by K C West
“Ah, youth,” she said, ignoring my outburst, “they always think they have it so bad. I have seen much worse, believe me. And you can trust my words even though I am a combination of Amazon and Navajo.” She opened the beaded pouch on her belt and retrieved several stone pieces. The sound of them rattling together in her hand was mesmerizing, almost musical. “Sit up now.”
I did as she ordered. “Grandmother, may I ask a question?”
“You may.”
“How can you combine the Navajo and Amazon traditions inside yourself at the same time?”
“There is much that the two use in common for healing. It has been a valuable experience for me. I will take sacred white sage and make it a powerful medicine for your body and your soul. The Navajo shape-shifters have given me a new spirit for a short time so I can help you.”
“Are you sure it’ll work?”
Her eyes burned with new intensity. “You dare to doubt my abilities and the added power of Holy Girl?”
“I’ve heard that name before. Little Bird called her a Yei.”
“Yes, a holy person with special abilities. You must call me Holy Girl during this part of the ceremony.”
I swallowed. “Wow. I could sure use some of those special abilities right now, Holy Girl.”
“You have already been involved in a chant to rid you of bad spirits, evil spells from witches, and the pain and suffering that all that can inflict on you. The ceremony is basically a sand painting done by a Hataalii, a medicine man or Singer. A healer talked to you, determined what was wrong, what was out of balance, and what needed to be fixed. Then a sand painting was planned.”
I let that sink in. “How come I didn’t remember the actual painting part, only the aftermath? And why am I dressed in my Amazon leathers now?”
“You were sent to a sweat hut first to remove the impurities in your system and cleanse your body for your part in the procedure. If you cannot remember all of that, it must be because you fainted from the heat and the dehydration. The holy people said it sometimes happens. You aren’t a Dine after all. But, your Amazon spirit will help you now in this portion. Stay strong. You want to find your soul mate, do you not?”
“I’ll go through dreams, time warps, fire, famine, and Hell itself if it means finding Kim. Do you know where she is? Can you help me find her, Holy Girl?”
“I have received messages from many sources. All of them tumble and turn in my mind. I have to use the sacred stones in order to focus.” She held up four stones; one was white and smooth as silk, one was an abalone shell, one was turquoise, and the last one was jet that appeared to have waves etched in its surface. After a few moments of concentration, she spoke again. “The voices I hear and trust tell me she is alive, though she grows weaker every day.”
Hope filled my heart. I wiped tears from my eyes. “Oh, thank God. But weaker, you say.”
“Yes. All your Amazon sisters are trying to reach out to you both with help, but the distance across time is so great.”
“I know. And Kim wasn’t wearing her medallion, either. I found it between some boards on our back deck.”
“Keep it with you, then, child for more power and strength. Let me light the sage and have you breathe it in. Its powers will increase your insight.” As she talked, she produced a shell from another pouch and sprinkled in some light-colored powder. I could smell the sage even before it began to smoke. She had me stand up so she could circle me, waving the sage smoke, forcing it to envelop every part of my body.
“Breathe deeply.”
I filled my lungs, willing it to change my lethargy and hopelessness to resolve and purpose. I prayed that all of us looking for Kim would have renewed vigor to push on despite the setbacks until we had located her. My eyes burned, but my mind had never felt so clear and focused.
“The dawn is almost upon us. The event you witnessed before I arrived was the Night Chant. It was a prayer for you and your beloved for salvation from the evils that surround you.”
“I appreciate that, believe me, but what else can you tell me about Kim? Have any of your voices told you where to look for her?”
Holy Girl closed her eyes and fingered the sacred stones. I looked beyond her and groaned. Sunlight filtered through the open door of what I now realized was a Navajo hogan. The hogan’s doorway always faces the east.
“Let me think,” the shaman said. “One image comes in strongest. I do not see or hear much else, and I know there is little time. You must go to her as soon as you recognize the place. She is in pain, so much pain.”
My heart pounded and my ears buzzed. “Oh, no. Where are you, Kim?”
“You must search for one life. Yes, definitely. You will know it. One life.”
“She is my life, Holy Girl. My one-and-only life. Is that what you mean?”
“I’m sorry. It is fading now. I must leave you.”
“Wait, please. Don’t go yet!”
Dawn broke then, along with my heart.
“Aa shi bi’bohlii…”
Her voice was too faint and her image morphed into a shimmering light, replaced with a brilliant shaft of sunshine.
I awoke in our bed at the ranch, still dressed in my Amazon leathers. Sunshine and warmth held the faint echo of her words.
“It is up to you, child. It is all up to you.”
Chapter 18
I could hear thunder rumbling in the distance as a late evening storm approached. Within seconds, brilliant flashes of lightning illuminated the kiva walls. Rain poured in through the roof entrance, forming a muddy puddle on the floor. As the storm passed overhead, the thunder’s intensity startled me, and my neck jerked against the collar’s vicious teeth.
I craved sleep, but dared not allow myself the relief of a few hours rest. The collar was an inhuman form of punishment and only the cruelest of captors would resort to its use. The chains alone kept me imprisoned. Why add more? What had I done to the young man to deserve such barbaric treatment?
In the wake of the storm, silence fell around me like a heavy blanket, making sleep even more desirable. Water soaked into the sandy floor at a phenomenal rate, proving that this was indeed a thirsty land. The idea of slaking my own thirst did me no good right now. I needed to focus on something else.
Thinking of you, PJ, is not only something I want to do, but something I must do to preserve my sanity. I have no idea why I’m here and why I’m being treated this way. Yes, I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, but there’s more to this than a burglary gone wrong. Either it’s personal, or some psycho’s game. Why am I here? Why didn’t they shoot me at the house or somewhere along the way to this place?
I’m losing track of time. How many days and nights were we on the road? I don’t really know. How many nights have I been held here? How many days and nights in my own filth? I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. It feels like I’ve been away from you forever.
I heard mice again scurrying around, searching for any crumbs the young man may have dropped when he stopped by to feed me dry bread and, more recently, moldy cheese. I remembered the little mouse that PJ befriended when she was in the Welsh cottage. He’d been an innocent little critter who’d paid with his life for trusting a human. These mice weren’t harmless, though. They could be deadly. I’d read about Hanta Virus, an airborne disease spread by mouse droppings. Was dwelling on such things also part of my torture? Although my captor gave me water, which I drank greedily, it wasn’t enough. My body was dehydrating badly. I’m not going to be able to persuade him to let me go and I’ll soon be too weak to try to escape.
*
Another day dawned just like the one before and the one before that. The shaft of sunlight beamed through the roof entrance at a steep angle. The air was still. There were no sounds except for the ubiquitous mice. How do they survive? How do they find enough to eat? I dropped a few crumbs from my daily meals, but what else is there for them to live on?
I felt an affinity for the scurrying little
creatures and at times, when all hope escaped me, I wished they would end it for me with their virus. Such moments were happening with increasing frequency.
My neck felt like raw hamburger. I had fallen asleep a couple of times, or more likely lapsed into unconsciousness. When I came to, my flesh felt like it was on fire. The pain was constant and intense. I could smell the coppery scent of my own blood and the odor of infection. Maybe the infection, if severe enough, would become my salvation.
I’m trying to keep hope alive, honey. I know you’re doing all you can to find me. But how will you even know where to look? This is huge, barren country. I don’t know if I can find a way out of this evil device. I’m losing my strength with each day that passes.
A sob escaped my throat.
The sound of footsteps interrupted my thoughts. I looked forward to his visits, if only for the bread, cheese, and water. Mainly the water.
He climbed easily down the ladder, through what I had come to think of as the skylight. His clothes were different. Instead of the usual jeans and black sweatshirt, he wore loose fitting coveralls and a floppy brimmed hat over a grotesque Halloween mask.
Silently, he loosened my collar and released me from its cruel grip. He fed me, and gave me water. But instead of replacing the collar and leaving, he bound my hands in front, and pushed me down onto a thin woolen blanket. The urge to sink into deep sleep was so powerful, but I had to know what he’d planned for me. I watched him open the folding chair, sit down and stare at me. I raised my chin, matching his confrontational attitude. “Like what you see?”
“Since you asked, I think you look like hell.”
That voice. It was the first time he’d spoken more than a word or two directly to me, and I stiffened in recognition.
Slowly and deliberately, he shed the coveralls, revealing a trim woman’s body dressed in denim jeans and tight-fitting shirt.
She pulled the mask off and dropped it in the dirt.
“You!” I snapped.
“Uh-huh. You didn’t think you’d seen the last of me, did you? You and that pricey piece of trash you live with.”
“Terry, if you think Frederick’s going to pay a ransom for me, you’re dead wrong.”
“Oh, Kim,” my former lover continued, “you never learn, do you? Always jumping to conclusions.”
“I know you. I know how you think.”
“You think you do.” She moved in closer, her face barely a hand’s breadth from mine. “But you’re so wrong.” She sniffed and walked to the opposite side of the kiva. “I don’t want their money.” Her cackling laugh raised the hairs on the back of neck. “I have other plans. And now that I’ve taken most of the fight out of you, I’m inviting your little sex toy to come rescue you. You’ll like that, won’t you?”
My mind reeled. This woman was my ex-partner, who’d nearly raped PJ and created such trouble for us in Wales, but she’d grown far worse. What had I done to provoke the pure venom in her tone and in her eyes?
“You leave PJ out of this.” I struggled to free my wrists. “Whatever you have against me, you can settle with me.”
“Oh I have lots to settle with both of you.” She stepped over to the pilaster and examined the spiked collar. “When your beloved rushes in to save you, she’ll take your place in this nifty device. Then, my arrogant friend, you can watch her die slowly and painfully. The last thing you’ll hear before I put a bullet in your brain will be your lover’s agonizing cries.” She sat back down on the chair. “Such a fitting end to an ill-fated romance, don’t you think?”
“You’re absolutely mad.”
“And you’re absolutely stinking.” She pinched her nose. “You really should take better care of your personal hygiene.”
I struggled to get my legs underneath me, but dizziness kept me crouched on all fours. “I’ll kill you.”
Terry raised her arms as if protecting her face. “Oh goodness, I’m so scared.”
She picked up her pack and slid the zipper back. “Seriously, though, I know you’d like to. And I admire your spirit. As I recall, your PJ has plenty of spirit, too. I never quite got to enjoy her the way I planned when we were together in Wales. I’m sure we can remedy that situation.”
She pulled a sealed jar out of her pack. It had ancient markings around the neck. “Here’s something else to think about. Do you know what this is?”
“Go ahead, tell me. I know you will anyway.”
“Corpse powder. Are you familiar with it?”
A sharp pain shot through my gut and I swallowed hard. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Good. Then you know what will happen when I release it.”
“How are you going to do that without contaminating yourself?”
“Oh, Kim, you know me… I have a plan. I always have a plan. That’s why I’m much too clever for you and your little bitch.” Terry’s once beautiful face twisted into an ugly grimace. “But I must be off now. I have to hunt for a new helper. The old one got a bit too critical of my master plan. I should have left him in that bar in Waco last winter.”
She looked at me and winked. “Poor Jake. We were both out of our element. I knew it wasn’t a gay bar, so I wasn’t surprised when he made a pass at me. And I could’ve turned him down.”
She closed her pack with a laugh and sat back against her seat, rubbing her forehead. “But you know me. I was horny as hell and without a good lesbian for comfort. Jake was my only option. Good thing he made a better thief than he did a lover, or he’d never have lasted as long as he did.”
With a smile she stared at me. “You were good in bed, I’ll say that for you. That was before you dumped me for what’s her name.”
“You dumped me, Terry,” I said. “And we were history long before PJ came into my life.”
She checked her watch. “Fine. Have it your way. I just remembered that I have a lunch date in Farmington with a couple of prominent archaeologists who happen to be in the Four Corners area. So, I’ll have to wait until after that to find someone to take Jake’s place. It seems all of our colleagues are concerned that you’re missing. And of course, I agree with them. I tell them your disappearance is such a tragedy, a great loss to the anthropology and archaeology community.”
Then she laughed again with so much force she nearly fell off her seat.
Chapter 19
After a light supper, I went to the office. I turned on the desk light and sat in Kim’s chair, sliding my fingers over the smooth oak surface, skimming the edges of her letter opener, blotter, note pad, and pencil cup. My gaze lingered on the photograph of me that she had put next to her monitor. How happy I’d been on that fishing trip to Vermont, sporting a wide floppy hat and waders that were much too big for me. What a carefree time it was for both of us. Not a worry in the world.
I looked away, fighting the oppressive weight of despair that had settled over me once again. As time passed with no further word about Kim, I was losing the shaman’s dream-induced optimism. What if I never see her again? Can I live a normal life without her? My mind slowed and perversely forced me to dwell on that painful proposition. What will I do without Kim?
I stood and walked to my desk to look at her photo. My camera had captured her in mid-cast, the fly rod arcing gracefully, its line snaking into a lazy letter S.
A grin of pure joy graced her lips. Even the crazy backward baseball cap seemed apropos. My fingertips traced the edges of the frame. I revisited the dazzling sunshine on the rocks and the rushing water, and remembered the chill of it despite our protective clothing. The trip had been so exhilarating, so liberating. The air had been so crisp and clear, the trout fresh and flavorful when grilled over an open fire. The warmth of Kim’s embrace had felt so comforting when we snuggled in the tent at night, and the loving… Oh, my God, the loving had gone on and on.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Just find the map and leave the memories alone, I told myself. They’re too painful.
The lower file drawer was locked.
As long as I had known Kim, she’d never kept anything in her desk hidden from me. None of the drawers had ever been locked, and I knew all her computer passwords. Curiosity drove me to get the master key and take a look.
Under a pile of papers that included the map with directions to Chaco Canyon, I found a narrow, wooden rectangular box, about two feet long. A white business envelope rested beneath it. I should have left both items alone and relocked the drawer, but my initials were on the envelope, in Kim’s handwriting.
I hesitated a few more seconds, before I ripped the envelope open. A note on plain white paper read:
My Little Kokopelli,
You may never learn to play as well as Robert Mirabel, but I wanted you to have the opportunity to try. I remembered how much you loved the music we heard that day at the Taos Pueblo, so I had this flute made for you. Some private lessons go with it, just to get you started. Happy Birthday.
Love you, always and forever, Kim.
The box held a hand carved, Native American love flute made of red cedar. To personalize it, the artist had fashioned a wolfs head on the mouthpiece end and the letters P and J on the other. Six smooth holes were evenly spaced along the top. I held it reverently in my hands, letting my fingers caress the carved areas and glide over the smooth surface as I remembered the day we toured the Taos Pueblo and listened to flute music in Mirabel Nature Gifts. Kim had noticed my enchantment with the tunes and with the artisans who made the instruments. It was so like her to select the perfect gift. She’d even teased me with the Kokopelli reference: the trickster flute-player, well-known in Native American culture. Of course, he was also a fertility god, but I don’t think she had that part of him in mind with this sweet, thoughtful present. I took another deep breath and concentrated on holding my emotions in check. I wouldn’t attempt to play the instrument. Those first sounds must wait until Kim can hear them, too.
Once the flute was back in its case and inside the drawer, I propped my elbows on the desk and held my head in my hands, trying to keep from falling apart. It was a losing battle.
