by L C Hayden
Norma looked at Bronson. “Who are you?”
“My name is Bronson. Harry Bronson. I’m a retired Dallas police detective.”
“Dallas?” Norma said. “Texas is a long way from here.”
“And where is here?”
“Alaska,” she answered. “Or it could be Canada.”
“Alaska is my bet,” Bronson said.
“Why?” Roger scanned the area for the wolves.
“I was brought here from Pennsylvania. I don’t have any passports. I’m sure somewhere along the line, I would have needed one if we’re in Canada.”
“Makes sense,” Roger said.
“Why did they bring you here?” Norma asked.
“To bring you both back to safety.”
Roger let out a harsh, ironic laugh. “I feel safer here with the wild animals than I do with those men in the community.”
“Explain,” Bronson said.
“They want me dead—and now they probably want Norma dead too. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you, Mr. Bronson, are a dead man once you’ve completed the task they hired you to do.”
Chapter 20
“I want to hear everythin’ you have to say. But first, we must make sure we’re safe from those wolves, in case they decide to return.” Bronson strained to check out his surroundings. As far as he could see, he couldn’t spot a single wolf. They were there, he knew, but at least for now, they had left them alone.
Bronson returned his attention to the teens. “Very carefully, we’re going to get down. Soon as we do, we’re goin’ to build a smoky fire to keep the wolves at bay. We’ll use green leaves and damp wood to create as much smoke as we can. If possible, we’ll waft the smoke downwind toward the wolves.” He flashed Roger and Norma an encouraging smile, something he really didn’t feel. “Ready?”
Both teens nodded.
“I’m goin’ to get down first. Both of you stay here until I know it’s safe for you to come down.”
“Mr. Bronson, I beg to differ,” Roger said. “We can all climb down at the same time. Three, fighting wolves, is better than one. We’re in this together.”
Bronson considered this for a moment and nodded. Roger was proving himself to be a great ally. Bronson nodded. “I appreciate that.” He held onto a branch, ready to climb down. “Here we go.”
Roger waved his hand as though he were in a classroom. “One fast question first. Once we’re down, shouldn’t we head as fast as we can away from the wolves? Why are we going to linger here and build a fire?”
“Worse thing we can do is give the wolves our backs. Make no mistake. They’re still out there, watchin’, waitin’. They want us to run. Once that happens, their predatory instincts kick in. We don’t know what’s out there.” Bronson pointed to the woods beyond them. “But we know that here in the open space, we can be safe. Instead of us runnin’, we’re goin’ to make them retreat. If they know they haven’t intimidated us, they’ll go away, seekin’ easier prey.” Bronson looked at the woods around them.
The leaves in the brushes swayed. Bronson wished he knew if the wolves were responsible for that or if the wind was. “Once we’re down, we’re going to have to move fast.” He looked at Norma. “Do you have my gun?”
Roger’s eyes widened. He stared at his girlfriend.
Norma gasped. “Why would I have your gun or even a gun?”
“It’s okay,” Bronson said. “You can trust me. Do you have my gun?”
“No!”
“You didn’t take it from the safe before you ran away?”
Norma pouted. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. What safe?”
Bronson’s gut told him she was telling the truth. “Let’s table that conversation for later, and let’s focus on our current dilemma.” His glance once again swept the area below them. Once reassured there were no wolves around, he said, “Norma, you’re goin’ to be responsible for startin’ the fire.”
She shrugged. “I don’t have matches, and I was never in Scouts.”
Roger reached into his pants pocket. “I do. I picked these up at my last visit to the compound. I thought they would come in handy.” He handed Norma the box of matches.
“Good thinkin’,” Bronson said. “Roger, your job will be to create a barrier around our site that will hopefully keep the wolves from gettin’ in.”
“I can do that. Any suggestions how?”
“Use branches, stones, sharp sticks and any solid objects you can find. Just don’t stray far from the site in your search for these things. Carry a large branch with you, just in case.”
Roger nodded. “What will you do?”
“I’ll gather stones and pile them to use as possible weapons if need be. Same with sticks. I’ll also gather the firewood to keep the fire goin’ for as long as necessary. And remember, make as much noise as possible. Sing. Yell. Whatever. Now let’s do this.”
They climbed down and each got busy with their own tasks.
Around them, wolves howled, claiming their territory and sending chills down Bronson’s back.
Chapter 21
It took the group record time to complete their tasks. They sat around the fire in a triangle. This way, no matter from which direction the wolves approached, one of them would be able to see them.
“How long are we going to sit here?” Roger asked.
Bronson eyed a wolf outside of their perimeter. “Until we know they’re gone.”
“I wish they’d leave us alone.” Norma wrapped her arms around herself.
Bronson did too, but at least for now, they were safe. “Roger, you have a story to tell.”
Roger inhaled deeply and began his story.
* * *
Roger Cobb Hallberg had lost all hope. He was only fifteen and had nothing to look forward to. The streets of Los Angeles would always be his home, or at least until he met a violent death. Alone. Unloved.
It hadn’t always been like this. Only a week ago, he had a home and a family. True, the three room shack he called home wasn’t much to look at, but at least he had a roof over his head. He lived with his ailing mother and three-year-old sister. He worked the streets everyday to pay for his mother’s medicines and never ending, growing medical bills.
He provided for his sister. He made sure that even if he didn’t eat, she did. The few clothes she wore came from the Goodwill, and every once in a while, he surprised her with a new toy he bought at the dollar store.
At school, he tried to stay awake, but the night hours played havoc with his mind. No matter how hard he tried to finish his homework, he never found time. His grades started slipping, and Roger realized he was fighting a losing battle. He would have to drop out.
But that didn’t mean he was through with education. He made sure his library card never expired, and he always had at least four books checked out at a time. Books were the only thing that brought him peace of mind. At age two, he had begun to teach himself to read. By age three, he could read the same books first graders struggled through. A year later, he read high school books and texts. By age seven, he had tackled college level texts.
“Is that why you stole that history book from the community?” Bronson asked.
Roger shook his head. “I wish it were that simple. Let me continue with my story as to how I got here, so that hopefully you’ll understand and you’ll believe me.”
Norma reached for Roger’s arm and squeezed. “You sure you want to do this? You want this stranger to know what happened to you? What’s happening to us?”
Roger slowly nodded. “We have no choice. He will be our salvation, if he believes me.”
“I can’t make any guarantees,” Bronson said, “but I can promise to hear your story and offer you a fair deal.”
Roger stared at the fire and remained quiet. “Good enough.”
“You said that one day you had a home and the next day you didn’t,” Bronson prompted. “What happened?”
Roger closed his eyes. His Adam’s appl
e bobbed. “My father returned while I was uh . . . working. That particular night, I felt more disgusted than I’ve ever had before. I’ve seen the worst the human race has to offer, and I was part of that world. But I had no choice. I had to bring money in. I had to help my mom, and I had to protect my little sister. You understand that, don’t you?” Tears gushed down his cheeks, and he did nothing to attempt to wipe them away.
Norma wrapped her arm around Roger, but he shook his head and pushed her away. He cleared his throat and continued, “I tried getting a regular job, but nobody wanted to hire an under aged kid. I had no choice.”
“I know. You did what you had to.” Bronson’s voice came out even, comforting.
“Knowing that didn’t help me to like myself or to accept the disgusting things I did. I truly think that at that time in my life, I loathed myself.”
“That night, your father returned.” Bronson hoped to steer him back to the story.
Roger nodded. “Yes, and like always, he was drunk and high on who knows what. By the time I got home, the fire was over and everything was gone.” Roger bowed his head and remained silent. He took deep breaths through his mouth. Slowly, he raised his head and continued, “They found . . . my mom’s charred body . . . but, uh, never my sister’s. Every night, I think about her and pray for her.” Roger’s lips trembled and tears pearled at the corner of his eyes.
Bronson, thinking that Roger was close to collapsing, opened his mouth to offer words of encouragement, but when Roger cleared his throat and continued, Bronson hushed.
When Roger spoke, his voice came out strong and unafraid. “I heard that the police eventually found my father and charged him with murder. Even though he’s on death’s row, he still refuses to say anything about the whereabouts of my sister.”
Bronson made a mental note to ask his colleagues about the details of the investigation. Although highly unlikely, maybe she could still show up. “So you became a street kid.”
“I had no choice,” Roger said. “I didn’t know what else to do other than to try to better myself. I continued to read whenever I could. I filled my mind with a world of words and imagination. I learned more in that one year than I ever had before. Then something happened that changed my life forever.”
Chapter 22
Bronson opened a bottle of water and poured most of it on the wood. He threw the wettest ones into the fire.
“I think the wolves are gone,” Norma whispered as though afraid they could hear her.
“I’ve noticed the same thing, too.” Bronson looked at Roger. “No chance you’ll come back to the compound with me.”
Both Roger and Norma shook their heads. “None at all. We’ve rather face the wolves.”
“So you said before.” Bronson stood up and walked outside of their perimeter. “Wait here.” He stood for a moment, eyes intent on the bushes surrounding them. Everything looked normal. He returned to the inside circle and sat down.
“What’s the verdict?” Roger asked.
“We stay here for the night. Two always stay awake, and we’ll take turns sleeping. We’ll keep the fire going all through the night. Tomorrow morning, we’ll decide what we’re going to do. In the meantime, Roger, you have a story to finish. Are you up to it?”
Roger gave an emphatic nod even though his eyes were closed. Bronson felt sure that when he opened them, a wave of tears would escape. But when Roger raised his lids, Bronson saw more fire than water in his eyes.
* * *
Roger was familiar with all of the motels in the area, and one looked exactly like the previous one. The sofas’ and chairs’ upholstery were faded. The carpets were worn away and dirty. Heavy satin drapes impregnated with dust clouded the air when a customer brushed against them. The hallways, dingy and poorly lit, led to even worse looking rooms.
That’s why when Roger’s “friend” called him to tell him about the next assignment, Roger remained still, shocked into uncomprehending immobility. This motel, located on the more affluent part of Los Angeles, promised a glimpse into a world Roger wasn’t familiar with.
He washed and dressed in his best clothes, which were really his only decent looking clothes. His “friend” picked him up and delivered him to the front of the motel room. “You do good in there, and we’re looking at some serious money. It’ll do us both a lot of good.”
Roger nodded and swallowed the lump the size of lemon in his throat. He had heard that these high-powered rich executives were more perverted than the average man on the street. But Roger had no choice. He had to do what he had to do. His journey to Room 305 lasted a life time. Standing outside the door, he smoothed his lower lip across a mustache of perspiration and knocked.
The door opened to reveal a distinguished looking man in his early thirties. His closely cropped hair reminded Roger of a soldier. The stranger’s face broke into a wide, friendly smile. “Come in.” He opened the door wider. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Roger looked past the man’s shoulder. Two young looking girls sat on the bed. Soon as Roger stepped in, the girl on the right froze. Her hands had been constantly twisting and turning the thick cord of her hair. The other girl eyed Roger through calculating eyes.
“Please sit,” the man said.
Roger looked around. The chair by the desk was empty. He sat.
“We’re all here now, so I’ll begin. My name is Everett Henderson.” His voice was soft and friendly. “I live in a place called Eric’s Landing.”
Chapter 23
“What did he offer you?” Bronson asked.
“A chance to live a better life—a life away from the streets. In return, he wanted nothing. His happiness, he said, came from helping kids like us. I wanted to believe him, but at first I couldn’t. Neither could Vera and Nancy.”
“The two girls in the room?”
Roger nodded. “Everett started describing Eric’s Landing, and he made it sound so good. I was so desperate to get away from the filth I lived in. I wanted this to be true—and it was. For a year after Vera and I arrived, Eric’s Landing became our heaven.”
“What happened to Nancy?” Bronson asked.
“She was in love with her pimp, and she claimed he loved her too. We tried to make her see the truth, but she wanted nothing to do with that. When it was time to go, she chose to remain behind. We begged her to come, but she wouldn’t. So Vera and I came by ourselves. We became very close.” Roger paused and looked at Norma. She shrugged. “We were like brother and sister,” he quickly added.
“Where’s Vera now?” Bronson asked.
“Like many of the girls here—and a few boys—the Elders found her a nice home—a family who wanted her.”
“So her story has a happy endin’,” Bronson said.
“Not quite. That’s where this comes in.” Roger reached into his backpack and retrieved the book.
Bronson was surprised at its simplicity. No fancy cover. No over-sized edition. “And how did you get hold of that?”
“Everyone at Eric’s Landing is assigned several responsibilities. One of mine was to clean the public rooms, as well as Swanson’s office. One day, I was ahead of schedule so I headed for Swanson’s office early. As usual, I came in carrying my cleaning supplies. Swanson seemed startled to see me. He was writing in this book, and he looked like I had caught him doing something wrong. He quickly slammed the book shut and shoved it inside his drawer.
“Seeing that I love books, I thought Swanson acted very suspicious, so I decided to investigate. After he left, I went to his desk and found the drawer locked. That surprised me. No one locks anything. We trust each other. We live in harmony. Why all of the secrecy?
“Filled with curiosity, that night I snuck back in, picked the lock—I learned how to do that in one of the books I read. As expected, that so-called history book was there. I picked it up and started reading. At first, I didn’t understand. But the more I read, the more I came to recognize the truth hidden in those pages.”
“And what is that?” Bronson asked.
Roger handed Bronson the book. “You tell me.”
Chapter 24
Roger and Norma continued to feed the fire while Bronson read the first few pages of Our Shangri La, Eric’s Landing. It had been founded by Conner Dakota Ericson—why hadn’t the computer given him that information?—sometime in the late 1960s. Conner had particularly chosen this desolate land—which was where?—because he wanted to create a haven for the troubled youth.
The book went to mention how his son Dakota Ericson ( ˥̓ ± ̚ )—what the heck was that?—would one day assume full command of the community as the senior’s health was fialing.
Bronson shook his head. That wasn’t the first word he had found misspelled. Someone needed to do some heavy editing on this manuscript. And the formatting was bad too. Some letters were in bold type and some in italics, often letters within a word.
Bronson continued reading. Before the Elder’s death, he requested that his son change his name to protect the youth. This way, no matter how hard pimps and other evil people tried, they would never be able to find and recover their “property.” Young Dakota complied. The book failed to mention what he changed his name to.
Interesting.
Bronson returned his attention to the book. It continued to describe the community’s everyday life. Bronson skimmed those pages. It gave the names of the first residents of Eric’s Landing. Each time someone’s name was mentioned, it was followed by those weird symbols, but each had different patterns. Bronson also noted that each of the youths’ symbols were lengthier than those of the long term or permanent residents.
While Bronson read, Roger rubbed his hands together and blew on them. Norma hugged him, and he gave her a nervous smile. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked away. He squeezed Norma’s hand. “Are you seeing anything in there?” He pointed to the book.
“Learned some background of the place,” Bronson answered.
