Journal entry from Tuesday, August 9, 2011

6:00 p.m. at Peppergate Ranch

I pace along the brick pathway sheltered by Peppergate Ranch's overhanging eaves. My skin's tingly as I wait for the temperature to drop below 100 degrees. Although Amber remembers the drive to the trailhead, she doesn't recall how to hike to the place called 'the Grotto.' So, she texted the teenagers who helped us with the protection spell at Peppergate Ranch. Thankfully, they agreed to guide us.

At the center of the courtyard, Kibbles sprawls underneath the Japanese Maple tree. The shadows cast by its trunk and crown lengthen and extend across the grass. Confident the oppressive heat is waning; I bang on the guestroom door to rouse Rose from her nap. Kibbles raises his head at the sound. His brown eyes meet mine and he rises to shake the leaves and dust from his fluffy body.

Behind me, another door creaks open. I turn and Amber steps outside her bedroom. She's wearing a purple t-shirt that matches her purple backpack, jean shorts, and Nike trail runners. As she turns to close her door, a grumbling Rose opens the guestroom door. I pivot to my sister - I mean - my mother. In the doorway, her fingers labor over her cell phone as she texts Christopher. Our cover story is we're taking Amber school clothes shopping, then out to dinner. Hope he falls for the ruse.

Amber crosses the courtyard toward us. Kibbles intercepts her as she reaches the overhand. Crouching, she hugs him and kisses his fuzzy head. "I'm sorry you can't come with us."

As Amber rises to stand, I stoop to scratch behind Kibbles's ears.

He follows as we walk to the double doors leading to the driveway. Amber is the last to exit and again apologizes for leaving him behind. I turn back toward the house as she's shutting the double doors. When they close, Kibbles lets out a pitiful whine.

We tumble into the rented Mini Cooper. As I slide into the front passenger seat, my leggings stick to the hot vinyl. Rose turns the AC on full blast and steamy air fills the car. In the back behind the driver's seat, Amber pushes the button to lower her window.

Rose turns the car around and I lower my window as well. As she eases the Mini Cooper down the long, winding driveway, I look out the passenger window at the vast reservoir. The hill where I saw Conlan stands out from the others with its boulder-rimmed crown.

When the car rounds a bend lined with mature oaks, the mysterious hill disappears. A rustic iron gate blocks our way when we reach the bottom of the driveway. Rose retrieves a grey garage door opener and depresses the button. Nothing happens, so she opens her window and tries again. With creaking and rattling, the iron gate retracts.

Near the driveway's entrance on the road sits Christopher's green Jeep Cherokee. He waves, then pulls alongside us as his window rolls down. "Thanks for taking Amber shopping for school clothes." His lips turn downward as he looks at Amber. "Kiddo, I'm sorry I haven't had time."

Sweat pools on my chest as I turn in my seat to see if Amber can play it cool.

She lowers her head. "It's okay, Dad."

Christopher looks at Amber, then his eyes move to Rose. His face is unreadable. "Have fun."

I'm frozen, afraid to say or do anything that might tip him off. Rose nods, then turns right onto the two-lane road.

My fingers and toes tap as we pass a blue sign whose white letters read "Welcome to Lake Manor." Tiny cottages flank the road. To the north is a white clapboard church, the source of the tolling bell I heard earlier. As we pass beneath an oak arbor, my hands drip with sweat. Twisting my fingers, I snap, "Can't you go any faster?"

Rose sighs. "We'll be there in five minutes." Like I'm a child.

When we drive out from under the oak forest's canopy, there are no more houses. Open space and sandstone mountains to the north, and the reservoir to the south. A quarter mile after we pass a dried-up pond, Amber directs Rose to hang a left onto another tree-lined street. We're driving along the foot of the mountains. After a half-mile, Amber tells Rose to pull over.

I jump out of the car, Amber at my heels. As she gestures toward a chain-link fence flanked by 20-foot oaks, I hear the driver's side door slam and a beep as Rose locks the Mini Cooper.

The savory scent of sage tickles my nose as Maxsim Kisilev and three teenagers step out from behind a tree. Digging deep, I remember their names. The tall, athletic Black girl is Noelle. The short Latina is Marisol. And the gay Black boy is Jonah. The girls are wearing cut-off jean shorts and crop tops. Jonah's sporting Lakers basketball shorts and a Kobe Bryant jersey.

Maxsim walks to us and inclines his head in greeting. The big Russian is wearing sturdy hiking boots, camouflage pants and a tight forest-green t-shirt, exposing muscular arms and abs so ripped I could bounce a quarter off them.

Jonah removes his backpack and retrieves a cannister. "Bear spray, in case there's a mountain lion."

Rose grabs my arm and gestures to Amber. "Wild animals? We're leaving."

Noelle tosses a six-foot walking stick between her hands. "We hike in here all the time and we've never had any problems. We're here to show you the sacred place."

Jonah kicks at the ground. "Amber told us about her brother. We want to help."

My sister-I mean-my mother releases my arm and points to Maxsim. "Why is he here?"

As Jonah shoulders his backpack, Maxsim gestures at him. "I'm bodyguard for Jonah Abernathy. His mother insist I accompany kids."

Amber leans toward me. "His dad is Marcus Abernathy."

Memories of movies featuring the handsome Black actor bubble to the surface. He's battling bad guys bare-handed. The baddies usually end up with broken bones or die painfully. An involuntary shudder runs through my core.

Rose nods. I'm guessing she's satisfied with Maxsim's reason for joining us.

Marisol stands silently and stares at the trail. She somehow looks older than when we first met, but before I can move in for a closer look, she marches toward the darkened forest. The other teens follow, with Amber trailing.

The Russian's deep voice cuts through the oppressive air. "Stay close together. Do not leave my sight."

Noelle groans. "Yea, whatever."

My bullshit detector is off the meter. I've told my fair share of whoppers over the years. My daughter and her new friends are hiding something. If I weren't a shit parent, I'd grill Amber and get the truth out of her.

Rose grabs Amber's arm as she tries to join the youths. "When this business is done, I want the truth."

Amber nods and sniffles as my sister - I mean - my mother releases her.

I glance back to find Maxsim bringing up the rear. He's scanning the trail and the brush, but for what, or who?

As we walk into the canopy's shade, the temperature drops 10 degrees. I inhale the warm, savory scent of summer. Sunlight peeks from heavy boughs to dapple the sandy trail with splashes of caramel.

A warm feeling spreads through my heart. These kids believe we can find Conlan. I'm not alone. I pass under an oak whose trunk must be 6 feet wide. A burst of wind scatters leaves into my hair.

With the breeze comes a whisper. "Welcome sister."

I jerk my neck to see if anyone's spoken, but the teens are walking, and Rose is silent by my side. Am I hallucinating from withdrawal? But that can't be right, not when I'm taking Suboxone. Maybe the greeting is a sign that I'm on the right track to reunite with my beloved boy.

With a grin, I tap Rose. "Let's catch up to these kids."

For a short girl, Marisol walks fast. We match them at a brisk pace and hike the thin trail for 15 minutes. Dense oaks overhanging the trail and thick brush make it impossible to see more than a few yards ahead.

The trail begins to slope upward, and we ascend a low hill. When we reach the top, we stop under the last oak. From our vantage point, the trail continues down the hill to cross a dry creek bed. Beyond the creek is a sunburnt meadow a half mile long. At the northwestern end of the meadow looms a shadowy mountain.

Amber removes a water bottle from her backpack and offers us a drink. "I brought some for both of you."

As Rose and I take a swig, Noelle gestures to a bush with oily green leaves under the oak. "Watch out for the poison oak."

A solemn Jonah adds, "Leaves of three, let it be."

Noelle punches Jonah in the arm and laughs. "If it's shiny, watch your hiney!"

Maxsim stands silent a few feet away. He's using expensive-looking binoculars to scan the meadow. It's steamy as fuck, and he's not drinking water. Damn, is he ex-military?

I want to run, but the heat assaults us as soon as we leave the shelter of the trees. We walk in silence across a dusty plain filled with dried brush spattered with rusty pincushion flowers. With each step, our destination, a towering sandstone mountain, comes more clearly into view. Miraculously, green bushes sprout from crevices in the stone. Now and then I glance back at Maxsim, silently bringing up the rear.

After a quarter mile, we begin a gradual ascent up another low hill. The trail is lined with 12-foot-tall bushes that block the cliffs from view. As I brush past the brush with its forest green, tapered leaves folded like tacos, they release the smell of peanut butter.

Ahead of me, Jonah turns and walks backward a few steps. "Laurel sumac. Smells great, but they explode during a fire."

Despite the heat, I shudder.

Within ten minutes, we reach the summit. The main trail continues northward, but Noelle gestures west toward a two-story rock formation. She moves to an animal path leading toward the stone. "Hope nobody is claustrophobic."

Rose grunts. "Let's get on with it."

We hike toward the boulders and follow single file through a narrow slit to enter a boulder maze. The air is sticky, hot, and heavy. The trek across the meadow soaked my shirt and pants with sweat, so there's nowhere for it to go but drip along my arms and legs. Amber's in front of me, so I unzip her backpack, remove the water bottle, and drain it.

She turns to retrieve the empty container as we reach a bend in the boulder maze. After she stows the water bottle, we continue along an up-slope into a series of switchbacks.

For fuck's sake, we've been walking for an hour! "How much further?"

Jonah's voice cuts through the stagnant air. "Another half hour."

I grumble as we shuffle along what's beginning to feel like a death march.

Rose leans to touch her shoulder to mine. "Sacred places are hard to find, even harder to reach."

I fight to keep from screaming. This better be worth the wait.

True to Jonah's word, we exit the stone maze within a half hour to find a natural amphitheater surrounded by the cliffs I glimpsed earlier. The sun's waning rays cast a soft haze around the sandstone columns. Shadows intersect with brilliant sunbeams, alternating between light and dim, clarity, and obscurity.

Movement on a boulder jutting out from the cliff catches my attention. Squinting, I find a stone face. Two deep pits for eyes, a jagged bulge of a nose, and an angry slash of a mouth.

Rose squeezes my shoulder. "It's a hex. Someone's bound to the stone."

From behind us a man speaks. "After you, ladies."

My breath catches in my throat as I turn to find Maxsim. Fuck me, I forgot he was there.

Marisol leads us northeast across the amphitheater. Crickets chirrup in a chorus. A flock of quail at the basin's center erupts in panicked peeping as they scatter at our approach.

The Latina stops when she reaches a lone oak at the eastern-most edge. Its trunk splits into three large branches in a formation like the Hawaiian hang loose symbol. When we reach the sheltering crown, the teenager asks us to sit in a circle.

Maxsim positions himself between our group and the amphitheater. The young people are already sitting cross-legged by the time I lower myself to the ground. A sharp rock pricks my ass, so I raise my left butt cheek to grab it. As I throw it over my shoulder into the amphitheater's basin, Marisol removes a bundle of white sage from her backpack. "We'll look into the smoke to see the past, present, or future."

Noelle produces a lighter from her backpack and flicks it to spark a thin flame. Touching the fire to the tip of the sage bundle creates more flames. I inhale a sharp, savory scent.

We wait a few minutes as the sage tip burns, then Marisol exhales to extinguish the blaze. Puffs of white smoke waft from the bundle. "Breathe with me and look into the smoke."

The amphitheater falls silent as the smoke condenses into a dark ball. My breathing deepens and flows rhythmically, like I'm being breathed.

Smoke spreads in inky darkness across the amphitheater, blocking the setting sun's rays. Marisol speaks a name, "Graciela Hernandez."

My vision blurs and my intuition screams, Get the hell out of here, but I'm glued to the earth.

After what feels like hours, but is probably mere minutes, the smoke clears. Instead of our circle under the oak, I'm standing atop a cliff overlooking the San Fernando Valley. Strong winds whip up my hair and dry the sweat from my body.

Angry voices bring my attention to the north, where nineteen people wearing dark hoodies surround two teenage boys. The scene zooms in, and I recognize the youths as the two who stayed outside with Maxsim on the day we executed the protection spell. The short blond is Seth, and the chubby Latino Luis.

Under the setting sun, the strangers shove and push the boys along an eastward trail, toward a looming sandstone formation. Stacked columns rise thirteen stories skyward.

Anger erupts from my core. Where's Conlan? What the fuck is happening?

A scream jolts my attention. The vision of the kidnapped boys telescopes to a pinprick, then expands to the Grotto oak.

Marisol is standing, her hair mussed, and her features pinched. Shakily, she points east. "They've got my brother and Seth! We have to help them!"

The teens jump to their feet and the Grotto erupts in shouting. Maxsim moves to the youths and raises his hands. "Calm yourselves. I'll rescue boys."

As I rise to stand, Rose grabs my hand and eyes the Russian. "I'm calling 9-1-1." She uses my leverage to help her to her feet, then retrieves her cell phone from a pocket. As she punches in the numbers, her eyes grow wide. "There's no cell service!"

As Rose mutters Celtic curses, I realize no one's asking Marisol who "they" are.

AUTHOR NOTES

Banner photo of the meadow and mountains taken by the Author

Playlist A Dedication by Washed Out

https://youtu.be/EfJxNKY8Iy0