The Summerland (26 page)

Before she knew it she had passed through the tiny town of Bear Valley and realized where she had unconsciously driven. If she took a sharp left turn she would be at Bill’s ranch in a matter of minutes. As she drove those last few hundred yards to the turn-off her subconscious weighed the pros and cons of making that left turn. In the end rationality won out, made her drive straight ahead, up and up until the only thing surrounding her were golden hillsides and fire-dry mesquite. When it seemed like the foothills would go on forever, she topped a small ridge and stopped right in the middle of the road.

The vista was like nothing she’d ever seen before. The hillsides folded down and up and sideways, always maintaining their tawny coat of late summer. Ahead of her a valley opened up, the slate gray-blue of a river slicing it’s way through the bottom. In a dream, she eased out the clutch, heading for the scenic turnout just a few hundred feet ahead.

Gravel crunched under the sports car’s tires as she wheeled to the guardrail, then stepped out into the already-searing heat, her eyes devouring the landscape before her. The highway snaked down the side of the mountain, looping in and out of the gullies and washes carved into the mountainside, doubling back on itself so many times she lost count. Two thousand feet below her an impossibly thin two-lane bridge traversed the river, granting access to the other side.

This is what she’d been looking for, something untamed and new. She all but leapt back into the car, furiously pelting down the mountain toward an unknown but bone-deep desire. Deep gorges and mini-canyons beckoned, luring her eyes away from the road. Deep caves carved into the native rock and boasting ‘No Trespassing’ signs all but begged her to come in and explore. In the end she muscled the car down the road, headed toward the bridge and her utter conviction that her salvation lay at the end of that road.

As she reached the bottom of the canyon, the bridge shot across the river, offering mindless travel in its silver-black ribbon of road. Instead, she turned right, down a small dirt entryway, and eased the Miata into the all-but-empty lot of a tiny store/bait shop.

The store was like any you would see across rural America, vinyl sides starting to oxidize, a sleeping and possibly dead dog lying in front, and a disreputable looking pick-up truck sitting right next to the enormous satellite TV receiver. Yes, it fit all of the notions of a backwoods bait shop, with the exception of its location. It sat on the side of the canyon overlooking the river and boasted the shadiest, most inviting picnic table Arden had ever seen. It was a place where local politics would be discussed and stogies smoked as the slumberous river rolled by, day after day, week after week.

Under that tree, sitting on the table itself, was the most remarkable man that Arden had ever seen. She could see the thin, home-rolled cigarette resting between his fingers, a workman’s corded arms bared in the cut-off sleeves of his T-shirt, a tan deep and genuine that it had to be baked in, probably acquired in his early twenties. He looked exactly like what Arden imagined a father would look like in this part of the country. Hard-edged, rough and true.

She headed into the store first, for a cold drink. The woman manning the checkout counter was in her early sixties and attractive, in a homespun, hard-working kind of way. Arden realized that she must have been quite beautiful in her youth. Paying for her iced tea, she absentmindedly answering the woman’s questions as she made her way to the door.

The store was definitely a catchall. Gold pans hung next to fishing lures, which hung next to bags of marshmallows, which sat next to gigantic bags of charcoal briquettes. Kodak photographs of fishermen graced the walls, proudly displaying their catches with gap-toothed smiles.

The Coca-Cola thermometer hanging on the wall of the building was sun-washed and bleached with time and already read 90 degrees.

The man sitting at the table swung his careworn face toward her, measuring her in a keen, encompassing glance. He scooted over on the table, offering her a seat, then stared back out over the river, cigarette dangling from one hand, coffee cup from the other.

Arden eased up on the seat next to him, not quite sure how she trusted this total stranger so quickly, so totally. But it was there. Maybe this was the epiphany she’d felt awaiting her.

Comfortable in the silence, she scratched behind the ears of the shorthaired mutt that was indeed alive and had relinquished his spot beside the door, hoping for a stranger’s affection. The dog flopped down in front of her, seemingly exhausted by the process of walking ten feet in this heat.

The man to Arden’s right snorted disgustedly. “Damned lazy dog. All he does is eat and sleep.” The tones of affection were obvious in the man’s voice, his ownership proud and clear.

“
Yeah, but who doesn’t envy a dog’s life?” She asked, leaning back on the table as she stared across the river at the ruins and foundations dotting the far hillside.

Her companion turned to look at her, interest apparent in his eyes. “Who indeed? Hello, I’m Jack, the woman running this whole kit and caboodle is my wife, Victoria.” He set down the coffee mug, offering his hand in a courtly, old school gesture.

“
Hi.” She answered with a smile as she shook his weathered, callused hand. “I’m Arden.”

Even though she left her name at just that, she had the distinct feeling that he knew exactly who and what she was.

“
So, Arden, what are you doing passing through Bagby on such a dismal, hot Friday? Fair Days are over, school is back in session, and most of the tourists have left Yosemite. Why is a nice military girl like you prowling the hills of Northern California?”

Arden started to ask how he knew she was in the service, then realized that he could see the military stickers on her car. Before she knew what she was saying, it was said.

“I’m looking for myself, I guess. Trying to make sure I haven’t been lost somewhere along the way.”

Jack shook his head a little, his eyes never leaving her. “Seems to me if you know enough to look, then you probably weren’t lost in the first place. A little misdirected maybe, but not lost.” He shrugged, turning his attention once more to the mindless flow of the river.

Arden sat there for a moment, absorbing what he’d said. Maybe he was right, maybe not.

The decision was hers to make. It was a liberating to think that, she realized. She’d always been told what to do, by her parents, by the military, in her marriage, so she’d never really made any life decisions about Arden Jones.

She knew what choice had to be made, and made today if she were to really move forward in her life.

Pushing away from the picnic table, she sauntered to the source of the deep shade, and leaned against the trunk of an enormous walnut tree. She contemplated the placid flow of water below her, listening to the whir of cars as they swept past on to destinations unknown.

As if sensing the turbulent flow of her thoughts, Jack began to speak, seemingly aimlessly. “We don’t get many out-of-towners down here. It’s mostly families and gold dredgers and history seekers. Those foundations across the river,” he nodded, indicating the ruins poking up out of the long prairie grass. “That’s the original town of Bagby. It started out as one of those gold settlements that usually burn out as fast as they start. It was hastily made, dirty and corrupt as they come.”

“
Hmmm.” Arden hummed, listening to him with half an ear while she circled round and round what she wanted, needed to figure out.

“
It was a hellhole all right, and never did get much better, even up to the time they flooded the valley to make the lake back in the 60s. The Josephine and Pine Tree mines further up the hill were pumping out ore faster than men could spend it, and along with that came the debauchery that that too many men, too much whiskey and a boatload of money creates. The folks of Bear Valley had cleaned up their town when the boom first started, so they pretty much kept out of the miner’s business, except to sell them goods. Then Zachariah Ashton had to come in here with his cows and shake the whole damn county to pieces.”

Arden turned to face him. “Ashton. Any relation to the Sheriff?”

“
Yup. The Sheriff’s his great-grandson or something along those lines. I guess lawing comes natural to those boys.”

“
Lawing? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before.”

The old man chuckled. “Sorry, it’s one of those words we’ve twisted to make our own. What I meant was, old Zachariah was a lawman too, pinned on a badge not too long after he got here so he could hunt down the man who killed his partner, legal-like.”

“
Oh,” Her companion settled into a companionable silence, drawing on his cigarette and watching the river. Now that Jack had broached the subject of the Sheriff, she couldn’t very well avoid thinking about him, could she?

She didn’t want to analyze what she felt for him, but it was hard not to when she’d been hauling her feelings out for show and tell for the past four days. He scared the crap out of her, pure and simple. Now that she had a little time, a little distance to look at their highly charged rendezvous she was appalled by her lack of control.

Sex had always been fun to her. It was a good healthy outlet for two consenting adults. She’d never lost her head like that, never lost herself in the moment, never given herself over so completely to a lover. And that was exactly what Bill Ashton had been. A lover. A partner. Not someone you merely slaked a thirst with. He was the type of man you married and raised a houseful of kids with. The type of man you sat with on the porch swing then thanked the heavens for your good fortune.

What in God’s name could she do with a man like that, especially under her present circumstances? She could be called back to the base or some god-awful corner of the world at a moment’s notice. The fact that she loved her chosen career only added to the certainty that she was going to have to make a choice between the life she wanted to live in the short term and the one she wanted to pursue when she retired.

She would see him tonight, she decided, talk it out and see where they both stood. The Samantha situation only jumbled the mess, made it more confusing for everyone involved. Pushing back from the tree, she turned to find her Jack’s gaze on her, a small smile on his craggy face.

“
Did you find yourself?”

Arden grinned, “Probably not, but I think I may have found the path again.”

* * * *

Newly energized, Arden began the trek back to town. As she drove her mind kept circling around one of Dr. Porter’s parting comments to her. It disturbed her on a fundamental level, because she could see the truth in it. He had stressed the role that each of the victims had played over the course of their incarceration, albeit by force. Even though it was only his theory based upon the Ross crime scene, he thought that the women had entered into a willing, consensual sexual relationship with their captor, thereby giving him the power to grant or take their lives as he deemed appropriate. It was a pact with the devil in any case, since he almost certainly planned on killing them anyway.

The Sixth Fold

She has come so far, so fast. She is the Goddess, even she has begun to admit it, in her subconscious. Everything I have waited for and wanted is coming to fruition. It is only right that she should realize it on Mabon, the Fall Equinox, the day when we once again dance on the cusp.

When had she begun to believe? Samantha couldn’t really pin down the date or time, since both had become meaningless entities to her. It seemed more like a gradual rebirth, a deepening awareness of herself, an awakening of senses she didn’t even know she possessed. She knew it was Mabon, because the food and incense for the day had changed to the traditional fare of fall harvest. It had been a change she welcomed, it marked a progression in her captivity, and in her education.

She no longer looked at the wall of books as the tools of a madman, but as possible steps to her salvation. The deeper she slipped into meditation and the practices of the Eight-Fold Path, the more steadfast she became. She’d already completed the first two steps of that path without even knowing it, and her use of drugs in the past had given her the knowledge to carry her past the third aspect.

They were all laid out before her now, and she ran through the list in her mind, not even reading the text placed before her. It had been burned into her brain.

Mental discipline through fasting and physical disciplines. Done.

Development of the Will through mental imagery, visualization, and meditation. Done, mostly through yoga, but done
.

Proper controlled use of drugs
.
Done to death.

Personal power, thought-projection, raising and drawing power
.
She was working on it. She’d been trying to reach Arden, to tell her that she was all right, but the distance, both physical and emotional, seemed to be too great. She would continue to try.

The keys: ritual knowledge and practice through the use of enchantments, spells, symbols and charms. Again, she had the knowledge, and was using that knowledge to dig deeper, find more, but without the proper tools, most enchantments were weak at best.

Psychic development and dream control
.
She figured that one would take a hell of a lot of time to master, but figured she had nothing but time at this point.