"A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future and accepts you today just the way you are."
Proverbs 17:17
October 1994
Hands clutched tightly about the brown paper bag that held all his worldly possessions, Darien listened to the clank and rattle of the gates as they slid open. The chain link fence, the razor wire, the armed guards, none of it could dull the sudden joy and relief that shot through him. Passing through the final gate and onto the dusty ground outside the fencing, he took in a deep breath of air, of freedom. The sunlight on this side of the fence just seemed brighter, the air cleaner, his step lighter than it had been in long months.
Striding forward he glanced about the parking area in hopes of seeing the person his lawyer had assured him would be here to pick him up, but saw no one. Pausing at the edge of the tarmac he shifted the bag and sighed.
"Well, guess I should be glad it's not Kevin. I'm not in the mood for another detailing of how I'm wasting my life." Darien muttered to himself as he debated the merits of walking the roughly 30 miles through the near desert to San Diego on his own. A long low wolf-whistle made him whip his head to the right and squint his eyes against the glare to try to ascertain the source.
"Howdy stranger, need a lift?" The voice was unfamiliar with a heavy Texas drawl, but he walked in the direction anyway. Once past the institutional white 15-passenger van he could see the lone figure leaning back against a beat up Jeep Wrangler.
Dusty boots were topped by faded and broken-in blue jeans with one knee nearly worn through. A dark gray work shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal the white of the shirt beneath it, but both the face and the hair were obscured by the straw cowboy hat tipped low over the forehead of the owner. The hat was in need of a good burning based on the amount of detritus he could see imbedded in it even from this distance.
Curious and pretty much out of options he approached the person with a wary eye. Once about 10 feet away the sensation of eerie familiarity, no matter that he knew no one male or female who favored the Southern California cowpoke look, washed over him. Catching sight of the bumper sticker 'Always being right is an awesome responsibility' on the left rear panel of the Jeep, Darien realized whom it was standing there, especially since he'd given the owner of the vehicle the bumper sticker as a joke.
With a soft growl of irritation he swiftly closed the distance. "'Chele, what the hell are you doing here?" When she did nothing more than kick at some nonexistent pebbles by her feet, he reached out and removed the hat, tossing it into the cargo area of the jeep. The vivid red hair that he could now see confirmed that it was indeed his longtime friend standing slouched before him. "Michele."
Her head came up and he saw the lack of a smile on her lips and the glint of anger in her eyes, but what he wasn't prepared for was the fist that lashed out and caught him on the shoulder.
"Hey!" he shouted in pain as he dropped the bag, his few meager possessions headed for the hot tarmac at their feet, only to be deftly caught by his attacker and held onto as if precious cargo. "What was that for?" he complained, rubbing at the spot that would surely blossom into a bruise. She'd damn near hit him at full power and it had hurt.
"Eight months, Darien. Eight freakin' months. Did it ever once occur to you I might get worried?" she snapped, her temper making itself known. "First, I fill your machine with messages, then it gets disconnected. I go by your place scared out of my mind to find someone else living there and the manager saying only that you up and walked out one day. Damn it, Darien."
Darien closed his eyes and sighed as a sudden guilt washed over him. He remained silent for several minutes as he tried to figure out how to explain his reasoning to her. He heard her shift, the paper bag making a distinctive rustling sound, and when he opened his eyes it was no longer in her hands. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she glared up at him.
"Look, I just didn't want to get you mixed up in my mess. You have a reputation to maintain and don't need the likes of me screwing with it."
"Your mess." she sneered. "You could have said you were in trouble beyond some minor cash flow issues. I would have helped." The anger in her eyes was swiftly being replaced by hurt. "You let me worry about my reputation."
Darien shook his head. "They were minor problems ... til I got caught, that is." He raised a hand intending to set it on her shoulder, but when she stiffened he altered the move to run his hand through his hair. He'd been letting it grow for quite a while and it currently fell to his shoulder blades. He was oddly proud of the fact, though admittedly, prison had done little good for it.
"Damn it, D, do you know how much harder it's gonna be for you to find work now that you have this on your record?" Chele sounded incredibly frustrated, but Darien was still shocked at her words. She'd been the one person who never used his thieving against him.
"You think I don't know that?" he snarled. "I'd've been better off if Kevin had picked me up. Least I was specting the lecture from him."
Michele heaved a huge sigh and tipped her head down to stare at her boots, no longer willing to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Darien. You're right, it's not my place to say a damn thing." One hand came up as if in supplication. "I just want to see you happy, y'know."
"I know," Darien responded softly, more than willing to forgive her for venting her concern. Reaching out he grasped her chin and lifted her head so he could look her in the eyes. "And I'm sorry for worrying you. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do." She shook her head slightly, but didn't argue. "Can we get outta here? Eight months is one lifetime too many at a place like this."
Chele chuckled. "Yeah, get in."
Minutes later they were flying down Alta Road away from the R. J. Donovan Correctional Facility, kicking up dust and leaving a trail that could be seen for miles. Darien had high hopes he'd never see this place or any of its brethren ever again. Once they'd turned onto Otay Mesa Darien spoke up loud enough to be heard over the wind rushing past them. "How'd you find out I was in?"
"I cornered Kevin and made him tell me." Chele answered glancing over at him.
Darien shifted a bit, sliding the seat back and reclining it so he could stretch his legs out. "He wasn't supposed to."
"Tell me about it." Chele grumbled, bitterness clearly evident in her tone. "Between Celia saying he's fine' and Kev's professional run-around I was ready to hurt someone to find you."
Darien was kind of impressed that she was willing to cause others bodily harm for him, which made him wonder what exactly made her corner Kev and force him to spill his guts. "What made you go after Kev?"
"Do you know what happens when you don't check your P. O. Box for six months?" She reached behind the seat and came up with a bottle of water, which she handed to him.
It took a moment for her question to sink in, but when it did he groaned aloud. "Crap." His mouth was suddenly bone dry and he spun the cap off the bottle and took a long swallow.
"Nice to know I'm your emergency contact," Chele said, her tone drier than the desert about them.
That had not been part of the plan. It was one thing to teach her a few tricks of the trade; it was another to get her directly involved in one of his escapades. He hadn't been kidding about trying to protect her reputation; she was well known and respected in scientific circles. She'd had invites to speak at symposiums and conferences all over the world about her work at Hollow Brook and her continuation of her parents' theories. When he'd made her his emergency contact he'd never once considered the possibility that she might end up with stolen goods.
"Uh, where ... umm ... are they now?" Darien asked hesitantly.
She looked over at him with this superior sneer on her features that reminded him eerily of Kevin. "I turned them over to the police, of course. I mean, someone as prominent as myself can't afford to be associated with something so common as stealing." Followed by an audible sniff of disdain before she focused her full attention back on the road.
It took him three tries to get the words out, he was so ... stunned. "You what?" He could feel the blood draining away from his face to pool in a cold, hard lump in the pit of his stomach.
"Well, what was I supposed to do?" She glanced over at him a couple of times, her look cool and composed, while he could only slump in his seat and grind his teeth in complete dismay.
Her hand settled on his thigh and squeezed gently. "Darien..."
"What?" He didn't even bother to look at her, the one thing... make that two things keeping him going for the last eight months – the prize and her – were both gone. Somewhere, somehow during his absence she'd become just like Kevin, judgmental and self-important.
"Dare, sweet thing, I'm kidding."
Darien's eyes flew open and he twisted his head almost hard enough to give him whiplash to stare at her. "Kidding?"
"Yes, Darien. Your pretty baubles are in a safety deposit box waiting for you to claim them." Chele told him, grinning broadly.
"You... You..." He set a hand atop hers. "That was cruel. Well done, but cruel."
"Hey, I learned from the best." she reminded him. "Now, you are going to let me spoil you rotten for the rest of the day. Starting with some lunch. Okay?"
"'Chele, you don't have to do that." Considering he'd practically vanished off the face of the planet he really didn't want her going to any trouble on his account. It was going to be tough enough starting over; he had the clothes he was wearing, his few possessions in the paper bag and the $356.49 he'd made working in the prison laundry. It would take time to fence the jewels so he'd be scrounging for just about everything until he had done so.
"Darien, I want to. I haven't seen you in forever, indulge me, please." She shifted her hand until their fingers were twined together. "I missed you."
Darien felt a sudden rush of emotion run through him; he'd more than missed her, it had been a long and lonely journey for the last eight months. Kevin had been openly hostile to Darien, making sure that what little grudgingly given help had come with a steep price only to be surpassed by the utter disdain Kevin showed as he tried to distance himself from Darien. Celia had been ... mystifying, almost as if unsure what was happening. Darien had called her regularly to assure her he was all right, but it was as if she was unable to comprehend what was going on. He was terribly afraid his aunt was drifting slowly down that road to inevitable senility. She was sharp as ever about some things, but others ... it was as if she was hearing or seeing something completely different from the reality.
"'Chele, I'm sorry about not telling you what was going on." He now realized she might have made his time in prison pass far more quickly even if they had done nothing more than exchange letters during that time, and he decided right then and there he wouldn't let it happen again. "I won't do that again. Well, unless absolutely necessary," he amended, hedging his bets like always. "But I will try to stay in contact no matter what, okay?"
"Jeeze, I can't imagine a reason it'd be necessary, but sure. That means if you get into trouble again, whatever it may be, you call me and let me do what I can to help. Got me?" She punctuated her words by squeezing his hand until it was painful and he had to repress the urge to yelp.
"I got it." He lifted their hands and began to kiss her fingers until her excruciating hold on him finally relaxed, but he didn't let go. In fact, he was trying damn hard not to allow his hand to go wandering or encourage hers to do so. Eight plus months with no female companionship was now putting a severe strain on his libido and at this point he didn't even know if she was free of entanglements. She could be firmly entrenched in a relationship with some guy he'd never even met and he wouldn't know a damn thing about it. He forced himself to worry about it later. She was here now and that was the important thing.
As they came to the exit for I-5 she untangled her hand from his and downshifted the Jeep for the onramp. A mile or so later they passed the bright green sign proclaiming San Diego 10 Miles and as they topped some of the higher ridges the familiar high-rises that shouted home to him came into view.
Traffic being surprisingly light, they made it into downtown with little trouble and Chele deftly navigated through the maze of one-way streets to her chosen destination. Still, Darien was a bit bemused when she pulled into the parking garage at Horton Plaza and chose a spot on the third level.
"Why are we here?" Darien asked as she turned off the engine.
"First is food. I figure it's been a while since you've had a decent burger." Darien stomach rumbled audibly in response, which caused Chele to chuckle as she got out of the Jeep. "See, part of you agrees with me." She proceeded to pull out the soft-top and snap it into place; while it wouldn't stop a persistent thief, it would discourage them a bit.
Darien climbed out and assisted her. "First? What have you got planned?" He tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice, but was pretty sure he failed miserably.
"You'll just have to trust me, now won't you?" she smirked as she slung her all-purpose bag over her shoulder. It wasn't a purse so much as a modified backpack that went with her everywhere.
Darien glanced down at his current ensemble and suddenly felt very uncomfortable, the dark khakis he wore hadn't been in the best of condition eight months ago and were now looking more than a touch threadbare. The ancient dress shirt and sports coat had been those he'd worn the day he was sentenced and he'd have been happy never to see them again. The tie from that day was currently a crumpled heap in the bottom of the bag and would probably be thrown out as soon as he had the chance. "'Chele, maybe we should go somewhere else. 8th Street Diner or the like."
Chele reached into the Jeep and pulled out the straw hat and planted it firmly atop her head before locking the doors. "Darien, it's a mall and I'm not exactly dressed for the opera myself." She stepped around the vehicle to stand in front of him.
"Since when did you go all urban cowboy anyway?" Darien asked, reaching out to tip the hat back so he could see her eyes. Once again they seemed to be lighter than he remembered, only the faintest hint of blue remaining in the gray.
She shrugged. "You know my style is eclectic and ever-changing. Unlike you, retro-man."
Darien snickered as they as one turned to walk towards the entrance to the mall proper. "There is nothing wrong with my style."
"Never said there was, bub, and it's most definitely you. Hate to say it, but we're not gonna find too much to suit you here. Fraid you'll have to deal with the old stand by of jeans and t-shirts." She nudged him, her elbow connecting with his hip, and he draped an arm about her shoulders.
"James Dean look." He mused aloud as they made their way through the doors and past the first of the stores. "I can live with that. It'll need a leather jacket though."
"We'll see."
