The Rig 3: Eye of the Hurricane Page 8
Each mesa top drew his eyes as he wondered if the thrilling ride of his dream had taken place on any one of them. In such a state of bliss, Flagstaff, Winslow and Holbrook all passed by before he was interrupted by a comment from the passenger’s seat.
“We are now in the middle of fucking nowhere,” she announced. “Who lives here?”
He tried to ignore her comments as they cut into the peace that he’d been having.
“I mean, would you seriously ever consider living in a place like this?”
“Actually, yes.”
He regretted the answer, but was too late to stop it.
“Seriously? You would live out here with absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go? Oh yeah, I forgot, you love nature. You’re just a painter.”
The stab at him hurt. Rather than allow it to lead them into another confrontation, however, he decided it was better to diffuse it all.
“I’m sorry that I yelled at you and slammed the door earlier.”
The absence of a reply made him turn and look to see if she had heard. When he looked at her, she forced half of a smile to her face and then turned her face toward the window.
She used to love wide open places. What had happened to her? What had changed her so drastically? Would she ever be able to break free of whatever had claimed her soul and had her entire being in chains?
“You used to love nature too.”
He broke the silence, still hoping the old Melissa might have a chance to break free and return to him.
“That’s before I discovered the real world, Parke!” she snapped. “It’s about time you discovered it too.”
Being turned away once more, he remained silent all of the way into Gallup, New Mexico, where they stopped to get something to eat. As they sat through their silent lunch, he studied the mountains to the northwest. Something about those mountains was drawing him to them, though he wasn’t completely certain what it was.
He made another decision when they were back in the car and on their way. A decision that, once again drew the wrath of Melissa, as he turned the car onto US Highway 491 and started north. The sound cursing that he received died away as she turned away to sulk once more; something she did often whenever he decided to stand up for himself and refuse to allow her to bully him into doing things her way.
The draw of the mountains, known as the Chuskas, had his heart pounding in a rather strange and completely inexplicable way. The further north and nearer to Chuska peak he drove, the stronger the pull. The combination of emotions from the dream that he had the night before were vivid once more and he was suddenly able to recall the features of the beautiful woman’s face. “Naomi,” he said without realizing that the name had left his mouth.
“What?” Melissa snapped.
“Nothing,” he replied, hoping that she wouldn’t press further.
Why had he spoken the name? At the eastern base of Chuska Peak, he could see a small town beginning to form along the highway in front of them. As he traveled along, a sign letting him know that they had arrived in Tohatchi went by; quite obviously, they had reached the lands of the Navajo Nation, though the sign which had announced it earlier had little effect on his consciousness. He attempted to pronounce the name as he slowed upon entering the town, well aware of the 4x4 Navajo Police vehicle waiting for someone who was in a much bigger hurry than him to pass through the quiet town.
Off to his left, he noticed a sign above a grey, cinderblock building, “Tohatchi Trading Post.” Something stirred inside of him, calling him toward the rugged-looking building. He turned the wheel toward the pothole-rich, hard-packed space that served as a parking lot out in front of the store.
“Why are we stopping?”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
The urge to stop and enter the store had completely taken over.
“This is Indian territory, idiot. We’re probably not safe here.”
“Then stay in the car.”
He unhooked the seatbelt and reached for the door handle. Melissa didn’t budge.
“Why do you insist…”
Closing the door behind him cut off whatever rant she had begun and he focused on the front door of the building and the pull the trading post had on him. When he entered, it appeared pretty much the same as any “Trading Post/Souvenir Shop in the southwest. Genuine Navajo rugs were for sale, though these appeared to be much better crafted than many that he’d seen and the price listed on them told him that they were indeed “the real thing.” He browsed for a few moments among the goods offered and then made his way toward the glass counter where jewelry and such was displayed.
“Ya-tah-ay,” the heavy-set man behind the counter said, as he approached.
The greeting was spoken in the sharp, interrupted way in which the natives said it rather than the way white people tried to mimic it.
“Hello,” he replied, taking the large, offered hand. He was too intimidated to even attempt to return the same greeting.
“If you want a closer look at anything, let me know.”
His voice had a deep and powerful quality to it and his face beamed. He has a happy spirit, he thought, though never in his life had he ever had such an odd thought cross his mind. His throbbing heart had not settled in the least; in fact, it seemed to have gotten worse inside of the trading post. His eyes looked through the glass at the assortment of handcrafted silver and turquoise jewelry on display. The art was exquisite and the prices on the pieces were well beyond anything in his budget, but he continued to allow his eyes to move over them feeling a mysterious bond to them.
He was about to turn away from the glass display when his eyes caught sight of a green dagger tucked away on the corner of a shelf. The entire dagger was made out of green stone; blade, hilt and shaft, all from the same piece of stone. On first sight, he thought it was turquoise, but it held a much deeper green tone than did the more aqua-colored turquoise stones set in silver very near it. “What is that?” he asked, extending a finger toward the dagger.
“That is a stone dagger,” the clerk smiled, pulling it out and placing it on the counter in front of him. “One solid piece of jade.”
“Jade?”
“Yes.”
“Is there jade around here?”
He had always associated jade with the orient. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Initially, it was cold like stone, but in just seconds it suddenly became too hot to touch and he dropped it on the counter.
“Burned you?”
The big Navajo chuckled. The rich sound of his voice reinforced the idea that had popped into his mind earlier.
“It doesn’t do that to everyone.”
“What the hell is it? Is it possessed?”
“You mean is it magic or does it have a spirit?”
“I don’t know. It’s just…”
Parke couldn’t find the words he wanted.
“Mysterious,” the smiling man filled in the word for him. “The man who brought it in said it had been in his family for centuries. He said it used to get hot when he touched it when he was younger, but not in a long time.”
“Why did he sell it?”
“He started drinking and needed the money.”
“He sold this for liquor money?”
“There is more confusion in demons and liquor than nearly any other thing in the world.” His plump, happy face suddenly became very solemn. “I think that’s why it became cold in his hands.”
“Why?”
“He lost his way.”
“But this could be priceless.”
“Or his granddaddy bought it in the South Pacific during World War II.”
He wasn’t sure how the South Pacific and World War II had any bearing on the origin and value of the dagger, but since it was only seventy-five dollars, it seemed likely that the owner of the trading post didn’t believe that it was nearly as valuable as the original owner had. Yet still he had pawned it to him for a bottle. He probably only got twenty-
five or thirty bucks for the pawn.
Without another word, Parke purchased the dagger, which the smiling proprietor slipped into a leather, beaded scabbard that he threw in with the deal. Parke suddenly felt relief as he stepped back out into the gentle breeze which came flowing from Chuska peak. Rather than the tension and racing heart from before, it had all transformed into a feeling of peace. However, there was also a sense of disappointment that he was getting into the car and leaving. In fact, his heart was genuinely sick as though he was about to be leaving home.
“What the hell did you buy?”
His peace was quickly shattered. She has an angry spirit. He fought to hold back the laughter which suddenly wished to free itself from his chest.
The Jade Dagger
is available at:
Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK * Amazon AU
About the Author:
Steve Rollinsenjoys hiking and snorkeling and beer, but not necessarily in that order. He loves to travel and spends most of his free time doing just that. Presently, he lives in Las Vegas, Nevada because he likes to gamble, too.Please find him at:
Please visit him at www.steverollins-author.com.
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Table of Contents
OTHER BOOKS BY STEVE ROLLINS
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Excerpt
About the Author: