What's Behind the Moon: Volume I of the Third Novel in the Seaville Wildfire Trilogy

By Leighton J Reynolds

The story of the quiet, suburban community of Seaville, California and the hunt for a serial arsonist continues in this the 3rd novel (Volume I) of the Seaville Wildfire Trilogy. Join all the characters from the first two novels, and new characters moving into the story, as the plot takes another huge turn in the evolution of a 21st century community, and its ties to characters in Tennessee and New York. As Dr. Roger Sterling works to find his kidnapped children, he learns that there is much more to his community than he ever imagined. Just as a wildfire can break open vegetation that has been lying dormant for years, giving it new life; so too, a wildfire can also break open the secrets of a community that are lying dormant, giving these secrets new life, for better or for worse. Exactly whats behind the Moon becomes increasing apparent as the entire Seaville Valley becomes engulfed in a huge firestorm, and the community struggles to survive its own destructive impulses. Come and enjoy another thrilling ride into Human Nature and its increasing complexities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475996005

Leighton J Reynolds

Leighton J Reynolds has a doctorate in Psychoanalytic Studies and he is a Certified Psychoanalyst in private practice in Southern California. He is the author of two the previous novels in the Seaville Wildfire Trilogy (“From The Other Side Of The Moon” and “In Search Of Aginsky’s Mind”) both of which won awards in 2012.

Book preview

WHAT’S BEHIND

THE MOON

Volume I of the Third Novel in

The Seaville Wildfire Trilogy

LEIGHTON J REYNOLDS

iUniverse LLC

Bloomington

What’s Behind The Moon

Volume I of the Third Novel in The Seaville Wildfire Trilogy

Copyright © 2013 by Leighton J Reynolds.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse LLC

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www.iuniverse.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4759-9599-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-9600-5 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013911124

iUniverse rev. date: 07/05/2013

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Author’s Note About The Trilogy

Chapter One

Synchronicity

Chapter Two

Flashback

Chapter Three

Gathering Storm

Chapter Four

Increasingly Dangerous

Chaper Five

Strange

Chapter Six

Green Oil

Chapter Seven

Lenny

Chapter Eight

Causualties

Chapter Nine

Dingo

Chapter Ten

The Ridge

Chapter Eleven

Ms. Gomez

Chapter Twelve

Stranded

Chapter Thirteen

The Duel

Chapter Fourteen

Grandpa Jim

Chapter Fifteen

Up The Hudson River Valley

Chapter Sixteen

The Operation

Chapter Seventeen

Five Survivors

Chapter Eightteen

The Seizure

Chapter Nineteen

Run

Chapter Twenty

Death

Chapter Twenty-One

Next

Chapter Twenty-Two

The Grind

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Lincoln Town Car

Chapter Twenty-Four

Surviving

Chapter Twenty-Five

Confession

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Mob

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Encounter

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A Dead Body

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Room #315

Chapter Thirty

Simply Business

Chapter Thirty-One

Synchronicity Ii

Chapter Thirty-Two

Real Or Not Real

Chapter Thirty-Three

Dead Or Not Dead

Chapter Thirty-Four

Total Terror

Chapter Thirty-Five

Boiling Point

Chapter Thirty-Six

The Super Snake

THIS NOVEL IS DEDICATED TO MY SISTER-IN-LAW, ARIADNE WEAVER, AND MY BROTHER-IN-LAW, PHILLIP SMITH. UNCLE PHIL WAS THE INSPIRIATION FOR A NEW CHARACTER IN THE TRILOGY, A WONDERFUL CHARACTER, THE ALZHEIMER’S KID. TOGETHER THEY HAVE BRAVED PHIL’S STRUGGLE WITH A FORM OF DEMENTIA KNOWN AS LEWY BODY DISEASE. THIS HAS NOT BEEN AN EASY ROAD FOR EITHER OF THEM, AND I WANTED TO HONOR THEIR COURAGE.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Again, there are many people who have helped me with the research, writing, and crafting of this novel, and I want to recognize them here.

First, I want to thank all of the readers of the first two novels who have been waiting very patiently for the third novel in the series. Your interest and support have meant a lot to me!

My editor, Rebecca Wright, has done another outstanding job of helping me think through this, the third novel in the series. A big thank you! Check out her interview with me at Its A Grind Coffee Shop on both YouTube and Vimeo.com under Wildfire Trilogy.

A very big thank you to my sister-in-law, Ariadne Weaver, for doing the final edit of the novel. She did a wonderful job of catching all the little errors we missed before, and adding suggestions that I believe have made the novel better.

Thanks again to my son, Jeremy, who did the unique artwork for this cover as well! He is now the drummer for Hockey. Check out their music. Their new CD, Wyeth Is, is outstanding. And thanks again to Marina Koryakovskaya for designing this cover as well. Once again, she has done such a beautiful job!

To Andrea Best, Leslie Roman, and Tania Rosello, my partners in our group practice, thank you once again for being there for me about this project!

While I was working on the first novel, way back in 2008, one of my triathlon training buddies, Ray Sloboda, took the time to visit me in the hospital while I was recovering from pneumonia (not an easy time). The magazine he brought me back then helped me craft the story of Carla’s death (a piece of the trilogy that is not over yet). I have never forgotten his thoughtfulness and generous support of this project!

Many, many thanks to the staff here at the FedEx Office in Valencia, CA, for their continuing support and technical advice on the entire project. You have been a very big help!

A big thank you to Its a Grind, the coffee shop in Castaic, CA where the trilogy was original conceived. To all of the staff there, past and present, and to the new owners, Jackie and George, thank you for your continued support. Check the place out, it’s a great coffee shop!

And to all the staff at iUniverse, both in Indiana and in the Philippines, a very big thank you for all you have done to help facilitate this project!!!

Finally, to my entire extended family, for always being there for me with this project! And to Claudette, thank you once again, for all your help with the trilogy!

AUTHOR’S NOTE ABOUT THE TRILOGY

I began writing this trilogy in response to living in the heart of wildfire country in Southern California for the past decade. Because of the particular environmental conditions here, drought, plenty of dry, easily combustible fuel scattered across the landscape, and high winds, this area is one of the world’s hot spot for wildfires. Following my own experience of being evacuated from my home in 2007, because of an approaching wildfire, I decided I wanted to respond in some way to the terrible destruction that wildfires are capable of. And I wanted to understand if these wildfires were simply powerful acts of Nature, or the results of human actions, like arson. After considering my options, I decided on a fictional account of one community’s struggle with the ongoing problem of wildfires, with the idea that more people would read a fictional story (that is actually not so fictional), than a non-fictional exploration of the problem. In the process I have worked to be as accurate as possible regarding the exact details of how wildfires start, how they build, the destruction they are capable of, how to stop them (no easy task), and exactly what happens to the people in a community heavily affected by wildfires. Not the least of these problems, by the way, is the newest problem: wildfires are not just seasonal anymore. They are now a year-round problem, worldwide.

In the first novel, From The Other Side Of The Moon, I adopted a specific theory and strategy about wildfires, arson, and serial arsonists. Rather than explore only the forensic evidence available from a wildfire, Dr. Sterling explores the dynamics of the human mind/brain for clues, answers, and strategies as to how and why a person gets involved in arson, and/or becomes a serial arsonist. Little known to the public, serial arsonists are most often first the victims of sexual abuse, who then discharge their tensions, rage, and fears through setting fires. For most serial arsonists setting fires is, however, a short-term affect regulating strategy. It is the means they often use to regulate strong, toxic emotions such as sexual abuse. Unfortunately, this strategy has no lasting effect, because the tension from the original trauma, or traumas, always returns necessitating the setting of more fires. In effect then, an idea, and/or a feeling state in the human mind/brain can become a destructive action affecting people and property on a massive and at times deadly scale. Exactly how many wildfires are started by arson, or a serial arsonist, is often difficult to determine. But I suspect that the number is higher than the statistics show. The first novel in the trilogy delves into all this.

In the second novel, In Search Of Aginsky’s Mind, the story and the characters expand to include a wider cross-section of the fictional city of Seaville, California. The story moves forward six months when Dr. Sterling’s children are kidnapped in an effort to stop Roger from presenting a seminar on the work of one of his former mentor’s, Dr. Burt Aginsky. After finding an old copy of Dr. Aginsky’s theory on The Ongoing Evolutionary Development of The Universe, in the ashes of his burned down home, Roger decided that presenting the theory to the City of Seaville just might help to bring the problem of annual wildfires under control. This theory, by the way, is a real theory that Dr. Aginsky shared with me, weekly, over a three year period, while I had a fellowship with him at his Institute in San Diego, CA. Following the discovery of a copy of the theory and the kidnapping, the story moves on to look more deeply into Seaville’s struggles with ongoing wildfires, through an exploration of the evolution of the community, the concepts of synchronicity and 13 vs. 5, and the community dynamic of Eros interwoven with Thanatos (the drives toward life and the drives toward destruction), all the while wondering what Dr. Aginsky had in mind that could possibly save Seaville.

In this the third novel in the series, as the Seaville Valley erupts in a massive firestorm, a metaphor is presented tying together the dynamics of the individuals in Seaville, with the dynamics of the environment in the Seaville Valley. Just as a wildfire can break open the pods, cones, and seeds of various plants, bushes, and trees growing in the valley, allowing this vegetation to rejuvenated itself in the environment, so too, a wildfire can break open the secrets hidden within a community revealing what’s behind the Moon, and hopefully exposing at least some of these secrets to the possibility of being resolved for the betterment of the community.

There will be a 4th novel, because I found that I couldn’t finish the story without writing a fourth book (Volume II of book 3). I promise to tie up all of the loose ends readers have asked questions about. And there is a chance, of course, that there could always be more… .

WHAT’S BEHIND THE MOON: VOLUME ONE of the THIRD NOVEL in THE SEAVILLE WILDFIRE TRILOGY.

Author Leighton J Reynolds

CHAPTER ONE

SYNCHRONICITY

The time was approximately 6 pm on Wednesday, April 12th, but Dr. Roger Sterling didn’t know that. In point of fact, he had no clue what time it was, what day it was, or even where he was. Standing in the desert on the top of a small hill in a place he wasn’t familiar with, wearing a black and white Adidas sweat suit, and brand new Asics running shoes caked with mud, dirt, ash and speckles of sand, he was trying to remember something. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite grasp it. He had some rather vague ideas about a few other things, but nothing his mind could completely bring into focus. Vaguely, he considered that his children had been kidnapped and he had no idea where they were, that he had recently fallen off a cliff through the roof of a huge tent into a liquid he didn’t recognize, and… . that someone wanted him dead. Then, again, he really wasn’t sure about any of this, because he couldn’t quite put the pieces of his memory together. It felt like the pieces were incredibly fragmented. And in the end, none of this had anything to do with what he was really trying to remember.

I feel like I’m chasing something in my preconscious that I just can’t quite catch up with. It’s an S word, but what is it?

And what am I doing out here of all places, thinking about a word that begins with the letter S?

Gazing out at his surroundings, all he could see was a charred and rain-soaked landscape that went on for miles. The view only reinforced his confusion and frustration.

Damn, why on earth would anyone want me dead? What have I ever done to anyone?

Overhead, thick black smoke was drifting by, and there was an odd orange glow showing through the smoke from somewhere that he couldn’t pinpoint. It wasn’t daytime, but then again it wasn’t exactly nighttime either.

Roger drew in a deep breath, tried to refocus himself, and then gazed out at the desert again. Dotted here and there were charred cacti that appeared to have melted. The desert sand was mostly black, not the brown color he was familiar with. Occasionally, there were small pools of water that reflected the blackened sky overhead.

This is really strange!

Roger wanted to rub his eyes, as if that would instantly clear up everything. Then he would know exactly where he was and what he was doing out here. When he suddenly realized how much sand and dirt he was bringing toward his eyes, he stopped.

Where did all this dirt and sand come from?

As difficult as it was, Roger had to admit to himself that he wasn’t able to find a single thread of anything he recognized. And nothing, absolutely nothing, was making any sense to him.

What happened out here?

He drew in another breath, but this time, it hurt to breathe. Something in the air was making his lungs burn. Then his mind moved to an odd place.

Synchronicity! That’s the question I want an answer to. But why am I thinking about synchronicity out here?

Roger closed his eyes for a few seconds. They hurt but he didn’t understand why. When he couldn’t come up with an answer to his pain question, his mind slipped back into the odd question.

What does synchronicity have to do with anything out here?

Roger paused again, this time to carefully rub the soot on his face away from his eyes. Feeling dazed, confused, and exhausted, he noted that he could not remember when he had slept at all over the past several days, or whether he had eaten anything.

Think, Roger, what is happening here?

This is totally crazy!

Very carefully, Roger attempted to draw in another breath, anything that spelled oxygen. He started coughing immediately. Ah . . . . Okay, Roger, slow down.

Because he was deep in thought, Roger barely noticed that the wind was picking up. It sent a chill through his body, and that sensation moved his mind/brain to a realization: his eye sight was going in and out of hazy.

Did I suffer a concussion somewhere, because this is one of the symptoms?

Brushing off the idea, he quickly fell back into dialogue with himself.

Why would I be thinking about the word synchronicity out here in the desert of all places?

Doctor Sterling, the voice startled him.

Lenny??? What the hell is going on out here?

It’s time now, Dr. Sterling, just you and me, finally.

After a few seconds Roger realized that it was indeed the Hit Man’s voice calling out to him from across the charred and muddy landscape. Smoke and haze were blowing everywhere now. He was just recognizing this. After another few seconds, he could tell that both of them were having difficulty breathing.

How come I can recognize a Hit Man, but I don’t know where I am or how I got here?

Roger let out a huge sigh. Lenny was the last person on earth he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Oh, that’s where the word synchronicity came from. I was reading about it in Cosmos and Psyche. The last time I saw the book was in the Jeep parked in front of the garage. Was that before or after I first ran into Lenny . . . ?

Roger knew that his mind was a jumbled mass of chaotic and fragmented thoughts. But all of a sudden, it went straight to a certain truth.

Well, bring it on, Lenny. I don’t have any choice now, do I?

No Sterling, you don’t. You’re going to get used to being dead, real quick.

Gradually things came into a little better focus and Roger realized that the two men were standing about 80 feet apart. Halfway between them was the Hit Man’s black and silver gun, partially buried in the wet, desert sand. Roger had a fleeting idea that he had seen the gun somewhere before, but he wasn’t quite sure and he certainly couldn’t remember when or where. Somewhere in his disjointed memory he saw a picture of Lenny wearing a black, pinstripe suit with a red, silk tie. It looked like he was wearing the same suit and tie now.

Damn! There was a flash of something in his mind, a gun reflecting moonlight back on the patio outside of his office. But the picture was gone before he could grasp what the memory meant.

Adding to his confusion, a thick funnel of smoke and ash drifted between the two men and then blew away in a small gust of wind. Roger was silent, still trying to figure out exactly how he had gotten here. Everything was making less sense by the second.

Do I have amnesia?

Damn, I think a person can have amnesia following a concussion.

For a few seconds, with the space over the gun clear of dirty smoke and haze, Roger took in its stark realism. It was right there staring back at him.

Think Roger, what is the gun doing there?

In case you’re wondering Doc, the gun is still loaded.

The Hit Man paused, Two bullets, one to kill you, and one just for my personal satisfaction.

Lenny paused again. Believe me, the pleasure will be all mine.

That’s interesting, was all Roger could muster up.

He was feeling weak and dizzy. You better hope all you have is transient global amnesia because the symptoms usually only last for a day.

Another thick funnel of smoke and ash blew across the gun, obscuring it from Roger’s view.

Maybe from his perspective the Hit Man can see exactly where the gun is. But I can’t see anything now.

You know, Sterling, if I get to the gun first, you’re a dead man. And I’m positive I’m going to get to my gun before you do.

Roger remained silent hoping that the Hit Man would say something, anything that would help him connect with what was happing here. But Lenny was moving ahead with the duel. And that left Roger with nothing to go on, plain nothing.

I’m going to count to three. The Hit Man’s voice, that jarring voice with the accent he just couldn’t place, was drifting across his consciousness while his mind was busy searching in other places. And then I’m going for my gun.

Roger felt a sense of panic gathering in his mind.

What the hell am I doing here, and why can’t I focus on anything? Damn it!

One, two, . . . !

Roger wasn’t even sure he could remain standing let alone sprint forward.

Three stung in his mind as he found himself moving forward. The motion fed his mind and he went for it, with a plan. Thankfully, the weakness in his body suddenly dissipated and he was able to operate on pure instinct.

You’re going to be dead, Roger, if you don’t get to that gun first!

What was occurring above Roger that he could not see as he raced forward was a Full Moon. Hanging in the evening sky with a few stars still twinkling deep in the background of the Universe, the Full Moon above him was a rhythmic happening in the heavens. Most folks in the community of Seaville, CA were unaware of the various cycles and phases of the Moon, and they unfortunately had very little awareness of what a Full Moon was really all about. Because of the amnesia Roger was suffering from, which he was not totally aware of yet, his mind was all over the place trying to make sense of what was happening to him. So instead of focusing on Lenny and the gun in front of him, his mind had flown off in a completely different direction. He was back at The Grind speaking with his good friend, John, about a Full Moon. The threat of Lenny and the question about synchronicity had completely disappeared.

Roger, do you know anything about a full moon? John was a big man who loved to dress in khaki pants, flannel shirts, and his classic red suspenders. He looked more like a lumberjack than a physicist.

About the only thing I know, John, is that there are lunar phases—quarter moon, half moon etc. But I’m not even sure exactly how or why this happens.

37 feet… . 36 feet… . 35 feet… . 34 feet… . 33 feet… .

Roger was in motion on the small desert hilltop, but his mind was miles away. His amnesia had completely disrupted the functioning of his mind/brain. The past and the present were all happening in the same moment.

John sat back in his chair. The noisy conversation of coffee drinkers was all over the background of The Grind that day.

A Full Moon occurs when the Moon is on the opposite side of the Earth from the Sun. As you know full well, Roger, a Full Moon is associated with insanity. This is where the terms lunacy and lunatic come from, right?

29 feet… . 28 feet… . 27 feet… . 26 feet… . 25 feet… .

Although Lenny was 24 feet in front of him, Roger wasn’t seeing a thing. His mind was totally focused, inside. Ironically, he was still moving forward at a sprint.

John, I don’t understand what’s so important about a Full Moon when it comes to a serial arsonist, though.

Here’s what I’m thinking, Roger. Remember last October when you were helping Chief Bradford hunt for the serial arsonist? That was the time of the Hunter’s Moon. For millennia the Hunter’s Moon provided extra light allowing the hunter an opportunity to track their prey longer into the day.

Okay. Roger leaned back in his chair.

20 feet… . 19 feet… . 18 feet… . 17 feet… . 16 feet… .

Roger was still not focusing his attention on Lenny. Lenny on the other hand was all business. He intended to kill.

I think your serial arsonist was on the hunt. I know this sounds pretty crazy. But it makes sense to me.

What is it that makes sense to you, John?

12 feet… . 11 feet… . 10 feet… . 9 feet… . 8 feet… .

At that moment, Roger still had no conscious idea about Lenny. Seven feet in front of him, Lenny, his eyes glazed over, was totally ready… .

It makes sense to me, Roger, that your serial arsonist is a hunter. And that he, and it could be a she, hunts and starts fires by the cycles of the Moon.

Roger could see himself leaning forward at The Grind, in the background the coffee shop was crowding up for the day. And exactly why would a serial arsonist work this way?

6 feet… . 5 feet… . 4 feet… . 3 feet… . 2 feet… .

Roger still wasn’t seeing Lenny, the professional Hit Man. Nor did he notice the huge gust of wind sweeping down on the two men. It took only several seconds, and then both men were covered in soot, ash, dirt, sand, and huge rain drops.

Overhead, the Full Moon, obscured by the unusual smoke and dark clouds covering the Seaville Valley, was rising slowly in the sky on its journey through the heavens.

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In that same synchronistic moment, a long way away from California, in a densely wooded section of the community of Frog Pond Hollow, Tennessee, Roger’s good friend and psychoanalytic colleague, CB, was lying on the soaking wet ground of the forest floor. It was very fortunate that she was wearing a ski jacket, heavy work pants, outdoor boots, winter gloves and a ski hat. With one arm propped up on a rotting tree trunk that had fallen in the forest her eyes were staring blankly toward nowhere. Overhead, huge droplets of rain were dripping off various pieces of tree trunks, pine needles, dead leaves, and tall bushes. As the downpour of rain let up, the droplets of water made noisy plopping and splashing sounds. But these sounds did not register with CB as the sounds of water dripping from a forest canopy. She was listening to an entirely different world that was not part of the peaceful, rain-soaked woodlands in Central Tennessee where she was lying.

Plagued by dehydration, hypothermia, and exhaustion caused by the gunshot wound to her left side, CB’s mind/brain had finally succumbed to a coma. For the past 10 hours she had been in a state of semi-consciousness, which basically meant that she was dreaming most of the time. As her sense of Time moved along, she had difficulty sorting out the reality around her from her dreams.

Am I actually thinking? Did I really hear something? No, I’m dreaming?

In a very strange way CB was able to hear the sound of her own voice inside the experience of her coma.

Did I just hear five shots, or was it four shots. No, it was three shots?

Gradually, fading deeper into her coma, she noticed that something was different.

What? What is it?

Oh, the sounds are different.

Different?

The rain, that’s it. It’s not pouring down anymore, I think?

What about the Dog, where is the Dog?

Oh my God, where is the Dog?

CB’s mind was alive inside her coma, although there was no way for anyone outside of herself to know that. With the sound of water droplets splashing around her, CB’s mind slipped out of the soaking wet forest. She was recalling something else. And in the recalling, in a fascinating way, she was able to hold a conversation with her own memory.

Where is that voice coming from? Was I having a conversation with someone?

You know, Dr. Bird, this is really a most dangerous method.

What is he talking about?

And around these parts we can’t have dangerous things.

What dangerous things is he referring to?

You know what I’m talking about, Dr. Bird.

No I don’t know what you’re talking about, whoever you are.

The boys and I have decided to deliver a little message to you, a kind of courtesy call if you catch my drift.

No, I’m not catching your drift at all.

You might want to consider moving on, working in some other part of the country.

Why would I want to leave Tennessee? I love it here.

Certain interests up at the mine are willing to buy your house. They’ll pay you cash for it. Then you’ll be free to move on.

What is this man talking about?

You see, Dr. Bird, you, the nice lady that you are, have become a problem to the community.

What kind of a problem?

And we, the community, are asking you to move on. It will be better for all concerned.

I’m not going anywhere, Mister.

You can just call my office. The Mine is willing to give you $200,000 in cash for your house.

Is this some kind of a bribe?

Just give us a call. Then everything can go real peaceful like. The cash will be delivered right to your door.

I’m not going to be intimidated or bribed, Sheriff.

And one more thing Dr. Bird, certain things have been known to happen to people who don’t cooperate with the community.

Like what, for example?

Things just seem to burn around here, no rhyme or reason. They just burn. It makes starting over real difficult.

You mean arson is a weapon of choice around here.

Consider our offer, Dr. Bird. It’s the safest way out, if you get my meaning.

I get your meaning, you bastard.

As bizarre as this was, CB was having a conversation with her own memory courtesy of the fact that her mind/brain was in a different state. She had lost too much blood. Her body was in shock. And the hypothermia she had been experiencing on and off over the past 12 hours was catching up with her. All of which added up to the fact that her brain was now operating from a different biochemical experience, and because of this fact her psychological experience was very different as well. Her mind/brain was able to do certain things that were not considered normal, but in the end they had the potential to save her life.

Although CB hadn’t yet made the connection between hypothermia and her coma, she was right about the rain. It had stopped pouring down in the forest. Sitting in front of her, sprinkled with a thick mist all over his fur, Popsicle was still watching over her patiently as he had for the past 12 hours. From time to time the big dog would lick CB’s face, and place one of his front paws on CB’s arm.

About 30 feet away, in the direction of the double-wide dirt road, there was a dead body. But CB didn’t know anything about this. She only vaguely remembered the shots, and she still wasn’t sure how many shots she had heard.

Back on the same road, 300 feet away, a police van was rolling to a cautious stop.

What the hell happened out here?

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Even farther away, but also in the same synchronistic moment as the one in California and Central Tennessee, a piece of the synchronicity that Roger’s pre-conscious mind was searching for was happening at a dilapidated farmhouse up the Hudson River from New York City, where four teenage girls had been taken, against their will.

What the hell is going on, bitch? Open up the damn door, we’re coming in!

Just a minute, I’m coming boys.

Beverly had thought through everything very, very carefully. She had learned the ins-and-outs of how fire really burns one afternoon when she was all alone, again. She had no idea where her parents were that day, because they never told her, so she was watching the Discovery Channel to keep her company.

Open up bitch, or we’re going to break the door down!

Hold on boys. I’m trying to look good for you. Beverly was working on sounding as sexy as she could while she was terrified.

That’s bullshit!

Open up now, bitch!

I’m trying on something from Victoria’s Secret.

That’s more bullshit, bitch, open up!

Beverly was eleven years old when she was mesmerized by an hour of Discovery Channel demonstrating exactly how fire really burns. It wasn’t the wood that burned. It was the gases in the air that burned. At that moment, she was moving rapidly around the strange room remembering, though she wasn’t exactly sure how, every detail of the show. The room was approximately the same size as her bedroom back home in California. But that didn’t provide her with any comfort because there all sorts of strange things hanging on the walls, everywhere. In a whirling moment, she guessed that all of the objects covering the walls had something to do with sadomasochistic sex.

You’re going to like this. Beverly was working on making the sounds of changing her clothes, while she was busy assembling something. She wasn’t sure where she had gotten the hot-pink pajamas she was wearing, but they would have to do for now.

We think you’re stalling, open up, damn it!

Would you prefer black or red, boys? How short do you want my gown? I think it should be all the way up my thigh.

If you don’t open up by the count of three, we’re breaking this door down!

I’m choosing red, boys, and way up my thigh. You’re going to like this!

We’re going to enjoy seeing you half-naked, bitch. We’re coming in!

One!

Beverly was putting more things together. She heard the sound of the door to the room bending.

Two!

Beverly lit the device and dropped it in the liquid. She could hear the wood in the door as it was beginning to crack.

Three!

Beverly dove for a corner of the room.

Boom!

The blast blew the door right out of the room and straight into the hallway.

The sound of the blast echoed through the quiet woods surrounding the farmhouse that was no longer really a farmhouse. About one-half mile away, out on the Hudson River, two young boys who were drifting their boat along the shoreline heard the sound and wondered… .

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The synchronicity that Roger had been searching for, those events connected by their deep meaning and not by the traditional notion of cause and effect or having to occur simultaneously… . was happening!

Out in the California desert, Roger and Lenny dove for the gun at the same time.

Sterling you bastard, you’re a dead man right now!

Lying on the soaking wet forest floor in Central Tennessee, CB had finally succumbed to a deep, protective coma. But her mind was still active as she continued her conversation with her memory.

Well then, Sherriff, reading between the lines, I’m a dead woman if I don’t leave town immediately, right?

Up the Hudson River from New York City, in farmhouse that had recently become a façade for the sex slave trade, Beverly had just put her knowledge from the Discovery Channel and from the movie Backdraft to good use. She had seen the movie at least 10 times. The concept that fire was a living, breathing entity was fascinating to her. It also fascinated her that fire could be used as a weapon of assassination. And low and behold, it worked!

The trail of events which had begun on the evening of April 11th at Roger’s newly rented home, had now reached a critical point less than 24 hours later. In each of these three locations the persons involved were all attempting to survive one set of circumstances or another. For Beverly, Darlene, Annie and Katie, they were able to remember some of what had happened to them over what felt like several days, but was actually just a matter of hours. Unfortunately, a lot of what had happened to them was still vague, like trauma always is. In Tennessee, CB had lapsed into a coma and she was surviving by having a conversation with her own memory about her predicament. This was an iffy strategy at best, but in a fascinating way her unconscious had developed an intelligent plan for her, and it was working. In addition, she had Popsicle protecting her. The expression, a dog is Man’s best friend, was never more true. Out in California, Roger was struggling with amnesia, secondary to the concussion he had suffered when he fell through the roof of the huge tent at the bottom of a cliff somewhere up in the mountains. As a result, he was largely unable to remember much of anything about his circumstances. If he was lucky, he was only suffering from a transient global amnesia that usually cleared up within 24 hours. But what Roger did not know in his moment of collision with Lenny was the fact that his memory loss may have extended beyond 24 hours making his recovery even more difficult. He just wasn’t sure.

Eventually, Roger, would come to understand that it was it trauma, and coping with trauma that led to the synchronicity among these three locations. And he would recall what his mentor, Dr Burt Aginsky, an anthropologist, had explained to him. Remember, Roger, energy that builds up in the human mind/brain has to be discharged somewhere? By the very nature of energy in the Universe it will always be transforming itself. And for sure, the energy in the mind/brain from trauma has to be discharged and transformed somehow, somewhere.

A few hours later, Roger would find himself asking a very complex question: How did it all come to all this, and what’s going to happen from here?

CHAPTER TWO

FLASHBACK

Ten hours earlier, in the dense woods of Central Tennessee, one of the three pieces of synchronicity was set in motion. The coin toss in the battered pickup truck just outside of Frog Pond Hollow came up heads.

We finish the bitch off!

The pickup truck made a tight U-turn and headed back down the double-wide dirt road away from Frog Pond Hollow. The younger man was loosely fingering his shotgun.

Feeling a little trigger happy? The older man pulled his baseball cap further down on his head.

I’m just getting ready. Then a thin smile crossed the younger man’s face. He appeared to be relishing something.

Sorry, I’m betting she’s already dead. The older man adjusted his baseball cap again.

I’m going to shoot her anyway. People need to know to stay out of our business. The younger man’s thin smile turned downward, and then reformed itself into a determined look.

You want to kill someone that bad?

The younger man shifted his position in the slightly torn seat. It’s going to make me feel good. She doesn’t belong around here.

Eight miles ahead, on the same road, an ADC named Popsicle found CB and began to lick her face. The dog knew instinctively that there was some life left in CB. Popsicle was a golden retriever trained as an Accelerant Detection Canine, and he was used to picking up unusual scents. Death, unfortunately, was not an unusual scent for him. Then again, neither was life. Finding a burn victim who was still alive was something Popsicle had done on a dozen occasions. Over the years he had developed a sense for finding things that were out-of-the-ordinary. A woman, alone, lying on a dirt road with the life fading out of her, was just his cup of tea. Even through the morning mist Popsicle had found the scent and he followed it quickly and quietly.

CB had lost consciousness about an hour earlier, but her spirit was still fighting for her. This was the life energy Popsicle tuned into. He was a big strong, dog, and with experience as his guide he slowly dragged CB across the double-wide dirt road and into the woods. Then he lay down in the brush next to CB and waited. Experience told him that help was not far away.

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Surrounded by darkness, with a sliver of light and black smoke pouring down from above, Roger found himself swimming for his life in a large pool of what felt and smelled like crude oil, but not quite. He was dazed, in pain, and his ribs hurt like hell. Glancing around, he had the idea that he was surrounded by a huge tent. He wondered if several of his ribs were broken. Am I alive or dreaming? How far did I just fall? He saw an image of Brad and Abby dressed in casual school clothes as he attempted to stand up. That’s when he felt himself sinking deeper into the extremely heavy liquid. It was all happening in seconds, hardly enough time