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Matt Méndez had been a reporter for the Alpine, Texas Avalanche for only two years. During that time, he interviewed several hundred people, but nearly all of those interviews were assigned to him. The job was enjoyable, but few of these assignments were of much importance to him.
Why?
Because he had never found a story that truly sparked his interest.
Until today.
Matt was in the stacks of the Sul Ross State University library researching an article on the history of water rights in arid West Texas when a large stack of books on one table caught his eye. The largest volume was open, the opposing pages covered with illustrations of ancient wedge-shaped marks on clay tablets.
Cuneiform? Interesting.
A grad school survey class had called cuneiform one of the world’s first writing systems, maybe six thousand years old. The accompanying text was in German. Spanish is common in Texas but who around here reads German?
A book next to it was closed, but the spine proclaimed The Derivation of Topological Structures, serious advanced math. Another was The History of the Ancient World. There was also a thick volume seemingly on evolutionary biology, though the complete title was partially hidden by another book on material science, of all things.
Bizarre! Surely there was a Ph.D. behind this, but what kind of Ph.D.? I have got to meet the guy who is interested in all these wild topics.
Matt’s journalistic senses were starting to tingle.
There could be a story here.
Maybe an unusual story, one that would fascinate people and even get him a raise. Stranger things have happened.
Keeping an eye out for the mysterious genius, Matt spent half an hour taking notes on water rights and the El Paso Salt War. While jotting down yet another item someone walked past him, laid another book on the pile, and sat down.
What? The brilliant mystery person was a young woman. She had opened the new book and was leafing through the back pages, probably the index.
Matt was dumbfounded. Picking up his notes and books he moved closer. From the new seat to one side it was clear she was young, almost a teenager: nothing like a distinguished professor. Opening his notebook, he pretended to scan it while studying her over the top.
The woman was completely absorbed in what she was doing. Her dark brown hair, worn in a shoulder-length ponytail, was so smooth the rows of overhead lights could be counted in it. The reflections shimmered as she looked from one book to another. At last she stood and glided gracefully to a globe on a stand at the end of the room.
Wow.
No way was this the typical student, twiddling a pencil, messing with her cell phone, tapping a foot. She was dressed like a student, but she moved with unconscious grace, like an athlete or a dancer, extraordinary and utterly entrancing.
She stood on tiptoe to study the globe, referring to the book in her hand, brows drawn together, then back to the globe, nudging it gently in precise movements with slender fingers.
Everything about her was attractive, riveting, and totally fascinating.
What an image! There’s got to be a story here. This needs to be recorded. Has to be!
Without looking down, he reached slowly into his gear bag and eased out the Avalanche’s third best camera. Setting it on the table, he switched it on. Using the little monitor on the back to aim it, he zoomed the lens at the globe fifty feet from him and took two photos. Just before the third shot his cell phone vibrated. Blast it!
“Hello?” he whispered.
“Matt!”
“Yeah.”
It was Dwayne, from the ad department.
“Whataburger. Five minutes.”
“Uh, yeah. OK.”
Matt enjoyed the burger and fries, but couldn’t stop thinking about that girl. How could he? She was unforgettable. Despite that, he said nothing about her to Dwayne. When he drove back to the library, there she was, walking off campus. She turned right and headed into town. Without hesitating he circled his old pickup through the parking area and followed her.
Stopped at a red light, he watched her progress down the block with a quick, light step, the ponytail swaying left-right-left-right.
OK, Matt, what in the world are you doing, man? Stalking a strange girl? Taking pictures of her? That was embarrassing and wrong. Creepy, in fact.
On the other hand, she was a young person with extraordinary taste in scholarly books. And she took no notes, maybe because she had a photographic memory. And she happened to be striking and move like an angel. She was not ordinary. This was not normal.
There had to be a story there. If so, he would get her permission for the photos. Newspaper people did that all the time. A car accident, a fire, a shooting...reporters always took photos as events presented themselves. Permissions came later. Shy as Matt was around women, his profession would provide both context and license (and also the courage) to talk to her.
The light turned green. She was now two blocks ahead and approaching the next corner. He drove past her, turned right at the third block, and pulled over to the curb by an alley. The plan was to stroll back to the street and “just happen” to run into her.
He got out and was about to walk back to her when she crossed the street, turned right, and headed in his direction, but on the opposite side of the street. Excellent!
Crossing the street where the alley intersected, Matt waited for her to approach. It took all of fifteen seconds.
It was his first head-on view. She had a keen-featured face with bright hazel eyes and light tan complexion. It was the perfect face for the intellect so evident in the library. When she noticed him looking at her, her eyes sharpened, out of interest, he hoped.
For his part he felt zapped as if by an electric shock. He forgot to breathe.
Whatever was he supposed to be doing? He swallowed hastily.
“Uh, miss,” he said, “excuse me please. May I ask you a few questions? I’m a re...”
She halted as soon as he opened his mouth. By the time he’d got to the first syllable of “questions” her eyes flared in panic and she disappeared. Vanished!
What?
He didn’t see her turn or start to run. One moment she was frozen in terror and the next fraction of a second she was halfway down the alley and shrinking fast. In the rest of that second she reached the next street and was gone.
There was a thunk at his feet.
He’d dropped his notebook.
She covered that block before it hit the sidewalk. Matt stood there with his mouth open, as if awakening in another dimension. In that instant the whole direction of his life changed.
Minutes later, back in his truck, his mind was still roiling. Did he black out for a moment? Or had a migraine moment?
No. No, he hadn’t.
He was shivering. It took three tries to get the key into the ignition. He started the engine and shifted into drive but kept his foot on the brake. He was recalling her face, in detail, as she walked toward him: intelligent, extraordinary, otherworldly. He could never forget that image, never forget that sensation. Beautiful was a pitiful word for what she was.
Whatever she was, the woman was now engraved on his heart.
Had she really done that?
For God’s sake, who was she?
Matt would find her again if it was the last thing he ever did.
He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision, carefully let up on the brake, and got the truck rolling.
Reporters were nothing if not investigators.
