Echoes of the Mind

By Rondall Brown

Kyle Suncloud is is shocked when his parents decide to move from Southern California to Northeastern Oregon. Kyle was well situated in his school, a member of the cross-country team and had recently reconnected with Laura, the girl of his dreams. His world is torn apart by this decision because he will leave his life of comfort and his best friend, Andy. Plus, he has had warnings not to go. He isn’t really hearing voices, but whispers in the wind. As part Native American, he has a respect for the spiritual life.
Kyle is the only member of his family upset with the move. His younger sister, Amy, is excited about the prospect. But, Kyle remains hesitant.
Upon arrival, Kyle finds the area to be beautiful, a place where he can still run in solitude. But, the warnings continue. He finds his new school, well, rural. There are no advanced classes, few electives, and no cross country. Everyone seems to find football as the focus. Plus, the students are distant. However, he does see one female who intrigues him. But, he also sees a young man who does nothing but stare at him.
Later, he realizes that the girl’s name is Laura, the same as his “love” in California. He also finds out that the young male is Will, Laura’s cousin. Both live on the reservation, but only Laura is friendly. Later, Kyle becomes Will’s friend and partner in running, running everywhere except Echo Canyon. Will refuses to go into Echo Canyon because of the “spirits”.
Although it seems to be going well, Kyle still receives warnings, and he receives threats from classmates, especially the school bully, Carl. But, that is not all. When one of their classmates disappears in Echo Canyon, without even leaving footprints, Kyle begans to research. He finds that this is not the first time someone has disappeared in the canyon. But, who will be next?
The more things seem to come together, the more questions begin to arise in Kyle’s mind. But, the key seems to be Echo Canyon. What powers does this canyon hold over the area, and hold over Kyle?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rondall Brown
• Release date: Mar 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310010224

Rondall Brown

Rondall Brown is an Assistant Professor of Education at Eastern Oregon University, a small, rural university located in the northeastern corner of Oregon. Echoes of the Mind is his first completed novel, although he has had poetry published before. A graduate of San Diego State University, he majored in history and has minors in both English and science. He lives in Oregon with his wife, Mary. Two of his three sons live in other states, while his youngest resides in Portland. His love of the outdoors, travel, and reading provided impetus for this initial novel.

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ECHOES OF THE MIND

By

Rondall Brown

Smashwords Edition

Echoes of the Mind

Copyright © 2014 by Rondall Brown

PUBLISHED BY:

Rondall Brown on Smashwords

Thank you for downloading this eBook. Please let others know if you enjoyed reading it since it is my initial publication.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Prologue

The first fingers of dawn crept over the eastern rim of the canyon, illuminating, but shadowing, the canyon. The pines were beginning to give the scent of a new spring, with small sprigs of grass pushing up through the soil. Patches of soil-draped snow were still evident in the darkened areas of the canyon. The sheer walls gleamed with dreaded anticipation of both dark and light. Everywhere, new life was springing up, but the faint smell of death permeated the canyon. This particular geographical feature was an anachronism—with memories of times past and futures gone.

Winter had been exceptionally harsh. Many in the tribe had succumbed to the intense cold. Some had starved. A few, but only a few, hardy individuals remained. Of these, the hunter was the only one who had survived the winter months without undue harm. He was a survivor, a hunter. He provided for the tribe, and they relied upon his skill, his endurance, and his courage.

As the hunter moved stealthily through the innards of the canyon, he knew something was wrong. He had never experienced any sense of fear in his life. But, he felt something akin to fear now. A small trickle of sweat coursed its way down his chest, and a chill momentarily caused him to halt. What was there to fear? No evidence of the brother bear or great cougar. There was nothing but an empty canyon, full of nothing but dread. But, game was scarce, and the tribe needed nourishment or it would die.

As he rounded a bend in the canyon, he knew he was in a section where no member of the tribe had ever gone. Legends had told of this place. The old men had warned of the dangers in being here—the unseen would become the seen. Life would become death; man would not exist. Whatever was here was old—older than coyote, older than the tortoise. But, he moved forward. Legends, myths, and stories could not stop his quest for food.

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Was it rabbit or deer? They would give themselves for his tribe and him. That was the way it always was. But, it was too big for a rabbit, and moved in a manner unlike the deer. But, it was prey—his prey. Removing an arrow, he slowly and methodically notched the arrow in the string of the bow. Whatever it was, it was moving at the base of the cliff, in the shadows of the first morning light. As the hunter moved closer, he noticed a slight shift in the morning breeze. A scent of something foreign to his nostrils interrupted his movement. What was the odor? It was sweet, but pungent. It was putrid, but inspiring.

Coming back to his senses, he moved toward the recesses of the canyon. The prey would soon be his, and his tribe would be sated. He still had not seen his adversary. But, as always, the tracks would tell all. Quietly and assuredly, he reached the spot where he had spotted his quarry. The odor became more distinct, more pronounced. As he bent down, fear overcame him. The soft sand of the canyon should give distinct and precise tracks. But…there were no tracks. Whoever, or whatever, had been in the canyon had not left any semblance of being there. Was it a shadow? A mirage? A spirit? The legends had foretold of evil in this canyon. Was this the entity? Was it the evil? He must not wait for the legends to become alive. He turned, slowly, and began to retrace his own movements out of the canyon. Once again, the slightly sweet odor reached him. He began to move faster; the shadows followed. He broke into a run. The hunter had become the hunted. Only the canyon heard the screams.

Chapter 1

The Notice

As he pushed himself harder, sweat began to course down his chest. The heat was oppressive. Running in the desert was not only tedious, but also dangerous. Dehydration and heat stroke were the great fears. His calves and thighs began to burn with the increasing strides that he was taking. But, he would outdistance them—like the quarry running from the hunter. The last three miles were torturous—uphill with a steep incline midway and then level. Could he make it? The perspiration not only beaded on his forehead, but also began to run, like rivulets, onto his tunic. He was soaked, but not with a cooling soak of a spring rain. No, this moisture was hot condensation—a moist furnace, if something like that existed.

Two miles to go for freedom. The cacti stood like sentinels, watching his every move. He looked over his shoulder at the approaching enemy. He still had enough stamina to outdistance them if his legs would hold out. He picked up the pace; they did also. The sweat began to drop off him, much like a dog shaking the water off. His hair was drenched, but he knew he had to continue, or he would be dead.

One mile to go…He saw the safety in the distance. He picked up the pace again; his opponents did too. Were they saving their best for this section? Could they still catch him and defeat him? Summoning his last reservoir of courage and strength, he put on a final burst, and crossed the finish line. He had outlasted them!

Way to go, Kyle, his best friend, Andy, called out from the milling crowd. Running a cross-country race was always a challenge, but especially in 93-degree weather. Kyle, his face flushed and dripping, still trying to catch his breath, slowly walked over to Andy. Running cross-country was always an elation to Kyle. There was something in his mystique, in his blood, that caused, no pushed, him to exceed beyond what mortal man could do. The small streams of sweat coursed down his chest as he slowly regained his normal breathing pattern.

Andy, Kyle said, could you please get me some water?

How about Gatorade?

No, water works better for me. It is more natural.

Soon, Andy returned with an iced bottle of water. Kyle looked at it with disdain. Why do they always have to put it in ice? The normal temperature is much better for the body—not so much of a shock reaction.

Whine, whine, whine, was all Andy could say in reply.

Everyone in the league knew that Chaparral High School’s cross-country course was one of the most challenging in all of Southern California. Not only was it in the High Desert, north of the San Bernardino Mountains, but it covered a hilly area of cacti and scorpions. Opponents dreaded the course because the last mile of the course was uphill. Only the truly fit could use their final kick up that torturous hill. But, Kyle thrived on it. Not only did he win every race on the course, he always won it by several yards. No one had really even tested him. It was Kyle against the heat; it was Kyle against the hill; and it was Kyle against the wind that continually blew in the afternoon.

He never thought about the course, just about being first. The ever-present spider or scorpion was no issue. The snakes, numerous, were ignored. Two races ago, he even hurdled a Mojave green rattlesnake without missing stride. Everyone else stopped. No, the elements or the enemy could not defeat him. His only true opponents were himself and his heritage.

You going to the dance tonight? Andy asked.

Let me catch my breath first. Sometimes I wonder about you. Just remember I just finished a cross-country race in hot weather. You just stood around waiting for me to finish.

No, I was cheering you on the whole way.

Yeah. Right. I could hear you the entire race.

Well, maybe not the whole way, but I was glad that you won.

Kyle took another sip of water.

Well, Andy asked, are you or aren’t you?

Am I or am I not what?

Going to the dance?

The dances at the high school were usually well-attended affairs. No one really danced; they just stood around looking at the other gender with dreams…dreams that went unfulfilled for the most part. Kyle had only been to one dance in three years of high school—a Sadie Hawkins dance where Laura had asked him. Laura. Now there was a piece of work. She asked Kyle to the dance to make Travis, the football star, jealous. He only danced the first dance with her. After that, she was with Travis. Kyle even left the dance early, and alone.

No. I don’t think so.

Why not, man? Andy implored. It is going to be the best dance of the year. And, just think, you might get lucky.

Of course, lucky was what his life was all about. He was lucky in grades, lucky in running, and lucky in love. All, but the love part, just came too easily to him. He didn’t have to work at any of it. Just luck, or so they thought.

I still don’t think I want to go.

That Laura thing still bugs you, doesn’t it?

Wouldn’t it you?

You need to move on, man. Just move on. There are more girls out there than her.

There were. But, Laura was the one that always intrigued him. With her long blond hair, her petite figure, and infectious smile made her seem like the ideal girl. And she was, but just not for him. A few brief interludes, nothing physical, and the relationship was over. Just friends, she said.

Nah, I’m not going to go tonight. I need my rest. There is a 15K on Sunday in Pasadena. I really want to do well. It is a big race.

Come on, Kyle, Andy implored. All you ever do is run. See Kyle run. Kyle runs fast. You are beginning to sound like a Dickless Jane book.

Andy, despite his tendency to the obnoxious, was right. All Kyle really did was run. He ran and did school work. Not much was left for socializing. But, not much interest in socializing existed in Kyle’s mind. His friends, real friends, were few—Andy was the closest he had to a real friend. Oh, he had many school friends, but once the final bell rang, they were gone and so was their friendship. Girls, like the elusive hummingbird, came, flitted, and left. Yes, he had had dates, but they were friend dates. Romance for Kyle really didn’t exist. The only one who had less of a chance for romance was Andy, the perpetual sidekick.

The shower quietly invigorated the runners. The moisture replenished that lost through the throes of the race. Cross-country runners were a unique breed. They survived on individuality, not community. Even the locker room talk was not what one would expect. That was for the team sports—football, basketball, and baseball. If anything, the locker room was subdued after a race—an eerie quiet of resolution.

After the shower, Kyle Suncloud, put on his typical shorts, Mt. Sac Invitational t-shirt, and orange Nikes and silently glided out of the building. He moved quietly through the hallways to the exit. His car, one of the few in the student parking lot, would have gained little notice anywhere. It was a non-descript Toyota Corolla—old, weather-beaten, and a coppery color. The only unique feature was the bent antenna, signaling for help or notice. Just wish I had air conditioning, thought Kyle as he opened the rear door, tossing his backpack onto the seat.

Kyle, a voiced called from across the parking lot. Could you give me a ride home, please, please, please? It was Laura—the prime example of an enigma. She was an unsolvable riddle, one minute aloof, the next pining away. Perhaps that was just the way girls are.

Sure. Hop in.

The passenger door creaked with the strain of the movement—much like the creaking door of a radio serial.

Kyle, can you turn on the air conditioning? I am so hot.

Yes, he thought, you are hot. I don’t have any air conditioning. But you can roll down the window. That was sure a strong opening for romance. Failed again…

Have you seen Jason’s new car? Laura asked. There it was—the name of Jason. Jason Beechum just happened to be the most popular boy in the school. Good looking, almost intelligent, and athletic (of course, only in football, baseball, and basketball. No cross-country for him—too feminine for his taste). And, yes, he had seen the new set of wheels—a brand new Toyota hybrid. It was almost as nice as Kyle’s rusted, dented Corolla.

No, I haven’t seen it.

Well, it is a maroon Toyota hybrid with CD player and leather seats.

Jason—the idiot with the body. He reminded him of a poster he had seen about the perfect soldier—massive body, no head. But, he was competition. Not only was he the leader of the in-crowd, his folks had money. They owned the largest car dealership around—of course, a Toyota dealership.

Kyle, put the key in the ignition, and turned. The old motor gave a slight groan, much like the dying dinosaur that it was. Dead battery…dead engine…hell, dead everything.

Sorry, Kyle said apologetically. I guess I can’t give you a ride home.

Laura, without a word, got out and began the slow walk to the office, probably to make the phone call of dread—to one’s parents to pick them up. Kyle, too, would have to make that phone call, but not right now. Instead, Kyle went back into the boys’ locker room. No one was there. He opened his locker, using the combination that suddenly gave new meaning to irony—34-23-32. He put his running clothes back on, and he headed outside.

The sun was still high on the horizon, a little dimmer than it was during the race. Stretching out, his thoughts were beginning to multi-task, if that is the correct image. Perhaps he could go for a run, get back, call Laura about the dance, go home, change clothes, and then pick her up. At that exact moment, a purplish-color car sped by, horn honking, and blonde hair blowing from both the driver’s and passenger’s windows. Oh, well, so much for multi-tasking. Time for a run.

Kyle had been running for seven years now. Although the high school cross-country distance was a challenge for most, it wasn’t for him. He always wanted to be the half-marathoner or full marathoner. The longer the run, the greater the challenge. Next year, he would not only go to the state finals, but he would win. Several colleges had already contacted him about potential scholarships. He did have it going for him—good grades, good runner, and Native heritage.

Without any consideration of the heat or the breeze blowing, Kyle started a brisk run across the campus; from there, we would travel eastward along the dirt road, go north along the highway for two miles, and angle back toward the school. Except for the highway traffic, minimal for this part of the day, he wouldn’t see any person. The occasional rabbit and ever-present snake kept his mind tuned to the natural forces. Exerting more, he began the upward climb along the dirt road. About a mile from the school, the wind shifted, and Kyle heard what he thought to be a human voice. All it said was, "No. He stopped, cocked his head much like a robin would, and listened intently. Nothing. He listened just a few second more, and stepped forward, continuing his run. Then he heard it again. No!" but with more emphasis. Kyle stopped, looked around, but saw nothing. Not only did he have acute hearing, but also his eyesight was based on genetics. He looked, and he listened. Nothing. Nothing but the lingering thought that he was alone, but not alone. With a little hesitation, he continued his run, but not without concern. Sometimes, after a strenuous pace, the mind would play tricks on a person. But, he was sure that he heard something.

Arriving back at the gym, Kyle, once again, showered and returned to his car. He got in and turned the key. A belch of black smoke came from the exhaust and the engine started. Vapor lock, he thought. Or, that was what his dad always said. Everything was vapor lock—even a flat tire. He slowly began to pull out of the school parking lot, turned left, and headed down toward his home. The desert. He loved the desert. It was a great place to live, and, for some, to die. But, the sunrises and sunsets were the best. He didn’t even mind the oppressive summer heat. It was part of his being. He would never move from the desert. And, he would go to the dance tonight—with someone. He would show Laura that she wasn’t the only girl at the school.

Kyle lived with his parents, Russell and Michelle, and his obnoxious thirteen-year old sister, Amy. Amy was young, precocious, and troublesome. But, for right now, she was not home. Neither were his mom, who worked as a nurse at the local hospital, and his dad, who was a supervisor for the forestry. Forestry did not seem to fit in a desert habitat, but his father worked in the San Gabriel forest, only fifteen minutes from where they lived. They lived in the desert, but people called it the High Desert because its elevation was over 3000 feet high. During summer, hot. During winter, cold and snow. Few understood the dynamics of a desert environment, but Kyle did. He was one with the desert. Once again, perhaps it was his heritage, part European, but part Native American. Serrano, his mom said. That, perhaps, was why he felt the freedom to run cross-country, to feel the breeze on his back as he churned toward the finish line.

The rest of the ride home was uneventful. As he pulled up to the single-story ranch style home, color nondescript like the desert, he thought of the dance. Yes, another girl would replace Laura. There was…who, actually, was there? He’d have to give it some thought.

Mom? his voice echoed down the hall of the three-bedroom home. Always neat and tidy, nothing was out of place. His mother was an impeccable housekeeper. His sister, too, was neat, almost obsessively neat, and it drove him crazy. He entered his room, his inner sanctum of chaos, and tossed his backpack on the floor amongst the running shoes, sweat socks, and other runner’s paraphernalia. Flopping onto the bed, he immediately fell asleep. He dreamt of far-off places and strange things. He dreamt of Laura, but only briefly. He dreamt of sounds, eerie sounds and noises, and a voice. The voice always said, "NO" but he had no understanding why.

As he walked down the canyon, the steep walls of the canyon began to close in on him. He felt he was being watched, but saw no one. A whisper of a voice said, No, don’t proceed or you will most certainly die. But, he kept going. And then, out of the corner of his right eye, he saw movement…

Kyle awoke, his body drenched with sweat. The telephone was ringing. Perhaps that was what had awakened him from his fitful slumber.

Hello, Kyle mumbled.

Hi, honey. Is everything ok? His mother always wanted to know if everything was ok or all right.

Yeah, I’m fine. I just work up from a nap.

Kyle, don’t make any plans for tonight. We have an important dinner as a family tonight. Something has come up.

But…mom. Tonight is the big dance. I was thinking of asking Laura. Yes, thinking, but not doing.

"Sorry, but this is very important." His mother enunciated the words as only a parent can do. Your sister will be home soon. The two of you need to meet Dad and I at La Cocina by six thirty. We have reservations.

What could be so important to have a special meeting with one’s parents on a Friday night at the most popular restaurant in town? Kyle’s mind was generating all types of images. Ill—someone was ill. Maybe it was terminal. Divorce. Oh, no, his parents were getting a divorce! He’d have to more to East Los Angeles with one of them and join a gang. His sister was pregnant! No, she was definitely not a candidate for that. It would take a boy, too. That could not be it.

The front door to the house opened and Amy walked in. No, walked wouldn’t be the correct word to describe her movement. Amy bounced. Amy always bounced when she came home as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Of course, she didn’t have a care—she was only thirteen. It was only when a person goes to high school that they get real problems.

Hello, geek. Amy was always so loving in her affectations for her brother.

Hi, Great Plains. Kyle uttered in return.

Why do you call me that? she questioned.

Oh, because your mind is so vast like the Great Plains.

Cool. Little did she know that Kyle called her that because she was so flat. She hadn’t developed yet, but he would never say that to her.

Don’t change clothes. We’re meeting mom and dad for dinner. La Cocina. Something is up, but I don’t know what.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet except for the incessant wheezing of the car’s engine. What a night. No dance. Parents are getting a divorce, and the car sounds like it has emphysema. What else could happen?

As Kyle pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot, the car came to an utterly and complete stop. Perhaps it was time for the last rites. Prayer only goes so far when it comes to old cars. Getting out, he was able to push it clumsily, and not quite straightly, into a parking spot. Let’s go, he said to Amy. Entering the restaurant, it took a while for their eyes to adjust. Finally, he spotted their parents on the other side of the room, sitting next to one another in an over-sized booth. Good sign, Kyle thought.

Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Mom! Daddy! Amy was always more emotional than he was. He took a good look at his sister. Long, black hair accentuated her fine features. She would be a knockout when she got older. He’d have to protect her from the boys out there.

"Kyle! Amy! Sit down. You can have anything you want tonight. We know this is your favorite restaurant. We have some good news for