by Ryan Schow
“Prudence!”
“She’s gone, you idiot!” one side of his mouth said.
Is the air really this dry? he wondered. How is it this dry? Holding his throat, starting to really seize, he walked out front and straight to the side lawn where the grass was the wettest.
A couple of cars drove by, the drivers and passengers looking at him. He looked right back at them, unable to make his face smile. Then no one drove by. He didn’t know how long he was out there, but when his neighbor, Allen Teague, came out and said, “Are you okay, Jareth?” he said, “Sure, sure. It’s just such a beautiful night.”
Allen looked up at the cloudy sky, smelled the dank, earthy smell of the nearby creek, then looked down at Jareth’s bare feet and saw he was standing in muddy grass.
“It’s two in the afternoon,” Allen said.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yeah, Jareth, I’m pretty sure.”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s just, well, you’ve been out here for awhile. Midge and I are worried. We’re wondering if you want us to call someone.”
“Did Prudence call you? Sometimes she just gets mad and makes no sense. It wasn’t really an argument as much as it was that I lost my job.”
Allen fixed him with a puzzled stare, completely taken aback by both the question and the statement.
“I think maybe I’ll check in on you tomorrow?” Allen asked. He was a suspicious old man, a nosey Nellie if ever there was one. “I think maybe it might be time to talk to someone.”
“But I’m talking to you,” he said, looking up at Allen and holding his gaze.
When he cracked a smile to put the old man at ease, it felt wrong on his face—a soldier in a foreign land trying to speak a language he never really learned.
“You may not think you need that, but...it’s just”—Allen said, like he was measuring his words carefully—“when you mentioned Prudence…”
Jareth didn’t want to talk about it, so he turned and walked inside, leaving Allen and all his silliness behind. Jareth washed his dirty feet off in the kitchen sink, then walked past the muddy tracks he left coming inside and went straight to the car. He was going to get Prudence. He’d make her come home where she belonged.
When he arrived at Prudence’s mother’s home, he went and knocked on the door. Prudence’s mother answered the door, a tired old woman on oxygen with the rolling tank right next to her.
“Jareth, what in the world?”
“Hi, Iris.”
“Where are your shoes?” she said, looking down, out of breath.
“Fell off,” he said. “Listen, I know sometimes it’s hard for me and Prudence to make things work, but I’m worried about her. I wonder if you’ll let me talk to her.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, sadness in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Iris. It was just a misunderstanding. People lose their jobs all the time and I’m sure I can get another.”
“Jareth, Prudence is gone.”
“Where’d she go?”
“Prudence died a few years back. The car crash. Don’t you remember?”
He stood there, staring at her, unable to understand the words she was saying. But then flashes of tragedy came back, trying to work themselves into his mind the same way a burglar tries to make his way into your home, even when the doors and windows are bolted shut.
“She’s not dead. I just saw her yesterday. She has the cat. I just want Cinnamon, Iris. If she wants to stay, Prudence can stay, but I just want Cinnamon.”
Just then Prudence’s father, Harold, shuffled to the door, his face hangdog and worn out, his eyes like an old bloodhound’s in its last days.
“What does he want now, Iris?” he groused, his eyes on Iris, various parts of his body trembling.
“He forgot about Prudence again,” Iris said, her tone in check.
“You idiot!” Harold barked, his words dry and soft against the swell of anger. “Every time you come here asking for our dead daughter you upset my wife. You want to see her”—he said, interrupted shortly by a wet, wheezing cough—“you go visit her where she’s been for the last three years!”
He didn’t know what Harold was talking about, but the man was going to pitch the kind of fit that started out lively and ended up with him in the back of an ambulance if he wasn’t careful.
“She’s in the Roseville Cemetery,” Iris said, softly, almost quietly, as if she knew it would disturb Harold just speaking the words.
“So she’s really…?”
Harold walked around Iris, pulled her back, then slammed the door in his face, leaving him on the front porch with no wife and no cat.
He drove to the cemetery and spoke to the grounds keeper. He took Jareth to Prudence’s grave in spite of his bare feet, and in that moment it became real. Prudence was gone. Underneath Prudence’s name was Cinnamon’s name.
“The cat’s dead, too,” one side of his mouth said. The other side of his mouth started laughing.
He couldn’t stay. His brain wasn’t letting him remember. He touched the headstone, just to make sure it was real. Running his fingertips over the name, it felt real enough.
Jareth turned and left.
At his storage unit—a unit he bought at auction on the insistence of Julie Vickers, the surviving wife of Neil Vickers, one of his Army buddies—he turned on the bare overhead bulb. The light cast over the contents wasn’t bright, but he could use his cell phone’s flashlight where he needed the extra illumination. This was Neil Vickers’s old storage unit and it contained the soldier’s guns and war memorabilia. Julie kept it after the man killed himself, but Julie had gone broke, claiming the first payment she stopped making was to the storage unit. The one that was just confiscated.
Julie told Jareth when the auction was going to be and the storage unit number, so he was there early on auction day to bid his way into possession. It cost Jareth a little over two-thousand dollars, but it was well worth the investment. He opened the unit and found metal boxes of large caliber ammo and a mix of weapons, the most impressive being the Barrett M82 sniper rifle, a rifle that to that day still fetched nearly eight thousand dollars brand new.
Fortunately he’d been able to purchase the storage unit without Prudence knowing, but his brain was still working against him, trying to make him believe his wife was still alive even when he saw her grave with his own eyes. Had she been dead when he bought the unit? Is that why he was able to get away with it?
“You know she was,” one side of his mouth whispered.
“If he knew for sure, he wouldn’t be wondering about it, would he?” the other side of his mouth replied.
“Shut up the both of you,” he barked as he opened the black carrying case holding the sniper rifle.
When he looked for the M82’s ammo box, he found one with maybe thirty or forty rounds left. He also found a cache of spare, ten-round magazines.
He grabbed all five mags and began loading them. For some reason, as he was doing this, all he could think about was that wart on MaryAnn’s face.
“Look at you, still upset about that cow,” one side of his mouth said.
At home, he took out the semi-auto sniper rifle, looked it over, then did with the rifle what he did with his M9 pistol. He unpacked the weapon, assembled and disassembled it, and then he repacked it again.
He did this until he felt perfectly comfortable with the weapon.
At home, instead of using his M9, he unpacked his Sig Sauer, checked the mag, then attached the sound suppressor. After that he made himself another sandwich, drank three beers, then turned on Tom and Jerry cartoons and refused to take his meds.
He knew it would upset Prudence—him not taking the meds—but for the first time in years he found he was finally thinking clearly.
Chapter Five
The day before the attack…
Rock did not want to take Amber Gunn out, but he got everything done that needed doing and so the only thing that was l
eft was to get dressed. But what do you wear on a “non-date” date with an A-List movie star? Nothing really special when you live out of your garage.
“Good God,” he grumbled to himself.
He hadn’t exactly thought things out so well. So instead of doing some last minute shopping, which would only irritate him, he wet his hair, styled it, then brushed his teeth and went to screw this date up properly.
He showed up thirty minutes early hoping to catch her before she was completely ruined. He knocked on the door with his free hand, took a deep breath, then tried to comprehend the magnitude of this.
Most guys, when they get an opportunity to date a movie star, they don’t show up in ripped jeans and a t-shirt. At least he was wearing his clean Converse, and at least he was still rocking the fresh breath.
The door opened up and he had a moment. Unbelievable! The short but ferocious inner tantrum cleared and he realized with some humor that he deserved this.
Amber had gotten one over on him.
“Wow,” he said to the plain girl looking back at him. He was red faced with embarrassment, practically speechless. “I thought I was here for someone else.”
The girl looking at him had short black hair, big brown eyes and no makeup on. But there was a freshness to her. He liked the way she looked. He liked it a lot. But she was not Amber Gunn. Not by a mile.
“That happens,” she said.
“Wait, you’re not her assistant, are you?” he asked.
“I’m afraid I’m sure what you’re talking about,” the girl offered, smiling like she felt bad for him, like she knew he’d been stood up or lied to. “Whatever you have in there”—she said pointing to the large take out bag—“smells pretty good. Is that steak?”
“Dinner for two.”
“How completely romantic.”
The girl was wearing a white half-shirt with black yoga pants and short socks. He looked into her eyes again, swept away. She was not beautiful the way Amber was. She was, however, cute in a very plain kind of way.
“It would be romantic if you were my date…”
“Well why don’t you come in. Maybe we can salvage an otherwise unfortunate evening.”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.”
“It’s fine, really.”
“But you…you don’t know me.”
“You look alright to me,” she said, a jovial look on her face. “You’re not one of those guys, are you? You know…one of those guys.”
“No,” he laughed. “Not even close.”
Rock knew three things and he knew them well. He knew he was good looking, he knew he was a good person, and he knew that as much as he was bothered with Jill shutting him out, being with other women wasn’t going to be his thing anytime soon.
With a smile he could only describe as defusing, she opened the door, stepped aside and ushered him in.
“This is weird,” he said.
She closed the door behind him, gave a good-natured laugh and said, “Yeah, well I’m at a point in my life where I’m just going to go with the flow. You can set up the food there. On the table by the window.”
He spent over a hundred dollars on steak, lobster, baked potatoes and a salad. All to do his best to impress a movie star who thought it was funny to not only stand him up on a date but give him the wrong room number. Laughing to himself, shaking his head, he really did deserve this. Rock hadn’t been polite to Amber. He was, in fact, kind of rude.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I didn’t get your name.”
“Maisie. What about you?”
“Rock.”
“You look like a Rock,” she said. “It’s those big shoulders.”
“You look like a Maisie.”
“I never hear that,” she told him in a lighthearted tone. “I’ll be out in a minute, okay? I’m just going to wash my hands and brush my teeth.”
“You’re brushing your teeth before you eat?” he said.
She giggled and then turned on the sink. She stood in the bathroom with the door open. He didn’t want to look, but he was curious about this girl he was going to have dinner with. He took a quick glance and saw her looking back at him.
He smiled, looked down, suddenly shy.
Okay…
While he had a second, he fished his phone out of his pocket, keyed in a quick text to Amber. FIRST OFF, U SUCK. SECOND, THANK U 4 SENDING ME TO THE WRONG ROOM. HAVING DINR WITH A SUPR HOT HOTTIE WHO ISN’T FULL OF HERSELF. SHE PROBABLY DRIVES A COROLLA AND MAKES AN HOURLY WAGE.
He put the phone away just as Maisie was returning to the small gathering area.
“Is this a suite?” he asked.
He didn’t do hotel rooms. In fact, the only hotel rooms he’d really ever been in were the ones he raided when he was with Chicago PD.
“Yeah. The baby suite. My company comped it for me, which I thought was sweet. No pun intended.” When she looked down at the feast he’d spread across the otherwise small table, she said, “Wow, Rock, who were you trying to impress?”
“This red head,” he said, sheepishly. “It was more like an apology meal.”
“For what?”
“For not having anything nice to wear. In my defense, though, it was a last minute invitation and I’m not exactly in the best living situation right now.”
In the background, the television was on, the local news. He snuck a peek, saw footage of the Sacramento skyline, people looking up in the sky, pointing.
The drones. Yeah, he’d seen them on the way over. They were probably just doing some sort of training exercise.
“I think what you’re wearing looks good,” she said, her eyes kind. “It shows off your physique nicely.”
He felt the color creep into his cheeks. He wasn’t used to a woman being like this—so calm, so easy to be around. This was so surreal he had to pinch himself just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
He got a text, checked his phone, saw it was from Jill. He ignored it.
He shouldn’t but he did.
“So what do you do that a little thing like you would need a hotel room this large?” he asked.
“I’m a media strategist.”
“For?”
She looked down, took a bite of her steak and practically sank down in her chair. “Where did this food come from?” she asked, her eyes all but rolling back into her head.
“Morton’s steakhouse.”
“This is better than sex, I swear!” she said.
“Fit for royalty,” he replied, although he didn’t think of Amber as royalty. More like a royal pain in the butt.
He checked his phone; still no text from her. What a clown, he thought. He saw Jill had text him, but he couldn’t read it while being out on a date without feeling guilty, so he didn’t.
“So you’re a media strategist, huh? What for?”
“The 2020 Presidential campaign.”
He pulled back, raised his eyebrows, pretended to brush something off his shirt like he was impressed.
“Which candidate?”
“Before you get all wonderstruck, A) I can’t tell you, and B) she’s a total hamflower anyway so I think it’s best we not talk about it.”
“Fair enough.”
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I’m in the beauty industry,” he replied.
She laughed so hard, she almost choked on her salad. She started coughing and he stood, like he wasn’t sure if he should help her or not. She raised a hand, her eyes watering. When she composed herself, she looked up at him and said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t…sit down, please. I’m fine.”
“You didn’t let me finish, smart ass. I beautify cars. I own a custom car shop. I do wheels, suspension, aftermarket upgrades, body kits, vinyl wraps. You bring me your piece of crap and I put lipstick on that pig. Simple, easy, uncomplicated.”
She wiped her mouth, started in on her potato, left him there in silence.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s
just, you know…when I’m out, it’s easy to meet people. I have this sort of wash of fame from being in the limelight, you know—because of my position—but most everyone I meet, they’re so into themselves and you don’t seem like that.”
“We’ve only just met,” he said, cutting up his steak.
“Yeah, but there’s something different about you. Something down to earth. Like if I wasn’t always on the road, it might be fun to grab a drink with you, maybe catch a movie.”
“Don’t mention the movies,” he said, putting a square of filet in his mouth. “Bad actress experience.”
She found this humorous, but he didn’t elaborate.
“What do you like to do when you’re not in the beauty business?” she asked.
“Work on my house. I’m at the tail end of a particularly challenging fixer-upper.”
“What’s it like?”
“It’s a big house on five acres, which means I probably bit off more than I can chew. Anyway, it has more rooms than I need, a large master bedroom and some pretty fertile fields for growing a garden, which I will probably do. There’s a stream nearby and all kinds of animals. Turkey, deer, rabbits, little furry tailed rodents of all kinds—”
“Squirrels, chipmunks—those kinds of furry tailed rodents?”
“Exactly.”
“Sounds peaceful,” she said.
He looked at her when he said this and there was something there, something so unbelievably calming. She was the exact opposite of Jill, and Amber. It started him thinking about how contemptuous it had been with Jill lately.
Jill Murdock did four years with the Marines, found the regimen to be exacting, but the company hard to take. Lots of egos. When she got out, she went to the Sacramento Police Academy, but decided that being a cop reminded her too much of being a Marine, so she never took a job in that field. Now she ran a recreational boot camp out of Loomis in a small shop with about ninety women trying to get in shape.
Jill wasn’t with Rock for money or stability, or even a baby or three. She was, however, invested in his house. She said her life was all sharp edges, that she wanted to help him create something beautiful and so she convinced him to buy the house. She said they could do this together. Now she was in charge, and when push came to shove, she told him to sleep at the shop until she finished. He didn’t go easy, though. They’d argued over the house for days. She wanted him to finish it up; he said he wanted to wait a few weeks, replenish the coffers.
