1

    Sheila began telling Colleen the story about what happened at Malibu Day Spa.  Following every part of Sheila’s story, Colleen added a “No shit!” or a “For real?” as a response.  The gorgeous young owner of the Triple C found herself sitting straight up in her bed with her mouth open in shock.  She nervously clicked the pain button like a ballpoint pen over and over as Sheila continued.

    “Are you gonna keep doing that?” interrupted Augie, referring to the noise the little spring inside the pain button made.

    Colleen glanced in Augie’s direction, but didn’t make eye contact.  She was riveted by Sheila’s story and only increased her assault on the pain button.

    “Hey!” Augie yelled.

    “What?” Colleen yelled and looked squarely at Augie.  “Can’t you see I am on the damn phone?”

    “Stop that!” Augie scolded as she pointed at the pain button in Colleen’s hand.

    Colleen looked down at her hand.  She suddenly realized that she was gripping the pain button so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.  She loosened her grip, let go of the pain button and shook her hand in the air as if it had fallen asleep.

    Colleen looked back at Augie.  “Oh shit!” Colleen said apologetically.  “Sorry.”

    “No problem,” Augie said halfheartedly.  “You know that thing locks you out for like ten minutes.”

    Colleen looked down at the pain button again.  “I know,” said Colleen.  “That’s a good thing.”

    “You bet your ass it’s a good thing, or you would be about dead by now,” replied Augie.

    “Who are you talking to?” said Sheila, who was still on Colleen’s cell phone.

    Colleen felt like she was being pulled in ten different directions at once.  She watched Augie lean back against her pillow and decided to do the same.

    “Oh… I was talking to my roommate,” she said.

    “Roommate?” Sheila mirrored.

    “Yeah,” replied Colleen.  “She’s a pain in the ass.”

    Augie pulled her covers over her head and gave Colleen the finger, and then folded her arms over her bulging chest.

    “Knock knock,” a low-pitched female voice suddenly called from the doorway of Room 258.

    “Oh fuck me,” Augie muttered under her breath and then tried to slink further beneath her covers.

    “Sheila, hold on a sec,” said Colleen as she lowered her cell phone to her lap and looked toward the door, which was cracked open barely an inch.  “Who is it?” Colleen called.

    “It’s Nancy Fredricks to see August Riley,” the female’s voice replied in the same tone.  “Is she available?

    Colleen looked back at Augie, who had the covers pulled over her head and her arms folded over the covers.

    “Augie,” Colleen whispered.  “Who’s that?”

    Augie uncrossed her arms and brought her hands to her neck as if she were going to strangle herself.  She looked like a low-budget Halloween ghost costume without the eyes cut out.

    “Oh shit!” Colleen continued her loud whispering.  “Is that the Social Worker?”

    Augie lowered her hands from her throat and made a “jerking off” motion in the air with her right hand for a few seconds.

    “She’s sleeping right now,” Colleen yelled with a raised voice.  “Can you come back tomorrow?”

    “She doesn’t look like she’s asleep,” said the morbidly obese Social Worker, who had quietly stepped into the room without being noticed.

    “I’m awake now,” said Augie through the covers with a big sigh.

    Colleen surveyed the woman from top to bottom.  Her plump face was splotchy with makeup that had been wiped off in places, and her cheeks were pitted from acne scars from her youth.  Her stringy, overworked hair was about shoulder length and colored way too dark for someone whose age Colleen guessed was around fifty-five.

    The scrub top the woman wore was dingy and had cartoon characters from Spongebob Squarepants arranged erratically on a faded light blue ocean background.  A fresh, chocolate-colored stain about the size of a silver dollar was positioned perfectly between sagging breasts and looked like a big, brown areola with a missing nipple.

    “Let me guess,” said Augie loudly from behind the covers, “Spongebob… am I right?”

    Colleen gasped loudly, shocked at what Augie said and the tone she used.  The Social Worker said nothing and took a few steps toward the end of Augie’s bed.  Colleen caught herself staring at the woman who oddly resembled Patrick Starfish, Spongebob’s sidekick.  Colleen hated her with a passion.  She knew that Augie hated her, and Colleen’s instinctual, almost involuntary hot temper began to reach a boiling point instantly.  Her heart raced in anticipation of what Augie would say next.

    “I’ll just pull this curtain shut so we can have some privacy,” said Fredricks without looking in Colleen’s direction.

    The metal rollers made their familiar tinny “shhh” sound as the sweating Nancy Fredricks pulled the curtain between them and then all the way around the foot of Augie’s bed.

    Colleen’s jaws clamped together tightly and the muscles on the sides of her face flexed rhythmically in disgust.  Suddenly she remembered that Sheila was still waiting for her on the other end of the cell phone in her lap.

    “Dammit!” Colleen whispered.  She nearly forgot that Sheila was still waiting on the other end of her cell phone.  “Hello?  Hello?” Colleen said as she raised the phone to her ear.

    “I’m here,” replied Sheila.  “Did something happen?  What’s wrong?” she asked.

    “Say, can I call you back in a little while?” said Colleen.

    “Oh no problem,” Sheila said.  “I was pretty much done telling you about-“

    “Sorry,” interrupted Colleen.  “I’m a little distracted, and I was gonna ask about everything like what happens next and all of that.

    “It’s okay,” Sheila said in a very understanding tone.  “You’ve got your hands full too.”

    “Don’t I know it,” Colleen said rhetorically.  “So can I call you in bit once things settle down?”

    “Absolutely,” said Sheila.  “I have to make a bunch more calls and I’ve rambled on enough anyway.”

    “I was also gonna ask when you can go back to the spa… any idea about that?” Colleen continued.

    “Not a clue,” replied Sheila.  “When I asked Ripley about it, she said they have to finish investigating and dig through everything.  Could be a few days or a couple of weeks.”

    “That sucks,” said Colleen matter-of-factly.

    “That goes beyond sucking,” Sheila chimed in.  “But… what can I do, right?”

    “I hear ya,” agreed Colleen.  “So I’ll text you when the coast is clear and you’ll let me know if you’re free to talk then.”

    “Will do,” replied Sheila.  “How you feeling, anyway?”

    “Meh,” replied Colleen half-heartedly.  “I’ll live.”

    “Never had any doubt about that,” said Sheila.  “Talk to you in a little bit.”

    “Oh-kay,” droned Colleen.

    Both women said “bye” at the same time, just as they had done a thousand times over the years.  Colleen flipped her phone shut, leaned forward slightly and turned her head so she could listen to the conversation on the other side of the privacy curtain.

    “So…,” began Fredricks in a tone that Colleen labeled as condescending.  “How are we feeling today?”

    Augie pulled the covers off of her head and revealed her battered face, which took Fredricks by surprise.

    “How the fuck do you think we are feeling today?” replied Augie with a bitter tone that Colleen had never heard before.  “You can see, can’t you?”

    “I see you took your bandage off by yourself, young lady.  Were you supposed to do that?” the social worker asked condescendingly.

    “I do what I want, when I want, smartass.” Augie quipped.

    “Now August…,” Nancy began in a disgusted tone.  “There’s no need for foul language… young lady.”

    “Then why don’t you get off your huge ass and leave the same way you came in if you don’t want to hear it?” Augie screamed back at her and then added, “Old fat lady!”

    Colleen’s jaw dropped nearly to her lap as she bolted straight up in her bed.  The condescension and dissent taking place on the other side of the curtain took her completely by surprise.

    “We’re done here,” said the social worker in defeated, almost teary tone of voice.

    “We were done before you even barged in here, you bitch!” screamed Augie.  “Don’t you ever… come back here… ever!”

    After a slight pause, the social worker said meekly, “This will all go in my report, August,”

    “Good!” Augie continued her screaming.  “Once the report is done, feel free to shove it up your ass!”

    “Well!” said the social worker.  “I never!”

    “Well!” mocked Augie.  “There’s always a first time, isn’t there?  Now go… before I get out of this bed and do something I’m gonna regret.”

    “Are you threatening me, August?” Nancy asked defensively.

    Colleen couldn’t take it anymore.  Her blood was boiling and adrenaline pulsed through her veins faster than the morphine. 

    “Lady, you don’t know what it means to be threatened!” Colleen shouted in Augie’s defense.  “If you don’t get the hell out of this room, I’ll find a way to throw you out, you dumpy-assed toad!” Colleen roared.

    Suddenly the curtain shot open with a tinny screeeeech! Fredricks stood at the foot of Augie’s bed and peered around the edge of the curtain at Colleen.  Her face was red and splotchy and she was breathing heavily.  She took labored, choppy breaths and looked like she was about to cry.

    “Wh-who are y-you again?  D-do I know you?” the fat woman stuttered.

    “C-C-C-Colleen C-C-C-Caldwell!”  The furious ranch owner mocked loudly.  Who in the hell are you?”

    Fredricks stood for a few moments, blinking exaggeratedly, sniffling and on the verge of tears.  Colleen glared at her, and then raised her right hand with her palm facing upward.

    “Well?” Colleen taunted.

    No response.  More blinking and choppy breathing.

    “That’s it,” said Colleen.  “Just stand there while I get Security so they can throw your ass out of here.”

    Without saying another word, Fredricks looked at the privacy curtain and ignored Colleen.  She turned on her heels and walked toward the door, slowly dragging the curtain behind her.

    “Leave that open!” yelled Augie.

    No response.  Fredricks walked toward the door until the curtain met with resistance at the end of its tracks.  She then stopped, let go of the curtain and whispered, “Open it yourself.”

    “You bitch!” Augie yelled, and then grabbed a pillow and whipped it at her, narrowly missing the fat woman’s head.  Augie let out a painful squall and then cradled her abdomen.

    Colleen sat in silence, breathing heavily and clinching her fists.  Her lips began to form words, but she couldn’t make a sound.

    “Did that hurt?” Fredricks asked softly in a demonic tone.

    Augie moaned and rocked herself back and forth in pain, unable to speak as well.

    “Let the punishment fit the crime,” Fredricks said as she glared at Augie through squinted eyes.  “Next time I doubt you will survive your sins, and I won’t have you to deal with anymore.”

    “Fuck you!” screamed Colleen.

    “Have a nice day!” mocked Fredricks as she turned and bolted out the door.

    “G-G-G-G’bye, fat lady!” Colleen blurted and defiantly plopped back against her pillow.  “Uuuuugh!  Where the hell is the call button thing?”

    Colleen fumbled about the bedrail, which had a remote control unit with a long white wire attached to it.  She punched every button she could find which turned a small television on the wall to her left.  Judge Judy yelled “You’re a moron!” from a tiny speaker on the side of the TV, which was attached to a long adjustable arm.  Colleen frowned at the remote and pushed a few more buttons until the television powered off.

    “Forget it,” said Augie.  “She’s gone.”

    “No… I’m not gonna forget it!” Colleen blurted sternly.  “She fucked with the wrong cowgirl!”

    Augie said nothing more.  She continued rocking and cradling her abdomen in pain, disgusted with what had just transpired.

2

    Carlos Guzman sauntered up the white concrete sidewalk that stood in bright contrast against the deep green, well-manicured lawn in front of the Triple C main house.  He stamped his feet loudly, not only to clean his boots, but to announce his arrival at the front door.  This had been his ritual and calling card of sorts for many years at the Double C Ranch north of San Diego, and now the Triple C in Simi Valley.

    He removed his hat and wiped his boots on the thick welcome mat, and then knocked twice on the screen door before entering, as was also his ritual.  His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark sitting room as he stepped inside and felt a soothing rush of cool, cinnamon-spiced air.

    “Hello?” called Carlos as he turned and closed the heavy door behind him.

    Suddenly Carlos felt a pair of arms grasp his waist from behind.

    “Jesus, that you?” Carlos asked jokingly.

    “Carlos!” Joan’s voice whispered playfully from behind him.  “You know it’s not Hay-seuss,” she said and tightened her grip to a full-on hug from behind.

    “You are strong like Jesus,” said Carlos.

    Joan removed her right arm and slapped Carlos on the back.  Carlos turned toward Joan, hung his hat on the umbrella rack to his side, and embraced her.

    “Mmmm,” said Joan as if she were eating something yummy.  “I needed that.”

    “I thinks you did,” said Carlos playfully but cautiously.  “I thinks you have too much drinks today.”

    “Oh bullshit,” said Joan.  “I never drinks too much.” She said as she turned and rested her cheek against his chest.

    “Your Engles’ is not so good,” mocked Carlos.  “That’s how I know you drinks too much.”

    “Uh huh…,” was all Joan could manage as she caressed the ranch foreman’s back and began to lose herself in his arms.

    Carlos gently grasped Joan’s shoulders and pulled her away, but met with some resistance as Joan tightened her grip around his waist.

    “Okay,” said Carlos as he leaned back and looked down at Joan.  “What is the matter?”

    “Nothing is the matter… now,” said Joan as she looked up at the handsome, powerful ranch foreman.  “Not a single thing.”

    “Bullsheet,” said Carlos.  “I know you too well, my friend.  Something is very much the matter.”

    “Damn you, Carlos,” said Joan playfully.  “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

    “This is true,” replied Carlos.

    “You want a beer?” asked Joan as she let her arms drop to her sides and stood up straight.

    “Enough cerveza,” said Carlos.  “Caffe por favor.”

    “Oh,” Joan said, disappointed.  “I need to make some.”

    “Por favor,” Carlos repeated.

    Joan turned and headed for the kitchen with Carlos close behind.  She lazily dragged her feet in disappointment and thought about what she really wanted from Carlos.  She involuntarily touched her hair as her desires peered at her from deep inside her subconscious world.

    “Caffe,” Joan repeated.

    “Si,” said Carlos as he stopped at the small round table in the kitchen, pulled up a chair, and sat down.

    Joan wasn’t aware that she had repeated herself out loud.  She tried to concentrate while she made coffee, but her desire for Carlos fought her at every turn.  She envisioned herself being carried to the bedroom in Carlos’ strong arms.  Her heart ached as she stared blankly out the window.  The coffeepot she held in her right hand overflowed with water for nearly thirty seconds before she caught herself.

    “Caffe,” Joan repeated aloud again, then shut off the water and continued making coffee.

    “Si,” repeated Carlos again.

    “He’s still got some run left in ‘im,” said Joan as she flipped the power switch of the coffeemaker.

    “Que?” said Carlos, confused.

    “Condor,” said Joan.  “He’s still got some run left in ‘im.

    “Oh,” replied Carlos.  “Indeed.  Plenty run left.”

    Joan nervously wiped her hands with a dish towel and searched her pockets as if she had lost something.

    Carlos stood up and motioned to the chair opposite his.  “Por favor.”

    “Oh, thank you, Carlos,” Joan said and began to pull at the back of the chair.  “Do you think Old Man Anderson will ever want him back in Texas?”

    “I doan think so,” said Carlos.

    Joan sat down in the chair and Carlos followed suit.  Joan loved the fact that Carlos stood up whenever a woman sat at a table with him.  She thought about how the men that customarily stood when she approached them thirty years ago no longer practiced such chivalrous manners.  “A damn shame,” she thought to herself.

    “He’s only what… fifteen?  Sixteen?” Joan asked as she tried to keep from drifting again.

    “Meester Anderson mus be sebenty five by now,” replied Carlos playfully.

    “I mean Condor, smart Aleck,” said Joan.

    “Ah,” Carlos continued.  “Condor almost twenny.”

    Joan tilted her head and looked perplexed.  “Twenty?” she asked.  “Really?”

    “Si,” said Carlos.

    “He doesn’t look it one bit,” added Joan.

    Carlos folded his hands, leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.  Joan took in a quick breath of surprise at the look on his face.  The coffeemaker belched as the steamy hot water dropped onto the fresh coffee grounds in the basket above the carafe.

    “You doan want to talk about Condor,” said Carlos intently.  “What is in your mind?”

    Joan thought for a second about what was in her mind.  She knew that Carlos wanted to know what was on her mind, and that he didn’t want to know exactly what was in her thoughts at the moment.  She leaned forward, folded her hands, and placed her elbows on the table, mirroring Carlos.

    “Yes, you do know me too well, Carlos,” Joan replied.

    “You think about Meese Caldwell, no?” inquired Carlos.

    “Yes,” said Joan.  “And so many other things.”

    “Tell it to me,” said Carlos.  “Doan keep this thing inside you or it gets much worst.”

    “I know,” said Joan.  “It’s just that we… had a… fight, or an argument, or I don’t even know what to call it.”

    “Go slow,” said Carlos.  “Breathe first.  Then tell it all to me.  You will feel better.”

    Joan started telling Carlos about what happened inside Room 258 at Los Robles Hospital earlier.  She started slowly at first, and then began pouring out her very soul to the ranch foreman.  Just as she had done a thousand times before, she confided in Carlos in a way that is usually reserved for a therapist, or a best friend.  Joan considered him both. 

3

    “The nerve of that bitch!” Colleen said through gnashed teeth.  “Where does she get off?”

    “Who the hell knows?” replied Augie as she continued her rocking back and forth.

    “Are you in pain or something?” Colleen asked, remembering Augie’s shriek.

    “I think I pulled something,” Augie replied with labored speech.

    Colleen sat up a little and asked, “You want me to call Amy?”

    “Did I hear my name again?” Amy’s voice called from the doorway.

    “Jesus, you must be psychic!” said Colleen.

    “I don’t know about that,” said Amy as she stepped into the room and saw a pillow on the floor.  “Who did this?” she asked playfully.

    “I did,” said Augie triumphantly.  “And now I’m paying for it.”

    Amy stepped toward Augie and removed the pillow from its case.  She then dropped the pillowcase in the soiled linens basket, opened a cupboard door below the sink, and found a fresh one.

    “Are you all right?” asked Amy.

    “Yeah,” said Augie.  “When can I have more pain medication?”

    Amy finished stuffing the pillow in a fresh case and plopped it on the bed in front of Augie.

    Amy looked at her watch and said, “Actually, you can have more now.”

    “Oh thank God,” Augie said as she let out a deep breath.

    “I’ll be right back then,” said Amy.  “Won’t be but a minute.”  Amy surveyed the privacy curtain for a second and asked, “Should I pull this back again?”

    “Yes, please,” Colleen replied for Augie.

    Amy pulled at the privacy curtain, but it wouldn’t move.  “Okay, now who did this?” she asked as she tugged at the curtain again, but it still wouldn’t move.

    “Oh she broke it!” Augie spat.

    “Who broke it?” asked Amy.  “Did I miss somethin’?”  Amy reached as high as she could and gave the privacy curtain a hard yank.  The aluminum wheels above the curtain made a dull clanking noise and wouldn’t budge. 

    “Oh you definitely missed something,” said Colleen.

    Amy thought to herself for a moment, and decided against asking about what happened.  “Well, I’ll go get your meds and I’ll be right back,” Amy said.  Won’t be but a minute,” she repeated as before.  “Colleen, you need anything?”

    “Yeah, I need something,” replied Colleen.

    Amy stepped around the end of the bed and moved the curtain aside as she took a look at Colleen.  “What is it, sweetheart?”

    “Send that bodybuilder nurse dude in here if you would.  I have something I want to show him,” said Colleen in a more relaxed tone.

    “Sheeit!” Augie added from her side of the curtain.

    “Uhhh…,” Amy began, but trailed off.  “I’ll see if he’s busy if you really want me to send him in.”

    “Nah…,” replied Colleen as she turned her head and looked out the window.  “He would probably have a heart attack if I… never mind.“

    “Okay.  Be right back,” replied Amy with a chuckle.

    “If you what?” Augie asked.  “Huh?  If you what?”

    “Nuthin’,” said Colleen.  “I have cowboy on the brain.”

    “Oh,” said Augie.

    Amy headed out of Room 258 and down the hall toward the nurse’s station.  She thought to herself about the pillow on the floor and the broken curtain, but couldn’t put a scenario together in her head.  She figured that she would hear about it eventually and just left it at that.  Augie’s rocking back and forth worried her.  She remembered from her nursing school days that such movement was often indicative of a kind of coping mechanism for immense physical or psychological trauma.  Amy figured it was both.

    Colleen fidgeted in an attempt to gain a comfortable position on the thin mattress.  Her leg and shoulder throbbed from the large dose of Adrenaline.  She punched the pain button for more morphine and settled back against her pillow, but the pump ignored her request due to the relentless assault on the button just a few minutes before.

    Augie took a breath and tried to calm herself as she continued rocking back and forth, still cradling her abdomen.  Her insides hurt worse than they had before she threw the pillow.

4

    Carlos finished his last sip of coffee and stood up at the kitchen table.  Joan remained seated, staring blankly into space.

    “Time to work some more,” said Carlos as he reached for the leather gloves in his back right pocket.

    “Already?” asked Joan as she suddenly perked up as if she had been goosed.

    “Si,” replied Carlos.  “Much to do.”

    Joan started to get up, but was interrupted by Carlos.

    “Stay, my friend,” he said assertively.  “Feenish your caffe.”

    Joan settled back in her chair and took another sip of her coffee as if to prove to Carlos that she would do anything he demanded of her.

    “Are you coming back for dinner?” Joan asked with a twinkle in her eyes and a pouty look about the rest of her face.

    “Doan know,” replied Carlos.  “Doan wait for Carlos,” he said, referring to himself in the third person.  “Carlos has much to do.”

    “So does Joan,” the half-drunk, lovesick woman replied, referring to herself in the third person as well.

    “Buenos tardes,” Carlos said before turning and heading out of the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

    Joan sat in silence for a few moments and listened as the screen door slammed shut behind Carlos.  “Buenos noches,” she said softly to herself.

5

    August Riley stopped rocking back and forth and closed her eyes.  Thoughts of helplessness dominated every fiber of her being.  She thought of what was to become of her once she was discharged from Room 258.  She thought about how her condition would prevent her from working for at least a week, and even after that, the manager at Hometown Buffet would never allow it because of her broken face.

    Shivers worked their way up Augie’s spine as visions of events from years ago suddenly rushed at her like a runaway freight train.  She replayed images of a time when she was desperate for money and sold her body to survive.  She was seventeen and hungry.  Waves of nausea and disgust filled her as she watched her hand take the twenty dollar bill from the sweaty Cubano.  He was twelve inches shorter and had oily hair that smelled of cheap brandy and cigarette smoke.

    Augie swallowed hard.  Tears gushed from her eyes and landed on the teal green blanket gathered loosely in her lap.  She tried to block the images that always followed, but couldn’t.  The Cubano’s chubby hands were dark and dirty, and his stubby, cigar-like fingers kneaded her breasts urgently like he was making loaves of bread.  Augie closed her eyes and tried to think of something else, but the Cubano wouldn’t let her.  His putrid breath consumed her with fear as he removed his left hand from her breast and grabbed a handful of her hair and attempted to kiss her.

    Her whole body trembled.  She struggled to turn her head when suddenly the Cubano let go of her hair, took a step back and thrust his calloused fingers at her vagina.

    “Hey!” Colleen’s voice thundered from the other side of the hospital curtain.

    Augie bolted straight up from her hunched-over position and opened her eyes.  She swallowed hard and tried to catch her breath, but could say nothing.  Her stomach seized and tried to push the contents of her stomach from her body.

    “HEY!” Colleen demanded.  “You throwing up over there?”

    Augie swallowed hard again and managed to take in a short, labored breath.

    “I’m gonna get some help,” Colleen said with a stern, motherly tone.

    “No!”  Augie shouted with a throaty voice Colleen had never heard before.  “I don’t want any help!”

    “You sure?” demanded the disheveled owner of the Triple C.

    “Yeah,” replied Augie.  “Just gimme a minute to catch my breath.”

    Colleen felt helpless.  She wanted desperately to help Augie, but couldn’t.  She thought about the last time she heard noises like the ones Augie was making.  It was just before Chase died in her arms over a year before.  He labored for air and kept heaving at the same time as if he were about to vomit.  Colleen would never forget the darkness in his open eyes as he took his last breath.

    “You’re scaring me, Augie,” Colleen said.

    Augie grunted heavily and resumed rocking back and forth.

    “I’m…,” she began, but had to take another short breath.  “I’m okay.”

    “You don’t sound okay,” said Colleen.

    “Really… I’ll be fine,” Augie said and then grunted again.  “I’m just dealing with some demons.”

    Colleen paused for minute and let Augie catch her breath.  “Demons,” Colleen whispered under her breath.  “I can’t even imagine.”

6

    The Triple C Ranch was a tightly-run, friendly, well-manicured spread, and everyone in Ventura and Los Angeles County knew it.  The two-year waiting list for permanent boarding was a testament to the knowledge and skills of its foreman, Carlos Guzman.  Boarders and clients knew Carlos to be hard-working, honest, and a man who rarely stopped working for any length of time, day or night.  Carlos took great pride in his work, and his decisions about the day-to-day operations at the ranch were respected and treated as law.

    There was very little that went on at the three-hundred acre Triple C that Carlos wasn’t aware of despite its enormity.  The land that surrounded the ranch was owned by the Simi Valley Park District, but Carlos treated the thousands of acres as if they were part of the Triple C.

    He knew every trail, marked or unmarked, and every rock formation nestled amongst the seas of prickly pear.  Most trails were wide enough for riding tandem, which Carlos used mainly for training inexperienced mounts.  He knew that the best way to train horses that had a tendency for rearing or bolting was to expose them to the open trail.  Ka, his trusty chestnut mare, was always steady as a rock and a perfect riding partner for any plug she was paired with.

    Trail-riding sessions on Monday afternoons were generally reserved for a promising young silver grulla mare named Vashti.  Ka was fond of Vashti, as was Carlos, even though the grulla was a bit on the stubborn side and had a predilection for biting.

    Carlos was also fond of Vashti’s owner; a bright young lady from Beverly Hills named Questa Fawn Dalton.  She preferred to be called “Fawn” and was the spitting image of Colleen Caldwell in almost every way.  She spent more time at the Triple C than on Rodeo Drive, and had a passion for horses rarely seen amongst girls about to graduate from High School.  Carlos liked her because she spoke Spanish as well as she spoke English, and didn’t use the word “like” twenty times in the same sentence.

    Fawn was a quick learner and often asked questions about a wide variety of subjects, ranging from the optimum moisture content of sweet hay to show-jumping competition rules.  She had plans to attend USC the following year but was undecided as to her major field of study.  Carlos was secretly hoping that Fawn would eventually pursue a career in veterinary medicine.

    Carlos and Fawn chuckled in unison as the dust cleared from the well-groomed trail below them.  A few minutes before, Vashti decided that Ka needed a friendly nip, but Ka ignored it.  If Vashti was anything, she was persistent, and Fawn knew that Ka wouldn’t put up with her crap for long.  After Vashti hit pay dirt with a bite to Ka’s neck, Ka stopped in her tracks and lashed back with a bite of her own squarely on Vashti’s rump.

    Vashti bolted a few steps and spun around quickly, taking her young rider by surprise, but Fawn was experienced beyond her years.  She gained immediate control of Vashti with a tight rein and a firm grip with her ankles on the grulla’s ribs.

    “Muy bueno!” said Carlos, applauding Fawn for her quick action and control of Vashti.

    “Gracias, Senor Guzman,” replied Fawn.

    Ka stood motionless as Carlos removed his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief.  Vashti pawed at the fine trail dirt and snorted as Fawn held her rein.

    “What’s that?” asked Fawn, who had spotted something out of place in the distance.

    Carlos shifted his position in the saddle and looked in the same direction as Fawn.

    Even though Fawn occasionally spoke to Carlos in English, he always responded in Spanish, knowing full well that the youngster would understand him.

    “What’s what?” Carlos responded in his native tongue.

    “Over by that arroyo,” replied Fawn, this time in Spanish.

7

    “Can we talk about something?” Augie asked from her side of the broken privacy curtain.

    “Sure,” replied Colleen.  “What do you wanna talk about?”

    Augie had to try and forget the demons that danced around in her thoughts, ready to strike at any moment.  She knew that their return was inevitable, but Los Robles Hospital wasn’t the place where she felt equipped to confront them.  What she wanted more than anything was something to help her escape reality.  She longed for the ultimate escape.  She wanted heroin.

    “Anything,” Augie said before she went further down the road toward yet another demon she had conquered in her past.

    “Well… like what?” asked Colleen.

    “Chase,” said Augie.  “Tell me the story about how you two met and fell in love, and all of that gooey shit.”

    “Hey,” said Colleen with a playfully defensive tone.  “I miss that gooey shit.”

    “I never got a chance to experience any of that,” added Augie.  “Instead, I… never mind.  I don’t wanna talk about me.”

    “Okay,” said Colleen, respecting Augie’s wishes.  “It was a dark and stormy night…,”

    “Very funny,” said Augie.  “Start with where you met.”

    Colleen fidgeted again and tried to find a comfortable position.  Chase was her favorite subject, and she figured Augie needed distraction more than anything at the moment.  Just when Colleen began to speak, there was a knock at the door.

    “Knock knocks,” said the unmistakable voice of Doctor Eng.

    “Who’s there?” said both Colleen and Augie in unison.

    “Doctor Eng,” said the short, fifty-something Asian surgeon.

    “Doctor Eng who?” both girls continued in stereo, going along with the joke.

    Without skipping a beat, the doctor replied loudly, in his thick Vietnamese accent, “Doctor Eng hungry!  Need food!”

    Augie rolled her eyes and groaned.  Colleen cackled loudly at the ridiculousness of Dr. Eng’s bad punch line.   

8

    “Was that there the last time?” Fawn asked Carlos in Spanish.

    In the distance about a hundred yards away, the pointy top of a small, triangular-shaped structure stood a few feet behind a large clump of thick, dry brush.  Carlos immediately thought it looked like the top of a makeshift, one-man tent.

    “How long ago did we ride this trail?” Carlos asked in reply to Fawn’s question.

    Fawn leaned forward and stood tall in the stirrups as Vashti continued his relentless assault on the dusty trail below.  Swirls of thick dust obstructed Fawn’s view of the arroyo.

    “It’s been at least a month, I think,” said Fawn as she loosened her grip on Vashti’s reins and patted her on the neck.

    “You have sharp eyes, my young friend,” said Carlos.

    “You wanna go take a look?” asked Fawn curiously.

    “No,” said Carlos.  “I will have a look later.  Besides… too many snakes.”

    “Snakes don’t bother me,” said Fawn without looking away from the arroyo.

    “I wasn’t talking about you,” said Carlos with a smile.  “It’s time to head back to the barn.”

    “Awwww,’” said Fawn, disappointed that her riding lesson for the day was almost over.  “I have to supplement Vashti tomorrow.  Maybe we can come back and see what it is.”

    “Perhaps,” said Carlos.

    Without saying another word, Carlos moved his left foot backward about six inches toward Ka’s rump and exerted pressure with his ankle.  His well-trained mount responded by executing a perfect pivot in the opposite direction.

    Fawn settled back down in Vashti’s saddle but still held her stare on the dusty white structure in the distance.  Her mind raced with all kinds of ideas about what the dusty, white, out-of-place thing could be.

    Carlos cleared his throat and sat patiently in the saddle as Ka lazily shifted her weight from side to side.  Fawn stood tall in the stirrups again, let go of Vashti’s rein and raised her right hand to shield the late afternoon sun.

    Suddenly Fawn realized that Carlos was trying to get her attention.  Her eyes struggled to keep their grip on the dusty, out-of-place object, but to no avail.  She settled in the saddle again and glanced at the Triple C Ranch foreman and his trusty mount.  She hadn’t noticed that they were faced the opposite direction and Carlos was looking at her over his left shoulder.

    “Sorry,” said Fawn as she grabbed at Vashti’s rein.  “It’s like looking at a car wreck on the 101.”

    “Tell me what you see,” said Carlos.

    Fawn looked back at the arroyo, thought for a moment, and then turned her attention back to Carlos.

    “I see…” she started and then paused.  “Trouble.”

    Carlos shifted in the saddle and looked squarely at Fawn.

    “Your eyes are rare indeed, my young friend,” said Carlos.  “You discover so much more because you see with your heart and not just your eyes.  You trust what you feel instead of what you see.”

    Fawn was flattered and at the same time taken aback by the wisdom of Carlos Guzman.  Her blushing face glowed in the hot August sun as she looked down and found herself nervously picking at the leather horn of Vashti’s saddle.

    “Thank you,” she said meekly.

    “You are welcome,” said Carlos.  “Now… show me how to pivot your mount without giving ground.”

    Fawn quickly looked up and said, “A pivot?  Oh that’s easy!”

    “Not so fast!” said Carlos.  “You must pivot, ride straight thirty paces, pivot the opposite direction, ride back, and then stop in the same place you are now.”

    “That’s double easy!” exclaimed Fawn.  “Count to three!”

    “One more thing,” said Carlos.  “You must do this with your eyes closed.”

    The silver mare shifted her weight, snorted, and shook her head as if to respond to Carlos’ request.  Fawn blinked exaggeratedly and processed her trainer’s instructions.

    “I can do that,” she said confidently.

    “I know you can,” Carlos assured.  “Don’t count to three.  Just take your time, close your eyes, and go when you are ready.”

    Fawn took in a deep breath, and then another.  She held Vashti’s reins squarely in both hands, closed her eyes, and began her pivot.

9

    “You take bandage off,” announced Dr. Eng as he approached Augie’s bedside.  “Who say it okay to do that?”

    “Nobody,” replied the broken and bruised August Riley.  “I couldn’t see.”

    Dr. Eng reached in his pocket and produced a small pen-like flashlight.  It was a little shorter than a Sharpie and not quite as thick.  Augie watched the doctor test the flashlight, first on his hand, and then by shining it in his own face.  Augie thought it might have been a bad attempt at some slapstick comedy where a person looks into the end of a garden hose or a gun before it goes off.  She smiled at the thought as the doctor examined the flashlight closely with first one eye, and then the other.

    “Okay,” said Doctor Eng.  “It work now.”

    Augie chuckled as the short Vietnamese man leaned toward her face and gently touched the back of her head with his left hand and pointed the flashlight at her face with his right.

    “You see this?” he asked as he shined the pen light in her left eye and observed the reaction of her pupil.

    “Yes,” replied Augie.

    Doctor Eng switched off the flashlight and moved it over Augie’s right eye, which was nearly the color of beets from all of the broken blood vessels.

    “Good,” said the doctor.  “You see this?”

    “I see your hand,” said Augie, confused.

    “But do you see blight right?” he asked, intentionally switching his “L’s” for his “R’s.”

    “No,” Augie said with a sudden lump in her throat.  “Is the light on?”

    “No,” said Doctor Eng playfully.  “I just testing.”

    “Oh… you…,” Augie began, but was interrupted.

    “Whoa!” blurted the doctor.  “You going to call me bad name?”

    Augie chuckled and said, “Almost, you… you jokester!”

    “Whew!” Doctor Eng said with a pretend wipe of his brow on the back of his lab coat sleeve.  “Nusses call me bad name all time.”

    Colleen giggled to herself from the other side of the heavy privacy curtain.  Every time the doctor spoke, she giggled louder and couldn’t control herself.

    “Okay,” said the doctor.  “We take rook with right this time.”

    Doctor Eng shined the flashlight in Augie’s right eye and was pleased with what he saw.  Her pupil was reactive to the light, which was a good preliminary indication that there was no long-term damage inside.

    “Now I can see the light,” said Augie.  “It’s very blight.”

    “That good,” said the doctor as he stood up and returned the pen light to the pocket of his lab coat.  “I don’t see damage in eye, but when you go home, you make appointment with eye doctor.”

    Augie suddenly felt a wave of nausea just as she had before.  Her stomach seized, causing her to double over in pain again.  Doctor Eng watched Augie’s color turn from a warm hue to white as a sheet.

    “You have pain in belly?” asked the doctor with a sense of urgency.

    Augie grunted but said nothing.  Doctor Eng grabbed Augie’s right shoulder with his left hand and leaned forward in an attempt to look at her face.  Augie glanced up at the doctor and leaned back again.

    “You have pain in belly?” the doctor repeated.

    Augie swallowed hard, leaned further back against her pillow and closed her eyes.

    “Y-yeah,” she finally answered amid swallow.

    “You going to pass out?” the doctor asked loudly.

    Augie opened her eyes again and tried to focus on the light fixture above her bed.  Fresh tears escaped the corners of her eyes and raced down the sides of her face toward her ears.  She swallowed hard and wiped the tears before they hit their mark.

    “Welcome back,” said Doctor Eng.  “Did you lose conscious?”

    “No,” Augie replied with a throaty wail.  “I’m just really dizzy.

    “You almost throw up, yes?” Asked the doctor.

    “Yeah,” replied Augie.

    “I give you something for nausea,” said the doctor.  “And we get more picture on your chest.”

    “Picture?” Augie asked curiously.

    “X-lay,” replied the doctor.  “I need to see you libs.”

    Doctor Eng always made Augie feel at ease.  She loved his sense of humor, which usually came at his own expense one way or another.  She knew that the doctor was capable of speaking nearly perfect English, but the fact that he intentionally mispronounced his “L’s” and “R’s” was great medicine in itself.

    Colleen sat quietly in her bed and listened to the conversation between and Augie and the doctor.  She felt much of Augie’s pain, but suspected that the young, melon-chested blonde had deeper psychological burdens that only a seasoned professional could help with.

    “X-lay,” Augie repeated with a weak smile.  “I like that.”

    Doctor Eng turned and headed for the sink a few feet away and proceeded to wash his hands.

    “Will I see you the same time tomorrow, Doctor?” asked Augie with a more comforted tone of voice.

    Doctor Eng turned back toward Augie and proceeded to dry his hands.  Augie searched the doctor’s face optimistically but was immediately disappointed.

    Doctor Eng took a deep breath, tossed his paper towel at the waist basket without looking, crossed his arms and said, “Not tomorrow.”

    “Oh,” said Augie.  “The next day then?”

    “No,” he said.  “You go home today.”

    Augie suddenly felt a wave of nausea begin to build in her stomach again, but she swallowed extra hard to keep it at bay.

    “Today?” she blurted with a broken wail, and then took a deep, painful breath.  “I can’t go home today!  Pleeeease don’t make me go home today!”

    Augie buried her broken face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.  Doctor Eng uncrossed his arms and stepped toward the side of Augie’s bed again, but stopped short.  Colleen sat up straight and ignored the stabbing pain in her shoulder.

    “Today?” Colleen whispered softly.

    “I give you prescription for pain meds before you discharge,” said the doctor, trying to reassure Augie.  “You do much better at home.”

    The silence in Room 258 was deafening, aside from Augie’s whimpers.  Colleen had to speak.  She couldn’t help herself.

    “She can’t go home today, Doctor,” Colleen said loudly.

10

    Carlos Guzman ran his hand down Vashti’s right front foreleg and squeezed at the tendons just above the pastern or “joint” of her leg.  Vashti responded by lifting her hoof for inspection.

    “Bueno,” said Carlos aloud.  “Muy bueno.”

    “Looks good?” asked the young Questa “Fawn” Dalton as she turned off the water spigot at the front of the wash stall.

    “Si,” said Carlos.  “Looks mucho better.”

    “She’s always been a fast healer,” said Fawn.  “How much longer should I be careful with that hoof?”

    “No need,” replied Carlos in English.  “Good enough to clean like normal.”

    Carlos let go of Vashti’s leg and stood up straight.  Vashti shifted her weight and whinnied loudly to the other horses relaxing in the stalls nearby.  Carlos ran his hand down the mare’s back and patted her on the rump as he exited the wash stall, to which Vashti responded with a hard flick of her tail.

    “VASHTI!” scolded Fawn.  “Stop it!”

    “She thinks I am a fly,” said Carlos.

    “She’s just being mean in my opinion,” said Fawn as she playfully slapped Vashti’s neck.

    “She’s a good horse,” said Carlos.  “She jus like to play.”

    “What is the Spanish word for torment?” asked Fawn as she leaned into Vashti’s withers and gave her neck a big hug.

    “Ask me en Español,” replied Carlos in a hybrid of English and Spanish.

    “Let me see…,” said Fawn.  “¿Cuál es la palabra española para el tormento?”

    “You answer your own question, my friend,” said Carlos with a chuckle.  “Jus apply correctly for torment, and you have de answer.”

    Fawn combed her fingers through Vashti’s shiny black mane and thought about the different verb forms for the word in question.

    Carlos adjusted his hat and then stretched his back in the hot August sun.  Merlin, Joan Caldwell’s pug oinked lazily under the shade of a large bench near the open-ended tack room opposite the outside wash stall.

    Ruby-throated hummingbirds flitted busily about the raised flower boxes that surrounded the sturdy brick dressing rooms and vending machines next to the show ring.

    Suddenly Carlos heard the familiar roar of an engine that was running badly and in desperate need of an overhaul.  He knew it belonged to Ventura County Sheriff Lewis Pennelton “Jeff” Lohr, who Carlos had called about the makeshift campsite.

    The rusty door hinge of the thirty-year-old Chevy Blazer squeaked open and announced the arrival of the sixty-four-year-old Sheriff nearly as loud as the Blazer’s tired old engine.  Jeff had a habit of swinging the driver’s side door shut without latching it completely, which constantly drained the battery of the aging four-by-four.

    After years of radio calls to Maebelle because of dead batteries, Maebelle decided she would remedy the situation.  Following what seemed like the hundredth “midnight rescue,” Maebelle calmly asked Jeff for his night stick, to which Jeff obliged, scratched his head, and figured he shouldn’t ask what she was going to do with it.

    Maebelle sauntered over to the Blazer, hoisted open the heavy metal driver’s door, and with one swift flick of the wrist, relieved the Blazer of its dome light, which was the source of the drained batteries.  Maebelle then returned the night stick to her husband and said nothing as she disconnected the jumper cables from her BMW, and then the Blazer, and then handed them to Jeff.

    He dared not say a word.  Not even an “I’m sorry,” which he knew would make MaeBelle’s eyes turn green like the Incredible Hulk.  He also knew he dared not repair the dome light, since his habit of leaving the Blazer’s door unlatched wasn’t about to change.

    Carlos removed his gloves and repositioned his hat as the Sheriff made his way over toward the wash stall.  He took an extra step or two to the left to avoid a fresh pile of road apples as he approached.

    “Carlos?  How are ya?” asked Lohr as he extended his right hand in greeting.

    “Bueno, my friend,” replied Carlos with a firm handshake.  “Would you like to go for a ride?”

    “You bet I would,” said the Sheriff.

    “Weel take de Jeep,” said Carlos.

    Jeff Lohr visited the Triple C regularly, whether it was for social visits, charity events, or official business with Colleen and Joan.  He knew that the Triple C did well, but had its troubles from time-to-time just like any other ranch in the Conejo Valley.

    Every spread within a hundred miles experienced problems with the occasional vagrant, but Jeff knew by the tone of Carlos’ voice that he was more concerned than normal about this one.  His heart raced with anticipation as Carlos started the engine of the old Army surplus Jeep.

    Questa “Fawn” Dalton stood on her toes and peered at Carlos Guzman and Sheriff Lohr from behind the withers of the freshly-bathed Vashti.  She pressed the tip of her nose against the silver grulla’s thin coat and took in a deep breath, filling her nostrils with the aroma of freshly-applied fly spray, which she freely admitted she liked.

    Carlos raced the Jeep’s engine as the Sheriff jumped in the passenger seat and adjusted his brown wool Stetson “Indy Hat.”  Fawn’s heart sank as the two men started to drive past the wash stall without so much as a quick glance in her direction.  She followed the jeep with her eyes as Carlos and the Sherriff disappeared around the corner of the training ring.

    “Aw nuts, Vash,” said Fawn as she turned her head back and rested her cheek against the grulla’s withers.  “I’m the one who found it,” she continued, referring to the fact that she was the one who discovered the campsite to begin with.  Vashti responded with a low whinny and a flick of her tail as if to say, “I understand.”

    Fawn daydreamed about the campsite and listened to the sound of the Jeep’s engine as she drew a large heart in the short, silver hair on Vashti’s side with the tip of her index finger.  Inside the heart, she drew the letters “F D” with a plus sign underneath, and then paused while she thought about which initials to put below.

    The sound of the Jeep’s engine in the distance interrupted her thoughts.  Fawn thought it sounded like the Jeep was getting closer rather than farther away, but she dismissed it, remembering that the steep rocky hillsides can echo loudly and play tricks on the ears.

    “Miss Dalton!” the Sherriff’s voice suddenly thundered from the opposite side of the show ring.

    Fawn whipped her upper body around the opposite direction, which startled Vashti.  The double wash stall chains attached to Vashti’s halter rattled as her head jerked upward in response to Fawn’s sudden movements.

    “Me?” Fawn called loudly across the dusty show ring as she instinctively patted Vashti’s neck to calm her down.

    “Can you spare a few minutes?” Sherriff Lohr’s voice cracked in reply like a well-used lunge whip.

    Fawn’s heart leapt from her chest with excitement.  She covered the distance between the wash stall and the waiting Jeep on the opposite end of the show ring, which was a shade less than three hundred feet long, in record time, kicking up more dust in her wake than an Oklahoma twister. 

11

    Suddenly Doctor Eng appeared from behind the heavy hospital curtains that separated the two occupants of Room 258.

    “She can’t go home today, doctor,” Colleen repeated, but this time without as much volume.

    “I not understand,” said the doctor.  “Why she can’t go home today?”

    Colleen took a deep breath and thought about what she was going to say.  After her conversation with Augie about being over-protective, she knew she had to choose her words carefully.

    “I…,” Colleen began, and then took another breath.  “I don’t want her to,” she said after she could find no other reason and decided that honesty was all she had left.

    Doctor Eng was taken by surprise at the words that came from the gorgeous thirty-two-year-old’s mouth.  In all his professional years, he had never had another adult tell him that a patient of his couldn’t go home because of the reason, “I don’t want her to.”

    “I sorry, Miss Caldwell,” said the short Asian doctor.  “I can’t talk about August Riley’s condition, but you already hear me tell her she can go home.”

    Colleen’s face turned red in frustration as she tried to calm herself and find a way to reason with the doctor.  She had to find a way to keep Augie in the hospital one more night.

    “I’ll tell you what,” Colleen said.  “How about if I pay for her to stay one more night?”

    Doctor Eng couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  He blinked exaggeratedly as he held the curtain with his left hand and nervously clicked a ball-point pen with his right.  “I sorry, Miss,” repeated Dr. Eng.  “It not work that way.  I wish she could stay too, but they tie my hands.”

    Colleen was getting even more frustrated.  Her shoulder ached more and more as her heart raced faster and faster.  Augie’s sobs continued from the other side of the heavy curtain, which made Colleen feel even more helpless.

    Suddenly, the bright young owner of Triple C Ranch had an idea.  She knew that she couldn’t budge Doctor Eng because of potential ethical issues, but she knew there was a way to get what she wanted.

    “Thank you for all you’ve done, Doctor,” Colleen said.  “I tried, but you’re a tough cookie,” she added with a weak smile through her pain.

    “I never been call tough cookies before,” said the doctor.  “But I take it as compliment.”

    “It was meant as a compliment,” Colleen said with a nod.  “Thanks again.”

    All Doctor Eng could say was “Welcome” before he turned on his heels and headed for the door.  Augie’s whimpers grew louder for a second, and then stopped abruptly.

    “Okay…,” said a young man’s voice.  “Doc wanted a set of X-Rays before you’re discharged.”

    Augie said nothing.  Not even a sniffle.  The sound of rustling papers cut through the silent air of Room 258 like a buzz saw.

    “If I can just check your arm band…,” the voice said.  “Can you verify your date of birth?”

    “Seven, eighteen, eighty-five,” Augie’s stale voice recited as if she were being questioned by the FBI.

    “Great,” said the man’s voice.  “I’ll wheel you down to X-ray and then we’ll get you on your way.  Sound good?”

    “Peachy,” Augie replied in the same stale voice.

    Colleen could hear the rustling of bed sheets, and assumed the man was transporting Augie by wheelchair.  She knew she had to move fast if her plan to keep the battered twenty-five-year-old overnight was going to work.

    “If you turn with your back to me, I’ll move the chair closer so all you have to do is sit straight down,” said the man’s voice.  “There you go.”

    “Don’t go anywhere, Colleen,” Augie said blankly.

    “I’ll be right here when you get back,” replied Colleen with as much smile in her voice as she could manage.

    The familiar squeak of wheelchair foot rests being moved into position resonated against the thick concrete walls of Room 258.  The thick privacy curtain fluttered from an artificial breeze created by Augie and her X-ray man’s wheelchair.  Colleen figured she had maybe thirty minutes to herself at best.