Mysterious Ways

ALL CHARACTERS ARE ADULTS.

Robin Rizzo stood beneath the porte-cochere at the entrance of the Long Island Convention Centre. She pulled her handbag close to her side, gripped her briefcase firmly, studied the sky, then lifted her wrist and checked the time. Five o'clock. The forecast called for no rain and she left her raincoat and umbrella at home in Valencia County. She looked at the sky again, thinking. Her Sebring sat on the street two blocks away. The lightning strikes weren't close.

"Shouldn't be a big problem," she decided, and bolted into the open, running for her car.

Almost immediately things went from bad to worse: the sky turned green beneath its cover of gray clouds, then the clouds lowered and became black. The courthouse flags flapped in the breeze. Cellophane wrappers pin-wheeled over the streets and sidewalks. Some of this trash snagged in hedges or blew beneath newspaper boxes. The wind whooshed through the tops of the oaks, too. And raindrops fell in fat gobs, like pigeon shit, out of the blue.

Smokers loitering around the square, seeing the rain moving forward in a lateral, gray wall, like a regiment of rebel soldiers in a skirmish line, nigger-lipped or daintily puffed final drags from their smokes, then flipped them to the pavement. One smoker crushed and twisted her smoldering cigarette with her high-heel, then fled inside.

Thunder rumbled close by, lightning flashed too far away to hear, and the rain fell heavy and thick. Runoff soon covered the streets to the tops of the curbs. Orange street lamps awoke in the darkness and glowed soberly. Blinking traffic lights rocked and swayed in the wind. The Jollyville City Bus stopped at the courthouse across from the convention center; a woman with soggy, matted hair stepped off, then struggled to open and control her umbrella in the wind. The wind lifted the woman's dress to the top of her legs and pressed the wet fabric tightly against her thighs and hips.

Robin ran as fast as she dared, down the sidewalk, across the street to the opposite side, then down the sidewalk to the intersection. She had the 'cross' light and ran into the street where she stepped into a pothole, lost her balance, and fell face first onto the pavement and into the water. No one saw her distress or plight; her ankle was sprained and two of her nails broke from the collision with the pavement. Every other pedestrian had fled indoors.

Drenched and dirty, Robin sat up, collected her bag and briefcase, and assessed her situation. The bag was filled with water. She emptied it and checked her cell phone. Dead. The heel from one shoe was lost. Nothing seemed broken, though, and she pushed herself up and limped toward her car with an unbalanced gait.

Inside her car Robin pressed her brow against the steering wheel and cried, and when she finished crying she reached for a Kleenex or handkerchief to wipe her face, and both were sopping wet. She dried the wet ignition key with her slip, then cranked the Sebring's engine, switching the window defogger and wipers on before pulling into traffic. Home was a good three hours away with the rush, and the entrance ramp for the expressway was clogged with cars creeping along in the deluge.

On the expressway, at last, Robin and the traffic moved slowly away from Jollyville. She checked the time. Six o'clock. Then the phone. Nothing.

Dark arrived soon enough, and the storm poured atop Robin as she crept ever closer to Bay City. Her sprained foot tormented her, and she was physically and mentally drained from the fall and the stress from driving in bad weather.

She looked at her watch and thought, "Another hour or so should do it."

Rolling along in the rain, a large truck slowed up beside her, covering her windshield with splashed water and spray from the road. Her windshield wipers were useless in the assault of rain and road-water. She slowed the Sebring to let the truck get ahead of her and the truck slowed, too. She pressed the accelerator to get ahead of the truck and the truck matched her. She considered pulling over but couldn't see the shoulder through the rain. She backed off again, and the truck did the same.

"Surely he can't be doing this on purpose!"

She tried slowing again and a car behind her was quickly on her bumper and riding the horn. Robin sped up. The car rode her bumper.

"What an idiot!"

A mile further along the truck abruptly switched lanes forcing Robin onto the shoulder and down an exit ramp that suddenly materialized out of the night. She barely saw the stop sign ahead, and skidded the Sebring trying to stop on the wet, oily roadway. The honker followed her down the ramp, laid on the horn again, then drove around her, vanishing into the dark.

"Where am I?" She looked around.

Across the intersection the information signage was missing from its mast.

"Damn kids!

"Be calm, Robin!" She told herself.

"Which way?" She wondered.

"If I go right that should take me to 301."

She turned the Sebring's wheels to the right, looked down the road, and gunned the motor. She passed a hitch-hiker.

'I don't think so!' She said to herself.

Robin soon discovered that the road passed through the Valencia National Forest, an immense tract of wilderness preserved for habitat, recreation, and logging. The wilderness tract was lonesome and dark most of the time, especially at night during a storm.

Five miles into the forest Robin came upon a hazard blinker and a DETOUR sign pointing her to a gravel road through the black woods.

Two miles up the gravel road a deer leaped across her path; Robin veered to miss it and the Sebring sank to its axles in the soft, muddy shoulder.

Robin gunned the engine and the rear wheels spun in their muddy cradles. She checked the Sebring's GPS navigation and confirmed she was in the middle of nowhere on a gravel road. She pressed her brow against the steering wheel and cried again, then cursed, then accepted the situation.

"Someone will come along in the morning," she assured herself.

She sat in the dark with her head resting against one hand, her elbow resting atop the door. Far away, up the road, she saw headlights and became excited.

"Help!"

She flashed the Sebring's headlights, waited, and watched the other vehicle turn off the road about a quarter mile from her. Within fifteen minutes she noticed a faint light through the woods in the area the other vehicle had gone.

"A house?" She wondered.

She contemplated her circumstances, for long minutes, and decided to test her luck walking to the source of the light.

Robin forced the car door open, collected her bag, got out, locked the car, and limped off into the storm. Three times along the way, her sprained foot twisted in the mud and she feared she would faint from the pain. But the pain was brief, and within an hour she discovered a rustic cottage at the end of a driveway that connected to the gravel road. An old truck was parked in front of the house. Lights were on inside.

"Prob'ly a toothless sociopath butchering a virgin," she feared.

Robin limped to the door and knocked. Then knocked again. She was drenched and cold, and screamed when a large hand touched her shoulder.

"Can I help you?" A male voice spoke.

"Jesus Christ! You scared the crap out of me!" Robin barked. "I really need to get home or use your phone. My car is stuck back down the road, and I'd really, really appreciate it."

"Come on inside," he said.

"No, I don't think I want to. Thank you anyway. Do you have a phone I can use?" Robin was a small woman, less than five feet tall, and the man seemed huge to her.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have a phone."

"HE IS A KILLER!" She thought. "Could you maybe give me a lift to the highway in your truck? Look, I'll pay you for your trouble!"

"Okay. Where do you live? Maybe I could drive you home?"

"Is he nuts?" She thought. "Bay City. Just take me someplace with a pay phone and I can call someone to come for me." Robin deftly pressed a hand against a window pane so her prints might be found if anything sinister happened. She did the same when she got inside the truck.

'Bruce' was the man's name. He cranked up the truck, drove down his drive, and turned onto the gravel road.

"Do you need to stop at your car?" He asked.

"Please," she replied.

Bruce pulled up beside the Sebring and stopped. Robin fetched her briefcase and returned to the truck. She remained silent, alert, and thinking, as he drove towards the paved state road. Then, less than a mile away, a large pine lay across the way.

"Let's go the other direction," Robin ordered.

"Cant," Bruce said.

"Why not!"

"The road cuts across a swamp and is under water."

"I need to get home! I am not spending the night out here in the boonies with a man who could be a killer!" Robin was close to her limit for frazzled.

Bruce looked at her. "Wanna sit in your car all night?"

"Maybe," she lied.

"It's 10 o'clock now, so it shouldn't no more than, oh!, twelve hours till someone comes along. Or it may be someone you're not expecting who comes a whole lot sooner. Then there's the bathroom problem to consider," he reminded her.

He frowned, turned the truck around, and returned to the cottage. He left the truck and unlocked the front door. Robin remained in the truck.

'Plan to stay outside all night?' Bruce yelled to her over the din of the rain.

Robin clutched her stuff, opened the door, limped to the cottage through the downpour, and went inside.

The house looked like a rustic lodge. The main room had a large fireplace at one end and a cathedral ceiling. The hearth and floor were made from fieldstones. Old reupholstered furniture filled the room, and a bookcase covered an entire wall. Robin guessed it held 2,500 books. The opposite end of the room served as a dining area, with an adjoining kitchen, and a loft above.

"Wanna bathe first, or eat?"

"I didn't bring a change of clothes."

"The closet is full of flannel shirts, and there's a toothbrush and throwaway razors in the bathroom. You can sleep on the bed tonight. I'll sleep on the sofa. Are you hungry?"

"Maybe."

"If you decide you are, help yourself in the kitchen, or you can take pot-luck with me. Can you handle the stairs okay?"

"Maybe."

"Give it a whirl, then." Bruce went to the kitchen.

Robin limped up the stairs.

When she reached the loft she felt all the aches and pains of her ordeal. She felt the wall for a light switch and found none. What she discovered was a battery push-light mounted to the wall whose illumination was about as strong as a night-light but revealed the bathroom door, after her eyes adjusted to the dark. The loft was filled with books, too, and finished with rough-sawn cedar planks, large Italian floor tiles, and rugs made of wild animal pelts. She giggled when she saw the bear skin on the floor.

"Mmmm. This needs to be by the fireplace."

She didn't see the black Franklin heater near it, then pressed a light beside the bathroom doorway.

The vanity and toilet were finished with wood. The tub was an ancient cast iron monster with legs. Inside the bathroom, a folding door opened on a cedar clothes closet and linen rack. Robin looked along the hanging shirts until a red plaid, cotton flannel number caught her attention. It felt soft and smelled good. She removed it from the hanger and limped back to the bathroom where she started the water flowing into the tub. A glass and bottle of chilled pinot grigio wine sat on the toilet lid. A new toothbrush and grooming samplers were laid out on the vanity above.

"I didn't even hear him!" She limped to the door, locked it, undressed, stepped into the tub,

and immersed her body beneath the water while sipping wine and absorbing the soothing heat into her sore and aching places, promptly falling asleep. A voice calling her and knocking on the door woke her up.

"You alive?"

Startled, Robin reached for her watch; she'd been asleep almost an hour.

"I'll be done in a few minutes!"

"Okay. Chows on when you're ready."

"Thanks!" She gulped the rest of her wine and started washing.

When she unlocked the door and stepped into the bedroom she immediately saw that the old heater was blazing and casting a dancing orange light about the room. A patchwork quilt and sheets were turned down on the bed. The tail of the shirt covered her knees.

"He's too nice," she concluded as she limped down the stairs to the great room and dining area. He sat at the table eating.

"I got hungry," he apologized. "I hope you don't mind spaghetti."

"Spaghetti is fine." She pulled out a chair and sat.

Two tureens, a plate of sliced tomatoes, and a breadboard with a loaf of Italian bread sat on the table. Robin uncovered one of the tureens and served herself some vermicelli; from the other tureen she ladled out sauce that smelled divine and looked yummy.

"Here's some parmesan, if you want it."

Robin wrinkled her nose. She did not do Kraft parmesan cheese from a bottle. She took a bite of the spaghetti.

"This is pretty good!" She was surprised and smiled.

"Thanks I got it out of a cookbook I bought."

"Gaida? Contessa?"

"No, some lady who writes KOUNTRY KITCHEN cooking articles."

"Oh! Her! Well, the quality of this sauce is definitely surprising if the Kountry bumpkin created it. No offense, but I think she starts with ALPO and adds a little spice and a garnish. Rachel Ray is a real cook." Robin cut a hunk of bread from the loaf.

"Want some wine?"

"Sure, thanks," Robin replied. Bruce filled her glass. "So what do you do out here with no lights or phone?" She asked.

"I live here."

"But why?" She seemed surprised.

"It's what's left of my family's farm. I grew up here."

"But how can you do that when this is a national forest; are you sure the Kountry bumpkin made this recipe?"

"Yes, she did, I'll show you the book. When the government condemned the land the law says that the homesteader can stay on the land until they die or leave."

"But you have no phone or electric!"

"The law doesn't guarantee utilities and the Forest Service doesn't want to encourage anyone to stay forever."

"So no power?"

"No power, no phone, no improvements like a pool or addition, either." He poured her more wine.

"Do you work around here?" She asked.

"I have a printer union card, but mostly I write," he replied.

" A printer, huh?"

"My folks were printers."

"Printers and farmers." She said and wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked at Bruce. His eyes were light gray.

"Ready for bed?" He asked.

"Soon."

"Want some coffee?"

"No, but some hot cocoa would be good," she suggested.

"You got it!" He replied.

Robin started to clear the table but he shooed her into the great room where she examined his books and mementoes.

"Who's the girl?" She wondered.

"My daughter."

"She's very pretty."

"Thanks. She looks her mom."

"Where's mom?"

"She died. Melissa stays with my sister."

"Oh! I'm sorry."

"This place is too isolated for a teen, so she comes home on weekends. Well, Sundays mostly."

Robin moved to a desk and spied several awards mounted on the wall. She knew the name on all of them.

She looked at Bruce. "You're Bruce Grant?"

"That's me," hereplied.

"The Bruce Grant who writes all the stories for Disney?"

"That's me."

Robin sat on the sofa feeling flummoxed by the revelation.

"Do you know how many little girls would murder to be here in your home!"

"It's a nice retreat at times. Let me get the cocoa."

He brought her cocoa. "I'm going up and shower, before you get in bed, so excuse me and amuse yourself, okay?"

"Sure."

Robin thought about Bruce Grant for a long while and fell asleep watching the fire smolder and glow. When she awoke she was in Bruce's arms going up the stairs to the loft.

Bruce carried Robin to the loft and laid her on the bed. She mumbled something and fell asleep. He covered her with the sheet and quilt, and returned downstairs after he collected a blanket and pillow.

After he unlaced his sneakers and pulled off his sweater, he stretched out on the sofa and read till he fell asleep. Outside the rain poured steadily and thunder rumbled. The cottage had a metal roof and the patter of the rain upon it was hypnotic.

Robin dreamed she stood beside a pool fed by a mountain stream. The water was pleasant and her surroundings suggested the pool and mountain were on a Pacific Island. Orchids and lotus and hibiscus grew profusely about the pool.

'Maui!" She smiled in her sleep.

She removed the silk kimono she wore, letting it fall around her feet. She was naked when she stepped into the pool and immersed her body in the stream of water gliding down the rocks and spilling around her neck.

"Mmmm.' She reclined, resting her head upon a smooth stone. A decanter of wine and two glasses magically materialized.

"Oooo!" She giggled.

The glasses were frosted with ice that didn't seem to melt and didn't feel cold to her touch. A zephyr fluttered the leaves at the top of the trees around the pool, creating a happy natural tune. Robin loved the days following autumn storms back home, when the humidity was suddenly low and the breezes felt cool against her skin, and leaves fluttered through the air and danced along the ground.

Robin plucked a Lotus blossom and tasted it.

'Mmmm.' She sucked more of the nectar from the flower and began to feel aroused and dreamy. She took a sip of wine and watched bees flying from blossom to blossom, slipping deep down the flower's throats to gather the sweetness for themselves.

The air caressed her skin, teasing her sun-kissed flesh, making her nipples erect. Sighing, she shifted a little and licked her lips. The sun made her hot, the wind excited her, and the lotus made her dreamy.

A horse neighed close by and she opened her sleepy eyes wide. She glanced around and saw a Centaur standing near her. He looked vaguely familiar as if she should know him, and as she looked at him his rigid equine cock slid out of its sheath as he stepped into the stream and walked toward the pool and Robin.

Moving slowly toward her, his cock became longer. And when he stood beside her, close enough to touch, if she leaned toward him a little, she gulped the wine glass dry and felt her body move toward the centaur. Then a tremendous peel of thunder and blinding bolt of lightning vanquished the Centaur.

Robin screamed and jumped from the water. Thunder and lightning crashed about her, creating intense panic and confusion. She screamed and wailed.

"Youre okay," she heard a familiar voice trying to calm and sooth her. It was a male voice and she felt an arm press against her back and side. She sat in the darkness and cried for a few moments. Outside it was storming fiercely.

"I think the storm scared you," the voice spoke again.

"I hate thunder and lightning!" She whispered.

'You're safe,' the voice reassured her.

'Bruce?" She asked.

"Go back to sleep," he replied.

"Don't go just yet; read me a story till I fall asleep."

"What kind of story?" He asked.

"Something with a princess in it."

"Okay, let me go see what I have."

"Don't you know any princess stories!" She frowned. "I thought you were a writer."

"Next time you get lost I'll have some on-hand!"

"Well it's not like I can call ahead, you know. You gotta take the bull by the horns and be prepared," she wiped her nose of the shirt sleeve.

Bruce got up to go.

"Where you going?" She asked.

"To look" for some stories."

"My muscles hurt, too. Will you rub my feet while you read the story?"

Bruce looked at her sternly. "One thing at a time, okay?"

"Get a good story. I have a friend in Florida who tells really lame stories. I don't want a lame story."