Monday morning Crystal got her husband off to work and then left the house, walking with one hand pushing Toby in his stroller and the other holding her daughter’s hand, to see Kaylee off to pre-school.
Toby had just about outgrown the stroller. On the way back, he squirmed and literally dragged his feet on the sidewalk until she yelled at him that he was driving her crazy. Then she felt bad and carried him the rest of the way.
At home, housework waited, a busy week day, as usual. Doing laundry in the tiny room at the rear of the house, she heard the door bell ring. Just one of the neighbor kids, or someone selling something, she thought, and continued to stuff her husband’s dirty work clothes into the washer.
She stopped and turned. Where did Toby go? The question sent her dashing down the hall, but too late. Toby had practiced his latest skill pulling a chair over to the front door to unlock and open it.
Toby stood in the open doorway backing away as a man walked in. Toby heard his mother’s gasp and turned with a wrenchingly contrite look on his face, knowing he had done something very, very wrong. When he saw his mother’s expression, contrition turned to fear and he burst into tears.
“Crystal, you’re looking good,” Upshall said, locking the door behind him.
Crystal rushed forward to scoop up her son in a fierce embrace that squeezed an even louder shriek of fear from him. “Get out! Get out of here!” she said to her uncle.
“What a way to greet family,” he said with a dingy toothed smile. “Family by marriage, that is. As soon as you tell me where your redskin friend is, I’ll leave.”
“No, I don’t know where she is and if I did I wouldn’t tell you. My husband will be here in a minute and he’ll kick your perverted ass! Get out!”
“You never were very good at lying to me. He’s at work. I saw him leave.” When he stepped toward her, she turned away, putting her body between him and her son, who clung to her neck, his soft baby’s body rigid with fear.
Upshall reached her in a split second. He pulled the screaming toddler from her arms, stepped to the nearest door, the entry-way closet, opened it, dropped the boy inside, closed the door and leaned against it.
Crystal launched herself at him, kicking, screaming, biting and clawing. Then he had her by the throat and as her breath stopped, time also stopped. Curiously, she heard her own inner voice, soft but strong. Wait, calm down. This isn’t helping Toby.
She forced her muscles to relax. Upshall's back was still against the closet door. He appeared to be unmoved by the heart-rending shrieks and sobs emerging from inside. She felt his grip on her throat loosen, one sweaty finger at a time.
“I’m not interested in your brat in there, Crystal. Your little daughter, now, that’s another story. She is so pretty. We won't talk about that now. Tell me where Kim is hiding.”
As her breath returned, so did the warning voice. You know what to do. Careful, not too soon.
“No, please,” she gasped, through her own sobs. She backed away from him and when there was enough distance between them, she lashed out with a kick to his groin.
He pivoted. Her foot glanced off his thigh. He lunged forward to slap her face, once, twice, again, until she lost count, tasted blood in her mouth, felt the room spinning.
The voice said, “Now, tell him now.”
“Wait! I’ll tell you,” she gasped, holding palms toward him in a gesture of surrender. “Just let me get him,” she said, pleading, with her eyes on the closet door.
He stepped away. She flung open the door to take the boy in her arms again. She went to the sofa and sat rocking him in her lap while she whispered soothing words to comfort him. Upshall stood over them, his knees almost touching hers.
She looked up into his face for a split second, then down at her son, and she began to talk as best she could through numb, bloody lips, her voice a bruised whisper. “She’s at the old Silverbell Mine, camped there.”
A satisfied smirk widened his lips. “Give me your cell phone.”
She nodded toward her purse on the hall table.
He retrieved the phone and put it in the pocket of his jeans. He said, “I took care of the land line before I came in.” From his jacket pocket, he pulled a small pair of wire cutters to show her. “There are other phones, but if you call to tell her I’m on my way, I’ll come back for your daughter.”
“You will not touch my daughter! Even if you kill Kim, it won’t do you any good, because we’ve got the proof on you. You’re going to go to jail for the rest of your life.”
She saw in his face that he knew what she was talking about.
“Where is it? The memory card from my phone.”
“I told you, Kim took it. Isn’t technology great? She’s got you, Uncle.” Then the calm and quiet inner voice returned. Wait, don’t! Don’t make him angry.”
“I'll ask you just one more time. Where is it?”
She didn’t look at him. She wiped blood from her chin with the back of her hand. “She has it with her. I didn’t want any part of your...”. Careful, said the voice. Don’t make it worse. Think of the kids. “She buried it where’s she staying. She put it inside three plastic containers, one inside the other, like nesting boxes. She buried it by the big outcropping of red rock, below the overhang.”
“If you’re lying to me....”
Good time to cry, the voice said. “I’m not lying, I swear.” Without effort, tears sprang to her eyes. “She told me she put it there.”
While she lied, a triumphant thought reverberated so strongly she feared he might sense it, She left yesterday, Bloodsucker. All you'll find there is the rattlesnakes!
He hesitated. She knew he was wondering whether he had frightened the needed facts from her, whether she was intimidated enough for his purposes.
He stared at her for a long moment then said, “Tell your husband you fell down.” He opened the door and walked out, leaving his threats behind to hover like a foul odor over her and her crying child.
Chapter 12
On Sunday, Kim began to tear down her shelter, an act of faith that her Supai friend, Bernita, would arrive before dark and she would not have to spend one more night alone at the camp.
Then Bernita called. “Hi, Kim. Sorry I can’t make it today. Tomorrow, Monday. We’re on Indian time, remember?”
Kim laughed. “Yeah. I might be on borrowed time. Get your butt up here, Bernita.”
“Tomorrow, I promise.”
“Okay, okay. I guess one more night here won't kill me.
“You know there’s no phone reception in the Canyon, don’t you?” Bernita said. “In the Canyon you’ll have to rely on e-mail.”
“Then where are you calling from?”
“My sister’s house in Flagstaff. I’m here half the time, hitch a ride up or down on the helicopter whenever I can. Almost never, actually. The walk down to the village can be rough.”
“That's what I've heard.”
“When we go down it will be on foot or bust our backsides on the mules. I would do that for you and you alone, my friend.”
“You don't know how much I appreciate it, Bernita.
You're a life saver.”
After the call, Kim reconsidered demolishing her shelter. She spent another cold but not too uncomfortable night, warmed by thoughts of being in the Supai village with her friend.
The wickiup deconstruction began for real on Monday morning after she had eaten the last of her power bars and dry cereal. She removed another branch from the bee hive shaped shelter and threw it back into the brush, determined to leave little trace of her campsite.
In what happened next, she later understood that her perceptions didn’t follow the actual sequence of events. Sounds were disharmonious with what caused them, visual memories didn't match muscle memories, some seconds were totally blank. It didn't hang together in memory at all afterward, but that was a relief to her.
In mid-throw of another branch, she was face down on the ground...a searing pain in
her thigh...the sound of a gunshot. Pain in her side as she rolled over to look up. Upshall stood over her, a pearl handled revolver in his hand.
Before she could react, he kicked her in the ribs again. The pointed toe of his boot slipped between her lower ribs, biting deep into the intercostal muscles that controlled breathing. Air rushed from her lungs in an explosion of pain.
Gasping, she rose on her elbows and tried to push away from him with the heel of one foot. The other foot and leg did not follow the urgent commands of her brain.
“Here we are again,” he said. He stuffed the gun into the holster on his belt then reached down to grab her by the front of her jacket. He lifted her torso off the ground and punched her in the face. She felt the back of her head strike the ground and rebound. Blood from her nose flooded down her throat, threatening to choke her. She turned her face to the side, blinking away darkness and pin points of light, a prelude to unconsciousness.
She managed to rise on one elbow and turned her face to the ground. Gasping through her open mouth, she saw a bright stream of blood flow into the dirt then slow to a few drops. She raised her head, wiped her face on her sleeve and saw the red-rimmed hole in the fabric of her left thigh. He had shot her.
When she looked up again he was smiling at her. She saw an opportunity. She kicked hard with her right leg, connected with his shin.
Off balance, he went down, heavy. She reached into her jacket for her gun, the little 32, but he was quicker. He leaped toward her, grabbed her jacket with both hands and slammed her to the ground, again and again. Then his hands were all over her, searching, pawing.
She screamed, fighting with fists, arms and one leg but on her back, stunned by his blows, her efforts were like those of a frantic child. He defeated her again, as he had when she was a child. He had her gun and cell phone.
He stood, panting, and backed away. He put her gun in his jacket pocket, threw the cell phone on the ground, drew his own gun and with one shot sent the phone flying into pieces. He stepped toward her, landed another kick into her ribs then backed off. “Now we’re going to have a little talk, aren’t we, Kim?”
When the pain receded enough she opened her eyes to see Upshall sitting on a nearby boulder, aiming his gun at her. His breathing was rapid but with one booted foot on the ground, the other ankle propped on his knee, he appeared completely at ease, relishing his victory over her. His speculative look told her he was contemplating what to do with her next.
“That was some race we had down Oak Creek Canyon, wasn’t it?” he said, in the amiable tone he might use with a friend. “If I’d been in my Z, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
She struggled to sit up. “Your Z isn’t what it used to be, though, is it?” She turned to spit blood.
He continued as if he hadn’t heard. “You know that little Volkswagen that got between us? When I saw I’d lost you, I just ran on up his ass and pushed that little scrap of tin into the creek. He never knew what hit him.”
“Just like you, Upshall,” she said, “a freaking bully.” When she tried to push herself to standing, he fired a warning shot into the ground inches from her hand.
Both his feet were on the ground now, close to her. He leaned toward her with hatred in his eyes. “Stay down in the dirt where you belong, you dirty bitch.”
She fell back onto her elbows. He regained an appearance of calm. “You know, you never were my favorite,” he said. You never were my helpless, compliant girl, like your friend Crystal. I wish she could see you now. You know, she told me where to find you.”
His face glistened in the mid-morning sunlight. He blinked as a rivulet of sweat trickled into his eye. He took a handkerchief from his jeans pocket with his left hand and wiped his face, keeping the gun in his right hand trained on her. Then he bent to retrieve his black Stetson hat, which had fallen off in the struggle. He backed toward the boulder again. Slowly, he placed the hat on the rock on its crown, to avoid flattening the curve of the brim.
He looked down at her. “Now tell me where you put it, you filthy Indian.”
“Put what?”
His snarl brought a froth of spittle to the corners of his mouth. He stepped forward as if to kick her again but stopped. “Time for that later,” he said, as if to himself. He looked at her, spread-eagle on the ground, his eyes focusing on the v of her thighs.
“No, you don’t appeal to me any more,” he said, as if to shock or insult her. “But...hum...” He picked up a branch that was as big around as her wrist. Approaching her, he pointed it at her crotch. She scooted backwards. No use. With both hands, he brought the branch down on her unwounded leg.
She heard the crack as her thigh bone snapped. A searing pain shot up her leg through her body to the top of her head. It formed a cap of agony in the nerves of her scalp, then raced back to her thigh.
She collapsed again, limp, powerless, gasping, each breath a stab of pain. She did a puzzled self assessment. Two useless legs, no weapon and the demon from a child's worst nightmare staring down at her. How strange.
Slowly, it seemed, she became aware of the earth beneath her. Cold but firm and familiar, the sweet, supporting earth. Soon it would cover her, protect her. She would be in it, a part of it. Soon she would be dead.
Her death. With eyes closed, in a split second that she vaguely recognized as a life review, instead of herself and her own life she saw the generations preceding her, native hunters and braves, Apache raiders warring with the Whites, the defiant faces of Cochise and Geronimo, the desolate face of Chalipun surrendering his two thousand warriors to General Crook.
She saw the proud, tough, fire-keeping women, hearty children, horses and dogs. So many generations of life, of human triumph and human defeat. It was the glory of life itself, the struggle for existence she had inherited. What had she been given? What had she given back?
His voice came from Hell. “Now let’s get to it.” he said. “What did you do with it?”
“I…don’t remember.”
“You remember, all right. I remember too but we remember different, don’t we? Maybe this will help.” Without warning, he struck her thigh with the branch. The spreading gore around the bullet hole spattered onto her face. She felt the explosion of pain, saw a burst of stars behind her eyes followed by a few seconds of merciful darkness. She opened her eyes again, blinked away pain-released tears to focus on the cool blue sky, visible through a fringe of pine branches.
“My phone card! Tell me now!”
Gasping with pain, she rolled onto her side then up on one arm. She extended the free arm, pointing.
“I buried it,” she said. “Over there. Under the overhang, the red rocks.” A tidal surge of pain swept over her again, weakening and bringing down her arm, but she stayed on her side, eyes open, looking toward the place she indicated.
She could feel his eyes staring down on her. Then the bloody tree branch he had struck her with landed near her face. Unable to raise her head any further, she saw his booted feet when he turned away, then his legs, then his whole body when he neared where she had pointed.
His pace quickened. He reached the rocks, went down on his knees and began to tear at the fallen leaves and branches.
She heard no warning rattles. His head jerked back as the first strike hit him. The snake’s jaws spread wide, its fangs sank into his eye. He stood, reached up to claw at. Six feet of thick, angry sinew dangled from his face. He fell, then struggled up, blood streaming from his eye socket. He drew his gun, shot down into what had become a writing mass. Again and again he shot, the sounds sharp and clear in the thin winter air. The rattler strikes that hit his hands and legs were deathly silent.
He went down again. Blood stained leaves, beautiful, diamond shaped, black and tan patterns roiled in a dance of agony and aggression. It was the last thing she saw.
***
The last session was going well.
“Have you had any more of those dreams lately, where you can’t scream?”
&n
bsp; Allie laughed. “As a matter of fact, I had one that started that way the other night. Someone was chasing me. I knew if I screamed for help someone would come. I turned and opened my mouth and...”. She laughed again. “I woke myself up, screaming.”
“Scary!”
“No, not this time. It felt good.”
“Then I guess that's progress, isn’t it? Do you think it had anything to do with that fact that you’ve worked through some of your own childhood issues while you were counseling those two clients?”
“Maybe. I think it had more to do with speaking up about things that had confused or offended me, things I needed to say but didn’t have the strength or courage to say before. Like about Doctor V, for example.”
“Wow!” Then the therapist shook her head, smiling. “I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to say, 'How do you feel about that'?”
“I’ll answer, no problem. I feel good about it. Very good. We’ve talked before about reaching a stopping place in my therapy. Now I think we have. With my background, though, I may need a refresher course, a booster shot from time to time.”
“Of course. You know I’ll be here for you. It takes strength to ask for help when you need it. That’s something I'm sure you tell your clients, too.”
“It is. Thank you. Thank you so much. You’ve really helped me.”
“I know. I'm glad for us both.”
***
As detached as she tried to be, she got a sinking feeling when Crystal’s soft voice on the phone told her, “I won’t be able to make it to my appointment tomorrow.”
“I hope nothing’s wrong. Do you want to reschedule?”
“Let’s just make it for next week, same day, same time. Kim is in the hospital so this week when I’m not with the kids I’ll be with her.”
“Oh, no. What happened?”
“Upshall tried to kill her. I don’t know all the details but you can ask her yourself. They moved her out of intensive care after just one day.”
The Well - Book One of the Arizona Thriller Trilogy Page 21
