Misty Mountain

Chapter 1: Syd’s Final Assignment-2

“It’s your name and you’re going.” Stan sighed. “Come on, kid, do me this one last favor?”

Stanley had gotten him out of the gutter and given him a great opportunity. Because of Stan, he’d travelled the continent and made some good money. Enough to buy a crappy trailer home somewhere near the bay.

“All right, fine,” he finally conceded. “But we’re not doing any live s**t. I don’t want him with his phone in my face twenty-four hours a day. Are we clear on that? And I’m the reporter. He’s just tagging along.”

“Well, your tag might open some doors for you, so why don’t you keep an open mind, huh?”

“My mind has been a little too open in the last years, that’s the problem. But fine, yeah. I really don’t care at this point. It’s your money.”

“Good. You leave tomorrow afternoon. The motel is empty. Internet is set up. Phone, too.” Stan handed him an envelope. “Your pay. The key to the place. Plus gas and whatever else you need.”

Syd peeked into the envelope. There was his paycheck and some loose cash in there. And a key.

“Rudi’s address is on the back of the envelope. Pick him up at noon.”

“I’m picking him up? Why couldn’t we meet some place?”

“It’s a courtesy. A nice gesture. Remember those?”

Syd gave Stan a hard look and stood up. He stuffed the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Report back here in three days. And please, Syd, come back with a story. Come back with something good. Show me a little of the old Syd. The kid who could turn two potatoes sitting in a plate into the face of God. And please, watch the kid’s videos. He’s got something. I bet you’ll like him.” Stan held his eyes and smiled. “He’s a looker, all right. Maybe you’ll thank me in three days.”

“Yeah. Right. I doubt it.” Syd stepped out and then poked his head in the door. “By the way, it wasn’t two potatoes sitting in a plate. It was beets and they did look a little like Jesus.”

* * * *

The next day Syd sat in his car, watching the wipers swipe the heavy rain across the windshield. He was parked in front of Rudi’s apartment complex on Mentana Street. This was a very posh Montreal neighborhood. So, being on YouTube did pay pretty well. Unless the kid was old money. A daddy’s boy. Anyway, Rudi was late. Over ten minutes, too.

This was a bad idea. Why had he agreed to this thing? Three days with this guy? He hated small talk. Hated having to put up with people for long periods of time.

Last night, Syd had watched all Rudi’s videos. Needed to know who he’d be spending his time with in the next three days. And in all honesty, Rudi’s videos were pretty addictive. Rudi definitely had a way about him. Some undefinable charisma. It was strange, but now Syd felt as though he actually knew the guy. Rudi told stories about other people’s paranormal encounters, and yet, he always managed to make it real personal. But Rudi Laurier was way too good looking for real life. The man was a boy doll. Three-hundred-dollar haircut. Strawberry blond hair. Beautiful, lively eyes. Perfect teeth. Charismatic. Peppy. Witty. Sharp. In shape. Trendy and well dressed. In other words, f*****g exhausting.

Syd looked up at his face in the rear-view mirror, catching the tense look in his gray-blue eyes. Was he insecure? Not like him to be. He wasn’t exactly bad looking himself. But he was probably not Laurier’s type. He slicked back his jet-black hair and peered out the passenger window again. Where the hell was Mr. YouTube Star?

Just then someone knocked on his window and Syd jumped up in his seat, turning to see Rudi’s blurry face on the other side of the rain-streaked glass. He rolled down his window halfway. “Are you all right?”

“I lost my cat!” Rudi looked genuinely upset. His hair was matted down and dripping wet. In fact, he was soaked from head to toe. “I opened the door and she slipped out!”

Oh boy. A cat lover.

Reluctantly, Syd shut off the engine and grabbed his big black umbrella. “Where do you think it went?” he yelled out into the wind and rain. He tried to put the umbrella over them both, but Rudi took off. “In the alley!”

“In the alley, right.” He hesitated and then followed Rudi around the building. This was not starting off well.

“She’s probably hiding from the rain,” Rudi yelled over his shoulder, as he searched behind garbage cans.

“Yeah, probably.” He reluctantly stepped up to where Rudi was hunched down by a porch. “Hey, let me put the umbrella over you, at least. You’re going to be sick.”

“Oh wait, I think I see her,” Rudi said, sticking his head between the dilapidated stairs.

“Hey, watch it. You don’t know what’s living under there.” He placed the umbrella over Rudi, exposing himself to the cold October rain. Didn’t want the lovely YouTube star to get sick on his account.

“Come on, big girl. Come, on. Don’t be scared. You’re going to Lydia’s. You love Lydia. Come on.”

Syd wiped his wet face with the back of his sleeve. “You have her?”

“Yes!” Rudi stood. He held a big ball of white fur close to him. The ball of fur had two eyes. “This is Stella.” He kissed her head. “You’re okay now. Come on.”

“Okay, she’s all right.” Syd laughed a bit and shook his head. “Now hurry up, please. I’ll wait in the car.”

After Rudi had entered his building, Syd tossed the umbrella into the back seat of the car and settled back into the driver’s seat. Hell, Rudi was even better looking in person. Stan had been right: he definitely could have been in worse company.

Minutes later, Rudi came out of the building with what appeared to be luggage for three people.

Syd popped the trunk open and watched Rudi come around the car. He’d changed into some dry clothes. Blue jeans and a fitted white T-shirt under a black jean jacket.

“So sorry about that, Mr. Fost,” Rudi said, as he climbed in and shut the door. A hint of his perfume, something subtle and pleasantly fresh clung to the air. “I hope you didn’t get too wet. Here, I have a small towel for you.” He produced a hand towel from his jean jacket.

Thoughtful. Maybe unexpected. But Mr. Fost?

“Thanks.” Syd dried his face and then threw the towel over the seat. “And I’m thirty-five years old. Don’t call me Mr. Fost. Okay?”

“All right. Got it. Syd it is. I’m Rudi by the way.”

“Yeah, I know.” Syd looked away and put the car in Drive. “Saw your videos.”

“And I read your stories. All your articles. I know so much about you. It’s really amazing meeting you and I hope that you’re okay with collaborating with me on—”

“We’re not exactly collaborating.” Syd drove out and turned the radio up. He shot Rudi a quick look. “It’s my story. You’re coming along to document it.”

“Well, it’s going on my channel and I’m going to be participating at every level, so yeah, this is a collaboration. Or did I misunderstand Stanley’s offer? I mean, I could call him right now and check.” He took out his cell phone. “I’m sure he could clear this up for us.”

Tough. Real tough. But he’d been around tougher.

“You don’t need to call him,” Syd said, smoothly and turning to Rudi with a condescending smile. “It’s definitely a collaboration. Let’s you and me go out there to that little stinking motel and spend three days in a stuffy room with stained carpets and bad ventilation and we’ll walk around the halls looking for a skinny ghost and when our time’s up, you can put whatever we didn’t find on your channel and I’ll drive to California. How’s that sound?”

Rudi shook a mint out of a tin box and popped it into his mouth. “Sounds depressing. Now, Mr. Don’t Call Me Mr. Fost, do you know what really happened at Misty Mountain forty-four years ago?”

He tried not to be interested, but his instincts kicked in. “What, you know something about the place?”

“Sure. I did my homework. You think I made it to eight thousand subscribers just by looking pretty?”

“No, ‘cause you’re not that pretty.”

When Rudi laughed, Syd was surprised. So the man didn’t take himself too seriously.

“People said you were an asshole,” Rudi said, turning the radio down. “Are you a Gemini?”

“No. What happened at Misty Mountain forty-four years ago?”

“Then you’re a Scorpio.”

“That’s too easy.” Syd smiled a bit. “Scorpios are the easiest to guess.”

“But you are, aren’t you.”

“Would you just tell me what happened at the Misty?”

“If I tell you what happened at the Misty, will you let me change the station?”

Syd scoffed dryly and looked over at Rudi. He’d been wrong. Rudi’s eyes weren’t honey brown. They were hazel. Not quite green and not quite brown. “You can change the station whenever you like. Now, what happened?”

“There was a snowstorm there.”

“Oh, a storm. In the Laurentians. How unusual. How bizarre.”

Rudi changed the radio station. “So cynical,” he said with a smile. “The snowstorm, which by the way lasted forty-four minutes, blew over Misty Mountain…in August.”

“In August?” Now he had to admit that he was a bit intrigued. “Snow and everything—”

“Snow and winds and zero visibility.” Rudi leaned back in his seat and looked over at him. “In August.”

“Hmm.”

“Yep.”

“What’s that got to do with the skinny man?”

“I guess you and I are going to find out.”

Syd laughed and checked Rudi over. This guy had charm coming out of his ass. “Guess so,” he said, knowing the grin on his face was betraying his usual cool.