Chapter 7
For the last few hours, we drove primarily in hushed silence. The air inside this SUV is thick with tension as we journey across the vast and unforgiving Mojave Desert.
The midday sun beats down relentlessly, casting harsh shadows over the arid landscape that stretches endlessly in all directions. The rhythmic hum of the vehicle”s engine provides a steady backdrop to the apprehensive stillness inside here.
Watching Jagger in the driver’s seat via the rearview mirror, he squints at the GPS on the dashboard, his brow furrowing in skepticism.
“Are you sure this thing knows where we”re going?” he asks, tapping the screen as if expecting a more reliable response.
“Maybe Brittney sent you a false address. One last joke before we all perish in this desert,” I mumble from the back seat.
We’re four rockers from London, hardly dressed for the desert, and will be royally screwed if this vehicle breaks down.
I shake my head at our predicament and peer out the window at the desolate scenery. The horizon seems to stretch infinitely, offering no clear landmarks to guide our way.
Asher, sitting up front with Jagger, squints into the distance. ”Mate, I swear we”ve been through this same patch of sand dunes at least twice now. Are we going in circles?”
Forced to sit behind with my brother, Callum looms over between the two front seats to gaze at the GPS with a hint of distrust.
”It keeps saying we”re getting closer, but I”m starting to think it”s just leading us to the middle of nowhere. I’m beginning to think Eden’s vanished into thin air, and Brittney got us on a wild goose chase.”
“Sit back and put your seatbelt on. Anything could happen,” I say, sneering at him.
“Aw, big bruv, cares about me. How sweet,” his voice laced with mocking sarcasm, grates on my bloody nerves.
“I don’t want your brains spilled over my jacket if this vehicle side slips and tumbles down some canyon. I happen to like this jacket.” I say, turning towards the window because I don’t need to witness the smirk on my sodding brother’s face.
The SUV rumbles over uneven terrain, causing us to bounce slightly in our seats. The landscape outside remains unchanged — a vast sea of sand and occasional shrubs devoid of discernible landmarks.
”Maybe we should”ve hired a guide or something,” I suggest, glancing around as if expecting a helpful guide to materialize from the barren landscape.
“We don’t always need to hire someone for our problems. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Callum says.
It’s up my arse picking daisies.
My skepticism lingers, fueled by the eerie silence of the desert and the persistent uncertainty of our surroundings. I glance over Jagger’s shoulder at the GPS, displaying a seemingly endless stretch of unpaved roads, providing little reassurance.
As the SUV presses on, leaving a trail of dust in its wake, a sense of skepticism and anticipation hangs in the dry desert air, mirroring the uncertainty of the journey ahead.
We should have left dead dogs lying dead instead of crossing over this vast and unfamiliar terrain in search of the elusive Eden’s residence.
If she does live out here, she’s made it ultimately clear that she doesn’t want to be found.
Amidst this arid landscape and rugged terrain sits this small yet striking sanctuary. From the outside, it looks like an oasis of opulence and refinement, seamlessly blending modern elegance with a touch of desert charm.
It’s a stunning fusion of modern architecture and desert-inspired aesthetics. Clean lines and geometric shapes define the structure, with large, floor-to-ceiling windows probably offering panoramic views of the surrounding desert.
An impressive amount of solar panels discreetly adorn parts of the property, silently harnessing renewable energy. A sleek, infinity-edge pool stretches along one side of the ranch, mirroring the clear blue sky above.
This is precisely how I would have imagined Eden’s paradise.
A rather large, dusty trailer sits on the other side of the property. It doesn’t quite fit with the rest of the design. It just sits there, calling out all kinds of curious appeals.
The front door opens partially as I step out of the vehicle, and my boot hits the sandy ground hard. I noticed the camera on the open gates as we passed them and now watch the two move on either side of the building.
Eden’s always been a stickler for security, but why here in the middle of the desert, where her name carries no weight in the media anymore?
I hold my breath to see the face of the woman behind that open door. A flood of emotions rush through me, catching me off guard and stirring a decade-old ache in my chest. I’m about to see the woman I once declared my love to, intimately connected with, and abruptly, harshly parted ways without any kind of closure.
It’s bloody nerve-racking.
“Catalina,” Jagger says as soon as the woman, who is obviously not Eden, steps into the doorframe.
Who is she?
I rake my brain, trying to remember who this older lady is.
Eden had no family, and I look at Ash, whose face tells me he recognizes her. I won’t bother with Callum; he was probably stoned for most of his relationship with Eden.
“Hey, little lady,” my brother casually says. “Brittney never mentioned you still work with Eden.”
Aha! Eden’s care worker.
As soon as success started to make a presence in Eden’s bank account, she went to court at 14 to get emancipated from her foster family and hired Catalina as her care worker. She was like a live-in adult assistant on a payroll. I’m guessing Eden just kept her on to run this ranch house.
She looks older and maybe a little wider, but she’s looking at us, seriously hacked off, her jaw’s tight, and her stance is as if she’s ready to launch herself at us.
“You boys need to get back into your vehicle and return to LA. Brittney said you’ll come sniffing around. There’s nothing for you to destroy here.”
“Catalina, we’re here to talk with Eden. Can we please have two minutes? Then we’ll go,” Asher says, his voice softening.
“She’s not here.”
“Don’t believe you.”
“She’s at the physiotherapist. The drive is forty minutes from here. Best you leave.”
“Why’s she at the physio?” Callum asks what we all want to know.
There’s no hiding the displeasure on the woman’s face. Her brows, slightly furrowed, form a deep crease on her forehead. She’s reluctant to engage in answering any of our questions.
Suddenly, the mobile in her hands buzzes, and we watch her answer it while she remains guarding the door.
“They’re here,” she says, and my heart skips a beat almost sure that’s Eden at the end of the line.
“It’s not a good idea,” she tells the caller.
The corners of her lips are turned downwards, creating a faint, disapproving frown. Whatever instructions she’s getting, she disagrees with them.
After a couple more brief words, the call ends, and she hesitates as she eyes each of us momentarily. The silence around this ranch is deafening, and I feel like I’m in one of those western showdowns where Catalina is about to get some shotgun and threaten us off the property.
“Eden is on her way,” she mutters bitterly and walks back into the house, leaving the door open.
“I’m taking that as an invitation for us,” Callum says, hops up a few stairs to the front porch, and enters the house.
We follow inside and the cool a/c air hits us almost immediately. I’m the last in and shut the door behind me.
Curiosity gets the better of us as we look around Eden’s home’s interior. It’s not a massive building, but it’s much more of a home than the one she lived in back in LA, and I’m almost sure she had a hand in the design of this place.
I have to admire the interior that seamlessly blends contemporary design with inspiration drawn from the surrounding landscape. Earthy tones, terracottas, and muted grey evoke the natural hues of the desert.
Large windows allow an abundance of natural light to flood the space, providing panoramic views of the vast desert landscape. The architecture embraces open-concept living, creating a sense of fluidity and connection with the outside environment.
The furniture is minimalist and functional, with clean lines and neutral upholstery that complements the overall aesthetic. A comfortable sectional sofa faces a sleek fireplace in the living area, providing a cozy spot to unwind.
A centrally placed worn black leather armchair sits beneath a large window framing the desert landscape, which seems almost out of place until I notice the guitar, the scattered music sheets, and the leather-bound journals.
My interest is piqued, and I quietly move toward the chair and flip open one of the tattered leather journals. The pages are also worn and creased as if the user constantly uses them as a reference. I casually turn the pages, realizing these aren’t poems but music lyrics. One, in particular, catches my attention because it’s been scratched through and changed several times in different pen colors, as if this particular song is one that Eden seems dissatisfied with the most.
Fuckin’ell, if that ain’t from Eddie’s deep heart, then I don’t know what is.
Dammit, I can’t believe I’ve just used the nickname we all use to call her. Time seems to momentarily freeze, and my heart quickens its pace. In just a split second, I find myself transported back to a time when our connection was vibrant and filled with shared laughter and affection.
I need to be careful and remind myself there’s no going back there. This visit is purely business. But how the realistic fuck are we going to do this? We fell in love with Eden’s music before we did with her.
Or was it the other way around?
Maybe at the same time.
But reading these lyrics in this journal reminds me of the power of her ability to draw one in with her songs.
Suddenly, a hand reaches out before me and snaps the book closed. I look up to find Catalina’s vicious face staring at me like she might murder all of us.
“Respect her privacy and join the others by the couch,” she mutters, gathering all the journals and taking them away. I watch her stumpy body carry them down the hallway and into another room.
“There are security sensors in every corner of this room. Did you see the cameras around the property?” Jagger comments quietly as I join the group in the main sitting area of the room.
“Why does Eden need so much security?” I ask.
“Maybe because it’s two women in the middle of the desert, miles from the next civilization,” Asher suggests.
“This place isn’t something one would stumble on. It’s far off from any main road. Eden chose the place so the public would never find her. I can understand the cameras outside, but the sensors inside here are a bit much.”
“Other than the guitar and the music sheets, there isn’t anything that one would associate Eden with this place. Not one personal photo is on display. None of her music awards. Nothing.”
“The design is hers,” I say, but I don’t know why this fact is so important to me.
“Sure, there’s something about it that’s very Eden, but there are no mementos of her life,” Callum looks at Jagger. “Is that normal?”
“There’s a used dog bed by the fireplace,” Asher wouldn’t miss that even if he tried. “And judging by the size of it, it’s a big dog.”
“Another source of security. It’s like the place is to serve no reminder that this is hers to an outsider.”
I shrug my shoulder, not really caring one way or another. Eden’s always been a private person. This is nothing but an extension of who she is.
It’s not long before we hear a motor in the distance, and my head turns towards the large windows. The vast, open, rugged terrain stretches for miles, and the intense sunlight casts a golden hue over the landscape. The air shimmers with the heat, giving the desert an almost ethereal quality.
A vehicle emerges in the distant horizon, kicking up a plume of dust in its wake. It moves steadily towards this solitary property, the tires crunching on the gritty surface as it navigates the terrain.
As it approaches,, I realize it’s a large black truck. The low hum gradually grows louder as it nears. Turning to see the other three, the anticipation in all of us is intense.
This is it. Fuck. Am I even emotionally ready for this?