Then he imagined he was looking down on himself sitting on this tiny deck beside the raging interstate in this great, dry, Southwestern desert, and he tried to account for his presence here, tried to establish a reasonable explanation for it, to see it in some perspective. But as he worked chronologically forward through his adult life he could get no further than Costa Rica and the Arenal Volcano and the resort in the trees where they had stayed. And what had he found there? Well, some cool frogs and birds. A boy and his pet monkey. Other tourists. Father Joe, who became a friend. Some nice hours with his wife. Arenal Volcano smoking and rumbling in the distance. So what was it? Why, when he looked back to that time—three months ago now, if that—was everything a strange, descending, darkening blur? Fuck if I know, he thought. I wish I did. I wish I did. He half filled the cup and drank again. The bottle was half-gone.
Suddenly he was on his back on the deck. He could see the pinpoints of stars high up above the lights, and these stars were racing back and forth across his vision and Ozburn realized his head was snapping violently side to side. He couldn’t move his arms. He felt his fingers trying to dig into the deck and his boot heels thumping on it. He could hear the guttural rumble of his breathing and the crunching of his head as it rocked side to side while the stars raced back and forth in opposite sprints. Then it was over and he lay panting but more or less still. His heart pounded and his fingertips burned and his legs were rubbery but he was still at last and the stars were fixed again as they were supposed to be. His sunglasses had flown off. He lay there for a long time. He saw Daisy’s head blot out the stars and felt her tongue on his cheek.
He worked his way up and got his sunglasses on and went back to his plastic chair. Daisy wriggled up close and rooted her cold wet nose under one of his hands. The tequila bottle had been knocked over but it was capped and unbroken.
Ozburn stared at the cars on the highway, blinking. They streamed in and out of his vision.
“Our what, who art in what, hallowed be thy what . . .”
But he couldn’t finish the prayer, gutted and useless as it was. He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his face to his hands. The only thing he could think of that was any comfort at all was to remind himself what he was doing here. What he was trying to accomplish. Because, unsure as he was of the paths and the powers that had led him to this place, he was still clear on what he needed to do.
Perform good acts and defeat evil.
He repeated this short sentence over and over until he felt his mind begin to calm and his muscles begin to relax. He went back to his laptop but he couldn’t bring himself to write Seliah again.
Later he called out for a large pizza and family salad and ate it all, repeating the sentence in his mind as he ate. He finished the tequila and climbed into the shower in the darkened bathroom and washed himself with his eyes closed because the sight of water revolted him and against the revulsion he muttered the sentence again and again and again. Then he lay down on the bed and with the sentence still ringing through his head he took the long, dark fall into sleep.
21
Hood and Janet Bly walked into Seliah Ozburn’s darkened home just after nine the next morning. She stood back to let them pass and smiled briefly at Hood, then looked down as he came by her.
They sat in the living room and Hood saw that the sun blinds were down and the curtains were pulled closed also. The air conditioner started up. Seliah sat on the couch with her laptop on the coffee table before her. She looked tan and fit as always. She wore a simple black shift and her straight platinum hair was newly trimmed. Her nails were painted red.
“I’ve been thinking about this since we decided to do it,” she said. “I thought it would be easy but I don’t know what to say to him. Maybe I’m afraid he won’t want to see me. Maybe I don’t want to betray him.”
“It’s the only way to save his life,” said Bly. “We’re trying to get him back alive from wherever it is he’s gone. He’s clearly losing his reason.”
“I know. I see that.”
“But he’s passionate about one thing—you,” said Bly. “Can you be passionate back?”
Seliah looked at Bly and nodded and lowered her hands to the keyboard. “Let me see. How about this? ‘Dear Sean, let’s meet in Las Vegas and hump ’til we’re cross-eyed. Hugs, Sel.’ ”
A silent moment.
“Not bad,” said Bly. “Maybe something a little more romantic.”
“What do you know about romance, you dried-up cunt?”
Bly stood. “I’ll get some fresh air. Call me if she stops hissing.”
Seliah looked up at Hood with anger in her eyes. “You can’t make me do this.”
The front door slammed.
Hood sat in a chair across the coffee table from her. Seliah hugged herself against the chill from the air conditioner. Then her cheeks flushed and Hood saw the sheen of moisture appear on her forehead and shoulders. She was still glaring at him. Slowly the glare softened and she took a deep breath and let out a wavering sigh.
“I’ve vanished, Charlie,” she said softly. “I don’t know where I went.”
“Sean’s there.”
“I don’t know where he’s gone, either.”
“Think.”
“Think what, Charlie? All I do is think about what went wrong.”
“Any progress?”
“Costa Rica. That was the beginning.”
“On the volcano.”
“The Arenal Volcano.”
“In the hotel in the jungle.”
“Yeah. There. I’m so ashamed of what I said to Janet. I don’t do that. I’m just not me anymore.”
“Forget what you said, Seliah.”
“I have thoughts I can’t control.”
“All of us do.”
“But I have actions I can’t control.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Flu. Stress. High blood pressure. Depression. Take your pick.”
“Tell me about the volcano. Where this all started.”
She closed her eyes and nodded and a small smile appeared on her lips. Her skin glowed damply and the AC fan stirred her hair. “The frogs were so loud at night you could hardly sleep. The hotel rooms were built up onto the branches of the trees. The rooms all had screens instead of windows. Like a big tree house in the jungle. There were geckos and macaws and toucans and a green boa constrictor. They got more bugs and beetles than you could believe, ones with horns and pinchers and stripes and dots. Ones that make noises, ones that smell good and ones that stink. I always liked that kind of stuff. Nature’s pure weirdness. Nature’s extravagance. Sean, too. Down in the lobby the hotel owner’s son had a tiny baby monkey in a birdcage. Sean held it. It was about the size of a pear, eyes like silver buttons. And Sean stared at that little thing for a while and he looked up at me smiling and he said, ‘Sel, can you even believe this thing? Who designed it? Whose idea was this?’ And of course Sean tried to give him twenty bucks for it and I said, ‘Hey handsome, come up to the bar with me and I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll talk about this monkey. Because I can give you something you’d like even more.’ That was when it hit me. When I knew I was ready for a baby. Took me twenty-eight long years to get to that point but, well, there I was. So. I talked him out of the monkey.”
She opened her eyes. “Father Joe—I told you about him—well, he told me that the Lord would bless our union with many children.”
“That must be nice to know.”
“We’ll have them, Charlie. I’m going to have them.”
“I know you are.”
“And Father Joe told me he got strong feelings from certain people and that Sean and I were two of them. People who would have some effect on the world around them. He sought those people out, he said. He’d invite himself right into their lives because he enjoyed their company. He said it was unusual for both people in a marriage to strike him that way. And I said, ‘You’re not going to follow us home and take
up residence in the spare room, are you?’ And we all got a laugh about that. Man, oh, man, did we do some drinking that night. Father Joe—you’re going to love this—he had this secret potion he wouldn’t tell us the ingredients of. And he’ll only let you drink it straight from either his silver flask, or this old cocktail shaker with the top that fits tight. That’s because he doesn’t even want you to know what it looks like. And Sean’s all, ‘Go ahead, Sel—try it. You’ll love it.’ And I’m not brave about things like that, so I’m all, ‘Okay, I’ll try it once.’ And, weird thing is, it tastes really good. Kind of like wood smoke with a little mint in it. Like if you could make a liquid out of cedarwood. Cold. Went down a little too easy. We drank beer and tequila, too, so maybe it was just the combo, but I’ve never been quite that messed up in my life. In college I’d drink so much that the next day in the pool I’d exhale underwater and smell it. Really. So I can hold my liquor, Charlie. But that night with Father Joe. Wow.”
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me about that night and you and Sean and Joe.”
“Nothing really happened.”
“It’s just that you’ve already told me so much about it. I can see the Arenal Volcano smoking in the background, and the rooms with screens instead of windows up in the trees, and all the birds and bugs and geckos. I can see you and Oz and the priest and his silver cocktail shaker with his secret elixir. That’s quite an opening scene, Seliah. I’m hooked.”
She smiled and Hood thought it was the first true smile he’d seen from her since this nightmare had started. He also thought that for the events of the last ten days to have had their beginnings on the volcano, then something damn well had to have happened. She wanted to tell him. She’d led him up close to the rim of that volcano. But she didn’t know exactly what had occurred, or she didn’t remember it clearly or she had buried the memory of it.
Hood heard the front door open and close. Bly stood in the entryway to the living room.
“Potty mouth still here?” she asked.
Seliah stood up and ran to Bly and took her hands. She bowed her head. “Please forgive me for that ugly lie. Please.”
“Forgiven, Seliah.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Bly hugged Seliah and Hood heard her whispering into Seliah’s ear until Seliah said something he couldn’t understand; then she whispered into Janet’s ear and the women didn’t let go of each other for a full minute. Unincluded, Hood timed it on his watch, wondering at the durability of women.
When they broke the embrace Hood saw the tears on Seliah’s face and the long clear ribbon of mucous hanging from her chin. She glanced at him with a hunted expression, hurriedly swiped it onto her hand and hustled into the bathroom.
She was back a few minutes later, her face clean and a fresh coat of lipstick on. She sat on the couch behind the laptop. “Okay. I can do this. I’m going to give it a try.”
Her fingers found the keyboard. “‘Dear Sean,’ ” she said. “That’s a good start, now, isn’t it?”
Half an hour later Seliah had composed an invitation to her husband. Hood stood behind the women and read over their shoulders. Seliah had proposed a weekend in San Francisco, at the Monaco, where they’d stayed before. “‘Just three days from now we can have a bit of heaven, sweet man.’ ” She assured Sean that this was a private e-mail, an absolute and total secret from Blowdown. It was classy and sexy and perfect, Hood thought. He felt bad about it.
“I’d say yes to this,” he said. “I’d get there early.”
“He’ll say yes, too,” said Seliah. “There’s no way he can refuse me.”
“Maybe not the first time,” said Bly. “But eventually he’ll say yes and we’ll . . . have him and he’ll be safe with us.”
Another moment of silence.
“You’ve done the right thing, Seliah,” said Hood. “And you’re going to get him back.”
Seliah typed, “Your Loving Wife, Seliah,” then tapped the “send” bar with a red nail. She sighed and sat back.
Hood put a hand on Seliah’s shoulder and she reached up and set her hand on his. He was surprised how hot it was, like she was burning with fever. “Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” she said. “The three of us. Dutch and nothing fancy.”
“I’ve got a date, believe it or not,” said Bly. “With a real, live man.”
“You’re a lucky woman, Janet. Charlie? Me and you?”
“Sure.”
“Come by six thirty, would you? Sean will have accepted my invite by then. We can catch the sunset at the Fisherman’s. And I can finish that Costa Rica story. I’ll tell you everything that happened.”
Hood drove toward Buenavista.
“What’s wrong with her?” asked Bly.
“I don’t know.”
“How can you sweat when it’s fifty-five degrees inside? Did you hear the way she hissed at me? In her bathroom she’s got a beach towel hung across the mirror. So I peek in the bedroom and she’s got the dresser mirror turned around to face the wall. Every curtain and blind in the house, drawn tight. Vampire books and videos all over the place—did you see them? What’s that all about?”
“Sean acts the same way,” said Hood. “In the videos. He hisses obscenities. He sweats. He hung that dress over the mirror in the scorpion girl’s house.”
“There’s a warning in that e-mail,” said Bly. “They’ve worked something out. You watch. If he accepts, they’ll scoot off somewhere else and we’ll look like the Three Stooges. Do you trust her, Charlie?”
“No.”
“Be careful tonight, Deputy.”
“Always. You, too.”
Bly cracked a small smile. “I am not what she said I am.”
22
Hood knocked on Seliah’s door and waited. He heard music inside. He turned to look at the sun lowering toward Catalina Island.
“Come on in, Charlie.”
She wore baggy hiker’s pants and a Susan Komen T-shirt and an Angels cap and red slip-on sneakers. She followed him into the living room where the curtains were still drawn tight and the laptop sat where it had been before.
“He turned me down. Bly got to it first and forwarded. She must have called you.”
“Yes. You knew that would happen, Seliah.”
Hood sat and read Ozburn’s message.
. . . I love you more than life, Seliah, but I smell Blowdown on you. This letter doesn’t even sound like you. Don’t let them manipulate. Don’t let them break you down. Go away if you have to . . . “Do I need to write him back right now?”
“No. Later is better.”
She slung a little silk bag over her shoulder. “Ready?”
Hood drove them down the hill to the restaurant at the foot of the pier. They got a table outside and a bucket of clams and beers. Seliah drank hers quickly, then ordered a bottle of petite sirah. Hood couldn’t read her face through the sunglasses and the hat. She was subdued and deliberate. She told him she’d run ten miles after he and Bly had left, and she felt a little spacey.
“So, we went to Costa Rica to help Sean,” she said. “The undercover assignment was killing him. He was bitter and disillusioned with his work. He missed me and his home and our runs on the beach. So we got to San José and rented a cute little Piper and tooled all around the western coast for a couple of days. Expensive, but, Charlie, there’s nothing like the earth from above. Then we got checked into our tree house hotel on the volcano and we made great love and ate good food and enjoyed the creatures and the staff and the other tourists. It was called the Arenal Volcano View eco-resort and you could see the volcano from every single room, the bar, the dining room and the observation deck. You could hear it rumble. In the middle of the night people would rush out onto their decks if it got loud enough and they thought it would blow. Everybody but us had at least two cameras going—a video and a regular. We just had my little digital but we got some good shots.
“There were al
l sorts of characters running around that place, getting the volcano rush. One night Sean and Leftwich stayed up late talking. The next day the three of us took a nice long hike up the volcano. It was beautiful and dramatic and Sean and Joe had to hike way the heck up near the rim and, of course, I had to keep up with them. We got close. Every few minutes the volcano would rumble and spit up rocks the size of passenger cars and tons of black-red magma would come pouring out. Just like you picture in hell. Awesome to behold. Of course if it blew, even just a little, we’d have been cooked where we stood. That was part of the rush. Leftwich told us he’d never seen Arenal so angry as that day. He was messing with us, but it was fun.
“We got back that afternoon and started drinking. By dinnertime we were fairly bombed. Joe had his magic potion that somehow stayed cold on its own, and we had cocktails, too, then ordered bottles of wine with dinner and brandies after. I remember the conversation getting heavy between Sean and Joe. The consequences of sin. Good and evil. God and the devil. Man and Jesus. The blackness of human nature and God’s love. Sean was really letting it hang out about his work. No details, nothing about which agency he was with or where he was stationed, but all the bitterness and anger, Charlie, it was ready to blow up, just like Arenal. I went to the room. My head was spinning. I read a page and crashed. I woke up at two in the morning, the light still on, about a billion bugs stuck to the screen outside.
“Sean wasn’t beside me so I got on some clothes and went down to the bar but the bar was closed. I saw a light inside Joe’s room so I walked down there. I stepped up close to the screen to look in. There were lots of bugs and moths and freaky-looking things on the screen so I crept up slow so they wouldn’t fly up into my face. And when I looked in, there was a ceiling fan, making the room flicker. Sean was flat on his back on the bed, still wearing his tropical shirt and shorts and flip-flops. He was actually snoring. And Father Joe was sitting at the foot of the bed in a chair, leaning forward toward Sean. His back was to me. It looked like he was reaching out with his hands. His head was bowed. I thought he was praying but I wasn’t sure. So I moved a couple of big steps to my right, and I’m really quiet about this because something tells me not to disturb him. The bugs flitter and flutter a little. And from there, I could see that Father Joe wasn’t praying at all. His hands were out and he was . . . well, touching Sean’s toe. Or possibly toes.”
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