The Perelandra Paradox; Discovery

By James Rush Manley

Captain Ernesto Aguilar is not having a great day.  His airline lays him off, and then he arrives home just in time to see his garage explode. Strangely, the blast doesn't damage the building. Instead, it opens access to a spaceship from the future. Seeing a serendipitous opportunity to generate income to support his family, he secretly attempts to operate the new vehicle. He's an ex-military pilot, so how hard could it be?

It isn't long before he finds out his secret isn't as hidden as he believes. Federal authorities suspect he is up to something, and a brutal attack sends Ernesto, his family, and two friends fleeing into space. They struggle to survive while wrestling the cruel dilemma of how—or even if—they can ever return home. An unexpected rescue possibility may present an opportunity, but Ernesto is forced to choose between saving his family or preventing tragedy. Knowing who to trust could save their lives.

Captain Ernesto Aguilar is not having a great day.  His airline lays him off, and then he arrives home just in time to see his garage explode. Strangely, the blast doesn't damage the building. Instead, it opens access to a spaceship from the future. Seeing a serendipitous opportunity to generate income to support his family, he secretly attempts to operate the new vehicle. He's an ex-military pilot, so how hard could it be?

It isn't long before he finds out his secret isn't as hidden as he believes. Federal authorities suspect he is up to something, and a brutal attack sends Ernesto, his family, and two friends fleeing into space. They struggle to survive while wrestling the cruel dilemma of how—or even if—they can ever return home. An unexpected rescue possibility may present an opportunity, but Ernesto is forced to choose between saving his family or preventing tragedy. Knowing who to trust could save their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Rush Manley
• Release date: Jul 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987795101

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

APPROACH

Captain Ernesto Aguilar tightened his grip. He liked manually flying this airliner, but a sharp smack from the late-night storm gave him second thoughts. The needle jumped above the approach airspeed. He pulled his left arm and felt the yoke press into his fingers. The needle wiggled back down, but another swat slowed the airspeed too much. He pushed. The pressure transferred to his palm, and the arrow bounced back onto its target.

Rain hammered the cockpit and drowned out the engine roar. Mike, his copilot, repeated the question. Sure you want to fly this approach by hand?

Yeah. Good practice, Ernesto said. Check ride next week. And you know how autopilots fail on simulator runs. Besides, this chubby chicano chico has to fly better than the rest of 'em.

True, Mike said. He flipped to the landing checklist page and waited.

Confirm no thunderstorms, Ernesto said.

Radar shows clear forty miles, either side of our course. I haven't seen any since Seattle, Mike said. He scrolled through the pilot reports uploaded to his iPad. But everybody's reporting lots of turbulence.

Okay, Ernesto said. He pushed the crew intercom button. Katie, how's it going?

Using more barf-bags than normal. Any chance for smoother air? she asked.

Afraid not, Ernesto answered. He wrestled the right wing up to stay on course. Getting worse. Get everyone strapped in. You and the new gal, too. Sorry.

We'll do what we can, she said.

You always do. And she will. One of the best he'd flown with. She could charm boisterous kids, reassure nervous grannies, and subdue belligerent drunks. She was sweet but brooked no insurrection. He flipped the seatbelt light on to add his authority to her command.

Mike, please dim the cockpit lights for landing.

Roger.

They sat, wordless, amid the convulsing mess outside and waited for their landing clearance.

The controller's voice jumped into their headphones. Gateway Flight 2763, this is Big Sky Approach.

Big Sky Approach, Gateway 2763. Go ahead, Mike answered—while one flew, the other talked.

Gateway 2763, you are cleared for the RNAV Yankee approach to Runway 28-Right. Change to tower frequency. Good night.

Mike acknowledged the clearance and changed the frequency. Boise Tower, Gateway 2763 is with you.

Gateway 2763, Boise Tower, a new voice answered, Wind 330 degrees at ten knots. Altimeter 29.87. Runway wet. Braking fair. Continue your approach to Runway 28-Right.

Mike responded and moved his finger to the next checklist item. Coming down to 10,000 feet. Anything to say before we go to Sterile Cockpit? Your new house, maybe?

Yeah. Good to be in our own place, Ernesto said.

I bet, Mike said. You were stuck. Who helped?

Nobody. Did it myself.

Nobody?

Well... Ernesto said. Frazier's friend did have a friend. But I worked out a sweet deal.

Yeah? Like what?

Dang... Ernesto scowled at the panel but offered nothing more.

After a moment, Mike said, Well, hooray for creative financing.

Yeah, Ernesto said.

Last layover's nightmare eclipsed his satisfaction: The mortgage coupon book slithered across the kitchen table, cutting him off from Livia and the kids. It rose, a rearing cobra. Bills and coins gushed from closets, drawers, and pockets and poured into the monster's maw. The beast devoured their sustenance and stretched their sallow skin over jutting bones. Then its three hundred sixty pages thickened and swelled until the book smashed through the ceiling and walls. His family screamed. He cried that he'd signed up for online auto payments. The book snorted, cackled, and dared him to endure thirty years of payments. Thirty years... He jerked awake. Cold sweat soaked the sheets. Should they have waited? No, they had to move. Janice was more woman, less girl every day. The gangbangers dogging his daughter said she was theirs, owed them, and had to join. When the quirky mortgage deal appeared, he jumped.

That's okay. I'll get my turn when I get to be a captain like you. Congratulations, by the way. Mike said.

Thanks, Ernesto said with a quick nod.

Ten thousand feet, Mike said for the voice recorder, Sterile cockpit.

Sterile cockpit, Ernesto acknowledged, terminating all non-essential chatter. Time to fly, chubby chicano chico, time to fly. With roiling finance thoughts stuffed, he cupped his right hand around the throttles and eased them back. Their descent quickened. Smacks changed to shaking.

Hmm, Ernesto said, Surface wind's only ten knots, but we're getting kicked around up here. Might be looking at... Ernesto banked the airplane farther right to re-intercept the final approach course. Dang... He muttered.

Gateway 2763, we show you left of course, Boise Tower said.

Roger. Correcting, Mike said.

Copy that 2763.

Ernesto wiped alternate sweaty palms on his pant leg. Mike, confirm you have the Missed- Approach checklist ready.

Mike kept his index finger on the Landing checklist but stuck his little finger behind the Missed-Approach tab. Roger, got it.

Ernesto re-centered the approach course needles and pulled the power levers back. As they descended through 6,000 feet, city lights cast furtive glowing blotches up through the black murk below. The airplane slowed toward landing speed. Set full flaps, he said.

Full flaps set, Mike said.

Gear down.

Gear down, Mike repeated. The plane bucked. His reach missed the gear lever. He got it on the second try. Three green lights, gear down and locked.

Copy three green lights. See the ground? Ernesto asked, focused on the panel. The shaking plane banked left, right, and left again.

No joy, Mike said.

A minute passed. The air smoothed. Clouds opened. Runway lights in sight, Mike said.

Got 'em, Ernesto said.

Mike called the tower. Gateway 2763 has Runway 28-Right in sight.

Roger, Gateway 2763. Cleared to land Runway 28-Right.

The nose pitched up. The airspeed dropped. Wind shear! Ernesto jammed the throttles to full power, then pushed the control yoke forward with both hands. The Embraer E-170's twin turbofans roared to full power, straining to keep 55,000 pounds of airplane, baggage, fuel, and people flying. The nose stopped rising but didn't lower. Back me up on the yoke!

Roger. Mike pushed open palms against his control wheel.

Slowly, the nose lowered. Ernesto held the plane level at 4,100 feet, allowing the airspeed to increase. As the back pressure on the yoke diminished. He said, Okay, I've got the controls.

You've got the controls, Mike said, and removed his hands.

I've got the controls, Ernesto said as he re-intercepted the approach course and continued the descent to landing.

At the gate, Mike said, Well, that was fun.

That's why they pay us the big bucks, right? Ernesto said. Maybe I should've stayed in the Air Force...

Mike snorted.

Ernesto extracted his broad, six-foot-two-inch frame from the pilot's seat and turned to open the cockpit door. Katie said goodbye to the last passenger and then brushed a long strand of flaming red hair that escaped her up-do.

She turned toward him. Her smile widened, Hello...

Empty this leg, huh? Ernesto said.

Yeah, just thirteen, Katie said. They rattled like stones in a can with the ride you boys gave 'em. She tilted her head right and pursed her lips. Green eyes sparkled mischief.

Thanks for nothing, he chuckled. Bantering or beckoning? Be interesting to find out. But I am. Definitely. Not. My father.

Hey, guess what? Katie asked, I passed my ATP check ride!

Really? Mike said. You have an Airline Transport Pilot license?

Katie nodded.

Que chévere! Cool, I mean, Ernesto said. I knew you could do it.

Thanks, she breathed. She looked at her feet, then up to Ernesto. Couldn't have done it without your help.

Going to float your resume? Ernesto said.

Actually, she looked down and said, Already started, so yeah. She leaned close, linked her arm around his, and brushed a not-so-quick kiss on his cheek. As she pressed against his side, the remnants of her perfume defused the hint of hard work aroma. Its sudden enticement surprised him. Thanks. Your encouragement means a lot. I owe you, she said with a quick eyebrow flick and stepped back. Her hand lingered on his forearm.

My pleasure, he said sliding his arm from her fingers while he reached into the locker behind her to pull out his jacket. He could feel his pulse and hoped his dark skin hid his blush.

Katie said, Hey, don't forget your mask. Captain. Her eyes found and held his. Everybody's got to wear 'em now.

Uh, yeah, thanks. He drew a blue and white paper mask from a pocket and put it on. Then he pushed his thick, black hair under the hat so only his close-cropped sideburns showed. Company policy dictated a sharp public appearance. He liked that. Fit his mother's words, You can't help where you were born, but you can help how you dress. His experience confirmed sharp creases, shined shoes, a buttoned jacket over a crisp white shirt, and a snug, centered tie made a difference. It minimized the whispers he caught, wondering why any airline would let a taco truck driver into their cockpit.

He pulled out his roller bag and strapped on the flight case. Good night, folks. See you next week.

Good night, they chorused.

He entered the jetway and sensed Katie's following gaze. Eyes ahead. Keep walking, Ernesto. Just keep walking. Then he remembered—no crew van. Tonight, he got to go home. He thought of Livia. Smiled. Rain pummeled the bright, square jetway. A damp smell invaded the empty tube. At the top, he exited into the terminal. The last stragglers headed for baggage claim or the street, but he pulled Gateway's unmarked door open.

Hey, Darryl, he called to the night dispatch clerk. How's it going?

Okay, I guess. The lanky college intern looked up. His mask didn't hide a scrunched brow.

What's up? Ernesto said.

Nothing, Captain Aguilar, Darryl said.

Sure?

Darryl let out a long, deep breath. Well, my car screeched and quit when I pulled into the lot.

Doesn't sound good.

It's not. Won't start again. Won't even turn over. Darryl said.

Ernesto rubbed his chin. Can I give you a ride?

Thanks, but I'm here another two hours.

Hmm… that'll be pretty late. But you can call a cab, Lyft, or something, Ernesto said.

Uh... Darryl looked down, then up at Ernesto. Can't.

They take plastic.

Darryl turned his palms up and shrugged his shoulders.

Oh, I see... Ernesto said.

Darryl turned back to his screen and said over his shoulder, Higgins left something. I stuck it in your locker.

Okay, Ernesto said. An off-white envelope with the Gateway Airways logo poked out of his locker's door jamb. They probably want me to take another relief slot. He took every trip they offered. Hard on family life but it paid the bills—just. He stuck his finger under its flap but stopped. Cold fatigue crept up his back and over his shoulders. He withdrew his finger and slipped the envelope into the outside pocket of his flight bag. I want to be with you, Livia. See the kids? Probably not. He looked at his watch. You get them to bed on time. But... a picnic and bike ride scenario on the Green Belt along the Boise River formed. Yeah, maybe we can finally...

He left the locker closed, picked up his bag, and signed the log sheet.

Night, Captain, Darryl said, focused on his screen.

Night, Ernesto said and moved to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob. Okay, he muttered and pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket. Opened it. Three twenties, a ten, some fives, and a few ones stared at him. In a single motion, he plucked them out, pivoted on his heel, reached over the counter, and set them next to Darryl's keyboard.

Darryl's eyes widened above his mask. Really? I'll pay you back when...

Forget it. I've been there. The mask hid Ernesto's smile as he left. He texted Livia as he walked,

Leaving dispatch. Home in 15.

Welcome back [smiley face with hearts for eyes]

He entered Interstate 84. Tonight's route lay east, not west. A week since move-in and unpacked boxes dominated every room. That's going to change—if the relief trip doesn't interfere.

He exited at Broadway and headed north, snaked around Fort Boise Park, the VA Hospital, and Memorial Park to turn right on his new street.

Wet, waving trees sequestered tall streetlamps. Their light escaped the tangle and flashed an odd rhythm on the windshield—flash, dark, flash, flash, dark... flash, dark.

Rain drummed as he reached the house—their first house. Flying for a regional start-up kept the dream beyond reach until now. It was old, built in the 1940s, and had two stories and four bedrooms. It included a detached, two-car garage that sat to the right and farther back from the street. Its extra depth allowed room for an enclosed workshop that spanned the entire back wall. Two old-fashioned, hard-to-move doors opened the garage onto the driveway, so they parked the cars outside for now.

He pulled into the empty driveway. Gone again! He moved to the right, close to the garage, and turned off the ignition. A new text waited on his phone.

Just got the call. Sarah M in labor. Margie sick. I'm her backup. Sorry :(

Just home. Hope delivery goes well. And quick. Miss U. See U.

Livia followed with,

Janice got them both to bed. Our girl's growing up.

He replied,

Yes, she is.

He turned on the interior light and reached between the seats to pull his flight case forward, but the big roller bag wouldn't fit through the space between the headrests, so he let it fall back. The envelope fell onto the center console. He picked it up.

Flash! Boom!

Brilliant light blinded his eyes. Ringing flooded his ears.

His heart missed a beat, then raced.

An image of sharp light bursting from tiny garage windows remained on his retinas. Did lightning hit my garage?

He jerked forward and peered through the downpour. The garage was visible in the streetlamp glow; it looked intact. The walls were upright. Roof unbroken. No flames sprouted. No smoke billowed. Only falling rain and waving trees disturbed the night. I flew through all this. No lightning in the whole Northwest. So, what…?

He sprang into the deluge and raced to the left-hand garage door. Rusty hinges and layers of encrusted paint fought his efforts, but he dragged it open and squeezed through. He entered the dark, then coughed on the greasy dirt floor's stink. His cellphone light cast a lonely cone that bounced off thick billowing clouds. He panned left, right, then above his head. The feeble glow revealed no broken wood and no shredded shingles. No rain fell inside. No wind passed through. No fire. No sound. Swirling dust filled the air.

He moved to the right wall, wiped a greasy swath from the small window, and peered out at the neighbor's yard. Dark. Quiet, except for wind and rain. He crossed over to the left side and scanned the other neighbor's yard. Only mad trees waved in the streetlight glow.

What's going on? he asked aloud. As he turned a full circle, the silent cloud revealed nothing. He raced back to the car. Panting in the humid interior, he wiped water from his eyes and rubbed his dripping hands against soaked trousers. The envelope caught his eye. Better check on the relief flight. He ripped it open and extracted the single folded page. Shadow hid the text, so he moved close to the overhead bulb and read.

Due to the COVID pandemic, declining passenger traffic forced Gateway to furlough the ten most junior captains and first officers. He was their newest captain.

I don't need this! He shouted and thumped the steering wheel. Another moment's disbelief, and he asked, Why me, Lord? I thought we had a deal!

He sat. Starred at nothing. The tick, tick, tick of the cooling engine mixed with enormous drops that beat the car roof like a pebble cascade. The rain increased. Water poured down the windshield. He got out, retrieved his bags, and walked through the torrent up the back stairs into the dark, silent house.

CHAPTER 2

STRANGE

Livia maneuvered her lithe, five-foot, ten-inch, Swedish-blond frame to ringmaster the morning circus. Janice, she called from the kitchen, help Josh find his notebook.

Mom! the teen protested.

Just do it! Breakfast in two minutes. The scuffling shifted in the ceiling above, signaling they understood her no-nonsense voice. A chair scraped across the floor as Ernesto dropped into his seat. She stirred bubbling oatmeal and then called, Breakfast's ready.

Two pairs of thumbing, jumping, running feet careened down the stairs and burst into the kitchen.

I found Josh's notebook; I found Josh's notebook, Janice, the precocious fourteen-year-old, crowed singsong. Her long, thick, raven hair, like her dad's, bounced in tempo with her wagging head.

Did not. I knew where it was the whole time, Josh said. Two years younger than Janice, but tall, thin, and blond like his mom, Josh circled the table, trying to snatch the notebook from his sister's hand.

Un-uh. You lost it. I found it. You owe me, Janice taunted, waving the notebook high, barely keeping ahead of his long legs and reach.

Ernesto jerked his head up and scowled as the siblings completed a second orbit. Stop! Sit! Now!

The kids froze mid-stride and slunk to their seats. Livia set the pot mid-table.

Ernesto silently stared into his coffee.

Uh, you want me to pray? Livia asked.

Whatever.

Livia's eyes widened. Okayyyy... She thanked God for their meal, turned to the kids, and said, Sorry, we're running late. Something's come up we have to deal with.

Anything to do with that big bang last night? Josh asked.

No. Lightning hit the park behind the garage, Ernesto said.

Livia checked the wall clock. Bus in eight minutes.

I liked it better when you drove. We didn't have to get up so early, Josh complained.

Well, I can't do that now! Livia snapped.

Sorry, Josh squeaked and hunched his bony shoulders toward his ears.

Livia grimaced and pushed her slender fingers through her hair. She sighed and turned to her daughter. So, you made a friend?

Yeah, Mom. Her name's Carlene. I see her on the bus, and she's in my math class.

Good, Livia said. She rechecked the clock. Time! Get your bags! Don't forget your masks.

The kids scraped their oak chairs across the scuffed wooden floor and filed out the front door. Livia watched from the porch as they walked past six houses to the bus stop on the corner. Satisfied, she reentered the kitchen to regard her still glowering husband. She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated and closed it. She sat next to him. Um...

I know, Ernesto said. I didn't have to take it out on them. I'll apologize.

Me neither, she said. She folded a crumpled paper napkin, spread it open, smoothed it, and refolded it. She repeated the process slowly, deliberately.

He turned to face her; his big hands still encircled the cold cup. I'm sorry, Pale Face. I don't mean to let you and the kids down. He hung his head again. Don't know what I did wrong. Making captain seemed so good. They gave me the option. I prayed. We both prayed. He looked up at her. I even talked with JJ. He prayed, too. He raised the cup, then set it down hard. So, what's the deal? After all that talking and praying, I'd still have a job if I'd stayed a first officer!

Livia laid her pale, slender hand atop his dark, thick forearm. Hey, Brown Bear, you couldn't know.

They sat a moment, then she said in a smaller voice, What are we going to do? She pressed her lips tight, too late to stop the escaped words.

I'll figure something out.

She looked around. Columns of boxes obstructed all views. We just moved in. I don't want to leave, she said under her breath. One small tear formed in the corner of her left eye, grew up, eased over the edge, and rolled down her cheek until it stopped at the top of her lip. She brushed it away, sniffed, puffed out a deep breath, and glanced at Ernesto, relieved he hadn't heard about the latest fugitive. She put her hand under his chin, drew his face up, and looked into his eyes. You're a good pilot. You'll find something.

Yeah...

Hey, let's pray.

Umm, okay... He released his cold cup to squeeze her hand.

She leaned her forehead against his, eyes closed. Father, we need your help. Please show Ernesto where to look and who to call. In fact, she said, inspired, I ask you to surprise him with your unexpected goodness.

Umm... That'd be nice. Thanks.

They lingered skin to skin until the ticking clock's insistent beat defiled the quiet. Livia glared at the intrusion, took a moment to digest its message. Sorry. I gotta go, she whispered. You know how Doctor Chambers is. She stood, keeping her hand encased in his. I'm not worried. The Lord won't let us down. You'll find something. I know it, she said with a quick upthrust of her chin.

Ernesto looked up at her. I'll get on it today, he said.

She took a slow, deeper breath and looked down at him. Give yourself one day off, mister. You put in way too many hours for that stupid company. Besides, we could use more room around here. She swept her arm wide. One day to take care of this, then hit it.

He managed a smile. Okay, one day off.

Great, Brown Bear. She leaned over, kissed him, picked up the book bag that doubled as a purse on workdays, and glided out the back door.

Ernesto dumped the cold coffee and approached a cardboard tower. The doorbell rang, so he diverted to the front door. A black face, outlined with thick, close-cropped white hair and a beard, smiled at him.

I see my data is correct. You are here, JJ said.

Of course, JJ! Ernesto grinned and opened the door. So, what brings you here, Pastor? Got time for coffee? Ernesto asked.

I've got an appointment downtown in… JJ checked his watch, one hour and fifty-three minutes. Thought I'd see how the move-in is going. And yes, I'll take coffee. Can I help?

They moved into the kitchen, and Ernesto started a new pot.

Yeah, you can help—if you've got the steam, Ernesto grinned.

If? JJ replied. Show me, and I'll show you, taco boy.

Okay, preacher man, let's see what you got.

How do you like your new place? JJ asked as he lifted the first box. His 67-year-old, wiry frame belied the strength he had gained in his previous military life. The subsequent 28 years in an engineering lab followed by the ministry hadn't dented it.

A lot better than our last neighborhood.

You were in a rough area, alright, JJ said as he hefted two boxes. Janice doing any better now?

Yes, she is.

They moved a dozen boxes, then Ernesto said, Remember last night's storm?

Yep. Lots of rain. Read about flooding along the Greenbelt, JJ said.

Did you see or hear any lightning? Ernesto said.

No, don't remember any. Why?

Right after I got home, a bolt struck somewhere close. I thought it hit my garage. Checked inside but couldn't see much through all the dust.

Dust?

Yeah. Enormous clouds filled the whole place like something exploded, but I couldn't see any damage.

Sounds odd. You should investigate, JJ said.

I will, Ernesto said, but let's see if we can move some of this furniture.

So, how are you doing? JJ asked while they struggled with the oversized, thrift-store couch.

Okay, Ernesto grunted as they set it in place.

No, I mean really. How are you doing? You've been on my mind all morning. Can't shake it. JJ said.

Well, Ernesto considered brushing it off but dropped onto the couch.

JJ followed and waited.

I got laid off.

What! When?

Last night, after I landed. This COVID pandemic has cut Gateway's business. They let the ten most junior captains and first officers go. Ernesto surveyed his shoes and wiped his hands across his face. You know, I prayed about accepting their offer to move up to captain. I didn't want to be impulsive, run ahead of the Lord, do my thing, and all that.

Yeah, I remember, JJ said.

Thought I knew what I was supposed to do, but now... What did I do wrong, JJ?

Why do you say wrong? JJ asked.

¡Perdí mi posición! Ernesto spat. He paused. Sorry. Comes out when I get mad. I mean, I've lost my job!

JJ shrugged. No problem. He waited for Ernesto to continue.

We used all our savings to get into this place and then for the move. The promotion to captain made the mortgage possible—barely. Now we might lose everything before we finish moving in. So, yeah, I feel like I made the wrong move.

I see, JJ said. He took a long sip of his coffee and contemplated the ceiling. Did you ask for God's direction before you accepted the offer?

Of course.

Thought you'd get good advice, did you?

Yes, Ernesto said.

Ever get bad advice from him?

Uh, no.

So, based on your previous experience, you accepted the offer.

Yeah...

And Livia agreed? JJ asked.

Yes.

And when you got the raise, you concluded you'd made the right decision.

Of course.

But now, because you lost your job, you say it was the wrong decision.

And? Ernesto prodded.

JJ sipped his coffee. If you followed that good guidance, you got the best results.

Best results? If something doesn't happen pronto, we'll be living in two junk cars! Ernesto bolted to his feet and glared at JJ.

JJ held Ernesto's hard stare. You call it a bad decision only because you lost your job. If you still had it, you'd call it a good decision.

JJ's calm deflated Ernesto, so he dropped back to the couch.

When you asked God for his advice, was it to get his way? Or yours? JJ asked.

Well... Ernesto opened his mouth, shut it again, and shrugged his shoulders. He lay his head back and stared at the ceiling, sighing. But what about my job?

Short-term anomaly, Ernesto. It's a short-term anomaly. The story's not over yet.

I gotta think about that.

I understand, JJ said. He checked his watch and stood.

Thanks, bro, for your help and for your questions, Ernesto said.

Just doing my job, JJ smiled.

Say, Ernesto said, mind taking a quick engineer's look at my garage on your way out?

Okay, but I gotta be quick, JJ said.

Ernesto led the way down the back steps and across the yard to the garage. He hefted the left door and dragged it across the cement far enough for them to squeeze through. Inside, he turned on the single bulb. Both men scanned the open-beam ceiling.

You checked the whole thing? JJ asked. At night? In a rainstorm? With just your cellphone light? What about over there? JJ pointed to the wall that spanned the back of both garage bays.

Couldn't. The door's stuck. The previous owner said it used to be a workshop, but it's empty now.

I'd give it a look, JJ said. A string of beeps came from his pocket. That's my drive-away signal. Gotta go.

They exited the garage. In the driveway, Ernesto asked, Where you headed?

Going to St. Luke's to see the Jorgensen's—you remember Eric and Helen?

Umm, nope, Ernesto admitted.

They're new. Been coming a month or so. Their son—Michael, I think—is in for surgery. Bad skateboard crash. I promised I'd be there.

And that's part of your job, too, isn't it? Ernesto said.

Yep.

They grasped right hands and pulled together into a one-armed clutch and release.

God bless you with his presence today. And give my love to your bride, JJ said as he squeezed back.

Same to you, bro, same to you, Ernesto said.

Ah yes... JJ stopped in the morning sunshine that bathed the driveway. He looked up to his left, then back at Ernesto. Thanks for the first part, but I still miss her... He turned toward his car.

Uh, sorry, JJ, I didn't mean to... Ernesto said.

No problem, bro. I understand. Still too fresh for all of us. JJ got into the car and closed the door. He rolled down the window and said to Ernesto, Amanda's in a better place. I'll see her again soon enough. He turned the ignition. In the meantime, I've got work to do. He put the car in gear and drove off.

CHAPTER 3

DISCOVERY

Ernesto met Janice and Josh as they came through the front door. He apologized for losing his temper at breakfast and told them about the layoff.

"I knew it was