Chapter 14
Sunday morning was cool, bright, and clear.
Engine noises from lawnmowers and leaf blowers throbbed the still air of Laif’s condominium complex in Diamond Bar.
The landscaping was meticulous, bushes cut in perfect circles or squares, grass exactly one inch tall everywhere it grew, and not a spec of trash anywhere. Trees were the only plants allowed to grow wild without man-made shaping. These included birch, pines, and palms trees.
Sharon passed under an arbor arch with ivy growing up it. His door was shaded and to the right, the numerals 131 above it.
She knocked. No answer.
After waiting thirty seconds, she knocked again.
She looked up and could see that the numerals faintly glowed florescent green. There was no doorbell.
She knocked louder. Her watch read seven in the morning. He did agree to seven, didn’t he? That’s what she remembered—an early start to track the Brewsters. She was just about to knock again when the door creaked open.
A blurry eyed Laif asked, “What time is it?”
“Well hello to you, too.” She stepped inside, moving past his groggy, topless body. “Are you ready?” Her voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling. A large skylight dripped yellow morning light onto the spotless white carpet. The place smelled of incense. He had on dark purple pajama bottoms. His chest was lean and muscular, with a hard, rippled stomach. She had trouble taking her eyes off him.
“Did we say seven?” He yawned.
“Com’on, Laif. You’re not even dressed.”
He dragged his feet to the deep, brown, leather couch and slumped in it.
She noticed several sheets of paper taped to the cream-white, living room walls. Looking closer, she saw they were quotes. One read: “Humanity: we have such great potential, if we can only survive the weaknesses in ourselves that we see in others.” Deep, she thought, and it held her attention for a while.
A number of unframed paintings hung on the walls. One was of a man skiing down a hillside not of snow but of pink, blue, yellow, red, and violet flowers, cornering and spraying a rainbow of petals; another was of a sculptor carving a man’s figure out of a dead tree in the middle of a dry, cracked lakebed devoid of life.
She was taken aback by the art. Their metaphorical meanings were multifaceted, deep like the quote, and mysteriously striking. She wanted to spend more time with them and look around his place at her leisure to learn more about this eccentric man.
Pulling her attention back to Laif, walking to the couch, she asked, “Did you at least eat breakfast?”
He rubbed his eyes.
“I’ll get breakfast ready and you get dressed.”
“I got to thinking last night …”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know …”
“What?”
“I don’t know whether I can do this, Sharon.”
She sat on the couch beside him. It was comfortable. She wore a short skirt, so she could feel the cool leather against her legs.
He hesitated, then said, “I’m a failure.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“I can’t even show Cindy’s parents the truth. How can I help, if I can’t do what I’m supposed to?”
“We can help her in other ways. Just because your gift didn’t work, doesn’t mean we’re powerless.”
He tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage. “People have avoided me. I used to think it was because they didn’t understand. But maybe it’s because I’m bad. Maybe all the times I’ve been unsuccessful are adding up so that I’m part of the problem.”
She shook her head.
“Cindy is important. Really. This is my chance in life to make a profound difference, and I’m too weak.”
She touched him on the shoulder. It was warm. “You’re not bad or weak.”
“I’m weak.”
“This is ridiculous. I swear if I hear any more of this, I’m gonna puke.”
“I’ve committed my life to the truth, and I’m not about to turn from it now.”
She kept her voice mild, despite irritation growing at his self-flagellation. “The truth is you’re too hard on yourself. We all have weaknesses.”
“But this is my job. I’ve failed Cindy.”
He sounded like her mother. Sharon remembered dreading going home from school and trying to cheer Mom’s emptiness, trying to stir life back into her alcohol soaked skeleton.
She said, “You’re failing her right now by letting this get you down.” She got him by the arm and pulled him off the couch. “You’re going to your room to get dressed, then you’ll eat breakfast, and we’re getting out of here to find a reason to remove Cindy from her scum-bag parents.”
He dragged himself out of the living room to the hall. Before he entered the gloom, he turned and said, “Thanks, Sharon.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Like everybody, she had her share of down times, but the thing that always pulled her through was remembering her strengths and not giving up. She tried to never feel sorry for herself for long.
She went to the kitchen and looked around. The rich wooden cabinets appeared glossy, as though freshly coated with a lacquer. Inside one were fifteen boxes of Total Fiber cereal. Inside another were fifty cans of fat-free pea soup stacked neatly. Another held seventy boxes of macaroni and cheese. Not much variety in this guy’s diet.
She went back to the first cabinet, took out a cereal box, and pulled out a carton of milk from the refrigerator. Mixing the contents in a bowl, she yelled, “Hurry up.”
She decided to look through the fridge as she put back the milk, just to get more familiar with Laif. She was happy to see no beer, unlike so many other bachelor pads. Four 24-packs of root beer, one carton of orange juice, and another carton of milk populated the shelves. No food.
She sat on the couch and turned on the television to see what station he watched. A child abduction that occurred about a week ago was being outlined in detail on the news, from the dragging of the six-year-old girl into the car, to the driving of the girl into the deserted mountains, and then the torture and strangling of her. Sharon felt nauseous and turned the television off. “You’re cereal’s getting soggy!”
She picked up some magazines in the rack beside the couch. They were issues of Scientific American, Psychology Today, and Yoga Meditation. She smirked. Imagining him in some strange yoga position while explaining the laws of the universe to people was too easy. She put the magazines back.
There was no music lying around. How could someone live without music? She could not picture herself living like that.
Sharon went to the wall to look at another quote: “Communication is a two way street. It’s not simply about sending information, but also receiving. It’s not simply about being heard but also hearing.” Nice. She decided to use this on him if he ever stopped listening to her.
She risked going down the dark hallway towards his bedroom. “Laif, I’m coming. You better be decent.” Dim light issued from a partially open door at the end. She passed several paintings of gigantic waves being surfed, perhaps fifty to sixty foot walls of water. This was odd given Laif’s past reactions to water. At his bedroom entrance, she stopped.
The room’s sole window gaped open with the screen off.
He was gone.