Patrick G. Whalen

I haven’t participated in Friday Fiction in some time, but a short story assignment from Associated Content started my imagination flowing this week. The object was to find a picture on a free service then write a short story that encompassed the picture. The following is that picture and story

A Bottle Replenished

The battered, blue Chevy kicked up dust that caked at the edges of my drying lips. Screeching brakes signaled that my driver believed he was in the right place. I clutched my meager bag by the hand and hopped over the tailgate. My boots hit solid ground.

Solid, if there was an understatement, that was it. The oven-baked clay and sand I had been breathing for the last hour was nearly enough to make me throw my bag back into the truck and head back to town.

I glanced through the filthy, cracked glass and noticed Jose smiling in the crooked mirror. “You sure you want to stay out here my friend?”

I waved, “Sure? No. But I’ve got to find whatever it is that’s out there. Thanks for the ride, Jose.”

I tapped the tailgate a few times then Jose nodded, “Okay, señor. I’d tell you to call if you changed your mind, but I don’t think there’s a phone out there.” I wrestled up a cheap smile and Jose chuckled in the cab of his truck. Jose’s faithful beast shuddered at the touch of his foot on the accelerator. His hand waved out the window, “Adios!”

My feet wanted to chase after him and jump back into the rusted bed, but they seemed unresponsive. Perhaps they had melted onto the hot rock that served as a road that took travelers away from civilization.

Jose and his Chevy gone, there was nothing but silence; silence and the long dirt road that lay ahead. The only thing that even resembled green was a spattering of medium sized trees and a few low hills in the distance. How long I stood there was anyone’s guess. Time didn’t seem to matter much out in this long forgotten landscape.

My first few steps down that road were labored, my ears searched for something that resembled sound, but there was nothing short of a light, hot breeze at my back. I pulled the bottle of water from my pack and took a long pull on the nozzle.

I continued down the road lined with unwired posts that must have been a fence some time ago. Perhaps it was the desire to hear something that brought the memory of that phone call to my mind.

Over the sound of sirens and car horns the plastic machine on my table rang out, begging to be consoled. The night before had been a long one and I had tied one on so tight that my brain begged me to shut up that phone. I considered throwing a bottle at it, but some inner voice told me I had better pick it up.

“Hello.” I struggled through a dry throat and tongue.

“Is this Mr. Vargas. Mr. Chet Vargas?”

I took a swig from the bottle and nearly spit out the vile, flat liquid. “Yes, this is Chet Vargas. Who is this?”

“My name is Hugo Jimenez. I am a lawyer in…”

“Mr. Jimenez, I know who you are. You are my father’s lawyer. I suppose he’s suing me now for repayment of some loan or something , right?”

“No Mr. Varagas. I regret to inform you that your father has passed away and has left you his estate.”

My ears perked, “His estate? What exactly does that mean Mr. Jimenez?”

“I’m afraid I can’t fully disclose all of that to you over the phone. Your father’s last request was that you return to his home. I am to meet you there and then you will be informed.”

“Right. You want me to come back to that crap hole I left twenty years ago so you can give me the deed. Thanks, but no thanks, Mr. Jimenez. I have enough financial liability where I’m at. I don’t need another headache.”

“Ah yes, Mr. Vargas. Perhaps the two of you talked less than I had been informed. Your father purchased a ranch several years ago and that is what he is leaving to you.”

“A ranch? What kind of ranch? How big is it?”

“I’m afraid I cannot…”

“Yeah, yeah…I’ve got to see it for myself. Another of pop’s grand scheme’s to bring me into reality. Fine, fine.”

Once Hugo had given me directions, I booked a plane and here I was. Walking down some sun-baked dirt road towards what I really had no idea. The trees in the distance came closer and soon the outline of a white ranch house took form between the shadows.

This wasn’t right. How could my father have purchased a ranch? Especially with all the money I had suckered, I mean borrowed, from him. Then again, there it was. Perhaps I was in the wrong place. Maybe Jose had been thinking of some other Vargas when he dropped me off here. I pulled the water bottle out once more, but now it was empty. My throat craved refreshment and the only way to get it was inside that house. I had been such a fool.

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