Part XLI

Part XLI

The Old Man was back to normal and licking the juice off his paws when I slid the side door of the van open. He looked at me and I swear he smirked. Then he started to purr and rubbed against me as I climbed in to clean up the mess.

Sorry about that. I lost myself for a bit.

He seemed to understand and we got back on the road. I felt like someone had blown insulation in my attic, and deservedly so. It was on this short jag that I finally remembered what the kid had said outside Shin Lee's. He'd said, “You have grandfather Lee in you now.” I wondered if maybe Grandfather Lee had been a bit of an alcoholic. He sure as hell was now.

We ended up on the outskirts of Portland at Multnomah Falls. We pulled into the Parking Lot of the Lodge and I went inside to see what was what. The Ranger was nice enough to inform me that the falls was the fourth highest in the nation and the second in ranking regarding running all year long. It evidently had the propensity to actually freeze in the winter which made me glad it wasn't winter. The falls dropped 620 feet from Larch Mountain and you could cross it at the top on Benson Bridge which was erected by the property's original owner in 1914. All of that assumed you you didn't suffer from vertigo.

The hike was about one and a half miles and went pretty much straight up. I got instructions on how to get to a parking area and bought two bottles of water and a Snickers bar in the snack shop. I had a feeling that if I was going to figure out where the Tall Man had hid the reliquary, I was going to have a to get a view from the bridge, and I was going to have to do without the crowds.

It had a been quite some time since I had done anything remotely similar to exercise. After about half an hour I could barely breath and had to stop and sit. I drank half the bottle of water and thought seriously about getting back into shape. The desire soon passed however, as I continued up and felt my calves burning and felt the peculiar sensation of my lungs turning to steel wool and attempting to scrape themselves o0ut of my chest.

All the misery soon gave way as I reached Benson Bridge and headed across. Luckily I did not suffer from vertigo, though I did need to take a piss. There didn't seem to be anyone else3 at the top so I crossed over and scurried a bit further into the growth at the edge of the path and produced a much less spectacular, but infinitely more practical falls of my own. I then moved even deeper and found a spot by which I could observe the bridge and wait for the access path to close for the night.

As I sat, eating my Snickers bar, I did my best to rummage around for a forked stick. I'd need a divining rod later, and saw no reason to waste time later looking for one. Truth is, it didn't have to be forked, I just liked it that way. I spent the next few hours whittling it smooth of bark with my swiss army knife and trying to think of the most ridiculously evil place the Tall Man might have put the reliquary. The base of the falls seemed too obvious, and so did the Bridge. The center of the falls however, that would be nasty.

As the sun began to set, the last of the day visitors faded, and I climbed out of my spot and walked to the center of the bridge. Holding the divining rod in both hands, I mumbled under my breath, then let go of the stick. It hovered for a few seconds then made a bit of a spin to the left. It came back to the right, then settled. I mumbled under my breath again, and it gave off a feint glow, just before it flew off the bridge and headed over the falls.

I paused every couple hundred feet on my way back down the path to take a look at the falls and see if I could see my stick. By the time I got to the bottom, I was a little frustrated. I walked to the edge of the river that ran from the falls and looked all the way back up, squinting to try and see even a hint of wispy glowing. Nothing.

As my eyes wondered down the falls, I gave a little whistle, just to see if I could coax the stick, even momentarily, from its hiding place. No luck. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I picked up a rock, mumbled under my breath, and chucked it at the falls and waited.

The rock would have hit me in the head and probably killed me it was going so fast, but just before it hit me Grandfather Lee decided to speak to me. I don't speak Chinese though, so I didn't have the slightest idea what he'd said. It freaked me out though, and I spun around to look behind me, just as the rock whizzed by. It sounded like I'd been dive bombed my a humming bird. The rock plowed into the ground thirty yards away.

It wasn't supposed to do that. If I'd wanted to throw a boomerang, I'd have thrown a boomerang. It was supposed to find the stick and then burn like a magnesium flare. It took me a few minutes to dig it up. It'd planted itself about four inches into the ground. I almost lost my hand when it started to heat up. I dropped it onto the pavement and it lit up like a sun and melted a hole for itself. It wasn't supposed to do that either, not while it was in my hand.

That tricky bastard had hexed the falls. Gave it the old I'm rubber you're glue once over. It was childish, but effective. As I walked back to the van, Grandfather Lee started up again. There was something in his tone I didn't like. I was pretty sure he was saying something about my mother.