Ancient Echoes

CHAPTER 2



ON THE FLIGHTS between Washington D.C. and Boise, Idaho, Charlotte finally slept. Her emotional and physical exhaustion left her blissfully unaware of the news story captivating the area she headed toward.

She had snuck away from her burning house amid the hubbub of fire trucks, police, and nosey townspeople, made a quick stop at the bank to clean out her savings account, and then used cash to buy a plane ticket to Idaho. She might have been crazy to go there, but she had nowhere else to turn. Hiding and hoping that somehow, miraculously, this madness ended wasn’t her style. The scum behind this had taken away her home, her sanctuary, and years ago, her husband. She had nothing left to lose.

For a brief moment, in Jerusalem, she remembered how it felt to live, not merely to exist. She remembered how it felt to love, to laugh, to care.

She refused to go back to the emotionless woman she had been, the one filled with bitterness. Bitterness be damned; anger filled her. Despite her exhaustion and fear, doing something to answer unspoken questions buried deep in her soul caused her to feel more alive than she had for the past thirteen years.

As she left the Boise airport, a startling Idaho Statesman headline caught her eye. Professor Lionel Rempart and a group of his students had disappeared.

She bought the newspaper, absorbed every detail of the story, and even then remained stunned by the news.

Dennis had often said if something was too coincidental to be believable, it was no coincidence. Lionel Rempart’s disappearance was no accident, neither was the fact that he had come to Idaho, and that Dennis had learned Idaho was important to all that had happened.

A grim rage spurred her to action. Many phone calls later, she found a car company willing, for a hefty deposit, to rent via cash instead of a credit card. At a local D&B Supply sports outfitter, she bought boots, warm clothes, an extra box of ammo for her Glock, and a map showing the way to the town named headquarters for the search operation.

An all-night drive over winding mountainous roads took her to Telichpah Flat. Only it wasn’t a town. It was no more than a blip on a dirt road north of the Salmon River.

The Telichpah Flat General Store, a white clapboard building with a covered porch at the main entrance, seemed to be the only active business in town. A hand-painted sandwich board read “Temp Search Hqtrs In Back.”

The back of the building also had an outside entrance. A Lemhi County Sheriff Department car and gray Ford F250 were parked beside it, and a large make-shift parking area had been set up. She approached a scene of barely controlled chaos with news trucks, vans, trailers, satellite dishes and communications gear. Beyond that, to the right of the store, she saw a permanently closed bar-restaurant, and a couple of houses. To the left, a trash dump that included two rusted trucks and six wagon wheels. Nothing but darkly forested emptiness surrounded the town.

Welcome to Telichpah Flat. She parked at the edge of the town, lit a cigarette, and watched until the sun came up.