Chapter One

Chapter One

 

His garden was beautiful.

No one could argue against that. And people were always so very fond of arguing. Matthew tried not to think about that though. There was no room for thoughts of people. Not here.

It had taken him almost a full year’s worth of prep work to make it what it was now. All of last fall he'd reclaimed this field from nature, removed trees and underbrush, leveled the land, and replanted the grass.

Then during winter there was all of the planning, picking every type of plant carefully based on their compatibility, their needs, and the way the bees would respond to them. Then he had to take into account their coloring, smell and the times when they would be flowering. And how they would respond to the fertilizer.

  It was a lot to take into account, but Matthew had always considered himself a planner. And a people person.

He took a deep soothing breath while the soft sound of wind chimes sang backup to soothing hum of the bees. He took in the sweet thick scents of the assembly of flowers as they swayed delicately in the wind. It blended so perfectly with the smell of the freshly cut grass and the lingering haze of rot and honey. It was perfect. Almost anyway.

He glanced over at the far end of the clear where a raised plot of earth sat outlined with a tiny wall of decorative stone. It was the last open spot in the entire garden. Helianthus annuus, sunflowers, big tall heads looking out over all the rest. They were already nearly full grown, past ready for transplant into their new home. All that he needed were the finishing touches.

He wiped the gloves of his full body beekeeping suit together dislodging the dirt. Once upon a time, his therapist had suggested gardening as an acceptable hobby. His sketches of the graveyards of New Orleans had not been acceptable to her. His aunt had liked them and they were enough to get him into art school, but what did he know?

He wasn’t a therapist.

Matthew shook out his new pinstriped hand towel. Formerly a rather impressive business suit.

"Maybe tomorrow."

The arts college he attended was one of the best in the country, which was why his happy cheerful family, in New Orleans, thought he’d chosen to come here. In truth, it had more to do with places like this, remote solitary and warm. After years spent trying to find peace in a city so deeply steeped in music, the quiet of the Californian countryside was the loudest sound he'd ever heard.

In a way, it felt like stepping out of festival and into a church. It had a way of making you feel small.

With a sigh, he shook the spider off of his leg and began packing things up. It seemed a shame to leave but he couldn't. It was already almost six in the evening. The sun was moving down in the sky and he had a store to arrange and responsibilities to manage. His homework wasn't going to do itself just because he had something better, significantly more interesting, to do.

How annoying.

Still though at least he had something to look forward to. One more plant bed and the garden would be finished. And it had to be soon. The plants in the green house wouldn’t wait.

A bee flew curiously around his head. You'd think they'd be used to him by now.

Ridiculous little creatures followed him for more than ten yards though. And followed again when he returned for the rest of his tools. He never left any of them behind mostly to keep them from rusting but also because evidence was to be avoided at all cost regardless of how remote his little paradise was.

It was a fifteen minute walk round trip from the field to the little dirt trail that cut drunkenly through the endless trees that ruled the day so close to the state park.

Matthew de-suited and got in the truck, an old but carefully maintained Chevy. Perfect for hauling tools, soil and fertilizer back and forth from the field. A sparse scattering of four-wheelers sometimes came through but they were rare. Still though he always tucked the truck into the trees well out of sight and under a bit of camo netting. It was a good truck and it would be a shame to have to ditch it somewhere.

The miles per gallon had earned him some up turned noses at the school, which he found terrible amusing.  As if a bit of extra co2 in the air was the worst crime he could ever commit.

He supposed they could be forgiven though. It was hardly their fault that they didn’t understand what it was that they should be complaining about. In fact, he was very fond of their ignorance. It kept things from becoming complicated.

Complicated was bad. Matthew reminded himself. Not for the first time. Complicated was bad. As fascinating as a hunt could be, he had to keep repeating it to himself. Freedom was not a right for people like him. It was a privilege and he needed to take care to guard his privilege at all costs.

A smile flickered across his lips as he laid down to sleep that night. There was an empty plot in his garden and a three hour open time slot between classes tomorrow. Not enough to get what he needed obviously. But more than enough to pick something out of the crowd. 

Call it window shopping, if you like.

What was life without little indulgences now and then? He thought he was using that time quiet well.

Choosing was a much more simple process then what most people would assume. It wasn’t hard at all in fact.

On television, they always focus entirely on who gets picked and why. Motive and all of that. For some people he supposed this was a perfectly valid strategy. It seemed to be working out for them well enough.

For him though he doubted it would be of a terribly large amount of help.

Step one is to get coffee or tea if that’s your preference. No need to discriminate. Then you take a walk. That’s it. No fuss. No muss. Just a walk.

Matthew liked to start from a new spot each time. Kept things fresh. This time he choose a coffee shop next to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. He even spent a few minutes inside looking at the new exhibit. A good time and a good excuse. Then coffee, a whipped caramel mocha with a double shot of expresso, non-fat he had to keep in shape. His hobby required as much.

Matthew took a few seconds to look around. Aspiring writers tapping away a laptops and making unnecessarily large hand gestures. Business men and women tapping away at their phones trying their best to ignore the writers while remaining as stiff and cardboard looking as possible. And of course the poor schlep in a dress shirt trying to balance six cups, a box of doughnuts, three muffins and a Danish.

Matthew held the door open for him, his first good deed of the day. Poor little sheep.

Never hunt from the coffee shop by the by. Terrible policy. Besides, people you hand money to are significantly more likely to remember you, then a passing street person. Oh and writers like to describe people. It’s really unfortunate.

Always avoid becoming a regular anywhere.

He smiled politely at the brunette in the corner. She never spoke to anyone but him.

“How’s it going little miss.” She blushed hard and looked back at the book she’d been reading.

Also practice hypocrisy regularly. It’s good for the soul.

Gwendoline, and no he would not be calling her Gwen thank you very much, was a lovely little thing, not that you’d notice if you weren’t paying attention. The deep dark color of her long wavy hair was covered by her love of old-timey hats and an annoying preference for school teacher buns. They made his fingers twitch each and every time. Her clear skin and non stick figure-ish proportions were covered but by her seemingly endless collection of baggy clothes and massive hippie handbags.

She was a student in a culinary program and he liked her because she loved a good murder mystery novel, the darker the better.

Oh she was as innocent as newly fallen snow but every once in a while she got this look in her pretty brown eyes that made his teeth feel sharp.

“I made a coconut-vanilla bean cake with coconut meringue buttercream frosting. Do you want some?”

Did he mention she could cook?

“I’d love some.” Matthew said. “So, what updates do you have?”

The cake was soft and moist and the frosting was perfect.

“I got an A on my last practical exam. We had to make . . .”

Matthew gave serious consideration to licking his fingers. That would be rude.

“My job at the diner has been going really well except for . . .”

Maybe she would take the finger licking as a compliment. She was a chef after all. Don’t they like it when you do that?

“I wouldn’t get to upset about it,” Matthew said. “She’s obviously just jealous of you.” He put the tip of his finger into his mouth and savored the rich flavor. It was entirely worth it.

She blushed and handed him a napkin. Such a waste.

“Do you really think so? It seems like she’s so far ahead of me,” she asked.

He looked down at the mostly scrapped clean Tupperware dish and thought about just how unlikely thought was.

“It just seems that way because you don’t understand how good your cooking is. As an outsider my reasoning is much less bias,” Matthew explained.

Maybe she had another piece hidden inside of her bag.

“You’ve never even had her cooking, Matt,” Gwendoline insisted. She laughed her whole face lighting up. He took note of it for a future drawing project. They were always his instructor’s favorites. Apparently they were “happy looking.”

“I don’t have to, to know that yours is better.” He smiled his charming smile and patted her hand.

Gwendoline smiled looking at the table. She did that a lot, he noticed.

“I’ve been thinking of getting a plant for my apartment. Do you have any suggestions? I don’t have much time to take care of it,” she asked.

He had just the thing. He’d considered putting then in his garden but they hadn’t fit the color scheme. They meant ‘don’t abuse me’ or ‘excess is danger’. The irony was lovely.

“I have some saffron that I can pot for you. They just need good light and some water now and then. Besides what better houseplant for a chef.” She was instantly more interested.

“Really. Saffron is so expensive.”

“All the reason to have a few around the house.” He said checking the time. “I have to be going. Class starts soon.”

She nodded and they made their goodbyes. On to business.

The sun was high in the sky outside. The air was shimmering with the heat. Perfect for his plants. People milled around everywhere, enough to make the walk a chore for the average traveler.

Matthew sipped his coffee slowly weaving his way through the crowd with a smile on his face. The problem with choosing was that the police tended to notice when all of your victims, an ugly word really, were regulars of a specific place. Geographic profile he thought they called it. So while he started at a place he knew, he then took a more interesting route.

Three pidgins sitting on the corner on the left. He went three intersections past them and then turned right. That put him in front of a bakery with two pies in the window, probably fake. He went two streets then turned left since the apple pie had been on the left. And so the pattern went: four trees, three cars, six blonds, one homeless person to whom he gave five dollars for his second good deed of the day, and five pieces of gum on the sidewalk.

At the end, even he didn’t know exactly where he was. He’d managed to find another fairly busy street though so there was that. The dress code for this particular bit of asphalt appeared to be business or business casual with a pop of color every now again in the form of the out of place beachgoers and the long skirt and sandals hippie chic sporters.

He could probably work with that. Matthew reached for his phone a snapped a careful picture of the shuffling crowd. Inspiration strikes do rarely.

A swift painful jolt from behind sent his stumbling forward. His coffee what was left of it splattered across the ground.

“Watch where you’re going a*****e,” a man in a rumbled suit snarled as he pushed forward forcing his way through the pack.

And just like that we have a volunteer.