The sound of Silence

It was the perfect hidey hole —all six thousand square feet of it.

       Roy Baxter, an ex-software engineer who’d assumed the identity of Robert “Bob” Hanson four months earlier, reclined on a cushioned chaise lounge and gazed at the vast forest of conifers beyond his wide upper story deck. The enclave of multi-million-dollar cabins known as Renegade Heights was only forty-five minutes from downtown Boise but light years away from city life.

       He took a deep breath, inhaling the August air. It was just the right temperature, sweet and sharp with the scent of pine needles and tree sap. The quiet of the afternoon was soothing to his normally rattled nerves.  All Roy could hear was the low, reassuring hum of the generator behind the property shed and the canine snores of his newly acquired, already-trained bull mastiff, Lucifer, stretched out on the lounge next to him. Apparently on break from guard duty, the dog seemed confident of his back-up: the wooded mansion had rightly been described by the rental agent as possessing “rustic luxury, complete with its own modern security system.” Whoever built this getaway wanted to be left the hell alone, Roy figured, but he sure as shit liked his creature comforts. No wonder the six-month lease cost a fortune.  No matter. Veronsky’s down payment covered the nut as well as the three laptops Roy had used as decoys to cover his tracks. By the time the Feds found out Roy Baxter had morphed into Robert Hanson, he’d be halfway around the world … and maybe he could finally relax.

       Roy watched a hawk catching an updraft and thought I’m free as that bird … almost. Won’t be long now.

       He’d shut his eyes and almost drifted off when he felt a soft, familiar weight descend upon his lap.

       “Now Bobbie Love, don’t be mad, but I invited some new friends over for dinner tomorrow night. You’re gonna love them.” Chanelle Purdy batted her baby blues and pressed her double D’s into Ray’s line of vision to soften the blow.  Sitting astride him, she started to nibble on his ear. “Mmmm,” she murmured.  Lucifer raised his massive head to assess the situation and put it down again.

       Roy groaned, a mixture of pleasure and irritation.  He did not want visitors—not now, not until the deal with Veronsky was sealed.  But of course, he couldn’t tell Chanelle that. They’d met in Las Vegas six weeks earlier where he’d gone to relieve his cabin fever.  He’d ordered a pedicure at the Venetian, and who should appear in her tighty whitey uniform but Chanelle? After three solid days in the sack (She knew how to rub more than just feet), he’d impetuously asked her to move in with him. Maybe if things worked out, he’d ask her along for the whole ride.  But right now, as far as Chanelle knew, her “Bobbie Love” was a filthy rich, reclusive Idahoan who needed her to bring him into the light.

       “Who are we talking about?” he ventured.  “Nobody weird, I hope.”

       Chanelle fluffed her platinum blond shag (“Short is totally lit, you know”) and adjusted the barely-there straps of her tank top.  She peeled herself off him to fully vent her enthusiasm.  “Well, um, you might think so—before you get to know them, I mean.  I met Iona Malcolm in my hot yoga class two weeks ago.” Chanelle went into what she called her pine tree pose, her hands pressed palm to palm in front of her breasts and one leg bent sideways, foot to opposite thigh. “She actually came up to me and told me I had a beautiful aura.  Can you believe it?  She studied under Delacroix at the IME in Sedona, and —”

       “What’s the IME?”

       Chanelle looked heavenward as if to extract the answer there.  “Um…Institute for Metaphysical Enlightenment, I think. She knows so much about chakras and energy fields and astral projections and how the planets line up and all that cool spiritual stuff. I mean she is totally into this eclipse thing, even though you aren’t.” She stuck her tongue out playfully. “And I met her friend Skye, too. She works at a diner in Idaho City and has a boyfriend named Monk. Not sure what he does.  Mechanic, I think.  She showed me his picture.  He’s a brute. Looks like he does martial arts or something. Oh, and then there’s this other couple, Art and Nancy Wedemeyer, who I met in the vegetable section at the Co-op and they asked what I thought about the Australian kohlrabi, since that’s the only kohlrabi in season, and I had to admit I’d never tried it and we started comparing recipes and they live just down the hill –” She gestured out the enormous picture window, which caused her to lose her balance.   “— and you’re really going to relate to them, baby, them being in your age bracket and all.  Super nice older people. Kind of roly poly, like you.  Cute.”

       “Super nice old people, you mean?” Roy frowned; he didn’t like being reminded that he was old enough to be Chanelle’s … older brother. Much older brother. Fuck.  He’d fed her a line that she was his therapy; he couldn’t very well go all negative on her now.  He’d just lock his office and cut the evening short, that’s all. Chanelle would appreciate his efforts at being sociable, and she was very good at showing her appreciation.

       His lady love spent the next several hours scrolling through recipes on her iPad and emailing several to Roy’s laptop so that he could print them out.  The third time she knocked on his office door to get the copies she said, “You know, it’d be a lot easier if I just used your computer.  Then I wouldn’t have to bug you every time.”

       Roy froze. He hadn’t given it much thought, trusting a locked door would keep her out.  But what if she got desperate, or worse, curious?  The idea of Chanelle trying to log onto his computer sent a cold chill down his spine. Thanks to his sentry program, two failed password attempts would scramble the hard drive’s master partition tables and even he wouldn’t be able to untangle them.  He’d lose the airframe and weapons payload specs he’d stolen for the latest iteration of the prototype F-X program—that kind of intel was worth its weight in gold … or euros … or rubles … or yuan – whatever the market would bear. All he needed to do was wait for Veronsky to broker the deal … and keep Chanelle the hell away from his computer in the meantime.

       “Well, baby, I think one of these days we ought to get you a new laptop and printer all your own,” he said.  “How does that sound?”

       Chanelle showed Roy how much she liked the idea. Still, he feared what might happen before he was able to placate her.  So, later that night, he backed up the stolen files to an old external hard drive and disabled his sentry program. His new identity, location, the guard dog, the security system, his TOR browser and the encrypted files he’d created would have to hold the line…just a little while longer. Roy smiled grimly. He really was starting to get paranoid.

                                                ***

The dinner party turned out to be as bad as Roy thought it’d be … with one exception.

       Chanelle was right: the Wedemeyers did look like a married version of Tweedledee and Tweedledum. At five foot eight, Roy towered over them, which appeased his ego somewhat. Retired now, Art and Nancy had been all over the world, they said, collecting folktales, songs and other bullshit (his word, not theirs) from tribal chiefs who probably went back to their huts and watched their satellite TV’s after whoopin’ it up for the microphone.

       The waitress, Skye, was an Amazon, real athletic, kind of dykey, who looked like she could kick just about anybody’s ass except that of her other half, Monk. She seemed kind of afraid of him.             The guy was a piece of work.  Huge, with a Hulk Hogan-style mustache, scruffy beard and tattoos of skulls and crossbones and other moronic symbols covering his massive biceps, which of course everyone saw because of his skin-tight wife beater shirt. During cocktails, when Roy asked him genially what his full name was, the dick wad glared and grunted, “That’s it, man. Just Monk.  You got a problem with it?”

       Roy wanted to tell him, “Yeah, I got a problem with you being such an ass hole,” but he thought better of it.

       Instead, Skye put her hand on Monk’s arm and said in a little girlie-type voice, which sounded strange coming out of her Xena Warrior Princess body, “Come on now, honey, be nice.”  Jesus, save me from these abuser-types and the women who put up with them. There was a silver lining, though: Lucifer was wary and kept his eyes glued to the hulk the whole time. Monk kept trying to make friends with him by sticking out his big hand to be sniffed.  But the dog wasn’t convinced. Way to go, Luce.

       The last guy in the group was somebody Ray already knew but didn’t particularly like.  Jasper Collins (Chanelle called him “Jazz”) was one of those tall, skinny, perennial students who wore tortoise shell glasses and probably biked everywhere. No doubt he knew all about kohlrabi, too. He looked to be about Chanelle’s age and ran a weekly Farmer’s Market canine boutique called “Sassy Dog.”  Sassy Dog, for Chrissakes! Roy would have thought him gay except for the way he salivated after Chanelle like one of the dogs he trained on the side.  She’d already bought a shitload of supplies from him, and they’d become “friends.”

       “I needed to even out the numbers, so I asked Jazz to the party.  I knew you wouldn’t mind,” she’d told Roy about an hour before everybody started showing up. What could he say to that?

       But of all the guests Chanelle invited, she’d hit the jackpot with Iona Malcolm—and Iona was the weirdest of the bunch.

       Damn, what a woman.  She had long, inky black hair with a narrow purple braid in the front and wore a matching purple dress that looked like it was poured over her delectable body. And her eyes.  He’d read that Elizabeth Taylor had violet eyes, but he’d never believed it, until now.  Iona’s eyes really were a bonafide lavender color. She was like some kind of life-sized mythical cat, a panther, maybe, all sleek and sinewy and focused—a hunter.

       But it wasn’t just her looks that got him going.  Chanelle had nailed it: Iona was full of some mysterious vibe, and the way she looked at him with those strange eyes was … shit, it was like she could see all the way into him, or maybe all the way through him. It scared him, and that turned him on.

       “Chanelle is a beautiful soul, and she worries about you,” Iona told him during a moment when the rest of the guests were focused elsewhere. Her voice was low and mellow, like she was the voice of PBS maybe, or the Golf Channel. “She says you are practically a hermit, and never go anywhere, except when you spent those few days in Las Vegas.  I believe it was in the cards that the two of you should meet.” She paused and abruptly changed topics. “She says you don’t ascribe any importance to Monday’s eclipse.”

       Roy didn’t want to come off as a jerk, especially not to her, so he hedged. “It’s not that I don’t think it’s important—I read where it rarely happens where so many people can see it—but I … I suppose I have other priorities.”

       Iona sent him another piercing look. He almost squirmed at her perusal but held himself in check while she continued. “In many cultures, an eclipse was considered a portent of doom. Some felt a giant frog was about to eat the sun, while in Norse mythology the eclipse happened because two sky wolves had chased and finally devoured it.  In ancient China, it was a sign that the emperor had done something wrong.” She stared at him.  “Terribly wrong.”

       Roy gazed at her, caught by her spell.  He swallowed.  “Done something wrong?”

       Iona nodded. “But there were ways to alleviate it,” she said.  “They would—”

       Nancy Wedemeyer plopped herself down next to Iona on the large leather sofa.  “I’m sorry, but did I hear you say something about different cultures and what they thought about the eclipse?”

       Iona inclined her head slightly.  She was probably annoyed to be interrupted; he certainly was.

       “You are not going to believe this, but when Art was a professor at KU, he got a grant from the Ethnology Department to interview several Native American tribes to find the methods they used to fight off the evil spirits trying to take away the sun. We still have the recording.”

       “I would love to hear that, sometime,” Iona said.

       Eager to maintain a connection to his panther, Roy made a suggestion even Chanelle would approve of.  “Why not bring it over on Monday and we can listen to it then?”

       Instead of responding, Iona stood up and looked at the large room, slowly turning in a complete circle. “Yes,” she said.  “That would be enlightening.  But not here.  Not in this place. It is not adequate.”

       Roy found himself on the defensive. “What do you mean?  There’s plenty of room.”

       Iona shook her head, that massive fall of black hair swinging seductively.  “No, there are too many trees here. The eclipse would be obscured.” She put a long, blood-red painted fingernail to her lips. “I believe I may be sensing the perfect spot.” She walked to one of the large side windows and scrutinized the hill which circled around the rear of the house. Turning back to Roy, she said, “You have a trail that runs up to the ridge.”

       He couldn’t take his eyes off those lips.  “You’re right.  It’s a bit of a hike, but it’s wide open up there; leads to a fire access road, they told me.”

       The siren sent Roy a smile that would have had him doing just about anything she asked, felonious or otherwise.  “That settles it, then.  We will hold a ceremony at the top of the ridge and listen to the ancient cultures as they mitigate the adverse energy of the eclipse.  Will that work for you, Mrs. Wedemeyer? Would you have the means to play the recording without electrical access?”

       The butterball nodded.  “Call me Nancy. And yes, the equipment’s no problem; most of our recordings have been done in remote areas.” She paused, frowned slightly.  “We were going to head over to Weiser, but I was a bit concerned about all the traffic, anyway.  I’d have to ask Art, but I don’t think he’ll have a problem with the change in plans.” She looked at both of them and smiled.  “This will be much easier all around—and a lot more fun!”

       Iona looked at Roy as if he had instigated the whole thing (and maybe, subconsciously, he had).  “You are a generous host to put up with us twice in one week, Robert, especially in light of your … shall we say … agoraphobic predilections. I think you will be amazed at the change in energy once we have banished the negative forces brought on by the eclipse.”

       I know how you could banish my negative forces, Roy thought.

       Just about everybody was enthusiastic about the proposed gathering.  Chanelle, for one, couldn’t contain her excitement. “Why don’t we all drive up to someplace like Cascade, where it’s supposed to be a total experience?  Combine that with the music and whoa!”

       Iona was the voice of reason. “I’m sure our host would prefer to stay close to home, wouldn’t you, Robert?” She sent Roy a sympathetic look. “We will reach near totality up on the ridge and I believe it will provide enough of a transforming experience for everyone.”

       Chanelle’s disappointment was fleeting; she was already discussing possible post-eclipse luncheon recipes with Nancy.

       Monk was the turd in the punchbowl, of course. He’d already groused about Chanelle’s dinner selections: a “mixed grill” of roasted vegetables (including kohlrabi wedges) and barbequed soy patties that really weren’t that bad once you smothered them in mustard, relish and every other burger condiment. Then the douche bag picked a fight with Jazz over what to feed a dog.

       “I realize you find it hard to believe,” Jazz said with a touch of self-righteousness, “but I know Lucifer’s trainer and she only uses frozen green beans and baby carrots as rewards. Those are the treats he responds to.”

       “No dog worth his shit would put up with crap like that,” Monk said.

       “Jazz is right,” Chanelle said, reaching for a carrot from the appetizer tray.  “See?”  She called Lucifer over and handed him the orange stump.  He sniffed it and after a slight hesitation, began munching it. Truth be told, Roy hadn’t believed it when he first got the dog either, but there it was. 

       “Sure, the dog eats that rabbit food, if that’s all he’s got.” Monk looked over the tray which held nothing but leftover vegetables.  “You got any cheese?”

       Jazz, the little putz, gave the hulk a look of horror, and Ray almost laughed.  If he didn’t think Monk was worse than Mr. Sassy Dog, he would have taken some of his secret stash of cheddar and possibly proved Monk’s point.  But the beefcake lost all credibility with his next move.

       “And what’s up with this whole place, huh?” Monk sauntered around the Great Room and pointed up. “I see the wires you got running up and down the rafters.  You got this place buttoned up tighter than a virgin’s crotch. What are you afraid of, anyway?” He leveled his malevolent stare directly at Roy.

       Miscreants like you, Roy wanted to say, but again held back.  Better to deflect with some levity. He chuckled.  “I guess I lived in the big city too long,” he said.

       By this point everyone was listening in. “I didn’t know you lived in a big city, Bobbie,” Chanelle said. “You told me you were from Idaho and Boise’s not exactly L.A. or New York.”

       Fuuuuck. “No … er, actually, you must have misheard me.  I said I just wish I’d been from Idaho.” Roy looked around the room; everyone had expectant looks on their faces.  For once he was glad to have the asshole take the stage.

        “That explains a lot,” Monk said.  “If you were from around here—” He swept his arm around the room. “—especially around here, you’d know that nobody gives a shit about what you do … on your own property … in your own house.  Nobody.  It’s your castle, comprende?” He muscled over to Roy and leaned in. “You don’t need locks, you don’t need some Goddamn alarm system. You don’t need some pussy ass guard dog.  All you need is one of these.” And the dick wad pulled a gun out of his boot!

       This time there was shock on every face. Roy’s heart began hammering in his barrel chest. “Well, I—”

       But Monk wasn’t finished.  “I’m serious, man.  That’s the law of the mountain.  I don’t mess with you, you don’t mess with me.  We stay out of each other’s beeswax.  Everybody’s happy.” He surveyed the crowd, apparently happy with his performance.  Then he strolled over to the refrigerator, opened it and rummaged around as if he owned the place. “Now I hope you got some decent shit for dessert.”

       Chanelle recovered first, started to bustle.  “Oh yes, I’ve got some gluten free pound cake, fresh raspberries and almond whip.”

       “I’ll help you serve it,” Skye said.  The Amazon was trying hard to hide her complete mortification. She should be mortified, Roy thought.  That guy shouldn’t be let out of his cage.

                                                                        ###

       “Wow – I couldn’t get over how creepy Skye’s boyfriend is,” Chanelle said much later, after everyone had gone home and she had shown ample appreciation for Roy’s forbearance. “I don’t know what she sees in him.” She pulled her baby dolls back on. “I thought you really showed a lot of class by not fighting him,” she added.

       As if.  “Ah, yeah.  Well, that wouldn’t have served any purpose.  But I hope you’ll convey to your friend that he’s no longer welcome here.”

       “Oh, she knows it.  She whispered to me in the kitchen that she was going to break it off with him, that tonight was the last straw.”

       “Well, that’s probably for the best.”

       Chanelle sat cross-legged on the bed, her arms around Roy’s neck.  “I am so proud of you for suggesting the rest of them come over for the eclipse.  You see, you really are coming out of your shell, Bobbie Love.”

       “It’s all because of you, baby; all because of you.”

       Chanelle giggled. “I live to serve.”

       After they did the nasty again and Chanelle fell asleep, Roy went into his office and checked to see if Veronsky had left him any messages.  He had.

       Buyer found, read the cryptic shorthand. Able to secure ten percent over asking, net five to you. Funds entering Caymans by 4 p.m. MDT UTC-6 21-8-17. Expect transmission per agreement immediately following.

       To hell with an eclipse party, Roy thought, crawling back into bed. Now I’ve really got something to celebrate.

                                                            ###

       Monday dawned blindingly bright, clear, and warm. Apparently, the clouds that many talking heads on t.v. had worried about were a no-show. Chanelle had spent the previous day “down in the flats,” as she called it, gathering ingredients for the luncheon (a kale and quinoa salad – whoopee) and paying ten bucks a pair for no doubt the last remaining “official” eclipse-watching glasses to be found in the northern hemisphere.  With the absence of Monk, their party had shrunk to seven, which was just fine with Roy.  They’d be out of the house for the most part; nothing to worry about. Lucifer was on patrol out on the deck.  The moon was going to start its trek a little after ten in the morning, so Chanelle had suggested everyone come at nine thirty.

       Skye, the butt-kicking waitress, was the first to arrive. Only she didn’t look exactly invincible with a band aid across one cheek and the makings of a black eye. Chanelle pulled her quickly into the Great Room with an “Oh, what happened?”

       “Monk wasn’t too happy when I told him what an ass he’d been at your party.  He clipped me before announcing he was headed back to Montana ‘because there are too many candy asses in Idaho.’ He took his stuff and cleared out.”

       Chanelle tossed her shag in solidarity. “Ugh. Good riddance, I say.  Don’t you think so, Bobbie?” She looked at Roy for empathy.

       “Absolutely.  You can do better than him, Skye. A lot better.”

       Skye towered over Roy, so she had to bend over to hug him.  Her breasts crushed against his throat. “Thank you, Bob.” She straightened, sniffed back a tear.  “It means a lot to me.”

       Shortly after that little pity party, the rest of the tribe showed up.  Art and Nancy lugged in a boom box along with a backpack that Roy feared might contain every recording they’d ever made.

       “We’ll be able to see ninety-nine-point five percent totality,” Art said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Apparently, he wasn’t used to lugging his own shit around. Probably paid a lot of Sherpas with his grant money. Roy wondered if the guy was going to make it up the hill.

       Jazz, aka Sassy Dog, walked up the front steps with Iona; Roy set his jaw, wondering if something was going on between those two.  He noticed Chanelle wore a slight frown, too. That didn’t bode well. But his suspicions quickly faded because his panther goddess showed no signs of even paying attention to the nerd, much less cozying up to him.  Instead, she purposefully carried a basket that contained what looked like the noise-making instruments of second graders. Oh Jesus.

       Jazz looked equally intent, except that he brought a container of what Roy soon learned was “pineapple-mango soy ice cream” as well as a bag of Sassy Dog vegetable-based doggie treats.

       “You don’t have to prove anything to that Monk fellow,” Roy said to Jazz with barely masked irritation.  “He’s long gone.”

       The soy boy looked disappointed. “Oh, well, I was hoping to show him what Lucifer could do with the right incentive.” He handed the bag to Roy. “Here you go, then.”

       Iona, dressed this morning in a bright gold flowing dress with matching hair braid, had put the noisemakers down, come over to Roy, and put her hand on his arm.  He could feel the heat clear through to his bones.

       “Are you feeling all right, Robert?” she asked in that sultry voice of hers. “This could be a life-changing experience for you, and I feel incredibly honored to be part of it.” She squeezed his arm for emphasis, and he felt like she’d squeezed his cock.  He didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, but he didn’t care if she thought she was leading him to the Rapture, as long as she kept doing it.

       Chanelle gathered the group, holding a clipboard. She checked her watch. “It’s nearly time and Iona has agreed to say a little prayer, so let’s all join hands before we head up the hill.”

       Roy made sure to grasp Iona’s hand.

       “Powers of the universe, mythical entities, unfathomable forces beyond our knowledge or understanding, Moon Goddess Sin, Marduk, God of Abraham, and whoever else is listening,” Iona began. “Please know that we are here today to help ward off the Evil Ones who since time began have tried to destroy the forces of light with the wretched curse of darkness.  Be with us as we banish the Malevolence out there as well as that which festers within each of us—” She sent Roy a look— “keeping us from realizing our full potential. Send us a sign that our efforts will not be in vain.  May blessings be upon all of us. Om Amideva Hrih. Om Amideva Hrih. Om Amideva Hrih.”  By the third repetition of whatever Iona was chanting, everyone joined in.  Apparently, it wasn’t an “Amen” kind of a prayer.

       Since they were going to be up on the ridge for a while, Chanelle had instructed everyone to bring camp chairs.  She indicated two such chairs for Roy to carry, along with a soft cooler filled with cups, ice water and wine. He might have complained that Chanelle was treating him like a pack mule except that with boom boxes, musical instruments and more chairs, everyone, including Iona, was packing their own freight.

       Just as they were heading out, Nancy Wedemeyer addressed the group. “What about Lucifer? Animals were very important to ancient peoples, you know. I’m thinking he should be part of our ceremony.”

       Uh, that would be a no. Roy would be the last one out of the house so he could turn on the security system.  But systems were known to fail, which is why he’d brought the dog on board in the first place.  Sometimes the most basic precautions were the best.  Before he could nix the idea, Sassy Dog did it for him.

       “No way.  Dogs are very clued in to changes in the environment, and someone with Lucifer’s acute sensitivities might react in a negative way.  Besides, he should be kept in the house so that he doesn’t stare at the sun.  A canine’s eyes are just as vulnerable as ours, you know.  Perhaps more so.”

       Uh huh. Like, when was the last time you saw a dog staring at the sun, you moron?  Still, Sassy Dog took the onus off Roy.  “He’s right,” Roy said.  “Lucifer will be happier if we leave him inside.”

       “I think that is wise,” Iona said. “We may hear him expressing his dismay even from up on the ridge; it’s better that he remains in familiar surroundings.”

       Lucifer was already snoozing by the time they left.

10:14 a.m.

       “I see it, I see it – it’s starting!” Chanelle squealed as she sat looking at the sun through what had to be the most ridiculous-looking glasses ever— other than the trick ones they sell at Halloween where the eyes pop out on little Slinkys. They’d set up their chairs in a semi-circle facing the sun in a wide-open area at the top of the ridge.

       Iona had given each person some kind of noisemaker—a tambourine, maracas, a hand-held drum, some castanets. “Just in case we need them,” she’d said mysteriously.

       What, no graham crackers and milk? Roy thought. Yeah, he was a cynical bastard.  Guilty as charged.

       Chanelle had already handed out the silly glasses and they’d been trying them on, giggling at each other in the process. At her exclamation, Roy obligingly looked through his lenses. The sun appeared as a small yellow dot with just the slightest black edge biting into it. It barely moved. Bored, he took off the glasses. Everyone oohed and aahed for several minutes before Iona checked her watch and stood up.

       “Let’s hear what the ancients had to say in response to the forces of evil who were attempting to hijack the sun,” she said.  She nodded to Art, who obligingly turned on the boom box.  Immediately the sound of raucous Native American chanting filled the air, punctuated with dogs barking and even gunshots. It sounded like the entire village was in the fight of its life. Iona indicated that Art should turn up the player and he did, making it nearly impossible for anybody to say anything.

       “During the solar eclipse of 1878, the Cheyenne grew extremely agitated and used everything they could think of to make noise in order to ward off the bad medicine that was eating the sun,” Nancy shouted.  “They yelled, banged on drums, got their dogs to bark and even shot off their weapons, which our subjects did for the recording —using blanks, of course.”

       It didn’t take long before the noise got to be hellishly nerve-wracking. “Ah, I think we’ve got the idea now,” Roy said to Iona in the hope that she’d turn down the squawk box.  She was standing with her arms outstretched, looking up (with her special glasses, of course) and swaying back and forth. She didn’t seem to hear him, so he touched her, and she jumped, whipping off her specs. Those violet eyes of hers bored into him.

       “How are you feeling, Robert? Any different?”

       “No,” he replied honestly, and realized immediately that he’d said the wrong thing.

       She patted his arm.  “Don’t worry—we have a ways to go yet.  It will happen for you, I promise. There will be a sign.  I’m sure of it.”

       Roy wondered, not for the first time, how his love of big-breasted women had gotten him into this bizarre situation, in which a certified wacko stone fox was leading an all-out effort to cure him of an agoraphobia that he sure as hell didn’t suffer from.  A year from now he’d be laughing about it, he knew.  Right now, though, it was getting old. Real old.

       The Cheyenne portion of the disc switched to a segment in which someone (it didn’t sound like Art) described the Mohawk custom for banishing evil spirits, which, come to find out,  entailed the same loud and obnoxious noise-making perfected by the Cheyenne.  Nancy began thumping rhythmically on her tambourine, which made it difficult to hear what the guy on the CD was saying.

       “Gotta keep after those pesky bad spirits,” she practically shouted. The others chimed in with their noisemakers.  It was all Roy could do to keep from telling them all to shut the fuck up.

       Finally, the Mohawks started letting loose, so Nancy throttled back on her accompaniment. Roy took a deep breath.  When was this lunacy going to end? He never thought he’d be looking forward to a kale and quinoa salad.

       Even Jazz was getting irritated. Sassy Dog came up to Roy with his fingers in his ears.  “Kinda hard to enjoy the moment,” he said loudly.  “I think I’ll go back down and check on Lucifer.”

       “No,” commanded Iona. She stepped over to Roy and put her arm around his.  “We are all here for Robert.  Together we are one.  Separate we are none.”  At the same time, Chanelle pulled Jazz over to her and got him to start shaking his maracas in time to her castanets. That seemed to appease him.

       Roy shrugged. He’d put up with the bullshit a little while longer, as long as the Panther kept touching him.

11:25 a.m.

       Even the noise on top of the mountain couldn’t stop the eclipse as it slowly but surely “devoured” the sun.  The brightness of the morning faded, replaced by a weird twilight that wasn’t quite dawn but wasn’t evening, either. The temperature, which had been in the eighties, dropped at least ten degrees, and Roy wished he’d brought a sweatshirt. 

       “I think I see a shooting star!” Chanelle exclaimed, pointing to the dusky sky.  Roy was watching Iona, and saw that she’d been checking out the sky, too.

       “I think you’re right,” Iona said, glancing at Nancy, who nodded back at her, before lasering her focus on Roy. “A shooting star is a sign, Robert.  Perhaps the sign we’ve been waiting for.”

       “Hell yes, it’s a sign,” Roy said with enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around Iona.  Every inch of her felt soft and round and womanly.  Damn.

       Iona smiled at him benignly, then gently but firmly pushed him back. Okay, we’ll play it your way, Roy thought.  Not in front of the kids.

       Chanelle and Skye continued to view the sun through their glasses.  “It’s beginning to pass over,” Skye announced over the chanting.  “The evil spirits are finally getting chased away.”

       “She’s right,” Chanelle said. “I think we’ve seen the most darkness we’re gonna see.”

       Everyone put down their instruments and Art turned off the boom box.  Suddenly it was completely silent on the ridge. 

       There was nothing.

       Iona and Nancy looked at each other and immediately started banging their instruments again.  Art quickly turned the box back on.

       “We must wait just a few more minutes, to give our ancestors time to finish the job of restoring the sun,” Iona ordered. 

       Roy couldn’t stand anymore. “All right.  All right. Chanelle’s got a point.  We’ve seen what we’re going to see.  I think it’s time we had some lunch, don’t you?” 

       Iona and Nancy looked at each other again, and Iona shrugged. Once again, they stopped banging. Jazz, Skye, and Chanelle followed suit. Art waited a few more minutes and once more turned off the CD player.  Again, peacefulness reigned.  Murmuring about how incredible the experience was, they all packed up and headed back down the ridge trail.

       Roy saw Lucifer through the large side window.  His guard dog was barking happily and thumping his tail, obviously none the worse for wear after the eclipse. Quickly disarming the security system, “Robert” (which he was beginning to like the sound of, especially the way Iona said it) invited his guests inside. Despite all the noise, he had to admit, it had been pretty entertaining.

       Skye left early, saying she had to work the afternoon shift, but that she felt stronger now and would make better choices when it came to men. By two, the last of the group had said their farewells.  Nancy Wedemeyer proclaimed that throughout her entire career recording indigenous rituals, she’d never had such a “spiritual encounter.”  Art agreed with her and joked about how he’d be in better shape to hike the hill next time.

       Jazz knelt down and after examining Lucifer’s eyes, pronounced the dog healthy except for some orange goop around his back molars, which he thought might be mashed carrots.  “You should have his teeth cleaned,” he admonished Roy.

       “I’ll do that,” Roy said.

       Iona took one of Roy’s hands in both of hers and pressed them tenderly. “I trust you’ll be feeling a lot freer from here on out, Robert,” she said.  “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.”

       You’d better believe it, Roy thought.

       “That was so awesome, Bobbie Love.  So, like, religious and all. I knew you’d like everybody.”

       Chanelle yawned.  She wasn’t used to getting up before ten in the morning. “Wanna come and take a nap with me?” She gave him her usual come-hither look.

       “In a little bit, baby. I’ve got to do some business on the computer; then I’ll come join you.”

       It only took a few minutes for Roy to realize something wasn’t quite right.  His chair, for one thing.  He had to adjust it down, just a tad, but still. Chanelle was shorter than he was, so if she’d been at his desk, she would have raised it.

       Nothing on the desk looked as though it had been disturbed, and how could it have been?  Everyone was with him up on the ridge. The dog hadn’t barked, and the security system hadn’t been breached … had it?

       Roy’s heart began a slow but insistent pounding, the first sign of a growing panic.  He berated himself for being too lazy to log out that morning, but quickly convinced himself that he’d left nothing incriminating on the hard drive. Then, in a kind of slow motion “fuuuuuuck meeeee” moment, he noticed the external hard drive sitting right next to his desktop.  Had he put it away?  He couldn’t remember.  Everything looked the same, but—

       He couldn’t bear to connect it and started to hyperventilate. It was nearing four p.m., when Veronsky was going to give him the all-clear to download.

       Little details kept popping into his brain, like the sound of silence right after they’d shut off the goddamn boom box the first time.  It was absolute. Not even the hum of the generator.  And the way they quickly started making noise again …

       He Googled Kansas University and called up their list of current and former faculty.  No “Ethnology” department, and no Arthur Wedemeyer. Didn’t exist.

       Next, he tried the “Institute of Metaphysical Enlightenment,” Sedona, Arizona.

       Nothing.

       IME. 

       Several hits there: everything from “independent medical examination” to the “Institute of Makers of Explosives.”  There was even an “Internet Made Easy” acronym.  But anything to do with metaphysical enlightenment? Shit, no. No such animal.

       And his sexy panther?  Iona Malcolm had a Linked-in Profile, all right.  She looked to be in her fifties and worked for Big Pharma.

       Sweat was beginning to pool in Roy Baxter’s chest and armpits. Rage building, he screwed up the courage to connect his external drive. When he did, there was one file, a jpeg of a no-knock search warrant sought, received, and implemented by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

       Just as Roy was beginning to process the biggest fuck up of his life, he heard Lucifer, who sounded like he was already outside, begin to bark furiously.  Several car doors slammed. Running out to the deck, he saw several uniformed police officers approaching the cabin, guns drawn, along with three men wearing non-descript dark suits and a tall, conservatively dressed woman whose eye no longer looked bruised and who sported no band aid on her cheek.  The biggest man had his hand discreetly but proprietarily at the small of the woman’s back.  He was clean-shaven but his massive arms, even covered by a jacket, were unmistakable.  Behind them all stood another woman who seemed to be in charge.  She wore long dark hair, the colorful braid gone, sunglasses, and a trim black dress that hid a body made for sin.

       “Lucifer,” the big man called up to the dog.  “Remember me, baby?”

       Lucifer barked a friendly hello.