Undisclosed (3 page)

A moment later he made his way up the curved flight of stairs. Baxter followed behind like a shadow, occasionally brushing up against his leg. At the top, Travis paused as he reached the doorway of Will’s room. He regarded how perfect everything looked, no different than the way Will had left it that fateful day. His mother just couldn’t bring herself to box up his belongings. Travis roamed around, picking up items, each one connecting him with a stream of memories and sounds as if he had been transported back in time.

He slumped down on Will’s bed.

Scanning the room, he looked at the numerous shiny awards that Will had won: the Motocross Regional Championships and the Grand Nationals. Travis had only been eight years old when he got his first dirt bike. It was that one thing that bonded them together, that one love they had in common.

He ran his hand over the smooth and shiny motocross helmet. Images of them tearing it up through the Jemez Mountain trails in the summers, dreaming of making it all the way to the world championships, and Will encouraging him that he was really good, brought a heavy smile to his face.

It was so long ago and yet it all seemed like yesterday to him. Travis stared down at the framed photo their father had taken of them standing beside their bikes, an expression of thrill and excitement across their faces. Travis grinned as he recollected Will begging their father to get Travis his first 80cc so he would have someone to go riding with on the trails. Despite their parents’ obvious objection to it, Will always had a knack for getting what he wanted and it wasn’t long before Travis owned his first bike. Years later, when Travis needed a larger bike, Will handed down his own, a gesture Travis knew couldn’t have been easy.

Over the past few years, Will had become too preoccupied with studying and achieving grades, as many in the town believed he had the potential to take Los Alamos to new heights in the area of Genetics. Travis thought otherwise; he didn’t doubt how smart his brother was, yet he knew his brother’s first love was motocross. There was no denying that. Travis could see it written all over his face. When conversations turned to World Motocross Championships, it was then he would catch a dull look in his brother’s eyes, a sense of regret before he turned away, as though it could have been him. Following in his father’s footsteps was the worst possible future for someone who had prided himself on being the best at the sport locally.

The quietness of his thoughts was soon interrupted by the radio emanating from Travis’s bedroom. His favorite show was about to start. He placed the photo frame where it belonged, taking a second longer to make sure it didn’t look like it had been disturbed, and then left. His own room bore the resemblance of any other typical teenager’s; posters of bands and pro bikers plastered the walls in a chaotic tapestry that made anyone who entered tilt their head as if trying to decode its unusual pattern. A worn dartboard on the back of his door was surrounded by a billion tiny black dots where he’d missed it countless times. There was the smell of yesterday’s empty pizza box, partly concealed beneath his bed, and a pair of boxers hanging off the headstock of his vintage 60s Fender Strat, laid against a hard black leather chair in the far corner. The room wasn’t much too look at, but to Travis it was bliss, his own sanctuary away from the commotion of the world.

Travis threw himself onto his bed, while the same dopey commercial as always played before the show began. Travis knew the show well; his best friend’s father had made a name for himself in the town with his mixture of funky hits in the day and his wildly popular paranormal radio show late at night. Most thought the guy was crazy but Travis thought it was fascinating. The whole show was a real hoot; day after day they would attract the strangest stories you had ever heard. It sure beat listening to the top 20 charts, which was filled with nothing but mindless drivel—all the best bands never seemed to get airplay, he thought.

“Coming to you from the heart of Los Alamos—where discoveries are made. Good evening, I’m Art Logan and this is 105.2 Jolt Radio: your daily jolt of the unexplained,” a deep, husky voice boomed. “Stay tuned as we have one heck of a show for you tonight, but now—a short word from our sponsors.”

Travis reclined on his bed getting comfy, slipping his hands behind his head and gazing up into the night through the skylight positioned over his bed. The stars looked extraordinarily bright tonight. He would often spend hours, on the nights he couldn’t sleep, trying to make out the shapes the stars formed. While others counted sheep, he counted stars. Still mesmerized by the night’s sky, Travis slowly began tuning back into the radio conversation.

“So let me get this straight, Tom, you’re telling me that you think aliens walk among us?”

“I don’t think—I know they do.”

“That’s a pretty bold statement, okay, so like, what are we talking about here? Little green men, reptilians or the Nordic types?”

“No, that’s the lie they would have you believe. I’m speaking about aliens who look like you and me.”

“You mean clones? Something like invasion of the body snatchers?”

“No, if the general public knew about this, they would freak.”

“Okay, I’m sure people are bursting to know, Tom, where are you getting this information from?”

“Well, I’ve been talking to them.”

Where the heck
do
they come up with this stuff?
Travis scoffed. It was always some far-out story being spun by a backwoods cuckoo, but this was priceless. Travis chuckled to himself.

After a few minutes, the sound of their conversation drifted, their voices melding together as if someone was turning down the volume. Dreamy images filled his mind, his breathing slowed and within minutes he was asleep.

Chapter Two

The alarm went off like a truck backing up over his head. Stretched out and face down on his bed he groaned, reaching over and smacking the snooze button without even looking at the time. Slowly he pinched his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the bright morning sun as he turned his head. He hadn’t closed the blinds the night before, so a blanket of sun shone directly in. Its warm rays gently bathed his face; it felt good as it energized and brought his weary body back to life.

Attempting to roll over, Travis could feel his legs pinned to the bed as if someone had dropped sandbags on them. As he strained to look over his shoulder, he could see Baxter splayed across his legs, soundly snoring.

“Baxter, get up,” Travis said, forcing his legs upwards with all his might and causing the dog to slip down off the bed like a slinky. It was no small feat to try and pry Baxter’s hefty body off his legs. The dog usually slept on the floor in his own bagel-style dog bed, but unless you had eyes in the back of your head he wouldn’t hesitate for one moment in pushing his luck.

The entrancing smell of strong, fresh coffee reached his nostrils, kick-starting his senses. Laura had been up several hours. Despite her frequent evening drinking bouts she never could sleep for long these days, and most mornings she would be awake long before the sun rose.

Travis could hear her puttering around downstairs, the closing of cupboards, cutlery and the grinding of more coffee kept him from falling back to sleep. He dragged a pillow over his head and forced it against his ears, attempting to block out the harsh sounds, but it was useless, it was a school day and he couldn’t afford to miss any more. He’d already received the third degree on being absent more than anyone else in the school.

He hoisted himself up and smothered his face in his hands, trying to clear out the grogginess and morning cobwebs. Travis had slept in his clothes that night, something that had become a habit with all his late-night excursions. He flicked on his music player with a remote, tossed it on the bed and shuffled into the bathroom while the song “Speechless” by Morning Parade began.

Ten minutes later he came out, a towel wrapped around his lean waist, his wet, dark brown hair whipped against his face and neck as he ambled back to his bedroom. Travis paused in front of the long mirror, wondering what to wear. His mother was always nagging at him to go buy new clothes, but it really wasn’t his thing—keeping up with fashion. In his mind, fashion was overrated. He stood there contemplating with two items in his hand.
The shirt or the hoodie?
He wasn’t overly muscular, more like gangly, but always made a point to stay in good shape—he had to; motocross was extremely physical and required a lot of stamina and endurance. It didn’t take him longer than five seconds to decide. He snatched up a white body-hugging long-sleeved top, slid into a dark pair of jeans and flung on a flannel shirt.

“Travis, you up yet?” Laura hollered up the stairs, likely waking half the neighborhood in the process. He had to laugh; as if the sound of his music turning on every morning wasn’t a clear giveaway.

“Yep, be right there.”

He slid on his short black military boots, the kind that always looked as though they were never done up, and then scooped up a loose grey hat as he stumbled out and made his way down stairs.

In the kitchen, Laura was finishing scraping scrambled eggs out of a pan onto a plate, along with some smoky bacon. The air was still thick, full of the smell of grease after she had forgotten to turn on the ventilation. Her eyes were red from a lack of sleep and she looked unkempt, as if someone had drained all the life out of her. Baxter was hovering around, sniffing the air and waiting for a few scraps. She placed a large mug on the dark granite countertop and poured some coffee. Travis could see she was just going through the motions, doing her best to try and maintain what little semblance of motherhood she could muster up.

“You know, you don’t have to do that. I was going to grab a donut before school.”

Laura smiled. “Hon, that isn’t exactly brain food, now is it?” she said.

Travis took a swig of the steaming hot coffee. It was so hot it burnt his lip but it tasted like liquid heaven and gave him an immediate burst of clarity. He sat on one of the three wooden stools tucked under the breakfast island and stared out longingly at the ponderosa pine trees that surrounded and hedged in their home. Backing onto a part of the Santa Fe Forest, it was peaceful, a mix of rugged terrain and greenery for as far as the eye could see. He loved the outdoors, the mountains and breathtaking views that could be had further up the mesa. For anyone into ancient villages or outdoor activities it was a paradise. Sliding open the back door he could easily cut through a few trees and quickly find himself some killer trails.

Travis heard the sound of gravel breaking up outside, a door slammed, then moments later a knock at the door, and Scott poked his head in.

“Anyone home?”

Travis gave a quick shout. “In the kitchen.”

“What’s your dad doing here?” Laura said, adjusting her hair and smoothing out her dress in front of her; she looked flustered.

Scott strolled into the kitchen.

“Laura.”

“Scott.”

There was an awkward silence as they both gave forced smiles. Travis paused with a piece of toast between his teeth and then raised his eyebrow, observing them, wondering how much longer it was going to last. He didn’t bother to wait. He took a bite of his toast.

He mumbled with a mouthful of food, “And I’m Travis.”

Like snapping out of a hypnotic state, Laura continued stacking the dishwasher.

“You ready to go?” Scott asked in a chipper tone of voice.

Travis nodded, swallowing a final mouthful and taking one last swig.

“You’re taking him to school? Travis, where is your bike?” Laura inquired.

Scott sighed. “Let me guess, he didn’t tell you?”

“What?” Travis shot back, giving his best salesman grin. “It was late!”

Laura frowned. “Tell me what?” she probed, darting her eyes back and forth between the two of them.

Travis could see this heading downhill fast. He sprang up from his seat and grabbed his school bag. “Okay, time to go,” said Travis briskly.

“Travis—” Laura began.

Travis turned around to face her, still walking backwards. “Mom, I’m gonna be late, can we do this later?” He ducked out before she could get in any further words.

“I’ll fill you in later,” Scott replied, leaving Laura holding a dirty plate in her hand with a baffled expression on her face.

Outside Travis moved back and forth, shaking his arms trying to stay warm. The autumn weather had already begun to strip the trees of their red and golden leaves. He noticed how cold the wind was as he cupped his ears to prevent it from nipping them. Much too cool for late October, he thought. Then again the weather had been going nuts all over the world, with some countries getting snow for the first time when it should have been hot. Los Alamos had just come out of their two-month monsoon season, which he loved as it made the trails crazy muddy and, well, after the intense heat they got in the summer, the cold made a nice change.

Scott emerged. “Travis, you mind if we swing by The Daily Grind?”

“Hey, don’t let Mom catch you schmoozing with the enemy.” Travis smirked as he jumped in and they took off. Laura owned Oldies and Goodies, an antique store on Bell Street. To draw in traffic she had started offering coffee and creating a lounge feel to the place, despite strong opposition from Mac Forester, the owner of The Daily Grind. He’d been quite opposed to the whole idea from the first day and had taken the matter all the way to City Hall. He felt it would take away business and in a town this small, he wasn’t kidding. Laura and Mac had been banging heads ever since, even though Laura should have been the least of his concerns as there was talk of a Starbucks opening, and if anything was going pee on his parade that would surely be it. Travis thought the whole rivalry was hilarious and he looked for any opportunity to stir the pot. Last week, he told Mac that his mother was planning on putting in an industrial-size coffee machine that could churn out ten cups of coffee at a time. The week after, she was going to be offering free coffee for a month. The look on his face was always priceless. It never ceased to amuse Travis.