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When Your Tabula Is Not Rasa

Chapter Twelve
by Kaleigh Way

 

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"We were just lying there, going to sleep. I looked over at her, and I said,
Hey, we might be real good married. Wassup? You wanna marry me?" — Will Smith

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It wasn't as though the ferry's boat horn was a signal to start talking, but after we'd pulled out into the bay and the horn sounded, I gave Arrow a blow-by-blow of my library adventure.

He was disappointed that I didn't get any results, but he did acknowledge that there wasn't much more to do.

"It sounds like they operate under the radar," he observed. "Smart."

"Or maybe it's not actually a cult," I suggested. "All we know is what Lane said."

Arrow bristled. "I believe him. He seems like a straightforward, clear-sighed type."

"Like you," I suggested ironically.

"Yes, like me," he replied, missing my irony entirely.

"Fine," I said, "but I'm a little more open minded about the Spokane situation now."

"You are?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes, I am," I replied, although I didn't realize it until the moment I'd said it. "Lane saw everything through a very small window, and most of what he knew, he knew through Lizzie."

"He also visited this Ark place of theirs," Arrow pointed out.

"Yes, but..." I stopped. "Listen, we're just guessing. Can we look at what's in the backpack now?"

He smiled at that. Then he put his hand on the bag, as if to secure it, and looked all around, to get a read on everyone who could potentially see or hear anything.

"Is this Mission Impossible?" I asked with a smile. He bristled at that.

"This is reconnaissance," he replied. "This is the other part of being ready. And being ready is what it's all about."

The first item he pulled out was a pair of dark glasses. I burst out laughing.

Arrow looked offended. "Don't underestimate the obvious," he chided. "These are Ray-Bans, by the way, so..." and he held up a hand to say slow down the criticism.

"They are nice," I said, putting them on. I could see my reflection in the ferry window, and they definitely added to my cachet. "Thanks!"

"Anonymity is key. The hat, the glasses, help to provide that. If someone sees your hair, they might connect you with your mother. If they see your face, they might connect you with either your father or your mother. You'll be giving away your greatest advantage if you let yourself be identified."

"Okay," I agreed, although I was stifling the urge to laugh.

The second item he pulled out was a set of three maps. "These are maps of Spokane. It's a bigger city than I expected." He unfolded one and pointed to a block highlighted in yellow. "Right here is the Happy Place diner that Lane mentioned. Directly across the street is a fairly inexpensive hotel. If you get room on a low floor in front, you should be able to stake out the diner, watch all the comings and going, and get some idea of what these people do."

"If what Lane said still applies," I cautioned.

"It's all we have to go on," Arrow replied. "Even if they don't meet there now, you can still go ask questions and find out something. At this point, all you have is a telephone number. We need a lot more. We need information."

He thought for a moment. "Which reminds me: let's try giving your mother a call tonight, and see what you're able to ask her. We can work up a set of questions. You'll have to play it by ear, since we don't know how she'll respond."

I nodded. "Okay."

He then extracted a pair of binoculars and a small, very flat camera.

"Check this out," he said, turning the camera on. With a soft whirr, the lenses telescoped out of the flat little camera body. "It's got a 20X zoom, which is remarkable considering how skinny it is. You could fit this in the pocket of your jeans."

I nodded appreciatively.

"You need to take pictures of your mother, and that Benevolence character if possible. It will give you an idea of how you'll age."

"Hmmph," I responded, slightly miffed.

"Of course, you should photograph all the followers, or potential followers, as well."

I nodded, turning the camera over in my hands, pressing buttons, looking at the display and so on.

"The idea," Arrow said, "is that you tell your mother that you're coming in two, or even three, weeks. In reality, you go right away, but keep out of sight. Then you watch. You listen, if possible. You gather information any way you can, but make sure at every step that you don't play your hand."

"And what exactly is 'my hand'?"

He looked at me as if I were a simpleton. "Your identity, of course! The fact that you're Lizzie's daughter, and likely Benevolence's daughter as well."

I'd heard that name Benevolence a dozen times today. I'd said it myself, but this time a chill ran through me.

"Arrow, have you given any thought to the possibility that this could be dangerous for me? I mean, if what Lane said is true, they may want to abduct me — maybe even brainwash me."

"Yes, of course!" he agreed. "Why do you think I insisted on your going to the library? Why do you think I'm telling you how to spy on them? This is all about your safety! And that's exactly why I got you this!" With that, he pulled a small box from the backpack.

It was a GPS tracker. "This beauty is smaller than a cell phone, and it has a three-week battery. As long as you have this, I can track you anywhere. It constantly transmits your position to a secure website, where it's recorded and timestamped.

"You need to recharge it every night. NEVER shut it off. If you shut it off, it means you need help. If someone else shuts it off, it means you need help. If it shuts off, I'm coming, even if it turns back on, even if you call me to say Don't come. Carry it on your person at all times. If you think something's about to happen, stick it in your underwear."

That was the last straw. Until now, whenever I'd think about the trip to Spokane, it was only to consider whether I would or wouldn't go, or whether I wanted or needed to go. Now that it was becoming a reality, and seeing all the preparations that Arrow had taken, I began to feel afraid.

I've never been a fearful person, but sitting next to this tall, muscular man forced me to recognize how small I am now. Emotionally, I think I could handle almost anything, but physically... I doubted I'd be equal to the task. I wouldn't have a problem kicking, screaming, scratching, and fighting dirty if it came to that, but I was no ninja. Cynthia Rothrock and Xena had nothing to fear from me.

Arrow had been watching my face, and there he read the doubt, fear, and worry that were running through me. He placed his hand over mine and in a soft voice asked, "Do you want me to come with you?"

Oh, lord... now that snapped me out of it. Arrow is a great friend. He's an amazing lover. And I'm sure he'd come off well in a fight. But in and above all that, he is an enormous pain in the ass. If he came to Spokane with me, he'd be insupportable. I was sure of it. He'd be guiding and directing me the entire time, whether I wanted his help or not. It was clear that Arrow had a detailed vision of how my trip was supposed to unfold, and if he came along, he'd make sure that every step he envisioned became a reality.

And so, I told him, "I think this is something I need to do myself."

He seemed pleased with my answer, which annoyed me to no end, but I managed to stifle my reaction.

"It's only four hours away," he reminded me. "If something happens, that's a good enough margin. After all, these people don't want to hurt you. As you've said, they want to bring you in, make you a follower. Maybe try to brainwash you. But even a day — I mean twenty-four hours — isn't enough time to break down your mental defenses."

"My mental defenses," I repeated.

"Yes, your mental defenses," he echoed.

"I guess I've got them in spades," I commented.

"Don't be so sure," he replied. "Never underestimate your opponent. Just remember, though: now you're a woman, so you can always unleash the irrational."

"What?" I exclaimed, offended and surprised.

He waved off my objections with two hands, as if to say, We don't have time for this now.

Then he reached into the very bottom of the backpack and — holding it underneath the table — he extracted one last item. I expected him to hand it to me or at least set it on the table, but instead he shoved it to the bottom of one of his capacious pockets. Then he pushed the empty backpack across the table to me.

"What was that?" I asked, more than a little curious.

"What?" he responded, as if he had no idea what I was referring to.

"What did you just put in your pocket?"

"It's something for later. Don't pester me about it now. Everything has its own time. You'll see."
 

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When we arrived back home, after trudging up the hill from the ferry, I was pretty tired and a little sweaty. Arrow, on the other hand, looked as though he could keep going for hours.

"Before we go in the house I have to show you one more thing," he said.

"Can't it wait?" I whined. "I'm tired and dirty and thirsty. I feel funky all over."

"This won't take long," he told me.

He opened his garage. I followed him inside. His car, the 911, was sitting there. Next to it was another car, covered by a tarp. It turned out to be a Porsche Boxster.

"You can take this car to Spokane," he told me.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I don't use it. I got a good deal on it... someone needed to raise some money quickly. At some point, he'll buy it back. Or not. In any case, you're free to take it. My insurance will cover you."

"This is the car you brought to my funeral!" I said, recognizing it.

"Yep." He ran his hand over it, as if it would somehow tell him the state of the car.

A sudden suspicion struck me. "Hey... did you buy this car for that girl?"

"What girl?" he asked, frowning.

"The smoker. The one who drove you to the wedding."

He responded with a phffft!

"Why did she drive you?" I asked. "You never let anyone else drive, let alone a woman."

"I was getting over the flu," he replied. "I felt like hell. Also, I was upset that my best friend on earth had died... or so I thought." He glared at me briefly to remind me of my sin.

"Anyway," he continued, "You ask a lot of questions about that girl."

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do. You have no reason to be jealous, believe me. There is nothing there."

"I'm not jealous!"

In response, he put up his hands as if in surrender. It was my turn to go phffft!
 

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Later, over some cheese and wine, he explained, "This is the idea: you drive out to Spokane, fill the tank with gas, and park the car in a garage. Pay for a month in advance and then forget the car exists."

"Why would I forget about it?"

"The car is your getaway vehicle. Don't tell anyone you have a car. In fact, we need to look at the bus schedules, because you might need to know which bus you supposedly arrived on. It might be a good idea to go to the bus terminal when a Seattle bus arrives, and go to your hotel from there.

"The car needs to be a secret. Don't use it to get around, to run errands, to carry stuff. Don't use it at all. It's there in case you need to escape. Nothing else. No one can know you have it, so you need to forget it's there until you need it."

"Got it," I said.

Then he talked about what we should put in a "go bag" that I'd keep in the trunk.
 

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It was all so Mission Impossible, the way Arrow mapped it out. I had the plan, I had the protocols: one protocol for the GPS (always on, recharge every night; if it goes off for any reason, Arrow comes to the rescue), one protocol for the car (fill the tank, park it long-term, never mention it), and one protocol for my phone.

I had to check in every morning by phone with Arrow. I had a key phrase: I had to ask What time is it? If I called and didn't say it, Arrow would come. If I called and simply forgot to say it, Arrow would come. If I didn't say it, he wouldn't prompt me for it, and he would carry on a normal conversation, but he would assume that I was in trouble and drive to Spokane the moment he hung up.

"That way, if someone knows that you call me each morning and they force you to call me, you can say whatever they want you to say, but I will know that you're in trouble."

"All of this is so elaborate!" I complained.

"It's not," he countered. "It's simple. You just need to remember and do it. It's failsafe, all of it. You remember, or I drive out there."

"And I don't want that!" I joked, laughing. (Half-joked, rather!)

He laughed, too, but said, "If anyone gives you any trouble... I will make them pay. Know that."
 

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Our second night and morning together were much like the first. The sex was amazing, mind blowing, almost more physically stimulating than I could bear, and certainly more powerful than I ever dreamed sex could be.

On the other hand, in the quiet moments, as I lay staring at the ceiling wide-eyed, recovering, catching my breath, I'd think about those letters of recommendation and nearly burst out laughing.
 

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We agreed that I'd take off for Spokane as soon as I was dressed, and by nine o'clock we were standing in the driveway. The car was packed, and everything primed for blast off.

"Before you go, there's one more thing," Arrow said. He shifted his feet, crunching the gravel underfoot. Some birds flew overhead, but there was nothing else to hear or see but the woods all around us.The Boxster sat ready, pointing toward the road, and I was itching to get behind the wheel and turn the key. I wanted the Spokane trip over and done with. The sooner I left, the sooner I'd be back.

Arrow cleared his throat and swallowed. He actually looked nervous, which puzzled me no end. He murmured, "The last item from the backpack," and reached into his pocket.

He produced one of those tiny boxes, about an inch cubed. It had a hinged top, which he opened as he dropped to his left knee.

"Oh, no, you've GOT to be kidding!" I exclaimed, more in shock than surprise.

He held the box toward me, showing me the ring: I've looked at it a lot since then, but I still don't know it by heart. There's a platinum band, holding a round, brilliant, two-carat diamond. It's beautiful. Looking into that stone is like looking into another world. You could stare at it all day.

"This is crazy, Arrow," I told him. My body shook. I wanted to run away.

"I know it's crazy," he said. "But at the same time, it's the only thing that makes sense. I want you to marry me. I'm asking you now, but I don't want your answer — whether yes or no — until you come back from Spokane. I don't want you to comment or decide or declare anything at all right now. Please just hear me out, and when I'm done I want you to take the ring, get in the car, and leave without saying a word."

He took a breath before continuing. "I've never been able to be friends with a woman... until now. You know why. You... you're different. You're unique. We're already friends, and now that you're a woman, there's a whole new dimension to who you are.

"You know who I am. You know what I am. You know more about me than any other living person. You know how we are together. You know that sexually we're right there. We mesh; we have real chemistry, the kind that other people wish for.

"You know all my good and bad qualities. You know my history.

"And I know you. I know more about you than you know about yourself, and I can bring things out in you that you want and need. With me, you will blossom as a woman and as a person.

"As far as the material aspect is concerned, you wouldn't have to work. We'd own everything equally: my bank account, my house — everything I own. You'd be my only heir, my executrix, and my sole beneficiary when I die.

"Finally, if you decide to marry me, we can do it any way you like: in front of a justice of the peace, or in an informal ceremony, or the full-blown church wedding with the white dress, the flowers, and the big reception. Whatever you want."

At that point, he stood. He closed the ring inside the box, put the box in my hand, and closed my hands around around the box.

"Don't say a word, even if you feel that you're already sure," he said. "Think about it on the long ride to Spokane and while you're out there. If you have any questions, you can ask me when you call."

He smiled and kissed me. I was utterly shocked and shaken. It was the most insane thing anyone had ever asked of me.

"Take care of yourself out there in Spokane," he told me in a soft voice. "Remember: if you need me, all you have to do is whistle."

Dear God, it was the farthest thing from what I wanted. I tried to make a joke of it: I puckered up my lips and blew, but my mouth was so dry, all I could do was puff.