Den of Dark Angels

Chapter Six

Chapter SixPatrick drove the topless Spider with Astria biting her nails beside him. He detoured up the old highway from Calgary to Edmonton, then over to Claresholm and Highway Queen E-2 again, drove from Red Deer north and ended up in Sherwood Park, east of Edmonton.

“My gosh,” Astria said. “How'd we get here? You must be crazy, this is east of where we want to be. We took all the back roads. What are you thinking?” Their black Fiat was speckled with dirt, the leather interior dusty, dried peanuts and empty pop cans littered the passenger floor.

She looked back at the trunk and saw great gobbets of marsh plants and odd-looking reptiles, dead and alive, driftwood from dead forests they'd passed, and the trunk was wet with slime.

“Holy crap, what happened?” Astria clutched her lover's arm. Patrick's mouth curved sideways and up, and he whirled the Fiat past a barricade to burst through the bubble of autumn afternoon ennui, a few miles west of Sherwood Park on the way back to the city of Edmonton. Pursued as they were by demons of Patrick's own making, their car skidded to a stop on the outskirts of the prestigious Bear's Bend area. Patrick leapt over the side of the car and with a flourish opened the passenger door for Astria.

She spoke into the speaker recessed into the glass-walled high-rise development where her parents lived until November of each year. The wrought iron gate inside slid open and a chromed elevator took them all the way up to the penthouse. A huge man with greying temples opened the door for them.

“Daddy,” Astria mumbled, brushing past him. “Good to see you. Where's mom?” The atrium where they stood jutted into three corners of the glass building and looked onto thirty stories below. Fig trees and an endangered haleakala silversword sucked in the sunlight at the south entrance.

“Did you see what we drove up in?” Patrick asked. “It's right down there in the lot.”

“Yeah, see what we bought, Dad,” Astria said. She bit her nails.

“Oh, great, see what you bought with your tuition money – why didn't you bring it into the parkade, you little twits, and not leave it out there with the top down for any fool to vandalize, even though it is a piece of s**t. Astria, won't you kids ever learn? What is it this time?”

“A Fiat Spider,” Patrick said. Astria and he glanced at one another and their eyes dropped. Her father leaned next to the silversword to look way, way down; crossed his arms and grinned.

“Yeah, I had one of those lawn mower engines back in my younger days,” he said.

“Come see the car close up.” Patrick led him to the elevators. They descended thirty flights to the exterior parking lot.

Her father admired the shine of the paint beneath the dust, the leather upholstery, the… “What's this?” He opened the trunk and the devils fell out.

“Surreal landscape, my gosh. Where were you? What in hell are those?”

Slopped and untidy, dirty and half wretched creatures that were uglier than the gargoyles on their alma mater building, the monsters slithered from the gaping wound of the open trunk and disappeared beneath the car, leaving a slimy trail of mud and compost. Astria noticed then that her mother had trailed after them in Walter Steiger curved heels, a glass of Scotch in one hand and a cigarette in another. Her mother's immaculately coiffed hair was reminiscent of the nineteen fifties, she wore a dusting of sparkling powder on her cheeks and nose, and her eyes dripped blue shadow. She coughed to get their attention.

“What time did you leave Calgary and how did you get here this fast? You called us only an hour ago from home.” Astria's father fingered his Delta Theta Phi ring. “Is this a prank, Patrick?”

“What time is it?” Astria shook her watch. “Something's wrong with the battery. Says it's four o'clock.”

“So?”

“We left at four. You never know what time it is, Dad.” That's his way, Astria thought. Too much Scotch.

“No, we didn't leave at four,” Patrick said. “I'm sure I know what time it was.”

“There must be something wrong with my watch.”

“We didn't leave at four,” Patrick said. “We left your dog with Ingrid and it was noon.”

“How many hours does it take to get here?” Astria asked then answered herself. “About four. Or maybe three on a good day.”

“Or three, then.” Patrick picked his teeth. “So don't worry about it, hun. We took a few shortcuts.”

“Where?” her mother's hand shook. “The car looks like holy shit.”

“It does,” her father agreed. “I don't understand what you're saying about the time, dear. Come on up, both of you, and have a drink with Mother and I before dinner. We'll sort out this mess later.”

“No,” Astria insisted. “We left at four and got here instantly. I know my watch is still ticking, see?” She held up a slim arm with the Rolex, a gift from her parents last year, gleaming amongst fine blonde hairs on her left wrist.

“Don't worry yer purty little head about it,” Patrick said and patted her shoulder. “Let's go upstairs and have something to eat. I'm famished. I don't know about you, but a long drive like that makes me hungry.”

“Sure it does,” her father said, twirling the ring on his beefy middle finger. “Come along, Bernice.” Her mother responded by tripping over her heels and catching herself on George's arm. They agreed the Fiat would be safer in the underground parking lot and the valet took the keys from Patrick, tipping her hat to Astria's father and the large gratuity she received.

Patrick opened the side-by-side fridge in the gleaming kitchen. “Mmmm, liver pate.”

Astria screwed up her face and placed her chin on her fist. Her mother patted her shoulder. “Pat, there's something awful wrong with this trip.”

“So that works out. It's four o'clock.”

“We nipped over and picked up the license plates and registration, we had a drink with Ingrid, we had to get back to the apartment because we forgot Goliath's food. What time was it when we left?” Astria put her hand on her mother's for an instant before Bernice withdrew it.

“I don't know,” Patrick said. “Mmmm.”

“My watch said three-thirty before we even left. How did we get here?”

“On back roads and the Queen E-2 Highway. Drives like a dream.”

Astria's father poured four glasses of Scotch. “What's that attached to your trunk, kids?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out,” Astria said. “It's a mess. I don't know how we got here like that. I'm not sure I was even conscious. The whole ride was like a nightmare.”

“You've always been a dreamer, dear,” her mother said. “I'm sure there's a logical explanation.” She drummed her crimson fingernails on the skin of her laptop on the table and took another drink. “Thank you, darling.”

“I hate Scotch, Dad. Tastes like cough syrup. You know that. I've always hated Scotch.” Astria made a face.

“Brandy?”

“Iced tea, please.”

Ice cubes tumbled like mini glaciers from the side of the LG fridge. Patrick licked his lips, liver pate caked on his left cheek. He put a finger in his mouth.

“Thanks, Dad,” Astria said. “You know I don't drink hard liquor this time of day.”

Patrick drank his Scotch.“Oh, the trunk? Why don't we forget about it? I don't know what happened any more than you do, and I don't think it has anything to do with lions, either.” He snorted and laughed.

“The trunk. Yeah. Animals. I don't know how they got there.” Her father strode to the window and gazed at the parking lot below. Something moved in the vicinity of the Fiat's former position. Something quick and rubbery.

Patrick licked his lips. “We went through some rough country.”

“Be careful how you drive, son,” her father said. “In 1971 I drove a Dodge Demon. A neon-green lean machine, 318 motor, smashed it on the Yellowhead one morning driving to work. Still think about that car, my first, paid four grand for it. Now you got this Fiat Spider, Astria. Same thing, lean mean machine. You'll tell your kids about it someday.”

Eek. Could he be condoning her relationship with Patrick? Eeeeek, what kids? They both hated kids, Patrick hated Goliath and Goliath was only her dog, what kind of father would he possibly be?

“But as a businessman,” her father continued, “I can advise you, Patrick…”

“It's not a good investment, George,” her mother said. “She spent the tuition money we sent her last spring.”

“You know, we brought this new toy up here just to show you, George and Bernice,” Patrick said. “If you don't like it…”

“Yes, sure, Patrick. I like it. But there are some things in the trunk. And Astria's tuition…” Her father ran a moist hand over his forehead and frowned. Bernice tapped her fingernails on the skin of her purple laptop. She frowned, too.

Patrick grinned. “Astria's gonna drop out of school. She won't need the tuition. She's going to work as a photographer. You know she's signed up for some photography courses next summer and has been dabbling in it forever. Well, at least as long as I've known her. It's not a bad living and Astria is a class girl, an artsy type, George. Yeah, she's not suited to law, we've agreed.”

“What? She is not quitting school.” George Brin slammed his drink on the table. “That's preposterous. The girl's got to get an education, make a living like her mother and I did from our bootstraps. No more coddling if you spend the tuition money, Astria.”

Astria wandered over to the glass-walled balcony, looked thirty stories down, and shuddered. Even from this height, she thought she saw forms sliding from the oil slick where the Fiat had stopped, she remembered the tentacles under the hood, and the trunk had moved. She was sure. There were horrible obscene creatures below; she had been right. Astria clenched her fists.

“Let's go,” Patrick said. “We can't stay for dinner, Bernice. Sorry.”

“You just got here.” Bernice didn't move but her eyes moistened and the blue shadow shimmered, her face twitched and the powder glowed. She left the glass of Scotch on the gleaming surface of the teak and silver table, and tottered across the room to her daughter.

“Your father and I are going to Europe in a few days,” she said. “Please stay and let's have a few drinks before you go. We'll order in from Luigi's. We may not see you again until Christmastime. And we have things to discuss, dear. Things like leaving school – you're not serious? You'd leave your law studies for this…this…” Her mouth moved helplessly. Her eyes swiveled to Patrick, who was leaning into the open fridge and spooning pate de foie gras into his mouth.

Her father slipped a folded wad of cash into Astria's hand as they departed.

“Thanks, Dad.”

The elevator swept them down to the splendid lobby and the glass doors opened onto the uniformed figure of the valet and the now sparkling clean Fiat. Her father had done them well, Astria thought and her mouth twisted to one side as she gave the valet another banknote.

“How much was it?” Patrick asked. “What did George slip you before we left?”

“The money? That's none of your business.”

“Ermmm…”

“Let me drive.”

Something slopped from the back of the car.

“Darn,” Pat said. “We'll have to empty the trunk.”

They looked, but nothing was there. “There's an oil slick where we parked,” Astria said. “If that's what it is.”

“What we got for the money,” Patrick said. “Engine problems, maybe.”

Astria started the car. “It's an old car,” she said. “Vintage, actually. Was that an oil slick or something else, I wonder? Looked b****y to me, in the light.”

They got home four hours later.

Patrick leaned back in a chromed chair and stared at Goliath, who wagged its tail, whined, and ducked beneath the kitchen table.

“Nice dog,” Patrick said. He picked his teeth and scratched his face. “Your parents weren't impressed when I said you were dropping out of school.”

“I didn't know it myself,” Astria said.

“It's the only logical thing to do. Get me a beer.”

“Logical? Any other time I'd shove both my index fingers up your nostrils and push, Patrick. But this time I think you're right.” She counted the money her father had given her. “There's enough here to get me to Denmark.”

“What the hell you gonna do in Denmark?”

“I'm going to go to school, A-hole,” Astria said, got up and pushed a Red Stock beer across the table to the bearded young man on the other side. The dachshund rubbed against her ankles and whined.

“School?”

“I've been thinking about it,” she said. “On the ride home. I'm not happy with law anyhow, you knew that. There's a school in Denmark that will give me a Master's in photojournalism with the credits I've got from Mount Royal.”

“You never talked it over with your daddy, I bet. We never had time. Don't you think he would want you to tromp in his footsteps so to speak? Law school? Wasn't that their idea in the first place? We'd have to talk them into approving of photojournalism. They gave in too easy. I'm suspicious. Don't think I'd let you just fly away to Denmark, either.”

“Why not? We're not exactly a happy couple.”

“I want to move to a better apartment. We just bought a new car. You can't make big decisions like going to Denmark at a time like this, Astria.”

“Not without consulting you, you little deadbeat of student loans?”

“What about Goliath here?” Patrick asked.

“I'll take him with me,” she said.

“Impossible.”

Astria said, “Think it over, Rover. You gave me that good idea today up north with Mom and Dad. I'd take the car with me, too.”

“You snatch,” he said, tipped the beer into his mouth and swallowed it in four gulps, opening his creepy gullet, she thought. She slammed The Gold-Bug onto the kitchen table/desk, which lurched and almost toppled.

The lions rumbled in their closet that night and their eyes shone like great lamps swung by a drunken trainman. Astria turned on the bedside light, read her copy of Poe and ate fruit jellies until after midnight. Then she got up, snapped shut the book and closed the closet door. Patrick snored next to her, arm over his eyes.

“I want to experience life, maybe in Europe, in Denmark, maybe; a condo all my own,” Astria whispered to the lions. Something purred behind the door. “Did you know the car must have looked like an insect in the parking lot today, from the penthouse? That's how high my parents live in the most expensive condo in the city. That's how rich they are. We look like ants. We are ants. Of no importance, and our precious CAMEL is a dung heap.”

There was no answer. Of course. Patrick was asleep and the lions were imaginary. Really they were. She sighed and lay back on the soft pillows. The bedside radio glowed in the dark, telling her the correct time. Maybe she was a dreamer. She must learn to block these fantastic thoughts. They weren't healthy. She glanced at her sleeping partner. He looked a bit like Brad Pitt with a beard, she thought. Astria's father had looked like Brad Pitt when he was younger. She could tell from old photographs. Her father had been handsome before he gained all that weight and turned grey, and her mother had been beautiful. Heck, they still were attractive people.

She wondered if her parents had ever been obscenely and recklessly in love, had dreams bigger than they had achieved at last, when she knew them as adults, had ever wanted a child like Astria turned out to be, or perhaps brothers and sisters for her, had ever somehow lived d**g-free and innocent?

Probably not. She turned over in bed as the closet door creaked open and baleful eyes glowed in the dark.

Damn lions watching her again, listening to her thoughts, waiting… waiting for her to leave Patrick.