Chapter 9

Nine

D ane

I made it to my temporary bedroom and resisted the temptation to have another good cry. Playing guitar with Ryan, jamming to the songs my friends wrote and played, felt good, felt right, but it also brought to the forefront of my memory so many important times in my life, so many people vital to my coming of age. I wanted to weep for the loss of those times, but then I thought, things weren't going that great when, as Kal referred to it, the bad thing happened.

The tour with Tess had felt like a farewell. The crowds were smaller. There were still rock fans, but so many people were into disco and punk that us folk rockers were being pushed out of the way. Tess and I had joked that we were a nostalgia act, me at 27 and her at 35. She was tired of life on the road and thought she might take some time off touring. She had some pretty wild ideas, especially about what her and me could get up to.

I was about to be unmoored, floating in a sea of limited possibilities for the future of my music career. I could find another band to join, start something of my own, or see if one of my mentors wanted to work with me on a new album. But time had felt like it was running out.

I'd been dropped by my first label after my debut album did mediocre. I didn't quite have the chops of Jackson Browne or Gram Parsons, the two artists I'd been compared to most often, and my music was too moody to compete with teen heartthrobs like Shawn Cassidy or Andy Gibb. Tess always told me I was cuter than both of them put together, but that didn't mean anything to me. I wanted to be taken seriously as a musician, and sure, I knew teenagers had made The Beatles famous, but they were so much more than their haircuts or cute smiles.

I wanted to be more.

I fell into bed and had a pout about the fact that I hadn't been able to snag the handsome detective, but then, I became even more infatuated with him when he denied me, reluctantly of course. I hadn't been let down easy. He'd wanted me too, that was obvious. But first and foremost, he wanted me to talk, and that made me twitchy.

I didn't want to be just a case to him, but what else could I possibly be?

It was complicated, and I was tired, so tired. I smashed my face into the pillow and pulled the blankets up over my head, wishing I could hide from the world, but then, that's what I'd been doing for…

Forty years. Jesus! I was sixty-seven years old living in the body of a twenty-seven-year-old. What would happen? Would it all catch up? Would I age overnight? That thought had me paranoid to fall asleep.

But then I thought of Kal. He still hadn't told me his whole story, but he'd said he'd been at the carnival longer than me, or at least he'd gone in much earlier than I had, and he looked young like me, though he was much older. He'd been out over a year and he still looked young, so maybe I didn't have to worry.

And sweet Ryan. He reminded me of the troubled geniuses I'd known over the years. His voice was different, much less refined than that of Graham Nash, more husky like Stephen Stills's and passionate like John Phillips's. Bet we could make some nice harmonies together… if I could ever sing again.

Somehow, I drifted off to sleep… and dreamt about a little boy smiling when I handed him his poem.

I was up with the sun, way before Kal and Ryan stirred, and I had the cake frosted and ready for them, although I'd also perused the refrigerator and saw that there was plenty I could cook for them if they wanted real food. Cooking was how I'd learned to make myself useful, first at home for my mother, and then Tess helped me broaden my capabilities until I was right next to her preparing huge meals for whoever showed up each night. She always had me take food home for my mother, but the older I got, the more time I spent at her house until I'd moved in for all intents and purposes. I'd take Mom her dinner, and then head back to Tess's to see who would be over that night.

When I turned eighteen, Tess started taking me with them to the clubs on Sunset, and then I really got the bug to perform music.

I wondered what the LA music scene was like now?

I looked out the front window and saw the detective's truck was still parked outside the front gate. Had he slept out there? I couldn't decide if that was creepy or sweet.

I decided on sweet.

Back in the kitchen, I tried to figure out how to use the coffee maker, and I noticed there were little tiny cups in a rack next to it. It took a few minutes, but I realized how to open the top, insert a cup, and press the start button. I slid a mug under the drip just as the machine kicked on and coffee started streaming out of the bottom. I didn't drink the stuff, but I knew most people did. While I waited for it to finish, I sliced a piece of cake and put it on a plate, grabbed a fork, then swiped the cup of coffee. I was going to make a delivery to the detective.

I stepped outside and shivered in the damp morning. Fog hung over the hillside in patches and dew dripped from the trees above my head. What I could see of the sky was gray but everything felt fresh and clean. The ground was wet, too, as if a few showers had passed over us as we slept. I probably should have put on more clothes, or shoes at least, but I was so curious to see what the detective was up to, I couldn't be bothered.

Walter Muse.

What a coincidence. Muse. Yeah, I could see him being just that for me. For better or worse, he'd opened up a cascade of feelings I'd tamped down since I'd started to remember my life, and I didn't want to keep them in anymore. I just hoped he didn't turn me into a history lesson… or a science experiment.

That thought halted my forward progress. What would happen when he inevitably told his superiors about me? He'd said I'd have to give a statement, which, fine, but would I have to go in? They'd take one look at me and wonder how the fuck I still looked so young. Would they take me to some government laboratory and run experiments like in some sick, twisted sci-fi movie?

"Ouch."

The tremors started up again, and I managed to slosh hot coffee onto my hand. It hurt like hell and got me moving toward his truck once more. I couldn't turn back, not with the detective, and not with my purpose. I needed his help to find the bad man before he hurt anyone else, regardless of what it meant for me.

After opening the gate, I approached the passenger-side window and caught sight of the sleeping detective, his head slumped toward his right shoulder… and then I saw his gun. He had his right hand resting on it, which let me know I should approach slowly, carefully. Although he must have had a sixth sense, even in sleep. Before I could tap on the window, he lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes wide.

I held up the coffee and slice of cake, trying to keep them steady, and his expression relaxed, though I wouldn't exactly call it a smile. I heard a click and the door unlocked. He leaned over and opened the door, then he rubbed at his face and put his gun back in the holster attached to his belt.

"I apologize if I startled you," I said. "When you left last night, I assumed you left ."

He chuckled and accepted the coffee from me, eyed the cake, and then took that too.

"Why go to a hotel when I can have breakfast delivered right to my truck?" He took a sip of the coffee and exhaled, a small sigh slipping out. "I didn't want to be too far… I don't feel right leaving you unprotected when this guy is still out there."

"Which one?" I asked, and it seemed to hit us both at the same time, the gravity of the situation.

"Right. Not only do we need to worry about this new suspect, but if word gets out that you're alive, your prior attacker may decide to see for himself. I don't like this one bit. I should put you in protective custody?—"

"Does it matter what I want?" I wanted to trust him, but I didn't want my choices taken away from me. Again.

His eyebrows rose. "Of course it matters. It matters to me . I'm racking my brain trying to figure out the best way to proceed, and that has me at odds with decades of police training and procedure."

I slid into the passenger seat, shut the door, and turned sideways to face him. "So what do you think we should do?"

"A million things. I want to hold off on informing my superiors. When I do, a lot will be taken out of my hands, and I don't want you left unprotected, not even for a second. I think as much as you can tell me about this guy, the better, and we'll figure out how to pass that along to the detective in charge, my buddy Dax. I want you to work with a sketch artist, get a description of him out there so we can hopefully stop him from killing again.

"I just… I don't see how we can acknowledge you're you . That you're alive after all this time. It would mean bringing you into the Kern County Sheriff's Department for a statement, an examination of your injuries, even though it's been so long… DNA tests, x-rays… Dane, it would be very invasive, and you've already lost so much time. And there's your mother to think about, not to mention the media, and how to explain your absence when you look like… you. I don't know what to do about that."

I rubbed my shaky, sweaty palms on my thighs and laughed nervously. "Nowhere in there did I even hear anything about taking me out for dinner. Gosh."

The detective quirked a half smile, but his dark eyes were so troubled. That made it easier. The fact that he was trying to protect me from so much made me breathe a little easier.

"Eat your cake, Detective. You need some sugar. Let me think for a minute."

He'd set the cake on the dash of the truck, along with the coffee. He took the plate in his hands and scooped a forkful up and into his mouth. And he moaned.

I shivered at the sound.

"Oh, you've got a little?—"

I reached out to wipe away a bit of frosting from his mustache, but he grabbed my wrist so fast it shocked us both. He released it quickly.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right," I said, tucking my hair over my ear, then remembering my stupid scar, I pulled it back down. "I should know better than to lay hands on an officer of the law."

He shook his head. "If this were any other situation, I wouldn't stop you." His vulnerable gaze showed me what an honorable man he was. I hadn't spent a lot of time around men like that.

"That's good to know."

Something buzzed and startled us both. He pulled out a rectangular gadget with a glass top, similar to the one Ryan had, and it lit up.

"It's my buddy with the sheriff's department. I texted him last night. Well, when I came out to my truck."

"What is that? Ryan has one too."

"This? It's a smartphone."

"Like a telephone? How does it work without a cord?"

He grinned, and I was about to protest when he laughed. "We have a lot to catch you up on."

"I guess so. Don't think I didn't notice you stepping in last night to help me cook. Next you'll probably tell me there are people living in space."

He took another big bite of the cake and closed his eyes for a moment. "There are, but not like you probably think. There's a space station where scientists do research. Not like a whole society or anything. It's not much more than a tin can. It's not Star Wars ."

"I loved that movie," I said. "I think Tess and I sat through it three times one afternoon. So no lightsabers or ray guns? No beam me up like on Star Trek ?"

"Only toys. You can build lightsabers at Disneyland, but I'm afraid they'd only give someone a small bruise, not slice them in half."

"But you do have fancy phones. Okay. Good to know." I looked around the truck and noticed a screen in the dashboard like Ryan's had. "And these big fancy screens in your cars."

"Those big fancy screens come in handy. You've always got directions, wherever you are, no more paper maps. And any music you want right at your fingertips."

"You have music in there?"

He set the cake down and took a sip of coffee. "This is a phenomenal cake, by the way. And yes, anything you want to hear. Although, you might find modern music a bit of a headscratcher."

"I can't wait to catch up. I just wish… I wish I could sing. That was hard last night, this morning. Whenever. When I played with Ryan. He's good."

"You're better," he said with a lopsided grin. "I'm happy to be your tour guide. Whenever you're ready."

"I'd say now, but…"

"You're not ready. And honestly, I'm not ready, not until we talk a little more. Are you ready to do that?"

This morning, I actually felt strong enough. "As long as you're here. I know that's selfish of me to say. You probably have better things to do."

"Dane… I'm not sure how to make this any clearer. I've spent twenty years trying to find the person who hurt you, and the twenty before that… Well, my father gave up on life when he couldn't solve your case. It drove him mad. So I'm not just doing this for you. Now who's selfish?"

Without thinking, I put my hand on his leg. "Detective?—"

"It's Walter. Please. Call me Walter."

I couldn't help it. I wrinkled my nose, and he laughed at me.

"What?"

"Walter. It's such a serious name. A trustworthy name. Like Walter Cronkite. ‘The most trusted man in America,'" I said in a deep voice, and he rolled his eyes.

"Well, he's gone now, so I've got to hold up the mantle."

I sighed. "I'm not sure I'm ready to hear who all is gone."

He nodded. "Noted. I'm sorry. I don't want to hit you all at once with stuff like that."

"It's okay. I lost so many friends so young. Cass, Jim, Jimi, Janis, Gram… You know, a thought went through my head, when the man was attacking me?"

He put his hand over mine. "Go on."

"Well. I was twenty-seven, right? I thought, maybe there was something to that superstition that we were all doomed. At least I'd had Tess and my mom to keep me off the hard stuff, and I never liked drinking much, but you know, I thought maybe our whole mountain was cursed, or anyone who lived up here for any period of time, you know?"

Walter squeezed my hand. "Those were all tough losses. But I'll tell you what. David Crosby, Stephen Stills, Graham Nash, Neil Young, Mick Jagger, and Keith Richards are still kicking around, so I don't think it was a true curse."

He said it so serious, I burst out laughing.

"Well, shit. All them guys made it? They were way worse than me. Okay, maybe you're right."

He was still holding my hand. I liked it a lot.

"I'll tell you another curse I seem to have." I couldn't believe I was about to be so bold, but I'd been given a second chance at life. I owed it to those who didn't have that chance to be honest. "I seem to have a habit of flirting with unavailable men."

He looked down at our hands together and squeezed once more.

"I'm not… I'm only temporarily unavailable. Situationally unavailable. It's not by choice. Maybe… let's get through this, get you safe, and then…"

"We'll see, huh?"

He smiled, and man, I wanted to feel that mustache on my lips, run my tongue—and other things—over his lips, and slide my fingers through his chest hair. But I was gun shy, not just because he was what we once referred to as a "pig," but also, I'd spent my formative years around men who were open about sex, had lots of it, but not very often with each other. There were rumors about people like David Bowie and Elton John, but they weren't approachable. I was always too chicken to talk to them.

The hippies and people I knew talked about being open, loving freely, but I'd overheard plenty of conversations between my friends where they talked about a male fan getting overzealous, and they would laugh about it and be thankful they'd gotten away from the "fairy" or the other f-word that always made me cringe. Tess was the only one I was open with.

God, I missed her.

What would she think if she saw me now?

I started to slide my hand out of Walter's grip, but he held on.

"I swear I'll protect you, Dane. I won't let him near you."

"Okay." Wow . The shakes went through my whole body. Partly it was his promise, partly it was the promise of him .

I hoped I could count on both.