Specter (9780307823403)

by Nixon, Joan Lowery

  Dr. Lynn laughs. “We saw quite a bit of the hill country, and I like it.” She rattles on about Texas and what she’s learned about Texas history. Grateful to her, I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. Good-bye, Holley Jo. Good-bye, yellow room.

  “The day after tomorrow we go to Mrs. Cardenas’s house,” Julie tells me. She slips her hand into my left hand. “It’s a real house,” she adds. “I’ve never lived in a real house. Have you?”

  “No,” I answer.

  The car gives a sudden swerve and speeds up. “There’s that fool driver again!” Dr. Paull snaps. “I recognize the car. I thought we’d seen the last of him near Fredericksburg.”

  “Surely he wouldn’t be following us,” Dr. Lynn says.

  Julie’s eyes grow too large for her face, and I know what she’s thinking.

  I twist around and see a dark green sedan behind us. He’s tailgating, and he’s all over the road.

  “Maybe you should slow down and let him get past,” Dr. Lynn says.

  Dr. Paull is hunched forward, concentrating on the wheel. “This is a lonely stretch out here,” he says. “I’m not about to give him the chance to force us over.”

  “You think he wants to rob us?”

  “I don’t know what he has in mind.”

  It’s like watching a movie, but we’re suddenly the actors. I’ve seen this before, over and over on television. Two cars, careening down the road, the one behind surging forward, just missing any cars coming up the other side, falling back and trying again.

  Our car lurches so violently that Julie and I are thrown across the seat. The car wobbles, slows, and Dr. Paull mutters something under his breath.

  Julie starts to cry. “That was Sikes!”

  “Did you see him?” I manage to pull myself up and watch the green car speeding out of sight around the next curve.

  “I know it was Sikes!”

  Dr. Lynn turns around. “How do you know, Julie?”

  “Because I know.”

  “That idiot tried to force us off the road,” Dr. Paull says.

  “Did anyone get the license number?”

  “No.”

  “Did any of us get a good look at him?” Dr. Lynn asks.

  No one answers. We drive in silence.

  We’re close to the junction where the road meets the highway into San Antonio when Dr. Paull shouts, “Look!”

  Ahead is the dark green car, tilted drunkenly on the shoulder of the road. A highway patrol car has nosed in ahead of it.

  Dr. Paull pulls to the side of the road and turns off the ignition. “I’m going to talk to that officer,” he says. “I want to report what happened to us.”

  Julie flies forward and grabs him around the neck so tightly that he coughs and gurgles before he can break her hold.

  “Don’t go out there!” she says. “Sikes will hurt you!”

  He sidles out the door, keeping a firm grip on her hands. “If it is Sikes,” he says, “then we’ll see that the officer keeps him in custody.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not afraid of Sikes.”

  I put an arm around Julie. The three of us watch Dr. Paull approach the patrolman. We can see them talking. Now the driver of the green car is spread-eagled against the side of his car. His head is down.

  In a few moments Dr. Paull walks back to us.

  “He’s just a kid,” Dr. Paull says, as he drops into the driver’s seat. “He’s high on something. Isn’t sure where he is or what he’s doing. They think it’s a stolen car.”

  We are back on the road again and entering the highway before he adds, “Julie, do you want to tell us more about this man Sikes?”

  “No,” Julie says. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “It would help if you could describe him, tell us why you’re so afraid of him.”

  “No!”

  She is wedged against me, and I feel the current that stiffens her body. Her fingers in mine are hot. “Calm down,” I tell her. “Don’t be scared. It wasn’t Sikes.”

  Dr. Lynn and Dr. Paull begin to talk in low voices, so I tune them out. I keep patting Julie’s hand until I feel her relax.

  “It wasn’t Sikes.” She repeats my words to herself.

  Who is Sikes? Why does he come wrapped in terror? What does he want from Julie?

  I look down at the child beside me and ask myself one more unanswerable question: How much does Julie want from me?

  CHAPTER

  7

  The day has been too much for me, and as we return to the hospital, I try to become vivacious. Sparkle, bubble, put on a false face. Please, may I go again? See, it was good for me. Please, look only into my eyes, where I’m forcing all my energy, and don’t notice the blue shadows under the transparent skin.

  Dr. Lynn’s arm is around me. She is damp and warm and smells of stale cologne. “Take it easy, Dina. Get some rest now.”

  “I’m not a bit tired.”

  But she knows. “Our emotions can sometimes make us more tired than our physical problems. You had a pretty fair amount of stress today. The first time back to see your friends can be difficult in some ways. Next time will be easier for you.”

  “Will there really be a next time? You’ll take me again?”

  “Yes,” she answers. “When you’re ready.”

  “And when we have time.” Grasshopper legs has put on his starched white manner without benefit of starched white coat. Here in his environment he is once again the serious medical man. “I’ll send the box up to your room,” he adds.

  “Thank you for taking us,” I say, and Julie adds, “Thanks for the hamburgers.”

  “It was an enjoyable afternoon,” he says, but he’s looking at Dr. Lynn.

  This isn’t the kid love I’ve seen and felt, the Rob-love without roots, not even the can’t-wait-to-get-married love like that between Daisy and gooney Parker. I can recognize something else here, and I suppose Dr. Lynn will end up giving Dr. Paull a good part of her life, maybe the rest of it. Is this what her life’s all about? I ride up to our floor with Julie clutched in one hand, the package of leftover cake in the other.

  “I didn’t want to go with them,” Julie says. “I wanted to stay with you.” Her lower lip curls out in a pout, and she half turns from me.

  “You don’t own me,” I say, but I look at that thin back with the protruding shoulder blades and remember the scars. So I squeeze her hand and say, “I didn’t mean to be cross, Julie. I’m tired, and you are, too.”

  The doors open. As soon as we step into the hallway Mrs. Cardenas beams and comes toward us.

  “Everything’s okay with the agency,” she says. “Tomorrow’s my party, and after that you move in with me!”

  “You’re a very good person to do this,” I tell her. I should feel glad to leave the hospital. Maybe I should feel relieved. But I am too drained to feel anything. I just want to be by myself.

  I pull my stiff fingers from Julie’s grasp, hand Mrs. Cardenas the cake, and flop on my bed, without even taking off my shoes. Julie goes into the bathroom.

  Mrs. Cardenas quickly whispers to me, “Arturo found out the name.”

  “What name?”

  “The name of the woman that William Kaines had raped. It wasn’t Sikes. It was one of those long Russian names. I wrote it down, and I still can’t say it even when I look at it.”

  “My guess was wrong,” I murmur.

  “Don’t close your eyes,” she says. “You’ll go to sleep, and the dinner trays will be along soon.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  I hear the rustle of paper, and Mrs. Cardenas says, “My, what a beautiful cake.”

  “Help yourself,” I tell her. “I don’t want any more.” Curling, dreaming, withdrawing, head first, I slide into a silent shell.

  When I wake, it’s into a fire world with a red sunset flooding the room. Julie sits on the end of her bed, a fragile silhouette against the glow. As I lift my head, she hops from the bed and w
alks into the hallway.

  In a moment she is back.

  “Where did you go?” I ask her.

  “Mrs. Cardenas wanted to know when you woke up. I’ve been watching you, so I could tell her.”

  I feel uncomfortable thinking of those serious eyes on me while I was asleep. I get up and stretch, and my stomach growls. I’m surprised to find that I’m hungry.

  As though on cue Mrs. Cardenas comes in with a tray. “You need your dinner,” she says. “I made them keep this warm for you. Cake is not enough. Your dinner has vitamins in it.”

  “You’re wonderful!” I look at the covered dinner tray and laugh.

  She stands back from the tray table, hands on hips. “Well! That’s the first time!”

  “First time for what?”

  “You laughed. That’s the first time I heard you laugh since you came to the hospital.”

  I tuck back inside myself. I don’t want people to study me and probe me and count the times that I laugh.

  The sun has sucked the color from the hills, leaving them gray and dim. I reach over and pull the string that turns on the light over my bed.

  “I’ve got to go, or my poor Carlos will think he’ll never be fed again,” Mrs. Cardenas says, and she hurries from the room, stopping in the doorway to add, “That’s going to be a good party tomorrow. Everybody on the floor will be there.”

  Julie sits on the end of my bed. “We’re going to the party, too.”

  I nod, my mouth full of meat loaf.

  “The man who brought your box up here wanted to open it for you. He said he could hang up your clothes. But I wouldn’t let him. I did it for you.”

  “You didn’t have to do that, Julie. I’ll just have to pack them up again tomorrow.”

  She droops, and that lower lip curls out again. “You want to wear a dress to Mrs. Cardenas’s party. You don’t want it to be wrinkled.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks, Julie.”

  “Your friend didn’t pack them very well. I know how to pack better than that.” She pauses a moment. “There was another box inside the big box. I put it on the table.”

  I finish my salad, but just a few bites of the meat loaf is all I can manage. The fat woman who was my roommate for a while used to hobble over to my bed after every meal and eat my custard and pudding and roll and anything I didn’t want, until one of the nurses caught her.

  “But we don’t get enough to eat!” she wailed. “And she doesn’t want it!”

  Julie says, “What do you keep in that box?”

  I swing the table out of the way, lean over, and put the box on my lap.

  The box is an old gift box from one of the department stores in San Antonio. What came in it I can’t remember—probably a new dress or blouse that I got from the church committee for Christmas. I must have had this box since I was about Julie’s age.

  As I lift the lid, Julie asks, “What are all those papers?”

  “Poetry,” I answer. “Written by someone named Rob.” I read the poem on the top of the pile. It’s not very good. Why had I ever thought Rob was a talented poet?

  “I can forgive you for writing a poem that doesn’t scan, but for the shallow thought—never!” I say.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “About what terrible poetry these are. Here. You can reach the wastepaper basket better than I can.”

  She obediently drops them in and leans over to peer into the box. A small hand flashes in and out and holds up a circle of green. “You have a beautiful ring!”

  “It’s supposed to be jade, but it only cost a dollar, so I have my doubts about its quality. One year some of us were taken to the San Antonio Spring Fiesta, and we went to La Villita, off the Paseo del Rio, which has all sorts of shops and is part of the old city of San Antonio.” I watch her hold it up to the light. “We each bought these rings, but it’s been a long time since I’ve worn mine.”

  “Why don’t you wear it now?”

  “It’s much too big, and I really don’t want to bother with jewelry.”

  She is examining the ring with such open longing that I follow through and say, “Would you like to have it?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “It’s going to be too big for you, too.”

  “Then I’ll put it on a gold chain.”

  “All you need is the chain.”

  “I’ve got one.”

  “Where?” I ask, but she climbs off my bed and onto her own, still examining the ring.

  “Can we watch TV?” she asks.

  I push the remote-control button for the television, feeling sure that Julie has not suddenly lost interest in the rest of the contents of my box. I have a distinct impression that she’s been through it while I slept. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing in it of value. I just wish she had been honest with me.

  Detective MacGarvey comes by. “I’m on my way home,” he says, “and I wanted to make one last try at some information from Julie.”

  “One last try?” I ask.

  “The department can’t spare too many man-hours on something like this. Our mechanics couldn’t find any sign that the car had been tampered with. It’s listed as a one-car accident, and there’s no evidence to show otherwise. Whatever possessions they had with them, except for the wallet and driver’s license we found on the ground, were destroyed when the car burned.”

  He sits on the edge of Julie’s bed. “Have you thought of anything else to tell me?”

  I don’t understand why she’s afraid of him. She’s like a rabbit, trembling and trapped by a fox.

  “What have you got there?” MacGarvey asks. He reaches forward and takes the jade ring from her fingers.

  “Dina gave it to me.”

  “It looks a little big,” he says. “Here, I can make it fit you.” From his pocket he pulls some string and a small pocket knife. He winds the string in a tight, narrow band around one section of the ring. He ties the ends together and cuts them short with his knife. Then he picks up one of the hands that haven’t moved and puts the ring snugly on her finger. “How’s that, Julie?”

  “Thank you,” she whispers. She holds her hand high and looks at the ring. For an instant she’s visibly pleased.

  MacGarvey tucks the rest of the string and the knife back into his pocket. “My wife complains I save everything, but you never can tell when a piece of string might come in handy.”

  He says to Julie, “We ran a make on William Sikes, and we turned up a few men with that name here and there around the country, but none with a record. Can you tell me where this William Sikes came from?”

  “No,” Julie says.

  “But you can describe him.”

  “He’s big. He has lots of dark brown hair.”

  “What color are his eyes?”

  She thinks a moment. “Maybe they’re brown.”

  “A lot of people could fit that description, Julie. Can you think of any identifying marks?”

  “What are identifying marks?”

  “Scars, moles, anything that would make him recognizable.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Have you had any other experiences like that first night here, when you thought he might be in your room?”

  Julie looks at me. “No,” she says.

  MacGarvey gets to his feet. “Well, then, I can’t think of anything else we can do. If you see him or hear from him, just let us know.”

  “All right.”

  He leaves, and Julie’s mood changes. “Let’s talk about Mrs. Cardenas’s party.”

  “Let’s talk about Sikes. Is there a Sikes, Julie? Or did you make him up?”

  She stares at me as though she couldn’t believe what I’ve said. I’m surprised that I said it myself. I guess this thought has been pecking the back of my mind, and it’s suddenly broken through.

  “I told you about Sikes. He killed my father.”

  “You couldn’t even tell the detective what Sikes looks like.”

  She is on her f
eet, and she’s actually shaking. “There isn’t anything to say about Sikes! I don’t want to think about him! I’m afraid of him!”

  “Hush,” I say, moving quickly, trying to soothe her. “They’ll hear you all the way down the hall.”

  “Sikes is mean! He’s terrible!” she says, and now her voice drops so low I can hardly hear her. “I told my mother the things he did to me when she wasn’t there, and she said I was lying. And Sikes found out I told her, and he whipped me until my back was bleeding.”

  “Oh, Julie!” I hug her to me and hold her tightly until she is calm. But I am trembling inside at the horror of what she has told me. And my anger is directed at this man whom I can’t even visualize. A name. All I have is a name.

  The television is babbling at the other side of the room, and I use it to distract her. “Do you want this program? Or shall we change channels?”

  “Let’s talk about Mrs. Cardenas’s party,” she says. She climbs on my bed as though none of our conversation had taken place. “I think they’ll have a cake with her name on it,” she says. “And you should wear your blue dress because you can tie it in with a belt.”

  I listen. I make the right responses. But I’m still upset, and I wish I didn’t have to go to another party.

  It turns out that the party isn’t just for Mrs. Cardenas, who fizzes back and forth in the employees’ cafeteria like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. The party is for me, too. And someone has made a small cake for Julie.

  Many of the doctors and technicians and even the anesthesiologists are there. Jon, the radiologist who got on a first-name basis with me right from the start, has drawn a funny card for me. Mrs. Marsh has actually brought me a rose from her garden, efficiently pinching off all the thorns.

  Nurse’s aides, volunteers, and orderlies who have been in and out of my life for the last few months have come to the party. Some of them look different to me, because when I saw them before, it was through a cracked glass of pain. They have come with good wishes, but their real message is good-bye.

  These are the people who have done whatever was needed to my body to keep it alive. I should feel grateful, I suppose. I don’t. The ending of my life has been stalled, but I know the odds and can figure my chances. Was any of it worth all the trouble?