Swallow the Moon (3 page)

"Does he smell like a goat?" Melissa asked with a wicked gleam in her eye.

"It smells pretty good," Tiffany said, blandly ignoring the quip. "I have a sample of the 'Rise and Shine' bar."

The sample proved to be thin, slightly rough-textured and fragrant. June rubbed her fingers over it curiously before she held it to her nose.

"What's it scented with?" Melissa asked.

"Lavender and sage," June replied. "Something else –" she sniffed, "– lemon something."

"Hey, you're good," Melissa pointed to the open page. "Honey and oat soap scented with lavender, sage and lemon verbena."

"How did you do that?" Tiffany asked June.

"June's into all that back-to-nature stuff," Melissa chirped.

"No kidding?" Tiffany raised an eyebrow at June. "You don't look like a tree hugger to me." Her eyes swept up and down June's modest white blouse and navy slacks. "More like a Catholic school girl." 

Tiffany was as thin as a stick, except for her boobs. She dressed like a teen-aged girl and her leathery skin attested to hours spent in the tanning booth. Just because Tiffany dressed like a pop tart didn't mean that June should.

June flipped through the catalog to change the subject.

"Our finest handmade soaps are wonderful for your delicate complexion." There was everything from glycerin to goat's milk soap; also herbal oils, teas, beeswax candles, sea sponges, molded soaps shaped like shells and animals and bars of soap with herbs embedded in them. "These look great."

"The order forms are in the back." Tiffany added over her shoulder on the way to the next table. "You have two weeks to get the order in."

June had to find a way to get out of this damn office before she lost her mind.

As she looked at the bath products she wondered just how hard it would be to make this stuff herself. What did it take to make soap? How much would it cost to put together a little gift basket to sell on eBay? She decided to do some research; Tiffany may just have handed her a way out.

September 19
^th
– Cincinnati, Ohio

Eric was in a good mood. The bank approved the signature loan; he had the money he needed to buy the bike. Now he was ready to tell the guys. He whistled to himself as he swiped his ID card. The look on their faces when he brought up the webpage photos was going to be priceless. Once he had the bike he could park it right under their noses. The married guys would be all twisted up with jealousy.

Being single wasn't so bad after all.

As he stepped inside, he caught the vibe. The lab was usually humming with activity as everyone ramped up for the day. Instead, there was relative silence and the guys gathered around the desk in the farthest corner of the lab.

Every one of them had a letter clutched in their hand.

"Hey, Eric." Roger looked up, waved the page in his hand. "Come get yours."

"What's going on?"

"The lab is shutting down." Roger shook his head. "We're being outsourced to Mexico."

"Mexico?" Eric crossed the room, feeling his skin crawl with every step. "They can't do that."

"Ha!" Lucas scoffed. "That is where you are wrong."

"No way!"

"Yes way." Roger handed over the envelope with Eric's name smudged on a label.

Eric ripped the envelope open to snatch the page out. Sure enough, it was notice that the lab was shutting down.

"Fuck you very much," Eric said out loud as he crushed the envelope in his fist.

"Got that right," Roger sighed.

"I was getting ready to buy this great bike." Eric told them. "This just sucks."

"It sucks all right," Roger said. "My wife is going to have a freaking cow."

Roger had served beside Eric in the National Guard. They'd both used Guard benefits to get through college. It had been great to be a 'weekend warrior,' then they were called up to active duty. When the call had come to go to Afghanistan, they'd gone, no questions asked. So many guys had come back on stretchers or in body bags. They'd come back to cheating spouses, lost homes, crushing bills and a trashed economy with no jobs. Eric wadded the letter. His wife had wasted no time divorcing him. Now he was out of a job. The life that he dreamed of for twenty-six months was gone.

He needed to get away before he started breaking things. The glass on the lab tables would sound like a symphony if he swept it all to the floor. The pressure that had been building inside of him for months threatened to explode. He was breathing hard; his head pounded.

Roger and the lab slid out of focus.

For a second, the cold air reminded him of the day last winter when the IED went off. They'd been running a convoy, delivering supplies to the outbound Spec Ops squads doing the really ugly work. Not much different from every other day until the IED exploded under the Hummer in front of them.

The Hummer had been blasted into a twisted wreck. Eric exchanged fire with snipers as the others tried to save the men trapped in the burning vehicle. When it was over, Eric had taken one look at the burned bodies and puked.

"Hey! Eric, you all right?"

Time and space shifted; Eric was back in the lab.

Nothing was the same; nothing was right. He was soaked with cold sweat, his heart was pounding and he wanted to break every glass object in the lab. His life lay in smoldering ruins like that burned-out Hummer.

Cincinnati stank of failure. He had to get away. He would head north to Lake Erie. He would do anything to get as far from here as possible. He would buy that bike, travel light – ride until he ran out of freeway.

"Sure," he lied. "I'm happy as a clam." Why should he give a damn? He walked over to his computer, opened his email and sent the words that he thought would set him free.

"When can I pick up the bike?"

He hit 'send,' sealing his fate.

~^~

September 30
^th
, 2005 – Ashtabula, Ohio

Another Friday night shot to hell. June followed her dogs into the house, feeling depressed. She'd just spent an entire evening making her first batch of soap and the results were dismal: ruined jeans and a goopy mess that looked more like pudding than a hard bar of soap. Nothing was going right. Not the job, not the soap, not the spell she'd cast, nothing! At the very least she should have met
someone
by now.

She showered, then slipped into clean sweats and slippers. Something hot to drink would be really nice. She walked back to the kitchen where the copper kettle warmed on a low-set burner. Did she want chamomile and spearmint tea or lemon balm and catnip?

No, she would break out the hot chocolate.

Her two dogs danced around her on clicking feet. June patted Tasha, her big black Doberman. The smaller dog, Rags, leaped against her, demanding to be held.

"Hey, you were just out. You can wait a minute." June said to Rags as she poured water into her cup. As she added milk to get the hot chocolate just right, the dogs lifted their heads, listening. Tasha huffed a warning.

June went to the front door, opening it. She heard the high-pitched whine of a motorcycle. It was coming fast – way too fast for the curve by her house.

June stepped outside so she could see the road. The roar of a truck with a modified muffler was now audible. The motorcycle engine screamed like it was running all-out. There was a shriek of brakes as the driver saw the curve and tried to slow; a metallic thud, a hoarse scream and the laughter of at least two men.

"Got him!"

"Ha! Fucking narc!"

They ran him off the road? Deliberately? June ducked back in the house to grab her cell phone from the table. She raced out the front door with both dogs sprinting ahead of her.

This was wrong. This was horrible. This would be murder if the biker died!

She ran to the corner, where the motorcycle lights cast odd shadows against the high weeds. The driver – where was he? She searched the weeds. Rags barked on the other side of the bike.

June saw two people, a woman who was crumpled and still and a man who stirred slightly. Rags growled at the woman; his hair stood on end along his spine. June couldn't look away; the woman's body looked misshapen in the dimness. There was no doubt that she was dead.

Tasha bumped June's hand and licked her wrist, whining to get attention. Startled from staring, June let Tasha lead her away from the dead woman over to the man. Using her cell phone as a flashlight, June knelt by the man's side. He moved feebly, moaning, but alive, his face covered by a helmet, his body protected by a full set of sport-bike leathers.

June smelled gas. She moved over to the bike. Gasoline drizzled into the weeds. Frantically she fumbled with the shut off valve. The next moments blurred as she called 911 and gave her address. She was still talking with the operator when she heard the roaring of the truck.

"They're coming back!" June squeaked.

"Who's coming?" the operator asked.

"The truck!" June gulped. "Send the police!"

"What's going on, ma'am?"

June snapped her cell shut and searched for a place to hide. There was a shallow ditch only feet away. Grabbing the biker by his jacket, she managed to drag his bulk into the shadows. She threw herself on top of the dogs, all of them hidden in darkness. She could see it now – a massive SUV, dark and menacing as it leisurely rumbled back to the curve.

As the biker fumbled for the helmet catch strap, June let go of Tasha's collar to grab his hand.

"Shh!" she warned him. "They're coming." She peeked through the weeds.

The engine sounds quieted as the SUV came closer. Lights illuminated the crashed bike. For a moment there was silence as the black on black machine surveyed its downed prey. The black-tinted windows came down, the sound of hoots, crowing and the unmistakable hiss and pop of opening beer cans echoed in the night.

"That son of a bitch is dead."

"You said that last time."

"I'll bet you a hundred bucks."

"You're on. I'll go check."

The SUV door opened to reveal a white leather interior and three guys in ball caps and flannel shirts. A passenger got out, beer in hand, followed by the driver.

June held Rags by the collar, lying on top of Tasha to keep her down. She dared to peek; both men were walking towards the bike. June's breath was coming faster with fear, making little puffs of frost. The biker was absolutely still.

Crushed between June and the biker, Tasha strained to stand up, her body vibrated with tension. It was all June could do to keep Tasha down.

"I don't see 'im."

The guy had a familiar voice; it set off alarm bells in June's mind, but she couldn't put a name to him. Too scared to move, she resisted the conflicting impulses to either look or close her eyes.

"Ain't nothing moving," the second man said. "Must'a been thrown a ways."

As the man stepped closer, the hair on June's arms rose. Tasha strained to rise. June fought to hold her down. The Doberman's lips pulled back in a snarl, her chest rumbled with a low growl as the man walked closer.

"I hear something!"

June wrestled briefly with both dogs, but she couldn't hold the big Doberman. Tasha scrambled to her feet, rolling June onto the biker. June barely managed to hang onto the frantic Rags. Tasha stood over them, snapping and snarling as she advanced on the strangers.

The men screamed, sprinting for the SUV.

Tasha sprang from the ditch with a full-throated roar.

The driver had a dozen feet head start. The passenger was closer; he almost made it. Just as he managed to grab the open door, the angry Doberman caught him with a single leap, knocking him sideways and grabbing him by the calf, biting deep.

"It got me!" he screamed, thrashing. Even with his hand on the door, he couldn't stop his backward slide as the dog shook him like a rat.

The SUV roared to life.

The driver jammed the SUV into reverse as the third guy leaned over to grab Tasha's victim by the belt. Tasha held on until the man finally kicked her in the head with the other foot. She tumbled backwards with a yip.

Sirens shrilled in the distance, closing fast. Tasha snarled, barking as the SUV scattered gravel. It took off down the road, gaining speed as the dog chased it.

"Tasha, come back!" June called.

Tasha came back, wagging her stubby tail until her butt wiggled. Rags danced around her, yapping.

"Good girl!" June fussed over Tasha. Under her, the biker stirred.

"Help me. I can't breathe," the biker gasped, fumbling at the strap.

"The ambulance is on its way." June helped him undo the catch strap. She very gently eased the helmet off, revealing his face. He was a young man with a beard hiding his features. He gasped for breath and curled on his side, coughing. If he could move that much, his spine wasn't broken. June bit her lip. What if he had a broken rib?