The Lost Country, Episode Three

by | Wayne Kyle Spitzer-4

“WHERE—WHERE AM I?”

I circled the woman as she stirred in the office chair and became aware of her bonds (heavy-duty bungee cords which had been stretched taut and wrapped tight), at which she struggled violently (but briefly) and seemed to surrender—looking up at me smolderingly, begrudgingly, seeming to take my measure.

“You’re going to regret this,” she said—blowing the hair out of her eyes, “You know that, don’t you?”

I knelt in front of her and c****d my head. “I’m sure. But in the meantime why don’t you start by telling me your name. Can you do that for me, you think?”

She snorted through her nose. “How about you go f**k yourself?” Then she laughed. “Pamela Des Barres. How about that?”

I looked her up and down, studying her. The patchwork denim and groupie chic; the colorful furs and knee-high boots. “Close, but trashier. Courtney Love, maybe.”

I glanced at Linda as she returned with the rex piss and set it down, then twisted the cap off and slid it toward her—causing her to gag almost immediately.

“It’s dinosaur piss,” I said. “Ready to drink? I have to warn you, though. It burns.”

She shook her head, breathing heavily, then tried to shirk away. “Valerie,” she said, “Valerie Bennington.” She struggled against her bonds. “What’s it matter, anyway?”

“It matters because your group has taken one of our friends,” I said. “And another one is missing.” I ran a finger along the inside of the can’s opening. “So we need to know who you are. And also,” I sniffed my finger and wiped it on my trousers. “You took my car, you fuckers. And I want it back.”

She lifted her chin and stared at me—petulantly, defiantly. “Yeah? Well, that’s not going to happen; like, ever. No matter how much dinosaur piss you throw around. Okay? It ... it belongs to Blake now.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Is—is that who sent you? ‘Blake?’ Why would he do that?”

“Talent like his doesn’t need a reason. He wanted your car ... and now he has it. That should be enough.”

Her sense of entitlement infuriated me. “And Penny? Did he want her too?”

Her heavily made-up eyes narrowed. “The fat-bottomed lady?” She laughed. “Why would he, when he can have me—or any of the other dancers?”

“Then why take her?” My anger was beginning to boil over.

She looked at me and just smiled, the corners of her lips curling like withered leaves, her eyes sparkling. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Ha. Wouldn’t you just like to—”

I stood abruptly and raised the back of my hand—but was restrained by Linda, who had inserted herself between us. “That’s enough! Please—Chris. Enough. She’s not going to tell us.” She backed me away from the girl. “But I have an idea ... if you want to hear it.”

I yanked away from her and began pacing, furious at the stranger but really angry with myself—for losing my cool in front of my crush, whom I’d liked since the moment we’d met (at the Coke machine in the Community Room, about a month before the Flashback). And for sending them—Penny and Fred—to the food mart in the first place, ostensibly to save time but really just so I could be with Linda.

“I—I’m sorry. Jesus. It’s just that—”

She came to me and put a finger to my lips. “Shhh. Forget it. All right?” I tried to look away but she forced me to look at her. “All right? Listen. We know which direction they went. So ... why don’t we just—take Valerie here—and go looking for them?”

She turned to face the young woman. “She’ll point us in the right direction—won’t you, Little Miss Sunshine?” She glared at her menacingly. “If she ever wants to see home again.”

And she was right, of course; I knew it and the girl knew it.

And so I reconfigured her bonds so she could travel and we doused ourselves in rex urine— including Valerie (for who knew how far we’d have to go or how long we’d be exposed to potential predators), and we headed out; walking up South Union Avenue toward the capitol even as Compies watched from the undergrowth and I thought I saw a face: simian yet strangely human, animal, and yet somehow not—peeking at us briefly from between two fronds. Staring at us, passively, almost meditatively, like a great ape behind glass; or a manatee through green, hazy water.

––––––––