As for the history of the school land, she said, there wasn't any. It was just a little patch of ground in a desert that stretched to the horizon in every direction. The region was first populated by the early Pueblo ancestors, popularly called by the Navajo term, Anasazi, who had first started arriving around two thousand years ago, followed a thousand years later by the Navajos and Apaches. The first European explorers were the Spanish, who came in 1540, looking for gold and converts to Catholicism, but a few hundred years of Indian resistance and the Mexican revolution destroyed their dreams of empire. When Mexico ceded the region to the United States in 1848, Yankees began pouring in the region, suppressing the Indians in wars and pogroms. The government created the Navajo reservation in 1868 during a flash of contrition for atrocities perpetrated upon the Dinê.
Julieta didn't think Spanish explorers had ever made it to the Black Creek area, but the American entrepreneurs certainly had. From the middle of the nineteenth century on, they'd set up trading, lumbering, mining, and cattle ranching operations, along with the military posts needed to protect them and the railroads needed to move goods. Her Irish ancestors, like Garrett McCarty's, had arrived in a wave of migration in the 1870s.
But as far as she knew, the area of the school itself didn't figure in any of this. A few Navajos had no doubt lived there once, but if so they'd left no traces. Possibly some Anasazis had lived there a thousand years ago, but she had ridden her horses over every inch of the land nearby and had never seen any ruins or petroglyphs. Her house might have had some colorful early history in its years as a trading post, but if so she'd never heard a word of it.
The whole place was so obscure that the little mesa just east of the school didn't even warrant a name on the maps. She'd once heard an old Navajo ranch hand call it Lost Goats Mesa, but that generation had died off and now it was nameless again— none of her staff or faculty had ever mentioned any history of the place.
Cree got the picture. The land was big and enduring; people were small and transient, and the details of their little lives got lost in the sweep of things.
Another few minutes of silence. Julieta put on a pair of sunglasses to help ward the sun that now drilled straight into their eyes, and the reflective plastic seemed to make her very remote.
Soon a big mesa rose and cut off the northwestern horizon, presenting a line of sandstone bluffs that broke into freestanding pillars and buttes at the edges, carved by time into marvelous shapes. They struck Cree as gorgeous, and despite her growing trepidation she felt a shiver of excitement when she saw the sign at the edge of Window Rock: WELCOME TO THE NAVAJO NATION. The highway led into a typical strip of shopping centers, fast-food restaurants, and gas stations, but it felt to her like a gateway to something far larger and older. Behind every plastic sign and faux-adobe facade loomed the ancient rock faces, stark yet sensuous, patient yet playful. The lowering sun filled the red stone with light, softening and smoothing it; she wanted to reach out and stroke the wind-sculpted forms.
"So lovely!" Cree exclaimed.
Julieta glanced over as if startled to find someone in the truck with her. She followed Cree's gaze. "Yes," she admitted. "I guess it is, isn't it. I kind of forget."
7
HORSES. THEY turned onto the school's access road through a little band of horses that milled across the gravel and onto the verge, engaged in some minor scuffle and unconcerned by the approaching pickup. Other than to slow down, Julieta ignored them, but they struck Cree as beautiful, a poem of motion—big, rangy animals with ropy veins in their legs, running free beneath the open sky. They were all pale dapple grays and caramel-and-white palominos, their mottled hides vivid in the lowering sun, long shadows behind.
"The Navajos tend to let their stock roam loose," Julieta explained.
"These guys are from Shurley's place, on the rez just the other side of Black Creek—the stallion comes to check out my mares. I should call him to let him know they've come over this way again."
As the truck came among them, the stallion wheeled, showed a wide eye and yellow teeth to one of his harem, then harried her. The whole group turned irritable and skittish, ears back, as they trotted away.
The sign at the turnoff had said the school was nine miles away, and they drove it in what was becoming for Cree a loaded silence. Julieta's tension was palpable, a dark, heavy mass. The sun was directly behind the truck now, painting the stark landscape with a lush glow, but Cree couldn't savor its beauty anymore. Ahead lay something she'd never encountered, a brooding thing burgeoning like the line of blue dark that rimmed the eastern horizon. Already, she was unsure whether her sense of it was her own or something acquired from Julieta. For the thousandth time, she cursed her proclivity—her talent, her disability— for resonating so strongly with her clients, taking on their states of mind until the borders of identity blurred. If ever there was a time to remain objective, this was it. And she was off to a lousy start.
The horses veered away from the road and descended out of view into a dip of land to the north. Julieta's knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel, her pretty hands turned to naked bone, pressure rising until after another five minutes she slowed and stopped the truck. The plume of dust that had been following them blew past on a light breeze. Once it was gone, she shut off the motor and rolled down her window.
"You can see pretty much the whole thing from here," Julieta said hollowly, as if it were something lost to her.
They had stopped on a little rise. About a mile away, the school lay at the base of some low cliffs, a cluster of new-looking sandstone and steel buildings surfaced in pastel beiges and pinks that complemented the desert palette. The road curved due north through a parking lot and then through the center of the little campus. Julieta pointed out each building. "Just this side of the water tower, that's the garage and utility shed. The next building on that side of the road is our main classroom and cafeteria, and the steel building beyond that is the gym. On this side, the first one's our administration and faculty housing building, and the two beyond that are the dorms. That little log house in the middle there is our hogan. At the far end, that little bell tower is left over from the old days—the trading post would ring it to announce that they were open for business. We think of it as a school bell now, but we only bang on it once a year, at graduation. Past that, where the road ends, that's my house."
The last was a low, sandstone block building at the north end, well removed from the main cluster. A pair of huge cottonwood trees bracketed the front porch; a swimming pool made a startling turquoise oval on one side, and behind the house stood a barn, a few sheds, and a corral surrounded by a wooden rail fence.
"My once and future house," Julieta corrected herself. "Now I keep quarters in the faculty housing unit. Until we can add a wing to the admin building, we're using my home as the infirmary and nurse's residence. That's where Tommy's been staying."
They spent a moment looking over the scene and listening to the tick of the cooling truck motor. A breeze came lightly through the open windows, carrying the dry, clean scent of the desert.
There was nothing overtly menacing about the sight, Cree thought, but its isolation was extreme. Not a human being was visible, and aside from the hard red glare of reflected sun in the west-facing windows, no lights shone. The parking lots were mostly empty of cars, and the shadows of the buildings stretched long over the bare ground. All the distances seemed very great.
Lonesome, Cree thought.
"Friday night is always quiet," Julieta explained. "Most of the kids go home for the weekends. A handful stay on campus, but under the circumstances I figured this would be a good time for a field trip. They're off to Taos to visit artists' studios. So Tommy's the only student here for the next couple of days, and we've got just a skeleton staff for the weekend. I thought it would be the best conditions for . . . whatever it is you're going to do."
"Excellent."
Still Julieta made no move to start the truck. She sat
looking at the scene with eyes full of desperation. "There's something we should talk about before we get there," she said at last.
"Sure."
"What you tell me about your . . . theory of ghosts—it makes intuitive sense to me. I've always been pretty agnostic about such things, but after what we've been through during the last few weeks, I'm willing to . . . reconsider my views. But I still have serious doubts about bringing you here. You should know that what's happening to Tommy could kill this school in any number of ways."
"How so?"
"All but three of the faculty and staff are Navajo, and if they start to think there's a supernatural aspect to this, they'll leave and we'll never find anyone to fill their positions. If the parents hear there's something supernatural going on here, they'll pull their kids out, word will spread, and we'll never get another student. If the school authorities hear about my bringing in a . . . ghost buster to cope with a student health problem, they'll yank our accreditation. If any of my board or my private funders hear about it, I'll lose my financial support. If the state social services people think we haven't handled Tommy the right way, they'll close us down."
Cree nodded, accepting also the unspoken message behind Julieta's words: This place means everything to me.
Several miles to the west, the horses came into view again and continued their long arc toward the corral behind Julieta's house. Avoiding Cree's eyes, Julieta watched them with a desperate intensity.
"Julieta, you do have an awful lot at risk. Have you thought about ways you might dodge the problem? Couldn't you just, I don't know, find another place for the boy? I don't want to sound callous, but his condition shouldn't jeopardize the whole school. Couldn't you get him referred to a facility that's better set up for kids with medical or behavioral problems?"
"For now, this is where he's been referred! Putting him into long-term care somewhere is one of the options we've discussed. But Tommy hates the idea, and so do his grandparents—they're his legal guardians, his parents are dead. And so do I. As Dr. Ambrose said, the doctors have decided it's a behavioral issue—a . . . hoax, a gambit for attention by a troubled boy. Personally, I think that's a load of manure, but for now that's what we're going on—formally, anyway. I argued that in that case, it's best to keep him among his peers, have him keep up with school and other normalizing activities."
"What about sending him home? Could he take a leave of absence, or—"
Julieta shook her head decisively. "We discussed that, too. That was his family's preference, and that may be where he ends up. But his grandparents are getting frail, and they'd never be able to cope with a problem like this. His extended family, aunts and uncles and so on, is very dispersed. Their outfit's in a remote area where getting supervision and regular treatment would be difficult. It's also an area without the social and learning resources to stimulate a boy with so much potential."
As always, Julieta had a logical answer, but Cree couldn't escape the feeling that the mere thought of Tommy going elsewhere had terrified her. So much urgency and vehemence there. Through the administrator's reasoning answer had come one of the most personal communications Julieta had yet offered, even if its subtext wasn't yet clear.
Julieta was looking intently at her as if to make sure she got the message. "My point is, the buck stops here," she said, turning hard again.
"You're saying this is Tommy's last resort. That you're taking a big chance on me, and I'd better not let you down."
"Something like that," Julieta said. "Yes."
8
THEY PULLED into the parking area in front of Julieta's once and future house, next to Dr. Tsosie's dusty blue Ford pickup. It was Cree's turn to be silent as she got out of the truck, hoisted her suitcase from the bed, and started inside. She was instinctively listening, wrapping her thoughts around the faint impressions that seemed to swirl in the sunset light.
The hair on the back of her neck lifted.
The feeling was very, very faint, but it told her there was definitely something nearby. Maybe it was just the land, vast and naked and hard, and there was truth to the idea of earth spirits—looking around her now, Cree could easily believe that the shadowed rocks were inhabited.
At this early stage it was vague, a subliminal sensation like the tingling of the skin that signaled an approaching electrical storm or the feeling of being watched when there was no one nearby. She wondered if this was what livestock felt when they sensed an impending earthquake, hours before seismic sensors did. Have to talk to Ed about that, she thought, the earthquake thing. Another geomagnetic connection with psi phenomena. She pictured Ed's long, agreeable face, and suddenly she missed him terribly, missed Seattle and the clean light over the Sound and the hubbub of First Avenue and Joyce's no-nonsense, upbeat attitude.
"Are you okay?" Julieta watched askance as she hesitated on the walkway.
"Fine," Cree said. "Sorry. Just . . . thinking of something."
They didn't find anyone inside the infirmary building, but Julieta said she knew where Dr. Tsosie and Tommy must be. "We've been trying to keep him busy. He enjoys taking care of my horses, so Joseph is probably helping him do the night feeding out at the corral. Our nurse, Lynn Pierce, is probably using the time to get some dinner for herself at the cafeteria. You'll meet her later."
Julieta led Cree down a hall to a six-bed ward room on the right side of the building. They switched on some lights and dropped Cree's gear next to one of the beds, then went out through a rear door to a pleasant backyard, where the L of the house, a trellis, another couple of cottonwood trees, and a small, separate barn created a sense of enclosure. The flagstone walk split around a well-maintained circular garden centered on a group of sandstone benches; to the left, beyond the trellis, a bathhouse stood over the turquoise-painted swimming pool, drained now. To the right, extending beyond the barn, a rail fence wrapped about four acres. A few hundred yards east, the near cliffs of the mesa glowed orange as if lit from inside. In every other direction, the land stretched empty to the horizon.
"Do you ride?" Julieta asked.
"Not for quite a few years. Took lessons at camp for a couple of summers, once in a blue moon since, that's about it."
"You're welcome to come with me sometime, if you're here for a while. They need the exercise, and I've been too busy recently."
Standing together at the far end, the three horses turned their heads as Julieta opened the gate. At first there was no sign of Dr. Tsosie or Tommy, but after a moment Cree spotted two figures approaching from the northern curve of the mesa, half a mile off in the watery red light.
The horses crossed the corral, two fine chestnut mares and a black gelding with a distinctive yin-yang blaze on his forehead. They nuzzled Cree's hands with soft noses, gave her mild glances with their long-lashed eyes, and turned their attention to Julieta. They looked expectant.
"Looks like they haven't been fed," Julieta explained. "Maybe you could help me. We should do it while there's still light."
They walked between the high round rumps to the barn, where Julieta opened the door to the feed room.
"If you could keep them out of my hair—" Julieta said.
Leaving Cree at the door, she went into the room, hit a light switch, and began rummaging among feed bins. Cree stood with the horses, feeling a little overwhelmed by their size and warmth. They crowded toward the door, pushing their long heads past her to look inside. When she put her hands against the great slabs of their necks and pushed back, she was amazed at how hard the muscles were beneath their coats. They smelled like sun-dried grass, good leather, and sweet honeycomb.
"Hang on, kids," Julieta called as she scooped grain into three dented aluminum pans. "It's coming. Hang on."
A moment later she came out with the grain pans and pushed through the horses. They clumped after her into the middle of the corral and began munching as soon as she put the pans down. Dr. Tsosie and Tommy were closer now; the boy had his hands in his pockets and he scuf
fed at the ground as he walked. Instinctively, Cree's every nerve awoke and craned toward him, her senses alert for the buzz and tremble, the hidden turbulence, of a paranormal presence. She found only ambiguity. Or maybe it was "interference," as Ed liked to call it: Every space was loaded with divergent energies, multiply haunted by the residual echoes of human experience accumulating through time. Perhaps it was just the welter of ambient impressions, a spray of vague auras and sparks, that obscured her sense of whatever lived in Tommy. Or maybe when his symptoms were in remission it literally wasn't there.
Julieta broke into her thoughts. "Would you mind helping me with the hay?"
"Love to."
Occupied with their grain, the horses stayed put as Cree and Julieta went back to the barn. The bales were stacked to the ceiling along one side of the feed room, and Cree helped muscle one of them down. She sneezed in the dust as Julieta cut the twine and pulled it away.
Very quietly, Julieta said, "The idea of possession terrifies me."
"No kidding."
"Does that mean you and Dr. Ambrose believe in . . . demons? Evil beings who want to . . . whatever they want to do—corrupt and hurt the innocent, conquer the world for Satan?"
Julieta began pulling at the bale, separating it into smaller blocks of hay. She worked efficiently, but her hands were shaking as they clawed at the brittle strands.
"I haven't seen Tommy yet, but if there's one thing we need to get past at the outset it's images and ideas from pop culture or folklore. I don't believe there's an evil mastermind behind supernatural phenomena. I don't believe in purely evil beings of any kind, for that matter. 'Satan' is a concept people created to make it easier to rationalize the difficult or painful things that happen. The demonic thing is strictly a European, Christian outlook. I tend to go with Freud, who said we should treat ghosts with respect and neutrality, help patients come to terms with them and make them benign. Whatever this entity is, I wouldn't assume it's evil."
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