Chapter 2: Into Thin Air

When Kelly Hargrove returned home after her swing shift, she found the door ajar and the house empty. Her voice echoed in the main room when she called for her husband. She found a large binder on the kitchen table titled: ‘Exhibit A—Copy One (of six)’, and what she saw made her scream hysterically. Her world imploded with the realization that her infidelity had not just been discovered but captured in high-resolution video. She stumbled into their empty bedroom with tear-filled eyes and instinctively turned toward the corner from which her betrayal had been captured. She spotted the camera and shrieked in dismay. The thick binder contained all the evidence he had collected against her with the help of his private investigator.

There were transcripts of calls and texts from her lover from the wireless company covering several months. Date and time stamped texts between her and her husband, assuring him that she would be in one place, while her iPhone tracker and GPS screenshots showed her elsewhere—often the Ecolodge off I-5 in North Lancaster—where digital photographs with matching tags revealed her red Toyota Corolla parked before a guest room. In over half a dozen instances, she was seen leaving the room and getting in her car, always several minutes before her lover. A legend would accompany a set of images or texts referring to a mylar page in the binder where co-labeled thumb drives were placed in protective sleeves to corroborate with audio or video files.

The PI discovered the mysterious man’s identity when he caught him leaving a shared hotel room and climbing into a newer model Prius with California tags. It was registered to a radiology technician hired by the hospital less than a year ago. His name was Brian Oakley from Stockton. His unique face and comical expressions were captured digitally as he tumbled in Vince and Kelly’s bed with his estranged wife.

The last two 64 MB thumb drives had explicit bedroom videos with enhanced clarity as they fucked in every position. The audio was filled with moans, grunts, and slurps as they explored each other orally.

Earlier, Vince removed all his belongings from their home, including his tools, clothes, and the laptop he used for evidence. He left her the furniture and everything they had bought. He left his cell phone on the nightstand next to his bed and disappeared.

He stored excess items in a temporary storage unit, including a welder, work benches, and power tools like his table saw, drill press, sanders, lathes, and mills, as well as the crossbow he bought for himself as a birthday present. Since Phil’s death, he developed a disdain for guns but still intended to hunt. To that end, he bought an Excalibur Twin Strike crossbow, capable of loading and firing two arrows from upper and lower rails with separate triggers. He often practiced shooting until he consistently placed both arrows within ½ inch of each other at 50 yards.

“Why not divorce?” Clint asked.

“What’s the point?” he replied. “I gain nothing but a long, expensive legal battle. It’s a no-fault state, so her fucking around means nothing to the courts.”

“But you’ll still be legally tied to the bitch,” Clint said. “What if you find a good woman?”

“Not happening, boss!” he retorted. “No way in Hell I’ll repeat that mistake!” He grinned. “And now she can’t either unless she files for divorce. And it won’t cost me shit.”

There was silence as the crusty old foreman realized his motive. “What now?”

“I’m gonna disappear for a while, sir,” he replied. “My grandparents left me a piece of land in the middle of nowhere. We used to go camping, hunting, and fishing there when we were kids. There are no phones, utilities, and barely a road. I’m going to park a trailer there while I build a cabin. Don’t expect I’ll be coming back for a while.”

“Don’t forget about us, boy!” the man said. “Keep those union dues paid up—”

“Ms. Hoffmeyer set up automatic deductions from my account.”

“Good,” he paused. “Stay frosty. I don’t want to see more fucked up news about ya. When you’re ready, we’ll be here. Got it?”

“Copy that.”

The 13-acre plot was in the foothills of the Cascade Mountain range, about 20 miles southeast of Mount Hood. It straddled Robinhood Creek and was accessible via NF-3520 off Highway 35. During camping trips with his grandparents, he remembered fishing, swimming, hunting, skiing, and hiking in the surrounding NF property.

Even a mediocre PI could’ve tracked him through the probate records from his late grandparent’s estate. But he doubted his ex had the temerity or foresight. After his disclosure of her infidelity, she had zero chance to speak to his parents. He maintained a minimal social footprint but had vanished and intended to remain that way. He sent copies of the binder to her parents (divorced), her grandparents, and the hospital’s HR Director. The PI set up a fake Facebook account to trick her into friending him and destroy her social media with damning images, videos, and screenshots. She was in a nightmarish tailspin, and all he felt was a rough bump as he turned onto the old dirt road from his childhood.

The snow was deep as he navigated the treacherous route. The further he went, the less likely he would find help if he slid off the icy forest service road. By the time he reached Robinhood Creek, he was gripping the wheel of his Excursion tightly. ‘Three-quarters of a mile ‘til The Peanut,’ he told himself as he crept through the unplowed snow drifts. The Peanut was a peculiar stack of boulders resembling the Planters Nut brand identifier. The undeveloped drive onto his property could be found directly behind The Peanut, but it was a scary maneuver under normal conditions, and he wasn’t sure he could make it in this beast, in the snow, at night. Only one way to find out—

He drove to the summer camping spot and packed the snow by driving in a circle until the truck was aimed back toward the road and planned to sleep in the back of the Excursion. But first, he had to remove his stuff to make room for his air mattress and sleeping bag, which meant removing his tools and equipment from the job box and moving it onto a nearby pile of rocks. This took over an hour, and by the time he had it refilled and locked, he was cold, wet, and exhausted. Next to it, he stacked several heavy-duty plastic totes with lids containing his clothes, camping supplies, and ‘bug-out’ gear. The sun had risen when he inflated his mattress and rolled out his sleeping bag. After closing himself inside the Ford, he started the motor to warm the interior while he changed out of his wet clothes. He climbed into his sleeping bag and stretched out so that he could easily reach the ignition if it got too cold.

At 4 pm, he woke up needing to pee. He put on wool socks and boots and left the truck in the crisp, clear air. After peeing on a tree, he stretched, wandered around the clearing, and felt a strong sense of belonging. He shivered but skipped his field jacket as he retrieved a propane burner, an aluminum coffee pot, and a bag of Elliott Bay Fog Cutter, which he had bought the day before.

While the coffee brewed, he used his heavy-duty snow shovel to clear a 20 by 30 feet area for the small trailer he wanted. It wasn’t level or packed, but it was suitable. As he worked, he warmed up, and he felt at peace, free from the past four months’ turmoil. He visualized bringing in the 24-foot Coleman LT and setting it up.

Navigating The Peanut was going to be a bitch. It would involve detaching, dragging, sliding, and turning, but he had moved building supplies into remote areas without helicopters. He knew you could move anything with dunnage, skids, a come along (or, in this case, the power winch on his Excursion), and stubbornness. Hell, look what the Egyptians did.

The first cup of hot coffee in his clearing, surrounded by snow-covered trees, put his mind at ease. He saw the steel job box he used as a table and a folding canvas chair, and he cleared the old fire ring where they cooked hot dogs, burgers, and S’mores. Leaning against a tree was a rusty grate; behind it was a trail that led to Robinhood Creek. He could hear the water flowing. Years ago, he, his grandfather, and Phil had widened the creek and circled it with large rocks, creating a shallow pool for fishing and splashing. Vince wasn’t much of an angler, but it didn’t matter. He used a simple spool of monofilament line, a couple of split shots, and a small hook with a red egg or a kernel of corn to catch trout. He bought a folding rod and reel that measured only 15 inches when deployed. He hadn’t tried it yet but looked forward to some pan-fried trout.

After breakfast, he surveyed the clearing, imagining the layout of the trailer. He planned to build a shelter with a metal roof over the trailer and a semi-permanent tool shed with a timber and metal roof over the job box, which could be repurposed as a woodshed later. While pondering, he began creating a materials list.

The nearest town was Odell, and further to the north, there was Hood River for supplies. For city life, Portland was an hour to the northwest. The 24-foot Coleman belonged to a coworker’s friend who bought it new four years ago and made renovations. He replaced the water heater with a marine tankless heater, enlarged the fridge, converted the small head to an indoor shower, and rewired the main panel, adding a bigger transformer and two deep-cycle batteries for continuous power with solar energy. It was wired for external power and utilities. Vince was quoted $22,000 and gave the man $5,000 and a handshake to hold it. Among the gear he brought, he had a 5000-Watt Harbor Freight generator for his tools and to recharge his batteries.

The forecast didn’t predict new snow, and the sun was melting the thin layer. He cleared a wide area next to the job box and his stack of totes for the Coleman. The chosen spot was sloped, so he spent the rest of the day grading and tamping the site with a pick, shovel, and laser level. At dusk, he used a chainsaw to cut up fallen trees for firewood.

Sitting by the campfire, he felt peaceful for the first time in a while. He cherished memories with his grandparents, Phil and his baby sister, Cassidy, without regret or loss. He could finally set aside heavy emotions and enjoy the solitude.

The next morning, after his coffee, he widened the hairpin around The Peanut. He cleared low bushes and a rhododendron, expanding the bend around the rocky formation that partially concealed his narrow road. Eventually, he would grade it to make it more accessible, but for now, he had to make do with his axe and saw.

In Odell, he remembered the Red Apple Diner from his childhood. He stopped for breakfast and recognized the long-time staff before heading to the local hardware store.

It took him two hours to tow the Coleman to his property and the rest of the day to maneuver it around the sharp bend and onto its semi-permanent site. The former owner gave him the cinder blocks it was set on, and Vince used them to ensure a sturdy and level foundation. The two 30 lb. propane tanks on the towing bar were enough for several weeks, but he planned to buy a bigger 100 lb. tank for winter. The trailer also had a silent-running Honda generator that ran for 12 hours on a single tank, powering everything and charging the batteries.

Within a week, he completed the metal roof shelter over the Coleman and the lean-to for his job box. While drafting a floor plan for his cabin, he looked into locally sourced and milled lumber, leading him to Carl Finely’s small sawmill. After paying and offering to help with cutting, Vince secured a source of material. They agreed to spend every other day—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday sourcing and cutting logs, giving Vince time to transport and stage materials and clear a wider area for construction.

He paid for a perk test and septic permit but insisted on doing the tank and drain field himself. Thanks to the Job Corps, he was proficient in operating heavy equipment and used his connections to arrange and use the needed machines. When he couldn’t do the task or had too many projects, he contracted the work. Widening and graveling his road was one such job he outsourced because the owner of the D9 and Grader hesitated to loan out his equipment. To excavate the organic material from his building site and revise the ‘bend’ around The Peanut, he rented a smaller skid steer with a bucket and digger attachment.

Vince worked all day and into each night preparing the lot for his cabin and cutting and hauling lumber for his permanent home. He went to bed exhausted but fulfilled and woke eager to continue. The 1000 sq. ft. cabin had a simple floor plan, featuring an entry great room with an open kitchen on the left and two bedrooms and a full bathroom on the right. A single staircase led to a 300 sq. ft. loft. It had a wood stove for heating/cooking and a gas range, oven, and refrigerator.

The first step was to dig and inspect the septic field. His construction connections helped. He began preparing his foundation less than a month after moving.

After his separation, he kept in distant contact with his parents but made it clear he needed time apart until he felt better. They respected his wishes, but he found old messages whenever he turned on his phone. This was also how he received updates about Kelly. She had to leave the state in shame and followed her boyfriend Brian to California, where she spent months getting her state license as a nurse.

By mid-summer, his cabin took shape with square beam walls almost reaching the eave level. He framed, wired, and plumbed the interior, then insulated and paneled the walls after installing the timber floor of the loft. Elaine asked him to pretend to pursue his journeyman certification to justify the training stipend she had arranged. It wasn’t the salary he had as a senior Apprentice, but enough. He re-evaluated and drove to the trade school, obtaining the texts and training materials for the required exams. During quiet evenings, studying under lamp light, he realized he was feeling lonely. Still anti-social, it wasn’t human company he sought. He was never allowed to have a pet because of his mother’s germophobic mentality.

There was a nondescript no-kill animal shelter off Cemetery Road that he drove by every time he went into town. The sign informed him that they were open for adoptions on Mondays and Wednesdays and for Intakes by appointment only. It was Monday afternoon when he returned home with a flat trailer full of truss materials, so he turned down the road to check it out.

He was greeted by barks from an outdoor fenced yard behind the large building. With few cars in the lot, he parked along the perimeter. Inside, he found a lobby with a long counter and cubicles. A middle-aged couple was being helped by a tall woman. They had a Pitbull mix on a leash that was thrilled to be adopted. The lobby had shelves and kiosks with wet and dry foods for different species and accessories like collars, leashes, muzzles, and harnesses.

He spotted a man at a nearby desk working on a computer. When he approached, he noticed the man wore a thick sweater with a badge embroidered on the left breast and the initials C. Mann. The man glanced up briefly, “Dropping off?” he mumbled.

“Uh ... no,” Vince replied. “I just dropped in to see the animals. Can I—”

“I only do intakes, buddy,” the man replied gruffly, pointing at the ball cap on the desk that read Animal Control. “You’ll want to talk to Shannon when she’s done with those guys. Just take a seat, and she’ll be with you in a minute.”

Vince nodded, found a couple of seats along the front wall, and looked around briefly. The couple was wrapping up their adoption and led the pup outside.

“Can I help you?”

His first impression of the woman was that she was tall and ‘hippie-ish,’ from her tie-dyed t-shirt, stained and faded blue jean cut-offs, and Birkenstocks with wool ankle-high socks. She had long dark dreadlocks and multiple facial piercings on her left eyebrow, septum, and lower lip, as well as butterscotch eyes. He noticed her European all-natural culture vibe from her stubbly legs and hairy pits spilling out of her short sleeves. He also noticed her bulky, sinewy muscles.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and stood. “Hi,” he greeted, holding out his hand. “I’m Vince. I came to see about taking an animal off your hands.”

She briefly clasped his hand and released it as she asked, “By taking, you mean adopting, right?”

“Uh ... yeah, sure,” he stammered, feeling her first impression was less genial than his.

“Hmph,” she replied, turning to the desk where she had been when he entered. She waved at one of the swivel chairs. “Let’s have you complete some paperwork and see what we can do.” She grabbed a small stack of paper-clipped forms from an organizer. “Interested in a cat or a dog?”

“Definitely not a cat,” he replied quickly.

“Not a cat person,” she asked wryly, handing him a pen.

“Not a cat ‘litter’ person,” he replied.

“Fair enough,” she replied. “I need a copy of your driver’s license and a non-refundable check for $85.”

“I don’t have a checkbook,” he said, taking out his wallet. He produced his license and a hundred-dollar bill. “Can you take cash?”

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowed, took his license, and stepped over to a photocopier. “You can pay with a credit card, but there’s a 15% convenience fee.”

He shook his head as he studied the first form. “No credit card either.” He didn’t look up, sensing her disbelief.

“I’ll have to check if I have change,” she said, handing back his license. “Complete the top of this yellow form and check all the boxes on the red affidavit for your background check.”

“Background check?” He looked up surprised. “Why?”

“We do background checks for all adoptions, like with kids, to ensure our rescues go to the right family.”

“Huh,” he replied as he studied the form. He held the pen and twirled it while pondering the required information.

“Problem?” she asked guardedly.

“Huh?” He looked up, then shook his head. “No, I’m just trying to think about what to put for the address.”

“That would be where you live,” she replied gruffly, her tone growing more sarcastic.

“I know, but I don’t have a physical address.”

She stared at him for a second and then glanced down at his license. “3120 Horton Place sounds like a—”

“Yeah, I don’t live there anymore,” he interrupted.

“Okay, where do you get your mail?”

“General Delivery in Odell,” he answered. “I’m on the box list.”

“You just moved?”

He nodded. In the background, there were frequent dog barks behind closed doors.

“We need to know where the pet will stay,” she frowned.

He nodded thoughtfully, flipped the form over, and began drawing on the back.

“Um ... what are you doing?” she asked tersely.

“I’m drawing you a map,” he replied. “I’m off-grid on a property in the Cascade foothills.” He began drawing lines. “You know where the Nordic Alpine Park is, right?” He didn’t await her answer. “You take 35 just north of the ski resort and then head west on NF 44 about here. It turns into 3540, and you just follow it—” he glanced up to find her staring at him with her arms crossed.

“You’re gonna be one of those guys, huh?”

“What do you mean?” he asked innocently.

“You make everything difficult.”

His face warmed from her chiding, and he stammered awkwardly. A part of him wanted to leave. He bit back his defensiveness and sighed, “Look, Ms ... I never got your name.”

“Presley,” she replied. “Shannon Presley.”

“Ms. Presley—”

“Call me Shannon,” she interrupted.

He blinked, “I’m not trying to make this difficult for you, honest.” He tried to sound sincere without being insulted. “I just have unique circumstances—”

She studied him briefly as the background barking got louder and faded. “Finish your map and put ‘see back’ in the address blocks.” She watched as he did so and then flipped the form back over, hesitating once more. She raised an eyebrow, “Do you have a phone number?”

He hesitated and then nodded. “I have a Nokia pay-as-you-go,” he admitted. “But there’s no signal out there, so I only turn it on in town.”

She sighed, “Of course you do. Just put the number down.”

She shook her head incredulously as he hesitated after notating his cell number. She glanced and asked, “What now?”

He glanced up sheepishly, “Marital status?”

“Pretty simple,” she snorted. “Y or N, just circle one.”

“Um ... it’s complicated,” he grimaced apologetically.

“You don’t know if you’re married?” she balked. “Seriously?”

“Well,” he hesitated. “You see ... I was married. But now ... it’s complicated.”

She breathed out with exasperation, “You know what? I don’t even care! Just circle them both! Or leave it blank—”

There was more barking, accompanied by another female voice. A pair of swinging parlor doors burst outward behind Shannon’s back, and she whirled toward the commotion. Vince saw a girl running into the lobby, glaring at something out of his vision. He heard nails scraping on linoleum.

“Get back here, you little wench!” the girl shouted.

A black and white blur darted around the desk like a furry missile, made a course correction, and flew toward him. He only saw a pink tongue, mismatched eyes, and a furry body before the creature landed in his lap.

“Oof!” he gasped. The dog was lighter than expected, but she collided with enough velocity to stagger him in his seat. “Well, hello there!” he stammered.

“Bandi!” the girl cried in disbelief as she rounded the desk. The black and white pup turned and barked defiantly before dropping to her haunches and panting excitedly.