by John Saul
“That’s dumb. It won’t die down till tonight.” Jay-Jay followed Susan to the clearing where their clothes were piled, while Christie hesitated.
“I better go, too,” Christie said at last, afraid of what might happen if she were late. “I promised Aunt Diana.”
“So go.” Kim’s voice was petulant. “I can stay here by myself. I like it better when I’m the only one.”
Christie went to the clearing, pulled her clothes on over her bathing suit, then went back to the little beach. Susan and Jay-Jay were waiting for her.
“We’re gonna take a shortcut,” Jay-Jay announced. “You want to come with us?”
“Does it go by my house?” Christie asked.
Jay-Jay shook her head. “Nah. It starts by the mine, but you can take the road. We cut down the other side of the hill. Come on.” As if the matter were settled, Jay-Jay, with Susan following her, disappeared down the trail.
Christie hesitated, watching Kim, but Kim was studiously staring at the pond.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Christie asked her.
Kim shook her head. “If you want to go, go. Nobody had to be back at noon except you.”
Still Christie hesitated, but when Kim continued to ignore her, she turned away. A few moments later she caught up with the others.
“Is Kim mad at us?” Susan asked.
Christie shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Kim’s weird that way. Everything’s fine, and then all of a sudden she’s mad about something. Just leave her alone—she’ll change her mind and catch up with us.”
“But should we leave her out here all by herself?” It seemed to Christie that the quarry was lots of fun with the rest of the kids, but she didn’t think she’d like to be there alone. The others, though, didn’t seem to be worried.
“Kim likes to be by herself,” Jay-Jay said. “Come on. I want to get home before it gets too bad.” Suddenly they were out of the dense vegetation of the hillside, and the heat and force of the wind struck them.
“Yuck!” Susan pulled a bandanna out of her pocket and tied it around her face. “Hey!” she yelled. “I’m a bandit! Stick ’em up!” Falling happily into the game, the three girls quickly forgot about Kim Sandler.
Diana felt the hot wind in her face as she urged her horse along the trail that led up into the hills to the quarry. Dust, kicked up from the valley floor, was swirling around her, getting in her eyes and nose, choking her. She wished she had brought a kerchief but didn’t consider going back for one; she was suddenly consumed with a need to find Christie.
As she wound into the hills she began to hear the voice.
A baby crying.
Like an echo from the past, it was calling to her, needing her, wanting her.
Crying for her.
A confusion of emotions tumbled through Diana’s mind. Part of her wanted to go to the baby, to comfort it.
But another part of her, a part she couldn’t control, wanted to stifle it, as her own crying had been stifled when she was a child.
She spurred the horse on, and in her mind the crying grew louder, tormenting her.
Childish anger flooded her, and she lived again the times so long ago when her mother had made her cry, then forced her to stop. Her eyes glazed over as she rode through the howling wind.
The voice grew louder, and she felt she was getting closer to it.
If she could find it, and silence it, she might be free of the past.
The horse picked its way through the loose rock that littered the trail. Moving steadily, it wound up the flank of the hill, then paused at the top.
Diana could look down on the quarry from there.
It seemed deserted.
But in her ears the crying of the baby grew and built, torturing her, calling her. Why couldn’t she find it? Where was it? Ahead of her? Around her? Inside of her? She couldn’t be sure.
But the sound was driving her crazy.
Somehow she had to find the baby, for the door to her subconscious was wide open now, and the memory was clear. “Crying babies must be punished.”
Unaware of the world around her, heeding only the driving forces of her mind, she gave herself to the wind…
* * *
Juan Rodriguez squatted in the mine entrance and watched the three girls go by. By the direction they had come from, he was sure they had been up at his pool. But they were gone now, and he could enjoy the water by himself. It would be good today—the heat was building, and the wind blew dust in his eyes.
As soon as the little girls were out of sight, Juan began the long walk up to the pool. He didn’t hurry—Juan liked to look at things as he walked, and he stopped several times to examine wildflowers or watch the butterflies as they flitted around his head.
He veered off the trail as he drew closer to the quarry, and began climbing the hill so that he could do one of his favorite things: creep up to the edge of the bluff and peek down onto the pond, to see if anything was in it. Sometimes he could see a turtle or two, and once there had been some kind of an animal in the pond.
And last week, those children.
He dropped to all fours and crept through the aspens that covered the crest of the hill. Then he poked his head over the lip of the precipice and looked down.
Below him, the pool lay clear and still.
But then he realized that someone was there.
Even though three little girls had passed him on their way down the hill, there was still one in his pond.
Slowly Juan backed away from the ledge and got up. As quietly as he could he began to make his way down the hill. Today, since the little girl was all alone, he wouldn’t go away. Instead he would surprise her.
After her friends had gone, Kim sat by the pond for a while. Maybe she should have gone with them after all. It was lonesome all by herself. Though the wind couldn’t reach her, she could hear it all around her, whistling in the trees and scouring the hills.
She got up and stuck a foot in the water. Now that the day had grown hot, the water seemed even colder. Maybe she ought to dress and go after the others.
She heard something.
A rustling, coming from the aspen grove.
Something was in the woods, moving toward her.
“Hello?” To her own ears, her voice sounded small, and she realized she was frightened.
But it was the middle of the day. What could happen in the middle of the day?
Maybe her friends were playing a trick on her.
“Jay-Jay? Christie? Is that you?”
There was no response, and Kim decided to get dressed. She stripped off her bathing suit and picked up her underwear.
A few yards from her a twig cracked.
Kim froze.
“Susan? Who’s there?”
There was no answer.
Kim had put on her underwear when the familiar figure stepped into the clearing. She felt the fear drain out of her.
“Hi,” she said. Then she realized that something was wrong. “Are you all right?”
Suddenly her fear came rushing back to her, and she began backing away.
It was the eyes. There was something about the eyes that didn’t look right.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked.
There was no answer, but the eyes remained glued to her, as if fascinated.
Instinctively Kim began pulling on her jeans, but then realized that she wouldn’t be able to run if she were caught with her feet halfway into her pants. She dropped her clothes and began backing toward the beach, the strange eyes still on her, never leaving her.
They made her skin crawl.
“Leave me alone,” she begged. What was wrong? She wasn’t sure if the eyes could even see her now.
Screaming, she turned and fled.
Hands suddenly closed around her arms, and she was pulled to a stop.
This time the eyes were only inches from her own, and as they bored into her, her heart began to pound, and sh
e had the sudden feeling that she was going to die.
She screamed again, and the hands suddenly whirled her around, then one of them left her arm and covered her mouth.
Though she could no longer see those strange eyes, she could hear the sound of heavy breathing close to her ear.
She was lifted from her feet and carried toward the water.
She struggled, but the arms held her fast. Then she was in the water.
She twisted and thrashed about, but succeeded only in turning over, so that she was looking up—up at the surface of the water and, beyond that, at the weirdly distorted face of her attacker, like a dark shadow against the brilliant blue of the sky.
She held her breath as long as she could, but finally the pain in her chest grew too great, and she exhaled, the air bubbling from her lips.
She began coughing and choking as the water flooded into her mouth, but still she couldn’t get loose.
And then, as the water filled her lungs, a strange peace settled over Kim Sandler, and she stopped struggling.
The hands let her go, but she only drifted now, uncaring if she ever breathed the air again.
And then, for Kim Sandler, life turned gray, and the gray turned to black.
It was over.
Diana Amber backed away from the pool of water.
The crying of the baby faded away, and Diana paused.
Though the wind had eased, she felt oddly disoriented. Had she taken a wrong turn? She looked around.
No, she’d just come too far.
The quarry was behind her.
She clucked to her horse and turned him around. Suddenly she was no longer worried.
Somehow she knew that Christie was fine.
The child had simply lost track of time, that was all. But it was all right—there was really no reason for her to have been back by noon. Why not let her enjoy herself?
Feeling content, Diana started toward home. As she came near the mine she decided to stop at the cabin and see how Esperanza was. She tied up her horse and rapped at the door. A moment later Esperanza appeared, but the look on her face when she saw Diana was one of disappointment.
“Esperanza?” Diana asked. “Are you all right?”
Esperanza nodded, then stepped out onto the porch of the cabin. Her eyes looked first toward the mine, then swept the hillside above it.
“Juan,” she said, her voice worried. “Have you seen Juan?”
Diana frowned. “Why, no,” she said. “Is he missing?”
Esperanza hesitated for a moment, then shook her head emphatically.
“No. He’s just …” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged, as if the matter were of no importance.
“He just wanders off sometimes,” Diana finished for her. Then she squeezed Esperanza’s arm reassurringly. “But don’t worry. He knows what he’s doing as long as he stays on the ranch.”
Esperanza knew Diana was telling her the truth, but still she was worried. Ever since she had been in the nursery that morning, she had had a feeling that something was very wrong, and Diana’s words did not comfort her.
Dan Gurley was considering the possibility of taking the rest of the day off to go fishing when Juan Rodriguez came into his office and sat down opposite him, his hat in his hands, his expression fearful.
“Juan? Is something wrong?” Dan made his voice as gentle as he could. Juan, he knew, lived in fear of men in uniform. It had been a man in a uniform who had found him, four years ago, exposing himself to two little girls in the back corner of Penrose’s Dry Goods store. That man had been Dan himself. If it had been anyone but Juan, Dan would have wasted no time in charging the offender, but, knowing Juan as he did, he had called the state hospital at Pueblo and talked to one of the doctors about the case. Finally he had taken a day off and, on his own time, had driven Juan to Pueblo so that the doctor could interview him. After the interview, he had brought Juan home again. The doctor—his name was Hilbert, if Dan remembered right—had told him that Juan Rodriguez’s exposing himself to the little girls was on about the same level as a five-year-old playing doctor. So Dan had explained the situation to the children’s mothers, who had reluctantly agreed that there wasn’t much point in pressing charges. Then he tried to impress upon Juan the importance of keeping his pants zipped up in public. Mostly, to his own sorrow, he had only succeeded in terrifying Juan. And now Juan sat before him, wringing his hat, his eyes filled with fear.
“What is it, Juan? Can’t you tell me?”
“A-a little girl,” Juan stammered. “Up at my pool.”
“What about her?” Dan felt a sudden pang of anxiety.
“She’s-she’s not wearing anything,” Juan went on, and Dan had a sinking feeling in the pit of his belly.
“And she’s dead.” Juan swallowed and looked pleadingly at the marshal. “I didn’t do it, Mr. Gurley. Really, I didn’t.”
Dan’s stomach turned over, but he tried to keep his face calm. He stood up and went around to put a hand on Juan’s shoulder. “Are you sure she’s dead, Juan?” he asked.
Juan’s head bobbed. “I know it. She was in the water, and she wasn’t moving. Are you going to put me in jail?”
Dan tried to sort out the confusion of thoughts that was churning in his brain. Surely Juan must be wrong. It had to be a mistake.
He came to a decision. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go up there and see exactly what you found. Then we’ll decide what to do.”
He led Juan out of his office, and the two of them got into his Chrysler. Juan, though still frightened, looked eagerly at the switch that activated the siren. “Can I turn it on?” he asked.
Dan ignored the question and started the engine. As he pulled away from the curb a thought crossed his mind, the kind of incongruous thought that often intrudes in moments of stress.
“Where’s your mother?” he asked. “Didn’t you tell her about the girl?”
Juan shook his head emphatically. “Oh, no! If something’s wrong, you have to tell the police.” He paused, then spoke again, his voice faraway, as if he were talking to himself. “Why was she up there? It’s my pool! She shouldn’t have been there.”
Dan made no answer, but as he drove out of town he had the horrible feeling that this time Juan’s involvement was not going to be as innocent as that of “a five-year-old playing doctor.”
Juan reached out and flipped the siren on. Dan made no move to stop him. After all, Dan thought, he’s really only a little boy.
But he wondered if the people of Amberton would remember that when Juan came to trial.
11
Edna Amber listened as the screaming siren drew closer to the house. She waited until it had faded away, apparently headed toward the mine, then reached up with her cane and pounded on the ceiling.
“Diana? Diana!” She waited, then pounded again.
When there was still no answer, she sighed heavily and started up the stairs. Ever since that child had come into the house, things hadn’t been right. She shouldn’t have to go looking for Diana—a daughter should pay attention to her mother.
She found Diana in the bathroom.
She was kneeling by the tub, washing Christie.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Edna demanded.
Diana glanced up at her. “Giving Christie a bath,” she replied.
“She’s nine years old,” Edna snapped. “Surely she can bathe herself.”
“I can, Aunt Diana,” Christie said. “Really, I can.”
Diana wrung out the washcloth. “But I want to help you. All mothers help their babies bathe.”
“I’m not a baby,” Christie protested. “Mom stopped giving me baths when I was four.”
“And you’re not her mother,” Edna added. “Come downstairs, Diana.”
Diana hesitated, and Edna struck the floor with her cane. “Didn’t you hear me, child? Come downstairs!”
Diana dropped the washcloth in the tub. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she told Chri
stie. “I’ll be right back.” She got to her feet and followed her mother downstairs.
Christie fished around in the tub, found the wash-cloth and squeezed the water out of it, then pulled the plug. She got out of the tub.
Ever since she’d come home, things had been strange. She knew Aunt Diana had been over to her house—the rest of her clothes were up in her room, neatly folded. But what about her father’s things? What about the album? Where was it? After lunch, she had asked about it, but all she had been told was that she could have it when she was older.
When Diana had then insisted on giving her a bath, she’d objected, saying she’d been swimming all morning, but it hadn’t done any good. Finally she’d had to submit, and as she sat in the tub she felt like a baby. It occurred to her now, as she pulled on her clothes, that, in fact, Diana was treating her more and more like a baby. She didn’t like it, but she didn’t know what to do about it.
She remembered what her friends had said, about Miss Edna locking Diana in her room when she was a little girl. Why had she done that? And why was Diana locking her in every night? She wished she had someone to talk to about it, but there was no one. She was beginning to feel terribly frightened.
Fully dressed, Christie started downstairs, but in the living room she could hear Aunt Diana and Miss Edna arguing. It was about her—she was sure of it. She decided she didn’t want to hear it. Instead she went through the kitchen and outside.
She wandered over to the chicken coop, and the chicks flocked around her, cheeping to be fed. She started to pick one of them up, then, remembering the tiny body in the box by her bed, hesitated. She glanced toward the house, wondering if anyone was watching. She couldn’t be sure. Her gaze swept the yard and stopped at the barn.
Hayburner.
She would visit Hayburner, and the horse would make her feel less lonely.
Edna waited until they were in the living room before she spoke. Then she turned to face her daughter and searched Diana’s eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked at last, her voice containing both anger and concern.
Diana’s face reflected her puzzlement. What had she done now? Why should her mother be mad at her?
