by E A Comiskey
“I told you, they’re okay, Mom. The doctors were just being cautious. But they still needed a ride, so I offered to drive them.”
“Why would you do that?”
“What else did I have to do?”
“You could get a job. I bet there are plenty of nice, divorced men your age in the computer industry.”
“First of all, Mom, what the hell?”
“Burke Dakota! Don’t you curse at me.”
Burke continued as if she hadn’t heard the reprimand, “And second of all, the men in the computer industry right now are children. Trust me. Not dating material. Besides, there are men in Arizona.”
Her mother huffed into the phone, “Cowboy wannabes.”
“Anyway,” Burke said in a loud, strained voice. “We just crossed into Arizona, so—”
“Just now? Where have you been for the last four days?” cold suspicion gave her words a sharp edge.
Richard was eight years old, trying to get away with lying to his mother about where he’d been when his school teacher’s car got egged. Anxiety forced beads of sweat to pop out across his forehead.
“Well, they’re not so young, you know. They need to stop a lot.” That part was the truth, and it slid off Burke’s tongue so smoothly it was clear that she’d been keeping track of the frequent pit stops.
If he could ever get his hands on another bottle of prune juice, it would save them some time. He’d have to stop just as often, but he wouldn’t have to stay at each rest area for quite so long.
“Well, if you were going to Arizona, why were you in South Dakota? It’s not at all on the way.” She was speaking to Richard now.
He looked at Burke in a panic.
She rolled her eyes. “He wanted to take the scenic route,” she said.
“That’s right,” Richard added. “He’d never seen Mount Rushmore.” His tone turned up slightly at the end of the sentence, lending the statement the air of a question.
“I thought he was in a terrible rush to get to his friend,” she was louder now, her pitch rising ever higher.
It could have been his imagination, but he was pretty sure that Burke was starting to sweat, too.
“Mom, I—”
“Don’t you Mom me, young lady!” Soon, only dogs would be able to hear her. “You two are hiding something from me and I want to know what it is. You’re always sneaking around behind my back. Well, I raised you better than that, and I want an explanation right now.”
“Mom, calm down. We—”
“I will not calm down! Stop telling me to calm down! You tell me what’s going on. Better yet, let this man, Stanley, speak for himself. If you’re in the car on speakerphone he must be able to hear this load of horse hockey you’re trying to feed me.”
“Okay. Fine, Mom. Fine. Of course… Sta.... just… mountain…”
The girl was having a stroke. Richard started to ask if she was okay but she held a finger to her grinning lips.
His daughter was furious now. “Don’t you—”
“Hear…must…” Burke continued.
“—hang up on me—”
“Mom?”
“—Burke Dakota, I—”
“Mom? Are…”
“—swear I will—”
“Break…. Up.” She hit the red button to end the call.
Richard stared at her with his mouth hanging open.
The girl was a genius.
Her smile stretched all the way across her face. “And that’s how it’s done, Grandpa. She knows we’re safe and she’s out of our hair for a while. In two days, she’ll call to scold me for being a petulant, ungrateful child.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re a grown woman.”
She cocked her head. “Yeah, well, I’ll always be her kid.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“Now, tell me something. Once we get the skinwalker in our power by calling its real name, and we cut it into pieces, and burn the pieces by the light of the full moon, how are we going to get Stanley back from The Devil?”
He’d read and re-read the same passage a dozen times. “Well, there’s really only one way, so far as I can tell.”
“What’s that?”
“We have to bind her in the name of Jesus and make a trade.”
The pretty smile faded, pushed down by a deep frown. “Like in an exorcism? I thought that was for possession not…uh…whatever she is.”
“No. There’s a drawing in here. An octagon with these crazy symbols, one on each side. Underneath it says the symbols equal Jesus of Nazareth. I think we have to make this symbol and get her inside it.”
“Make it out of what?”
“Salt, I think.”
“Salt.”
He shrugged. “I think.”
Her fingers clicked away on the steering wheel. “How do we even find her?”
“Well, that’s in a different part.” He opened the book and thumbed through the pages. “Summoning spells. The Devil. Place an image of yourself in a box made of bone. A communion wafer, stolen from a saint, must be placed over the picture and covered in the blood of an innocent child. Fill the box with graveyard dirt, wrap it in the stole of a faithless priest and bury it in the exact center of a crossroads.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s all, huh?”
“Well, then you say, ‘I offer a bargain.’ Then I reckon she comes to do business.”
“And where, exactly, are we supposed to get all this?” Her voice bore a distinct resemblance to her mother’s, but he wouldn’t have told her that for all the tea in China.
“From wherever it is, I reckon.”
He closed the book and slipped it back into the glove compartment. His stomach made a strange, protesting noise and he wondered if he was hungry or if he needed another pit stop. If it was the latter, he was going to force himself to wait a while. Not for all the whiskey in Heaven would he have asked Burke to pull over just then.
“Grandpa?” her soft voice broke through his thoughts. She sounded so innocent that, for a moment, he could have believed she was eight years old again. She’d been a beautiful child. He’d always thought so, despite her dark skin. He supposed if he said that, she’d be offended. For the first time in his life, it occurred to him that maybe she’d be justified in her offense. He’d been a jackass. He was glad she was willing to give him another chance. Surely, he’d done nothing to deserve it.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think Jesus is real?” she asked.
“I reckon. He’s in the history books.”
“Yeah, but do you think he’s really who they say he is?”
He shrugged. “Ask a hundred men, get a hundred answers. They don’t know crap from Crisco. How would they know who Jesus really was?”
Church had been important to Barbara. In that time and place, it seemed everyone they knew donned their best clothes on Sunday morning and spent an hour or two listening to the preacher talk. Did he believe all the stuff about being born again and loving your neighbor? Some days more. Some days less. But what was the harm in sitting there and listening if it made his wife happy? He would have walked to the front and sacrificed a goat if it made her happy.
“It would seem that The Devil is real,” Burke said.
“Yeah. I reckon it does seem that way. She ain’t much like the Bible says, though.”
She cocked her head to one side. “What does the Bible say?”
He thought about it. Random phrases, often repeated, jumped up in his mind like so much popcorn.
Repent and be saved.
For God so loved the world…
In the beginning…
Lazarus, come forth!
The way, the truth, and the life.
Hallowed be thy name.
The word of God, for the people of God.
“Guess we didn’t talk about him much,” he finally admitted. “Or, I wasn’t listenin’ when we did.”
“Her.”
�
�Right. I suppose he…uh…she was just God’s adversary. The force in the world trying to trip us up. The one who made bad things happen.”
“Seems to me people are the ones who make bad things happen,” Burke said.
He couldn’t deny that. In his lifetime, he’d seen mankind do horrible things. “Stanley says she’s nice.”
“That makes sense.”
He scratched his head. Noticing the wild tangle of his hair, he tried to pat it down, in vain. It hadn’t lain flat since it turned white, half a lifetime ago. No reason it would today. “It does?”
“Sure. Have you ever heard of a con man who was a jerk? They make old ladies fall in love with them. They charm their way past security guards. They dazzle businessmen into fraudulently investing hard-earned fortunes. They’re horrible people, but unfailingly nice.”
“Huh.” He would have to chew on that for a while. He’d always equated nice with good and mean with bad, but maybe he’d have to rethink that. Bodes well for an ornery old coot like me. Maybe I ain’t so bad, after all. Just grouchy.
“So, if The Devil is real and the name of Jesus will bind her,” Burke began, but she didn’t finish. There was really no need. He knew exactly what she was saying.
“Yeah. I reckon you’re right.”
“We might want to rethink a few of our beliefs.”
It occurred to him that he had smiled more in the past few days than he had in the last decade. “Your mother will be thrilled if we go to church with her.”
She nodded. “She’ll think it was because we were won over by her righteousness.”
“Maybe we should tell her the truth.”
“The whole truth?”
“Nothing but the truth.”
They were both cracking up at that thought when she took the sharply descending ramp that led them onto AZ-80. The green sign on the side of the road told them they had twenty-five miles to go until Tombstone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Finn
In his dreams, he lay on his back and watched his flesh rot away from his bones, falling from his arms in chunks like he’d been trapped in a b-level zombie movie. Maggots writhed in the gaping wounds and he tried to scream for help. Sara rode him hard, pushed toward climax by his fear. Against his will, he came inside her and, as his body spasmed, her face became the grinning skull of Death.
He lurched awake.
Sweat drenched his clothes. The heavy quilt still covered him. Sara sat on the floor next to the sofa, one finger slowly sliding up and down an arm, bringing goosebumps rising to the surface there.
“Did you have a bad dream?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He pushed himself into a sitting position. Thirsty. His throat was raw. It lent his voice a harsh raspiness. “Could you grab me a bottle of water?” he asked.
She bounced off to the kitchen without complaint and came back with one of the little plastic bottles.
The icy water chilled him, coursed through his veins, tore a shudder from his damp body. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I must have the flu or something.”
She pressed a hand to his forehead. “You seem healthy and full of life to me.”
“Yeah, well, I feel sick and half dead. My bones ache like I’ve been hit by a truck.” He swallowed the rest of the water and handed the empty bottle back to her. “Maybe you should just go, Sara.” The horrible dream was fading and his eyelids were growing heavy again.
Sara pushed his hair back from his forehead and ran her nails gently along his scalp. It felt wonderful. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m staying right here with you, Finn. Don’t you worry about me. I have everything I need. Just rest.”
He was too tired to argue. He slid back down until his head found the pillow again.
“Finn?” she asked.
“Yeah?”
“Do me one favor, though, okay? Try hard to focus on the good times, the times when you felt alive and strong. Like when you ran that race in California. Do you remember?”
He did remember. Fire had burned in his thighs as he strained against gravity to get to the top of hill after hill after hill. The cool drizzle that fell on that misty day ran down his face, infinitely more pleasant than running under the wretched desert sun. His lungs weren’t so damaged then. He drew in deep breaths and the fresh air coursed through his veins with each powerful beat of his heart. He ran for days like that. He lived for days like that.
“Oh, yes. That’s good, Finn. Don’t stop,” she whispered as he drifted off to sleep again. His last waking thought was that she sounded just like she did when he was making love to her. Strange girl.
Chapter Thirty
Richard
The girl at the front desk of the little hotel on the hill had hair that reached past her bottom and a habit of shaking her head every few minutes so it shimmered like a thick brown curtain over an open window. A silver name tag with black letters said her name was StellaLuna. Richard had a vague notion of a storybook by the same name. What kind of weirdo named their kid after a book about a bat? He refrained from saying anything and considered his newfound restraint a sign of growth.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have adjoining rooms. I had a cancellation today for a room with two double beds on the second floor. That’s the best I’m going to be able to do. It’s Wyatt Earp Days this weekend, you know.
“Wyatt Earp Days?” Burke asked.
“Oh, yeah! It’s a big deal,” the girl said. “People come from all over.”
“Come to play dress-up and act like they know something about guns, and cowboys, and history,” Richard mumbled. He’d always loved the wide-eyed tourists who came to Tombstone to experience the Old West, but the ones who seemed to think they were the reincarnation of Doc Holliday or Billy Clanton really stuck in his craw.
StellaLuna narrowed her gaze on him. Burke must have sensed a storm brewing because she was a little too loud when she said, “Sounds great. We really got lucky coming into town during a festival. The room with two beds will be fine.” She offered her license and credit card and leaned her elbows on the counter. “Listen, can I ask you something? Kind of girl-to-girl?”
“Sure.” The girl popped her chewing gum, a gunshot in the quiet, echoing lobby.
“Well, it’s a little silly, but I confess, I didn’t know anything about Wyatt Earp Days, but I did come here because I have something of a celebrity crush.”
Casual indifference was washed away by gleeful conspiracy. “Dirk?”
A little line formed between Burke’s brows. “Dirk?”
StellaLuna waggled her brows at her. “He’s so bae. I mean, all the girls here always knew it, but ever since he had that walk-on role with Will Smith last year...well...now the whole world wants him, right?”
“Oh.” Burke lifted one coy shoulder. “I guess I’m too much of a book nerd to know much about movies. I bet he’s very handsome, though.”
“Ohhhh…. Now I get it.” The girl was fully focused on sharing her celebrity experiences, leaning forward on the counter, too, chomping her gum like a cow with cud. “You’re looking for that author guy.”
“Finn O’Doyle. That’s the one. Have you met him? Is he as handsome in real life as he is in his picture?”
Beaming with pleasure at being The Girl With All The Info, she nodded and popped another enormous bubble. “Oh, yeah. For sure. Totally handsome. Kinda grouchy, though. I see him at Joe’s every now and then, sittin’ and drinkin’ and eatin’, but hardly ever talkin’ to anyone. My boyfriend asked him to play doubles at pool one night, but he said he had to go. Then he sat there for another two hours doin’ nothin’ but starin’ into his MGD.”
Burke’s eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. Richard continued watching her performance in mute astonishment. Had he ever suspected the girl was an actress? For the second time that day, he was impressed by her special brand of genius.
“Oh, the strong, silent type. Makes me all shivery,” Burke gushed.
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Why? Are you gonna stalk him or somethin’?”
Silly, girlish giggles bubbled up from Burke. “Oh, you know. Not stalk. Just…drive by once or twice. And if he happens to be out front chopping wood with his shirt off, where’s the harm in snapping a photo or two?”
StellaLuna’s giggle matched Burke’s. “He might not be my type, but even I’d click the link for that pic.” She handed two plastic key cards across the desk. “All right then, take Charleston Road a coupla’ miles out, right? And then you’ll go over the big wash and his driveway’s on the right side. Good luck catching a glimpse, though. House is probably half a mile off the road down a dirt drive.”
Burke beamed. “You’re the best, StellaLuna.”
A bubble covered her face and was sucked back into her mouth. “Us girls gotta stick together. You’re in room two-sixteen. You can park ‘round back. Breakfast is in here from six thirty till nine.”
Richard followed his granddaughter back to the SUV. “That was good.” He couldn’t imagine he’d have ever thought to just come out and ask where the man lived. The plan was brilliant in its simplicity.
She gave him a long look before slipping her sunglasses on. “Thanks,” she said before disappearing into the car.
“What was that?” he asked once he’d followed.
“What?”
“Your thanks was a little—”
“Surprised?” She turned the key and sweet, cool air filled the little space. Somewhere after Colorado, they’d switched from heat to air conditioning. “Can you blame me, Grandpa? I think that’s the first compliment you’ve ever given me in my life.”
Was that true? He tried to think back. A man couldn’t be expected to remember every conversation he ever had. “That can’t be true.”
“Okay, my mistake,” she agreed.
Her nonresistance irked him. It’s just the answer Stanley would have given. Thinking of Stanley was salt in the wound. “Well, I’m sorry you’re stuck in this mess with such a cantankerous old fart.”
