Night Vision df-18

by Randy Wayne White

  The V-man replied, “A dude disrespects the Latin Kings-I got no choice in the matter.” He was studying the woman’s face, hoping to see that hungry look again. And there it was: Frankie flicking her tongue to moisten her lips, eyes bright.

  The V-man couldn’t help himself. He kissed the woman, enjoying how she exhaled the last of the banano smoke into his mouth. Frankie let him slip his hand under her bloodstained shirt, too, then drew back and said, “I just wish you made better movies. Last one, you taped the girl’s mouth-you couldn’t hear her scream! What’s the point of that?”

  Now the know-it-all woman was being nasty again, telling Victorino that he sucked at making movies, too.

  The V-man was thinking, This is one very crazy gringa. High from smoking coke and grass, and probably thirsty for more Crown Royal, the woman’s mood swings were really pissing him off.

  In that instant, Victorino decided he was done with Frankie. As of tonight. Wait any longer, he realized, and she would want part of the sixty grand, once they found it. No… she would want it all.

  The realization made Victorino want to smile. He was picturing himself using the box cutter on Frankie, too, but only after reminding her why it was better if he didn’t tape her mouth.

  You’re the one told me how to make movies, he would tell the woman. No… he’d say, I could make it easier on you, but I don’t want to disappoint my audience.

  But the V-man kept that to himself, playing it cool, even when Frankie asked him, “What are you grinning at? You look like the cat that just ate the bird.”

  Whatever the hell that meant.

  She started to walk to the RV. “I’m going to see the girl. Get started on Harris. When I hear him screaming, I’ll know it’s time to come out and play.”

  Tula was inside the RV, rushing to follow the Maiden’s instructions and also trying to come up with some ideas of her own. She had to escape and save Harris Squires. But how?

  It was dark inside the trailer, even with the lights of the truck tunneling through the curtains, so first Tula found three candles, lit them, then got busy. Everywhere she went, everything she did, she ran. There was no telling how long Frankie would be out there talking to Victorino. Soon, the woman would come inside, expecting the girl to share her secrets-and her body, too.

  Tula had known from the start what Frankie wanted. The same with Victorino, with his vicious gold teeth. The two of them were plotting together, probably outside right now, forging an agreement about who would take her body first.

  It made Tula queasy, the thought of Frankie or the Mexican touching her. But she was now aware that she might have to allow it to happen. Jehanne had already promised Tula God’s forgiveness. Whatever was required to win the redheaded woman’s protection, and her help, was permissible.

  The thought of submitting herself to Frankie, though, was disgusting. But her feelings no longer mattered. Tula was resolved to do whatever was necessary to save Squires and find a way for the two of them to escape. It was what the Maiden was telling her to do.

  However, the Maiden’s written words were also strong in the girl’s mind: I would rather die than to do what I know is a sin.

  Tula had repeated the phrase so often that it was part of who she was. She believed she could endure anything rather than disappoint God. But those words, even when whispered as a vow, did not apply to the life of another human being. Allow Harris Squires to die just to spare herself embarrassment and pain?

  Tula couldn’t do that. If she could save the giant by surrendering her body to evil, she would. In the meantime, her brain was working hard to devise another way.

  The RV door had a tiny window, and the girl stood on her toes long enough to confirm that Frankie and Victorino had moved away from the RV so no one could hear them. The woman was just lighting a marijuana cigarette, which suggested that she was in no hurry. Tula knew that it was marijuana because many people smoked mota in her village, even married women if they were suffering cramps during their periods. That’s what the women claimed, anyway, although the girl was dubious.

  Tula thought about locking the door, then decided against it. Frankie had believed her lie about wanting to speak privately. It would only make her suspicious. So the girl hurried to the kitchenette to search for weapons.

  Help yourself, and God will help you, Jehanne had written. Act, and God will act through you, she had counseled her knights.

  Tula was looking in cupboards, opening drawers, hoping to find an ax or a large knife, or even a gun. Although she had never fired a weapon, the girl was willing to try. But could she kill another human being? Tula tried to imagine how it would feel, as the Maiden reminded her, These are our enemies. You must fight.

  That was as true, and as real, as the revulsion Tula felt for the redheaded woman. Still… to sin against God by hurting another human being. It was a difficult decision to make.

  But then Tula reminded herself that the Maiden had carried the equivalent of a gun-a sword she had found behind the altar of a church and carried into battle. Jehanne had told her inquisitors that her sword had never shed blood, yet she had also warned that she would lie to them, if necessary. And there were witnesses who swore the Maiden had used her sword to kill Englishmen, and also to punish prostitutes.

  Tula pictured herself stabbing Frankie… then imagined the woman lying on the ground, dying, as the evil inside her bled out onto the sand.

  If it meant saving herself and the man who had fought for her, the girl told herself that she would have to do it. Even so, she still wasn’t convinced she actually could.

  Tula didn’t find an ax, or a gun, but the paring knife she had used earlier was in the sink, the blade bent but sharp. The girl wrapped a dishrag around the blade and hid the thing in her back pocket.

  Squires’s wrists and ankles had been taped. She would need a knife to free the man-if she could invent an excuse to be alone with him. But why would Frankie or Victorino allow such a thing?

  Thinking about it was discouraging, until the Maiden’s voice spoke again, telling the girl, God is with you. He will show you the way.

  Cupping a candle in her hands, Tula trotted down the hall to the bedroom. There, a steel locker had been broken open-Victorino’s men had done it, she guessed-but there were only boxes of shotgun shells, no weapons.

  Next, reluctantly, she checked the strange room with the bed and mirrors where there had been a video camera and a stack of obscene photos.

  Victorino’s men had been there, too. The camera was gone. The photos were scattered across the floor, dozens of them. Tula tried not to look at them as she searched under the bed, then a tiny closet, but she didn’t want to step on the pictures, either-it was like walking on someone’s grave.

  As she moved through the room, Tula winced at each new obscenity. The eyes of unknown women peered up at her, communicating a secret agony that was as apparent to Tula as the grotesque poses the women affected for the lens. They were young girls, some not much older than herself, each brown face forever trapped in a frozen silence from which Tula perceived screams of pain, of fear, of desperation.

  Then, suddenly, the girl’s legs went out from under her, and she found herself sitting on the floor, weeping, holding the candle in one hand, a photo in the other.

  From the photograph, despite the woman’s nakedness and despite her leering mask, a familiar face stared back at Tula. In disbelief, the girl turned away from the picture, then looked at it again, hoping to discover that she was wrong.

  No… her eyes hadn’t tricked her. What Tula saw was a loving likeness of herself, the girl’s own first memories of home and kindness and safety.

  It was her mother.

  Still pinned to Tula’s shirt was the miniature doll that she had found earlier. The girl touched her fingers to the doll as she studied the photograph, her mind trying to ignore her mother’s shocking nakedness by focusing on the face she loved so much. Familiar odors came into the girl’s mind, then memories of her mo
ther’s touch. Tula had been crying softly, but now she began to sob.

  How had this happened?

  Tula remembered the woman at the church in Immokalee saying her mother had gone to work for a man who made movies. But her mother never would have consented to something like this. Trade her dignity

  … her very soul… for money? No, impossible. Even more impossible because, also in the photo, a man’s reflection was visible in a mirror-not his face but his naked anatomy.

  Not since Tula’s father died had the girl witnessed anything more painful. In a way, this was even more traumatic because her mother had encouraged by example Tula’s devotion to God and the Church. Never had there been such a good and loving women-even the villagers said it was true. To Tula, she represented all that was godly and clean, a woman who had vowed to be forever faithful to her husband even though he had been dead for a year when Tula heard her make the promise.

  It was beyond the girl’s ability to comprehend. Here, though, was the truth-an obscene infidelity that seemed to debase the children of all loving mothers and mocked Tula’s deepest convictions.

  The Maiden came into Tula’s head, then, reminding her, Only God’s eyes know the truth. The truth is lasting but often hidden from us. Even though we see, we remain blind.

  Jehanne had written those words centuries ago, but it was if they were intended to comfort Tula at this very moment. The words were true. This photograph represented only a moment in time. It proved nothing other than it had happened.

  But why had it happened?

  Her mother had been forced to participate in this profanity, Tula decided. In fear for her life, probably. It was the only explanation that made sense. Perhaps the naked man in the photo was holding a gun. Or the man behind the camera. Only minutes ago, Tula realized, she herself had made the decision to submit to sin if it meant saving herself or the life of Harris Squires.

  Gradually, the girl felt her faith returning. Her mother had been the victim of threats and violence. The girl felt certain of it now. Her mother would confirm the truth of what had happened when Tula found her. Or… should she even mention the photo when they were finally face-to-face?

  No, Tula decided. She would never speak of it. Not to her mother, not to her family, not to anyone. It would only add to the humiliation her mother had suffered. Her mother had given Tula life-like God. And like with God, Tula knew, she would never doubt her mother’s goodness again.

  This photo… it felt so light and meaningless between the girl’s fingers now. Yet it was a final justification for the mission on which God had sent her-to rescue her family, to lead her people home from this terrible sinful land.

  Then, as she held the photo, another realization came into the girl’s mind, but not as shocking. Her mother had been here, at the hunting camp. The photo had been taken in this very room. Tula confirmed it by comparing the background with the bedroom’s walls and the mirror hanging above the bed.

  Harris Squires, she realized, hadn’t lied about knowing her mother. It had only sounded like a lie because the man honestly didn’t remember meeting her. Tula felt certain of it, just as she felt sure the giant would have remembered her mother if she had worked for him.

  No… Harris hadn’t forced his mother to do this. He might have played a small role, he might even have been aware that it was happening-but only because he was under the spell of someone more powerful. Someone evil.

  Tula could hear her pulse thudding as her thoughts verified what she had sensed from the beginning: Frankie was to blame for this. The drunken woman with her man’s voice, her tattoos, her viciousness. Carlson had seen her giving Tula’s mother a cell phone how many months ago?

  The girl couldn’t remember, but she now knew in her heart the truth of what had happened. The redheaded woman had victimized her mother. Only one of many. Frankie’s many sins lay scattered on the trailer floor, these profane photographs like discarded souls. The woman was evil.

  Her body shaking, Tula got to her feet, aware that Frankie could return to the RV at any second. She had to get herself under control. For Tula to allow Frankie to see her weak and in tears would only give the woman more power over her.

  She couldn’t allow that to happen. She wouldn’t allow it to happen.

  Tula considered tearing the photo of her mother into tiny pieces. Instead, she folded it and put it into her back pocket, while, inside her, the revulsion she felt for Frankie was transformed into hatred, then rage. She had never experienced the emotion before. It created inside her a determination and fearlessness that was unsettling because, in that instant, Tula understood why soldiers in battle were so eager to kill.

  As the girl hurried down the hall toward the kitchenette, it was difficult to keep her hand off the paring knife. She wanted to use the knife now. She wanted what she had imagined to happen: Frankie on the ground, the evil bleeding out of her.

  Which was when the Maiden’s voice surprised Tula by saying, What about the stove? The giant showed you how to turn the gas on.

  The girl was confused for a moment. To be so passionately focused on one subject, it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. But she tried, wondering, The stove? Of what use was the gas stove now?

  Then she understood. Frankie had been smoking a cigarette. If the woman was still smoking when she walked into a room filled with propane, she would die.

  For a moment, Tula was excited. But the Maiden rebuked her, telling the girl that the stove was better used as a diversion, because it was smarter.

  The girl was disappointed, but she understand. If the RV caught fire, Victorino’s men, and Frankie, would be so surprised they might forget about Harris Squires for a few minutes. Maybe they would leave the giant alone long enough for Tula to free him, then they could escape together down the lane to the road.

  No… not the dirt lane. Tula remembered that Victorino had sent two men to watch the road, so she and the giant would have to escape through the woods.

  But escape without confronting Frankie? That seemed cowardly after what that evil woman had done to Tula’s mother.

  The Maiden entered the girl’s head and comforted her, saying, God will judge her. Can there be anything more terrible than His wrath?

  Tula wasn’t convinced. As always, though, she obeyed. Equipping herself for a hike through the woods, the girl put matches, two candles and a bottle of mosquito repellent in her pockets. Then she knelt beneath the sink and turned the gas valve until it was wide open.

  At the stove, however, the girl hesitated. She had extinguished the candle she was carrying, but there were still two burning candles in the room. Secretly, she wanted to blow out the candles and hope Frankie was still smoking a cigarette when she opened the door. But there were no secrets with the Maiden, who told Tula, Hurry… the woman’s coming. Do it now!

  Tula opened both valves on the stove, then ran down the hall, pulling doors shut to isolate the propane, including the door to the bedroom she entered, maybe slamming it too hard, but it was too late to worry now.

  On the far wall was a window. Tiny, but big enough to wiggle through. Tula bounced over the bed to the wall, then flipped the lock, expecting the window to open easily.

  It didn’t. The window frame was aluminum. Maybe it was corroded shut. Tula used all her strength, pushing with her legs, then tried cutting around the edges of the window with the paring knife.

  It still wouldn’t open. As the girl stood there, breathing heavily, she could smell propane gas seeping under the door. She would have been less surprised by smoke and flames. Had the candles gone out, extinguished by the doors she had slammed? Or did the concentration of gas have to be higher before the candles would ignite it?

  Tula didn’t know. She knew only that she had to escape from the trailer before Frankie came in, smelled the propane and realized that a trap had been set for her.

  Next to the bed was a lamp. Tula grabbed it and swung the base of the lamp against the Plexiglas window, expecting it to
shatter with the first blow. It made a sound like a gunshot, but the glass didn’t break.

  Panicked because she had made so much noise, Tula began hammering at the window. Finally, it cracked, but the girl had to pull the Plexiglas out in shards, piece by piece, before the window was finally wide enough for her to crawl through.

  She draped a towel over the opening so she wouldn’t cut herself, then dropped to the ground, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief to be free.

  The feeling lasted only a few seconds.

  As Tula got to her feet and turned toward the shack where she’d last seen Squires, a low voice from the shadows surprised her, saying, “You sneaky little slut. What did you use to break the window, a damn sledgehammer? I didn’t even have to go inside, it was so obvious.”

  Frankie was standing at the corner of the RV, a towering shape silhouetted by headlights. Not smoking now but a pack of cigarettes in her hand.

  Tula’s fingers moved to her back pocket, feeling the lump that was the paring knife. An edge of her mother’s photograph was sticking out, too.

  “It’s because you scare me,” the girl said, trying to sound reasonable. “What I told you was true. I want to talk to you, tell you things I’ve never been able to tell anyone. But my body’s afraid because of the way you look. Why would someone as beautiful as you waste time helping someone like me?”

  With her deep voice, the woman said, “Liar! The whole time, you were lying,” sounding furious but undecided as if she wanted to be proven wrong.

  Tula focused her eyes on the woman’s black eyes, hand inside her back pocket, saying, “We should go inside and let me wash your blouse. I know how to get bloodstains out. Where I lived in the mountains, that was one of my jobs, washing clothes.”

  In her mind, Tula was picturing Frankie pausing at the steps of the RV to light a cigarette, then opening the door.

  The woman was staring back, perhaps feeling the images that Tula was projecting because, for a moment, the woman’s anger wavered. But then the woman caught herself, visibly shook her head as if to clear it and yelled, “What the hell’s wrong with me? You’re lying again! Don’t tell me what to do!”