The Girl's Return, Chapter 2

Chapter 1 can be found here.

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Chapter 2:  The Man with the Scar

            The feast that Isabella’s mom cooked up that evening could have fed the entire town, let alone the three of us.  The main course was pollo a la braza; chicken roasted and seasoned to perfection.  The food was served with salad, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and fried yucas.  Every time I finished a helping, Mrs. Contreras piled more food on my plate.  I was full, but I knew from experience that she would get offended if I turned down a helping.  She was in the most active and vibrant mood I had seen her in since her daughter disappeared. 

            Luisa Contreras moved to New York City from Peru with her three-year-old daughter in order to escape the cartel violence had that left her as a widow and a single mother at the age of twenty.  Since she had learned how to speak English as a child, she was able to find a job as a live-in nanny for the children of Ted Feldman, a successful Wall Street investment banker.   Ted’s wife had passed away in a car accident, and his job required him to work long hours, so Luisa practically raised his son and daughter as if they were her own.    When Ted decided to retire early and escape to the Appalachians, his children were so attached to their nanny that he had no choice but to take her and Isabella with him.

             The reception that the Contreras family received in Holcombe was not a welcome one.  Although she carried a green card, false rumors quickly started spreading that she was an illegal immigrant.  Ted, who was already not viewed favorably in some circles due to his wealth and Jewish heritage, started receiving anonymous threats in the mail for hiring a “wetback.”  In multiple incidents, bricks were thrown through his windows.  The pressure, combined with the fact that his children were growing older, led Ted to relieve her of her job.  However as a token of gratitude, he bought her and Isabella a small house in town.  She paid the bills by performing maid and babysitting services for some of the wealthier residents.

            When Isabella started school, she experienced the same hostility that her mother did.  Not a day went by that one our classmates didn’t call her a “beaner” or tell her to “go back to Mexico.”  I was also an outcast, due to the fact that I was small for my age, and constantly reading books.  Holcombe is not the sort of place where reading is held in high esteem, and I became an easy target for schoolyard bullies.  Consequently, Izzy and I quickly became close friends.  During our entire childhood, we were virtually inseparable.   

            Something became clear about Isabella very early on: she did not perceive the world the same way other people did.   One time, when we were nine, we were playing in the fields of the corn farm where I grew up.  Lying in a corner was an old John Deere tractor that was beginning to rust over.  The tractor had been out of commission since before I was born.  As a child, I barely acknowledged its existence; considering it to be a part of the scenery along with the grass and the trees.  Isabella, on the other hand, found herself fascinated with the old machine.  When we got back to the house, she started asking my father questions about it: how does it run, what’s wrong with it, and so on.  My father, who was normally not a very talkative man, was taken aback by the curiosity of this young child and answered all of her questions with earnest.  Izzy convinced my dad to let her examine the engine and components of the tractor and see how it worked.  Since we had long replaced that tractor, dad helped her take the complex diesel engine apart so she could examine it component by component.  This project became an obsession, and she spent every day after school at the farm, concentrating intensely on the engine.  I didn’t understand what she was doing in the least, but I enjoyed being in her company.

            One day, she suddenly squealed with joy.  I had dozed off in the grass, and she woke me up with a start.  “I know what’s wrong!” she exclaimed!

            “So do I!  You woke me up from a perfectly good nap!”   I retorted.

            “No, Sherlock!  With the tractor.  There’s nothing wrong with the engine at all!  Your dad was saying that the engine would crank, but it wouldn’t start.  Nothing looked wrong with the engine itself.  It has to be the air filter!  I bet your dad never replaced it!”  She ran the suggestion by my dad.  He was skeptical at first, but he figured he would try replacing the air filter in order to humor her.  I’ll never forget the look of glee on her face the moment that engine revved up.  After the rust was cleared off, that tractor lasted us another ten years. 

            In school, Izzy excelled at every subject with minimal effort.  It got to the point where the teachers gave up trying to make her pay attention, because she already knew everything they could teach her.  They would usually overlook it when she sat in the classroom reading books, because she always knew what she was doing.  It was clear that she was gifted, but the town of Holcombe did not offer her any opportunities to build on those gifts.  She was a caged bird, waiting for an opportunity to fly away.  That opportunity came in the form of the Albert Einstein summer program in Los Angeles: a multi-summer college preparatory program for gifted children that would have guaranteed her acceptance into UCLA pending its completion.  Isabella was offered a full scholarship to the program at the age of thirteen.  The night before she left for Los Angeles was the night of our first kiss.  It was also the last night I saw her face for twelve years…

            “More chicken, Sean?” Mrs. Contreras said to me, jolting me from my trip down memory lane.

            “Mama, Sean has eaten a whole chicken coop already!  Give him a rest,” Isabella said, saving me from another portion.

            “You don’t talk!  Who knows how you’ve been eating for the last decade, you look like skin and bones!”  In reality, Isabella looked abnormally healthy.  Luisa Contreras accuses everybody of being too skinny.

            “I’m fine, mom!”

            “Fine?  You run off to God-knows-where doing God-knows-what for twelve years?  You let your own mother; who give birth to you and raised you and put food on your table think you’re dead?  And you’re telling me you’re fine?  You tell me why I don’t toss you out this door right now!” 

            “Because you’re my mama and I love you,” Izzy said, kissing her on the cheek.

            Tears started running down the cheek of Luisa Contreras.  “I just wish I had known you were safe and alive!   Why couldn’t you have at least given me a phone call?”

            Because would have tried to find her, I thought to myself.  Whatever Isabella had been up to, it was abundantly clear that she did not want to be found.  It was easier for her to let us believe that she was dead.

            Luisa turned to me.  “Can you believe it?  My own daughter does this to me?”

            Trying to avoid trouble, I quickly decided to steer the topic of conversation.  “Luisa, at least she’s home now and able to eat your delicious chicken once again!  One day, I’m going to get you to tell me the recipe.”

            “It’s an old family secret,” she said, distracted by the flattery.  “I can’t tell you unless you’re family!  Of course that might change with Isabella back in town…”

            “Mom!” Isabella cried.

            “What?” Mrs. Contreras replied.  “You’re not a little girl anymore, you’re a woman!  Once you get your act together, you should think about settling down.  Do you see a ring on Sean’s finger?”

            So much for avoiding trouble, I thought.  Still, a similar notion had run through my mind when I saw Isabella’s face again.  Could it be possible to pick up where we left off?  Does she still remember that night when we were thirteen, lying in the cornfield under the stars?  That awkward and wonderful moment when our lips met?  When I saw the hurt look in her eyes, I could see that she did remember.  However, it also betrayed that she did not believe things could ever be as they were.

            The awkward silence that followed Luisa’s comment was interrupted by a knock on the door.  I volunteered to answer it since I was closest.  I was taken aback when I opened the door.  The man at the door looked like a character in a Vietnam War movie.  Height-wise, he was easily close to seven feet tall.  He wore a leather motorcycle jacket.  His dark hair was unkempt and went down to his shoulders.  His face betrayed a few days growth of a beard.   A large diagonal scar ran downwards across his face.  What made the biggest impression on me, however, were his eyes.  Staring into them, I saw the same blank expression that now existed in Isabella’s eyes.  They were eyes that suggested that they have stared into the depths of hell.

            “I’m looking for Isabella Contreras,” the man spoke in a voice that indicated he’d smoked his share of Marlboro Reds.

            “Who are you?” I asked suspiciously.

            “I believe that is the business of Ms. Contreras alone,” he replied. 

            I pulled out my badge.  “Wrong.  I am the deputy-sheriff of this town.  The woman you are attempting to see if the subject of an active investigation.  The fact that you have followed her into town makes you a person of interest in said investigation.   So do you want to tell me what you’re doing here?”  Even as I spoke, I felt myself slightly trembling as he stared me down.

            “You best get out of my way, son,” the man said.

            “Try me,” I replied.  “Lay a hand on me, and I’ll arrest you for assaulting a police officer.”

            As we stood there staring at each other, Isabella appeared at the doorway.  “Isabella?  Do you know this man?” I asked. 

            “Yes, Sean.  He’s a friend,” she said. 

            “You best tell Scooby Doo here to sit,” the man with the scar said. 

            “That’s it!” I yelled.  “I am a police officer, and you will treat me with some respect if you don’t want to spend your first night in Holcombe in a jail cell!”

            “Can both of you calm down?”  Isabella shouted.  “What do you want, Desmond?” she asked. 

            “I need to speak to you,” the man named Desmond replied.  “Outside!” he exclaimed when I didn’t move.

            Isabella turned to me.  “Sean, thanks for coming over.  It was nice to catch up, and I hope we can see each other again sometime soon.”

            “Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around?” I asked quietly, eyeing Desmond.  He had moved onto the front porch, and had already lit a cigarette.  Looked like Marlboro Lights from the carton.  Oh well, I was close.

            “I’m sure I can manage,” Izzy replied.  “Desmond may look rough around the edges, but he’s a pussy cat.”

            “More like a mountain lion.  You two aren’t… you know?” I asked.

            Isabella burst out laughing.  “Wow, I’m sorry that thought is just too funny.”

            “So you and Lieutenant Dan aren’t together?”

            “Are you serious?  No Sean, I am not dating Desmond.  And yes, I can take care of myself.”  Isabella hugged me.  “Have a good night, Sherlock.”

            “You too, Izzy.” I said.  “I hope you’re being careful about the people you involve yourself with.”

            “Thanks for your concern,” she said.  As I walked out the door, I gave Desmond a warning glance.  I started walking around the corner towards my apartment a couple miles downtown.  However, I stopped when I realized I could make out what Desmond and Isabella were saying to each other.

            “I hope you weren’t planning on getting too comfortable back here,” I heard Desmond say.  “You’re here on a mission!  Not to be screwing Dudley Do-Right and eating mom’s home-cooked meals.  After the mission is accomplished, you are supposed to report back to headquarters immediately.”

            “Okay, first off, I’m not screwing anybody!   Second, you obviously have never tasted one of my mom’s home-cooked meals.  Third, I know exactly what it is I’m doing here.  Did you come here to lecture me on my job, or do you have something useful to add to the conversation?”

            “I gathered some intelligence from down under.  Our suspicions were right.  The concentration of energy over this town is not a coincidence.  Dilarus has already found a host.”

            Isabella cursed.  “Any idea who it is?”

            “That’s what you’re here to figure out.  You’re the only one of us who can ask a lot of questions around this town without generating suspicion.  Agent Contreras, you know the warning signs and you know how to stop him once you find him.  Don’t let us down.  Dilarus must be stopped.”