Part 2 (1/2)

SUN BLAZED OFF THE OCEAN, LIKE WHITE FIRE.

He was holding on for dear life and loving it.

He closed his eyes, shook his head and arms, started to walk again, focusing on a point far ahead to try to fight dizziness.

It was annoying, the spinning.

CAROUSEL HORSE CAROUSEL TONGUE.

CAROUSEL WHITE FIRE.

What carousel?

He had no time for it.

He took off again, overshot the address he was looking for and had to double back, winded, to find the old red trailer house.

But between there and here, there was . . . what would you even call it?

A sculpture park?

A monument?

Hundreds-no, thousands-of rocks formed a pathway that his feet started to follow. To the right, the path divided off toward a rain-collecting pool. To the left, some kind of tunnel, and ahead, more spiraling walkways and stairs and bridges. It felt ancient. Sacrificial.

Like built on bones.

Still.

Red star.

Answers.

He kept walking, then spotted a figure way up back on the slope: a man in a lighted hat holding a chisel.

His father?

Had made this?

Was still making it?

”Dad?” he called out, hearing his uncertainty and confusion, and the figure in the distance turned. Standing on a tall platform of stone, the man took his hat off, dropped it, and squinted into the night.

”Ryan?” Sounded confused.

”No.” Ryan was . . . a boy? A brother? ”Lucas.”

”Is this some kind of joke?” Now angry.

He started to approach, and Lucas called out, ”Not a joke!”

Why would he be joking?

The man inspected him from the top of a ladder-steep set of stone steps-”Oh my G.o.d, Lucas!”-and started to run down, and then he slipped and, as if in slow motion, tumbled and b.u.mped and then landed-headfirst-with a dull smack on stone.

Lucas ran to him. ”Dad!”

And bent to help him up.

And lifted his head. ”Dad!”

And it was all warm and black and all over his hand.

”No.” Lucas stood, backing away. ”No-no-no-no-no-no.”

Then, one more try: ”Dad!”

Only the hum of the night: distant cars, tree frogs, a far-off motor-boat. The sound of it echoed inside him, his body hollow.

He stood, ran to the house, pounded on the door until it opened.

Ryan.

But not a boy: grown.

”Call an ambulance,” Lucas barked. ”NOW!”

”Who the h.e.l.l-”

”Just do it!”

Then back to the body, ear to mouth.