Sleepwalk

by John Saul

  “Because he’s been making a lot of trouble for them,” Jed replied.

  “But that’s nothing new,” Gina protested. “He’s always made trouble for the company. That’s his job, isn’t it? I mean, if the head of the union isn’t supposed to make trouble, what is he supposed to do? Uncle Carlos says that’s what makes him so good at it—he’s never been afraid to say what he thinks.”

  “Yeah,” Jed agreed, his voice bitter now. “And with Mr. Moreland, it didn’t matter, ’cause they were friends. But it’s all different now.”

  The horses, their thirst slaked, began moving along the trail again, and Gina was silent for a few minutes, her eyes fixed on the clear water of the stream. “Okay, so let’s say the company did try to kill your dad,” she said. “Can he prove it?”

  Jed shook his head. “I don’t see how. I mean, even he admitted it was partly his fault. If he hadn’t panicked, he would have felt the bend in the pipe and stopped. But he says they were counting on him to panic. He says …” His voice faded away, and when Gina turned to look at him, he was looking the other way, across to the other side of the canyon.

  Her own eyes followed his gaze. At first she didn’t see anything unusual. They were about halfway up to the dam now, near the weathered frame building, nestled against the canyon wall, that had served as the construction headquarters back when the dam was being built. And then she realized what Jed was staring at.

  The building, unused for years, had been repainted.

  In front of it, several cars were parked, and when she looked up, there seemed to be some kind of plastic pipe—like a water pipe—rising up from the side of the building and snaking up the side of the canyon.

  Gina looked at Jed, her expression puzzled. “I don’t get it,” she said. “I thought that building was abandoned.”

  Jed nodded. “It was,” he said. “Or anyway, it used to be. But it doesn’t look like it is now, does it? Come on.”

  He clucked to his horse and laid the reins over to the left. Obediently, the horse turned off the path, hesitated only a second, then began splashing across the river. Gina, kicking gently at her own mount, followed after him.

  The bank was higher on the other side of the river, and Jed’s horse stumbled as it searched for footing, then steadied itself, climbed the bank and came to a halt, as if waiting for Jed to indicate where it should go next. Jed waited until Gina caught up with him, then slapped the reins against the horse’s neck. It began moving slowly forward until Jed drew it to a halt at the dirt road that ran past the front of the building.

  The road, for years nothing more than a pair of nearly overgrown ruts, now showed clear signs of use And there was a sign on the building:

  BORREGO OIL COMMUNICATIONS CENTER

  AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

  “Communications Center?” Jed read. “What does that mean?”

  Gina’s eyes followed the plastic pipe up to the canyon’s rim. “Why don’t we go up to the top and see what’s there?” she asked.

  Jed nodded, and they turned their horses back toward the mouth of the canyon, this time following the track of the old road. “Whatever it is, why would they put it up here?” Jed wondered out loud as they rode. “Nobody’s used that building since the dam was built. It’s not even safe anymore.”

  “It looked like they rebuilt it,” Gina replied.

  “But it’s dumb,” Jed objected. “I mean, it’s stuck way up here in the middle of nowhere.”

  But when they finally came to the rim of the canyon above the old construction headquarters, Jed thought he understood.

  The crew was just finishing up the installation. A six-foot Cyclone fence surrounded the antenna pad now, and the two teenagers stared at it curiously. Otto Kruger, his face florid from the long days in the sun on top of the mesa, jogged over to them. “What are you kids doing up here?” he demanded.

  Jed gazed down at him. “We’re riding horses, obviously,” he said, making no attempt to keep his voice calm. “What’s this supposed to be?”

  “An antenna,” Kruger told him. “UniChem flew the whole thing in this morning. Something, isn’t it?”

  Jed gazed at the huge machine for a moment. As he watched, it suddenly came to life.

  There was a low humming noise, the base of the antenna began to rotate, and the dish itself tipped southward.

  The humming noise stopped, and Jed found himself straining to hear the transmissions he was certain were now emanating from the huge dish. Indeed, he imagined he could actually feel them, vibrating through his body. But that was stupid—whatever frequencies they were using would be far out of the range of hearing.

  “It’s really something, isn’t it?” Kruger repeated, his voice filled with as much pride as if he’d designed and built the thing himself.

  Jed glared down at him. “Yes,” he said finally. “It’s something—something really ugly. As ugly as the wells, and the refinery, and everything else that’s wrecking this place.” Jerking on the reins, he turned his horse away and started back down the trail toward the town. A few moments later Gina caught up with him.

  “What was that all about?” she asked. “I know you’re worried about your dad, but—”

  “But maybe I’ve just decided I don’t like it, okay?” Jed asked. “Maybe I just don’t like any of it.”

  They rode in silence for a while, until the town came into view. As Jed looked at it, after seeing the strange antenna that had suddenly appeared on the mesa and feeling the odd vibrations coming from it, he thought even Borrego itself looked different now.

  The space age, apparently, had finally come to Borrego.

  Maybe that’s all it’s really all about, Jed found himself thinking as he let the horse find its own way home, and his mind drifted back to his father.

  Maybe it’s not that I’ve changed. Maybe I’m just like dad. Maybe I’m just pissed off because things aren’t like they used to be.

  Rita Moreland sighed as she stepped out of the heat of the afternoon into the coolness of the house. She stopped in the entry hall, took off her hat and carefully placed it on the shelf in the coat closet. Then, as her eyes fell on Max’s three coats, which still hung in their assigned places as if waiting for their owner to come and claim them, she bit her lip.

  “I think perhaps it’s time I started getting rid of some of Max’s things,” she said to Greg, but didn’t turn to face him, unwilling to let him see the tears she could feel in her eyes.

  “There isn’t any rush,” Greg replied. “You have plenty of time.”

  Rita’s back straightened as she regained her composure, and when she finally looked at him, the tears that had threatened her only a moment ago were gone. “Perhaps I do,” she observed. “But one never knows, does one?” She moved across the entry hall and into the library, her thoughts shifting to the hospital she had left only a few minutes before. “Look at poor Frank Arnold,” she said. “He could have died today—he was lucky he didn’t. And of course Max—” She broke off her own words as once more her emotions welled up within her, and quickly searched for something to take her mind off her husband. On the desk the red light of the answering machine was blinking, and though she often ignored it, she now punched at it hopefully.

  But instead of a message of condolence, she heard an unfamiliar voice: “Mrs. Moreland, this is Forrest Frazier, with Southwest Properties in Las Cruces. I have a client who is very interested in buying your house. If you could give me a call, I’d like to discuss the details with you.” A phone number followed, then the slightly metallic sound of the machine’s synthesized voice as it announced the exact time the call had come in. Rita frowned, and looked at Greg.

  “Now what on earth was that all about?” she asked. “What could he have meant?”

  Greg shrugged. “Apparently someone wants to buy the place,” he said.

  “This place?” Rita asked. “But it isn’t for sale.”

  “Maybe you ought to at least consider it,” Greg said
slowly, glancing around the large library. “I mean, given the circumstances.”

  Rita eyed her nephew acerbically. “You mean because Max died?” she said, willing her voice not to catch as she uttered the words. “Surely you aren’t going to suggest that I’m going to …”She searched quickly for the right phrase, then: “Rattle around in this big old place,” she finished. “Isn’t that what they always say when half of a couple is gone?”

  Greg swallowed uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean that exactly, Aunt Rita,” he said. “But in a way, it’s true, isn’t it? I mean, it is a big house, and—”

  “It wasn’t too big for Max and me,” Rita retorted. Regretting the sharpness of her words, she cocked her head, and forced a smile. “Or are you just trying to get your old auntie out of town?”

  And then, quite suddenly, Rita thought she understood. “That’s it, isn’t it?” she said, more to herself than Greg.

  “Oh, come on, Aunt Rita,” Greg began, but Rita waved his words aside.

  “Not you, darling,” she said. “I was just making a joke. But let’s face it—there are people who would just as soon see me leave Borrego, aren’t there? You don’t suppose it’s UniChem that’s making the offer, do you?”

  Greg shrugged. “Well, it would certainly be easy to find out. Call up what’s-his-name—was it Frazier?—and ask him.”

  Rita shook her head. “If it were UniChem, they wouldn’t be foolish enough to do it directly,” she said.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Greg groaned. “Now you’re starting to sound like Frank Arnold!”

  Rita’s eyes flashed with anger. “Am I?” she asked. “Well, let me tell you something, young man. Your uncle was listening to Frank Arnold long before you arrived on the scene, and he trusted Frank. And I also know what Max would want me to do now, and it certainly wouldn’t include selling my house and going elsewhere.”

  Greg took a deep breath. “Aunt Rita,” he said. “I don’t know why we’re arguing. Nobody’s told you to sell your house, and nobody’s told you to leave town. All I’m saying is that it’s something you should think about. The house is big, and it is full of memories, and you know as well as I do that Uncle Max often talked about getting rid of it when he retired. You two were going to travel, and he’d even talked about maybe moving to Hawaii.” He shrugged as he saw his aunt’s eyes narrow. “Anyway, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. If it hadn’t been for that phone call, we wouldn’t even be talking about it right now. But the call was on the machine, and all I’m saying is that maybe you should think about it.”

  Rita reached out and took Greg’s hand, squeezing it fondly. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “You’ll have to forgive me. None of this has been easy for me, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.” She moved to the window and stood looking out over the desert. And then, almost unbidden, her eyes drifted up to the mesa, to the spot where she’d been in the dream the morning of Max’s funeral.

  Once more, she heard Max’s words. Listen to Frank.

  Then, in her mind, she heard Frank’s own words, uttered only half an hour before, when she’d sat alone with him in the hospital room.

  They tried to kill me, Rita. Just like they killed Max.

  She stood still for a few seconds, the two voices echoing in her head. Finally she turned to face her nephew.

  “All right,” she said quietly. “I’ve thought it over, and I’ve made up my mind. I’m not selling my house, Greg I’m going to stay right here, and I’m going to find out exactly who wants to buy my house, and why, and I’m also going to find out exactly what happened to Frank, and to Max too. Something is happening here, Greg, and I intend to find out what it is. I intend to find out, and put a stop to it.”

  She showed Greg out of the house, then went to Max’s desk. Taking out a piece of his heavy stationery, and picking up his favorite pen, she began jotting notes; notes of what had been happening in Borrego over the past few weeks. She scratched down random thoughts, even impressions. And through it all she kept hearing Max’s words from the dream once again: Listen to Frank.

  She kept writing, kept searching for a pattern in the events she’d noted on the paper.

  But there was no pattern, at least not yet.

  Still, she was certain that sooner or later a pattern would emerge.

  A pattern of death.

  Chapter 17

  Darkness had fallen and the first chill of the night had set in. Above Judith and Jed the sky was clear, the great swath of the Milky Way glimmering gently against a velvety backdrop. They stood silently for a few moments, gazing upward.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Judith finally asked.

  Jed nodded absently. “I guess,” he said. Then, after a moment or two, his eyes shifted. “What about Dad?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “Of course he is,” Judith replied. “Why wouldn’t he be? A broken leg isn’t exactly the end of the earth. He’ll be in the hospital a few more days, and then he’ll come home.” She forced a smile. “Our biggest problem will be getting him to take it easy for a while.”

  Jed nodded, but Judith could sense that something was bothering him. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Jed took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just that this morning, when I woke up, I had this weird feeling something was going to happen to him today. And it did.” He shivered, though the night wasn’t that cold. “I keep thinking it was my fault, that I should have told him not to go to work today.”

  Judith shook her head. “It wouldn’t have done any good. In fact,” she went on, smiling wryly, “I tried it myself. I even suggested he quit. But you know your father …” Her voice trailed off. “Look,” she said. “Do you want me to come home with you? I could spend the night, if you don’t want to be alone in the house.”

  Jed considered it for a moment, but shook his head. “I’ll be okay—Christ knows, there’ve been enough nights when Dad was working graveyards.”

  But later, as he pulled his father’s truck into the driveway, he realized that tonight would be different. He let himself in the front door, and immediately felt the emptiness of the place. Always before, even when he’d been alone, he’d felt his father’s presence. But tonight, knowing his father wouldn’t be home in a few hours, a desolate loneliness seemed to emanate from the house.

  He tried to ignore it, switching on the television and stretching out on the couch. But he couldn’t concentrate on the TV. Instead of hearing the soundtrack of the movie, his ears kept picking up the sounds of the night outside.

  He felt fidgety, nervous.

  At last he got up from the sofa, picked up the remote control, and switched the television off again.

  Silence closed in on him.

  He wandered around the house for a few minutes, his nervousness growing by the second. Finally, making up his mind, he grabbed his leather jacket and went back out to the truck.

  The A&W stand.

  His friends would be there—it was Friday night. Maybe someone would even have gotten hold of a keg of beer. At least tonight there wasn’t any chance of his father finding out what he’d been doing.

  There were five of them up on the mesa an hour later. Randy Sparks and Jeff Hankins had already been at the A&W, and a few minutes later Gina Alvarez and JoAnna Garcia arrived on their way home from the movies. When Gina had seen the keg of beer in the trunk of Jeff’s Plymouth, her eyes had narrowed ominously, but it had been JoAnna who had finally convinced her to come along. “We can tell my folks we watched the movie twice, and your mom won’t even be home till after midnight.”

  Gina’s eyes had shifted over to Jed. “No drag racing?” she asked. “If you wreck your dad’s truck—”

  “I promise,” Jed had replied, putting on his best solemn face and crossing his heart. And he’d stuck to the promise, despite the way Jeff had tauntingly revved the Plymouth’s engine as they’d left the A&W and started up
toward the mesa.

  Now the keg was half gone, and Jed was stretched out on his back, staring up into the sky. Gina was beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, her body snuggled close to his. He’d found an old blanket behind the seat of the pickup, and he was about to pull it over them when he felt something prod roughly at his side. He looked up to see Randy Sparks glaring down at him.

  Randy was weaving slightly, and in his hand was a paper cup full of beer. “I wanta talk to you, half-breed,” he said, his words slurred.

  Jed felt his stomach tighten. When he’d arrived at the A&W, Randy had nodded to him but not said much. Since they’d come up to the mesa and started drinking, he’d noticed Randy eyeing him speculatively, as if he was trying to decide whether or not he could take Jed in a fight. For a while Jed had been on his guard, but when Randy had simply kept drinking, Jed had concluded that nothing was going to happen.

  Now Randy’s foot jammed into his side once more. “I said I wanta talk to you!”

  Gina was sitting up now, one of her hands pressed against Jed’s chest. “Come on, Randy,” she said. “What’s the big deal? You’re the one who threw the rock through the Morelands’ window, not Jed.”

  Randy glowered drunkenly down at her. “Yeah, but your Indian boyfriend’s the one who told.”

  Jed thought quickly. The last thing any of them needed right now was a fight. And if they got caught out here with a keg of beer … “Look,” he said, scrambling to his feet and picking up the blanket. “Let’s just forget about it, okay? Maybe I didn’t see you at all. Maybe it was just a lucky guess.” Taking Gina’s hand, he started toward the truck, with Randy staggering after him.

  “Whatsa matter?” he shouted. “You scared to fight me? Huh? You a chicken-shit Indian?”

  Jed froze, his anger finally beginning to rise, but Gina kept pulling him to the truck. “Don’t listen to him,” she said. “He’s drunk, and he just wants to make trouble. Let’s just split, okay?”