by K. W. Jeter
"There's like a room, down on the ground floor. Off toward the side, over where it's all burned and shit." He nudged her shoulder. "Over there. That's where the water's piped in. And there's that swimming pool-there, behind the building. He busted the locks off and started filling that today." The dark water lapped at the pool's tiled edge; it sparkled, looking like a polished bit of coal from up here.
Anne turned her head, swinging the binoculars around. She held their focus on the tiny figures of Mike and Lindy down below. Doot lifted his head, to see better.
The two people had been sitting on the verandah steps; now Mike was standing up. He was shouting something, but Doot couldn't make out what it was at this distance. Lindy cringed back from his anger.
Anne studied the scene. "That's the guy?"
Doot nodded. "Yeah. We gotta be careful about him. I think he's kinda… you know… dangerous."
She lowered the binoculars and looked at him. "And he told you he was a doctor?"
"Yeah. That's what he said, at least."
Anne shook her head as she raised the binoculars to her eyes again. "Sure makes you want to think twice about your career choices."
He didn't mind her keeping the binoculars. Looking down there without them, and seeing that Mike guy stomping around, and Lindy cowering away from his shouting, was giving him a funny feeling in his stomach.
***
"I just meant-"
Mike's anger had flared out of control. Lindy had never seen him like that before, with his face all red and throwing his hands up, the fingers curled and shaking.
"You just meant; you just meant what!" He cocked one hand back as though he were about to strike her. "A day out here in this shit pile, and you think you're fuckin' Heidi or something!"
He shoved her aside, sending her sprawling across the steps as he stormed up them and into the building. The boards over the door slapped back into place. Lindy sobbed, feeling a hot burst of tears on her face.
A moment later, he reappeared. She turned and looked up, seeing him standing above her with her little purse in his hand. He fished out her car keys, then threw the purse down, its contents scattering across the verandah.
"I got business to take care of." He strode down the steps without looking at her. "I'll see you later."
She pushed herself up on her hands, watching him go.
***
Doot didn't need the binoculars to see what was going on. Mike had knocked Lindy flat, and now he was roaring off in the red 'Vette. A cloud of dust rolled behind the car as it headed down the road.
Anne took the binoculars away from her eyes. "How bad did you say that guy was hurt?"
"He was all messed up." He didn't look at Anne, but down toward the building, where Lindy was sprawled across the steps. Probably crying, he figured.
"Yeah, well, he looked like he's feeling all right now." Anne made a scornful noise. "The sonuvabitch."
"I told you," said Doot. "I told you that's what it does."
Anne rolled over on her back, resting the binoculars on her stomach. She nodded as she looked at him.
"You know, Doot-this is crazy. I mean, some kind of magic water… It sounds like a tourist attraction or something."
"Hey-you saw it. You saw what it does."
She shrugged. "I don't know… a tropical fish, and this guy out here… it's not what you'd call great scientific evidence, is it? Maybe this guy wasn't hurt as bad as you thought he was. I mean, it's not like you're a doctor, or something."
He felt his face growing heated. "I've seen it. It's true."
A shake of her head. "Okay, maybe it's true; maybe there's some kind of miracle water bubbling out of the ground out here. You can raise the dead with it… I don't know." Her voice went softer and lower. "What I want to know is, what's it matter to you?"
"Huh?" The question took him aback. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, why's it so important for you to believe all this?"
He stared at her in amazement. "It's… it's important. It's like… a discovery…"
"Come on." She sat up so she could look him in the eye. "There's a whole wide world out there you haven't discovered." Her voice went low again. "When we were in school, you were the one who wanted to be a doctor."
Silent, he turned his face away.
"You wanted to be a lot of things."
He shook his head, staring at the ground in front of him. "Yeah, well… I can't. Okay?" He looked up at her. "I gotta help my dad with his business. There's all the paperwork to take care of while he's out on the road. And if he buys another rig… he's going to need another driver. There's all that stuff I gotta think about."
"That's bullshit." Anne's face clouded with anger. "The town's full of unemployed drivers-he needs one, he can hire one. And he can fill out his own forms, just like he's always done. He doesn't need you to do that. You're the one who needs the excuse, so you can hang around here forever, acting like a dumb shit in front of all those so-called friends of yours. Never getting out and going anywhere, never becoming anything. Because you're afraid to."
Doot scrambled up from the ground. He stood over her, shouting.
"I don't even know why I bothered showing you! You don't want to believe me-that's fine. You never wanted to believe me about anything, anyway!"
He strode down the hillside, dust kicking up around him.
"Shit." Anne rolled onto her back and gazed up at the cloudless sky. "You really fucked that one up." A grasshopper, the only other thing to hear her voice, rasped its hind legs, then flew off.
***
The road, the thin ribbon of the county highway, cut straight through the flat, dry landscape. He didn't have anything to do except aim the 'Vette for the horizon and push down the accelerator. The wind streaming over the insect-marked glass buffeted Mike's face.
His hands gripped the steering wheel as though trying to twist it apart. Teeth grinding down hard-that stupid cunt, fuck her, fuck all of them-he squinted into the sun.
A tear broke and ran down his cheek. He felt the sudden wetness and took one hand from the wheel. He dabbed at the tear.
When he looked at his hand, his fingertips were spotted with red. He rubbed his cheek, then brought his hand away.
His palm was smeared red.
The sick feeling at the pit of his stomach didn't hit him. This time, he smiled.
***
Her face was damp and puffy from crying. She looked up and saw the boy standing there, at the corner of the building. His jeans and shirt were coated with the hill's dust.
Lindy sat up on the verandah's top step and rubbed her face with the palm of her hand, smearing the tears dry. With a toss of her head, she shook her hair back away from her face.
Doot stayed where he was, yards away from her. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine." She made a sound that could have been a laugh, but wasn't. "Can't you tell?"
He walked up to the bottom of the steps. "Can I get you anything?"
"No…" A shake of her head. Her nose had reddened; she sniffed loudly. "Just don't… just don't go away…"
He mounted the steps and sat down beside her in the striped shade of the building's overhang. There was a sweet smell that came from her. She must've put perfume on, or something like that, Doot figured. Something girls did. She had done it for that Mike guy, out here in the middle of nowhere.
Her face was still streaked from the tears, a black smudge at the corner of one eye from her makeup.
"He scares me," she said in a small voice. "He's all different now…"
Doot didn't know what to say. He put his hands on his knees and pressed down hard.
"I've never seen him like this before…"
She laid her head on his shoulder. He felt its light weight there, a pressure and the trembling as she breathed, each breath almost a sob. He put his arm around her shoulders, and suddenly her face was against his chest, her hair trailing against his chin, and she was crying. Her body sho
ok with the force of her weeping; he wrapped his arms tighter around her to hold it in.
Then she pushed away from him, her hands flat on his chest, the straightening of her arms breaking his hold.
"I can't take this shit anymore." Her face had turned into something hard underneath the tears' wetness. She rubbed with her palm again, harder this time, pushing the skin white. "I've gotta feel better than this."
Lindy jumped to her feet. In a second, she had pulled the boards over the door aside and had slipped into the building's dark interior.
He followed her inside. Dust hung in the building's stale-smelling air. In one of the ribbons of light, he saw her kneeling down by the blankets, pawing through the suitcase. She found what she was looking for; she slapped a trio of capsules into her mouth and swallowed them dry.
She was breathing heavily as he stepped up behind her. Her head turned and she opened her eyes, looking over her shoulder at him. The caps were already having an effect on her, even before they could have dissolved into her bloodstream. Her face smoothed, became slack, as though the muscles beneath the skin had been sliced loose from the bone.
A smile, wet at one corner. "Want some?" The words came out slow.
Doot shook his head. As he watched, she sprawled back on the blanket, arms flung out.
"I know," she murmured, "what would make me feel even better…"
She reached up and grabbed his hand, tugging him down toward herself.
NINETEEN
It was a long way home. Anne still had the binoculars that Doot had brought along; she'd looped their thin leather strap over her shoulder so that they hung at her hip as she walked. She'd have to get hold of him, get them back to him sometime soon. Or maybe just go over to his dad's house and leave them on the back door handle where he'd be sure to find them. Dusty and thirsty, she climbed the steps to the trailer's screen door. She'd decided that she'd think about it later.
The youngest of her brothers and sisters were watching something dumb on the TV, with beefy-looking guys in short-sleeved cop uniforms. She picked up the remote as she walked by them and punched up Dan Rather; they squealed in protest, and she flipped the control back over to them.
Her mom was flaked out on the daybed, still in her white nurse's assistant uniform, the clumpy air-pillow shoes kicked off. Anne eased the door of her own bedroom shut so as not to wake her.
Doot's tropical fish still swam around in the bowl on the desk. The water had cleared a bit, but was still tinged grey. The fish, pink and shiny, stroked back and forth. When she brought her face down and looked straight at it, she thought she could see a thin white line on its side, where the cut had healed.
Maybe… She shook her head as she straightened up. She didn't know what to think about it.
Carefully, trying not to slop the water over the rim, she picked up the bowl and set it on the little table by her bed. She went back to the desk and sat down, pulling a stack of books toward her. They were all college-level texts, physiology and anatomy, with yellow USED stickers on the spine. She found her marker in the top one and spread the book open, leaning her face in her hands as she read.
She could hear the splashing of the fish in the bowl. Once, after a couple of minutes, she glanced over her shoulder and watched it swimming back and forth. Then she turned back to the textbook.
The fish swam, slicing through the tinged water. A trail of blood followed after it, like a red thread that widened, became faint, and dissolved.
***
The 'Vette needed gas. Mike glanced at the gauge and saw that it read nearly empty. Lindy, that stupid twat, must have come barreling out from the city without even stopping. The way she kept her head fogged up, it was a wonder that she hadn't rolled to a halt, the engine sputtering dead, somewhere along the highway.
He wouldn't have any choice: the next gas station he saw would have to be it. And it had better fucking be open-the digital clock on the dash had already gone past seven. These fucking hicks out here turned in early.
A sign showed up ahead, a square of back-lit yellow plastic against the reddening sky.
He pulled the 'Vette in by the pumps. Some off-brand of gas, with an Indian's profile in ancient, flaking paint. The store had neon beer signs in the windows.
The screen door banged shut behind him. A teenage boy sat behind the cash register, reading a copy of Thrasher.
"I need a fill-up out there." Mike pointed with his thumb.
The kid nodded, not taking his eyes off the magazine.
"Like now," he snapped. "Okay?"
The kid's head jerked up. He took one open-mouthed look at Mike, then scooted out from behind the register. The magazine slid off the stool and onto the floor. Mike could hear the kid fumbling with the pump nozzle and the 'Vette's gas cap.
There was a Coke machine by the door. He fed in a couple of quarters and a can rattled down. As he took a long pull from it, he heard laughter and voices behind him. He rubbed the cold can against his face, then glanced over his shoulder.
At the far end of the store was a glass-doored cooler stacked with six-packs of beer. And a counter with red linoleum, worn through in patches to the black beneath by years of elbows rubbing on it. There were two men there now, the heels of their dusty work boots hooked in the spotted chrome rungs of the stools. They tipped sweating brown bottles up to their faces, then slammed them down and laughed at whatever the woman on the other side of the counter said. She had blond hair and black eyebrows, and a crepe paper neck. She laughed, too, her breasts shaking, the freckled skin shining with sweat.
Mike lowered the Coke from his own face, turning and looking at the two men. They didn't see him; they were having too good a time.
He'd seen them before. It took him a few seconds to remember where and when.
A voice spoke inside his head, the words wavering and fading, louder and then softer.
… get rid of him… haul him back out to where you found him…
Now he knew. He remembered the one face, that of the guy with the louder braying laugh; he remembered that one real well. He watched the two men knocking back their beers and horsing around with the woman.
The screen door opened and slapped shut behind him. The teenage boy stood a couple of feet away from him.
"That's, uh, fourteen-fifty…"
Mike kept his eye on the two men as he dug a couple of bills, a ten and a five, out of his pocket and handed them to the teenager. "Keep the change." He drained the last of the Coke, then crumpled the can in his fist and tossed it into the box at the side of the machine.
Outside, the sky's red had started to turn black. He leaned his hands against the still-warm hood of the 'Vette and gazed down the road.
***
Harley fumbled at his shirt pocket.
"Fuck-forgot my smokes."
He and his buddy had just-opened bottles of Bud in front of them. Harley winked at the woman on the other side of the counter and pushed his bottle toward her.
"You just keep an eye on that for me, okay? Don't let this ol' boozehound get his slobbery lips all over it." His buddy laughed around his own upraised beer. "I'll be right back."
He slid off the stool and walked, a little unsteady, toward the screen door.
The pickup truck was out back of the store. He didn't like to leave it near the road, since the license tags had expired a couple of years ago. Didn't want some cop running a check on it. His boots scuffed in the gravelly dirt as he headed for the truck.
He pulled open the driver's-side door and climbed up on the running board. Leaning across the seat, he rummaged around in the glove compartment. He knew he had at least a couple of packs in there. He'd stocked up, buying an armload of cartons, the last time they'd left the pit mine they were stripping and had gone into town.
"Hey-"
The quiet voice came from behind him. He raised his head and looked over his shoulder. Some asshole was standing there outside the truck.
"Yeah?" His voice slopped with
drunken belligerence. "What the fuck do you want?"
The man had a little smile. "You recognize me?"
Harley pushed himself upright on the truck's seat, staring at the guy in puzzlement. Somewhere…
Then his eyes widened. "Yeah…" he said in amazement. "I remember you…"
The man's smile grew bigger and more unpleasant. "Good," he said, his voice still soft. "I was hoping you did."
He stepped closer to the truck, hand reaching up to the door.
***
The sound of a horn blaring came into the store. The guy working his way through the Bud had been telling the woman behind the counter about what his second wife had gotten arrested for, right off the stage of a roadhouse near Spokane; something to do with a carton of raw eggs.
"What the fuck-" He let the story hang halfway through and looked around toward the door. The horn was still wailing away outside. It sounded like the one on Harley's pickup.
He figured he'd better check it out. With a drunk's grace, he held up one finger. "I'll be right back. Don't," he said, "go away."
The horn sounded louder when he stepped outside the store. He rounded the corner and saw the pickup in the distance, the door open and somebody-Harley, he guessed-sitting behind the wheel. And closer than that, somebody walking back toward the store, as though he'd just finished having a talk with Harley out by the truck.
The guy walked right by him, not even glancing in his direction. He turned his head, watching the guy climb into the Corvette that was parked in front of the gas pumps.
