The Influence

by Bentley Little

  Although they’d traded off, Ross had done most of the driving, and he was still tired. There were things Lita and Dave had to do, and though she wanted Ross along, he convinced them to drop him off at the motel so he could catch up on his sleep. They could pick him up later, after lunch.

  Only he couldn’t sleep. He was exhausted, but his mind would not rest, and as hard as he tried, he could not force himself to nod off. So after twenty minutes of lying there with his eyes closed and his brain churning, he got up to phone Jill. He’d made a quick call to her last night while Dave was driving and they were on the road, and he’d promised to let her know this morning what was going on. His cell phone worked fine here in New Mexico, and while he hadn’t checked his messages last night, he did now, and was surprised to see how many were waiting for him. Most were from the various firms offering him work, and he listened to each and every one of them before finally dialing Jill.

  She was at her mom’s house, she was fine, and nothing unusual had happened overnight, although this morning she’d tried calling a friend of hers who’d remained in Magdalena and the call had not been able to go through. She’d then dialed the Cochise County sheriff’s department, but when she’d asked if anyone had been sent out to investigate the situation in Magdalena, the dispatcher had become curt, taking down her name and phone number and telling her only that someone would contact her later.

  Ross reported that they, too, were all right, if tired from lack of sleep. He told her that they’d identified Lita’s mother’s body, and that Lita and Dave were now trying to track down Lita’s father before settling on funeral arrangements. He paused, cleared his throat. “And I think I’m going to take the job in San Diego.”

  “I can go there,” Jill said after waiting a beat.

  “Do you—”

  “Want to? Yes, I do.”

  The emotions that were stirred up within him—relief, gratitude, joy—were all good, and despite the nightmare going on around him, for a few seconds he actually felt happy. Maybe they’d even be able to rent an apartment by the beach while they looked for something more permanent. He’d have to call National Floor Mats first, and bow out of the temp project for which they’d hired him, but he also might be able to find a place for Alex at his new company as a way to pay his friend back.

  Then a beep announced that he had a call waiting, a number he didn’t immediately recognize, and he asked Jill to wait a moment while he checked to see what it was.

  It was his brother Rick.

  Their dad had had a heart attack.

  Ross didn’t wait for the other shoe to drop. “Is he…?”

  “No. He’s in ICU, but he’s alive, and they think he’s going to pull through.”

  “I’ll get there as quick as I can.” Already he was thinking that he could leave his car with Lita and Dave, and take a plane to Phoenix.

  “No,” Rick said, and there was an awkward pause.

  “No what?”

  “He doesn’t want you to come. He doesn’t want you there. Mom doesn’t, either.”

  “Damn it, Rick.”

  “It’s not me. And I’m not making it up. Dad said specifically, ‘Don’t tell Ross. I don’t want him here.’”

  “When exactly did this happen?”

  “Day before yesterday.”

  “And you’re just telling me now? Jesus, Rick!”

  “I’m only calling you now because Kevin told me to. If it was up to me…”

  “What a surprise.” Ross took a deep breath. “I’m coming there anyway. What hospital’s he at?”

  “He wasn’t joking. And it’s not one of those I-don’t-want-you-to-see-me-this-way things. He really doesn’t want you to come.” There was another awkward pause. “Mom doesn’t want you there, either.”

  “What?”

  “I’m telling you the truth, Ross.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Fuck them, then. And fuck you, too.” He hung up, not sure himself whether he was hurt or angry.

  It was only when he heard a faint “Hello?” from the phone’s small speaker that he realized Jill was still on the other line.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, and told her what had happened. “If it wasn’t for Rick’s son nagging him, the asshole probably wouldn’t have called me at all. I still wouldn’t know about it!”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Call my mom, I guess. See what she says.”

  Jill was silent for a moment. “You know this might be—”

  “I know,” he interrupted, but he didn’t want to think about that. If the blackened corpse in Cameron Holt’s shed could stretch out its tentacles to touch relatives, there was no hope at all.

  “Call me later,” Jill said.

  “I will,” he promised.

  Ross spent the rest of the morning on the phone, although the aggregated calls confused rather than clarified. It was made plain to him by both his mother and his sister that his presence would not be welcome at the hospital, and while he tried not to blame his family too much, he could not help it.

  Lita and Dave arrived with a McDonald’s lunch, and he found that he was starting to resent them. If they had not invited him to stay at their ranch, none of this would have happened to him.

  But that was unfair. It still would have happened to them, and to make up for his selfish thoughts, he offered to accompany them to his Aunt Kate’s house after they finished their lunch. Lita’s dad was still a no-show, and if they hadn’t heard from him by this evening, she was going to go to the police and file a missing persons report.

  He didn’t tell them about his dad’s heart attack, at least not right away, but later in the afternoon, searching through a pile of bills at the house, looking for evidence of a will, he let them know what had happened.

  Lita hit his shoulder. “And you’re just telling us now?”

  “They made it pretty clear that I was not welcome.”

  “Rossie! He’s your dad!”

  “I know, but…”

  “You have to go,” Lita told him. “You’ll regret it if…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes tearing up.

  He wasn’t sure that he would regret it. All of a sudden, he felt very tired. Not just physically tired—though that, too—but emotionally exhausted. He was sick of all this, and right now what he wanted more than anything else in the world was to pick Jill up in Mesa, drive to San Diego, have a beer while he stared out at the beach, and forget that the past few months had ever happened.

  Lita wiped her eyes. “We can handle things here,” she said, putting an arm around Dave. “And we have a car now. Mom’s car. So you can go if you want.”

  He did want to go. But not to the hospital to see his dad. Just…away.

  “That’s okay,” he said.

  “Rossie!”

  Twenty minutes later, he was packed and checked out and saying his goodbyes in the parking lot. Everything of Lita and Dave’s that they’d brought with them had been transferred from his trunk to the trunk of her mom’s car, and he gave his cousin a big hug. “Call me when you decide on the details of the funeral,” he said. “I’ll be here.”

  “You have your own—”

  He pulled back, looked into her eyes. “I’ll be here.”

  She started crying again. “Thank you.”

  His left arm still around her, he stretched out his right to shake hands with Dave. “Take care of her.”

  “You know I will.”

  “I won’t get there till late, but I’ll call tomorrow morning,” he told them.

  “You be careful, Rossie,” Lita said.

  “We’ll all be careful.”

  THIRTY THREE

  Two weeks had passed, though it seemed more like two days. Or maybe a month. Time was relative, and while it seemed impossible for so much to have happened in such a short period, the days themselves had flown by.

  Jill’s own life had been mercifully free of complications since leaving M
agdalena, but the drama in Ross’ life had shifted into overdrive. An attempt to visit his father in the hospital had somehow erupted into an all-out family feud, and his mother had not even allowed him to stay overnight at their house, forcing him into a motel. He had gone to the funeral of Lita’s mom, but no one else from his immediate family had, and their absence reflected on him and made him persona non grata with the other extended relations who showed up. Lita’s dad was still missing, and though the police were in on it now, no one had any idea what had happened to him.

  Thank God for the new job. Ross had started work in his new position three days ago, and he seemed to like it. He wasn’t happy, exactly, not with everything else that was swirling around him, but he was in his element, and she knew that it had been the right move for him. She’d never stopped working, and between bouts of unpacking, she clocked in and made her calls. Quick research had shown her that San Diego had a thriving arts community, and while she’d left most of her paints and supplies back in Magdalena, she’d brought enough with her in the van to start working on some projects should the mood strike.

  So far, it hadn’t.

  Ross arrived home from work shortly before six, and, Ozzie and Harriet-style, she greeted him with a kiss as soon as he walked through the doorway. She’d just finished two solid hours of grueling soul-sucking hard sell and was desperate to get out of the house. Here at the end of the continent, it stayed light later—until the sun sank completely below the edge of the horizon—and that was one of the things she definitely intended to take advantage of. “Nice weather for a walk,” she hinted.

  Laughing, he put down his briefcase. “Let me change my shoes.”

  They strolled along the sidewalk at the edge of the beach, venturing onto the sand when the sidewalk ended. There were other walkers out, several joggers, and even some surfers in the water, though it wasn’t that warm. Jill missed the desert, but she had to admit that this was nice.

  They watched the sunset, hand-in-hand, and it was so beautiful that she wished she’d brought a camera.

  She hadn’t planned anything for dinner, so on the way back they stopped at a stand whose driftwood-inspired sign read, “Surfside Tacos.” She ordered three shrimp tacos, Ross three mahi-mahi, and they sat at a plastic table outside the small shack, sharing their food and drinking Coronas.

  It should have been a perfect evening, but in back of everything was Magdalena, and when they walked home in the dark and a streetlight illuminated a statue of an angel in front of a nursery, she felt Ross’ grip on her hand tighten. Neither of them mentioned it, but they were silent the rest of the way to the house.

  It was only when they were in bed and about to go to sleep that Ross said, “What do you think’s happening back there?”

  “Maybe it’s over,” Jill said hopefully, but she didn’t believe it and neither did he, and no more was said as, individually, they drifted off.

  She awoke in the middle of the night from a dream about Magdalena.

  She had returned with her van to pick up the rest of her belongings, but all of the houses on her cul-de-sac had been burned to the ground. Most of the town was in ruins, and the only building that appeared to be untouched was the church. It was no longer a church, however, at least not any kind that she recognized, and although it had been broad daylight only seconds before, now it was night, and she saw eerie green light spilling out from the windows of the building, heard the sounds of raucous celebration from within. Walking over, she opened the front doors and peered inside. Townspeople, some she recognized and others she didn’t, were cavorting about the chapel in a bacchanalian frenzy, all of them naked, most of them covered in blood. On the altar was a giant black egg as big as a Volkswagen.

  No.

  The egg was not black. The thing inside it was black. The egg itself was clear, and as she tried to make out details of the folded creature encased within the transparent shell, a single red eye blinked open—and stared at her with hatred and complete understanding.

  She did not wake Ross up to tell him about the nightmare, nor did she mention it in the morning before he left for work, but its imagery haunted her throughout the day, and she ended up drawing a picture of it in her sketchbook.

  Her telemarketing schedule was five hours today—from eleven to one and then again from five to eight—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, so she sent an email to her group supervisor, begging off, pretending that she had laryngitis. Digging through the hall cupboard for the biggest towel she could find, she grabbed a bottled water out of the refrigerator and walked down the street to the beach, sitting alone on the sand staring out to sea. The sky was overcast, the water gray, her mood melancholy. The happiness and sense of renewal she’d felt since coming with Ross to San Diego was gone, and the phrase that kept repeating in her brain was chilling: Our luck has changed.

  The cool breeze that ruffled her hair felt like something more than wind.

  ****

  Ross came home early from work, in a bad mood—

  Our luck has changed.

  —and when Jill asked him what was wrong, he wouldn’t tell her. That was new. Until now, they had shared everything, had been completely honest with each other. She pointed this out, throwing in that she had also moved to a completely different state with him after dating for only a few weeks, and he apologized instantly. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “France rejected our new guidance system. That was supposed to be our big new market, and it’s why the company brought in all us new hires. They were certain it was going to fly.” He smiled wryly. “So to speak. But now there’s talk about a round of cutbacks, and since it’s last hired, first fired…” He shook his head. “I should’ve taken that job in Denver.”

  “You still can, if worst comes to worst.”

  “Those jobs are filled already.”

  “But you have a new job on your resume, and—”

  “Magdalena got me this job.”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “You know it’s true. I was unemployed, unemployable in this terrible economy, and then I saw that monster in the shed and suddenly I had job offers galore. That’s not going to happen again.”

  Our luck has changed.

  She put a hand on his arm. “Maybe it won’t happen.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”

  They tried to make love that night, but he couldn’t get hard and she couldn’t get wet, and eventually they gave it up and went to bed.

  Things should have looked better in the morning, but sleep hadn’t helped, and after Ross left for work, Jill signed in and started disrupting people’s breakfasts with her phone calls.

  By lunchtime she was tired and cranky, and she was grateful when the doorbell rang, giving her an excuse to take a break. Putting down her headset, she walked through the living room, opened the front door…

  And no one was there.

  “Hello?” she said, stepping out and looking from the left to the right. There was no one in the small front yard or in the street. Trying to convince herself that it was kids playing a prank, she closed the door and locked it.

  From somewhere in the house behind her came the light clicking sound of paws on floor, accompanied by the jangle of dog tags.

  Jill was suddenly cold.

  Puka?

  No, it couldn’t be. He was dead and flattened and back in Arizona. Ross had thrown him in the garbage, and his body was either still there, rotting, or had been taken to the dump.

  He was not padding around their rented beach house here in San Diego.

  Something growled from down the hall.

  That was it. She was out of here. Jill grabbed her purse, locked the front door and strode directly to the van. Parking in front of a 7-11 down the street, she took out her cell phone to call Ross. He wasn’t going to want to hear this, but he needed to know about it. His phone went straight to voicemail, but instead of leaving a message s
he clicked off and drove down to the complex of steel-and-glass buildings where he worked.

  At least, that’s what she started to do.

  But somewhere along the way, her goal changed. Why was she hurrying to warn Ross when she was the one being pursued? What she needed to do was get as far from here as quickly as possible and hide. Go someplace where no one would find her. Ross would be safe once she was safe—nothing was after him—and if she could ditch this whatever-it-was now, she would be free from it forever.

  Jill was aware that her thoughts were not as clear as they should be, that something was wrong with her logic, but it didn’t seem important, was a trivial objection in the back of her mind. What was important right now was getting away from their house and out of San Diego, and she found a freeway heading east, took it and continued out of the city into the countryside. Buildings grew more spaced out, offramps farther apart. The freeway shed two lanes, became a highway, and somewhere in the mountains, she turned off on a side road. She had no idea where she was, but that was an advantage. It would make her more difficult to track.

  It occurred to her that this reaction was wrong, that she was doing precisely what she shouldn’t do, but she pushed those thoughts aside. Passing a gas station, some tourist cabins and an occasional farm, she followed the road as it wound upward through high chaparral, twisting and turning. Ahead, she saw the twinkling blue of a large reservoir. Ringed with pine trees, it was beautiful, and she stopped at a roadside pullout, got out of the van and stared for several minutes at the shimmering water, enraptured.

  She decided that she would like to paint this scene. Ordinarily, she was not one for landscapes, but something about this place spoke to her.

  Did she have any art supplies still in the van? A quick search determined that she did not, but that was easily remedied. She’d seen a sign a ways back on the road announcing at least two upcoming towns. Even assuming that neither community had an art supply store, all she had to do was find a Target, a Wal-Mart or even a CVS. Any of those places would carry simple school supplies, and they were bound to have construction paper and watercolors, which were really the only things that she needed at the moment. Then she would come back here and paint. Maybe from this spot, maybe from another, maybe from several. And if she could not find a place nearby to stay for the night, she would sleep in her van.