Roxi's Mountain

Boots laced and tied; ignition is turned to where the motor comes to life. Headlamps on, his first stop is across the street from the Cadbury apartments. A cup of coffee close by, pressed between lips is a lit cigarette. Checking his watch, he’s got a handful of minutes left to himself. He thinks about Jane, the good parts anyway. Having another drag, sees Vincent walking across the street towards him. Poking his head out, Benny says, “Morning.” Stopping just short of his longtime friend, Vincent peers at his worn boots and lingering over the cost of new ones, he looks up at Benny and asks, “How are you doing?”

“Smoking a lot if that tells you anything.”

“That’s not good.”

“Yeah, I know.” Flicking the ash away, Benny asks, “You ready?”

“Pretty much.” Looking over his shoulder at the apartment complex he calls home, Vincent walks around the front of the rig which gives Benny time to have one more puff before snubbing out his smoke.

With Vincent seated and locked in, Benny checks the side mirror before pulling away from the curb. The sky is dark, but cloudless. It has been days since it rained and feeling how dry the air is, Benny makes a left on Maple. Keeping the rig moving towards the outskirts of town, up ahead and dark against the deep blue background is Roxi’s mountain. Back when he was twelve, mom showed him a photograph of a man smiling at the camera. This is your father. He was part of the pickaxe crew that was sent ahead to clear a path around Roxi’s mountain. A mile in, a landslide took him from us. Anyway, you keep good care of that. He bought a frame with his pop bottle money and put the photograph of dad on the shelf by his bed. So many nights did he lie awake wondering what dad was like. If he would be proud of him. Then one summer day, Uncle Red showed up. It felt good that a man was around to teach him stuff. A month after, Vincent and his family moved in next door. His age, they were inseparable. Hanging a right onto Windsor Drive, sees that Vincent has his eyes closed.

Tired himself, what comes to mind is Freddy walking inside his office only to say that the cops were here. Routine questioning had him downtown where a plainclothes detective showed him the surveillance video of Jane shopping on the baking isle when miss Purdy comes into the picture. The two embrace, and after they separate, Jane disappears. In disbelief of what he saw on that monitor, all he got in return was promises of the video sent to a special crimes’ unit. Until then, he was free to go. After being shown out, he called Vincent.

“It’s on all of the networks. Oh yeah, this came for you.” Handwritten on the front of the envelope is his name. “Go on, open it.”

He did, and there for him and Vincent to read are the words, “If you want to save Jane, be at the barricade at the end of Cranberry Road at sunrise.” Looking over, Vincent said to him, “I’m going with, and don’t give me any crap.”

After being dropped off, he got into his rig and drove home. What hits the hardest is seeing what is missing from the driveway. Impound is what he was told, and after walking through the empty house, stuck on the refrigerator door is Jane’s grocery list. He stared at it for a good long time before opening the fridge door. Grabbing a beer, found himself out on the back deck until sleep dragged him to bed. Checking on Vincent, there is a thread of saliva hanging off his lip. “Vincent, wake up. Vincent.”

Groggily Vincent rolls his head upright, “I need some air. Pull over for a minute.”

Once stopped, there goes Vincent. Cigarette lit, Benny gets out too. Looking at the tops of trees under a predawn sky, Benny has another drag and after blowing out the smoke, looks over to Vincent who has his hands planted on the hood of the rig. He should ask him what is wrong but holds off. Having yet another drag, Benny looks at Roxi’s mountain. Uncle Red says the mountain is cursed. That dad would still be here if they would have listened. But they didn’t, did they. Easing his mind by staring at the tendrils rising up from the red-hot tip of the cigarette, has another drag before he says to Vincent, “We should go.”

“You done smoking?”

“I am now.”

Behind the wheel, and after checking his watch, Benny shifts the rig into gear. Back in town, locomotive number nine is rolling to a stop at the Rosewood depot. Stepping out onto the platform, two men walk over to the usher unlocking the luggage compartment.

Needing a ride at 4:23 in the morning, O’Malley calls for cab service and after speaking quietly into the headset, follows up by speaking to a staff member employed at the Evergreen Inn. Conversation ended, O’Malley says to Lewis, “Cab is on its way, and I got us separate rooms at the Evergreen hotel.”

“Roger that. First stop is the Sherriff’s department.” Cab pulling up, soon after both are climbing cement steps up the glass door. Pressing the button activating the intercom system, a tinny voice squawks, “Sherriff’s department.” Camera pointed right at them, Lewis says, “I’m Lewis, and this is O’Malley. We’re here to see Sheriff Taylor.”

“One moment, please.” Seconds turn into minutes, and then, “I’ll buzz you in.”

On the other side of the door is a policeman. “Show me some identification.” Wallets out and license handed over one at a time, the policeman says to them, “Stay to the center.” At the end of the hallway is an open door.

He is mean looking. Sour in sitting behind that desk. With nothing to bask in, comes his sharp tone. “Heard about you.” There is no love felt in the man’s words. “Good. That saves us from going through formalities.” Gruff and to the point, the sheriff puts his elbows on the desktop. “Folks around here are afraid, and they got good reason to be. What’s worse is now I got weirdoes coming and going. Ghost seekers, they call themselves. Paranormal junkies. And now here you are. What’s out there that none of us can see except you?”

Brought up to never to lie, Lewis tells the sheriff, “I just got here, so, I don’t know.” It takes a minute for the sheriff says, “Alright then. Go on now, I got a pile of paperwork to do.”

 

Once out on the street, Lewis says, “I think we should pay miss Purdy a visit.” O’Malley calls for a ride, and within minutes, the two board a cab. “Where to?”

“420 Cranberry Road.”

“Oh. Hold on. I got to call this in.” Phone in hand, fingers start tapping out numbers. “Yeah, I got two wanting me to drive them out to miss Purdy’s.” Eyes dart to the rearview mirror, “I can take you as far as the mailbox. The rest of the way is on you.”

“Why is that?”

“Bossman didn’t say. So, what’s it going to be?”

“Take us there. And this is for your troubles.”

Two crisp bills is all it takes, and once they are beyond the signal lights and all of the four way stops, eventually the cab turns onto Cranberry Road. Of the few houses there are, most, if not all have wood split and stacked close by. Seeing this brings on having a woven blanket wrapped around shoulders while wiping away the fog from the window glass. Of reaching for that book on the shelf before cozying up in that easy chair next to a lit potbellied stove. Casually giving Lewis a glance before looking ahead through the windshield, the cab driver flicks his eyes to the rearview. “Another mile to go.” “Alright. Thanks again for running us out here.” “If it was on me, I’d take you on in.” Eyes unwavering in the rearview mirror, O’Malley sees the rage hidden behind thin walls. “It’s okay. We’ll manage.” After saying this, O’Malley gives Lewis another glance and plain to see is that she’s talking to him. What she is saying is what he wants to know and as the cab begins to slow, looking to where they are at, there is no missing the oversized mailbox stenciled with the numbers, 420.

Rolling to a stop this side of the mailbox, the tab is quietly taken care of. During the transaction, Lewis steps out of the cab. “He’s in a hurry. Are we good?” “Yes sir.” “Have a good day.”

Done watching the cab driver make a three point turn, both turn away and start walking up the driveway lined with ancient trees showing off their massive roots looping out of the dirt like a dragon’s tail. Above them, a bird is circling high above the treetops. “Must be something dead out there.” “Yeah, I was thinking that too.” Further along on their walk, O’Malley checks on the whereabouts of the bird circling overhead only to see that the bird is nowhere in sight. Dining out tonight, to begin the meal, juicy eyeballs are pecked clean from eye sockets that leads to a mouthful of squirming maggots clinging to a hunk of meat that is quickly swallowed. It is just the way nature works and knowing he needs to be grateful, up ahead is a massive log house. “Looks like a resort.” “Let’s go see if anybody is at home.” Up the staircase and walking over to where the two standing in front of the main door, Lewis knocks.

Answering, is a twenty something year old. O’Malley starts to say who they are but is silenced as she puts a finger to her lips. After making sure the two of them understand that it is quiet time, the young lady beckons them inside before quietly closing the door. Led down a hallway made out of planks of sawed timber, O’Malley recalls the last time he went camping. Of him gathering feathers that were eventually tied to white pine whittled into arrows. Wishing he had that full quill and bow, his headset starts acting up. Run systems check. New device found. Uninstall hardware. Unable to access. Goodbye. S**t. Taking the headset off, hands it to Lewis who gives him a stunned look before handing the headset back. They told him he was the first to undergo this kind of integration. He and his new thought talked about things. Said it was part of him now, and that it would never go away. Until now. Keeping his eyes on the twenty something year old, clear to see is that she is heading straight towards a massive door encased in river stone. On her approach to, the massive door arcs open on heavy hinges. Following after, once over the threshold, there are hundreds, if not thousands of rose bushes. The path walked is covered in fallen rose petals and looking to, what comes into view is a gazebo. Eight steps up to the deck, the twenty-something year old walks over to the railing. Walking up to either side of her, the twenty something year old says, “Within this space, he cannot hear us. A gift from Mother.” What said carries a heaviness that has Lewis asking, “Who’s he, and who are you?” 

“He is an evil wizard who wants Mother’s hand in marriage. And I am her child who will never call him Father.” A moment passes. “Come, let us sit.”

In the middle of the gazebo is a firepit surrounded by a three-piece concrete bench. “Please,” she says. Once seated, the twenty something year old says to them, “This too is allowed for it brings misery to my soul.” That said, the twenty something year old pulls out a small coin purse and after the clasp is undone, a powdery substance is poured randomly over the bed of lava stone. At first, nothing happens. But that changes when thousands of blue particles take to the sky. Oddly looking like miniature fireflies, the particles form a giant circle. Around and around goes the aerial display to where attention is drawn to the inner circle where row after row of armored men are seen on horseback. A horn is being blown as four dismount. Daggers and swords within reach, and with heavy shields upon their backs, each of the four walk into a cave. Once the last of the horsemen is out of sight, the particles dive upon the rocks below. 

Looking to Lewis, and then to O’Malley, the twenty something year old says quietly, “Those four horsemen were my guardians since birth. I begged them not to go but loyalty had Clarence saying they must. It pained me to hear this, and with eyes full of tears did I ran to mother who said to me. Brave you must be. Once said, Mother fades away.  And no sooner is Mother gone, the wizard shows himself to me. A short fellow, maybe waist high in cloak and pointy hat, it is his yellow eyes streaked with red vines that held me in place listening to him saying that four shall go two at a time. Three worlds. The dark forest where within is a brass key. Once in hand, the spell is broken. He demanded that I repeat what he said to me. So, I did. Four shall go two at a time. Three worlds. The dark forest. A brass key. Once in hand the spell is broken. Once said, everything fades away. The next thing I know is me waking up here. On the table beside me is a book containing the bloodline of Father’s Kingsmen. That for every century hereafter, four shall enter the first of three worlds. To the dark forest they must reach. Find the brass key, and once in hand, all of this will be over.  Many have tried, and all have failed. And, as it stands, I am down to the last four names on the list.” Drifting from one face to the other, she says with chin held high, “Kingmen you are. The last of the last of your kind.” Running through O’Malley’s head is that four will go two at a time on their quest to find a brass key. Three worlds before the dark forest stand between them and keeping in mind that many have tried and all have failed, O’Malley looks towards Lewis who is asking the twenty something year old, “How does Jane fit into this?”

 

With head held high, the twenty something year old says to Lewis, “She will be used to lure Benny to his death.” Keeping her eyes locked on his, the twenty something year old continues, “The three of you need to stop this from happening.” Lewis hears her walking up to where she is looking out through his eyes, “This one needs to get home. How about we do that?”

“How come you never mentioned I was a Kingsman?”

“What and ruin the surprise.” Hearing her walk away and now charged with newfound energy, Lewis asks the twenty-something year old, “Where are the other two?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Out comes her coin purse and after clasp undone, a pinch is sprinkled over the lava stone. Like before, thousands of blue particles go around and around to where within the inner circle appears a burly man smoking a cigarette while off a ways is another giant of a man. Wanting to know the intimate details of each, O’Malley wills his headset to come alive and close to reaching the point of giving up, something within him clicks. Flooding in is all of the white coats hovering around him, the funny-looking one telling him of the improvements made. That he will feel different for a while and not to worry as this will go away soon. Fixated on the blue particles going around and around, O’Malley begins to count each one.

 

Noticing a strange look on O’Malley face, Lewis pays attention to the twenty something year old telling him, “Waiting for sunrise and your arrival.”

“How do we get to them?”

“I know the way.” That said, with a snap of her thumb and forefinger, the blue particles plummet to the lave stone that has O’Malley saying, “Twenty-three thousand and five is how many I counted before you snapped your fingers.” Her blank stare has O’Malley adding, “Guess that doesn’t matter.”

Smiling at O’Malley, she says to Lewis, “If you two will follow me.”

With the two keeping up with the twenty-something year old, seven miles away, it is the warning sign caught in the headlamps that has Vincent being shy about asking, but he does anyway, “You ever come out this way before?”

“I did one time. Got drunk while me and the mountain had a talk.”

“Glad I wasn’t around. How is your mom doing?”

“She’s good. Baking a lot. Keeps her mind busy.”

“What about Uncle Red?”

“Same as always.”

“Does he know we’re out here?”

“I left him a note. Told him that I didn’t want mom to worry.”

Knowing to well that grief is an ugly painful sore that never heals, Vincent says to Benny, “You know he is going to be pissed about you not telling him.”

“As long as mom doesn’t find out, I don’t care.  Looks like we made it.” Driving up to the barricade needing a coat of fresh paint, a mile up, and under tons of rock and debris, is dad and the rest of the pickaxe crew. Left with a photograph, Benny is not sure how he feels about being so close. Troubled, he parks the rig and gets out. Cigarette between lips, holds off from lighting the tip as he and Vincent walk towards the barricade. Looking Vincent’s way, Benny says to him, “Sun’s about to heat up the sky.”

Looking east, Vincent says, “It’s supposed to be a hot one today.”

Cigarette lit, Benny turns his shoulders to the road lying beyond the barricade. First dad, and now Jane. Who’s next has Benny wondering who is behind this when what starts to rub is that no one is driving up the road. Checking the time against the glow behind the ridge, a sinking feeling develops in Benny’s gut. “Morning’s about here and there’s not a soul in sight. Makes me wonder if we’re going to be stood up.”  

“I’m thinking they are going to show up right at the last minute.”

“Knowing how they took Jane, that’s a possibility.” That said, Benny stares at Roxi’s mountain looking tall and menacing. Thinking back to that day when he drove out here, attention falls on the tendrils rising from the tip of the cigarette when a chill runs up his back as the first rays of sunlight break over the ridgeline.

Filled with an overwhelming dread of being led on a wild goose chase, all of that changes when a firestorm of blue particles swarm around and around to where two men step through.

“Hello, I’m Lewis. And this is O’Malley. We’re here to help you rescue Jane.”