Sacrifice (Solstice Saga - Book 2)

In Book Two of the Solstice Series, SACRIFICE, Julissa Grant must pass through the physical as well as the figurative door. Once through, she is relieved to find her mother alive, but another friend’s death will shake the foundation of what she has lear

Copyright © 2010 John J Blenkush

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To all the dedicated fans of the Solstice Series

REDDITION STACY’S STORY THE DOTHORIAN DOOR SOLSTICE – OF THE HEART SOLSTICE – BLACK MOON RISING

CATWALKS AND CRYSTALS

To all those readers of the Solstice Series, who add meaning to the story of

Julissa Grant and Aaron Delmon

I turn toward the glaring light It’s not really where I want to go I want to stay with Aaron, to drive away with him in Bernard’s beat-up old truck, to be close to him, to cradle, in my hands, the bouquet of flowers he gave me and watch in awe as they spring back to life and know, too, my heart will restart But, like a moth driven to the glow, I float forward, staring into the brightness, catching glimpses of the silhouette of my mother, praying that what I see isn’t my mother’s ghost, but truly her physical self, standing there in the doorway

Dierdra greets me within the framework of the front door, stiff, motionless, without a smile or open arms The hood from her coat sits high on her head The high points of her face—her nose, cheeks, chin, forehead, and lips—are awash in light They protrude from the shadows and give the illusion I’m being greeted by the grim reaper All that is lacking is the blood-soaked sickle clutched in her hand yet, here too, I imagine a weapon of sorts

I hear a whoosh-whoosh from above and, as I look skyward, I see a

bird, a large one, crane-looking, swooping down, following the road to where I see the brake lights of Aaron’s truck beaming through the darkness I think maybe he has changed his mind about escorting me

to the front door I hesitate, caught in mid-step And then I see the strange-looking large bird circle above him I see Aaron stick his head out the window He looks up The brake lights disappear The truck moves forward The bird flies out ahead, as though in the lead And I remember back to when Cherrie and I were climbing down from Helen Lake on Mount Shasta Although I had only caught a peek at the bird between breaks in the clouds, the form is familiar There, on the

mountain, it appeared ghostly Here, caught in the glow of the street lights, I see the bird more clearly, yet without detail It flies, similar to the shadow one sees passing along the ground as a bird passes overhead, bent and twisted, blending with the texture of its milieu

I stand on the threshold, an arm’s length away, a step from entering the cabin, yet my heart aches to retreat, to turn from my mother, the grim reaper, and to sprint down the road in chase of Aaron But to what end? Could I beat Aaron to the stop sign? I can still hear the sound of his truck rumbling down the gradient Catching him is possible, if he slows and stops, and if I’m at my best running speed But what then? Step in front of the truck? Hold up my hand Plead

my case? What can I say to change Aaron’s mind that I haven’t already said? He made his choice Turned and drove away He left me with a hand full of decaying flowers and a bruised if not broken heart He gave no care to the thought of my mother dying or the pain I might endure at the knowing Why should I make the effort to reconcile?

“Where’ve you been?”

I brush past Dierdra and saunter into the living room A man, dressed in a policeman’s uniform, sits on the couch, perched forward,

as if ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation Dierdra, grabbing me by the shoulder, spins me around, her eyes a-glare She has never before been physically abusive to me I sense this is about to change

“I asked you, where you’ve been!”

I jab my thumb over my shoulder to the officer “What’re the police doing here?”

Dierdra’s slap comes hard and fast The sting, biting my cheek, causes my eyes to water The liquid crests and overflows, draping oversized tears down my cheeks I swipe them away I put on my case-hardened looking face

“Answer me!”

I hear the police officer rising to his feet behind me I want to scream at Dierdra Tell her what a mean mother she’s becoming My hand, instinctively, balls up into a fist Deep down, in a place I’m not known to frequent, I feel an urge to fight back

I do neither

I turn and walk into the kitchen “You didn’t see the note?” I ask in

as calm a voice as I can

“What note?”

“The one I left.” I look to the refrigerator where I had pinned the post-it prior to leaving with Aaron to the Crags It isn’t there I turn

to see the officer digging and pulling paper out of his breast pocket

“My apologies, Mrs Grant,” he says “I clean forgot about it.” He hands the note to her and backpedals, as though he feels he needs to keep at least an arm’s length distance between them

I start to put the pieces of the puzzle together in my mind; the officer’s car in the driveway in front of Dierdra’s car, and the officer in possession of the note Obviously he arrived sometime before Dierdra I know he wouldn’t have had a problem gaining entrance to the cabin, because we never locked the door How could we?

Uncle Mickey, when constructing the house, didn’t install a lock on the front door When I questioned Dierdra on this, I was told Uncle Mickey never felt security was needed He considered the townsfolk, she said, part of his family Why would they steal from him? It never entered his mind they would And if they did, Uncle Mickey was of the nature he’d give them the shirt off his back

I look to my bedroom door It stands open I think I remember closing it before leaving with Aaron this morning What else had the officer been looking for? Besides the note?

Searching for what? And why?

Had the officer thought I’d been hurt, or worse yet, dead? Was he looking for clues as to my disappearance? I couldn’t think of anything else, which would make him so bold as to search our house without a warrant In my mind, the officer’s concern for my welfare would be the only justifiable reason for ransacking our house

I take a step toward the officer so I can read his name tag

“Officer Scheeler, what are you doing here in our house?” What are you looking for?”

Officer Scheeler ignores me He keeps his eyes directed at Dierdra Dierdra studiously reads the note I can see her lips moving as she reads the words They tremble with emotion

Mom:

Gone hiking to the Crags with Aaron Not sure when we’ll be back, but will be sometime today Hope things went well for you in Redding

Love Julissa

Dierdra approaches me with quivering lips and tears in her eyes

“Jewels, I’m so sorry.” She lays the palm of her hand on my face Her thumb brushes away the last of the wetness on my cheek Her eyes reflect the torment grinding away within, as they dart around in search of forgiveness

I feel a red hot burn where she lays her hand, only because the skin

is still inflamed Her touch cools the hostility burning in me It dilutes the acidic broth stewing in my belly

“I’m so sorry,” Dierdra says “When I came home and saw the car here and the officer in the house I just well, I didn’t know what to think I thought he was going to tell me you were ”

I study Dierdra’s face as her voice trails off

“What? Dead? Mom, you’ve got to quit thinking I’m hurt or going

to die And then it dawns on me “You didn’t call the police, did you?”

Dierdra shakes her head “No Like I said The gentleman was here when I got home.”

I turn to officer Scheeler “Who called you?”

“No one.” He pulls out a pencil and a notepad and motions to the couch “Have a seat.”

I move over and stand next to Dierdra in a show of solidarity “Not until you tell us what this is all about If you aren’t here looking for

me, then why are you in our house? What’re you looking for?” I point

to the note in Dierdra’s hand “Besides that.”

“You I was looking for you.”

Dierdra reaches out She lifts my hand “What are these?”

I look down at the flower bouquet I had completely forgotten them Instead of wilting, as would be expected, the flowers—despite not having their stems immersed in water—continue to add color and bloom The Castle Crag bellflowers rise in posture, even as the three

of us stare It reminds me of watching a time-elapse video of a plant growing I can see the white to pale blue corolla lobes curling back and protruding around the center of the flower The stems and hairy leaves come alive, turning leathery I see the likeness of two large pointed teeth on the edges of the leaves taking shape

Had I not known better I would have guessed Aaron had purchased the flowers at the local flower shop It’s hard to imagine he had, just minutes before, pulled the dried out bouquet from the truck’s glove compartment and handed them to me

“Excuse me,” I say “I’ll be right back.”

I rummage through the kitchen cabinets in search of a flower vase

Up on the top shelf of the coffee mug and drinking glasses’ cabinet I spy Uncle Mickey’s mountaineering beer glasses I remember Dierdra telling me they were a present from Simon to his brother Mickey, eight glasses in all, individually inscribed with the profile of a mountain, its coordinates, elevation, first ascent, classic routes, and other pertinent facts A copy of the actual geological survey marker found at the top

of each mountain is imprinted, in black lettering, on the base of the glass

One night, after downing a beer per glass, Uncle Mickey and Simon made a pact to climb all eight of the mountains listed in the glass set, which included favorite mountains in the Sierra and Cascade ranges They used Shasta as their training ground, climbing it from the south, the north, and the west As their confidence grew, they took on Rainier and Whitney, climbing them and Shasta, once again, all in the same year

I find it unsettling the pint glass I manage to pull from the shelf happens to be emblazoned with Mount Hood’s likeness and

description I read some of the facts: elevation: 11,249 feet; 1 st ascent: 1857

by Henry Pittock; voted Oregon’s “Most likely to erupt” and, on the survey

marker it says, “250 dollars fine for disturbing this mark”

Somehow, I cannot get the sense of how Simon and Uncle Mickey,

experienced climbers, perished on a mountain, which is home to 6 resorts

with 4600 acres of skiable terrain

My research of the mountain reveals, out of the 10,000 people who attempt to climb Mount Hood each year, only 130 people died since records have been kept

Pretty good odds I have to admit, which only fuels my skepticism and fosters denial I half expect Uncle Mickey to burst through the back door, pour a glass of his favorite brew, and enthrall me with stories of his latest adventure Dad would be sure to follow in Uncle Mickey’s footsteps, dusting off the snow from his shoulders and the frost from his beard as he enters

So goes a young girl’s mind, wandering in the possibilities of the impossible

I recall reading; the worst climbing accident on Mount Hood occurred in the mid-eighties when seven teenagers and two school teachers froze to death, while attempting to retreat from a storm This train of thought and holding the cold cup in my hand causes shivers to

run up and down the length of my spine I move to the sink and run the glass under warm water in an effort to wash out the dust and to rein in my cold-induced shakes

The glass, by design, is thick, heavy, and tapered Its opening doubles the circumference of the base This makes the glassware ideal for a short stemmed flower vase

I clip the ends of the flowers off at a slant, fill the glass with warm water, and tuck the stems into the vase I heard if one puts a penny and an aspirin in the water the flowers will last longer, because the copper acts as a fungicide and the aspirin makes the water more acidic

I don’t think, in this case, either is necessary Whatever life-force energy Aaron gave the flowers, I reason, they will do just fine without any artificial rejuvenation

Aaron’s perceived ability to bring things back to life shakes the foundations of my beliefs, namely those taught to me by the Catholic Church If one possesses the ability to resurrect, then, without question—I had been taught—that person is a deity I can’t help but wonder; if Aaron is truly some type of true-blood Lemurian divine being, where is that going to leave me?

The little girl from Minnesota, who had been led to believe Paul Bunyan, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny are real, but since learned they are nothing but fabrications conjured up by adults to spur the imaginations of little children, no longer blindly believes And what about my dad, Simon, and Chuck, real people who now lay dead? Where’s God? Where’s the Catholic Church? Where are the miracles

to save them! Or bring them back to life? Who wouldn’t, at the age of sixteen, become cynical in all things after having lived through what I have suffered?

Do I believe Aaron is gifted? Yes! Can I believe he is a divine being? I hold reservation More so, I don’t want to believe he’s capable of resurrecting anything Yet, here I stand, looking down on incarnate proof of his ability to raise flowers from the dead

It’s also true I felt invigorated in the hospital when Aaron touched

me The pig—although I firmly believed it had been dead and would stay dead forever—nevertheless, showed signs of life when Aaron accidentally touched it And now the flowers, blossoming in all their glory, as if it were springtime on the Crags, continue to mount a come-back-to-life transformation, even as I stand and stare

I ask myself: At what point does Aaron’s transference of life-force energy no longer have an effect? Minutes, hours, days after something

or someone dies? How long had the flowers been dead or dying?

I understand summer comes late in the mountains, which includes the Crags, so I think it is possible Aaron picked the flowers recently, maybe even on the first day I saw him looking down at us from Crown Dome, while Cherrie and I were boy hunting

So, I wonder, is his ability any different than, say, someone’s skill in the medical profession? Who, under the right conditions, possesses the expertise to resurrect a person back from the dead? You hear about it now and again; the person who floats underwater for twenty minutes

or more and due to the slowing hypothermic effect, the medical mavens are able to revive them I witnessed this with my friend, Chuck Segovia He was believed dead, yet returned to live a few more days before dying Is this all Aaron is doing? Using his superior knowledge and honed skills to impart a medical healing of the body? Even when

it comes to reviving flowers?

I gaze at the flowers How odd, I think, I’m looking for answers through

the flower’s transformation instead of basking in the romanticism of the age old tradition of a boy gifting a girl flowers

“Where are you?” I hear Dierdra say this from the living room I make one last attempt to arrange the flowers in the mountaineering glass before answering

“Coming.”

As I enter the living room, I see Dierdra and officer Scheeler sitting

on the couch, twisted a bit, facing each other I hear Louk Hollingsworth’s name mentioned in their conversation

“What about Louk?” I ask

Dierdra slides over and pats the couch in the space between her and the officer “Come Sit,” she says “Officer Scheeler would like to ask you some questions.”

“I’m okay here.” I stand erect I fold my arms across my chest, bracing for the questions officer Scheeler seems bent on asking

“Just a few,” officer Scheeler says, as he readies his notebook and pen, “questions You were with Aaron Delmon in the park today? That correct?”

I nod “Yes Castle Crags’ park.”

“Mind telling me what you two were doing up there?”

“Hiking?” I say with a non-voiced duh attached