Brett Battles - The Destroyed

“I didn’t come here just to check if you were okay.”

“I don’t care why you came,” Quinn said. “Please, Nate, leave. I don’t want you here.”

“Look, I’ve only come because-”

“Aren’t you listening to me? I said, I don’t care!” Quinn closed his eyes and seemed to be trying to get himself back under control. When he opened them and spoke again, his tone was level and calm. “I have work to do. Please respect that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Nate could see Daeng approaching.

“I’m not here out of disrespect,” Nate said. “In fact, it’s just the opposite.”

Quinn let out a breath and shook his head. He looked at his watch and glanced over at Daeng. “Please escort him back to his boat. I’m late, or I’d do it myself.”

“No problem,” Daeng said.

Quinn headed for the door. Nate started to follow, but Daeng stepped in his way.

“I’m not leaving until you hear what I have to say!” Nate called out as he grabbed Daeng’s shoulder and tried to shove the man to the side.

Daeng stood his ground. “Let him be.”

Across the room, Quinn had just reached the door and was stepping outside.

“Mila Voss!” Nate yelled.

Quinn froze.

“She’s why I’m here.”

In a near whisper, Quinn said, “Mila Voss is dead.”

“Then I guess someone needs to tell her that.”

Quinn looked back into the classroom, his eyes fixed on Nate. After a few seconds, he shifted his gaze to Daeng. “Get him something to eat. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He resumed walking away.

“We should talk now,” Nate insisted.

“Relax, buddy,” Daeng said. “Be happy he’s not kicking you out. He’ll be back. You can talk to him then.”

Beyond the doorway, Quinn veered off to the right and out of sight.

As much as Nate hated to admit it, Daeng was right. At least now he knew Quinn would listen.

Daeng smiled, and slapped Nate on the shoulder. “You hungry?”

Daeng took Nate to another building, where they found a kitchen manned by two older women and a girl who was probably no more than ten. The two men were each served a plate with rice and stir-fried vegetables.

Nate had been sure he’d have only a few bites, but quickly realized he was hungrier than he thought, and finished his meal before Daeng was even halfway done with his.

“You want more?” the man asked.

“No. This was fine.”

For several seconds, the only sound was that of Daeng’s spoon scraping across his plate.

“Where did he go?” Nate asked.

At first it seemed as if Daeng hadn’t heard him, then the monk finished off the last of his vegetables and looked over. “You want to see?”

“Please.”

They walked down a road that led away from the river and into a countryside dotted with small fields. Though evening was approaching, in several of the fields families tended their crops. There were no big farm machines here. It was mostly bent backs and handheld tools and the occasional ox pulling heavier equipment. Scattered among the fields, some close to the road and others much farther away, were small houses where the farmers lived and kept whatever livestock they might have.

After the two men had walked for about ten minutes, Daeng moved to the side of the road and stopped.

“There,” he said, pointing across the fields to the right.

For a few seconds, Nate wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at. The fields were no different than those they’d passed. Then he saw two figures standing together a couple hundred yards away. Nate couldn’t make out any faces, but one looked to be a teenage boy, his brown skin darkened by his time spent under the sun. The other’s face Nate didn’t need to see. The hair, the clothes, the posture-Quinn.

Nate wasn’t sure what they were doing, but it had something to do with working the field.

“Two weeks ago, the man who owns that farm broke his leg in two places and injured his back in a motorcycle accident,” Daeng said. “The people here aren’t rich. He couldn’t afford to hire anyone to take care of his crops, not if he wanted to feed his family, too. So it fell to his son, but the boy is fourteen and can only do so much. Every day for the last week, as soon as your friend finishes teaching his English lessons at the temple, he comes out here and gives the boy a hand.”

They watched Quinn and the boy work.

“We should go back,” Daeng said. “Better if he doesn’t notice that we’re here.”

Nate nodded, though he was sure there was little chance Quinn hadn’t already seen them. Nate was an expert at picking up small details, but he was nowhere near as good as his mentor.

As they walked back to the temple, Nate asked, “Why isn’t your head shaved? Aren’t all monks supposed to do that?”

“I’m not a monk,” Daeng said.

Nate looked at him, confused.

Daeng smiled. “I was, but that was a long time ago. The other monks here allow me this honor when I visit.”

“So you’re kind of a pseudo monk.”

“I guess you could call it that.”

They walked quietly for a moment, the temple coming into view just ahead.

Nate said, “I’m guessing you’ve spent some time in the States.”

“Have I?”

“Your English. You speak it like a native, and your accent is Middle America.”

“Californian, actually.”

“Really?”

“Hollywood High.”

“You’re kidding.” Nate pointed at his chest. “Santa Monica High.”

“Samo? Beach brat, huh?”

Nate nodded. “When I could be. So you were born in the States?”

Daeng took in a long breath. “No.” He paused before adding, “Moved there when I was young. Came back here after high school.”

There was obviously more to the story, but Nate knew Daeng had shared all he wanted to for now.

As they reentered the temple grounds, Daeng said, “Feel free to have a look around, or you can wait in the classroom. If you need me, I’ll be in that center building over there.” He pointed at a group of small buildings beyond the stupa near the river, then gave Nate a wai and walked off.

With little else to do, Nate decided to do a little exploring.

He was standing just inside the temple, his eyes fixed on the golden Buddha that dominated the room, when he heard someone enter behind him.

“Peaceful around here, isn’t it?” Quinn said.

“It is,” Nate agreed. “I can understand the appeal.”

“Can you?”

“Of course I can.”

“And yet, you’re here to take it away from me.” Before Nate could respond, Quinn said, “This isn’t the place for us to talk.”

Without further comment, he turned and walked outside.

They ended up back in the classroom. Quinn closed the door this time, and once they were both sitting at one of the student desks, he said, “Tell me.”

“Four days ago, I got a call-” Nate stopped himself. “ You got the call. I returned it.”

“From who?”

“Peter.”

Quinn nodded as if he’d expected the answer.

“He wanted to talk to you, of course,” Nate said, “but I told him you were unavailable, and if he had something to discuss, he should tell me.”

“He must have liked that.”

Nate smirked. “Oh, yeah. It definitely put him in a good mood. He said he needed to talk to you and only you. He had questions about an old case.”

“Mila Voss.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t tell me that right away. Not until after I explained you were on a, um, sabbatical, and reaching you was not easy. That’s when he insisted I find you, and tell you he wants to know why Mila Voss is still alive.”

Quinn looked over at the wall, his expression unreadable.