Elatsoe

by Darcie Little Badger

  Ellie waved at Lenore’s parked car. After a moment, Lenore opened the driver-side door and slid outside with markedly less enthusiasm than Chloe Alamor.

  “Please don’t film me,” Lenore said. She turned her face to the side, as if hiding from paparazzi. Ellie noticed that Lenore’s eyes were wet.

  “I’ll keep the focus on Mistress Alamor,” the cameraman promised. “Are we ready?”

  Chloe held up her hands, bidding everyone to be silent. Only the birds and insects continued chatting. “You have invited me to witness something intimate,” Chloe said. “For that, I am humbled.”

  “Invited?” Ellie asked. “Didn’t you contact us first?”

  “I volunteered my gift,” she said, looking pointedly at the camera, “but would not be here today without an explicit invitation and acceptance. That’s for the record.”

  “Yes,” Lenore agreed. “You have my permission to continue.”

  Chloe walked onto the patch of tire-flattened dirt and brush where Trevor’s car had been found. “Stand in quiet contemplation,” she said, “of your loved one.”

  Lenore bowed her head. In contrast, Chloe closed her eyes and leaned back, as if basking in the sun. Ellie watched them both, afraid to blink. The camera might be running, but it couldn’t capture everything.

  Ellie hadn’t watched a full episode of Hollywood Crime Scene Psychic before, but she’d brushed up on clips of Chloe Alamor in action. Every psychic reading was different. Sometimes, Chloe swayed and related her observations in a singsong voice. Other times she shuddered violently, screamed, and collapsed, overwhelmed by the energy at the crime scene.

  That day, at Trevor’s accident site, Chloe went very still. Perhaps she had turned to stone. No: as a breeze rustled the mesquite leaves around them, Chloe’s mouth began to move. Ellie couldn’t tell if she was miming words or gasping like a fish out of water.

  Ellie leaned closer to the psychic, trying to read her lips. They seemed to repeat the same word over and over. Anger? Ate her?

  “Danger!” Chloe cried. Her panicked shriek sent everybody, including the cameraman, scrambling back a couple steps. Ellie readied herself to lead Kirby into battle.

  “What do you mean?” Lenore asked.

  “I see everything,” Chloe said. The psychic collapsed to her knees and clutched the ground, as if trying to dig her own grave. “Trevor is driving home. It’s dark outside, and he’s troubled. There’s so much work to do.”

  “Right,” Lenore said. “The first day of summer school was coming, and he needed to finish lesson plans—”

  “Lesson plans! Yes! They dominate his thoughts! Until … what’s that?!” Chloe pointed at the street, trembling with intense emotion. The cameraman turned to film empty air. “There’s a woman in the road!” Chloe cried. “Staggering … bloody … injured! Trevor tries to brake! But the car is not responding. Something is—”

  “A woman?” Ellie asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Oh!” Chloe swayed, as if resisting a swoon. “There’s something terribly wrong. She’s not human. She’s not even alive!”

  “Wait a second,” Ellie said. “I don’t think—”

  “Quiet, please!” Chloe said. “No more disruptions. I can’t … can’t stand this much longer. I am assailed by the ghost’s bitterness and rage! She … she died in a car accident, such a violent event, and she wants the world to know her misery. To feel her pain.”

  “You mean …” Lenore could not finish, but her question was clear.

  “Yes,” Chloe said. “The car accelerates. Trevor cannot make it stop. He swerves off the road, and—”

  “Um,” Ellie said, “sorry to interrupt again, but none of that happened.”

  Chloe stood, crossed her arms, and treated Ellie to an affably exasperated smile. “Ghosts are real, love,” Chloe said.

  “Oh, I know that,” Ellie said. “I also know that my cousin wasn’t killed by a ghost. Anyway, what was he doing on this nowhere road to begin with?”

  “I’m not here to defend my gift. Believe me or don’t.” Chloe snapped her fingers, and the crew started packing up the stakes, camera, and tripod. “Lenore, my sincere condolences for your loss. I can put you in contact with a poltergeist specialist, if needed.”

  “I know one already,” Lenore said. Her face was inscrutably blank. “Thank you, Mistress Alamor.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” Chloe put her sunglasses back on. “If you need a copy of the tape for legal proceedings—life insurance claim, cause of death determination, lawsuits, anything—please give me a call. Here’s my card.” She handed a midnight blue business card to Lenore.

  “How did you learn about our loss?” Ellie asked. “Family in the area?”

  “Mm-hm,” Chloe said. “My nephew. Excuse me. Gotta go. I have a meeting in another county, and this road desperately needs spiritual cleansing. Don’t linger.”

  As Chloe Alamor and her crew puttered away in their RV, Ellie asked, “You don’t believe her, do you?”

  “No,” Lenore said. “This was a waste of time. A joke.”

  “Makes you wonder …”

  “Wonder? No. I understand what happened. Mistress Alamor didn’t sense anything. She’s a scammer. My parents warned me about them. I just … I was hoping for a miracle today.”

  “Me too.” Ellie shook her head. “I feel like we’re missing something. What?”

  Five hours later, as Ellie looked over Rate-a-Doc reviews for the third time, the answer came to her. There was a reason the name “Alamor” had sounded so familiar to both Jay and her. It wasn’t just because of the reality TV show, which Jay hadn’t even seen.

  One of Dr. Allerton’s glowing reviews came from a man named Justin Alamor.

  Ellie called Jay. He answered with a “Hey, what’s up?”

  “A conspiracy! That’s what’s up. You were right. Dr. Allerton has connections in high places.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “According to this website, the doctor treated a man named Justin Alamor.”

  “Huh! Is Justin related to Chloe?”

  “I’d wager yes. Their surname isn’t common like ‘Smith’ or ‘Brown.’ There must be a family link.”

  “So Chloe Alamor, Hollywood Psychic, knows Dr. Allerton?”

  “Knows him and owes him. I suspect that Allerton pressured Chloe to contact Lenore and lie about my cousin’s death.”

  “Why?”

  “Probably ’cause my family isn’t satisfied with the whole ‘accident’ story. We’re causing a fuss.”

  “So Chloe Alamor swoops in, blames a wandering ghost, and hopes that her convenient explanation will satisfy you?”

  “As if we’re that gullible. Hey, Jay.”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I borrow your psychic aunt?”

  TWELVE

  FAIRY RINGS WERE fickle things. They had to be the right size and shape (a perfect circle with a 5.16-foot diameter, the length of Fairy Queen Titania’s hair), and be composed of mushrooms belonging to one of six specific fungus genera. Furthermore, ring travel was strictly regulated within the United States for reasons related to national security. Designated travelers had to purchase transportation passes at official Ring Transport Centers, and if they failed to appear at their appropriate destination, they were declared “missing in transit” and promptly retrieved by ring agents. Nobody wanted a repeat of the island incident: in the nineties, five twelve-year-old boys who’d wanted to see a baseball game in Chicago somehow landed on an abandoned man-made island in the middle of the Pacific, a former military site that was slowly crumbling into the ocean. It took six days to find them, and by the time the rescuers arrived, only four of the boys were still alive.

  Jay and his auntie had plenty of ring travel experience, so their trip was quick and uneventful. Ellie met them in McAllen, the nearest city with a Ring Center. Jay, with his white T-shirt, pink Bermuda shorts, and flip-flops, had dressed for the heat wave. In contrast, his aunt wore a knitted sweater
and ankle-length skirt. Her eyes were magnified by round glasses with copper frames. “Thanks for coming so quickly!” Ellie said, running up to the pair. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Aunt Bell,” Jay said, “this is my friend Ellie.”

  “Good to meet you, but I wish the circumstances were better,” Aunt Bell said, extending a plump hand. As Ellie shook it, she was surprised by how soft, dry, and cool Bell’s skin felt. Particularly since it was high noon, sweltering, and sunny.

  “Are you hungry?” Jay asked. “We haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

  “They make good tacos up the street,” Ellie suggested.

  “You’re driving?” Aunt Bell asked. “How long have you had a license?”

  “Six months, Auntie,” Ellie said, “and I’ve never had trouble. Not even a parking ticket!”

  To emphasize her driving proficiency, Ellie chose a parallel-parking spot outside the taco shop, even though there were plenty of easy-peasy pull-in spots available. “How’s that?” she asked. “I’m just an inch from the curb.”

  “There’s no need to show off, dear,” Aunt Bell said. “I’m not impressed by razzle-dazzle.”

  “You’re much different than Chloe Alamor,” Ellie said. “She was forty percent razzle, forty percent dazzle, and twenty percent terrible liar. She blamed my cousin’s death on a wandering ghost.”

  “I’ve seen her show,” Aunt Bell said, grinning. “Ridiculous stories are par the course.”

  They settled into a booth and ordered lunch. Despite Ellie’s objections, Aunt Bell paid for everything. Ellie and Jay sat side-by-side, their elbows brushing each time Jay spoke. He was the kind of person who emphasized his words with expansive hand gestures. Thus, as he described Trevor’s murder, he seemed to parry invisible foes. “We know it was murder,” he concluded, “but there’s no obvious motive or method.”

  “Let’s see what I can do about that,” Aunt Bell said. “How far is the road?”

  “Forty minutes,” Ellie said. “Sorry. There isn’t a closer Ring Transport Center.”

  “I made a playlist for the trip,” Jay said. “It’s mostly NPR podcasts. Do you prefer slice-of-life storytelling or news?”

  “Stories,” Aunt Bell said. “Jay, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  He swallowed a bite of vegetarian meat-substitute taco before responding, “Sorry. I was trying to be efficient.”

  They refilled their soda cups for the road and started the long drive. Although Jay sat in the back seat, Aunt Bell gladly filled the role of “backseat driver,” warning Ellie whenever they approached a stop sign or traffic light. Ellie thanked her each time; she’d been raised to respect her elders, no matter how difficult the task became.

  Her patience was tested when Aunt Bell hollered, “Slow down!” Ellie was driving past a strip mall, but she didn’t see any crosswalk or stop sign; nevertheless, she slammed on the brakes, rapidly decelerating from forty to twenty.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I saw a girl running toward the street. She wasn’t paying attention.”

  At that instant, a mother and daughter exited a boutique at the end of the strip mall. The child’s free arm was in a cast, and bruises purpled the skin below her eyes.

  “That’s her,” Aunt Bell said. “Oh no. Poor darling. She’s already been in an accident.”

  “That’s creepy,” Ellie said. “Do you often see the past?”

  “No. Not like that. Not so … suddenly and powerfully. It’s strange.” Aunt Bell removed her glasses and vigorously wiped their lenses with her sleeve.

  “You’re extra psychic today,” Jay said. “Isn’t that good?”

  “We’ll see,” Aunt Bell said. “But I need to focus on your cousin’s death, Miss Ellie, and block all unrelated noise.” She closed her eyes. “There. No more visions.”

  Forty-three minutes later, Ellie pulled onto the lonely road where Trevor died. “This is it,” she said. “They found his car up ahead.”

  Jay hopped out of the minivan and opened the door. He assisted his auntie as she slid off her seat and onto the dusty shoulder. By that point, Ellie was already standing beside the spot where Trevor had been found. She kicked a clump of dirt that Chloe Alamor, in the throes of psychic theatrics, had pulled from the earth.

  “Ah,” Aunt Bell said. “The residual energy is faint, dispersing, but … yes … I feel intense concern.” She closed her eyes and leaned against a nearby mesquite tree. “Somebody is speaking. I hear a question. ‘Sir, are you okay? Sir?’” Aunt Bell’s voice deepened and adopted a southern twang.

  “You sound just like the farmer who found my cousin,” Ellie said. “He was at the wake.” Ellie frowned. “Do you hear anyone else? Another man, maybe?” Dr. Allerton did not speak with a Texan accent. She wondered if he’d been raised somewhere else.

  “No,” Aunt Bell said. “There are whispers in the air, but those could belong to anyone. Dear, I don’t think the accident happened here. There’s no …” She opened her eyes, pushed away from the tree, and waved a hand through the air, as if swatting an annoying fly. “… no sudden change. No impact, no flash of pain. No violence.”

  “But he was found here,” Ellie said, “in his car. By that farmer you just channeled. You really feel nothing else? Nothing?”

  Aunt Bell shook her head.

  “So your cousin must have been hurt somewhere else,” Jay reasoned, “and then moved.”

  Ellie considered the possibility. “I’d been wondering why Cuz was driving here in the first place,” she said. “It makes no sense. He shouldn’t be near this road. Unless you’re right. Unless he and his car were towed or driven here by somebody else. Why, though? What was Allerton trying to hide?”

  Whatever the case, Ellie was confident that the real crime happened somewhere else. That scenario also explained why Trevor had been found unbuckled with no sign of accident-related seatbelt bruising, even though he was Mr. Safety First when it came to crossing the road or riding in a motorized vehicle. The last time Ellie shared a car with him, Trevor wouldn’t even cruise through the parking lot before she was strapped in. “You’ll be going five miles per hour,” Ellie had complained. “Do we really need the extra security?”

  “What if my students saw us driving without a seatbelt?” he’d asked. “They’d never accept lessons from a hypocrite! Anyway, a truck could careen around the corner and hit us like a battering ram.”

  “Can you, um, track down the accident site with your gift?” Ellie asked. She hoped that, to a woman like Aunt Bell, the traumatic incident resembled a tornado siren or lighthouse beam.

  “I’m sorry,” Aunt Bell said, “but no. I need to be close. Especially since days have passed since his murder.”

  “Your cousin was returning from work, right?” Jay asked. “Do you know his usual route home?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Ellie said. “Yeah, I do! That’s brilliant.”

  Jay covered his face with one hand and brushed away her compliment with the other, feigning modest embarrassment. “Aw,” he said. “Thanks.”

  They drove to the elementary school, a gray building with a fenced-in playground. Although a couple cars—most likely belonging to administrators or teachers—were parked outside the school, it seemed otherwise deserted. Summer school ran from morning until noon.

  “What do you feel, Auntie?” Ellie asked.

  Aunt Bell closed her eyes. After a minute, she reported, “This place reeks of emotional highs and lows, but there’s no sign of grievous physical pain.”

  “Okay,” Ellie said. “Must have happened somewhere else. I need your help with directions, Jay. There should be a map back there somewhere.”

  “A paper map?” He sounded incredulous.

  “My dad likes to be prepared. What would you do if all the GPS satellites dropped from the sky?”

  “Hide in my basement,” Jay said. “That sounds terrifying!”

  “Me too, I guess,” Ellie admitted.

  She heard paper r
ustling; in the rearview mirror, Ellie watched Jay struggle to unfold a humongous map of southern Texas. It soon concealed him.

  “Tell me the quickest route between here and King Street,” she said.

  “Got it.” He lowered the map. “I think I’ll use my phone for this, since the satellites are still working.”

  His smartphone intoned, “Turn left on Fullerton Avenue.”

  “If the robot handles directions, you can be lookout,” Ellie said. “If you see anything weird, like skid marks on the road or blood stains, let me know.”

  Ellie drove at an unhurried pace. She wanted to give Aunt Bell ample time to process the metaphysical surroundings. They had just crossed a covered bridge when Jay pressed his face against the window. “Look!” he said. “Those plants are messed up, and there’s a tire skid leading straight for them!”

  Ellie glanced out the passenger-side window. Several bushes were in disarray, their branches snapped, their roots unearthed, as if they’d been crushed by a bison or a car. Since bison were all but extinct in Texas, the car scenario seemed more likely. Ellie immediately parked on the dirt shoulder. “Kids, be careful when you get out,” Aunt Bell said. To the right, the land dropped into a steep-sided valley.

  “Yes, Auntie,” Ellie said, disembarking. She walked around the car and inspected the roadside foliage. Up close, she could see a trail of crushed bushes and weeds. The trail ran down the valley and ended at a tall, broad tree with a foot-wide gash on its trunk.

  “This is it!” Ellie said. “It must be!” She started into the valley, her feet triggering a mini avalanche of sandy dirt.

  “Don’t go too far!” Aunt Bell called, her voice taut with anxiety. “We don’t know who owns the land! Could be somebody who is champing at the bit for a chance to shoot trespassers.”

  “Keep watch, Kirby,” Ellie commanded. If a stranger came too close, Kirby would howl. “Watch, boy. Watch.”

  At the tree, Ellie observed that its bark-stripped gash oozed sap. She took out her phone and started filming. Chloe Alamor had been right about one thing: video evidence was persuasive in court. “We just crossed the bridge on Derby Street,” Ellie said, “going east. I’m no tree expert, but the sap is semi-solid. See? Not super fresh, not super old. Looks like a heavy object caused this damage between one and two weeks ago.” She turned around, recording Jay and Aunt Bell as they cautiously descended.