American Bruja: The Los Angeles Cauldron

Chapter 36. Aislinn McBride

Journal entry from Tuesday, August 9, 2011

11:00 p.m. at Stoner's Jump in the Simi Hills

From the mouth of the cave, one of Manson's minions lies on his back near a bound Luis Garcia. His black hoodie is covered with sand. The man screams and clutches at his left leg, bent at the knee at a 45-degree angle away from his body.

Another man's black sweatpants are on fire and he's doing a crazy dance toward the edge of the stone tongue as he slaps at the flames. His matching black hoodie tells me he's another one of Manson's followers.

At the center of the cave, Seth Lobata leans over a rock to scrape against the zip ties binding his hands. Nearby lies the unconscious asshole who fell backwards over that same rock after I threw sand in his face.

A wicked grin forms on my lips. We took out three of the four.

I turn toward Amber, but her eyes are fixed on the fourth man, standing at the mouth of the cave.

Firelight from the scattered logs illuminates his dusty face and hair. Sand falls from his black beard as he scratches his face and rubs his eyes.

With a volley of swearing, he lowers his hands and blinks. As his eyes fix on me and Amber, his lips curl into a snarl. In one leap, he's over the burning logs and rushing toward us.

My heart's pounding as I feel the weight of the knife in my right hand. Instinctively, I move in front of Amber.

He closes the distance and opens his mouth to speak, but his words are drowned out by the roar of an approaching helicopter.

Hand shaking, I raise the knife. The fear gripping my gut swells, then hardens into a burning.

I'm here to find Conlan, not fuck around with these Manson twats.

As I steady my hand, a searchlight floods the cave.

The darkly hooded man stops and pivots toward the light.

My breathing slows and time stands still.

Manson's minion turns toward me. With outstretched hands, he reaches for my neck.

Without thinking, I drive the knife into his stomach. The sharp blade cuts through his skin to stab his intestines.

With a grunt, he grabs my hands to pry my fingers from the weapon, but I twist it so deep my body is pressed against his. We're nose to nose, his breath hot against my face.

Suddenly, a thunderous boom roars in our ears. As I'm slammed against the back of the cave, my hand rips the knife from his gut. A pungent, oily smell fills my nostrils.

Dirt showers from the ceiling to fill the cave with a dusty haze. As it enters my nostrils, my tongue finds grains of sand in my mouth. With a barking cough, I spit, then pull my shirt up and over my nose.

I'm blinded and my ears ring with a loud, metallic sound. Through the haze, a cold, sweaty hand finds mine. Amber.

The warmth of relief drowns my rage. Squeezing her fingers, I pull Amber close for a hug. Instead of the usual stiffness, she throws her arms around my shoulders.

I move my hands to the back of her head to stroke her hair. She rests her chin on my shoulder, something she's never done.

We hold each other for several minutes, waiting for the air to clear. My heart swells, mirroring the warmth of my daughter's embrace. The cold, emotionless little girl is gone.

She really does love me.

A sudden sadness jabs at my heart. Maybe I don't deserve it.

As the dust settles, I raise my head. The darkened cave is dotted with shadowy lumps groaning in pain.

Amber releases me, turns toward the cave's interior, and retrieves a flashlight from her backpack. The beam lands on Seth, sitting atop a rock at the center of the cave. With a grin, he raises his zip-tied hands.

I raise the knife, then step toward the bound boy. Amber follows, and her flashlight swings down to land on the man I stabbed. He's on his back, swearing, and clutching his stomach. Blood seeps from his body to the cave floor in a dark slick.

Resisting the urge to kick him, I keep my distance and walk to Seth. The blond boy's face smooths with relief as I cut the ties binding his hands and feet.

He massages his wrists before turning toward the mouth of the cave.

Moonlight illuminates four people in a crumpled heap. A woman is face-down atop the body pile, her pale hair glinting silver under the moonbeams. With a moan, she slides off and onto the ground. Her long-sleeved hiking shirt falls open as she sprawls on her back.

In the pile, a young man yells, "Get off me!"

Seth rushes across the cave floor to the group as Amber and I follow. When he reaches the prone figures, he stops to wrap his hands around the biceps of an old man lying on his back atop the body pile. "Mr. Baccharis, are you okay?"

We reach Seth to find the old man unresponsive. He's wearing a black cape, flannel shirt, and jeans. His gaunt face is ghostly gray in the moonlight.

As Seth moves to the old man's feet, the woman lying nearby pulls herself up into a seated position. Head bowed, her fingers find the ends of her open shirt, which she ties into a knot to cover her exposed chest.

When she raises her head, I recognize the psychologist, Dr. Betty Morton. Her eyes flick to the body pile, then widen with fear.

As Dr. Morton tries to stand, I turn to Amber, unzip her backpack, and stash the knife.

Amber bypasses Dr. Morton to join Seth at the old man's feet.

Dr. Morton rises to her knees, yelps in pain, then collapses.

I walk to the old man's head, bend at the knees, and slide my arms behind his back. With a nod to Seth, we lift. The old fella's not moving, but his ragged breathing tells me he's alive.

As we crouch to place him on the floor, a bound Luis Garcia rolls off the man on the bottom of the pile. The bottom man is unconscious and wearing the black hoodie and sweatpants uniform of Manson's followers. A white leg bone pokes through his left pants leg.

Amber rushes to Luis and removes the knife from her backpack. As she slices through Luis's zip ties, the elderly man at my feet moans.

I drop into a cross-legged position, lean over his face, and touch his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

The old man mumbles, turns his head, then coughs weakly. Then he blinks, and the moonlight illuminates electric blue eyes.

In an instant, my mind is sucked back to 1982. Our bodies are intertwined in Peppergate Ranch's master bedroom.

His lips graze my ears. "Our children with be powerful, a magical dynasty the world has never known."

A crushing heaviness squeezes my chest as I stare into the eye of my old lover, Robert Franklin.

AUTHOR NOTES:

Banner photo of Stoner's Jump (looking north from the Stagecoach Trail) taken by the author

Playlist Safe from Harm by Massive Attack