Do you hear the siren’s call

leading you into it all?

You follow all too willingly,

knowing not what you may see.

Behind every wandering heart

A spirit lies deep and dark.

Never take your eyes away

For your heart it will betray.

CHAPTER ONE

The night was strange. Not in any way that could be intuited by the senses, but in a way that was felt deep down in the soul. Above the clouds there was nothing to hinder the view of the moon and thousands of tiny stars. The world always seemed brighter and clearer at thirty thousand feet than it ever did on the ground. Yet tonight he felt on the brink of something.

As the plane began its descent, the ephemeral feeling slowly left him. Whatever uncanny quality about the sky above had given him a sense of the preternatural, it slowly dissipated as they moved down through the shroud of clouds and further still through a plain of fog. The change in air pressure caused his ears to pop, bringing him irrevocably out of his reverie.

Jonas Uhrig arrived at Richmond International airport on time. He made his way down the ramp and out into the gate area. RIC was nearly deserted at this time of night. Only the soft hum of vending machines, the distant sound of a jet engine, and a few janitorial workers sweeping the floor with a soft swish broke the silence.

The distinct airport smell made him smile. He wasn’t sure what elements made up that singular scent that was strictly reserved for airports and he didn’t wish to. He knew only that it always made him feel at home.

He moved quickly toward the baggage claim. He had no suitcase to retrieve. The small duffel slung over his shoulder contained everything he had needed for the trip. Rather, he was picking up his best friend.

Burke never liked to be kept waiting. If Jonas so much as stopped to check the local weather, Burke would greet him with that reproachful look he was so good at and would descend into a pout until Jonas made it up to him with a burger and a milkshake. Not that Jonas blamed him. He couldn’t imagine that being locked up inside a cage in the noisy baggage compartment of a 737 would be much fun for anyone.

He pulled the claim papers from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and passed them over to the clerk. He was a skinny little man that Jonas judged to be somewhere between seventy and infinity who looked first at Jonas, then at the papers, and back to Jonas with an air of scrutiny a number of times. His pursed mouth pinched even more with every glance before he finally nodded and went to retrieve the kennel. Jonas wondered if dognapping was a serious problem or if the clerk was merely suspicious of everyone these days, as most airport personnel seemed to be. Not even the little old ladies of the world were safe from the critical eye of airport security anymore. He supposed it was inevitable, though regrettable.

The clerk returned with the kennel after what seemed an interminably long period of time. Jonas thanked the man, scooping up the kennel without even looking inside. He didn’t need to. He heard the soft chuff from inside that meant Burke was going to insist on a burger and a milkshake whether or not Jonas had come directly to pick him up. Thankfully, Burke rarely barked. He was content with making his wishes known in a quiet and mannerly way.

“It’s almost midnight,” Jonas said as he exited the airport and made his way to the long term parking garage. Tendrils of fog curled around him in the crisp autumn air. The yellow glow from the streetlamps added a sickly radiance to the mist.

Chuff.

“You’d think after all our traveling you’d be used to it by now.”

GrrrCHUFF.

“You’re a regular prima donna sometimes.”

WhineChuff.

“All right, all right,” Jonas said. He set the kennel down beside the Maxima and unlocked the door. A rustling sound from inside the kennel told him that Burke was more than eager to get out of his confinement and into the soft leather seat. “A burger and milkshake it is. I could use some pure cholesterol myself.”

He opened the passenger door and then unlocked the kennel. A flash of tan and sable fur flew past him as the border collie bounded into the passenger seat. Burke pricked up an ear and cocked his head, his back stiffening for an instant.

“What is it?” Jonas asked, briefly looking around. “Doggy jitters?”

Burke kept his pose a moment longer before relaxing, gazing up at Jonas with soulful eyes. Jonas shook his head and closed the door, putting the kennel and his duffel in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel. The dog was strange, and often seemed afraid of some unseen danger, but on the whole he was a happy soul. Ever since the dog turned up on his doorstep two years ago and refused to leave, Jonas was constantly astounded by the dog’s keen intelligence.

Burke grinned as Jonas started the engine. Despite his companion’s aversion to airline travel, he loved riding in the car. Jonas often opted to drive instead of taking a plane to accommodate Burke, but sometimes the situation called for haste.

Through all this, Jonas never felt the presence that had followed him from the gate at the airport and out to his car. He had no precognition of danger, no prickling sensation at the back of his neck, no inexplicable need to look over his shoulder. He never saw the shadow that passed behind his car as he pulled out of the parking space and headed toward the I-64 onramp. To Jonas, there was only Burke in the passenger seat, grinning and panting as they picked up speed.

* * *

It took only minutes to reach the exit, and as he pulled into the drive thru of a late night fast food restaurant, Burke’s panting picked up pace. He ordered two double cheeseburgers, one without bothersome vegetables and condiments in deference to Burke, two milkshakes, and an order of fries. The last were for Jonas. Burke still hadn’t come to appreciate the fine flavor of crisped fried potato.

He put the large takeout bag on the floor of the passenger side, Burke looking longingly at the white gleaming paper as if it held the most valuable of treasures. Jonas figured that for a dog, a burger was indeed the most valued of treasures. He set the milkshakes in the two cup holders between the seats and pulled out onto the street. Burke settled back, but his eyes were still fixed on the bag.

“Not until we get home,” Jonas said.

Burke gave a half-hearted whine before sighing in defeat and looking out the window.

They rode in companionable silence the rest of the way, Jonas’s mind on the trip now behind him, Burke’s on the tantalizing smell of hamburger.

Jonas parked on the curb of the relatively quiet tree lined street in front of the large row house that he called home. It had been home since he was a small boy, and after the death of his parents fifteen years ago, he hadn’t had the heart to sell it. Unlike those days however, he spent less than two months out of the year here. Coming back only between his endless trips, it was more of a way station than a home.

He didn’t believe in the sappy saying ‘Home is where the heart is’. Home is where you keep your stuff, and this was the place he kept his.

Burke gently grabbed the bag off the floor, carrying it between his teeth. He was careful to lift it by the top, apparently not wanting to crush the precious contents. Jonas took the milkshakes, went around to get his duffel from the trunk, and then opened the door for Burke. As the dog exited the car and made his way across the cobblestone walk and up the steps, the front door opened.

“Right on time, as always,” came the lilting Jamaican accent. “I don’t suppose you’ll be needin me ta be makin any supper tonight.”

                “Not tonight, Bell,” Jonas said, a smile breaking across his face as he took in the bright pink dress clinging to long ebony legs and crimson fingernails that his housekeeper was sporting. He wondered where she’d found the dress. It couldn’t be easy finding such a garish wardrobe for someone who was six feet tall. “Nice getup. Got a date?”

“No,” Belladonna’s neon pink lips pursed into a pout. “It isn’t easy for a lady to find the charmin company of another woman dese days. Dey’re all so sexually repressed.”

“You got that right,” Jonas mumbled as he followed Burke into the foyer, setting his duffel on the floor. The scent of lemon oil and freshly cleaned rugs greeted him.

“What you talkin bout, pretty boy? Your only trouble wit women is gettin dem ta go away. Dey take one look at me and dey turn up deir pert little noses.”

“It takes a special kind of woman to appreciate the kind of elegance and beauty you exude.”

“A gentleman you are,” Belladonna smiled and pinched his cheek affectionately. “But what you really meanin ta say is dat it takes a special kinda woman to love a cross-dressin former prostitute. Now go into da kitchen and feed dat dog before he pees da floor waitin for ya. I mean ta be outta here in two hours and no dog pee is keepin me from it.”

Jonas gave her a wink and did as he was told. There wasn’t any real fear of Burke peeing on the floor. The dog was meticulously neat and well-mannered, which suited Jonas perfectly. However, he knew that finding someone special was a sore spot with Bell lately, and he didn’t want to make matters worse. 

Jonas took the bag from the floor where Burke had placed it. The dog was sitting next to it, his big brown eyes watching Jonas’s every move with keen interest. Jonas unwrapped the burger, placed it in Burke’s bowl, and then poured the milkshake into the empty water bowl.

“Have at it,” he said.

Burke scrambled forward, chomping up the greasy fare with delight. Jonas unwrapped his own burger, but despite his earlier hunger, he found he no longer had the stomach for it. He grabbed a few french-fries and sipped at his milkshake while waiting for Burke to finish his meal.

His latest series of wanderings had taken him to Toronto, Rome, Louisiana, Frankfurt, and finally Cincinnati. He hadn’t been home in nearly six months. The constant need to travel, to go had started shortly after his parents had died in a plane crash off the coast of Florida. It began as a niggling sense of needing to be somewhere else, but over time had developed into a full blown obsession.

He would wake in the middle of the night, sweating and gasping for air. He had to get out, had to move, had to find the source of his unrest. Sometimes he knew where he was going and sometimes he didn’t know at all, just picked a city at random and went.  He was sure any psychiatrist would have a field day with this frantic compulsive behavior.

When his Aunt Millie, seventy-three years old and his only living relative, had begun to question his odd behavior, he had told her he had taken a job as a freelance reporter. It had been a lie, but once the idea occurred to him, he decided it was just the thing to rid him of his boredom and to excuse his constant travel.

Though Millie knew he didn’t need the money, her brother having left him quite a sizeable inheritance, she approved of him doing something productive with his life. And though the meager income of a freelance reporter would do nothing to build the family’s coffers, it was far better than him wasting his time gambling, partying, and womanizing as so many of his peers would have done if given the same set of circumstances.

Jonas had taken a few courses on journalism and then decided he would specialize in crime reporting. His father had owned a small publishing company that specialized in true crime novels, so it wasn’t so far fetched that he would take an interest in that particular field. Besides, it seemed that everywhere he went these days, some heinous crime was occurring. He couldn’t do anything to stop it, so he examined it and tore it down to its elements before building it back up from the foundation to report it in an effort to understand it. He could never quite make sense of the violence and tragedy that took place all around him in the world, but he could try.

He had been fairly successful in his career thus far. Newspapers thrived on crime and stories of the macabre, and he was never short of papers wanting to publish his work. He had a talent for stumbling onto the best murder mysteries and real life tragedies. He also had a talent for writing them up in a tantalizing way that drew readers’ attention like a train wreck. Editors invariably ate those stories up, never getting enough of it.

Jonas placed his own burger in Burke’s bowl just as the dog finished his milkshake. “You need this more than I do,” Jonas said, scratching him affectionately behind the ears. Burke licked his hand in pure canine love before turning his attention to the burger.

Jonas deposited the paper cups and wrappers in the trash can, a soft click and hum from the utility room telling him that Bell had started washing his clothes from the trip. He knew he could have gone the normal route to get a housekeeper who would also watch the property while he was away, one who was aware of proper etiquette and wasn’t a cross-dressing former prostitute. But at the time he had met Bell, she was just getting out of her life on the street. She had been the subject of an expose he had written about the life of a prostitute, and over the three months he had researched the story, he had come to like her a great deal. Not only for her strength and honesty, but the fact that twenty-two years on the streets hadn’t hardened her beyond hope as it did so many.

Jonas had never thought of Belladonna as a he. Though she might have the standard equipment, she had the soul of a woman. Her preference for women over men simply meant she had the soul of a lesbian woman.

Jonas had needed a housekeeper. Belladonna had needed a job and a place to stay. It had worked out well, and though Belladonna had moved out last year, she still came to the house three times a week to check the mail, dust the place, and keep that lived-in feel. There was nothing worse than returning home to a dusty, tomb-like house at the end of a long trip.

Jonas felt a cold nose against his hand and he reflexively began rubbing the smooth fur on the top of Burke’s head.

“Ready for bed?”

Chuff.

“Come on, then. I’m beat.”

Burke followed Jonas into the utility room as he said goodnight to Belladonna and then padded quietly upstairs to their room. The soft glow from the bedside lamp revealed that Belladonna had put clean linens on the bed, fluffed the pillows, and turned down the blankets. There were fresh towels in the bathroom, and the trio of candles on the dresser filled the air with a hint of jasmine. Burke stretched out on the floor, obviously enjoying the feeling of the plush carpet.

Jonas pulled on a fresh T-shirt and jogging pants. He never slept in anything he couldn’t go out in public in. Sometimes the urge to leave gripped him out of the blue in the middle of the night and he couldn’t waste the time to dress. He also kept a bag packed in the closet with everything he would need on a trip.

“Don’t get too comfortable, bud. I don’t think we’re staying long this time,” Jonas said.

Burke cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes as if to say Do we ever?

“Smartass,” Jonas muttered. He blew out the candles on the dresser and climbed between the sheets, sighing in pleasure at the feel of the soft fabric and surrounding warmth. He switched off the bedside lamp. In the distance, there was a rumble of thunder.

“’Night, bud.”

Chuff.

* * *

Reamun watched from his rental car as the lights went off upstairs inside the house. Uhrig wasn’t what he had expected. He was less watchful, less aware of his surroundings, almost oblivious to the world around him. It was disappointing, but not something he would dwell on.

Ever since he had begun watching Jonas, he had felt that they had been lucky. He was healthy, strong, a formidable-looking man with sharp intelligence and sound judgment. The fact that he showed no outward signs of change was troublesome, but also misleading. Reamun knew that since the death of his parents, Jonas had been experiencing a great deal of change within.

Reamun’s plans called for a wealth of fortitude and cunning on Jonas’s part, but he refused to believe that he had completely misjudged the man. It wasn’t possible. Reamun would chalk it up to jet lag and fatigue. Soon Jonas would have to prove that he was much more than he seemed on the surface. Very soon.

Reamun switched on his phone, dialing a number from memory. After only one ring, a woman answered.

“It has begun,” Reamun said.

“Are you there watching him?”

“Of course,” said Reamun.

“Let me know how he does. I’m concerned…”

“You’re always concerned. It’s all going to work out perfectly.”

“You don’t know that,” she said. “None of us can know that. It is up to Jonas, and I don’t believe he is ready yet,” she said.

“He will be. I will make certain of it.”

© 2006 Jaimie L. Robertson, All Rights Reserved.

Wanderlust is available at Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, and other book stores.