Rubic leaps to his feet. “I’ve got to get home. What time is it? How long have we been here?” Panic returns to Rubic’s body like an old nemesis. It grips his throat and threatens to tear his body apart.
“Laura’s mother is missing as well as Laura. Mr. Domley has been contacted. He’s just as worried as you are. Laura and Mrs. Domley and Allan are missing, and we now have evidence of risk. That means the entire force has been notified and is on high alert. We’ll find them. We’re holding Charlie, just in case. But he says he stopped at a flower shop and Allan bought flowers and asked to be returned home.”
Rubic’s eyes widen. Flowers, huh. He throws himself into the van, fires up the engine, then pounds on the steering wheel. “This isn’t happening!” His skin is hot as if lava has replaced his blood. A police cruiser blocks his exit. “Can someone pull their head out of the sand long enough to move that car!” The police stare for a moment, not sure what to think about a civilian ordering them around. Finally, the car is moved. Rubic hits the gas, intentionally throwing dust into the air. He drives home with two officers following close behind.
Rubic parks and runs up the ramp and into the house. There are a dozen cops inside milling around. Rubic immediately sees the mess in the kitchen. Tupperware litters the floor, the knife block is tipped over, and a knife is missing. The garage door is wide open as well. Officers inspect Rubic’s golf club bag that sits on its side. The putters are missing.
“Sir… Mr. Westerfield?” A woman officer says. Her hair is in a tight bun and she has kind eyes. “This way.” She points toward the bedroom. Still gripped in shock and fear, Rubic follows her like a lost puppy.
She leads him to Allan’s bedroom.
“Take a look. We’re more than a little confused by what we found,” The woman says.
The clubs are lying on the closet floor with the Tupperware tied between. The fan blows air at full speed. On Allan’s desk are four huge purple flowers with long stems.
Rubic’s knees quiver. The room starts to spin, forcing him to sit on the bed. The flowers draw Rubic’s gaze like they are the most precious things in the world. He can’t look away.
The woman speaks to another officer who hands her an evidence bag. Inside the bag is a piece of paper.
She reads the paper. “We’ve found a note.” Her blue eyes are soothing. She hands the note to him. “It was on the floor under your bed. It probably fell off the bed and slipped under it. Maybe when a door was opened it made a breeze.”
The note is on a lined paper from Allan’s notebook. It’s Allan’s handwriting and it reads:
Dear Rubic, try not to worry about me. I’m not lost or taken. I’ve left. I’m going to Lan Darr, and I won’t be back for a while. Don’t be mad at me. This is something I have to do by myself. Love, Allan.
“Where is Lan Darr?” The officer asks.
Rubic groans and rolls his eyes. “It’s a fantasy world. It doesn’t exist. But he sure thinks it does.”
“I see.” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “I see that you’re worried sick.”
“Ya think?”
“Don’t be, this happens all the time. Sometimes the kids stay missing, but a majority are found tired and hungry.”
“The kid is in a wheelchair. I don’t know how he gets into these situations.” Rubic wants to punch something. If he had less self-control he’d knock holes in the wall.
“Didn’t I read how equipped his chair is?” She flips through her notes. “It has solid wheels, an electric motor, and a stair-climbing set of tracks on the bottom. That’s pretty impressive.”
Rubic sighs and tugs on his beard hair. The pain helps disperse his anger-sprinkled panic. “You don’t know the half of it. That chair cost eight grand, an All-Terrain model.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“It’s the latest tech. Even has tracks underneath it. When he leans forward to go down steps, they self adjust to keep the chair balanced. He can go down any flight of stairs as easily as I can.”
“What about upstairs?” She’s keeping him talking on purpose. It’s her job to manage Rubic and keep him from freaking out, and she’s doing a marvelous job.
“The tracks can lift him up so he can roll to the next step.”
“Lucky kid.”
“Yeah, but he rarely uses the motors. He has the upper body strength of a lion, has ever since he was a swimmer, the fastest in the state. But that was before the car accident.”
“Look, the note says he’s gone off by himself, not with Laura. It doesn’t appear that Laura or her mother got in contact with Allan. So something doesn’t quite add up. Allan was not seen in distress, if the taxi driver is to be believed. We’re setting up a base camp at Laura’s house and will be leaving an officer outside your home. I’ll leave you my cell number if you should learn any new information. Call even if you just need to talk. This is very important so I need you to listen.”
Rubic nods quietly.
“You must stay home. I’ve got a dozen officers in the area looking for Allan and the Domleys. Thousands of officers citywide are on alert. I need you home in case he is found or contacts you. If he needs help, I need you at the drop of a hat. Got it?”
Rubic swallows, but has a lump in his throat. “Got it,” he croaks.
The officers leave, except for a patrol car left at the curb.
Rubic walks to Allan’s desk and picks up a flower by the long, thick stem. He touches the center with his fingers. It’s soft like foam, and there is some pollen left along the edges. Allan must have scrapped off the majority of the pollen for some reason. It is the strangest flower he’d ever seen. He smells it. The odor is pleasant, though it burns his nostrils.
“This is crazy,” Rubic mutters. He looks out Allan’s window. He feels like Allan is in a full-fledged episodic delusion. What if Allan is a danger to himself or others?
Eight or so months ago, in a private meeting, Allan’s therapist spoke about schizophrenia. “Schizophrenia is a physical problem in the brain that develops over time. A schizophrenic person can simply hear voices, or have full-on hallucinations. Allan may have had a psychotic break during a drug-induced delusion, or he may be experiencing the first stages of schizophrenia. I’m not going to prescribe medication now because he has not had any type of episode, other than vivid dreams, since being lost in the mountain. However, the moment he has another delusion, we will need to start him on antipsychotic medication.”
“Medication?” Rubic had questioned.
“Yes. A schizophrenic can be a danger to themselves and-or others. But there have been remarkable advancements in medicine, and many have been able to have positive and productive lives.”
“So he could hurt someone, or himself.”
“Delusions can be very persuasive. Many people cannot tell the difference between what is real and what is made up, even after the delusion has passed. That means he can wander into traffic and get hurt, or jump off a building, thinking he can fly. We do believe a portion of school shootings happen during schizophrenic episodes.”
“Shit on my shoe,” Rubic mumbled.
“That is an understatement,” the therapist said. She gave Rubic a pamphlet on schizophrenia, which had a photo of a couple holding hands and running in the park.
Rubic held it up. “This is total crap.”
“It might be. Time will tell. Until we know for sure, Allan needs to continue therapy and be closely watched.”
Rubic didn’t keep Allan in therapy. Allan seemed too normal.
Rubic drops the strange purple flower and runs to his office. He digs through the drawers, looking for the pamphlet, but can’t find it. He sits and fires up his web browser and reads through psychology web pages until his eyes feel like they’re bleeding. Afterward, he tries to eat, watch TV, go jogging, but nothing reverses the fear and anxiety that rages through him like a hurricane.
The night swoops out of the horizon and blankets the world. Lights flicker on and most of the
world continues without pause. As midnight rolls around, Rubic finds his bed.
The wind outside rattles the window. It moans like a sad whale. Rubic calls the hotline number the blue-eyed female officer gave him, but there isn’t any new information. He sets his phone down then goes to the window. White moonlight shines between the dark slats. The moon is close to full tonight, bathing the yard in its cool, reflected sunlight. Rubic takes hold of the blind cordage, wanting to raise the blinds to let the light spill into his room. He’d often peer out into the yard during full moons.
He yanks the cord. The clacking of the blinds is loud in the quiet house. They gather and come to rest at the top of the window frame. The trees in the yard blow around in the breeze, and the overgrown grass flitters back and forth, waving like a crowd at a ball game. Rubic sits on the side of his bed, staring out the window. Finally, he lies back. His heavy eyes look at the light that spills into his room. The light creates a wide stripe on the carpet that runs up the far wall. Rubic is about to fall asleep, but fights to keep his eyes open, a fight he’s losing.
Suddenly, a shadow passes in front of the moonlight. Rubic sits up like a jack-in-the-box and turns to the window. A figure stands outside. It’s tall and thin and staring, staring and unmoving. Rubic freezes, unsure if the person can see him. The person slowly brings up an arm and taps on the glass with what could only be a long, sharp knife.
Chapter 9
Confessions at the End of a Gun
Laura stares at the pistol aimed at her chest. The person holding it wears a dirty, threadbare t-shirt and has a rather large bosom. It’s a woman! She has tangled brown hair cut to her chin, and dark, sunken eyes. The forest shadows fall across her face.
The unkempt crazy lady reaches out with her free hand. “Phone. Now.”
Laura realizes she’s holding her pink phone. Four button taps away from calling 9-1-1. Her thumb hovers. If she successfully dialed the number but then hung up, they would try and call back. When no one answered they’d come following her signal, wouldn’t they? She might not even have service.
“Don’t even think about it.” The woman pulls back the hammer on the revolver. Sunlight glints off the weapon.
Laura hands the phone over, too scared to dial anything. “Take it. Take anything you want. I’ve got sixty dollars in my wallet. You can have it.”
“What I want is of no value to anyone but me, and maybe your boyfriend.” The woman takes the cell phone, drops it, and stomps on it with her boot heel. “Where is lover boy, anyway?”
“How do you know us?” Laura asks.
“Oh, I’ve been following you for quite some time,” the woman says. “We’ve been all over this canyon: you, Allan, Rubic, and I. You three are quite predictable.” She points at the spilt drinks. “Brought two coffees up here, so I’m assuming he’s on his way.”
Laura shakes his head. “No, he’s not coming. He should have been here by now. I thought I’d surprise him. Why are you following us? What did we do to you?”
The woman steps closer to Laura and crams the barrel of the gun into her collarbone. Pain splinters through Laura’s chest. “Ahh!” Tears swell up in Laura’s eyes as she stumbles backward.
“Laura!” Mrs. Domley screams and runs up to Laura. “Are you okay?”
The woman turns and points the gun at Mrs. Domley, who hadn’t even noticed it.
Mrs. Domley screams again then throws her hands into the air.
“Scream one more time and I’ll pull this trigger, so help me God.” The woman waits for a reply or complaint, but Mrs. Domley bites her tongue.
“Good.” The woman turns to Laura. “You don’t get to ask any more questions! Now move to the side of the road. We’ll just wait for Allan, won’t we?” The woman forces Laura and her mother into the dense undergrowth where they sit and wait.
They wait and wait.
The woman grows impatient. “I guess he might not be coming after all. Did you two have a falling out?”
Laura can’t hold her composure any longer and bursts into sobs.
“Oh stop it. You’re not the only one with boy problems. Males are only good for two things, changing your tire and signing checks.” The woman gets to her feet. “Get up,” she orders.
Laura and her mother slowly get to their feet. “Where are we going?” Laura asks.
“Shut up.” The woman pushes Laura and Mrs. Domley back to the road and toward the MINI Cooper. She pulls out a pair of handcuffs and clips Mrs. Domley’s left wrist to the steering wheel. She pushes Laura to the passenger side then hops in the back seat. “Drive.”
“Where?” Mrs. Domley asks, tears running down her face. Laura can see her mother trying to stay calm, and so she orders herself to do the same.
“Turn around. Then just go the speed limit and turn when I say turn.”
Mrs. Domley starts the Cooper. She puts the gear to drive and presses on the gas.
Laura lets herself cry some more. She’s so afraid she’s shaking inside.
“Get ahold of yourself. You’re more of a woman than a child. Act like it.”
“I’m… I’m not supposed to be scared of you?” Laura blubbers.
“It’s okay, don’t talk to her,” Mrs. Domley whispers.
“You both need to be scared of me. But stuff the tears, or else.”
The three drive up the mountain road a few miles. Laura composes herself, though the urge to burst into tears sits on her shoulder, taunting her, keeping her from breathing right.
“We can pay you to let us go. I’ve got lots of money,” Mrs. Domley says.
“We’ll explore that later. We need to get to my camp and then get ahold of Allan.”
“How do you know us? Please, tell me what you want, and I’ll help you get it.”
The woman sighs. “I’m looking for a flower.”
Laura’s pulse quickens. Synapses in her brain light up like Christmas lights. “Oh my God. The Hubbu flower? How do you know about that?”
“Oh, I know more than you think.” The woman looks out the window and sighs. “A long time ago I brought my daughter up here, Kendra. She was two and a half. She wore a pretty green sundress with white frills and little white sandals.
“We wandered around picking flowers. It was a beautiful day. The sun was warm, but not too warm. Spring had come after a brutally cold winter. I’d never seen so many flowers up here. And so many types as well. There was one flower that I’d never seen before and couldn’t find in my book. It was huge. Bigger than a sunflower. Rich blue with pink edges and enough pollen to choke a horse.
“My little girl got tired, so I put her in her stroller. It was the cutest vintage stroller that my great-grandmother bought in 1910. White painted metal, with a green vine detailed along the side. Kendra fell asleep while holding one of those huge flowers. I collected more of them and tucked them next to her. It was going to be a cute picture. I left my camera a little ways back so I ran to get it. It was only a few yards away or so. I left her for less than a minute! When I returned, she was gone. Gone! I thought maybe someone had run off with her. I thought that for years. But I really had only been gone for maybe thirty seconds.
“One day, I remembered that flower. I knew that flower had done something with her. No one would listen to me. All my friends thought I was crazy. But I was right. That flower stole my little girl,” she concludes, with her teeth clenched.
Laura listens in amazement. This is what Allan had talked about. The Hubbu flower. It was his fantasy, his delusion, his dream. Why is this woman talking like this?
“Take a left up here beyond that big tree. There’s no road, but your little car will do fine, just get it up over the first hill.”
The MINI Cooper turns off the road, slams down a dip, and immediately heads up a steep incline.
“Hit the gas, sister!”
Mrs. Domley presses on the pedal. The small, but powerful, motor revs and the tires spin. The car hauls itself up the steep incline and over it.
> “Good. Now, flip on your lights. You’ll see little reflectors on the trees. Follow them ’til you get to my camp.”
The reflectors guide Mrs. Domley through the forest where the trees are thick and large.
After a few turns Laura presses the woman to continue her story. “Go on. I believe you.”
The woman laughs. “Of course you do, you’re up here looking for the same damn flower.” She points out a sharp turn. “I’m a biologist, you know. Trained at the University of Virginia. I came up here with my late-husband’s money and stayed.” She raises a finger. “One summer, I found one of those flowers. Only one, and it had been trampled by an animal. It turns out the pollen is stranger than anything I’ve ever seen.”
Mrs. Domley pulls up to a camp and parks. There is a tan camouflage tent next to a pile of boxes, a cooler, a fire pit, a hammock, and a clothesline with pinned shirts, bras, and shorts.
The woman takes the key out of the ignition. “Go to the hammock and lie on it, both of you,” she says as she unlocks the handcuffs. Laura and her mother do what they’re told. Something about the woman eases Laura’s fear. The tension in her body loosens like undoing a button on a tight pair of jeans. Maybe it’s the woman’s story, so sad, so familiar. In fact, she tells herself that if she plays along, she and her mother will be released, eventually.
Laura and Mrs. Domley sit side by side on the hammock. The woman handcuffs them together. She pulls a chain from a box, loops it around the tree truck, and connects it to the handcuffs with a padlock.
The woman moves to the fire. She stokes it with fresh twigs and sets a pot on the grill that covers the fire.
“What did you find out about the flower?” Laura asks, eager to keep her talking.
The woman looks at Laura carefully. “See, I knew you would listen to me. I just wish your boyfriend was here too.”
The woman drops a couple of tea bags into the water and sits on a rickety lawn chair next to the fire. She looks at the tree canopy as her mind meanders through her memory. “No one would believe me. Or help. My only choice was to forget about it or do something about it on my own.” Her eyes tear up. “I couldn’t forget my baby girl so I moved into that old dam and set up a lab. I spent thousands of dollars on equipment. For years I studied the little bit of pollen I had. All the while, I hunted for more flowers.
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