American Bruja: The Los Angeles Cauldron

Chapter 35. Dr. Betty Morton

Journal entry from Tuesday, August 9, 2011

10:00 p.m. at the Morton residence in Lake Manor

Santa Ana wind roars from the north through the Simi Hills to batter our little community. Oak branches creak and scrape, and I pray the sacred grove holds firm against the assault.

But inside the cottage, Rob and I sit at the yellow Formica kitchen table. We inhale the sweet orange scent of the herbal tea steaming from our mugs. His face looks jaundiced in the reflection of the single farmhouse light against the kitchen's yellow walls.

My cottage shakes and groans as we drink our tea. Reaching across the table, I take Rob's free hand in mine. With our shared history, no words are necessary. I've no doubt he's thinking about the vision I received two days ago, of Amber running from a maelstrom. With the wind comes fire.

Rob gives my hand a squeeze before releasing it to rise from the table. He walks across the white Formica flooring speckled with gold to the kitchen sink to rinse stray leaves from his coffee mug. Once broad-shouldered, the sharp angles of his collarbones are visible under his flannel shirt.

As I stand and walk to wrap my arms around him, the phone rings. The jangling sound sets my heart racing and I pivot toward the kitchen counter.

Turning from the sink, Rob raises an eyebrow. "Who's calling so late?"

The wind's violence mirrors the unease in my gut. I purposely take in a long, slow breath as I raise the handset to my ear. Rose O'Donnell's panicked voice streams through the telephone line, so loud I move the handset away from my head.

Rob walks to join me at the kitchen counter as Rose shouts through the phone. Her words are a jumble, but I pick out "Aislinn and Amber...," "Kidnapped Seth Lobata and Luis Garcia," "...Stoner's Jump...," and "...Manson Family."

Heaviness settles over my chest and my shoulders slump at her last words. When I left Manson's "family" in June of 1969, I thought I was done with them. I believed the words of my beloved guru. The past is over, never to return. The future is a dream. There is only now.

Rob leans to press his forehead against mine as he speaks into the phone. "Rose, slow down."

Her voice on the other side of the line falls silent for a moment. I hear a deep inhale, then, "I called 9-1-1 as soon as I got cell service, but they don't know who to send, or even how to find Stoner's Jump!"

My sadness gives way to anger as I straighten my shoulders and lean away from Rob. The Simi Hills are a jurisdictional nightmare because of overlapping territory between the Ventura County Sheriff, LAPD, and the LA County Sheriff.

My eyes meet Rob's and he nods before speaking into the phone. "Rose, drive to LAPD's Chatsworth substation and ask for Johnson and Gutierrez. Betty and I will head to Stoner's Jump."

Rob gives Rose directions to the Chatsworth substation as I fast-walk through the adjoining living room to the front door. I don't bother dissuading him from coming to the rescue. The boys became fixtures at Rob's workshop in my garage ever since he performed at Seth's tenth birthday party.

I snatch our boots from the adjacent coat closet and return to the kitchen, where Rob's hanging up the phone. He takes his hiking boots from me, and we plop down into the kitchen chairs.

As we don our boots, Rob's face scrunches into a frown. "We have to assume Manson's followers intend to kill Seth and Luis."

I stand and extend a hand to Rob. He waves me away and slowly rises to his feet. We walk together to the coat closet, where he retrieves my backpack. Mine contains water, a first aid kit, and a canister of bear spray. Unless I'm spraying south, the bear spray is useless in the wind, but I retrieve it and clip the canister to my belt.