IT started to rain on the way back to the Harper Castle-a metallic soul-icing drizzle. Riding into the parking lot, I threw down the bicycle and unlocked the trunk of the Audi. I opened the suitcase holding Orson’s journals and as I stood shivering in the steady rain, came at last across the passage that had been chewing at my subconscious for six days, since my first encounter with it at Brawley’s Self-Storage Co. in Lander, Wyoming.
When I’d finished reading over Orson’s journal entry, I tingled with relief and fear.
I could feel it in my bones.
I had found Luther Kite.
Wyoming: July 4, 1993
Independence Day. Luther and I drove down to Rock Springs this evening to drink beer at a bar called The Spigot. Met this kid named Henry, a young man about Luther’s age. Shared a few pitchers with him. Said he was working a ranch up near Pinedale for the summer. He got “tow up” as they say ‘round here. When he went to the bathroom to puke, Luther asked if we could take him home. Isn’t that cute? He thinks of the cabin as home.
Well, it’s 2:00 a.m., and Henry’s in the shed right now, sobering up for what will undoubtedly be the worst, longest, and last night of his short life.
Luther’s getting changed into his work clothes, and I’m sitting out here on the front porch where the moon is full and bright enough for me to journal by its light.
Tonight, on the drive back to the cabin, Luther invited me to come spend a few weeks with him in Ocracoke over my Christmas break. Wants me to meet his folks. Said they have this lodge on a remote island that would be perfect for the administration of painings.
Yeah, he calls them painings. I don’t know.
There he goes, down to the shed. On account of it being Luther’s last night in Wyoming, he asked me if he could have Henry all to himself. By all means, I said.
I’ve probably done too good a job on this one.
Drenched and shivering, I biked over to the Community Store on Silver Lake Harbor and walked to the shack at the end of the dock.
The door was closed but I heard the static of a weather radio spilling through the walls. The sign over the door read TATUM BOAT