Chapter Fifty Three
As I backed the Tahoe along the shoulder of the dark highway, Norrah complained that I needed to drive slower, but didn’t say why. I knew why. She had it in her head that a little girl was around here somewhere and I might squish her like a grape. It was pointless, being that there was no little girl around here. I believe Norrah saw her (well, pretty sure; kind of sure), but Maggie’s an angel, incapable of being harmed.
I reached a point where I could turn onto the off ramp and did so. Slowly I drove up the exit to the bridge crossing the highway.
“I don’t know, Jay,” Norrah said, pensive.
“What you don’t know could fill libraries,” I joked.
“It was her. It was Maggie. I know it.”
“If you saw someone, I agree, it was Maggie.”
“The only other time we saw her was there on the beach, at the lake. Remember?”
“Of course.”
“And why did she appear to us back then? There was a purpose.”
“Yeah, to lead Aaron to Taylor.”
“Yes, to lead him to Taylor. Most of those twenty-three are Christians now. Aaron’s message got through to them. But none of that would have happened if it weren’t for Maggie leading Aaron to Taylor.”
“Yeah. Your point?” I turned and drove over the bridge toward the onramp south.
“Now she manifests out here? Doesn’t it seem logical that she’d have a great reason for it, just as she had at the lake?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not.”
“No, Jay, you’re wrong. Totally wrong. She definitely would have a reason to show herself. One that we aren’t talking about. She’s a supernatural being, for chrissake; what bigger omen is there than witnessing an angel? Wait, don’t get on the freeway yet.”
I stopped at the stop sign before the onramp, put it in Park, gave her my full attention. “Let’s hear it,” I said. “What’s the reason.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Sorry, but I’m not as smart as you, apparently.”
“Don’t get attitude with me. I’m not trying to make you feel dumb.”
“I know you aren’t. I’m sorry.”
“Maggie was standing on the off ramp. The only way to avoid her was to swerve back onto the highway. Back onto the highway, north on the 99. It’s just that simple, I think. She wants us to stay the course.”
“I don’t see why we should. Are you prepared to ignore the little boy whose life is in Paul’s hands? We need to get down there. After that crisis is resolved, if Maggie still wants us to drive up north, then fine.”
“How far are we from Fresno?” Norrah asked hintingly.
“You want to see Aaron?”
“I wish you were on the same page as me,” she said disappointedly. “Honey, I don’t think we’re supposed to go to Sedona. We’re supposed to go to Fresno. That’s what I think.”
“Like I said, are you prepared to let that little boy die?”
She peered into my eyes, touched my knee. “How do we know there is a little boy?”
I arched my brow at her. There’s a bold supposition if I ever heard one.
“Well…?” She said. “How do we know there is a little boy?”
“Because the cops say there is. It’s on the news.”
“You know it to be on the news? Or did one person tell you it is.”
“That one person is a detective.”
“Says who, him?”
“Whoa-whoa, are you saying that all this shit is made up?”
She swayed her head in a gesture of maybe maybe-not.
“Why would Maurice make it up?” I said. “To what gain?”
Norrah cupped my cheek. “You can be very naïve, hun. I’m not saying Maurice made it up, but that someone made up Maurice. Maybe. And who might do that?”
I nodded. “Paul would.”
“Yes, Paul would. And why—”
“Ah!” I interrupted. “I think you’re on to something! What would Paul have to gain by lying to us? This very thing, that’s what. Us driving out to a place we don’t need to be: Arizona.” Some of my momentum fizzled just then. “But how does that benefit him?” I had an idea. “Just a sec, I know how to settle this.”
I pressed Voice Activation on my steering wheel and said “Call Doug Hostetler.” He answered with a hello Jay, his voice emanated from all twelve of my speakers. “Doug, are you in Sedona?”
“Sedona? Why would I be in Sedona?”
I smiled at Norrah. She looked smug over there in her seat. My pretty little sugar-momma had a pretty good brain in that brown-haired egg of hers.
“I don’t know why,” I said to Doug. “Are you writing a novel about the missing twenty-three?”
He laughed. “Bud, I can’t write my way out of a wet paper-bag. Who’s giving you this information?”
“Doesn’t matter. Dude, you kick ass,” I said. “Take care.”
I hung up and the two of us smiled widely at one another. “I suddenly don’t feel so bad about driving the wrong way,” I said.
“I think you were driving the right way all along. And I’m skeptical that you would have driven this far without noticing you were going the wrong way. I should have seen a sign, even if you hadn’t. Providence, that’s what I think.”
“To Fresno. It’s not far at all, actually.”
“Why don’t you call Aaron to see if everything’s all right. Maybe he knows the reason why we’re supposed to go there.”
“Then he would have called me.”
“That’s true.”
I called Aaron anyway. It went straight to voice mail. I remembered him saying his phone battery was dying, so that would explain it. I left a message, saying that we were on our way up there, and give me a call when he got this. When I hung up I sought to pull up Yahoo Maps to see how far to Fresno. I glanced at my spread of iPhone apps and icons. The SMS text messaging icon had a little red number 1 on it. One unread text message. I tapped the icon with my nosy fiancé peering at my phone. I gaped at who the text was from, or who it was allegedly from: Maurice Esperanza. A man who probably didn’t exist. A man who was probably Paul. Typically you can read the first few words of the message under the contact’s name, but sometimes it says Attachment: 1. Such was the case now. I tapped it with Norrah leaning all the way over to my seat, totally in my bubble, my personal space. I cut her some slack, being that she was the cogitator between us at the moment, operating on some high level of intuition and reasoning.
A picture loaded, covered the screen. It was a girl unfamiliar to me. A young woman, mid-teens I judged. It was a head and torso shot. Her pretty face was dirty, and she was crying, making mud on her cheeks. The kind of picture that breaks your heart. The kind of picture you dread seeing as a parent.
Norrah gasped.
“Damn,” I whispered. “Fucking Paul. I really really hate that dude, you know that? Any idea who this girl is?”
“I’ve never seen her before,” Norrah said. “But I have a pretty good idea. Who was Paul supposed to seduce tonight? On the day after her fifteenth birthday?”
“Ah. I bet you’re right. Brooke Stanwick. Aw, man. Damn. Aaron is going to be devastated.”
“Yeah, Aaron being devastated is what matters here, not what might happen to that girl,” Norrah said sarcastically. “I guess this answers the question why Fresno.”
“To help Brooke out,” I said with a nod, gazing at the girl on my phone. So this was the girl who Aaron wanted to rape, according to Paul. I could see why Paul would think that, being that his mind was totally fucked and perverse, and the girl was gorgeous, even being as dirty and harried as she was. And Aaron wasn’t ignorant of that beauty, he’d appreciate it. Even though he’d never violate another human being if he lived to be a million years old, he feared coming to feel that way about her. And so what if he thought she was attractive? She is! Doesn’t mean he should worry about liking her in a physical way. That ass-hat Paul, he really knows
how to get in someone’s head and tinker-fuck them into thinking they’re just rotten meat.
Such deep blue eyes she had, the whites unblemished and brilliant. They projected her emotions perfectly, and that emotion was confusion, with a tinge of fear. “And bonus,” I said to my sweetie, “I’ll get to shove my boot up Paul’s ass. It’s been a long time coming.”
I looked over at Norrah. She was deep in thought. She felt my gaze and looked over at me. With a sense of urgency she said, “Go. Go!” I pulled onto the onramp North, set the cruise control at 79mph. I brought up Yahoo Maps and entered Aaron’s address. It loaded. We were only nineteen measly miles away.
“Hun,” she said abstractedly.
I had a feeling I knew what she was thinking. For once I was on the forefront of problem-solving, of rationalizing. “I know what you’re going to say. Why would Paul send us that picture?”
“Yeah.”
“He went through a lot of trouble to keep us away from Fresno tonight, by tricking us into going to Arizona. And he undoes it all with a single text-picture?”
“Maybe it’s another trick,” she said.
“Brooke looking abused isn’t a trick. We’re supposed to go up there and help Aaron, I’m sure of it now. But yeah, I don’t get why Paul would send that.”
“Why don’t you give ‘Maurice’ a call, ask him why he sent the picture. Feel him out. We have that single advantage over Paul: he doesn’t know we know he’s Maurice.”
“That’s a great idea.”
Driving along the interstate I used Bluetooth to call our dear friend Maurice. God Paul’s a good actor. He even used police lingo well. He said all the right things. How does a punk-ass-shit his age know so much? And be so intelligent? By being guided by that satanic fuck, I guess. I don’t mind being outsmarted and outwitted by someone my age or older, but it stings when a kid Paul’s age is running circles around me.
“Maybe Paul will know we’re lying,” Norrah said. “Maybe he’ll know we’re driving to Fresno. He knows things, don’t forget that.”
I shushed her as the phone rang. Maurice answered. “Yo, Davis.”
“Sup, man? How goes it on the eastern front?”
“No developments. Still at a standoff with that asshole.”
“He is an asshole,” I said. “You got that right.”
“Almost here?”
“Still a ways off.”
“Just calling to give me an update? I appreciate that, buddy. Gracias.”
“Por nada,” I said. “Actually I was calling to see what’s up with the picture you texted me.”
“Picture?”
Norrah and I looked at one another. The dude didn’t know about the text-photo.
“What picture?” Maurice asked.
“Didn’t you text me a picture?” I said in an uncertain tone.
“Nah, man. Let me check…” He hummed as he checked his recent texts. Then, “No picture sent.”
“Must have been from someone else,” I said. “I wasn’t paying much attention. You know how it is, Maurice… she was giving me an old fashioned when the text came in. I had other things on my mind.”
“Old fashioned?” Norrah asked.
“You know, a hand job,” I said with a wink. She nodded.
“A picture of what?” Maurice asked.
I thought he’d have commented on the old fashioned. I guess not. His curiosity was piqued on the photo. Why should he care about a picture someone else sent? Unless the picture I received was supposed to be sent to Aaron. Or was sent to Aaron and then forwarded to me, or carbon-copied to me by mistake, or on purpose, or who knows how it happened. I was confusing myself.
I met eyes with Norrah, convening with her (if only with our eyes) on what to say to Maurice. She shook her head at me.
“The picture was of nothing relevant,” I lied. “I’ll see you around… what time is it babe?”
“A quarter to nine.”
“We should be there by midnight or so,” I lied.
Norrah gestured at me a forefinger and thumb (a gun) then pointed at herself, then back to me. I wasn’t sure what she was getting at.
“Making good time, huh?” Maurice said.
Norrah was looking impatient with me, still gesturing guns at both of us. Then pointed at the little speaker hole by the rear-view-mirror used for Bluetooth.
I mouthed “Oh!” to her, and nodded.
“Yeah, making great time. Hey bud, you’re going to laugh, but I fucked up, didn’t bring my nine millimeter. Norrah and I are unarmed. You got something we can use once we get there?”
“You call yourself a cop but don’t carry a gun?” He chuckled. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. We got it covered.”
“Great. I’ll let you go, you’re probably busy. See you soon.”
“Drive safe.”
I ended the call.
“You smart man, you,” Norrah said and leaned toward me, wrapped her arms around me.
“Don’t give me all the credit, it was your idea.”
“Yeah but I didn’t think you’d be that great at charades, especially after that sorry display in Yosemite.”
“Gee thanks.”
“Maybe it won’t matter, but don’t you want Maurice—Maurice, I’m saying his name like he’s not Paul—don’t you want him believing we’re unarmed? When we confront him, we’ll benefit from him believing we don’t have a gun.”
“Indeed, honeybun. Indeed. I wish I brought a second gun for you.”
“I doubt we’ll need one gun. Better safe than sorry, though.”
“So how about that old fashioned?” I said. “I don’t like lying, and I told Paul I got an old fashioned.”
“You’re a walking erection, you know that?” She laughed.
“Not the first time someone’s called me a dick,” I said.
“And it’ll be far from the last time. So what’s the plan?—drive to Aaron’s?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think he’ll be there? Wasn’t he driving around looking for Brooke?”
“I told him Brooke’s safe, remember? I said Paul’s in Sedona. Whoops, huh?”
“Good, then he’ll be home.”
“The picture, though,” I said and considered it. “Wouldn’t you think Aaron has this same picture? Can there be any doubt Paul took it to taunt Aaron?”
“Maybe it was meant for Aaron but went to you instead.” She reached to my lap and took my cellphone, began tapping the screen.
“Paul doesn’t make mistakes. And he checked his sent messages, there was no sent picture.”
“Whatever,” Norrah said. “Let’s go to Aaron’s.”
“If Aaron isn’t home, that will likely mean he did get the picture and is working on recovering Brooke. We won’t know where to go.”
“Maybe Deborah will.”
“Ah, yes. Good ol’ Deborah. Her Halloween costume will be a chick with a huge set of boobs. I wonder if Aaron has seen them yet. I bet they’re nice.”
“Yep, a walking erection,” she said and giggled. She brought her head down closer to the LCD screen of my cell. “Huh…”
“What?”
“Interesting. The picture he texted you, it has no date-time-stamp. Don’t they always?”
“Yeah. Let me see.”
She placed the phone before my eyes. Sure enough, no date-time-stamp. I had never seen that before. “What was it you said?—providence directed us north instead of east? Maybe providence got that picture to us.”