Taboo

Keywords: Storm, Ch., Shelter, from, 20, the,

"Where are we?" Donnan asked as he looked up from his road atlas.

"I think this is called Dirksen," Bryce responded as he surveyed the businesses on either side of the road. "I'm going to stop somewhere and find a phone book. See if I can locate her address."

"First thing we're going to do is find a hotel. You can't go see your lady looking like something the cat dragged in."

Bryce ran the tips of his long fingers down the raspy growth of whiskers that shadowed his face, feeling the rough patch of scar tissue that marred the left side. "I suppose you're right. Skoll could probably use a walk, too."

"Looks like a couple of places ahead. Grab one and let's see if they have anything available." Donnan closed up the atlas, folding it and stashing it in the glove box.

Neither man had spoken much after leaving Hannibal, both lost in thoughts of what the day would hold once they reached their destination. Bryce, with an expression as hard as flint, could think of little else but the distraught face of Carissa as he had seen her on the television set earlier. He was anxious to find her and he wanted to beat her ex-husband mercilessly for what he was putting her through. More than that, he was cursing himself for sending her home to face the man and his under-handed tricks alone.

"Looks like a Holiday Inn Express ahead, Dad." Bryce informed him.

"We'll probably be there for a few days, so I'd rather be someplace with all the extras."

"The place next to it looks like that type," Bryce said as he pulled into the right lane. "You want me to stop there?"

"Yeah, let's check it out. It's a Crowne Plaza - not too bad, I guess," Donnan surmised. "It'll do as well as anything else."

"Skoll, old boy," Donnan said as they settled into the large suite that he had acquired. "I hope you're worth the extra cash I had to fork over to keep you here."

The dog wagged his tail, nudging the hand of the tall, older man as if to beg for a pat. Donnan obliged, smiling at the animal while offering him the sweet treat of a cookie from the courtesy basket on the table.

"You're going to spoil my vicious guard dog, Dad," Bryce stated bemusedly.

"He's starting to grow on me. He's not a bad dog, Bryce."

"Yeah, he's been good company all this time. Listen, I wish you would let me pay for the room. I feel bad enough dragging you out here."

"Nothing doing. Consider it my Christmas present to you and your future bride. The concierge is going to send someone up to take Skoll out for exercise. While they're gone why don't we see if we can find you a barber and a decent set of clothes? My stuff looks good on me," the elder Matheney said, flexing his shoulders in a comical pose. "But on you it just looks like old-man rags."

Bryce looked down momentarily at the dungarees and soft flannel shirt his father had loaned him for the trip. "I wish I had time. I have to try to find Cari. Besides I don't feel comfortable leaving some hapless stranger alone with Skoll. I'm not sure I trust him not to have the person for lunch."

"Okay, then we leave the dog in the car, but you are going to a barber. You look like a wild savage. Time to clean up your act, boy. You don't want that woman of yours to be scared off the minute she lays eyes on you, do you?"

"Hell, Pop," Bryce said with a grin. "If my ugly mug didn't scare the shit out of her up there in the woods, I doubt she'd notice if my hair's too long. To be honest, she cut my hair a few weeks back. I think she likes it long."

"Well, I don't. You look like crap. Now get your coat," Donnan ordered, good-naturedly. "And muzzle that beast. I don't want to get sued because he decided to take a bite out of one of the locals."

Bryce dropped his smile. "Dad, I need to find Carissa first." He picked up the phone book, flipping to the letter "J", searching for her name.

"You kept her waiting this long, fool. She can wait a couple more hours. Bring the book with you. You can look her up while I drive and use my cell phone." Donnan headed for the door, signaling that he would listen to no more arguments.

Bryce was given little choice. Snapping the leash back on Skoll's collar and grabbing the hotel room phone book, he followed his father out into the hallway. A quick glance at the clock on the desk told him that it was still early, only 9:22 AM.

Less than half a mile north of their hotel, the two men located a department store where Bryce found a limited selection of items that would fit his large frame. He chose a few simple articles -- dark-colored slacks and cotton button-down shirts -- to wear during his visit. He also purchased shorts, undershirts, socks and a pair of leather shoes. He had wanted to replace his worn parka but failed to find any coats that were large enough to fit the wide span of his shoulders.

Carrying the purchases to the vehicle, Bryce dumped them into the trunk, slamming the lid down firmly. He climbed back into the passenger seat to open the phone book and await his father, who was still in the store. He looked through the extensive listing of people with the name of "James" but found no one named Carissa. He found the name "C.A. James" but that person was listed with a Lincoln address and not Springfield.

Belatedly, he realized just how little he knew about the woman who had so drastically changed his life. He did not even know her middle name. How could he have not learned more about her in all the days they had spent in each other's arms? Because, he answered his own question with self-condemnation, you were too busy rutting like a teenager with raging hormones.

It was a well-pleased Donnan who returned to the Cadillac, a large sack clutched in his grasp. He ducked quickly into the car against the chill of the rising December wind. "Weather changes fast around here," he stated as he carefully settled the large package between Bryce and himself. "What's up, Son? You're looking mighty peevish."

"There's no Carissa James listed," he muttered in response.

"No 'C. James' either?"

"Not in Springfield," Bryce sighed. He ran a frustrated hand down his face. "What do I do now?"

"Well, hell," Donnan chuckled good-naturedly. "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" At his son's baleful expression, he laughed again and offered, "Don't worry. We'll think of something. This town can't be that big. Seems to me she has a fairly high-profile job. Could be she's at work right now."

"You're right," Bryce hissed as he grabbed up the phone book once again, flipping impatiently through the pages. "We'll go to that TV station and find her there."

"Now just hold your horses. The clerk inside told me where to find a good barber and then you're going back to the room for a shower."

"Dammit, Dad..." Bryce started to yell at his father.

"Mind yourself, boy. You ain't so big your old pap can't whoop ya. You're going to get cleaned up before you start harassing that girl and that's final."

Since he was a youngster, Bryce knew when his father's voice took on that tone not to argue with him. It did not make sense to the younger Matheney. No matter how much grooming he did, he would still look as if someone had driven over his face, and in the meantime, he would not know how Carissa was doing or if she needed help.

The little sleep he had gotten the night before had been immersed in dreams of unfathomable verdant eyes clouded with distress. It was all he could do not to put his foot down and insist that they spend every moment searching the central Illinois town for her until she was found.

"So," a resigned Bryce asked, "what's in the bag?"

Donnan grinned as he pulled the slightly dented Cadillac out of the parking lot and back onto Dirksen Parkway, heading south. "Gifts."

"Gifts?" Bryce blurted, incredulous. "We haven't even found her yet and already you're buying her gifts?"

"You may be an idiot, Son, but it didn't come from my side. I have no intention of meeting my future daughter-in-law -- this close to Christmas -- empty-handed. And I got a few things for her kids, too. It's sure going to be fun having children in the family again."

"Dad," Bryce interrupted. "I wish you wouldn't get your hopes up. I'd hate to see you be disappointed. There's no guarantee that she'll even talk to me."

"That may be, but she's still carrying my grandchild. And I didn't abandon her. I'm sure she'll like me just fine."

Bryce was not at all sure that he liked the satisfied grin he saw on his father's face. The man was having entirely too much fun with all of this. "Would you like me to get a box of salt for you to rub into the wound, Pop? I'm sure you could milk just a little more guilt out of me, if you try."

Donnan guffawed loudly, recovering briefly to answer, "You did this to yourself, boy. Don't complain to me."

Twenty-five minutes later, the pair was sitting next to each other in barber chairs in a place called Laketown Barber Shop. Every time that Donnan chanced a glance at his son, he found himself snickering all over again at the impatient resignation on the younger man's face. Bryce, for his part, was not having nearly as much fun as a mascara-wearing young man pawed his head, telling him how "fabulous" his hair was, in a decidedly effeminate inflection.

"Just cut the stuff so I can get out of here," Bryce commanded.

The barber offered a mock shudder and exclaimed, "Ooh, so forceful!" before doing his job.

Donnan snorted out another laugh, watching as his son, who had only so recently returned to civilization, stare bullets at him in the wall mirror. The older man was enjoying immensely the indignation his son was experiencing at being forced to be clipped and curried. It was the sort of thing a father enforced upon his teenage son, not a man of thirty-three years.

Once his hair was cut, the back of Bryce's chair was lowered abruptly, causing his head to flop backwards, bouncing against the neck-rest. His irritated eyes fixed upon the smiling face of the man who called himself a barber, wishing it were legal to choke the life out of the imbecile.

Keywords: Storm, Ch., Shelter, from, 20, the,