Dirk Benson had a thing for Latinas. Always had. Ever since he’d worked his grandfather’s farm and the hired hands would have their families swing by for the lunch hour; he’d had a thing or two for the Mexican culture. The ladies would invite him over to the picnic table for tamales and glass bottle Cokes. He was usually hungry after a morning in the stables. Eating the grandmother Rosa’s – or Lita as they called her - home cooked meals, that she’d brought to the farm in Pyrex dishes, was just what was on his mind until he saw Talia Sanchez getting out of one of their trucks.
She wasn’t always there, but Dirk hoped every day that he’d see her. She was short, sweet, with copper colored skin and dark brown hair that wasn’t quite black. She had one of those tribal tattoos that ran down her forearm to her wrist. He always thought that was pretty cool considering usually the white kids didn’t have the best home life if they were getting tats in high school. But on the few occasions he got to chat with her alone, those were the memories he never forgot. The way her thick accent made his heart melt. The way she’d call him Dierks Bentley even though Dierks wasn’t his name. He didn’t care. Then she’d dance around singing What Was I Thinkin’ switching back and forth between English and Spanish. She’d flick his Stetson hat with her finger when he was out working or tousle his sandy blonde hair when he was trying to eat.
He hadn’t seen Talia since he graduated high school. That had been ten years ago. He’d not really not thought about her, but heading to college and then back home again to work the farm; the girl from Mexico ran across his mind often.
He hopped in the metallic blue Chevy Silverado. Heading into town to pick up a few supplies, he figured he would be back in time for lunch after he picked up what he needed along with a refill of coffee at the Murphy gas station on the way in.
“Meryl, how you doing?” Dirk asked as he waved at the clerk behind the register.
“Hey Dirk,” the elderly woman muttered with a wave of her own. Sitting on her perch at the register, she wore a wrist brace on her dominant hand as she tapped at the screen with the other, calling out gas pump numbers to the other attendant.
Dirk brought his coffee mug with him. Filling the mug with blistering coffee, he then went to the soda machine for ice cubes to cool the java off.
“¿Quién es ese chico tan guapo?” the accented voice asked.
Dirk looked to his left and down. At six foot three, he was a foot taller than the abuela standing next to him smiling.
“Grandma Rosa!” Dirk said with a smile. His dad had said she had moved away when he was at college. Many of the ranch hands they’d had growing up and moved onto the restaurant business which had begun to boom within the last five or six years.
He set his coffee on the counter and leaned down to give her a hug. Her face and hands looked much more weathered than he remembered and her grayish hair had turned mostly white. But she had the same heartwarming smile and her heavyset figure was a comfort to hug in return.
“What’s this? No wedding ring?” she asked immediately.
Dirk reached for his mug as he glanced at his left hand.
“No, no, Sorry, Lita,” he said. “All work and no play made me a dull boy.”
She looked at him with a bit of a confused look, but she smiled anyway.
“The family is still doing well?” he asked changing the subject.
Lita nodded without really smiling.
“Do you want to talk outside?” he asked.
She nodded again. Dirk threw exact change on the counter and nodded to Meryl before walking out the door. Meryl waved an uninterested hand before she swept the change off the counter into the drawer.
Lita walked out a few moments later with an Aquafina in hand.
“Everything okay?” Dirk said.
“No,” she said. “You see Talia?”
“Talia?” he said surprised. “No, I’ve not seen her in years. Why do you ask?”
“Your abuelo been looking for her,” she said.
“Mine? Why would he be looking for her specifically?”
“She in trouble,” she said with a sheepish look.
“Lita, I’m sorry. Come again?”
“She been working hard, but she would be happy to see you.”
“I didn’t even know she lived around here,” Dirk said with even more surprise. “I’m sorry Lita, but I have absolutely no idea-”
“It’s okay,” she said as she patted his cheek with her tiny hand. “Isso good to see you ‘gain. Adios.”
Dirk watched her hop into the back of a black four-door Cadillac before the car pulled out onto the main drag before heading north and out of town.
Grandpa John Benson was talking to Dirk’s father, Robert, in the office back at the rather freshly labeled Benson Ranch when Dirk pulled up in the Silverado loaded with timber.
Several men, white and Hispanic, walked on out to the truck to unload when Dirk met up with the patriarchs. His grandpa was sipping his own cup of coffee while his dad ate a scone.
“Gramps, I just ran into Lita at the gas station in town,” Dirk said.
“Oh yeah?” his grandfather replied in a rather uninterested tone. He took a sip of his coffee.
“She mentioned Talia? She live around here?”
“We had to let that family go?” Robert said matter-of-factly.
“Illegals?” Dirk asked.
“No,” John said. “Caught her skimming the books with Juan.”
“What?” Dirk said.
His dad shook his head in agreement.
“The guys we had hired from Texas to break the new ones in, they all spoke Spanish,” he said as he lifted the remainder of his scone toward the nearest fence where a raven-colored quarter horse stood nearest the trio. “Turns out when they were giving Rosa’s boys a list of needed supplies, the cowboys made mention that they overheard them talking about overcharging us.”
“A couple of strangers told you that?” Dirk said with a frown.
“Easy killer,” Dirk’s father said with a wry smile. “I confronted Rosa and she broke down in tears before apologizing. Trying to get some extra cash to get their Mexican restaurant going is what she told me to my face.”
“That’s why you let her go,” Dirk said.
“Didn’t want to have to do it, John Benson said with a shake of his head before stepping closer to the Silverado to lean on the side. He lifted his mug as he continued.
“Thing of it was,” he began. “I hated to see her or her boys leave. Best damn ranch hands we’d had here in years. Hardworking, polite as all get out. But I can’t have you stealing. Don’t give a rat’s ass who you are.”
Dirk didn’t say anything. He was wondering why Lita mentioned Talia though. He looked at the cargo bed of the truck to see what was left to unload. Seeing the bed cleared out, he closed the tailgate and began rolling his flannel sleeves up before leaning on the vehicle himself.
“Whatcha thinking about, son?” his father asked.
“She brought up Talia,” Dirk said bluntly. He thought about not saying anything, but she’s all he’d been thinking about.
“Yeah?” his grandfather perked up under his own Stetson Diamante. “A real beauty that one was. Shame she ain’t around here anymore either.”
“I saw her up at the new Mexican restaurant in Van Wert,” his father said. “I think her family is running the place.”
“Yeah?” Dirk said. “I didn’t know that.”
“Why don’t you call up there or just stop in for a bite to eat sometime and see if she’s there?” his father said with an air of encouragement.
“Dad, it’s been ten years. I barely saw her my senior year of high school. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s married with kids by now.”
“Never know til you try,” his grandfather said raising his coffee cup one last time before walking off with one of the other men to talk shop.
Several weeks went by and Dirk Benson had gotten back into routine. But every night, he lay awake in bed a little longer than usual pondering whatever happened to Talia Sanchez.
Friday morning, he woke up, hit the basement gym, showered, and read for a bit before the sunrise. They were building a new fenced-in area the cattle would be able to graze in. After buying the neighboring farm, the planned extension would add another thirty acres behind the Benson ranch. His father told everyone, working on the project, to take the rest of the day off. His friends and fellow ranchers, Jeremy Halston and Blake Givens, had asked him to tag along as they were headed to Fort Wayne to meet up with some girls they’d met the previous weekend at one of the local lake festivals. He hadn’t been all that interested in wasting time in Fort Wayne, but he also hadn’t made any plans for the weekend other than to keep working on that fence.
“I’m starved,” Jeremy said as he turned his white Honda Pilot onto the highway north toward Indiana.
“You’re always hungry,” Blake said not looking up from his phone.
“That’s because I do most of the work,” Jeremy said as he put his sunglasses on under his worn out Cleveland Browns ball cap.
Blake nodded with condescension, but he continued to scroll social media, as his head never wavered left or right. Dirk sat in the back passenger seat staring out at the cornfields to his right.
“So I hear you got a lady friend you’re wanting to look up,” Jeremy said.
Dirk turned and looked back at the driver’s seat seeing Jeremy nod back at him.
“Who could’ve possibly told you that,” Dirk said.
“Your dad,” Blake said still not looking up.
“What?” Dirk said.
“They’re still working on the fence, brother,” Jeremy said laughing. “He told us you could use a break. So we figured we’d get you outta town for an afternoon.”
“What’s there to do in Indiana?” Dirk asked in annoyance.
“Nothing really,” Jeremy said. “I don’t even know if they’re still enforcing this mask bullshit ‘cause of the ‘rona.”
“Then why are we going there?” Dirk said again. It wasn’t really a question.
“Well, I met Becca at the lake last weekend. She has cousins that live around here. She said she will have some friends over and we can join them tonight.”
“Lovely,” Dirk said rolling his eyes.
“Don’t worry, brotha,” Jeremy said emphasizing the a. We’re going to stop at The La Hacienda for lunch first.”
“And I assume that would be in Van Wert along the way,” Dirk said with a blank stare at the rearview mirror.
“Smart man,” Blake said still in his phone but lifting an index finger sarcastically, as if a lightbulb moment had just occurred.
“Listen guys,” Dirk began. “I’ve not seen Talia in over ten years. I’ve no idea what she even looks like, if she’s married, or if she’s even working today.”
“Got it covered,” Blake said. “We called it in. She actually picked up the phone.”
“What?” Dirk asked loudly.
“Why does he keep saying that?” Blake asked looking at Jeremy.
Dirk looked at his own outfit. Thankfully he had combed his blonde hair and he was wearing one of his favorite Weatherproof-brand, baby blue linen shirts with khaki shorts and white Ralph Lauren footwear.
“You look fine, Dirk,” Jeremy said chuckling as he continued to look at the road ahead.
Dirk could feel his heart thundering in his ears. He began to feel nervous. He wasn’t sure why this was hitting him all of a sudden. She might not even be thrilled to see him at all. Hell, would she even recognize him?
“What’s she look like anyway, man?” Blake asked as he put his phone down for the first time, turning as much as he could under the strap of his seatbelt.
“I told you,” Dirk said. “I haven’t seen her since high school.”
“So she might’ve packed on the freshman fifteen and then the firstborn forty?” Jeremy said looking up in the rearview again.
“I don’t think firstborn forty is a thing,” Blake said sarcastically.
“It’s not,” Jeremy said as he scratched his own chest through his grey V-neck tee. “I just made it up.”
“You ever seen The Son on AMC?” Dirk asked.
“No,” Blake said. “Who’s in that?”
“Pierce Brosnan,” Dirk said.
“Who’s that?” Jeremy asked as he switched hands on the steering wheel.
“Who’s that?” Dirk looked at Jeremy incredulously. “Goldeneye, brother! Only one of the greatest James Bonds! Who’s that?!”
“So she looks like Pierce Brosnan?” Blake asked.
The three of them laughed.
“No, the actress in that show, Paola Núñez? That’s about as close to what I can remember about her. Like I said, it’s been a while.”
“You didn’t stalk her on social media like every other red blooded American male?” Jeremy asked with stern conviction.
“I’m not a pervert,” Dirk said.
“Okay, boomer,” Jeremy said.
“I’m literally only six months older than you,” Dirk said.
“I rest my case,” Jeremy said.
“To play Devil’s Advocate,” Blake said. “Dirk doesn’t have any social media.”
“Really?” Jeremy asked. “None?”
“Never had time, man,” Dirk said with a shrug.
“How you ever supposed to meet anyone?” Jeremy asked.
“Apparently, the old fashioned way,” Dirk said. “Since that’s what we’re all doing today.”
“Touché,” Jeremy said.
“So I found that Núñez lady you‘re talking about,” Blake said as he whistled.
Jeremy glanced at the phone rolling his Rs as he hollered out an ¡Ay, caramba!
Dirk sat back in his seat and sighed. His heartbeat became noticeable again.
They pulled into the parking lot of The La Hacienda right before noon. The place was packed, which was to be suspected on a Friday.
The trio of young men hopped out of the Pilot and walked into the foyer of the restaurant. Dirk modified his pace to slowly slip behind his friends without it becoming obvious that he was using them for cover while he looked around for Talia.
When the hostess, who clearly looked nothing like what Dirk remembered, sat them at their booth, he could feel the disappointment sinking in. She’s not here, he thought. Their drinks and their chips arrived at the table and about the time they were wrapping up their orders with the waiter, there she was. Back in the corner, behind the bar. When he heard her laugh, he knew. Blake was sitting to his right up against the window while Jeremy sat across from him. Both were oblivious and neither had her in their line of sight. Dirk ran a hand through his own head of hair which wasn’t really long enough for the short mop to actually go anywhere.
“Excuse me,” Dirk said as the waiter was leaving. “Is the girl behind the bar… is her name Talia?”
“Si,” the waiter replied as he walked away completely disinterested in any further conversation.
Derek stared straight down the aisle between the booths, to the bar, as Corona bottles that were blown up like beach balls hung from the ceiling directly above the walkway.
She didn’t look as if she’d aged a day. She still had that noticeable tattoo on her wrist and forearm, but she had extended the sleeve, as it were, to include something Dirk thought looked Bohemian or tribal.
“Is that her?” Blake asked leaning all the way over until his head lay sarcastically on Dirk’s shoulder.
“Get,” Dirk said lightly bucking him off.
The men at the bar, in their work clothes, drinking their Bud Lights, and shamelessly flirting with the lady bartender annoyed Dirk. But that was because he was jealous. No other reason. He didn’t see any possible way he was ever going to have a conversation with her. A short time later, the food arrived and after ten to fifteen minutes of the guys hassling him about not going over to talk to her, they moved on with their banter.
“Did you hear about all that craziness that happened?” Jeremy said in between chips and salsa. “I mean with the house that burned down over the summer up in the North End and everyone moving?”
“Who didn’t hear about it?” Dirk said as he began piling his steak fajitas into a tortilla. “The mayor of Widow's Peak gets murdered and everyone gets the hell out of dodge? That ain't news?”
“Heard a lot more happened than just that though,” Blake said as he grabbed his soda.
“Just stories though,” Dirk said.
He didn’t really care to talk over lunch about someone getting killed.
“You know what’s not just a story though?” Jeremy said leaning in as if to tell some big secret.
“Yeah, what’s that?” Dirk said.
“The mayor is dead.”
“And?” Dirk asked.
“Someone killed him,” Blake said pointing out what he clearly thought was the obvious.
“I thought they said he hung himself,” Dirk said.
“Yeah, but then what about the people living in the house that burned down?” Jeremy asked. “What about the cop whose wife is missing? What about all the missing people or the fact that Feds have secured a couple different locations around town?”
“What about it?” Dirk asked. “We can’t do anything about it, so what difference does it make?”
“Don’t you at least wanna know?” Blake asked.
“Doesn’t affect me any,” Dirk shrugged.
“That’s callous, bro,” Blake said munching on a flauta.
“I know it is,” Dirk said. “But what do you want me to do about it?”
“Be aware and maybe act like you at least give a rat’s ass?” Jeremy asked.
“Why are you guys getting on my case about something that happened over the summer? I just didn’t want to discuss a murder while I eat.”
Dirk didn’t realize just how loud he’d gotten while speaking and the people at the table across from them were suddenly quiet and trying not to stare.
“Sorry,” Dirk said in their direction before looking back at his meal.
“My bad,” Jeremy said. “Let’s just forget about it and enjoy the weekend.”
“What time you planning on heading back tomorrow?” Dirk said.
“Calm down,” Jeremy said. We haven’t even made it to Fort Wayne and you’re already whining about going home? Don’t ruin this for me because I plan on having an excellent Friday evening.”
Jeremy and Blake toasted their soda cups.
“Alright, alright,” Dirk said. “You’re right…”
His voice trailed off as Talia walked down their aisle and their eyes made contact for the first time since high school. He looked at her and smiled. She smiled back and kept walking. Blake started laughing and when Dirk turned to look at him, Blake laughed harder. Dirk felt his face flush crimson and he went back to eating without saying a word until he was done, his mouth wiped clean, and the check paid.
As the trio headed back out into the parking lot, he heard the name for the first time in such a long time, his heart felt as if it had skipped a beat just like it used to all those years ago.
“Dierks?” Talia hollered from the front door of the establishment. “Dierks Bentley?”
Dirk turned around and smiled at her. She ran toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck squeezing him tightly.
When she let him go, she looked him up and down.
“Dierks, you finally put some weight on that tiny frame!”
Her accent was less noticeable, yet every bit as adorable as he remembered.
“Talia, I don’t know what to say,” Dirk said dumbfounded.
Her hair was cut at the shoulders. She had on a red and blue-checkered button up shirt that was tied off at the waist exposing her naturally tanned belly button. Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots, exactly the girl I remember, he thought.
“Bad Boys For Life!!” Blake shouted as he snapped his fingers. That’s where I’ve seen Paola Núñez!”
The look Dirk shot him made Jeremy let out a belly laugh.
“Thank you for that clarification, Blake,” Dirk said shaking his head no.
“Hi, I’m Jeremy,” he said as he took Talia’s petite hand in his massive paw. Jeremy looked the size of a lineman for the Ohio State Buckeyes. Next to her, he looked like a parent handing a child Halloween candy.
After the usual pleasantries, his pals offered to wait in the Pilot until he was done catching up. This was all Dirk had truly hoped for. Five minutes of peace.
“Talia, I ran into Lita just recently as well.”
Her countenance completely changed.
“How’s the ol’ hag?”
“What?” Dirk said confused.
Her beauty was somehow masked with an anger that clouded everything he admired about her appearance.
“Look, I no talk about her,” she said.
Dirk was caught off guard by her sudden switch from American slang to what he thought sounded like forced broken English. He studied her face for a second until he sensed that she knew that’s what he was doing.
“It was great to see you again, Dierks,” Talia said with sadness in her voice. “I wish things... I wish things would’ve been different.”
With that, she walked away from him and he watched the rather large wooden door that had been painted a rather bright pink close behind her as she went back inside. He suddenly realized what an eyesore the pastel colors were on the outside of the building: The trim, the stucco walls, and that double door entrance in all its gaudiness. As he stood there by himself in the parking lot, it finally dawned on him that he couldn’t care less about the restaurant’s décor. Just saddened with the turn of events, he walked back to the vehicle and climbed in.
“Get her number?” Blake asked.
“Nah,” Dirk said with utter disappointment resonating in the air. “Let’s just go.”
Jeremy didn’t say a word. He pulled out of the parking lot and hopped back onto the highway headed north.
When they arrived at some apartment building, Dirk had no idea where they were. His pals paid no attention to him as they did their best to hit on a couple girls that they both apparently knew already. Someone had tried talking to Dirk, but all he could think about was retracing the lunch hour back at The La Hacienda. He thought about his conversation with Lita back at the gas station. He was sipping a Great Lakes Elliot Ness when his eyes went wide. Lita said his grandfather had been looking for Talia. After all these years? That didn’t make any sense. Then he thought about his conversation with his dad and his grandfather back at the ranch. Gramps seemed pretty enamored with Talia when she was brought up. Grandma had passed away some years back and he’d never seen his grandfather even remotely express interest in anyone else. What was the interest in Talia Sanchez?
As he retraced his conversation with Talia out in the parking lot, he remembered looking at her tattoos. Her left arm had become mostly a sleeve of really elaborate artwork. The kind of thing white girls with dreadlocks, long skirts, from overly priced boutiques, and tie dye shirts might get if they’d gone to Southeast Asia to find themselves.
The inside of her wrist had a tattoo of a circle inside a star, inside a sun. The pattern didn’t mean anything to him, but he remembered that design specifically for some odd reason. The pattern seemed a tad familiar to him, but a star could be anything. Hell, enough Texans had been around the ranch with their Lone Star symbols on things they owned, including their aptly named beer Dirk thought akin to pumpkin beer. Trash. He took out his phone and began surfing the web to no avail. He wasn’t sure where to look for that design. He tried googling tribal tattoos, but he never found what he was looking for.
One the drive home, the following afternoon, Jeremy’s iPhone was shuffling music and Sublime’s catchy guitar riff blared loud and clear through the Pilot’s speakers.
“I don’t practice Santeria…!”
“Wait, what is Santeria?”
Jeremy turned down the volume.
“I dunno, man,” he said. “Ain’t that some weird voodoo shit?”
“I think that’s something they do in the islands, don’t they?” Blake asked aloud. “He was staring at his phone again.
“The islands, like the Caribbean?” Dirk asked.
“Any other islands any of us actually know or care about besides the Hawaiian Islands?” Blake muttered as he watched a Call of Duty match on YouTube.
“But Santeria isn’t a Mexican thing, is it?” Dirk asked.
“Hell, I dunno,” Jeremy said looking into the rearview mirror at Dirk. “They have their Day of the Dead stuff, don’t they?”
“Is that the skeleton parade with Catholicism mixed in?” Dirk asked.
“You’re asking the wrong guy,” Jeremy said matter-of-factly. “I remember seeing it in a James Bond movie.”
“Ohhhhh!” Blake hollered out as if he was contributing the conversation because the same secret agent had been mentioned again.
Later that afternoon, Dirk had changed into his work clothes and was out in the barn looking for his toolbelt when his father walked in, kicking some hay aside with his boot.
“Good night last night?” Robert Benson asked.
“Sure dad,” Dirk said. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Did you find Talia?” his father asked. “Saw Jeremy and his brother moving the skid loader onto the trailer about an hour ago. He said you ate at the Mexican restaurant over in Van Wert yesterday.”
“I saw her,” Dirk said. “She’s definitely changed.”
The expression on his father’s face was clear as he recognized the disappointment in his son’s voice.
“Sorry son,” he said. “Worth a shot though, right?”
“Sure,” Dirk said. “You never know til you try.”
His father made a small move toward the door as if he realized the conversation was over.
“Hold up, dad,” Dirk said pulling a mechanical pencil out of his toolbelt. He looked around for something to draw on. A piece of bark lay on the floor next to the stacked woodpile in western corner of the barn. Dirk drew the tattoo as he remembered from Talia’s wrist. He stepped back and looked at his father who picked up the piece of wood and brought the bark closer to his face for inspection.
“No, can’t say that I have,” his father said as he took the wooden crust and tossed it several feet away into black Rubbermaid trash can in the opposite corner.
Why he hadn’t thrown the bark back in the pile, Dirk found odd.
“Your mother said supper will be at six promptly tonight if you’re interested,” his father said as he walked out of the stable. “Thought you weren’t gonna be around tonight.”
Since he had come to live at the farm again, he’d walked through the family home, a rather large estate, only a handful of times. When he walked through the den, two of the four walls were covered in family photos that went back to the turn of the previous century. The Benson family must’ve had a thousand cousins and that was just on his father’s side. Outside of the foreign help, just about most of the ranch hands had been distant cousins. Even Jeremy was third or fourth cousins with Dirk. He never kept track. Who could?
As he walked by the pool table, Dirk let his fingertips brush the velvet colored billiard cloth. He began perusing the faces on each of the pictures elegantly framed over the mantle, the leather armchairs, and behind an old saddle that his grandfather had once told him one of their descendants had ridden for the Union in the Civil War. As he stopped in front of the saddle, he rested his hands on both the swell and the cantle as he leaned in to look at some black and white photos from the 1950s.
There was a picture of his great-grandfather, great-grandmother, his grandfather, and two great-uncles. There was another picture of the three boys playing out in the yard with baseball gloves while Dirk assumed the fourth boy in the photo was a neighbor or relative. As Dirk leaned in to look a little closer, there in the window of the house behind the boys was a dark-haired girl looking directly at the camera. The look on her face was menacing and her gaze made Dirk gulp. He had never noticed her before.
“Dirk?” his mother called.
He jerked around so fast, he thought, for a split second, he’d given himself whiplash.
“Hey mom!” he said nervously.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked innocently enough. Mrs. Benson had sandy blonde hair like her son, tied back in a bun as she wore jeans, rolled up sleeves herself, and a flowery kitchen apron.
“Just looking around,” Dirk said as he wiped the sweat beads off his brow. “You just startled me was all.”
“Sorry hun,” she said. “You gonna be here for supper tonight?”
“Sure thing, mom,” he said.
“Great!” she said before she disappeared around the corner.
Dirk turned back to the photo and the young girl with the evil stare was no longer in the window. That’s not possible! he thought. He blinked hard and then looked again. Still not there!
He looked around the room one last time, he saw his grandfather through the window talking to his father outside on the backyard lawn. Both wearing their Stetson hats, wrangler jeans, borderline matching shirts, and boots. He would’ve mistaken them for having friendly banter if it weren’t for the troubled look on his father’s face and the angry look his grandfather wore.
That night at the dinner table, his grandfather was conspicuously missing. When asking of his whereabouts, his father brushed the topic aside and began discussing the fencing project with his mother.
Dirk went into the kitchen to refill his drinking glass with water. The entrance to the kitchen from the garage had a coatrack mounted on the wall to the left of the door. Dirk had used it thousands of times and it’s where he hung his hat a thousand times as well. His grandfather’s Stetson hung on one of the hooks. Dirk immediately noticed because none of the Benson men ever left home without them. Dirk had even left his locked in his truck when he’d left for Indiana the day before. That was a sign they were either home or not.
Dirk grabbed the hat, inspecting the leather band that he noticed to be custom made. Then his heart felt as if it had stopped within his chest. The insignia, front and center, on the his grandfather’s Diamante, was the symbol he’d seen on Talia’s wrist. The exact same shape he’d drawn for his father. He turned to walk back into the dining room, but his father was standing directly behind him causing Dirk to jump.
“What are you doing, Dirk?” his father asked.
“I was about to ask you about this,” Dirk lifted the hat chest level between the two men.
“I know, Dirk,” his father said sadly.
“Why did you lie to me earlier about it?” Dirk asked angrily.
“Because it’s none of your business yet,” his father said in a straightforward tone.
“Where is grandpa?” Dirk asked.
“He’s busy,” came the reply. It was his mother in the doorway.
“Doing what?” Dirk snapped. “What is going on?”
“You remember when we told you about letting Lita and her family go?” his father said.
“Fired her for stealing?” Dirk asked.
“Yes, but that’s not exactly what happened,” his father said. “Come with me.”
As he followed his father out into the backyard and along the newly built, yet unfinished fence, he began to notice a fire out in the distance. The bonfire was becoming more visible as they drew closer in silence. The flames were coming from the newly acquired property and Dirk began to hear a distinctly female voice and then a male voice as well.
“Stop,” Dirk said feeling extremely uncomfortable as he began to shiver in fear. “I’m not going a step further until you tell me what’s going on.”
Just then, as the dusk began to disappear, he began to hear roosters crowing. The sounds themselves were emanating from the same place directly in front of them. Dirk had put his windbreaker on, but knowing something was wrong, he’d left his SIG Sauer P226 on the kitchen counter. Hoping that he could trust his parents, he’d suddenly realized the mistake may have been to leave home unarmed.
“Dad,” Dirk said. His father would not make eye contact. “What are the roosters doing out here?”
There was no reply.
“Dad!”
The voices stopped. His father continued walking. Dirk watched him for a moment before he turned to see his mother standing behind him with a strange look on her face.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she said in a strange tone. “It’s for the best.”
She nudged him and then took ahold of his forearm while pulling him along. He tried to pull away but she squeezed harder.
“Mom, no,” Dirk said as tears began to roll down his cheeks.
“Come here, boy!” his grandfather boomed.
Dirk gave in to his mother as he slowly moved closer toward the opening in the woods where the fire cackled and the roosters were running back and forth in their cages in fear.
He looked at his grandfather who seemed to look like he’d de-aged at least ten years. In fact, he looked like he could pass for a sibling of Dirk’s father. His hair was less grey. More hazel. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and blood had splattered across his chin and chest. As Dirk looked at the ground in horror, several roosters had already been slaughtered as their blood lay wet upon the grass in a triangle shape that John Benson stood in the center of. Talia was gyrating on the other side of the fire as only the whites of her eyes were visible.
“She only comes around once every ten years, son,” Robert Benson said with sadness. “But if you perform the ritual, she adds ten years to your life.”
“In exchange for what?” Dirk snapped.
“What else, silly?” Talia laughed as her tongue seemed to slither back and forth out of her head in a way not possible for human beings.
“That’s not true,” Dirk said pointing passed the flames. “I saw her all the time in high school!”
“Ah, Talia was around, yes,” she exclaimed into the air as if talking to someone else completely. “But the spirit of espiritismo was not always upon her.”
“Then who was the girl in the picture back at the house?” Dirk shouted at her in anger.
His parents stopped to look at Dirk in confusion.
“What girl?” his mother asked behind him. Dirk turned to her, his face burning with rage.
“A young girl that looked like Talia in one of grandpa’s old photos. The one where they’re playing baseball. She was in the window and then she was gone.”
"Why, she wa-" his grandfather began to reply.
His grandfather’s head turned quickly toward Talia, but before he could speak or move, she leapt high over the flames in an inhuman pounce. Dirk looked at the ground by John Benson’s feet and the blood seemed to dry up in the heat of the flames. She landed on his grandfather who cried out in pain. Her mouth latched onto his throat as Dirk’s parents both cried aloud in horror.
Dirk, though not a religious man, instinctively drew the sign of the cross as he looked to see his father raise a forearm in fear. Talia had leapt again. Dirk charged, striking her in the blood soaked jaw as she landed on his father. His own mother ran passed all of them, scooping up the ceremonial knife that lay next to his grandfather. She was moving toward the roosters.
The distraction gave Talia the moment she needed to swat Dirk like a fly. His body hit the ground several feet from where he was standing. She bit into his father’s throat as he heard Robert Benson cry out in similar fashion to the dead man staring horrified into the night sky. Dirk’s head darted in every direction looking for a weapon. His mother was slitting the throat of a rooster and pouring the blood around her as fast as she could. Dirk realized she must be trying to protect herself. Talia hissed like an animal and prepared to lunge at Dirk who shouted Jesus! as loud as his lungs could possibly let loose. She screeched as if hitting a brick wall. Her animal-like prowess turned lightning quick at a forty-five degree angle. She lunged on top of his mother who’d not yet completed the circle. She’d dropped the second rooster as Talia landed on top of her. She screamed only for her outcry to be muffled by the rooster scrambling to get away in the forest.
Dirk snatched his father’s pistol out of the holster on his hip as he lay motionless on the ground. Dirk leveled the weapon at Talia as she leaned back in a triumphant roar. Dirk shot her in the back three times. She howled in pain until she turned, scowling at him, and then he shot her in the head as he stepped toward her. Her body crumpled to the ground and she lay motionless next to his mother. Horrified at the sight of his mother’s mouth agape in terror, he had no idea what to say or do. He broke down in tears and held her head in his hands as he touched his forehead to hers.
“Dirk,” a mumbled effort whispered.
Realizing his dad was still alive, he gently placed his mother’s head back onto the grass and ran to where his father lay.
“Dad! Dad!” Dirk choked, frantic at the sight of blood. He grabbed his grandfather’s shirt that lay nearby, miserably attempting to stop the flow of blood. His father lay his own bloody hand on his son’s forearm.
“I’m sorry, my boy,” he said softly. “I should’ve heeded the warning signs.”
He spit up blood as he coughed. Dirk lifted his father’s head as he knelt beside him.
“God forgive me,” he said as his own eyes filled with tears. “You were right cryin' out to Jesus, my boy. I didn’t listen, but I’m listenin' now.”
“To what, Dad?” Dirk said in tears.
“Don’t you hear them?” Robert Benson asked in a soft moan.
“Hear who?”
“The angels.”
Robert Benson closed his eyes for the last time.
Six weeks later, Dirk Benson had buried his parents, sold the plot of land where they had been slain, and reestablished the original fence line of the property. There was some explaining to do with the local police. But for reasons unknown to him, they seemed to be a little too calm in addressing the situation by which Dirk had to defend himself. Chief Lou Roberts told him that someone with the last name Pace would contact him soon enough.
The temperature had been dropping, and the leaves on the trees were changing color, as autumn was finally settling in. Dirk walked out to his truck, on a Tuesday morning, getting ready to head into town. A black Cadillac was parked behind his vehicle as he walked down the steps toward the paved driveway. Lita stepped out of the passenger side door in a winter coat that looked a couple sizes too big. Dirk, with both hands in his jean jacket pockets, stopped in his tracks and watched her. She walked up to him and put both hands on his cheeks.
“Querido muchacho,” she said as tears began to well. “I so sorry.”
Dirk looked straight forward to maintain composure.
“You knew, didn’t you, Lita?”
She nodded and said si.
“About my parents too?”
She nodded again.
“Is that why they let you go? It wasn’t theft?”
“No theft the way you think,” Lita said. “I pray for you every day. They think I steal you away.”
“This was about me?” Dirk asked with surprise.
“Your soul, señor,” she said. “Iz always the soul.”
“What about Talia?” he asked as he watched Lita head back to the car.
“She gone,” came the reply. "She show in photos when she about to come back. She gone."
And then so was Lita as he watched the car drive away.
As Thanksgiving drew closer, Dirk Benson stopped at a local diner for morning coffee. He said hello and tipped his new Stetson JBS Heritage to a few familiar faces as he walked past them. Unzipping his winter Weatherproof jacket, he sat down at a booth and picked up the menu.
“How are you doing?” came a pleasant female voice. There was a hint of an accent, but subtly.
Dirk glanced up from the menu. The waitress’ hair was pulled back and up. She seemed to be holding it all in place with a pencil. Her face was lovely, but Dirk frowned as he couldn’t possibly have missed this beauty in this seemingly random locale in such a small town. She looked to be maybe an inch or two over five foot. She had perfectly straight, white teeth and she seemed genuinely happy. Something he himself had not been for a while.
“Hi,” he began as he looked at her nametag. “Luciana, how are you?”
“Great, how are you?” she said smiling.
“I’m Dirk Benson, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Dirk.”
Dirk looked at the bare forearm. No tattoos.
“Luciana, have you worked here long? I’ve never seen you before.”
“I transferred to the Lake campus for the fall. I’ll graduate after this year. Agricultural Business Management.”
“That’s very specific,” Dirk said.
“It is,” Luciana said smiling.
He smiled back at her.
“Luciana, would you mind having dinner with me this evening?”
Dirk Benson heard himself say the words, but he never dreamt in a million years he would be so forward. He wasn’t expect-
“I’d love to,” Luciana said smiling. “What time you thinking?”
“Whatever is convenient for you,” he said. “I don’t know your schedule.”
She leaned forward to unravel a napkin from the utensils it held in place. Pulling a pen out of her pocket, she wrote her number down, sliding the napkin closer to him as she stood back up. He quietly breathed in the fragrance that wafted in his direction.
“Call me after four this afternoon.”
“Luciana, you don’t practice Santeria, do you?”
“What? No,” she said with a confused look before laughing.
“That’s wonderful,” Dirk said still grinning.
“I only think of that stupid Sublime song when I hear the word, Santeria.”
“I hate Sublime,” Dirk said.
“You and me both,” she said.
“After four, you said?” Dirk asked.
“Absolutely,” she said.
That smile, he thought.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll just take a cup of coffee,” he said.
“No lunch?” she asked.
“I just realized I’ve got something to do before four o’ clock.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” she smiled as she put a hand on her hip.
“It’ll be better if you’re surprised this evening.”
“Oh yeah?” Luciana said smiling.
“Si,” Dirk said as he folded the napkin and leaned back to slide the paper into his jean pocket.
