Dark to Mortal Eyes

Chapter One Choose Your Poison Willamette Valley, October 2003 Josee discovered the canister while seeking firewood in the thicket. A chance encounter, nothing more. The odds of finding it here beneath a sword fern were slim, she knew that, but long ago she had retreated from belief in a grand design. She'd been down that slope before. In her hands, the object pleaded for purpose. For significance. She shook her head. Nope. A random occurrencethat's all this was. Prompted by sporadic raindrops on leaves overhead, Josee Walker built her campfire, blowing at kindling and newsprint until flames rose with halfhearted applause. Satisfied, she returned to her discovery. Weighed the canister in her hands, noted water spots and rust stains. Scratch marks, too. She polished it with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and found her face reflected in the metal surface. That's me?After two days without a mirror, the sight was disturbing. Don't even look like myself. I look so...wasted. Out of it. Josee rotated the object and found a skull-and-crossbones symbol. Stenciled in black, it made her shudder as she rolled the canister into her bedroll. Rocks shifted nearby. "Hey." She raised her voice above the patter of rain. "That you, Scoot?" "Who else? I scare you?" "Not even. Just making sure." Josee's friend wheeled his bike down the railway embankment. His dreadknotted hair hung like soggy pretzels from his hood and funneled water down the front of his poncho. Moisture clung to his thin beard. "Quick, hon," said Josee, "get in here." "Think I'm frozen to the bone." "I started a campfire for us using the classifieds. How's that for irony, considering we have no place to stay?" As Scooter dropped his daypack onto the ground, Josee heard his chattering teeth. "Scoot, you poor thing." "You don't have to mother me. And what, this place isn't good enough?" "Oh, cork it." She kissed him on the cheek. "What'd you get us?" "Dinner. Found some bread and fish fillets at the old Safeway in Corvallis." She studied the expiration dates. "Hmm, should be okay. Only a day late, looks like." The fillets were actually fish sticks that she knew he'd collected from the Dumpster by the store. "They're fine," Scooter said. "Let's eat." She pushed back a tuft of hair. "Better watch it, mister. Might find yourself traveling alone." "Think so?" "Know so. And you know you can't live without me. You adore me." She teased him with turquoise eyes. He couldn't resist them, she was certain of that. Part of her survival gear. Multifunctional. With a twinkle of these eyes she often masked her real thoughts from others; her feelings, too. Right now I feel far awaythat's what I feel. Detached. "You ask me," Scooter was muttering, "beggars can't be choosers." "You mean the food? Beggars, artistswe're all in the same boat. Yep, have to take what we can get." "Money's a security blanket. That's all it is, Josee. People goin' through the motions for another paycheck, selling their souls for a slice ofWilson, Eric is the author of 'Dark to Mortal Eyes', published 2004 under ISBN 9781578567447 and ISBN 1578567440.