Chapter VI
Julian Triton vs. the Psychic Detectives
“What are you
doing?” came a voice from outside the competitor’s tent. The voice belonged to Lena’s sponsor’s
representative Mona Hyde. “Girl, you
need to be ready to surf the heat of your career and you’re just looking at a
dead cell phone.” The word dead made
Lena start. Partly because she realized
that she hadn’t turned her cell phone on after her last surf but, more eerily,
partly because that feeling she had for her boyfriend had changed almost at the
instant that Mona arrived.
Before she
could shake the feeling, Mona had grabbed the phone from Lena and replaced it
with a contest jersey. “He always calls
on contest days,” said Lena.
“Look. I’ll talk to Sinjin if he calls. Right now you got to get back into your game,
win this heat and make all the girls who read the magazines and wear your
clothes proud of you!” A horn sounded
the call to the beach for the two wave warriors, Lena Lake and points leader
and last year’s World Champ and current points leader Lauren Hogue. Lena could win the contest by not falling on
three waves and could take the points lead and give Hogue a challenge for this
year’s title with a strong performance.
“Oy, Lakie,”
it was Lauren Hogue waiting for her at the shoreline, “were you partying too
late with the sponsors last night? All
the better for me.”
“Five years,”
was Lena’s reply. And before Hogue could
make sense out of it, the horn sounded, the crowd roared, the cameras flashed,
and two great friends became fierce competitors.
As the two
surfers paddled out into decent seven-foot waves, Mona Hyde tried to shake the
cobwebs out of her head and focus on the contest. She, unlike Lena Lake, had stayed late at the
sponsor party and had a blast. As she always
did, Mona fretted contests and tried to busy herself with mundane tasks between
wave rides. She got Lena’s cell phone on
before she realized it and minutes later, heard the message indicator beep.
“Nice wave
Hogie,” said Lake.
“I’ve known
you longer than five years, Lakie,” said Lauren as she paddled back out and
pulled up on her board next to her friend and rival.
“What?” said
Lena, watching the horizon; she had priority for the next wave.
“You said
‘Five years’ just before we paddled out.”
“It’s my
anniversary, me and Sinjin,” said Lena turning.
“Five years
and you’ve probably spent a total of 100 days together, aw shit!” This was a commentary on Hogue’s part as she
saw Lena take off and destroy the wave. It was going to be a long 30 minutes. As Lena took off on the wave, a right, she had a strange feeling. She’d always been able to feel things and
felt like she had some unfair advantage because of it. While growing up, things never seemed to
surprise her. Things like deaths in the
family, relationship turns, problems. It
felt to her like she was on autopilot and that she was supposed to, instead of
competing in a surf contest for $15,000, be feeling these strange emotions.
There were
tears in her eyes as she returned to the lineup. Lauren Hogue caught a glance at her as she
took off on her second wave. Then the
swell stopped for a few minutes, enough time for the competitors to learn that
the contest was already won on Lake’s perfect-10-scoring ride. This was now a battle for points.
“Anniversary,”
said Lauren absently.
“He’s not
here,” replied Lake.
“He’ll
call.”
“No. He won’t. I can feel him. He’s right here,”
said Lena holding her heart, “and he’s gone.” Then Lake was gone on a huge wave that she’d been tracking without Hogue
noticing.
“God, you’re
scary when you’re in the zone,” said Lauren Hogue, World Champion and friend,
to the space that Lena had just left.
In San Diego,
California, about equidistant from the Hossegor contest and the now sunken island
of Vero, things were happening. Pre-programmed e-mail messages were being received at the police, shore
patrol and lifeguard stations. They were
from Arthur Drake, Byron Witt, Michael “Sinjin” St. John and William “Shakes”
Shakesbury. They were all similar and all sent to the same chain of
organizations. The language was serious
enough to be taken as a hoax for a few hours. That is, until the storm hit the cable news channels, the weather
reports. Then the messages were
re-read.
The final horn
sounded and the women paddled for shore. Lena Lake was the winner and likely points leader but her head was miles
away. The two friends and competitors
hugged with their free hands with surfboards on the other. Cameras clicked, the crowd cheered and Lena
dropped her board and gave Lauren Hogue a long, tight embrace. “I love you, Hogie,” she said. There were tears in her eyes as she strode to
the media tent.
Hyde
intercepted her. “Lena, there’s a
message.”
“I know,” said
Lena and she gave another great bear hug to her handler.
“McManus! I’ve got something for you.” Darin McManus didn’t like the sound of that
voice. He never did. It belonged to his supervisor at National
Homicide, a quasi-governmental organization, and it never seemed to bring good
news. “What’s new with the McDougall
case?” It was the same voice, now with a
pair of bloodshot eyes and an overweight snarl to go with it.
“I’ve come up
with a few scenarios, sir. The shipwreck
is plausible and the coin could very well be real…” said McManus.
“What about
the surf angle?” asked Ted Howard, career cop.
“McDougall
surfed and so do his friends.”
“Did,” said
Howard.
“Did?” asked
McManus.
“Dead,” said
Howard. “All of McDougall’s friends are now dead. Looks they were chasing big waves but there’s
an interesting wrinkle, a deadly one.”
“Big wave
surfing, sir?”
“Haven’t you
heard of big wave surfing? Laird
Hamilton?”
“Fifteenth
century Scottish duke, but what has that got to do with it?” asked Darin
McManus, holder of the highest IQ at the firm.
“Probably
something,” said Howard. “Read this – and get up to speed on surfing.”
“I don’t even
swim.”
“Learn!”
snarled Howard.
The phone
message was similar to all the e-mails, now in the possession of National Homicide,
though this message was more personal… “Lena, it’s Singe. I don’t have much time.” The sound in the
background was like Mack trucks being dropped off skyscrapers but Lena could
tell it was a boat motor and the breaking of very, very large waves. “I’ve done a lot of things and never thought
of dying but, baby, I’m going to die. I
want you to know that I love you. I hope
my love will survive death but I don’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t spend enough time with you and I’m pissed off about
getting myself into this but trust me It needs to be done. I’m not talking about some quest for
waves. This is me ridding the world of a
bad thing. Remember!” Sinjin was yelling now over what seemed to be
commotion. “I love you Lena and if
there’s any way! Any way in the universe
to contact you again I will.” The
message faded into a very nasty sound indeed.
“It looks like
they all programmed e-mails to be sent at midnight last Friday. My guess is
that they knew there wasn’t much chance of survival but if any of them did,
they would delete the messages before they went out.” It was Darin McManus.
“And they
didn’t get back in time?” asked Howard. He was actually showing some emotion and, though he wouldn’t tell why,
it was because he knew Colm McDougall and had gone through a war with Byron
Witt.
“Probably. There is no way of knowing. The storm is so strong that there are no
communications.” There was a long pause,
uncomfortable for Darin McManus.
“All right,
son,” Howard faced away from McManus and stared out the window – he was seeing
something other than the street below. “You have a full fledged case and I know
you’re going to do well. You have a
sixth sense about murderers, don’t ask me how I know, I just know. Now, these men knew they were going to die –
be killed is more like it – and big waves had something to do with it but not
everything. You need to find the thing and the first place to look is with
loved ones. Men who know they’re going
to die leave messages for loved ones. Find them all.”
The flight
from Paris to California was long and quiet. Mona Hyde looked at Lena Lake who looked out the window. They’d both listened to the phone message
several times and were even now replaying it mentally, long since the phone’s
battery had died.
“I need to
find him,” said Lena to the window.
“What if
he’s-”
“Even then,”
replied Lena Lake. Mona thought that if
anyone could do it Lena Could. She felt
terrible for thinking it but she also thought that Lena had a serious chance to
win the women’s World Championship and at the Pipe Masters –the third jewel in
the Hawaiian Triple Crown – of all places, in two weeks’ time. If only she would. Mona wouldn’t ask. Not yet.
Oddly, Darin
McManus had always been muscular and athletic though he wasn’t totally
coordinated. He was tall and gangly and
afraid of the water, which made swimming difficult and, he imagined, surfing
impossible. But he only had to paddle
out 100 yards… Darin breathed deeply and
thought of the times he’d been saved by some inner strength, even better than
his physical strength. A knowing or a
feeling that he would be all right, as if he were being guided out of tight
spots. He hoped the feeling translated
to the water. Then he saw her. He was researching surfing, surf culture and
big wave riding. There, next to four men
and five huge bullet-shaped surfboards, stood five-foot-five, blonde, blue-eyed
and pretty Lena Lake. The man to her
left was William Shakesbury and on the right, with his left arm around her, was
Michael St. John. He knew that they were
in love but he put that aside to focus on her and the beautiful music in his
head. As he bent over, salt water
dripped from his nose onto the picture of the big wave riders. Water blurred all but Lena Lake who smiled at
the camera as if she had the world in the palm of her hand.
“No she’s not
doing interviews…” It was Mona Hyde. She
spoke on her cell phone as Lena Lake ransacked her presumed dead boyfriend’s
shaping room. “No,” continued Mona, “you
can imagine that she’s pretty bummed…”
Lena looked a
Mona who mouthed the words Esquire Magazine. Lena said, “That guy? Who does
all the stuff that he can’t do?”
“Are you the
guy who does all the stuff that you’ve never done and hate it?” asked Mona.
“Yes, that’s
me, Darin McManus.” All the agents at
National Homicide had cover jobs. McManus’ was as the writer of The Accidental Adventurer, a popular
somewhat regular column in Esquire Magazine. It afforded him time for his real occupation (finding murderers) and
provided an outlet for his immense curiosity. Esquire knew nothing of Darin’s other job; they found him an inventive,
humorous, self-effacing and technically superior writer.
“Look, I’ll
call you back if Lena’s interested but we have a service in two days and,” she
looked at Lena apologetically, “we might have the Triple Crown in two
weeks. Actually it’s three surf
contests.”
“Gimme the
phone,” said Lena. “Darin McManus, I
feel like I know you.”
“I’m afraid I
can only say I’ve read 200 words about you, Ms. Lake.”
“You’re doing
a story on surfing or this whole tragedy thing?”
“Oh, yes, I
mean no, I mean, please accept my condolences at what is...”
“Don’t sweat
it Mr. McManus. Big wave surfers want to
die, I think.”
“That makes sense,”
replied McManus.
“Do you
understand death Mr. McManus?” Lena Lake was looking at a design for a
spectacular surfboard with the words “for Killer” on it.
“Yes. Darin, call me Darin.”
“Call me
Lena. Darin? Have you ever seen someone die?”
There was a
pause. “Yes, Lena.”
“I thought
so.”
Meanwhile, back at headquarters, McManus said, “It’s some
kind of a funeral, sir.”
“Yeah, I’ll be
there too, McManus.” Darin tried to
connect why his boss would want to go to a surfer’s funeral.
“I knew Witt,”
said Howard in response to the look Darin tried not to show. “Good job getting the magazine to do a story
on surfers. Free trips to all the warm
water spots, too, I guess.”
“Yes,
sir.”
“You don’t
know me at the funeral but talk to me as if you’re a concerned stranger. I’ll introduce you to two, maybe three
widows. How’s the surfing coming
along?”
“Hate
it.”
“Good enough,
kid.”
Howard was the
first to speak. “You look a little out
of place, young fella.”
“I guess so,”
said McManus, “I’ve come to meet Lena Lake.” The women exchanged glances of the nature of “poor girl.”
“Oh, sorry,”
said Howard. “This here is Bonnie McDougall, this is Lynn Drake and I’m Ted
Howard.”
“My
condolences, ladies,” said McManus to three surprised faces. “Lena Lake told me
of your, and her, loss. I’m Darin
McManus.”
“The writer?”
asked Mrs. Drake.
“Yes, but I’m
not writing about this,” he replied.
“Someone
should,” said Bonnie McDougall. “I’ve read your stuff, Mr. McManus, it seems to
me you tell the truth and we need some of that.”
“The
authorities will get to the bottom of this, Bonnie,” said Howard.
“You’ll excuse
us,” said Howard as he comforted Bonnie McDougall a few steps away.
Darin looked
plenty uncomfortable. “Don’t worry
Darin, I’m okay,” said Lynn Drake, “in a way I’ve been preparing for this for
36 years.”
Darin nodded,
then said, “Is Mrs. Witt here as well?”
Mrs. Drake
chuckled. “Sharon quit being a surf
widow ten years ago. She’s out there
with her kids.” McManus followed Lynn
Drake’s point and saw a healthy woman holding two teenage boys, one on either
side of her and rising and falling with the swell. “That’s Lena and her buddy next to the Witts
and just about the rest of the surf community.”
McManus also
saw a striking person who, at the time he noticed him, caught his eye and
nodded. Darin felt like he knew the man
quite well though he was sure he’d never met him. This was also odd because the man seemed to
be performing the ceremony and had picked McManus out of a large crowd and
communicated with him silently all the while speaking and gesturing though the
ceremony, which was just ending, 200 yards out to sea.
On the beach,
drums began beating out a Polynesian beat. The crowd in the water began slapping the ocean to the beat. “Now comes the fun part,” said Lynn
Drake. In answer to McManus’s look she
added, “We’ve all been ordered, via e-mail from beyond the grave, to party for
six straight hours. Darin looked once
more out to the ocean and saw Lena Lake, the surviving Witts and five other
surfers paddle into a wave and, as one, ride it to the shore to hoots and
hollers.
Howard and
Mrs. McDougall had returned and Howard said, “Bonnie will introduce you to Lena
Lake. I have to go. Goodbye, dear Lynn. Take care of these ladies, Mr. McManus.” And he gave the signal that showed Mrs. McDougall
that Howard and McManus worked for the Firm as her husband did. It was going to be a long party.
Julian Triton
was in no mood to party. No mood at
all. In fact, he was furious. He had spent the better part of the last week
removing fragments of Michael St. John, shrapnel, St. John’s backpack and
pieces of wetsuit from various parts of his body. He was a tiny bit encouraged to know that
he’s passed two important tests: 1) that he could not be killed by high
explosives; and 2) that 200-foot waves could not tear his limbs off. But he looked a mess. He would be unable to show himself in human
company for a long while. Plus he had no
boat. And, more maddening, had lost two
friends/slaves and the best surfboard ever created. “Oh, we could have had so much fun, my boys
and I,” thought Julian Triton. He would
enjoy this piteous state of mind just long enough to gain landfall, feed and
get to work. He had plenty of work to
do, for he knew, as did Ted Howard, that men such as Sinjin, Shakes, Witt and
Drake left clues. And Julian Triton did
not need complications, people chasing him – how middle ages, really. “Of course,” he said out loud to the still
boiling sea as he rose and fell over 85 feet each 25 seconds, “those were the
best and they couldn’t finish me.” Of
course, Julian Triton had not yet had the pleasure of meeting Lena Lake.
“Lena Lake,
it’s so nice to meet you,” said Darin to possibly the most energetic and
beautiful woman he’d ever met – and under the circumstances that was saying a
lot.
“Nice to meet
you too, Darin. Are you having fun at
the Luau?”
“Yes, I’m
sorry to say,” he replied.
“Don’t ever be
sorry for having fun. It’s what we were
put on the planet for, Darin McManus.” It was the equally commanding voice of the striking man who’d officiated
over the surfer’s funeral. He was not
terribly tall, probably 5”10”, solidly built, very tan or perhaps Polynesian,
and in possession of a pair of eyes that looked like they saw through to your
very soul.
“Darin, this
is Malcolm,” said Lena.
“He only has
one name,” interjected Mona, “like Cher.” Everyone laughed, including Malcolm but, before anyone knew it he had
snatched Mona Hyde and lifter her onto his shoulders. Mona shrieked with delight while Darin
calculated the feat he just saw. In
under three seconds, Malcolm had traveled five feet and lifted a 138-pound
woman onto a standing position on his shoulders with one hand, and hadn’t
spilled a drop of his drink.
“Do I call you
Reverend?” asked Darin.
“No. Just Malcolm.” He carried Mona on his shoulders throughout
the conversation.
Lena wanted
Malcolm’s attention, so she stood between him and Darin. “Malk, when are you going back to
Hawaii?”
“I’m gonna be
there day after tomorrow.”
“Can I see
you?”
“After the
contest. I know you’re gonna
compete. I can feel it. You need it. After the contest come see me.” He turned, bent his knees and, straightening them slightly, shot Mona in
the air and caught her, again with one hand, and held her on his right
hip. “He gonna come too.” Malcolm gestured to McManus. “Needs to learn a lot about love and
death. Love and death. You gonna teach him some; I’m gonna teach him
some and it’s gotta get bad before it gets good again. But it gonna get good.”
“He thinks he
sees things,” laughed Mona. But Lena and
Darin weren’t laughing. They had an idea
what Malcolm saw.
“Now we surf,”
said Malcolm so the whole congregation could hear.
“At sunset?”
asked Darin.
“It was all
spelled out in an e-mail,” said Lena as a cloud of sadness covered her
beautiful face, which was half covered by her beautiful blonde hair. Again Darin McManus’ eyes met Malcolm’s and
the feeling he got was that all would be okay.
Night surfing
had been Shakes’ idea. The wording of
the e-mail was so awe-inspiring that the many who got it, attended the funeral
and had been friends were stoked on trying it. There were photographers from at least five magazines present. Another odd thing about Shakes was that he
left, in addition to a legacy of fun, at least 15 beautiful young girlfriends
saddened at his passing yet happy to party in his memory – and they all not
only knew each other, they got along. “Aren’t you putting on a wetsuit?” asked Lena of Darin.
“I don’t have
one and I only tried surfing once, two days ago.”
“Good, you can
paddle out with Mona on her longboard.” The ride wasn’t spectacular but it was fun. Darin did well enough that Mona jumped off
halfway through the ride. Actually she
back-flipped off and Darin rode in to the shore and shot the board back to
her.
“He’s a
natural,” said Mona Hyde. And she should
know; she’d handled hundreds of surfers and three world champions. There was surfing followed by singing,
dancing, dining, drinking and hugging late into the night.
“You didn’t
interview my girl,” said Mona to McManus via cell phone. It was 5:00 p.m. the next evening. “Thanks for not being an asshole journalist
last night. You’re a very nice and
polite guy.”
“No, I don’t
do interviews. I just soak it all up and
write what comes to me.”
“When will
that be, McManus?”
“When it’s
ready.”
“Well I don’t
think you’ve seen enough of the culture yet, Mr. Accidental. How about a trip to Hawaii? We’re flying out at eight.”
“Tonight? I, I would, I’d have to run that by the
magazine first…”
“Don’t sweat
it, Darin. I make teenage surfer’s
dreams come true. I work for the largest
surf culture company in the world and I have a magic card – with no
limit.”
“I’ll need to
pack…”
“No, you
won’t. I have access to clothes, boards,
gear and we own a house on the North Shore.”
“Of what?”
asked Darin.
“Please!” said
Mona, “just give me your coordinates and we’ll be there in one hour!”
“I’m going to
Hawaii, I’ve already cleared it with the magazine,” McManus told Howard. He was calling on a secured line.
“Good
work. I’ll forward you all the
e-mails. When do you leave?”
A horn
sounded. “In thirty seconds, by the
sound of it.” Darin hung up. He’d practiced the protocols, hell, he even
had them rewritten after he discovered a flaw in them, while still in
training. His intelligence hadn’t made
him popular in school or in training for the Firm. Another thing that annoyed fellow students,
teachers and superiors was that, when he got nervous and flustered, Darin
McManus had a habit of answering questions too quickly. Like, before they were asked. This gained him the nickname Psych – short
for, depending on whom you were asking, psychic or psycho.
If the flight
to Hawaii was not eventful, the shopping trips before and after were. Darin McManus felt like a rock star – or at
least a rock star’s nebbish agent. Everywhere Lena and Mona went, crowds parted, doors were opened and
merchandise changed hands. Darin came
away with two large duffels full of stuff he’d never be caught dead in at the
Firm– or the magazine for that matter. They were ensconced in The House before he knew that he was jet lagged
and he just blended in. This is what
every journalist – and spy for that matter – needs to do a bang-up job. Darin had spoken to the three widows at the
funeral – four if you count Lena. He was
developing an idea of what he was up against but experience and his sixth sense
told him to just keep gathering data and wait for clues. Plus it was contest week on the North Shore
and there was a lot to see.
Vampires
require anonymity to do what they do too. Julian had managed to stay completely out of sight on the cruise ship he
boarded in Mexico. Curiously, a number
of passengers had come down with some kind of anemia. The doctors were not pleased but not enough
so to cancel the trip – to Hawaii. He
even managed to find a computer belonging to the night steward, giving him
hours to practice his new skills at hacking and wave predicting. He’d managed to kill almost everyone who knew
about Drake’s tool so he felt pretty confident using it and he liked what he
saw.
Lena Lake
didn’t like what she saw and it was the same thing. “If this thing is right, a storm going to
drop huge waves on Sunset during the Hawaiian Open,” said Mona from over Lena’s
shoulder, with the tone of voice that many people get when looking a Drake’s
wave model. “Where did you get this
thing?” she added.
“Sinjin,” said
Lake, “and that’s not all. I’ve got a
box of his stuff I brought it with, and it all points to some mysterious big
wave rider. Mona, I need to read the
e-mail.”
“You said you
wanted to focus on the Hawaiian Triple Crown, “ said Mona.
“What if I
take the championship at the first contest, the Hawaiian Open?”
Lena rose as
the computer dinged with e-mail. “Okay,”
replied Mona, “what about the Eddie?” The Eddie Aikaiu is a big wave contest that relies on big surf. So big that if the waves aren’t larger than
30-feet between the dates of the contest waiting period, there’s no
contest. The waiting period was to begin
at the start of the season, the same time as the Hawaiian Triple Crown.
“Stoner! It’s invitational and I haven’t been
invited,” said Lena.
“Crack Head,
read your e-mail,” replied Mona.
Lena looked
back at the computer. “I’ve been invited
to the fucken Eddie!”
“And a
big-assed storm is gonna pound Sunset,” said Mona, “when the tour finds out,
they’re gonna have some decisions to make.”
“So do I,”
said Lena Lake. “Sinjin always used to
say ‘do your life when the surf’s bad, it’ll still be there’ remember?”
“Yea, Lena,”
Mona Hyde hugged her friend Lena Lake who was crying softly, “and you can read
the e-mail whenever you want.”
“Look, Gnat, I
don’t want my girl killed just because it’s good story!” Mona was on the phone with the Professional
Surfing Tour director.
“I don’t want
to kill anyone, Mona. It’s a nostalgia thing. There will be two big holes in the lineup and
your girl can fill them both. Lena Lake
is the real deal. She can surf the shit
out of big waves. I saw the vids. I
think it was your company who made them, come to think.”
“What about
the Open?” asked Mona. Nathaniel Bingham
was probably the most powerful person on the pro circuit and he could do what
he pleased with either contest.
“We’re gonna
do the Eddie on the biggest day, if this storm is a goer. We’ll just postpone the Open.” He was also a pretty cool dude and an
excellent judge of talent.
“If you think
she can hang then I’ll ask her.”
“We just want
an appearance, Mona. If she don’t want
to surf then she don’t surf.”
“She wants to
surf,” Mona told Gnat. But soon after
that she’s gonna find a killer, she thought to herself.
“Why, if it’s
80 degrees out, are we all dressed in jeans, jackets, shoes and hats?” McManus addressed the air but two kids who
were indeed similarly dressed –and paying video games – laughed.
“Winter collection,
dude. That’s what all kids in Wisconsin
wear, because of us,” said the first.
“We’re the
innovators, man,” said his friend.
“And why are
we inside on a great day like this?”
“Dude, you can
leave us alone,” said one. "You are completely hack proof.”
“Come
again?”
“We tried your
cell, your laptop and your briefcase,” said the other, “and you can’t be
hacked.”
“Are you a spy
or something?”
“Yes,” said
Darin McManus. “I can’t hide it anymore! I work for a secret agency and I’m looking for two drug dealers who are
posing as pro surfers but all they can really do is play video games and make
stupid conversation – but that’s all I can tell you or I’d have to kill
you.”
“Ha ha,” said
the other. “Yeah, if I didn’t have a
heat in, like five minutes, I’d have to neutralize your ass.” They laughed their way out of the house and
into the contest, giving McManus the time he needed to link up with the Firm.
The e-mails
were scary because they were backed up by real events even though some of them
sounded down right preposterous. The
details were pretty exact though there were four senders and multiple
recipients, including the widows, the police, shore patrol and lifeguards. There was one sent to Lena Lake and another
to Malcolm from Michael St. John. It
read:
I’m writing
this to my loved ones – that’s you Lena and you too Malcolm. My partners are doing this too, and sending
them along to wives and also the authorities in San Diego. I’m sorry to say that if you are reading
this I’m dead. The man who most likely
killed me is a vampire. I know how
stupid that may sound but its true. Shakes and I met him, we made a board for him and he kills people. Please don’t think I’m crazy or on something.
What reason do I have for lying at a time like this? Shakes and I think he even drank some of our
blood but we don’t know how. He is a
very strong dude and he surfs better than anyone I ever met, even me (haha
morbid, huh?). But this dude is a rough
character and I tell you this so that you will stay clear of him. There is a chance he’s dead too, as I’m
planning to take him with me if he tries to kill me. There is a box of stuff about this dude, and
a file marked “Killer” on my computer in the shaping bay. I love you both. I am trying and will
continue to try and protect you. Please keep safe.
“And then it
says ‘With Love, Singe’ and that’s the last of him.” It was Lena Lake. She was sitting on the beach with Darin
McManus.
“It’s hard to
imagine,” said Darin.
“What,
vampires?”
“No,” said
Darin, “the love.”
“What do you
mean?” asked Lena.
“I just can’t
imagine someone loving you so much that he’d, um,”
“Yeah but he’s
gone now and I don’t know if I have enough love to finish it.”
“The
contest?”
“Yeah, and the
rest of it too,” said Lena. “After I win
this thing tomorrow, I’m going to take the box and see Malcolm.”
“I want to,
um, help you,” said Darin, “that is if you’ll let me.”
“See,
Darin? That’s love. You’re a quick study.” They leaned back in the sand so that their
shoulders touched and watched the contest.
After a good,
entertaining heat, there was an announcement on the loud speaker, from
Nathaniel Bingham himself. “Your
attention please. If you think today’s
waves were big, you’re going to love the news I have. In five hours, 7:00 p.m., we will begin to
experience larger swell from a storm off the coast of Alaska.” The audience
cheered and Gnat continued. “This would
normally not be big enough to stop the women’s heats tomorrow morning or the
men’s semis tomorrow afternoon except that we think it might be big enough to
have the Eddie.” The crowd went
wild. “We are predicting 35+-foot surf
overnight and have called those invitees who aren’t already here. If all goes as we think it will, the Eddie
Aikaiu Big Wave Invitational will take place in 24-hours at Waimea. Otherwise the Hawaiian Open will continue as
before. Announcements will be made at
6:00 a.m. tomorrow. Sleep well.” People began a frenzy to depart the beach at
Sunset and make plans for the Eddie 300 paces down the beach at Waimea Bay.
“That sounds
like a big deal,” said Darin. “Is it a big deal?“
“Yes,” said
Lena as her cell phone rang. “And I’m
going to compete in it.”
This silenced
Darin as Lena took the call. It was from
Malcolm. “You gonna compete tomorrow so
I need to see you today,” said Malcolm.
“In the
Eddie,” said Darin. Then, “Sorry, I get ahead of the conversation when I get
excited.”
“And bring
that boy with you,” continued Malcolm. “We have some things to discuss, mostly
about surfing and some things about Michael but mostly about surfing the
Eddie,” said Malcolm.
“We’ll see you
in an hour,” said Lena.
“Winae?” asked
Darin.
“Do you even
know where that is?”
“No,” replied
McManus, “but I know we have to go there.”
Julian Triton
was feeling rested and healthy. He was
in a suite at the Turtle Bay Hilton on the North Shore, a totally booked hotel
but the unexpected – and unreported – deaths of two guests created an opening. Julian was fastidious about the bodies and
they most likely wouldn’t show up until after the Hawaiian Open. But, what was the TV telling him? The Open postponed for the Eddie? And for the first time, a woman invited. Lena Lake. “Delicious,” said Julian Triton as he unpacked someone’s bag and tried
on a rather garish, for him, Hawaiian Aloha print shirt. He needed to gain strength and he knew just
where to go.
Lena pulled up
to a building with a sign that said Red Crane Dojo. “Malcolm is ranked number three in the world,”
said Lena.
“Judo,” said
Darin. "That makes sense now."
“The quickness
and strength,” said Lena. Mona greeted
them at the door.
That makes
sense, too, thought Darin.
“Come in,
guys,” said Mona. “Do you want to do it
kid? You don’t have to but I know you’ll
probably want to.”
“I’ll surf the
Eddie tomorrow,” said Lena. They walked
through the dojo, two studios, a weight room and what looked like an herb shop,
and took a flight of stairs to the office and Malcolm’s home.
“He’s already
begun to talk,” said Mona as they entered a large room with hardwood floors,
silk brocade on the walls and an altar with candles and incense burning. To the left of the altar sat Malcolm. He smiled but his eyes seemed focused
elsewhere.
Julian Triton
was at the Turtle Bay Hilton bar. It
seemed that the entire surf community was in attendance. Those who weren’t scheduled to compete were
already drunk and those who might compete were nervously nursing beers. Julian was looking for a particular person. He knew Lena Lake wouldn’t be there. He was looking for more for a type of
person. A weak one. He began buying drinks for a gaggle of young
pros on the qualifying series, looking for one whose mind he could unlock.
“I don’t have
time to explain to you, Darin, so I’ll just begin. The women can fill in questions you
have. Now I’m gonna go deeper.”
“He’s going
into trance,” said Lena.
“The ESPN
comes in better that way,” giggled Mona. Malcolm picked up a bongo set and began playing them very fast. He slowed, almost imperceptibly, with closed
eyes, and slowed again until he was at the rate of a heartbeat. Then the beats became very slow and slowed to
a stop. When Malcolm again opened his
eyes, the candles picked up on his irises and reflected gold back.
“There is much
to say and much to do before you are safe and safety is why I am here, speaking
to you at this time.” The voice, though
coming out of Malcolm, sounded different to Darin. Mainly because the vocabulary and diction
were better. “But first, this man must
reveal the truth, to unburden himself with the truth.” Malcolm looked, if you could call it that, at
Darin. A strange feeling came over Darin
as he took in the look and felt the energy pass to him and flow out of
him. He was becoming at the same time
more relaxed and more aware. “Speak the
truth, my friend.”
“I have come
to write a story,” said Darin.
“And,” said
Malcolm.
“To find a
murderer,” said Darin.
“And.”
“To kill
him.”
Lena spoke up,
“How many have you killed?” she couldn’t help herself.
“Thirteen,”
said Darin.
“And,”
insisted Malcolm.
“I work for an
agency that I will not name. We track
the worst killers and…”
“And.”
“Eliminate
them,” said Darin. In the last six years
he’d never told a soul what he’d said in the last two minutes. And if felt good.
“Your secrets
are safe,” said Malcolm, “and there is one more to unchain before we can
continue.” Darin started. The women looked at him. “What do you feel for this woman?” asked Malcolm
nodding to Lena.
“Love.” Tears welled in the corner of each of Darin’s
eyes.
“You have
never felt love like this?”
“Never,”
replied Darin.
“And how does
it feel.”
“I am
confused.”
“I will tell
you,” said Malcolm. Instinctively each
woman put a hand on Darin’s shoulder. “You have never felt love. You do
not have a frame of reference for love. You know why.”
“I was not
taught properly as a child,” replied Darin. He began to shudder slightly.
“This is love,
Darin McManus. Welcome.”
“Now, we have
much to say about Michael and this murderer.”
“I didn’t
bring the box with all the stuff in it, that would help,” said Lena.
“It doesn’t
matter,” said Darin but he didn’t know why.
“He gets ahead
of the conversation,” said Malcolm with a smile and short laugh.
“It doesn’t
matter because we have something better.” With that, Malcolm’s head dropped and he inhaled like a slumbering giant
might. When he opened his eyes again,
after a minute of breathing, he looked upon Lena with great love. When he spoke, the diction was gone. “Baby…”
Lena welled
up. “Singe?”
“Yes,
baby. Now listen. There is a bad thing loose on this island, a
creature with a huge appetite and strong as hell. You’re safe as long as you are in sunlight,
ya know what I’m saying?”
“I think so,”
said Lena.
“This man,
these men will help you. They have been
sent for your protection.”
“To kill this
being,” interjected Darin.
“Dude, you’re
getting ahead of the conversation. Now
pay attention. I’m gonna try
something.”
“I see him!”
said Lena.
“Me too,” said
Darin.
“I never see –
oh my God – I see him too,” said Mona.
“Mona’s got
ESPN,” said Sinjin through Malcolm.
“Good one,
Singe,” said Mona and, realizing what she said, she quieted down.
“S’okay! Now,
we have a whole day free. This guy’s
planning to see the contest without being there. We gotta get the girls up to speed on the
wave and the boys building a surfboard.”
“Willi
Willi. What’s that?” asked Darin
McManus.
“It’s the
strongest wood in these islands and it’s like kryptonite to that fucker,” said
Sinjin through Malcolm. “Now Lena baby,
this wave is going to be a little bigger and a little heavier that you’re used
to.”
“A little?”
said Lena. There was a ten-minute
conversation that Darin didn’t understand about strategy, zones, take offs,
drops and poundings. Then there were
detailed instructions on where to find plans and wood for a death board.
Finally, Singe
took his leave, saying, “I love you – all of you. I will help you all I can. Listen and trust. Take care of the girl, Darin. Get sleep.
Tomorrow is a big day and tomorrow night we rumble! I’m out of here.”
“Where I
went?” said Malcolm.
“I’ll fill you
in,” said Mona. Lena and Darin were
asleep on the floor. The last candle had
just burned out.
The contest
day dawned to news that indeed the Eddie Aikaiu Big Wave Invitational would
preempt the women’s final. There was
also a lot of news and talk that Lena Lake would compete and the death of her
longtime companion, Michael St. John, in monstrous surf off the coast of
Peru. This was all sort of a haze to
Milton Yee. He knew he was involved with
the contest and that he had to be there. He thought he’d had too much to drink the night before – some rich dude
in a Panama hat had bought him a lot of drinks. Then he just sort of lost consciousness.
And Julian
Triton took over his mind. It was quite
easy for him, from his hiding place under the bed in a suite at the Turtle Bay
Hilton with the curtains drawn and a “do not disturb” sign on the door. He basically got to know Milton Yee, one of
the surfing world’s leading photographers, found his weakness and exploited
it. The rest was just about forcing
himself into the mind of the photographer and forcing Milton Yee out of his
mind. Yee was an exceptional subject
because his craft was second nature to him. In no time at all, Triton collected the necessary equipment, found his
access pass for the contest and was at Waimea Bay with his game face on. Another good thing for Triton was that not
many people bothered Yee when he was working so he didn’t need to engage in
needless chitchat. He had one reason to
be there, well, two really. One was that
he was a huge fan of monstrous waves and the other was to line up his next victim.
An all access
pass allowed Julian Triton, all dressed up as he was in Milton Yee’s body and
mind, to go anywhere to find Lena Lake. He wanted to size her up. Look
into her soul. Parse her psyche for fun
things to torture her with. And then kill
her. But, oh she was beautiful. He’d caught sight of her, talking to her
friend and handler Mona Hyde and an entourage of journalists. “It feels like he’s right beside me and I
know he’ll be there when I paddle out,” Lake was saying to an amazed throng of
cameras and people. “He sent me a
message, before he died” she continued. “‘Just go out and kill it,’ he
said. So I’m just going to go out there
and kill it.” She turned to look at
Triton/Yee as she said the last bit and Julian was impressed with the woman who
was challenging him. But not as
impressed as he would be in 15-minutes’ time.
Malcolm and
Darin were at the dojo with Lena Lake’s box of Sinjin’s life’s work. Namely the designs for a super gun for big
waves and his assorted thoughts on Julian ‘Killer’ Triton and how best to
destroy him. At this point they’d
finished roughing out the design with Malcolm’s vast tool collection that
really belonged in the Bishop Museum of Polynesian history. Malcolm was teaching Darin what he knew about
martial arts – which was a lot. “That’s
good. You’ve done some fighting for
sure,” said Malcolm, “but you’re telegraphing your moves.”
“You’re
cheating. You can read my mind!”
“So can this
Julian Triton or whoever he is,” replied Malcolm.
McManus tried
the move again and ended up upside down over Malcolm before being slammed
backwards to the mat. “Ouch.”
“Try again,
Darin. This time mask your thoughts but
don’t hide your fear. Turn it into
energy you can use.” This time it was
Malcolm, former Olympic Judo team member, number three in his division, and
shaman of sorts upside down. “That’s it!”
“Do you know
about this creature, Malcolm? What can
you see?”
“This one is
the best at masking his mind but we will find a weakness,” said Malcolm.
The waves just
kept growing. Each set seemed bigger
than the last. Several contestants had
already been saved by water patrol and one was in the hospital. A crowd of just about every one living on the
North Shore of Oahu, 1,000 other tourists and another 2,000 surf journalists,
field reps and surf fans lined the beach at Waimea or stood on the cliffs
overlooking the bay. Add to this, the
hum of helicopters, the squeak of sirens and the very loud pounding of the
waves and you had an intimately intimidating experience. And through it all waltzed Lena Lake. With an angelic smile on her face and a St.
John special Waimea Wave Killer gun under her arm, she gave people the creeps. Those who didn’t think she was totally insane
knew she was going to die. When her name
was announced, along with the three others in her heat, the crowd fell
silent. Lena Lake shook one competitor’s
hand nodded at another and hugged another who said, “Those boys are looking out
for you, Lena.”
“See you at
the trophy ceremony,” said Lena Lake.
He was
right. Sinjin and Shakes were looking
out for her. She felt them and could
almost hear them cheering her on and, once thought she heard a voice say
“outside!” and sure enough there was the wave of the day, right in front of
her. The fifteen-minute paddle had paid
off. Lena was regular foot and the wave
was breaking from left to right. It was
easily a 41-foot face. “Yes!” she thought she heard as she turned and stroked,
but she didn’t really need to, she was in the perfect position. After one stroke of each arm, up she jumped
and did battle with the chop at the top of the mother of a wave– the crowd
simultaneously gasped. She bent almost
in half and swung her frame up and to the left, regaining her balance and then
she was airborne. The crowd held its
breath yet again. She landed at an 86%
angle, speeding down the face of the wave, past three admiring competitors, and
shot to the bottom.
Julian Triton
had one of the better views through Yee’s 2,500-millimeter lens and even he was
impressed. “Isn’t she beautiful,” he
said to himself between clicks of the camera.
At the bottom
of the wave, the crowd finally found its breath and threw up a cheer that even
Lena heard. Mona Hyde opened her eyes,
finally, and was rewarded with a bottom turn that threw 1,000 gallons of
Pacific Ocean and took three seconds to execute at an estimated speed of 45
miles per hour. The white water was
catching up to Lena as she pulled up on the board and leaned on her right foot,
bringing her nose up. “No!” said an
equal half of the pros in the media tent. “Shit,” said the other half. Mona
closed her eyes again. Triton/Yee stared
gate-mouthed.
Lena Lake
stalled the board perfectly and allowed tons of water to curl over her – 25
feet over her. She disappeared from
sight for one, two, three… four seconds. The crowd was in a panic and the professionals and industry types were
silent. “Now!” It was Lena Lake, echoing the advice of her
lost lover. She crouched down on the
board and hollowed her back for the impact. After the water curled, it crashed just behind her and created
pressure. As the wave crashed, the
sound, like a bomb exploding, echoed off the cliffs and back into Lena’s ears,
reminding her that she was alive and then she saw daylight. The people who were still looking literally
screamed as Lena Lake shot out of the foam ball, stood up, dipped the board for
another short bottom turn and headed straight up the wave, launching herself
out and 20-feet into the air, as the final horn sounded. She landed on the Haleiwa side of the point
and had to be towed to shore by the lifeguards. The contest was essentially over. Lena Lake had done what no woman had done before; she caught and rode –
enslaved – a 41-foot wave, had been barreled for an unheard of five seconds, by
a 20-foot tube, and she landed an air at the end of the ride. The ceremony was bittersweet.
Lena’s
acceptance speech was brief. “I dedicate
my performance and this trophy to the two men who taught me the most about big
wave surfing and died doing what they knew was right. To Shakes who taught me to enjoy life and to
Sinjin who loves me still. I know you
two are laughing right now and I love you.” She and Mona disappeared in the crush of people. Julian Triton would be, if he could
experience the emotion, in love.
The women went
right to the dojo where Lena fall to a fitful sleep and the men finished
coating the big wave gun with resin – all but the nose. “She killed it,” said Mona, “they say her
ride was the best in years.”
“Weren’t you
there?” asked Darin.
“Yes I was
there! Just because I couldn’t look
doesn’t mean I wasn’t there.”
“She was
protected,” said Malcolm, “by a lot of love on both sides of the fence.” Malcolm never spoke of his gifts, he just
accepted the fact that he could see energy flowing out of people, read thoughts
and speak to the dead. It was something
that unnerved Darin McManus as much as it inspired trust in him for the strange
man.
Julian Triton
was back in his element; his own vicious body with the sun setting over the
blue Pacific. Pacific was an odd word
for the ocean that Triton was now viewing from his stolen suite. The storm that had brought the Eddie contest
was coming ashore in two days’ time and would bring even larger waves. Triton, of the handful of people who still
had access to Drake’s wave predicting machinery, was the only one who’d
accessed it in the last 24 hours. Only
he knew of the pounding the North Shore of Oahu and other north-facing islands
in the Hawaiian chain were in for. And
he couldn’t be happier. He knew from
stealing aboard Yee’s mind that there was going to be a party tonight at The
Temple of Venus, Oahu’s newest, swankiest and sexiest night club – and that
Mona Hyde’s company had rented it out for a party in honor of it’s biggest
client, Lena Lake. Triton had a
pass. Yee was so tired he wouldn’t wake
up for two days though he’d never forget the nightmares.
“The party is
at ten tonight. Lena can swing in at
10:30 or eleven and be gone by midnight.” It was Mona. The dojo had become
a sort of base camp. Food was cooking as
the sun set and Lena Lake, future women’s world champion, slept deeply. The surfboard was finished but Darin was
having trouble following the logic behind why they’d made it.
“This guy’s a
junkie,” said Malcolm, “he lives for surf. Kills for it too. He came across
these guys – Sinjin and Shakes – and taught them how to make boards for waves
no human could ride.”
“And they paid
the price,” added Darin.
“Yeah, well
now he gonna pay,” said Malcolm.
“But I can’t
surf well at all and you said you won’t surf anything over 20-feet,” said
Darin.
“Lena gonna do
it. It’s all planned, didn’t you pay
attention to last night?” asked Malcolm.
“You were –
they – were speaking in code,” said Darin.
“He’ll be
there, I can feel it,” added Mona. “Besides, if he’s a junkie for big surf,
then he’s going to have to be there. We’re raffling off the board that Lena rode in the contest today.”
“Then why did
we spend all day making this one?” asked Darin.
“You’ll see,”
said Malcolm. Then he added, “Wake the
girl up and let’s eat. At the party no
one drink anything but pineapple juice. At midnight we gonna to need all the energy we can muster.”
Lena Lake was
radiant in a pink and blue chiffon dress with lace trim, white stockings and
white go-go boots. The crowd applauded
for a full five minutes as she entered with entourage. There were people from every magazine, every
clothing company, board manufacturers, surfers, models and at least one
vampire. Though he wasn’t nearly as good
looking as he had been before Michael St. John tried to blow him up, Julian
Triton still turned heads. Lena had
retired to a table with Darin, Mona and Malcolm, when Malcolm tilted his head
to the right, blinked and announced, “He’s here.” Darin caught a glimpse of Triton behind
Malcolm, and had a feeling of cold, calculated calm, so unlike the fear he’d
felt on other cases. Killing killers was
a tough job and it took a lot of mental gymnastics. But Darin McManus had a new trick up his
sleeve.
As Julian
Triton approached, Darin McManus imagined a clear envelope over himself, sealed
it and held is emotions within. Julian
spoke, “It was a pleasure watching you surf today. Some of the best big-wave riding I’ve seen in
weeks.”
“I think I
would have remembered you, were you at Waimea today?” answered Lena Lake. She was flirting with the monster, as
planned, and didn’t show a bit of emotion other than a little sexual
attraction. Darin was impressed – she
could make a great cover agent if she wanted to.
“It seems like
such a loss to give up your beloved,” Julian paused here for effect and the
tension level increased just a little, “surfboard.”
“It’s no loss
really” replied Lena. “It’s for a good
cause and I’ve got an even better board. It’s in my van right now and I can’t wait to ride it.” In addition to the vocal and physical acting,
which is enough for mere mortals, Lena was now picturing the plans that Sinjin
had left for her. The trap was sprung,
thought Malcolm.
“Well, I have
come to inform you that I shall treasure your board for as long as it lasts,”
said Triton, “I’ve bought enough tickets
to ensure a mathematical edge.”
“Thank you,
I’m sure the Bishop’s Museum will be very happy. I don’t think I got your name…”
“That is
because I am thoroughly rude though overly civilized. The name on my credit card says James
Hamilton.”
“Pleased to
meet you Mr. Hamilton,” returned Lena. “This is Darin McManus.”
“The writer?”
asked Triton.
“Yes and no I
can’t surf.”
“Actually he’s
pretty good for a grommet,” said Mona, “I’m Mona Hyde. My company threw the party and sponsored the
contest.”
“Thank you for
the opportunity to meet Miss Lake and to bid on Michael St. John’s last
creation,” replied Triton.
“I’m Malcolm
and I’m also on my way to the bar. Excuse me.”
“I’ll join
you,” said Darin on script and against his better judgment, “Mona?”
“I’ll come
too. Lena?”
“I think I’ll
stay and ask Mr. Hamilton why he wants my board so badly,” purred Lena Lake.
In the parking
lot after the presentation of the $50,000 check – Lena had forgotten about the
prize money – and after the board went to Triton/Hamilton, Darin, Mona and
Malcolm watched the van from a pickup truck across the parking lot. Triton and Lake approached the van and Lena
made a big deal out of showing off the new board.
“She’s talking
about the Willi Willi wood,” said Malcolm. “He just wants to get her in the
water.”
“I don’t like
it,” said Darin.
“That’s
because you don’t have enough trust. Now
listen to me, both of you! We’re going
to follow them and do nothing. Lena has
to do this alone.”
“But we can’t
just sit helplessly by,” said Mona, echoing Darin’s exact feelings.
“Oh we’ve got
a job to do and it will be almost as tough. Now, remember how you gotta do nothing but feel love for Lena – project
love to her.”
“I don’t
know—“
“Yes you do,”
said Malcolm, interrupting Darin. “Trust.” Lena and Triton were
speaking and Lena shook her head laughing. “He asked her to go surfing,” said Malcolm. Now came the best bit of acting for
Lena. She now had to act as if Triton
was putting subtle controls on her mind all the while keeping herself safe from
just that. It seemed to be working – she’d
studied Sinjin’s notes, e-mail and other things that Malcolm had told her.
The whole of
Waimea Bay had been shut down shortly after the Eddie contest and there was
still a police presence at 12:36 a.m. The waves, viewed in the light of a crescent moon, were truly
beautiful. An onshore wind had
straightened the huge things out and there seemed to be rideable waves through
the onslaught of mountains of whitewash and saltwater. Triton had made the cops go away with subtle
mind tricks he played from a distance of 50 yards; they departed just as Lena
and her vampire consort drove up. Lena
was working on a few tricks of her own – and she had help. There were three people energizing her from
the land – and at least fifteen from the great beyond – as she descended the
walkway to the bay and some horribly beautiful, huge waves. Julian Triton followed her. Each carried a long, pointed surfboard. As they approached the water, they paused to
discuss the best way to paddle out. They
were timing the sets, which had increased since sunset. The paddle out would be easy if timed
perfectly. And finally they were off.
Darin’s anger
was growing with his fear as Lena paddled out. “Don’t imagine anything but
success for Lena,” said Malcolm, “send
the love.” Darin reigned in his
palpable, bile-soaked emotions and concentrated instead on how much he wanted
Lena Lake to live so that he could spend more time with her. “Good,” said Malcolm. The paddle out was going smoothly, though
they weren’t out of the woods yet.
“I need to
walk around,” said Mona.
“The wave will
crush her,” said Darin.
“She’s in the
perfect position,” said Malcolm.
“Are you
there?” said Lena.
“Yes, baby.”
She heard Sinjin’s voice, “Yes.” It
happened very quickly. As the lip hit
her, Lena bellied down on her board and shot towards the head of Julian
triton. With all her strength and that
of the wave crashing down on her, she stood up and kicked the board into his
back, catching him in the heart with the razor sharp point. The wave broke. Darin thought he saw a green flash of light
under water, blood exploding and dark smoke rise over the mountain of
foam. In an instant he was running into
the water.
Mona started
after him but Malcolm caught her in his arms. “This is what must happen. Watch.” Though Darin was not an expert swimmer and,
truth be told, was scared shitless of the ocean, let alone waves this size, he
dove straight for where he thought Lena would surface. In five minutes, after being hit by a board –
thankfully a fiberglass one, which he commandeered – he reached Lena, who
seemed unconscious. He pulled her onto
the board and covered her as a huge wave broke over them. It was more than enough to carry them to
shore. Darin McManus took Lena Lake by
the shoulders and heaved her onto her stomach, emptying her mouth and lungs of
water. He then turned her over and
administered CPR; first breathing air into her and then pumping her chest. All the while he was feeling love – enough to
chase away the fear of her dying. “Take
care of the girl,” he heard in his mind. “Don’t die,” he said. “I just
learned how to love you.”
Lena Lake
coughed and opened her eyes. Thirty
minutes later, Mona and Malcolm drove the pickup home leaving Lena and Darin on
the beach. They stared out at the ocean
with their shoulders touching. There had
been much emotion, many tears and there was now settling in much
confusion.
“So what are
you going to do?” asked Lena.
“I’ll file my
report.”
“And your
story?”
“I don’t think
the story’s ever going to see print. Who’d believe it?”
“Me,” said
Lena. “But what are you going to do?” she insisted.
“About
you?”
“About you,” she said.
“I think that
I like this love thing and whether you love me back or not, I think I’ll just
go on loving you. Somehow, I think my
life will be better for doing that.” Lena was silent. “I know it’s,
strange. I mean I’m sure I would have
liked Sinjin, and, um.”
“I love you
too, Darin. I just don’t know what that will look like in a day or a week or
two weeks.”
“I
understand.”
Two years, two
months and a week later, the phone rang at the dojo. “Psychic Detectives, we knew you were going
to call and we can help you,” answered Mona. “No Darin isn’t in, he’s surfing. Lena’s with him. Yes Malcolm’s
here. I’ll get him. Malcolm, the secret service is calling
again.”
Malcolm walked
in holding a baby. “These things are
pretty cool. Babysitting’s a
breeze. You want one?”
“That’s so
romantic. Answer the phone,” said Mona
Hyde, CFO of the Psychic Detective Agency.
Malcolm was in
no hurry. “I have the answer, they just
need Darin to speak to them in cop language. Come on, let’s make a baby like they did.”
Malcolm
reached for Mona. “Not in front of
little Sinjin,” she said.
