and then remembered that it was dead, but he still wore it out of habit. He just felt naked without the watch on his wrist. The digital clock in Martin’s room flipped to 8:35 A.M., but perhaps it was slow, he thought.

  “There’s no way that we can move this bureau back without the entire house knowing about it,” Carter whispered. “It’s too loud to roll and too heavy to lift. Even deaf ears would know what was happening. We’re gonna have to take a chance, so follow me. Soft steps, Brenda.”

  Carter led the way and Brenda shadowed, tiptoeing out of the room and down the stairs. The wind suddenly, yet intermittently, whipped everything in its path, which wasn’t out of the ordinary in these parts. Carter prayed that it was solely the doings of wind down those stairs.

  Although unable to see the driveway from Martin’s room, Carter and Brenda still needed to get down the stairs without a sound. If it turned out to be Martin downstairs, then Carter would do anything in his power to keep him downstairs. Carter believed that it would be a futile effort to get him out of the house and return the bureau to its place. They could only pray that Martin hadn’t returned from church early. The last thing they wanted was to piss Martin off.

  Carter and Brenda crept to the base of the stairway. Carter blocked Brenda with his outstretched right hand, whipping his head around to peek into the dining room. Seeing nothing, he waved Brenda on and took a few large steps across the room. Carter again held Brenda back with his hand. He then swung his head around into the kitchen as he heard the side door off the kitchen as it creaked open.

  Brenda’s nerves shot her back to the stairway. Carter hesitated, but as he prepared to follow suit with Brenda’s retreat, he found courage to push forward, in a natural mode, as if nothing had happened. After all, what did he really have to lose at this point in time, he thought.

  Straightening his posture, Carter rounded the corner, passing through the doorway and into the kitchen. A piercing shriek startled Carter into a retreat. This sounded like a tea kettle, except it was swift and short. His frightening retreat entangled his footsteps, and he landed hard on the kitchen floor. The shrieking resumed. Carter glanced to see that the door was ajar.

  He saw what looked like a gopher standing about two feet high, curving its paws out in front of itself. It started towards Carter. He grabbed the first thing he saw, which was a broom standing in the corner of the kitchen. He thought that he could at least smack the decent-sized rodent back outdoors where it belonged.

  Brenda returned to Carter’s side, grabbing the broom from his hands. She laughed at the panic-stricken Carter as he tried to retain the straw weapon. Carter’s laughing partner squelched his struggle for control as she explained that the rodent was merely a harmless prairie dog. Her laughter abruptly stopped as the prairie dog lunged at her knees.

  Brenda swung the broom sharply, knocking the shrieking monster back towards the door. The prairie dog barely finished its forced retreat when it instantly returned, now an aggravated squawking rodent. Carter teamed up with Brenda, swatting and kicking the prairie dog in a psychotic rage. He wanted to protect Brenda and himself from possible rabies. The thought of a rabies bite motivated Carter to rear back and fire a solid kick on the now foaming mouth of this moving and screeching rodent. The prairie dog plastered the side of the wall opposite the hinged door, which had swung into the house and remained open.

  This dog had other plans, which did not include the outdoors. It blazed a trail back to Carter, and before he could protect himself, the prairie dog sunk its teeth into the side of his right calf, tearing into his flesh and ripping a bloody hole in his blue jeans. Carter shook the little monster loose, aided by a sharp adrenaline-enhanced swat, pulverizing the rebound far out into the yard. He quickly slammed the door shut.

  This would have been a game changer for anyone’s day, but the fact remained that Martin’s absence would probably be short lived. Sure they needed to tend to the wound, but with the sand pouring down from the top level of the hourglass, they needed to proceed ASAP while they could. They may never get another opportunity, and therein would lie the tragedy.

  Brenda hugged Carter as he twisted the lock on the door handle. As horrifying as the incident turned out to be, they both knew that they had to regroup and continue their challenge. Carter pulled the curtains away from the middle of the door windows with both hands and peered outside, but the prairie dog had already vanished. He reached down to rub his knee, and brought up a bloody hand.

  “Oh, my God!” he screamed hysterically. “Look at me. I’m a bloody mess.”

  Brenda ran and grabbed a dishrag hanging from the handle of the oven.

  “Here,” she said. “Hold this on the wound while I look for something to clean it up with. It doesn’t look too bad. Your last rabies shot…when was that?”

  “Shit…Oh, I’d have to say a couple of years ago,” said Carter.

  “Good thing,” she said.

  Brenda then took off for the bathroom, poking around in the towel-closet in search of peroxide or something of that nature that would sterilize the wound. Carter could hear her rummaging around in the closet, but she did not return, making Carter wonder if Martin ever took precautions for injuries of this sort. He lifted the towel up from the wound, and more blood slowly oozed. He did not think it looked very deep, but still wondered if he should seek medical attention.

  There were plenty of towels, but the medicine cabinet was loaded with everything of zero value to them at this time. There were old feminine creams that had to be over 20 years old. There were hair curlers, blow dryers, tampons, and pink razors that appeared to be collectors’ items they looked so old. However, you could tell Martin’s everyday products because they weren’t covered by dust. Carter would have been more disturbed by Martin if the feminine creams did not have dust. At least it appeared to be more of a case of a man having trouble letting go even after all these years.

  Brenda returned with nothing but a wet towel. She could not find anything in any of the closets or drawers downstairs. The two towels that Carter had used were both dirty. They needed something else, and quickly. Brenda flew upstairs to look for something more. Carter slowly followed her, hob
bling one step at a time, while holding the towel on his knee.

  He looked on as Brenda opened every door she could find. There was nothing. He only found more towels in the upstairs bathroom. She ran into the spare bedroom, and began digging through it, again finding nothing.

  “This God damn man has nothing!” she said. “What the hell does he do if he gets injured?”

  Carter began to moan, but still hobbled along behind her as they returned to Martin’s room. They discovered another closet that was partially blocked. Carter watched Brenda’s adrenaline kick in as she single-handedly pushed the heavy bureau away from the closet. Dust covered the individual slats that made up the door. Brenda stuck both hands between the slats and pulled it open, because there was only a screw hole where the knob should be.

  Carter stood behind her looking into the closet. All he could see at first was hanging and folded piles of women’s clothing. The closet was jam packed, and the lack of light made it hard to search for anything.

  “Twist that light at the top,” said Carter.

  Brenda reached up and twisted the bulb, and then there was light. The light confirmed that there was mostly women’s clothing of all sorts. There were winter coats, spring coats, blouses, pants, all either hanging or folded. The mildew smell was unbearable, even to Carter who wasn’t even inside the closet. Carter looked around, wondering if Martin was a cross dresser, but this thought quickly diminished as he believed that Martin just had trouble letting go.

  “Oh, the pain,” he said, grimacing as he tried to bear the intensity of the growing ache in his knee.

  “I’m trying, Carter,” Brenda said, “but this may be our last chance. Otherwise we’re going to have to walk to a hospital. It’s a few miles away though.”

  Carter poked his head in deeper, but quickly retreated from the putrid smell.

  Brenda slid hanging dresses and skirts from side to side, hoping for something, anything to cleanse the wound. She finally found a first-aid kit, but upon busting it open, she found only small Band-Aids, which would not be adequate.

  Carter watched as Brenda threw the useless box down, and made her way to the back of the closet. Carter moved in and held the hanging clothes apart in the middle, which allowed Brenda easier access to the back. He could see a back shelf, piled high with sweaters and more pants stacked up to the ceiling. Brenda lifted and slid the piles from side to side after pulling one pile away and letting it fall to the floor.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Brenda. “It’s obvious that this guy is still obsessed with this lady, and we have to get you some help.”

  Carter was listening to Brenda when he suddenly felt woozy, similar to the first time he stepped foot in the house. He lost balance, tumbling to his knees.

  “Are you okay?” asked Brenda, having failed at her attempt to soften the landing. However, all the clothing on the floor helped soften his landing. “Is it the bite? You might have lost a lot of blood.”

  “I…I don’t know,” said Carter. “I just got dizzy.” Carter struggled to continue. He had a mental flash of a mirror on the back wall of a closet, which opened to a cabinet. Then he actually saw a reflection of his face in a mirror when Brenda was sliding the piles of clothes back and forth, and it was on the back wall of the closet. Tears welled up in his eyes, but did not fall, and he felt very scared.

  Carter was overcome by this emotional wave, which knocked him to the ground. He began to experience flashes as if he had lived here. He saw the mirror before he saw the mirror. It was as if they were memories of another person, but they seemed eerily familiar. Carter could not positively identify the memories, but he could not conceive of possessing someone else’s memory, unless he shared the experiences with them.

  The lightheadedness continued for Carter. He felt the haze beginning to clear. It could very well be the bite, he thought. Perhaps rabies? Was he going crazy?

  As his mind became more focused, he tried to eliminate his rabies theory based on clarity of thought. He didn’t think he would get that back if he had rabies, but he wasn’t a doctor and wasn’t sure.

  He wanted to test some more, so he removed himself from the closet. He was able to stand on his feet without a problem. His next test would be to return to the closet.

  “How the hell did I know about that mirror?” he asked aloud. “Where the hell did this God damn image come from? It’s almost like a memory, simmering on the back burner of my mind, and it’s just an eerie feeling, especially never having seen this house before. What’s going on with me, Brenda?”

  Brenda wrapped her arms around Carter as he crouched.

  “That’s why we’re here, Carter,” she said. “Whether you realize it or not, we’re here for answers. If you have any signs…any signs at all, whether you think they’re memories of past life experiences or psychic powers from your experiences above, you need to follow them as far as they lead. It’s not about why you’re having these flashes and insight. Worry about that later, but for now, follow, follow, and follow some more until you have something tangible. Don’t lose sight of the fact that your primary goal is to search spiritually for your identity. I’m here to help you. Forget Shirley for now if you need to, but remember that Martin could return home any time now if he doesn’t make his stop for groceries.”

  Carter returned to his crouch, and if Brenda hadn’t steadied him, he would have returned to the floor. He wished that he never had that last beer. He had tied an old shirt around his leg, and somehow had forgotten about his wound. He pushed a section of hanging clothes to one side, and the blank stare on his face forced Brenda to retreat. When he plowed head first through to the back by the shelf, he found himself staring into a mirror which had been hidden on the back wall of the closet.

  Carter paused for what seemed an eternity, and then deliberately pulled on the right side of the mirror with his fingers. The right side of the mirror opened toward him. It was a door hinged at the left, and resembled a medicine cabinet, but in the most unusual of places.

  Carter looked at the mirror through the dimness of the closet. In the reflection, he could see Brenda and himself, but because of the lighting it looked like two entirely different people.

  Although it startled him a bit, he saw the images transformed into he and Brenda. He did not let on to Brenda that the images started out differently. It was dark, and ever since he was little, his imagination had always played tricks on him in the dark. He remained silent, carrying on.

  He opened the mirror the rest of the way, beyond the hanging clothes he had been holding back with his left arm, confident that Brenda had been following him every step of the way. The other side of the mirror offered a couple of very old dust-covered books. He took them out with the utmost of care, dusting off the jackets with slow swipes. They looked to him like ancient diaries.

  With his mouth agape, he looked back at Brenda for her reaction, and to his amazement, she hadn’t even been paying attention. She had been lost in her own little world. Instead of the eagerness that he’d expected, needing to know what the books were all about in their search for explanations, Brenda was totally oblivious to what Carter had been doing. He watched Brenda as she stared blankly at the old clothing, holding one blouse up to her chest, looking at it up and down, and then carefully placing it in the pile to her right. Then she did the same with a sweater, and again with another blouse, and on and on. Carter watched for a couple of minutes before breaking her hypnotic state.

  “Brenda!” Carter shouted. “What are you doing? Look what I found.”

  He was holding the books in front of him, and she still did not notice, being too wrapped up in the clothing. Carter could not explain it away other than a fascination for clothes from another time period.

  “B
renda!” he said again, finally getting her attention.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, swiftly dunking the blouse to her side.

  “Check this out,” he said, again holding out the books. He had to overlook Brenda’s peculiar behavior, since time was of the essence, and the bite on his leg felt like it was getting infected with every passing minute. The pain was driving him mad, but he felt he had to pry forward. Once Brenda’s enthusiasm returned, they retreated from the closet, teaming up to roll the yelping bureau to its original spot.

  Brenda had even thought to wipe away the roll marks with one of Martin’s many shirts, which padded the floor. Not wishing to so much as put his find down, Carter placed the books down the inside of his shirt as they rolled the bureau. Then he swiftly took the lead, away from the closet with what he hoped would be invaluable information about the daily life and times of this old man. Perhaps these books could shed light on his bizarre behavior to this day.

  As Carter and his cohort paced their way to the bedroom door, they had to stop in their tracks. This short stop prevented them from bumping into Martin, who had been standing at the doorway looking in on them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The odds of the two investigators finding keys for the diaries seemed nil, and Carter knew it. He had only one choice in this matter. He had to break the belts off, assuming that Martin had forgotten about them, or perhaps knew nothing about them.

  So brittle these records were that Carter hoped to God the pages wouldn’t crack upon touch. Nonetheless, they both eagerly awaited the contents. Carter nudged the brittle lock apart with his thumb wedged underneath, and the first of the two diaries popped open. His thumb became key.