Page 35 of Crystal Iris #1

Twenty-Eight

“Anybody can play weird, that's easy. What's hard is to be as simple as Bach. Making the simple complicated is commonplace. Making the complicated simple—awesomely simple—that's creativity.” – Charles Mingus

T he flight to Alaska is long with the connecting flight, and I welcome the rest. Johanna sits next to me, while Hoyt sits behind us.

“What’s the plan, Johanna?” Hoyt asks when we land.

“We eat and we sleep. It’s too late to… go there now,” she answers.

“Right, too late to say hello to our own mother.” I can hear the agitation in his tone.

“Hoyt, please,” Johanna pleads.

“Fine, I told you we’re doing it your way,” he says.

“Thank you,” she replies, and I can see they both look worried.

“Thank you for coming, Iris,” Hoyt says, passing me my dinner in our room.

“I’m happy to spend time with you and Johanna. I like her.”

“I think she likes you too. She told me to do things right, with you.”

I grin. “She did? ”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do if you find your mom?”

“I’m more worried about what happens if we don’t. What it’ll do to Johanna. Her hopes are high. Too high.”

“I think she’s worried about you, too,” I admit.

“She always is. Sometimes, I think I’m the younger sibling.”

We eat and watch a movie. I must have fallen asleep because I wake up in the middle of the night, still in my travel clothes.

I change into my pajamas in the bathroom and realize Hoyt barely fits on the couch.

The bed is too small for our mountain of pillows.

I lie back down, but my brain is wide awake.

The hotel is nicer than I expect. Not because of the luxuries, it’s the view. If Montana is beautiful, Alaska is something else. I’m looking outside when Hoyt brings me coffee.

“Did you even sleep?” he asks.

“Kind of. I slept yesterday on the plane, and my body is still… on ranch time. Did you? The couch looks extremely uncomfortable. Maybe we should get another room?”

“Nonsense. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily,” he grins.

“I never thought about leaving the city, but these views… I’m going to miss it,” I say, trying to control my feelings. He looks hot in his sweatpants and messy hair.

“Do you think you could? Move away from the city?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Hoyt drives, and I sit in the back seat. We’ve passed the populated tourist areas, and I note we’re driving miles away from everything I consider safe .

“The GPS is pointless by now. It keeps recalculating,” I say, opening and closing the app on my phone.

“Are you sure it’s this way, Johanna?” Hoyt asks.

“You heard what that man said in the bar—follow the water, it’s the only house with a red door. How hard can it be?”

We drive for another half hour. Hoyt’s right. Johanna’s excited, but my heart aches for them. The thought of seeing their mother… I know Hoyt’s holding back.

“There!” Johanna points at the extremely old home.

“Nobody can live there,” Hoyt says. “There’s nothing here.”

“Someone obviously does,” Johanna replies, opening her window. We drive in the direction of the house.

“You guys go ahead, I’ll stay in the car,” I tell them as we park.

“No way, you’re coming with us,” Johanna says. “I need backup with Hoyt.”

I nod at her, knowing it’s her nerves talking.

We knock, but the immensity of the mountains and land swallows the sound.

“Maybe she can’t hear us,” I say when no one answers.

Hoyt knocks harder, and the door gives way.

“Hello? Anyone here?” he calls from the doorway.

“I’m going in,” Johanna says, stepping past us.

“Johanna!” Hoyt calls after her, but she doesn’t look back.

We follow her inside.

As expected, the home is simple—just the absolute basics... and even some of those are broken. There’s no one inside.

“Over here!” Johanna calls from the doorway leading to another room.

We walk over.

A woman lies on a bed. She looks ill. I can’t tell if it’s their mom. The pictures I’ve seen are from a long time ago. From the looks on their faces, they don’t know either.

“Get out or I will start shooting!” A man yells from the living room .

I look back to see he’s holding a shotgun.

“Hold there, we’re family,” says Hoyt to the guy.

“Family? We have no family!” says the bone-thin man.

“Is the woman in the bed Awena?” I ask, surprising myself at my calm voice.

“I said get out!” He gestures again with his gun pointing at us.

“Please, I think she’s our mother,” pleads Johanna, although Hoyt is already motioning for us to leave.

“The hell she is! She’s my mother!” he says, holding his gun tight.

Hoyt and Johanna look at each other.

“We are looking for a woman named Awena Kalapuya, she lived in Montana around twenty-five years ago,” I say.

The woman starts to move.

“Please, I’ve never met her,” Johanna says desperately.

“We have money, we can pay you,” Hoyt adds.

“We don’t need your money,” the man replies.

“Is she sick?” I ask him as he lowers his gun a little.

I look at the woman behind me. She’s sitting up, reaching out her hand. She seems awake, except… her eyes are still closed.

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask.

“She’s sick. Her…” The man looks at us, trying to make up his mind. “You need to leave!” He lifts the gun again.

I’m walking toward the door when she starts to sing. The three of us recognize the lyrics immediately. The young man seems taken by surprise.

“She hasn’t spoken… in years,” he says, walking to the bedroom.

The woman continues.

“Little dew drops, come down and wash my fears away

Let it fall, let it dry, let me say goodbye

Little shiny treasure, you hold more than you kno w

The secret to your power lies in the unknown

Seven sparkles separated by men

Always attracting, wondering when

Together, the unforgiven omen

Little dew drops, come down and wash my fears away

Let it fall, let it dry, let me say goodbye

Little shiny treasure, you hold more than you know

The secret to your power lies in the unknown

Heart you must give, heart’s blood

Brave the mist, don’t fear the flood

Heart you must give, heart’s blood”

She stops singing and starts shaking, convulsing. The man runs to the room and gives her some sort of shot, bringing her back to lie down. We stare at him, and he yells, “I said get out!” then he shoots through the ceiling.

This time, we listen.

Hoyt drives while Johanna cries, and I wish there’s something I can do or say.

When we arrive at the hotel, I order them water and food, but they don’t touch it.

“We can’t leave her there!” I hear Johanna saying when I come back inside.

“Johanna, he had a gun,” Hoyt says.

“Then we go to the police,” she replies.

“And say what? She’s our mother who abandoned us thirty years ago?” He takes a seat next to her.

“Do you think he’s her son? Our brother?” she asks him.

“Who knows.” Hoyt gets up to look out the window.

“The lullaby,” I ask him, “Was it the same one?”

He nods .

“When you sang it to me, when we were little, you skipped the blood part,” Johanna says to him.

Awena’s raspy voice replays in my head.

“There’s no blood part. Maybe she changed it, I don’t know—she obviously doesn’t seem well,” he tells us.

“She should be in a hospital,” Johanna says, trying to calm herself down.

“He doesn’t want our help,” Hoyt says, running his hands through his hair.

“We need to go back. Talk to him, Hoyt,” Johanna is almost begging.

“We are not going back there. I’m not risking our lives,” he tells her.

“He’s right, Johanna. It’s too dangerous,” I say, stepping closer.

“What if it was your mother, Iris?” she asks.

I know it, like she does: Nothing would stop me.

“Let’s ask for the police’s help,” I tell her.

Hoyt’s on the phone and I take a seat next to Johanna.

“We’ll get her help, Johanna,” I tell her.

“I can’t believe it’s her.” Her tears fall uncontrollably.

I try to lift her spirits. “You did this. You found her.”

“What if we’re too late?” She seems inconsolable.

Hoyt returns with news: The police will come tomorrow to talk to us. There’s no urgency in the situation; we’ll have to wait until morning.

“They can’t make us wait until tomorrow,” Johanna says, wiping her tears.

“Things are different here, Johanna. They have their hands full in Alaska.”

None of us sleep well. We simply close our eyes for short stretches of time, taking turns with the nightmares. Hoyt and Johanna share the bed, and I make myself comfortable on the couch. Johanna had fallen asleep, and we didn’t want to leave her alone.

The police arrive mid-morning.

Hoyt and Johanna show them photos and tell them what they know.

Still, the officer’s manner is clear: This isn’t going to be easy.

The song tells them nothing, proves nothing.

Too many years have passed, and the photos aren’t enough.

And if the man inside is truly her son, we’re at a loss. He has the right to kick us out.

“She needs to be in a hospital,” I tell them. “Shouldn’t that be enough to check on her situation?”

“Perhaps. We’ll see what we can do,” says the officer on his way out.

They leave us without much hope.

I persuade Hoyt and Johanna to eat a little.

“We’re doing this my way now, Johanna,” Hoyt says when she asks him to go there again, to try to reason with their supposed half-brother.

“Iris, talk to him,” she asks me.

I’m torn between both of them. I know Hoyt is right, even so, I also understand Johanna’s heart.

“Look,” Hoyt says, “I’ll hire someone, okay? Someone who can maybe... take the guy.”

“Take the guy? What does that mean?” I ask.

“Just take him away for a bit, so we can get a doctor in there to check on her.”

“Can you do that?” Johanna asks.

“He could be your brother, Hoyt. You can’t—” I’m trying to clarify things.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get hurt,” he says tiredly.

We agree on the plan.

Hoyt is still looking for someone when Johanna moves to her room at night. She’s still upset, though I think she’ll sleep tonight. At least we have a plan.

We lie down, the past few days weighing heavy on us. I stick with sleeping on the couch. Hoyt falls asleep almost instantly. I follow him minutes after.

I’m having another nightmare when I hear him scream.

I jump up, my heart racing.

I look at him, trying to figure out what happened. I don’t understand what’s going on. He’s hunched over the side of the bed.

“Hoyt, what happened?”

I walk closer and see the strain, the sweat on his face— he’s in pain. His right hand grips his prism, the indigo light shining between his fingers.

“Hoyt, should I call 911?”

I’m walking away to grab my phone when he says, “No.”

I look back at him.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, standing up.

“What is?”

“I don’t know. I need to check on Johanna.”

“I’ll go,” I tell him.

Johanna isn’t responding to my knock on her door. I call her name. I call her phone. Nothing. Hoyt is at my side, almost breaking down the door with his heavy knocks.

I call the lobby, asking them to send someone, and they tell me Johanna left the hotel.

“She’s gone, Hoyt. She left the hotel,” I say.

He moves fast, putting on shoes, racing out the door. I follow him, almost running to catch up.

“We don’t have a car,” I realize as we run outside. It’s a windy night; I can barely keep my hair out of my face .

I’m still trying to figure out what happened when he comes back with keys.

“Whose car?” I ask.

“Filthy rich, remember?”

We drive as fast as the roads allow.

“What did you feel?” I ask him, reprimanding myself for my lack of experience driving. Hoyt insists he’s okay enough to do it, but we both know he isn’t. The heavy wind gusts aren’t helping.

“Turn here,” he says. “This was different—it was real pain, not like before, when she cut her hand.”

“They said she left just an hour ago. She’s probably still driving.” I try to calm both of us with my words.

“If something happened to her…”

His face—I wish I could at least hold his hand.

“Don’t go there, Hoyt.” I step on the gas, relieved the roads are mostly clear.

My heart skips a beat when I spot the familiar car by the red door.

“You stay here. Don’t come out, Iris. Please.”

“But Hoyt?—”

“You wait here for the cops.”

“Okay.”

He moves, slowly disappearing into the dark. I look at my shaking hands. My body and mind are consumed with worry. I shouldn’t have let him go in.

I hear a gunshot, and my heart almost jumps out of my chest. I look around. There’s no one here to help.

I get out of the car, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

I’m glad to be concealed by the night. I know I can’t do anything against a gun, but I can’t stay in the car when both of them are inside.

It’s not bravery or a lack of caution; it’s something stronger—than desire to help them that moves me closer.

My prism pulses, pulling me toward Hoyt.

I walk, letting my senses guide me. I quiet my mind the best way I know how—by breathing. Between my nerves, the wind, and the humidity in the air, it’s almost impossible to keep my violet light hidden.

I stand outside the house, near the window, trying to peek through the closed curtains. I can’t distinguish the shadows inside.

The rational part of me tells me to go back to the car, but I know it isn’t up to my brain right now. I close my eyes again, asking my prism and my body’s intuition to show me what to do. I keep moving around the place until I find a cracked window. The voices inside are muffled by the wind.

I hear Hoyt say, “Let me get her out, please. I just want to get her out.”

“I can’t let you do that. They will come for me,” the man replies.

“They won’t. I won’t tell them. She needs a doctor,” Hoyt begs.

And then I hear it again— Awena’s lullaby.

I’m considering going inside when I hear another gunshot, and my entire body freezes. At that moment, my prism does something I’ve never seen it do. It blinks an indigo light. Hoyt’s light. Pulsing with my heartbeat.

I feel pain in my head, my hands, my chest. My body is tearing itself apart. I can’t help but let out a scream. I beg my prism to stop whatever it’s doing.

I hear Hoyt call my name, and then I see him—walking out, carrying someone. Johanna. He’s carrying Johanna.

As my eyes lock on him, the prism’s light fades, taking the pain with it. I run to them, toward the car, and help him put Johanna inside.

“Drive, Iris. Drive,” he says, throwing the gun into the front passenger seat.

I don’t know where the closest hospital is. I drive while my other bloody hand types on the phone. The directions finally appear once we hit the main road. I watch the police car pass us, heading in the opposite direction. Too fucking late.