He didn't want to go upstairs. He wouldn't go upstairs. Waiting was what he did best.
***
"Nell, put my sweater on. Now, Nell," Josie said. "We have a visitor."
Nell looked over her shoulder, raised an eyebrow. She put Josie's sweater on, picked up the ruined parka, and helped her put that on, too. All the while she kept an eye on the man leaning against a tree watching them.
He didn't smile. Then again he didn't frown. He wasn't exactly checking out Josie's bod. Then again, he wasn't exactly looking away either. He was just standing there holding a couple things: a towel that belonged to Nell, a hunk of plastic that looked suspiciously like part of a satellite phone, a rifle, a .44 Magnum, a quiver of arrows slung across his back one way and a bow the other way. On his head was a dew rag made from the American flag. On top of that was a cap that looked like he had stitched it himself and on which was affixed a ptarmigan head that appeared had not spent enough time at the taxidermist.
His clothing was equally interesting: a down jacket, puffy at the chest but worn out at the arms and making him look like a partially deflated Michelin Man. He wore a sweater, jeans that were shiny with wear, boots that were dull with scuffing, laces in one and not the other.
"Neighbor." Nell moved back a step so that she and Josie stood shoulder to shoulder.
"Ain't your neighbor," he said, his mouth opening just enough so that Josie counted three teeth.
Since there seemed to be no response to that comment, they all waited. The women figured he would make the ground rules since he was the one with the weapons. It took a good five seconds before he threw back his head and laughed hard and loud. Josie could see she had been wrong. He had eight teeth, and it wouldn't take long before those fell out from the looks of them.
"Had you ladies goin' didn't I?"
Josie and Nell looked at one another. When Nell shrugged and pulled a face, Josie relaxed.
"That you did." Nell stepped out in front. She didn't put out her hand but she raised one, and their new friend was happy enough with that. He held up her towel.
"You had a visitor last night looks like. Found a little trail of your belongings. I was looking for something that might want killing afore winter really sets in when I stumbled across all this."
"Did you see it?" Nell asked.
"Naw. Saw the slashes in the trees by the river, but that's about it. Stood maybe seven feet. Not the biggest I've ever seen, but good size." He checked out the tent, looked at Josie's jacket, and took a long look at Nell. "Figured I'd be finding me a body or two. Just didn't know they'd still be breathin'. Happy to see you ladies up and about. Too bad though."
"You'd rather we were dead?" Josie asked.
"No ma'am. But if you were I could scavenge me a few things, you know. I'm the lazy sort. Don't like to go get my supplies in any store less I have to. Besides, haven't got any country money to speak of. Well," he pulled his bushy brows together, "that ain't exactly true. Might have some. Got a disability check the government's always telling me I'm supposed to get. Must be at my address."
"And where would that be?" Nell asked.
"Don't remember. That's my disability. Don't remember much of anything important." He prowled around the campsite, checking things out, seeing if there was anything he liked. The only thing that seemed to catch his interest was Josie's pack.
"Want to sell that?" he raised his chin toward it.
"Not if you don't have any money," Josie said.
"You could take it out in trade," he answered.
He waited a few beats, threw back his head and laughed again as he wilted to the ground. The bow pushed up behind him nearly knocking the ptarmigan hat off his head. He moved his butt until it settled in just right. He put his rifle on the ground. But he kept his gun in his lap. He laughed so hard he had to wipe away a few tears.
"Don't worry. I ain't no pervert."
"Great. We'd hate to have to beat you to a pulp and leave you here to freeze." Nell sat down across from him. Josie put herself back on her log. Nell pointed her thumb her way. "Josie." She pushed it at her own chest. "Nell."
"Stu. Nobody calls me that, though," he said.
"What do they call you?" Josie asked.
"Nothing. Ain't nobody out here but me, and the damn grizzlies don't care what my name is."
There was that laugh again. Josie sighed but before she could suggest to Nell that they take off, Stu made them an offer they couldn't refuse.
"I'm serious, there, about trade. I mean you ladies gotta be out here for some reason, and looks like you're not making a real fine go of it. So, what can old Stu help you with? Trade you that fine pack you got there for a little guidin', maybe a warm place to sleep? Got me a little cabin I built myself. Got some food laid in and such. What is it you need and old Stu will make sure it happens. All I'm asking is that fine pack of yours."
Josie smiled. This kind of trade was right up her alley. "Well, Stu, here's the thing. We're looking for people."
"Any specific people?"
"Yes, but we'll settle for a little map of where we'll find any people. Then we'll take it from there."
Stu smiled, reached in his pocket and pulled out something brown. It could have been a plug of tobacco or moose droppings. It didn't matter what it was, he put it in his mouth and it made him happy.
"Well, now, that's a trade I can certainly make. I know where all the people are. Good folk, crazy folk, lost folk, sad folk. . . "
"Great," Josie said. "Let's get to it."
He stuck out his hand. "Pack first."
CHAPTER 21
Billy slid down the hall wall, knees bent, arms resting on top, hands hanging, and head back. He stared at the ceiling and listened for sounds coming from Hannah's bedroom. The minutes went by. Thoughts and plans ran through his head and disappeared through some trap door in his brain before he could catch hold of them.
His head rolled to one side. He looked at the floor. The edge of his lip tipped up and he found himself thinking about Hermosa Beach. He was weird when Hannah met him and he was a kid. A stupid kid who thought a cloudy day was about the worst thing that could happen. Childhood still clung to him like sand on wet feet and like that sand it had become bothersome and itchy and hard to get rid of. This day wasn't just cloudy, it was storming and it was time for him to grow up for good.
Billy swung his head the other way. He looked at the stairs, and the faded wallpaper. Hannah said whoever built this house was an artist. All Billy saw was old stuff and that's why he needed Hannah. He needed her to see the world with her artist eyes and she needed him to see. . .
To see. . .
Billy closed his eyes. He wasn't quite sure why Hannah needed him, but Billy was almost positive that she did.
His chest rose with one deep breath. He pushed his butt up against the wall and let his hands drop to the floor. His eyes stayed on the bedroom doors. There were only two: Hannah's and Pea's. Pea, the prophetess. Pea the one who ran the place according to God's will. If she could talk to God then it was time she started having a conversation with Him about Hannah.
Billy got up and went to that door. He put his hand on the knob. He thought to knock. It was a lady's room after all. But what if it wasn't? What if it was, like, some kind of angel's room?
Billy turned the knob.
If this was an angel's room then he definitely had to go in.
***
Archer and Andre had made two stops by the time the call came. One stop was back at the diner for a breakfast so good that it almost made Archer forget why they were in Alaska. The other was at a small cabin where a guy who maintained the road in winter lived. He also ran a first aid stop, was on call for stranded travelers, and basically was the only guy around dedicated to waiting for disaster to strike. He hadn't heard of any kids hitching who were having problems. He hadn't seen them. It had all been pretty quiet around his parts for a good long while. He was hoping it would stay that way. His plow was ready, though
. It looked like the snow was going to be bad, but trucks still had to get through. It wasn't like everyone just sat around the fire knitting when the winters were bad.
As soon as they got in the car the radio lit up. It was only eight in the morning.
"Guillard. Good morning."
"Morning Andre," came the now familiar voice. "Hope you two slept tight."
"Bugs in a rug, Cressi. What do you have for me?"
"A little something. Might not help you out too much, but it can't hurt," she answered. "That glove had a sales ticket on the inside that someone didn't remove after they bought it. Also, the glove is huge. Don't know if you noticed that when you bagged it. I checked with the morgue. It was two sizes too big for your driver. If he was wearing it, that could have contributed to the accident. He might not have been able to get a good feel for the wheel. If not, it belongs to someone about the size of a mountain."
"Where's the ticket from?" Andre asked.
"It's a thrift shop over in Taylor. Want me to call over there and ask them about it?" she offered.
Archer shook his head. Andre answered:
"No. That's okay. We're only a couple hours from there."
"Suit yourself," Cressi said.
Archer put out a hand to get Andre's attention. He mouthed 'send a picture' as he held up his cell.
"Cressi, can you shoot a picture of that glove to a cell phone? Good. Yeah." He provided Archer's cell number. Before he signed off Andre asked, "Have you heard anything from Nell?"
"Nope. Should I?"
"No reason. Just thinking she might have checked in."
Andre signed off and started the car. As he pulled out onto the road and headed the opposite direction they had been going, he said:
"Those two have been awful quiet."
Guillard was right, so Archer didn't bother to respond.
***
God didn't strike him dead when he opened the door to Pea's room, and Billy figured that was a good sign. Still, he kept one hand on the knob after he closed it just in case he had to dodge a thunderbolt or some lightning or something.
"Hello?" he whispered.
He was standing in some kind of Goth freak church. Every inch of the walls was painted with pictures of Jesus doing stuff like cracking open an eggplant or wearing a crown of thorns that was really made out of pencils and pens and hypodermic needles. In between the paintings were papers all neatly printed with poems and stories. Each of the paintings had a little sign next to them with the title and price.
Billy couldn't imagine who would buy these things but he also couldn't figure out who would see them. Not only did no one come to Clara's Landing, only the congregation came inside the house. Most of them didn't go into Pea's room.
"Hello," he called again.
This time his voice was stronger and he ventured further, checking out the great bed, the beautiful cover on it, and the fluffy pillows. He started for the bed, and that's when he heard it: a trill, a burp and a trill. He whirled around and peered into the corners of the room looking for Pea.
"Where are you?'
He wished there was more light, but he'd been wishing for more light since that stupid fishing boat where they had to sleep below deck. That felt like a coffin; this room felt like a mausoleum.
In the stove the fire flared and threw golden light through the intricately molded grate. It cast a pattern of flowers and swirls on the far wall and that's when he saw the woman kneeling by the window. Her arms were bare and beautiful. Her hands were splayed over the heavy wooden window shutters. He could see the soles of her feet, pink and pretty as if they had never been walked on. The rest of her was covered in a white dress that was spread out around her like a wedding gown. Her head hung between narrow shoulders and her hair hung over her face. Billy inched his way across the room, talking all the while:
"Hello, Pea. I'm Billy. My name is Billy Zuni, and my friend is Hannah. Do you know Hannah? She said a lady was looking at her when we first got here. Was that you? Is that how you knew she was black? Is that why you told Duncan about that black woman thing and Moses?"
He was standing right behind her and still Pea didn't turn around.
"Hey, so I'm sorry for just coming in here, but here's the thing. . ."
Billy's voice caught again. He rolled his eyes. He was like a little kid afraid to talk to the teacher. If he was going to be a little kid then he better be the kind that didn't run away crying. He tried again.
"Here's the thing. My friend, Hannah, is really sick. She needs a doctor. She needs to get out of here. And I was thinking, since everyone says you talk to God you must be really special."
She didn't move. Her hands were still against the wood. Her arms didn't even shake. Billy cleared his throat.
"I'm not asking you to talk to God, but maybe you could tell Duncan to help us. I don't think the river looks that bad. I think we could make it on the boat. I think we've got to try. You know, to get Hannah back home. To save her. So, could you please?"
Billy stood behind Pea and waited, but he waited in vain. She didn't move a finger. She didn't make a sound. The wood in the grate shifted and the fire inside cast its pretty patterned light over her white dress once more.
Suddenly tired and defeated, Billy couldn't stand up a second longer. He stepped around her. He knelt beside her. He was so close to her that she should have at least looked at him or told him to go away, but she didn't. Billy wasn't even sure Pea knew he was there. That was okay because he knew she was there, and he felt safe right then. He understood the whole Within thing now, and he was happy for her. This time, when he talked, his voice didn't catch. He talked to her the way he would have liked to talk to Hannah.
"You know, Pea, it's just that I love Hannah. I think I'd die for her, but I don't want her to die. You should help someone who feels like me because there aren't many people in the world who love someone the way I love Hannah. That's why you should help me. If you can, I mean. I'm just sayin', I love her."
Since that was all there was to say Billy stopped talking. They knelt together, looking at the wall until he heard a trill and a pretty burp and a trill again.
CHAPTER 22
I saw a movie called What Dreams May Come. It was about a man whose children die in a car crash, and his wife kills herself because she can't bear her grief. Killing herself is a sin and she goes to hell. But this man loves his wife so much that he travels down to hell where she is living in a place that looked like their house, but it was all rat infested and gross. She has to live with the ruin she believes she caused. He tries to save her soul because it wasn't her fault that her children died, and it wasn't his fault. It just was.
I don't think anyone will be at fault if I die. I know what's happening to me is so bad that whichever way the scales tip is the way they will stay. I can't do anything about it. That's just what I know. My body is awesomely broken because it moves by itself. I am thrown around this bed like that girl in The Exorcist, and I want to bite my tongue off, and I am choking on whatever comes up out of my stomach.
It won't be anyone's fault if I die.
At least I don't think so. And I don't think I'm going to hell because I tried real hard to do the right things on earth. Then again, I've ended up places I didn't deserve to be before.
But I wouldn't expect anyone to come get me in hell.
Duncan sat at the head of the dining room table.
Hours had been suspended so that everyone could be in the meeting, and they were starting to wonder why Hours were ever sacred if Duncan dismissed them so easily. No one was happy, least of all Duncan. But this was different than the night before. The congregation wasn't afraid of him now; they were sad and baffled. The Cushite woman was sick, perhaps dying, when just a few hours ago she was Duncan's intended. A few hours ago there was not only going to be a wedding, but Duncan had confirmed there would be a healing for them all on the night of the wedding. That was the plan. The plan wasn't any good anymore because Hannah w
as upstairs dying or maybe possessed.
"Teresa," Duncan said. "What do you have to tell us?"
"She's quiet now, but she's still convulsing. I don't know what's wrong. Her stitches aren't infected. There's no fever. She was healthy last night."
"Then it's God, isn't it?" Glenn asked his question. Robert tried to give him an answer.
"I would deduce that it's the devil because she's like throwing up and writhing." Robert wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "That's right, isn't it, Duncan? That writhing people are from hell. But then. . ."
Robert's brows beetled. He turned his massive head one way and then the other way. His tiny eyes looked at the people around the table. He scratched at the leather-like mound of red flesh on the side of his face.
"Then why would Pea say God said for you to marry her, Duncan?"
He swung his head back to Duncan.
"Are you like the devil? Is this a trick? Are you going to heal us for the dev. . ."
"Oh, no!" Melody's lips rounded and her face became an mask of pure horror.
"Enough, Robert. That's enough out of you," Duncan snapped. "Hannah is not the devil. I am not from the devil. Pea was not wrong. Something else has happened. Perhaps, the devil has tried to interfere with our happiness, but it might be something else. Melody, you looked in on her last night."
"She was fine like Teresa said. She and Billy were talking."
"He didn't come to his bed last night," Duncan said.
"Did he stay the night with her? Duncan?" Glenn said. "Isn't she supposed to be your wife? How could he stay with her?"
"He's her friend. I didn't think there would be any harm in him staying one night with her," he said, but everyone was uncomfortable with yet another rule broken.
Duncan knew that nothing short of hog tying Billy Zuni would have kept him from Hannah last night. He wouldn't let Billy disrupt the order further. He and Hannah had already upset everyone with their reaction to Pea's revelation. That Billy was shocked was understandable; that Hannah was appalled was unfathomable. God had sent her; Pea had confirmed it. There could be no other interpretation of the passage. There should have been joy.
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