Chapter 1 of the R.M. Dolin novel, "Trophic Cascade"
Read companion poem
“A man’s been stabbed and a woman’s dead.” Preston repeats with anguished worry, speaking past his dearest friend to the dark consequences that wait on the other side of the courtyard lights. They know what this means, yet nothing in their complex past has prepared them. Not their days together as graduate students at Purdue, or the lies of omission Jake told to assure Preston’s security clearance remained outside of jeopardy. Not Jake’s love affair in Paris or the tragic secret she only shared with Preston and Padre; or the aftermath that extinguished the very breath Jake breathes. Nothing in their complex past prepared them for this.
“And Sympatico ain’t in her room,” Dario adds with equal concern.
In less than the nanosecond this shock wave takes to reverberate off stucco walls and echo into the emptiness of the moment, a synapse frantically fires across Jake’s brain catapulting him toward Sympatico’s bedroom. In the seconds it takes to clear the courtyard and sprint through the tasting room, he’s run a dozen plausible scenarios for how she could have gotten to Miguel’s. “Shit!” is all his brain can verbalize past his panic as the re-occurring first order variable that weighs outcomes toward darker conclusions continues to be the bloody knife she gripped so tight that night at the Al Azar when the Santa Anna’s blew her into his life.
Jake’s mind jumps back to earlier today when Miguel demanded he give Sympatico back. What unfinished business is tied to her perilous escape and how does that link to the bloody knife and the dead woman at Miguel’s ranch? Some manic scenarios end with a resounding “no way it’s her!” Others callously collide with the possibilities of, “damn it all to hell.” Most lay in space in between, which only fuels his scattered sense of frenzy. “It can’t be her,” he convinces himself barely able to believe his lie.
He chaotically clears the kitchen heading for the hallway, his heart rate’s elevated beyond levels seen since climbing Totavi Hill in a head wind. Panic and fear are obvious but driving them to the edge of reason is this manic sense his life is once more on the verge of collapse. Now is not the time to analyze emotions, but if it were, he’d realize that swirling around the suddenness of his entropy are very strong feelings for this Bolivian woman he reluctantly won in a poker game just twelve days ago.
To label his emotions romantic is cheesy, cliché, and completely misses the mark. His rapidly expanding bond with the woman he named Sympatico, is much deeper and more evolved than the physical desires driving Dario and Chance. Removing romance does not preclude the possibilities for love, it is nonetheless a rush to judgment to attach connotations associated with words like love to whatever Jake’s feeling. It requires many evenings and much more Bourbon to logic through all that, but it suffices to say that in this moment, Jake is filled with worry, regret, and the real possibility both emotions are about to turn toward loss.
He courtesy knocks on her door before storming inside disregarding his household policy about closed doors being impenetrable barriers, just as he forgets the intruder-alert she sets up using bottles and cans from the kitchen garbage. If you ask him later what he expects to find storming into her room, or what her reaction to his sudden explosion into her carefully choreographed sanctuary might be, he’d honestly answer “I don’t know.” Not knowing and not being prepared are not necessarily sufficient.
Sympatico’s in the final stages of preparing for bed as Jake races toward his over-reaction. She’s finished a soothing shower and is relaxing in a chair beside her bed wearing only a bath towel and enjoying a book she found on a shelf in Jake’s living room that’s written in both English and Spanish. It’s poems by the Chilean Ricardo Reyes Basoalto, or as he’s better known to the literary world, Pablo Neruda. Like most Bolivians, Sympatico’s passionate about Pablo’s poems. His powerful proses are as widely read by starry-eyed girls, as his political preachings are referenced by those agitating toward change. The book is formatted such that when opened, the page on the left side is in Pablo’s native South American Spanish, while the page on the right side contains an optimistic English translation. Sympatico admires that a man like Jake would own such an impressive book. What perplexes her though, is how he spent his life providing a nuclear deterrent against the spread of communism yet owns poems by such a fervent communist. Of course, that’s not what she contemplates the instant Jake explodes into her room looking like a crazed wild man beyond the edge of reason.
With a blast that could just as easily be a bolt of lightning, Jake’s inside Sympatico’s bedroom with so much manic momentum only the bed’s footboard interrupts his trajectory. He tumbles over the edge of the bed like a freshly caught fish flopping on a boat deck, barely managing to get both hands out in time to stick his dismount. The entire time he free-falls, he’s completely disengaged from the physics of gravity, “Sympatico,” he ecstatically whispers oblivious to the vortex he’s caused. It won’t be until days later, when he finally pieces together what happened, that he realizes she disarmed her intruder alert system – a clear sign of how things for her are, or were, evolving.
“Senor Jake!” Sympatico screams leaping from her chair not so much in freight as instinctive reflex. Without a thought of possible context, she converts Pablo’s poems into a weapon. How many nights has this scenario been replayed? How many nights have men stormed into her room taking what men take? How many nights has the need for a weapon left her unclear who best to turn it on? How many nights have been like so many other nights? These are not so much questions as reminders in search of a response that can only come with time because reactions based on instinct, even learned instincts, don’t require questioning.
Jake’s so overcome with relief seeing Sympatico’s not dead that he bolts from the bed toward her, and without apology or pretext, consumes her in his arms so quickly she can’t react. He gives her the tightest hug he’s ever given anyone not named Emelia. “I was so worried,” he whispers. “When I heard what happened,” he continues showing no sign of releasing his grasp. “And the thought it could be you, I got so worried.” Sympatico feels the honesty of Jake’s embrace as clearly as she feels the pulsating beat of his manic heart. On each upbeat she feels his bravery and courage, and on the downbeats his torment and fear. His shaky breath betrays a vulnerability he’s never revealed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you had,” he continues letting go of his worries. “But I did not want it to be true.” Jake has no idea Sympatico lacks context for either the sudden intrusion or the things he’s saying. She does at least understand he’s way more emotional than she’s ever seen, and that his concern for her is genuine, so not knowing what else to do, she hugs him back.
“How could I go anywhere,” she offers to counter the seriousness of the moment. “Especially so late?” Rather than consider what Jake’s said or why he felt the need to burst into her room uninvited, Sympatico feels her way through the moment. This is the first time since she was taken that a man’s attempted to hug her and she hugged him back. For the first time since current time began, she feels both care and concern through an embrace, the first time she feels loved. ‘Yes loved,‘ she reiterates to her doubting soul. A feeling she long ago vowed to forget until forever because in hell words like love are not permitted.
“Preston got a text,” Jake continues holding his hug even while beginning to realize he needs to provide context. “A woman matching your description was involved in some sort of incident at Miguel’s ranch and I worried it could be you.”
The suddenness of Jake’s actions and his explanation, causes Sympatico to appreciate their moment even more. Jake’s worry and concern confirms he cares. She long ago gave up on holding out the possibility someone could care about her. ‘It’s a good feeling,’ she once more lectures her doubting soul.
Jake suddenly realizes he’s hugging a naked woman; something that had brazenly escaped his senses. With this moment of enlightenment comes a realization that his actions are at best erratic. “I should have knocked,” he apologizes. “I should have gently asked if everything’s okay. I didn’t mean to burst in uninvited.” He releases his hug relieved to discover she’s wearing a towel below the bare shoulder where moments ago his head rested. He tries stepping back, but Sympatico tightens her embrace. All this high emotion has left her feeling the need for further reassurance.
Sympatico had no idea when she sat down with Pablo’s poems that she would soon be locked in an embrace with someone she’s allowed to express both care and concern. Even more surprising is the fact that she’s reciprocating, and once that’s starts, years of pent-up need for someone to hold her and let her know everything’s okay cascade down her emotional trail of tears and anguish to arms longing to be held, for hands longing to touch; not to repel, but to invite closer. Instead of turning away from a man in utter disgust, she buries her head in the soft part between Jake’s shoulder and neck content to never move, to forever let the rhythm of his heart soother her, the smell of bourbon and cigars caresses her.
Unaware of the breakthrough moment they’re sharing, Jake pulls back causing Sympatico to lift her head and look fondly at this man who has so quickly come to matter so much. As their eyes lock, Sympatico sees both a worry and kindness she long ago gave up believing men could possess. It provides a needed measure of peace knowing he’s here and cares for her. Jake strokes her still damp hair no longer caring if it’s appropriate or allowed. His massive smile is proof the best possible outcome from all his wild scenarios has held the high ground. He could easily spend the rest of the night in this moment, if not for the realities of his responsibilities. Without fully assessing if he’d rather stay or go, he knows he must leave, as men of purpose always do. Pressing matters must be attended, matters that will shape the very foundations of Sympatico’s safety and usher in a new era for not only the valley, but the entire nation. “I am so happy you’re safe.” he smiles while continuing to stroke her hair. “I should have knocked. It’s just I was consumed with worry and needed to know you were safe, that was my only thought.”
“You could never do anything that needs apology or explanation,” Sympatico whispers.
“Except role playing in the courtyard,” Jake lightly retorts poking fun at last week’s misunderstanding.
“I did not know you then, now I trust you too always be honorable.”
“Like bursting in on your near naked body,” Jake tenuously laughs trying to make light of an obviously awkward situation.
Sympatico instantly realizes an ever-loosening bath towel is the only cover she has and immediately breaks her contented embrace scurrying to the bathroom. She quickly returns wearing a pink bathrobe but stops a few feet from Jake pretending to better cinch the robe’s belt into a bow. Really though, she senses in herself, and in Jake, an awkwardness that’s never existed before. The moment of unfiltered emotions has passed and suddenly all those things preventing her from being close to anyone, and all those things that keep Jake withdrawn; things she knows are there even without knowing their origin, have returned. As familiar tensions replace the intimacy, they only moments ago shared, she feels angry that he came into her room and caused her to lower her barriers. That he made her feel things she was content to leave dead beside the life she’s trying so hard to bury. Maybe it’s not so much anger as it is an unexplainable bitterness that creeps in around the edges of her thoughts and won’t allow her to set herself free.
“I have to go,” Jake says not certain how to end the awkwardness that’s become so obvious that even he notices. “The guys are waiting, and we have to figure out what to do.”
“I understand, go!” Sympatico fires back, betraying an anger evolved from the bitterness caused by emotions his intrusion reawakened. She’s uncertain how to feel but is nonetheless angry that the last few moments are causing her to think and feel in ways she’s committed to avoid. ‘He’s already forgotten,’ she fumes. ‘He’ll go back to drinking with friends and forget about everything we just shared and that’s not fair.’
Having no sense of the emotional tsunami he’s caused, Jake smiles warmly and leaves, thinking one last time about how happy he is she’s safe. One last moment on the surreal way it felt to hold her close, the awkward touch of her near naked body and the overwhelming warmth of her embrace. One last thought about how beautiful she looks in the bath towel with still damp hair and bare shoulders. One last consideration of the uncertain, irrational desire, and guilt-torn implications, of having her in his life. One last thought before turning his entire attention to the crisis at hand.
Jake re-enters the courtyard where Dario’s also just returned, only now he’s wide awake and fully dressed. Jake notices the Luger 9mm semi-automatic pistol Dario keeps in the guest room should protocol four ever be activated. The Luger’s at home tucked professionally into the holster attached to Dario’s belt. Marcos is busy on the phone mobilizing his Albuquerque crew while Preston is hurriedly trying to pinpoint Miguel’s location using the new Tracker App Marcos just installed. “How do you not have a link to Google Maps?” Preston expresses his frustration at the App’s shortcomings but stops short of complaining; it’s not his way.
“Stop!” Marcos shouts, tossing his phone onto the courtyard table in a rush to seize Preston’s phone. “You of all people should know Google’s a front for the Watchers. Every key stroke, every website, email, and text message go straight to NSA.”
“Preston,” Jake lectures making his reappearance known. “Remember your training.”
“I know,” Preston concedes with a remorseful sigh. He waits for Marcos to give him back his phone. “I do know better; I was just in a hurry.”
“It okay,” Jake reassures, “I’m sure the Albuquerque crew made their App failsafe.”
“You’re damn right we did,” Marcos interjects handing Preston his phone. “We knew the Los Alamos crew would be using it.”
“Was she there?” Dario asks the only real question that matters.
“Yes, a bit angry about my intrusion, but yeah. And by the way, why the hell did you get us all spun up saying she was missing in the first place?”
“Well, I woke up to protocol four and rushed out here half awake. On my way, I poked my head in her room cause the door was open, but she wasn’t there. I didn’t have time to investigate, but good, glad she’s okay.” With the emotional scare subsided, Dario’s able to fully immerse himself in combat mode. “I was just telling these guys we need to use the current confusion and chaos to hunt down Miguel. Let’s take care of the rat-bastard once and for all.”
“Whoa, big fella,” Jake interjects, “we covered all this at tonight’s meeting. I can assure you, we have a plan, and it doesn’t involve hunting anybody down.”
“Really,” Marcos sarcastically fires back. “When I dropped in at the Al Azar, the consensus seemed to be there was no plan.”
“Well maybe not so much a plan, as operating parameters.”
“Fair enough,” Marcos concurs while looking at Preston for additional acknowledgment.
“Get while the getting’s good.” Dario mumbles. “We can take the bastard out now and be done, or dick around for who knows how long implementing your ‘plan,’ whatever that may be.”
“We agree on the need to get Miguel,” Jake says to assuage Dario. “But it needs to be done in a way that brings down the entire operation and rescues all the girls.”
“Without condemning other girls to the same fate,” Preston adds not looking up from his work.
Dario knows from experience that Jake’s a big picture guy, and the fact he has a plan is going to have to suffice.
“Preston, Marcos, and I need to get to the Al Azar, you stay here and keep an eye on things.” Jake looks demonstrably at Dario to drive home his point. “And don’t alarm her. All she knows is there’s gossip about a woman being killed. If she asks where I went, tell her I’m having a drink with the boys, that’s a believable story that’ll leave her thinking everything’s alright.”
Dario nods, he not only understands that Sympatico’s still in danger, but he’s the best man to provide the requisite protection. The thought never enters his head that perhaps Jake wants to keep him and his wildly unpredictable tendencies for violence far away from Miguel and whatever they do next.
“The rest of the crew will be at the Al Azar,” Jake continues. “You let me know the instant something’s not right.” He pauses for effect, then adds, “You’re on your own, but I know you’re up for it.” Dario again acknowledges with a stoic nod. “Preston will show you how to use our new App, it lets you keep an eye on Miguel’s location, but not the rest of his crew, so don’t go thinking you can go after him, that would leave Sympatico exposed.”
“Speaking of that,” Preston interjects. “Miguel’s about a mile from his ranch.” He hands Jake his phone. “Not moving so I assume he’s holed up.”
“Maybe he’s the one who got stabbed,” Dario eagerly speculates.
“Unless someone else is using his phone,” Marcos counters.
“Either way, store the coordinates, if that’s his hiding spot it’ll be useful later.” Jake returns to Dario, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, and am only a few minutes away. There’s no need to be a hero, you call the second something’s not right.”
“Don’t worry Doc, nothing gets past me and Quando.” He rubs the Lab’s ears for good luck. “And if it does, Herr Luger will have something to say about it.”
“That’s a last resort,” Jake lectures. “Right?”
“Sure Doc,” Dario awkwardly affirms. “It’s just that with guys like Miguel; you get to the last resort pretty damn quick.”
“You just need to stall for a few minutes until me and the boys get here. And remember, Chance is in the guest house, you can rely on him.”
“Won’t need to Doc,” Dario calmly answers unwilling to concede a situation could exist where he’d need that guy’s help. “I’ll be waiting, but no hurries and no worries, not with Quando on the job.”
