Down the Throat of the Mountain

by Jennifer Erickson

  "Who is this?"

  "It's your aunt Margaret. I've left seven messages for you."

  "I'm sorry, Aunt Margaret. It's a long story, but I've been staying at...a friend's house and I don't get cell reception."

  "What kind of excuse is that? I'm an old woman and you're all I have left. Didn't you even want to check in? What if I broke my hip and was lying here on the floor dying?"

  Janie snorted. Aunt Margaret had plenty of life left in her. She was unstoppable. It was Janie whose life seemed to be draining away, disappointment by disappointment.

  They discussed Janie's father's estate. Janie would inherit the house, of course. Insurance paperwork had been mailed. Janie promised she'd sign whatever was needed and drop it off at Aunt Margaret's over the weekend. Pete was driving into town to do errands. Surely he'd give Janie a lift.

  Chapter 24

  Friday night, Pete finished his supply of beer and polished off the whiskey as well. Janie awoke Saturday to the sound of retching in the pastel bathroom by her head.

  She slipped out and took Lacey for a run along the canyon road, dodging off the asphalt when the occasional car roared up behind them. Janie felt almost giddy to have escaped the gloomy atmosphere and Lacey grinned up into her face and leapt playfully at her feet.

  When they arrived back, Pete was sipping coffee and having a smoke, hair still damp from the shower. Broken blood vessels stained his eyelids but he put on a hearty show, and Janie decided to go along with the pretense that nothing was wrong.

  They joked and chatted on the way down the canyon, as though they were headed off to Hawaii, and not the Laundromat, King Soopers, Liquor Emporium and Burger King drive-thru.

  Halfway down the canyon they came into cell range. Janie turned on her phone and worked through her messages. Sure enough, there were several from Aunt Margaret, but there was one message that pushed everything else out of her head. It was a text from George. George, her old boss, her married boyfriend. George the pussy: "Been thinking about u. Miss u."

  Janie could imagine that it meant everything that she could possibly hope. Did he love her? Was he leaving Leslie? Or was it the same old game, the one Janie had thought she was winning, but in truth she'd been benched from the start? She reread the message, then sat, still as a statue, oblivious to the view through the windshield as a storm of emotions tore through her heart.

  Only when they pulled up in front of her house was she distracted from the storm. The grass was a foot high. She collected a few crumpled flyers out of the juniper bush, fished a week's worth of mail out of the mailbox.

  The inside of the house smelled like spoiled milk. Dust swirled in the yellow light coming through the gap in the curtains. Poor, lonely house. "I'm trying to keep you," she told it silently.

  Pete used the bathroom as she opened the manila envelopes from the insurance company and the lawyer. Eyes blurred with tears, she scrawled her name by the red arrows and stuffed the documents back in their envelopes.

  Before locking up, she took the sour milk from the fridge and the trash from under the sink and tossed them into the can out back.

  She trailed Pete through King Soopers and Liquor Emporium, picked at her Whopper.

  Aunt Margaret wasn't home, so Janie propped the paperwork inside the screen door of her artfully scruffy bungalow in town. Centered on the overgrown grass, a fifteen-foot scrap-metal ostrich with golf balls for eyes gazed down at them comically. One of Aunt M's admirers was a scrap-metal artist.

  To cheer Janie up, Pete said, "Her yard's worse than yours."

  "But she does it on purpose," said Janie. All those bits of plastic bag and stuff tangled up in the fence, she wove them in on purpose. And she bought the pile of broken cinder blocks on Craigslist. I think she's trying to get back at her neighbor for something."

  Pete looked over at the green, golf course smooth lawn next door, the regimented bushes and autumn mums, and laughed. "I like her spirit."

  "Not everybody does."

  On Sunday, Janie attacked the trailer with Ajax while Lacey and Pete fled into the woods. She opened the door off the living room and peered in at the stuffy second bedroom, the frills and stuffed animals. Then a faint click from somewhere made her start back guiltily and close the door.

  When Pete came back, he took a look around, and his only comment was, "You're starting to get a little too comfortable here." He said it with a smile.

  Chapter 25

  Sometimes you just know something. It might not make sense. You might not remember anyone explaining it, but you know it the way children see the evil in the man with the candy, the way geese know to fly south, the way flowers turn to the sun.

  In the same way Jeff knew a thing or two.

  So it happened one day when Jeff had tired of his self-imposed isolation, and of mourning for his granddaughter Mel, and his guilt, his shame, over the role he had played in her death.

  He had resolved never to enter the cave again, never to do another Oracle, yet he had nowhere else to go. He loitered in his usual spot on the portico of Long Shot, Inc. in his bathrobe, heckling the other employees, and something drew his attention to the parking lot. As he paused to watch, a woman stepped out of a shiny car and marched on the building.

  It had been a few years since Jeff had last seen Margaret sneaking around, but he would recognize her anywhere.

  Their eyes locked. With his stare, he let her know that she didn't fool him. He had been watching her for forty years. He knew all about her private entrance, her secret visits.

  She held his gaze, unintimidated. Dread washed over him.

  It was all coming together. Everything repeating again.

  "The Sparkler," he muttered to himself. "Shit."

  When Jeff and Margaret had first met (if you could call it a meeting). When they first collided, more like, Jeff had seen what she was made of.

  It had been 1971. He was down in the cavern, way back in the warren of rooms, minding his own business, sitting in the dark molding a figure from clay. It was the beginning, the Adam, you could say, of his clay figurines. Driven by euphoria, potential, everywhere. This was before he realized that potential doesn't help you at all unless you actually do something. You could dream your life away grooving on potential. Jeff mostly had, except for those interludes, those stolen days and months when he had torn himself away, lived like a living man, then been dragged back to the cave, as though by an undertow.

  So he had been way down in the cavern, in the dark, minding his own business, when along comes the girl in tight bell-bottoms, bosom fairly bursting from her plaid shirt. The girl he had watched sleeping. She stumbles on his foot, her flashlight washes over him, lights up the room, and she says one word: "Oh."

  Oh, what a sexy oh.

  Then she said, "You left me flowers."

  Jeff tried to think what she meant.

  "At the top of the stairs. In a row," she added.

  And then it clicked. "Luster does that...Did that."

  He had never known why Luster did that sort of thing. It made her seem almost human. The organizing, the offering, the collecting: very human traits. He had felt like he almost knew her. He and Luster seemed to connect, even though she was a rodent. They had overcome interspecies barriers, you could say.

  And when Jeff found the bear-shaped gold nugget tucked in Luster's midden, he'd strung it on a leather boot lace and fitted it around her neck, like a necklace, or a collar. He thought she'd like that.

  "Your friend killed her," said Jeff.

  "The rat?"

  "She was more than a rat."

  "You're not real, are you?" the young Margaret had said, proud of herself for figuring it out.

  Why deny it? Jeff often felt unreal. But it was uncomfortable for someone else to point that out.

  "You're a Sparkler," he had said.

  She took it as a compliment, although it wasn't meant that way.

  "Maybe you can help me," she confided. "I'm looking for something that
was left here for me. A Golden Bear."

  "No," Jeff said at once.

  "They say it's supposed to bring bad luck, which is nonsense. I believe that you make your own luck."

  "Good for you," he said.

  "I thought maybe you might be a helpful spirit."

  "Fuck off."

  She had laughed, a merry little tinkle. Sugar-bombed him. But he had seen through her.

  Forty years later, Margaret was back again, on the steps of Long Shot, Inc., ignoring him. Did she remember? Did she recognize him? Had she even heard him speak? Her eyes gave nothing away.

  Chapter 26

  Ron Essing called Janie into his office. Janie walked in and found her aunt Margaret settled comfortably in the client chair, gypsy skirt trailing onto the floor.

  The closeness of the room, the odor of sweat, didn't seem to bother Aunt Margaret.

  Essing greeted Janie as though they did this all the time. "There she is! Come, sit down and join us, Janie!"

  Janie kept her back to the wall, felt her way to the second client chair and sat.

  Aunt Margaret's eyes roamed over Janie like searchlights. Janie crossed her legs, and when that seemed inadequate, crossed her arms as well.

  "What are you doing here, Aunt Margaret?" Janie forced a smile to take the edge off the question.

  "I haven't been completely honest with you, Darling. I forgot to tell you on the phone the other day. I've bought into the business. Ron has had some financial setbacks (nothing we can't overcome). I agreed to come onboard until my investment pays off."

  "This business?"

  Aunt Margaret's eyes twinkled as though she knew what Janie thought of it.

  Janie's face tingled.

  "We want you to be more involved," said Essing.

  Aunt M silenced him with an almost-innocent stare. Apparently, she would do the talking.

  "What can I do to make your situation easier, Janie? I hear that you're staying with Pete while your car is repaired, but I'm not sure that's appropriate. A young girl--"

  "He's just being nice. It's not like he's--He sleeps on the couch."

  Aunt M nodded noncommittally. "Can I put you up in the casino? Rent you a car?"

  Even though she knew she'd regret it once she got back to that cramped trailer in the woods tonight and had to watch Pete drink himself into a stupor, something made Janie say no. A little itch in her right temple. Or maybe she was just stubborn.

  "You've done enough for me already."

  Aunt M. sighed. "When will your car be ready?"

  "I think it's almost done." Actually, Janie had no idea. "Probably today."

  "I hope so."

  Janie clenched her jaw. "Is that why you called me in? To reprimand me for sleeping with the enemy?"

  Essing leaned forward to speak and Aunt M gave him the almost-innocent stare again.

  "No. We brought you in here today, Janie, because there is something you can do for us."

  Ah, thought Janie. So the other shoe drops.

  "Since you were hired, you've been working with the Trends data, but I'm not sure that anyone ever explained the importance of that."

  Janie's cheeks burned, thinking of her slapdash data entry. Sometimes she accidentally skipped a couple of lines or her fingers got misaligned on the keyboard. When she discovered her mistakes, she didn't always go back to correct them.

  "The data helps us to predict whether the cave's power is growing or fading on any given day, and more importantly, the likelihood of a major cave event."

  Remembering Roxy's comment, Janie said, "You mean like a riot or people throwing garbage all over the place?"

  Ron Essing glanced at Margaret and then cut in, "I would describe it more along the lines of a lightning storm."

  "What Ron is trying to say is we can't be held responsible for the things people do during an event. When cave energy is high, it brings us closer to the undifferentiated dimension, where anything is possible " The searchlights were on again.

  "But I don't--"

  "It's a matter of analyzing the data," Ron cut in. "It's a big responsibility, and we need you to use discretion."

  Janie thought of Roxy again, saying, "It's confidential."

  "You mean don't tell Pete," Janie said.

  "Or anyone, really," Ron added, ignoring Janie's sarcasm.

  "I really don't think it's smart to trust me with something so important. I mean, I'm not sure I even do my job right as it is."

  "You do fine," said Aunt M, and winked. The effect was kind of unsettling. "It's just about whether you're willing to help or not."

  It was almost five by the time Janie completed her conference with Aunt M and Essing. She stopped briefly in her cubicle, collected her things and shut off her computer. As she passed Pete in the lobby, she said, "Meet you at the truck."

  The Explorer was unlocked, so she climbed in and stared out at the street while she replayed the conversation with Aunt M and Essing, trying to make sense of it. Somehow, she had gotten sucked into the center of this thing: this weird, creepy world.

  They couldn't control her mind, right? God, she hoped not. Janie wondered whether there was another job for her somewhere. She'd left a couple of messages for Mr. Wechter at Wechter Worldwide Branding. He hadn't returned her calls.

  A familiar shape caught Janie's eye, and her heart leapt. Across the street, George loitered by the casino door. He seemed to be watching the Long Shot, Inc. building. Was he looking for her? How did he know she worked there? What excuse did he give to Leslie to drive up to Long Shot on a work day? Janie hesitated. Could she forgive him for the pain he'd caused her? The bubble of hope in her chest convinced her that it couldn't hurt just to say hello.

  Funny, he didn't even seem to notice her as she approached and only at the last minute did he start backward, eyes wide.

  She smiled kindly. "Hello, George."

  He scowled. Hissed, "What are you doing?"

  "Huh?"

  "Did you follow us?"

  "No!" She stepped back. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

  He drew her down the street toward a vacant shop front. "Right. You just happened to be in Long Shot."

  That confused Janie. "Why are you here, then?"

  "You cannot be here, okay?" He looked behind Janie. "Dammit!" He shoved Janie roughly into a doorway, stepped away.

  "I'm sorry George," Janie heard Leslie's familiar voice. "There was a line for the restroom."

  Janie shrank back farther into the doorway, rubbing her shoulder where she'd slammed into the brick, and averted her eye as George and Leslie kissed, enthusiastically, not fifteen feet away.

  That night in Pete's trailer, Pete and Janie sat across from each other, eating chicken and baked beans. Lacey sprawled under the kitchen table, nose at Pete's feet, tail at Janie's. Pete drank Old Milwaukee out of a can.

  Janie drew in a breath and said, "Ron Essing called me into his office."

  "What do you think of his new partner?"

  "She's...she's a lot of things. But she's also my aunt."

  "The one with the anti-landscaping? What the eff do you want to stay with me for, then? Here I thought you didn't have any choice."

  "I wouldn't want you to be lonely."

  "Maybe I have a really busy social calendar and I had to cancel a shitload of effing dinner dates and cocktail parties so I could stay home with you."

  "Maybe," she said, her face a diplomatic mask.

  "Seriously, what's going on? Did they plant you in here to spy on me?"

  "Yeah, I crashed my car on purpose just so I could get a look at your lair."

  "So? You don't get along? What?"

  "It's a long story."

  "Then let me get another beer first." He leaned across the tiny kitchen and opened the fridge.

  "Can I have one?" Janie asked.

  "Nope."

  It was worth a try.

  He tossed her a root beer, a little too hard, and Janie just barely managed the catch. P
ete took an Old Milwaukee for himself, then tipped back in his kitchen chair, watching her as he took a swallow.

  She closed her eyes to avoid his gaze.

  "My mom left because of her."

  Pete scowled at his beer can. "What? Your aunt smacked her around, dragged her out of the house?"

  "Well, no, but, you know, she...helped her, I guess."

  "What'd he do?"

  "Huh?"

  "Your dad."

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing to make your mom leave or nothing to stop her?"

  "I--uh--" Janie tried to think.

  "Look, I don't know what happened, but it sure as hell had nothing to do with your aunt."

  "You don't know anything about it."

  "Maybe I do. Because I've been married and I've been the asshole, excuse my language, that gets left."

  "You're not my dad!" Dad was nothing like Pete.

  "You're right," he shrugged.

  "So stop parenting me. I'm eighteen years old, you know."

  He muttered something under his breath.

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  They finished their drinks in silence.

  Janie collected the plates to do dishes. Pete dumped the empties in the garbage and took another beer for himself.

  "What are you going to tell your aunt about me?" he asked.

  Janie thought for a minute. "Maybe I'll make some stuff up."

  Chapter 27

  "Would you help me with something, Andrea?"

  It was the end of the day and Margaret appeared in the doorway of Andrea's tidy office. Andrea's first instinct was to turn her away, but before Andrea could think of an excuse Margaret glided right in and closed the door.

  "I haven't got a clue how to read this map."

  She spread it out on Andrea's desk. Andrea reared back. This woman was seriously invading her space.

  "You seem to run everything around here, so I decided you were the best person to ask."

  Against her will, Andrea found herself drawn in. She rolled her chair over and leaned to have a look. Margaret's perfume touched her nostrils. It was surprisingly light and feminine.

  The map was one that Andrea had never seen. It showed the whole cave system, including passages beyond the walled-off section, and marked features with fanciful names: the Sculpture Garden, the Rollercoaster, the Corkscrew, the Drool, the Crypt.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "A dear friend drew it, years ago."