Mystery Walk

by Robert R. McCammon

  Billy said he loved her, and that he’d write again soon.

  Ramona put his letter aside and listened to the wind. The fire crackled, casting a muted orange light. She’d written a reply to Billy and had mailed it this afternoon. It had said:

  Son, you were right to leave Hawthorne. I don’t know how things will turn out, but I have a lot of faith in you. Your Mystery Walk has led you out into the world, and it won’t end in Chicago. No, it’ll go on and on, right to the end of your days. Everybody’s on their own kind of Mystery Walk, following the trail of their days and doing the best with what life throws at them. Sometimes its mighty hard to figure out what’s right and wrong in this mixed-up world. What looks black can sometimes really be white, and what appears like chalk can sometimes be pure ebony.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about Wayne. I drove over there once, but his house was dark. I’m afraid for him. He’s pulled toward you, just like you are to him, but he’s scared and weak. His Mystery Walk might’ve led him into teaching others how to heal themselves, but it’s been warped now by greed and I don’t think he can see his path clearly. You may not want to stomach this, but if ever in your life you can help him, you have to. You’re bound by blood, and though the Walk took you off in different directions, you’re still part of each other. Hate’s easy. Loving’s damned hard.

  You know what’s a greater mystery than death, Billy? Life itself, the way it twists and turns like a carnival ride.

  By the by, I think I catch a little peacock-strutting when you talk about that Bonnie girl. I know she must be special if you’ve taken a shine to her.

  I’m very proud of you. I know you’ll make me even prouder.

  I love you.

  She picked up the lamp and went to the bedroom to get her needlepoint. Catching her reflection in a mirror, she stopped to examine herself as she combed out her hair. She saw more gray hairs than dark, and there were so many wrinkles in her face. Still, there remained deep in her eyes the awkward girl who’d seen John Creekmore standing across the barn at a hoedown, the girl who’d wanted that boy to hold her until her ribs ached, the girl who’d wanted to fly above the hills and fields on the wind of dreams. She was proud that she’d never lost that part of herself.

  Her Mystery Walk was almost over, she realized with a touch of sadness. But, she thought, look at all she’d done! She’d loved a good man and been loved by him, had raised a son to manhood, had always stood up for herself and had done the painful work her destiny demanded. She had learned to take life for good or bad, and to see the Giver of Breath in a dewdrop or a dying leaf. She had only one pain, and that was the red-haired boy—the image of his father—that J.J. Falconer had named Wayne.

  Unsettled wind whooped around the house. Ramona put on a sweater and took her needlepoint to the fireside, where she sat and worked steadily for over an hour. There was a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, and she knew it wouldn’t be very much longer.

  Something was coming through the night. She knew it was coming for her. She didn’t know what it would look like, but she wanted to see its face and let it know she was not afraid.

  In the mirror she’d seen her own black aura.

  She closed her eyes and let her mind drift. She was a child again, running wild and free across the green meadows in the heat of a summer sun. She lay down in the grass and watched the clouds change shape. There were castles up there, with fleecy towers and flags and—

  “Ramona!” she heard. “Ramona!” It was her mother, calling from the distance. “Ramona, you little dickens! You get yourself home now, you hear?”

  A hand brushed her cheek, and her eyes flew open. The fire and the lamp’s wick had burned very low. She’d recognized that touch, and she was filled with warmth.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Ramona rocked on in her chair a moment more. Then she lifted her chin, stood up, and approached the door; she let her hand rest on the latch for a few seconds, then she took a deep breath and opened it.

  A tall man in a straw cowboy hat, a denim jacket, and faded jeans stood on the porch. He had a grizzled gray beard and dark, deep-set brown eyes. Behind him there was a glossy black pickup truck. He chewed on a toothpick and drawled, “Howdy, ma’am. Seems I took a wrong turn up the road a ways. Sure would appreciate it if I could get some directions and maybe a glass of water. Throat’s kind of—”

  “I know who you are,” Ramona said, and saw a little shock and unease register in the man’s eyes. He wasn’t a real cowboy, she’d seen, because his hands were too smooth. “I know why you’re here. Come in.”

  He paused, the smile slipping off his face. He saw that she did know. Some of the power seemed to drain out of him, and under her firm gaze he felt like a bug that had just crawled from beneath a rock. He almost called it off right then and there, but he knew he couldn’t take their money and run; they’d find him, sooner or later. After all, he was a professional.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked, and opened the door wider.

  He took the toothpick out of his mouth, mumbled, “Thank you,” and stepped across the threshold. He couldn’t look her in the face, because she knew and she wasn’t afraid and that made it unbearable for him.

  She was waiting.

  The man decided he’d make it as quick and painless as possible. And that this would be his last one, God help him.

  Ramona closed the door to shut away the cold, then turned defiantly toward her visitor.

  ELEVEN

  The Test

  50

  A MUFFLED CRY BURST from Billy’s throat, and he sat up in the darkness as the cot’s hard springs squealed beneath him. His mind was jumbled with terrors. He switched on the lamp and sat with the blanket around his shoulders as rain crashed against the window.

  He couldn’t remember the details of the nightmare, but it had to do with his mother. And the house. Sparks flying into the night sky. The awful face of the shape changer, glowing dark red with reflected light.

  Billy got out of bed and trudged into the corridor. On his way to the men’s bathroom he saw a light on downstairs, in the parlor. He descended the stairs, hoping to find someone he could talk to.

  In the parlor, a single lamp burned. The television was on, silently showing a ghostly test pattern. And curled up on the sofa, lying beneath a brown raincoat with patched elbows, was the girl with different-colored eyes. Except her eyes were closed now, and she was asleep. Billy stood over her for a moment, admiring the dark auburn of her hair and the beauty of her face. As he stared, she flinched in her sleep. She was even prettier than Melissa Pettus, he thought, but she seemed to be a troubled person. He’d found out from Mr. Pearlman that she was nineteen and her family lived in Texas. No one else knew anything about her.

  Suddenly, as if she’d sensed him in the room, her eyelids fluttered. She sat up so abruptly he was startled and stepped back a pace. She stared at him with the fierce concentration of a trapped animal, but her eyes looked glazed and dead. “They’re going to burn up,” she whispered, in a barely audible voice. “Cappy says they will, and Cappy’s never wrong—”

  Then Billy saw her gaze clear, and he realized she’d been talking in her sleep. She blinked uncertainly at him, a red flush creeping across her cheeks. “What is it? What do you want?”

  “Nothing. I saw the light on.” He smiled, trying to ease her obvious tension. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

  She didn’t respond, but instead drew the coat tighter around her. Billy saw she still wore jeans and a sweater, and either she’d gotten dressed after she was supposed to be in bed or she’d never been to bed at all.

  “Doesn’t look like there’s much on TV,” he said, and switched it off. “How long have you been in here?”

  “Awhile,” she replied, in her distinctive Texas drawl, topped with frost.

  “Who’s Cappy?”

  She flinched as if he’d struck her. “Leave me alone,” she said. “I don’t bother folks, a
nd I don’t want to be bothered.”

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you. Sorry.” He turned his back on her. She was surely a pretty girl, he thought, but she lacked in manners. He had almost reached the stairs when she said, “What makes you so special?”

  “What?”

  “Dr. Hillburn thinks you’re special. Why is that?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t know I was.”

  “Didn’t say you were. Only said that Dr. Hillburn thinks so. She spends a lot of time with you. Must think you’re important.”

  Billy paused at the bottom of the stairs, listening to the noise of the rain hammering at the walls. Bonnie sat with her legs drawn up defensively to her chest, the coat around her shoulders; there was a scared look in her eyes, and Billy knew she was asking for company in her own way. He walked back into the parlor. “I don’t know why. Really.”

  A silence stretched. Bonnie wouldn’t look at him. She stared out the bay window into the icy storm.

  “It’s sure been raining a lot today,” Billy said. “Mrs. Brannon says she thinks it’ll snow soon.”

  Bonnie didn’t respond for a long while. Then she said softly, “I hope it keeps rainin’. I hope it rains and rains for weeks. Nothin’ can burn if it rains like this, can it?” She looked at him appealingly, and he was struck by her simple, natural beauty. She wore no makeup, and she looked freshly scrubbed and healthy but for the dark hollows under her eyes. Not enough sleep, he thought.

  He didn’t understand her comment, so he didn’t reply.

  “Why do you always carry that?” she asked.

  And it was only then that he realized he held the piece of coal gripped in his left hand. He must’ve picked it up when he left his room. He was seldom without it, and he’d explained its significance to Dr. Hillburn when she’d inquired.

  “Is it like a good-luck charm or somethin’?”

  “I guess so. I just carry it, that’s all.”

  “Oh.”

  Billy shifted his weight from foot to foot. He was wearing pajamas and a robe and slippers provided by the institute, and even though it was well after two in the morning he was in no hurry to return to bed. “Where are you from in Texas?”

  “Lamesa. It’s right between Lubbock and Big Spring. Where are you from in Alabama?”

  “Hawthorne. How’d you know I was from Alabama?”

  She shrugged. “How’d you know I was from Texas?”

  “I guess I asked somebody.” He paused, studying her face. “How come you’ve got one blue eye and one green?”

  “How come you’ve got curly hair if you’re an Indian?”

  He smiled, realizing she’d been asking as many questions about him as he had about her. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

  “Do you?”

  “No. I’m only part Indian. Choctaw. Don’t worry, I won’t take your scalp.”

  “I wasn’t worryin’. I come from a long line of Indian hunters.”

  Billy laughed, and he saw from the sparkle in her eyes that she wanted to laugh, too, but she turned away from him and watched the rain. “What are you doing so far from Texas?” he asked.

  “What are you doing so far from Alabama?”

  He decided to try a different tack. “I really think your eyes are pretty.”

  “No, they’re not. They’re different, is all.”

  “Sometimes it’s good to be different.”

  “Sure.”

  “No, I mean it. You ought to be proud of the way you look. It sets you apart.”

  “It does that, all right.”

  “I mean it sets you apart in a good way. It makes you special. And who knows? Maybe you can see things more clearly than most folks.”

  “Maybe,” she said quietly, in an uneasy tone of voice, “it means I can see a lot of things I wish I couldn’t.” She looked up at him. “Have you been talkin’ to Dr. Hillburn about me?”

  “No.”

  “Then how’d you know about Cappy? Only Dr. Hillburn knows about that.”

  He told her what she’d said when she was startled out of sleep, and it was clear she was annoyed. “You shouldn’t be creepin’ around, anyway,” Bonnie told him. “You scared me, that’s all. Why’d you come sneakin’ down here?”

  “I didn’t sneak. I had a nightmare that woke me up.”

  “Nightmares,” she whispered. “Yeah, I know a lot about those.”

  “Haven’t you been to bed?”

  “No.” She paused, a frown working across her face. She had a scatter of freckles across her cheeks and nose, and Billy could envision her riding a horse under the Texas sun. She was a little too thin, but Billy figured she could take care of herself just fine. “I don’t like to sleep,” Bonnie said after another moment. “That’s why I was down here. I wanted to watch TV and read as long as I could.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…it’s just because I…have dreams sometimes. Nightmares. Sometimes they’re…really awful. If I don’t sleep, I won’t see them. I…was even going to go out for a walk tonight, until it started rainin’ so hard. But I hope it keeps on rainin’ like this. Do you think it will?”

  “I don’t know. Why’s it so important to you?”

  “Because,” she said, and gazed up at him, “then what Cappy’s been showing me won’t come true. Nothin’ can burn like what he’s been making me see.”

  The tone of her voice bordered on desperation. Billy sat down in a chair, prepared to listen if she wanted to talk.

  She did, and Billy listened without interrupting. The story came hesitantly: when Bonnie Hailey was eleven years old, she was struck by lightning on the stark Texas plain. All her hair burned off, her fingernails turned black, and she lay near death for almost a month. She recalled darkness, and voices, and wanting to let go; but every time she wanted to die she heard a clear, high childish voice tell her no, that letting go wasn’t the answer. The voice urged her over and over to hang on, to fight the pain. And she did, winning by slow degrees.

  She had a nurse named Mrs. Shelton, and every time Mrs. Shelton would come into the room Bonnie would hear a soft ringing sound in her ears. She began to have a strange recurring dream: a nurse’s cap rolling down a flight of moving stairs. A week later, Bonnie found out that Mrs. Shelton had tripped on an escalator in a Lubbock department store and broken her neck. And that was the start of it.

  Bonnie called the strange, high voice in her head Cappy, after an invisible playmate she’d had when she was five or six. She’d had a lonely childhood, spending most of the time on the small ranch her stepfather owned near Lamesa. Cappy’s visits became more frequent, and with them the dreams. She foresaw suitcases falling from a clear blue sky, over and over again, and she could even read a nametag and a flight number on one of the cases. Cappy told her to tell somebody, quickly, but Bonnie’s mother had thought it was utter foolishness. Two planes collided over Dallas less than a week later, and suitcases were strewn over the plains for miles. There had been many other incidents of dreams and hearing what she called Death Bells, until finally her stepfather had called the National Star and they’d come out to interview her. Her mother was horrified at the attention that followed, and in came in a flood of crackpot letters and obscene telephone calls. Her stepfather wanted her to write a book—oh, just make it up! he’d told her—and for her to go on tour talking about the Death Bells.

  Bonnie’s parents had split up, and it was clear to Bonnie that her mother was afraid of her and blamed her for the divorce. The dreams kept coming, and Cappy’s voice with them, urging her to act. By this time, the National Star touted her as the Death Angel of Texas.

  “A psychiatrist at the University of Texas wanted to talk to me,” Bonnie said, in a quiet, tense voice. “Mom didn’t want me to go, but I knew I had to. Cappy wanted me to. Anyway, Dr. Callahan had worked with Dr. Hillburn before, so he called her and made arrangements to send me up here. Dr. Hillburn says I’ve got precognition, that maybe the lightning jarred something
in my brain and opened me up to signals from what she calls a ‘messenger’ She believes there are entities that stay here, in this world, after their bodies have died…”

  “Discarnates,” Billy offered.

  “Right. They stay here and try to help the rest of us, but not everybody can understand what they’re trying to say.”

  “But you can.”

  She shook her head. “Not all the time. Sometimes the dreams aren’t clear. Sometimes I can hardly understand Cappy’s voice. Other times…maybe I don’t want to hear what he’s saying. I don’t like to sleep, because I don’t want to see what he shows me.”

  “And you’ve been having dreams just recently?”

  “Yes,” she said. “For several nights now. I… I haven’t told Dr. Hillburn yet. She’ll want to hook me up to those machines again, and I’m sick of those tests. Cappy’s…shown me a building on fire. An old building, in a bad part of town. The fire’s fast, and it’s…it’s so hot I can feel the heat on my own face. I can hear the fire engines coming. But the roof collapses, and I…can see people jumping out of the windows. It’s going to happen, Billy. I know it is.”

  “But do you know where this building is?”

  “No, but I think it’s here, in Chicago. All the other dreams I’ve had came true within a hundred miles or so of where I was. Dr. Hillburn thinks I’m like…like a radar or something. My range is limited,” she said, with a frightened little smile. “Cappy says they’re going to die if I can’t help them. He says it’s going to start in the wires, and it’s going to be fast. He keeps saying something that sounds like ‘spines,’ but I can’t figure out what he means.”

  “You need to let Dr. Hillburn know,” Billy told her. “Tomorrow morning. Maybe she can help you.”