Wincing, he said, “Is that on the agenda?”
“Yep.”
Although Amy didn’t seem at all apprehensive about the creature’s presence, Duncan had been maintaining a vigilant watch. Still by the Dumpster, the creature continued its tongue bath. For now, it appeared content to remain there.
Nodding toward the creature, he said, “So, what’s Fido’s beef with Katherine?”
She looked at the creature, a taunting grin broadening across her face. “You always want most what you can never have.” Then, turning back to Duncan: “He’s just pissed off is all.”
Soft but firm, he grabbed her shoulders. “Tell me what’s going on, young lady, or I’ll rinse your mouth out with soap.”
She laughed at the threat. “What once was thought extinct is about to make a grand comeback.”
“Oh,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Now I understand.”
“Just know there’s a seraph loose.”
“A seraph? As in an angel kind of seraph?”
“Uh-huh. The seraphs were the wardens of eternity. But they’ve been wiped out…all except one.”
Feigning less shock than he was legitimately suffering, he said, “The Wardens of Eternity? Wiped out? Wait! Let me guess: The Devil?”
Almost ashamedly, she said, “Yes. And no.”
“You’re starting to sound like your mother,” he warned her.
She just glared at him.
He held up his hands, surrendering. “Okay, okay. So, where’s this sole-surviving angel?”
“Seraph,” she affirmed, as if it preferred that luminary title. “And that’s going to be part of your journey, to find out.”
“What, the Vatican wasn’t available? C’mon, kiddo, I can’t even find my car keys half the time!”
“Just ask yourself—where would a seraph hide?”
He glared at her.
She smiled warmly. “Dad, I know you want to understand, but you can’t. Not yet. I know you’re very scared, but all you have to do is go with the flow. And trust your instincts.” She took his hand, squeezed it. “Just go with the flow.”
With urgency, he said, “Have I gone totally insane?”
“Just a little.” She winked.
“I mean…you sound…odd, sweetheart. Besides Katherine, who else is in there with you?”
“Kathy’s not in me, Dad. Just think of me as all grown up.”
“Grown up? Last I checked Ken and Barbie were still groping each other on the veranda.”
“They were not!” she said, mortified.
Staring deeply into her eyes then, he said, “My little girl’s still in there, isn’t she?”
A new voice now; older, feminine. And strangely familiar: “Your daughter’s still very much here,” the voice assured. “But she also has another family, and they desperately need her right now.”
Suddenly, Duncan felt a crippling emptiness in his chest, as if he and Amy were exchanging last goodbyes.
He stood, brushing pebbles from his knees. “Alright. Where does this journey begin?”
Amy’s voice again: “Where do you think it should begin?”
“Okay, Rock Bay,” he said. “Then what?”
“Follow the Yellow Brick Road.”
He shook his finger at her. “Don’t think I won’t bend you over my knee!”
An endearing smile. “Don’t ever lose your sense of humor, Dad. God might not forgive you if you did.” Then, as if fondly recalling something, she said, “You know, God is really very funny, loves to laugh. It’s the only sound He makes that’s even close to human.”
“But He’s not laughing now, is that it?”
She turned from him, her face solemn. In a mixture of voices, she said, “We don’t know what He’s doing.”
The assertion was now inescapable. He listened for the groans of any eavesdropping nihilists, then groaned himself. “So, this is all biblically related.
“It is what it is.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Moses.”
Her eyes turned discerning. “You’re not so unlike Moses. History will remember you both as emancipators.”
“What if I mess up?”
She shrugged. “Then this sitcom will never see the light of syndication.”
“Clown,” he said. “Do I get a staff? Something that’ll turn the rivers to blood? Summon plagues?”
“I can get you another ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card,” she offered.
Another...? Unbelieving, Duncan whispered, “You know about why I got shot?”
“I had some friends who were there.”
“But…that’s not possible.”
“Dad, you won’t believe what’s possible.”
Ashamed, he turned his eyes away. “I’m not the hero everyone thinks I am.”
“If you go in with bad intentions, that doesn’t mean you can’t come out a hero.”
“Translate.”
“That fateful night isn’t through with you.”
“You got that right,” he said. “It’ll never be through with me.”
“I think what you mean is that you’ll never be through with it.”
He nodded. “Smart girl.”
“Just remember what George Bernard Shaw said. ‘If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton you might as well make it dance.’”
“What if me and Mr. Bones don’t wish go to the ball?”
“Then you won’t,” she said, her puppy eyes blooming. “But you’ll dance for me, won’t you, Daddy?”
He put his face in his hands. “Oh boy, I have a feeling we’re all in big trouble if mankind is counting on me and the maid.”
“Don’t forget about Mom and the others,” she reminded. “And me.”
Duncan shook his head. “I don’t think your mother will be going. She’s kinda mad at me, kiddo.”
“She’ll come around. You’ll see.”
“I won’t hold my breath. Besides, I’m no Deliverer.”
“Your tears will show you who you are.”
“My tears—” He wanted to reach out and strangle her. “Could you possibly be any more obscure?”
“Just get everyone to Rock Bay, Dad.”
“But…Juanita?”
“Juanita doesn’t need you telling her who she is,” Amy scolded. “She has her own idea.”
“So how come I don’t get the benefit of knowing who I am?”
“Very soon, you will once again hold on the tip of your tongue all that is, all that was, and all that ever will be. And you will Know.”
“Know what?”
“Who you are, silly.”
Duncan felt as if he were descending in a faulty bathysphere, the pressure building to crushing proportions. His brain wasn’t buying any of it, but his soul trembled in the assuredness that it was all real and true.
His brain still firmly in control, he said, “You do know that I don’t believe in God, right?”
“I know. But it won’t hurt God’s feelings.” Then a frown emerged, one much too serious for a child. “Unfortunately, He’s not quite as wrathful as legend has Him.”
The creature was growling now, spreading its wings, appearing like it might attempt another blitz.
“Time to go,” she said.
“Is this the part where I wake up?”
“No” she said, almost plaintively. “But very soon, you will.”
In a blink, it was over. The temperature steadily rose, and the commotion of the city, it seemed, had rebounded to an even more oppressive din than before.
He was back, standing once again with Amy on his shoulders. Rachel and Juanita were still gazing skyward, apparently not having missed them.
Then, upon the mirrored buildings, the silhouettes of two immense hands plunged downward, as if meaning to pluck both structures from their foundations.
Amy hugged Duncan’s neck and whispered in his ear. “Goodbye, Dad. Be very careful. Take good care of Kathy. And no matter how it all finally turns out,
I’ll always and forever know you were a hero.” She kissed the top of his head. “Oh, and be nice to the dead man.”
Duncan squeezed Amy’s hands. “What dead man?”
“Señor Duncan!” Juanita gasped.
“Oh, my God,” Rachel cried. “Look!”
He followed Rachel’s finger to the reflective window before them. Both Juanita and Rachel were looking at Amy, then the window, then Amy again.
Duncan could feel her weight on his shoulders, could feel her hands in his hands, but something was missing from the burnished portrait before them.
They stood there, their own astonished reflections staring back.
All but Amy’s.
10.
“Put me down, Donut,” she laughed, poking the back of his head.
He watched her image in the window. For a long second, it seemed, her reflection had not been there.
“Did you just call Señor Duncan ‘Donut’?” Juanita said.
“Dunkin’ Donut,” she affirmed.
“My God, Duncan,” Rachel said, “Did you see that—or not see that—in the window?”
“Quite frankly, I think I’ve seen and heard quite enough.”
Rachel stared at him. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Can messiah’s have bad days?”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.”
Juanita helped the child down from Duncan’s shoulders.
“You’re Juanita San Diego,” said the girl.
“Santiago,” she corrected. “And you are Katherine Bently?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “But you can call me Kathy.”
“Not again,” Rachel moaned. She knelt in front of the child and, sternly, said, “I am your mother, this is your dad and Juanita, and you’re Amy McNeil.”
Shaking her head, she said, “Amy’s not here anymore, Mrs. McNeil. She went to get her sword.”
Forced to take a step backward, Juanita gasped as she wildly signed the cross, appearing more like a nose-picking epileptic than she did a devout Catholic. Duncan actually felt for her.
Rachel, now almost nose to nose with the girl, said, “I’m sorry, hon, she went to get her what?”
“It’s a long story,” she sighed.
Rachel glanced back at the hospital doors, as if trying to decide whether Amy would go peacefully, or if orderlies would be needed.
Juanita placed a shaky hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Mrs. McNeil, I know it is hard to believe, but she, I think, is Katherine Bently.”
Rachel stared accusingly at Duncan. “You’re being awfully quiet.”
“Cat’s got my tongue,” he said. The tequila worm he’d had for breakfast, he feared, had cocooned in his stomach and was about to hatch into a species of Lepidoptera not indigenous to the jungles of Mexico, but rather the kind found in old Japanese movies.
“Okay, what’s your mommy’s name, sweetheart?” Rachel said.
“Patty.”
“Patricia Bently?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Your daddy’s name?”
“My step dad’s dead.”
Rachel frowned. “I’m so sorry. What was his name?”
“Charlie Bently.”
“I see. He was your step-father?”
Kathy nodded. “He adopted me.”
“And your real father’s name?”
She looked up at Duncan. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know who Duncan is?”
Mindfully, she smiled. “He used to be friends with my mom.”
“Uh-huh. And Juanita here?”
“Sure. She’s here to watch over Amy and me.”
Rachel stood up, grabbed Duncan’s arm and escorted him to a private area some thirty feet away.
She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “My God, I had no idea her delusion was this…involved. Doctor Strickland said to bring her back immediately if she—”
“Whoa,” Duncan said. “I thought you were the one who needed the least convincing. Now you believe it’s just seizures, or that she’s delusional?”
“That’s Amy, our daughter!” she snapped. “She is not Kathy Bently, Bridey Murphy, Peter Proud, or anyone else!”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
She looked stunned. “You don’t actually believe her, do you?”
“I’m afraid I do.”
“You…you do?”
“Absolutely.”
“Oh bullshit.”
“By the way,” Duncan said, “Juanita’s going with me and…uh…Kathy to Rock Bay. She’s part of this.”
“Part of what?”
“Whatever this is.”
Suddenly dazed, she said, “Oh, alright then...”
“You have to come with us, hon.”
Tears welling in her eyes, Rachel hugged herself. “Our baby’s not really gone, is she?”
Duncan watched a man in an adjacent portico erect a ladder and begin the tedious chore of changing light bulbs.
“She’s gone, but not for good,” he said. “Looks like Kathy’s going to help us from here.” He glanced back at the girl. “Seems she and Amy are linked in some way.”
Emphatic, Rachel said, “What happened back there? Huh? Are we the only ones who saw it?” She was blubbering now, searching her purse for a tissue. “Why aren’t there people screaming, babies being thrown out of windows, car horns blaring, sirens in symphony?” She blew her nose. “Just what in God’s name happened to the sky?”
He pulled her to his chest. “Face it, reality’s gone on the rag.” Then he stepped back from their embrace and held her arms. “Tomorrow the journey begins.”
She began dabbing her eyes. “First class or coach.”
Duncan smiled at her. “Now there’s the woman I know and love.”
Choosing her words carefully, she said, “Back there I…I turned and, for a split second, could’ve sworn you and Amy were…gone.”
“We were.” With some reserve, Duncan gave Rachel the abridged version of what had happened.
After he finished, Rachel waited for the punch line. It didn’t come.
“You have got to be shitting me.”
“Wish I was,” Duncan said. Then he gazed into her eyes. “Have I ever told you how attractive you are when your mascara’s running?”
“Oh, Duncan,” she balked, “are you getting mushy on me?”
“Just an observation.”
“Good. Because it gives me the heebie-jeebies whenever you start breaking out the flattery.”
“Have I really been that neglectful?”
“You could use a refresher course.”
“Sign me up. Can I practice with anyone I want?”
“As long as you put her back in the closet when you’re done.”
“I thought you had a fear of dark, tight places.”
She snorted. “God knows your dick certainly doesn’t.”
“Ouch. Cease fire.”
She was looking beyond him now, into the past. “I wonder how much Rock Bay has changed in all these years.”
“Don’t know,” Duncan said, peering himself beyond its dunes, at the collapsing tide. “But it’ll never outgrow its ghosts.”
“Ghosts?”
“Well, my ghosts.”
Very concerned now, Rachel said, “Nice ghosts or mean ghosts?”
“I think Dan Akroyd should answer that.”
“Are you in trouble, Duncan?”
He said nothing.
“Damn it, Dunc! If I have to dust off the Ouija Board and drill the bastards myself, I will.”
“Those ghosts aren’t talking. There’s something called the ‘Code of Honor.’”
“Oh, I see. Something to do with you and your police pals?”
He just shrugged.
“Alright. Fine. Don’t tell me. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m gonna find out soon enough.”
“So do I, darlin’. So do I.”
He
took her hand, and they began walking.
Rachel snuggled close. “Have you thought about the possible trauma Patricia Bently might suffer when she see’s that her daughter hasn’t aged since the day she disappeared?”
“Tell you the truth, I’ve been more concerned about my own mental health,” he said. “But yeah, it’s crossed my mind.”
“Just know one thing, buddy,” she warned him. “If that little romance gets rekindled, I’ll do to you things Lorena Bobbitt never dreamed of.”
“Not even one little kiss?”
“Don’t fuck with me on this,” she said. “I mean it.”
“I’m glad you’re coming with us.”
“Me too. I think. But there’s one condition.”
Duncan sighed. “There always is.”
She motioned for him to bend down so she could whisper in his ear. On her tip-toes, she said, “I want to know why Patricia is indebted to you.”
He’d been waiting for that one. “Those ghosts aren’t talking, remember?”
She was shocked. “So Patricia Bently is involved.”
“Sort of. I think so. I’m not really sure.”
She grabbed his shirt. “You’d better tell me what in Christ’s name is going on!”
“Enough. I don’t have it figured out yet, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
Reluctantly, she released him. “I told you this revolved around you and her,” she smugly reminded. “Didn’t I?”
“I suppose.” Then, anxious to change the subject, he said, “So, what about your commercial tomorrow?”
“I’ll call Stills tonight, tell him I have a family emergency to tend to back East. Maybe they can postpone the shoot a couple days.” She shrugged. “If not, then something else will come along.”
“Okay. But this time why not put on some rubber gloves, tie a scarf over your head, and go for something really challenging, like floor wax or toilet bowl cleaner? Really, Rachel, once you’ve been seen doing hemorrhoid commercials, you’re instantly stereotyped. Your career will never get out of the medicine cabinet.”
“How come I always feel like I’m in a Billy Crystal movie when I’m with you?”
He laughed.
They collected Juanita and Kathy and proceeded to the car.
11.
Melanie Sands tucked her black flute case beneath her arm, looked both ways, then stepped from the curb.
Newton, Iowa: “...Home of the Maytag washing machine—and won’t that be something to tell the grandkids,” her mother would lambaste when in one of her hateful states, when she was gunning for men, putting holes in everything that got in her way, towns included.
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