Winter was in full swing, but the sun didn’t seem to yield in Olympia; rather, it seemed to shine triumphantly, despite the lack of warmth. Mireya would have preferred being with her father and sister, but business called. The life of a Stellae associate never ended, she said to herself. This time, though, she had an excuse. The Harrisons.
It had been a few months since Jeff left for London. Mireya’s efforts had barely given fruit; Jeff was the same enigma she met, and befriending him shed no clear light. She could notice a few things, though: a bit of a lecherous nature that made her uncomfortable, a natural shyness and somewhat slavish behavior that entertained her, and a rare brilliance that enticed her. Few people would judge the latter by his academical results – he successfully completed his GED thanks to John’s tutoring, and though his SAT score wasn’t anything to brag about (other than an eye-opening result in the Math section, which astonished even him), it was enough to get him to all but the most demanding schools. But what he lacked (or rather, disregarded) in academical knowledge, he more than made up with his keen analytical mind. Jeff wasn’t one to learn from books; he needed to disassemble things, learn how they worked, and then reassemble them, absorbing their knowledge. That, and he had an impressive knack for on-the-spot thinking. Jeff reminded Mireya of Angus MacGyver, a character from a TV show her father liked, and had shown her long after it was aired.
Hearing that Jeff would spend his vacations on Charles’ residence prompted her to act. She took Marty – who had grown a couple of inches and gained some weight on his muscles since joining the football team on high school, and getting used to contacts - with her in the decommissioned police cruiser she bought off at an auction to use as her personal car to the rocky, arid plateau where Olympia was located. It was like traveling through time, with wooden one-story houses of very early design, into a suburb that had the feel of being stuck in the fifties.
Charles’ house was rather unassuming for being the residence of the leader of the Stellae Errantes; whitewashed, with a sloping roof and vertical wooden panels save for the garage, which had contrasting horizontal ones. The residence was in the middle of a small lot covered at this time of year under a layer of glassy ice, save for a lone tree whose leaves had fallen and was waiting patiently for spring. It was surrounded by low chain-link fence, though judging by the neighborhood, there was little to fear. The whole place was too quiet and too peaceful; however, it was exactly the peace and quiet that someone so troubled by grief and guilt could use.
Mireya was opening the fence gate when a plump, middle-aged woman emerged from the house alongside a wary mastiff. The dog trotted over, and Mireya knelt so it could lay its head in her lap and bask in her lavish praise: "Who's a good dog? You are!"
"MIreya!" the woman called as she approached. "So glad you could come!"
"I won't be staying long," Mireya replied. "This is Martin, I'm bringing him out to stay with Mr. Brennan. Martin, this is Laverne. She's Mr. Brennan's housekeeper."
Laverne beamed at Martin, then turned back to Mireya. "Well, how long can you stay?"
"Through New Year at least. But I want to get back in time to celebrate Epiphany with my family." Being a devoted family of Catholics from the Caribbean, Mireya was used to the day of the Three Kings – "el Día de Reyes", the de-facto "gift day" in the family, but also one of spiritual importance.
"Oh, but what are we doing standing out here talking?" the housekeeper said as she pulled Mireya and Martin toward the house. "Come in! Charles will be more than glad to see you two!"
As ever when she stepped into the house, Mireya felt like she was entering a time capsule. Garish floral wallpaper, a stained carpet and an old TV console with knobs rather than a remote control adorned the living room. From a shabby La-Z-Boy recliner there rose an elderly man with a trim white beard. His face was wrinkled with laugh lines, and he wore a red flannel shirt beneath a pair of white suspenders; a large gut fell over the top of his dark trousers. As he opened his arms and beamed at his visitors, Mireya knew exactly what Marty would be thinking. No, he's not Santa Claus, she wanted to tell him. He's much more regal than that.
"Mireya! Martin!" Charles Brennan exclaimed with twinkling eyes. "Come in! Make yourselves at home!"
Mireya stepped in to hug Charles fondly. "Mr. Brennan! So good to see you in good health!"
"Well, I’ve been taken good care of," he said as he glanced at Laverne. He turned to Marty, and flashed a wide grin. "And how are you doing with John, young man?"
"Doing great, sir!" Marty exclaimed in turn. His face was shining. "Made the JV squad!"
"Well, that's fine," Charles said. He put out an arm, and Mireya noted that Marty instinctively took it. The two went into the kitchen, with Charles asking Marty about a school project he was working on, and leaving Mireya to marvel again at how easily the head of the Stellae Errantes could put new arrivals instantly at their ease, even when they hadn't met.
"Get you some cocoa?" Laverne asked Mireya.
"Please." After Laverne had followed the two men into the kitchen, Mireya went back out to her car, again checking the text on her phone as she walked:
Heard there was a ruckus on the mountains of Montana. Two explorers disappeared, five more in the course of two weeks. Seems Bigfoot’s loose. Might wanna check it out.
Bigfoot, Mireya scoffed to herself. Most likely bears. From the trunk of her car, she took a briefcase, but left the Mossberg MVP Predator hunting rifle, the box with tranquilizer darts as well as a couple of magazines loaded with 7.62mm rounds, some the camping equipment, the tactical armor vest, and the coat, gloves and boots.
Back inside, she took the cocoa from Laverne with a smile and a "Thanks," and settled onto the frayed sofa.
So absorbed was she in the notes that she took from her briefcase that she failed to notice when Marty settled on the sofa arm to look over her shoulder. Nor did she notice that she had left her phone face up and open to her texts until Marty exclaimed, "Whoa! Bigfoot is real?"
Mireya couldn't help flinching a little. "Unfortunately, yes. That probably isn't one of them, but it needs to be checked anyway."
"Awesome!" Marty’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. "Can I come?"
"No. You’re not ready to handle something like that, if it turns out to be one. It takes years of training, of learning, that you don’t have! I don’t want to put you on risk, kiddo."
But she watched him as he got up and shuffled away with a groan, and she recalled her first time on a hunt, and how scared she was to learn that monsters were real, before enthusiasm and excitement replaced fear. She also recalled her time with Frank and Joe, and how the former shared that enthusiasm.
She looked over at Charles, who seemed to have been waiting for this exact moment. "Sir," she said, unable to meet Charles in the eye.
"You always call me 'sir', Mireya," Charles grumbled, "and I always tell you to call me 'Charles'."
"I was wondering. Would it be wise to take Marty on my trip? I don’t want him to get hurt, but if we just go and explore, I could teach him to keep quiet ... maybe keep him out of danger--"
"Reminds you of the kids, right?" Charles referenced his "kids" – Frank and Joe – with fondness.
"And of myself. Marty shares Frank’s enthusiasm."
"You mean," Charles interrupted her, seemingly knowing more than he seemed, "you don’t want to hurt Jeff."
"Neither of them! I mean ... how I’ll respond to all of you if something happens to them?"
"Then don’t take him. I’ll do something to distract the boy, keep him occupied."
"And what if he tries to follow me?" Mireya looked at everything, sighing. "I shouldn’t have focused on this too soon."
"You’re one of the best hunters, Mireya, and you’ve trained many of our agents. I trust in your judgment. But if you’re asking me for advice?" Charles made a sly grin as he looked at Mireya. "You may want to make this a test for the boy. See if he’s made up for this."
"Perhaps," she responded, "but I don’t want to place him at harm. I’ll consider it as I prepare for tomorrow. Thanks ... Charles."
Mireya stepped away, moving towards the dining room, but not before noticing something strange from the bedroom area. For a brief moment, she felt she was being watched. Was it a trick of her mind? Or was it her senses alerting her of something?
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