Borderland

by S. K. Epperson

  Nolan smiled again. "Juvenile? Such wit, Myra. If your lip didn't look so awful I'd kiss you."

  "You'd try," she said.

  "And maybe I'd do more than kiss you," he answered.

  "Look," Myra said firmly, "I'm sorry about today. I realize now that I should have told you everything. But I had no proof that it was Clarice. Cutting phone lines and killing animals isn't her style. Maybe she hired someone different this time. I don't know."

  "You're trying to change the subject now," Nolan said, but he released her. "Think you could help me change my bandages before you run up to bed? Handling that nasty old radiator—the one I bought for your Mustang—got my hands dirty."

  Myra, already on her way out, had to pause. "You bought a radiator? I asked you not to, Nolan. I can't pay you and you know it."

  "I know," he said. "Not with money, anyway."

  She felt like stamping her foot but managed to refrain. "You love to bait me, don't you? That's how you get your kicks."

  "Yep," he said.

  Myra looked at him. She took her time, thinking, and as her eyes traveled over him she came to a decision.

  "No comeback?" he inquired.

  "Just payback," she said, walking toward him. When she was in front of him she lifted her arms and put them around his neck. His gaze was wary, as if at any moment he expected to feel a knee in his groin. Myra considered it, but instead she lifted herself up and pressed her lips against his mouth. He tasted salty, of sweat, and when he slowly opened his mouth she tasted beer. She tightened her arms around his sweat-dampened neck and pressed herself against him. He responded by putting his hands on her hips and pulling her closer.

  She kissed him until she was sure he expected more. Then she tore herself away and stepped back with a cool smile for his heaving chest and straining fly. "That," she said, "is how I get my kicks."

  His brows met over his nose as he stared at her. His eyes darkened. He opened his mouth, but a sudden series of bumps from outside the garage silenced him. Myra jumped and moved close to him again. "I knew I saw someone out here," she breathed.

  "You…" Nolan's frown deepened. "Why the hell didn't you tell me? Jesus, Myra."

  "You didn't give me a chance. You—"

  Nolan slapped a hand over her mouth. "Quiet, dammit."

  For more than five minutes they waited, both watching different windows for movement outside. It was completely dark now and Myra had to strain to see even Nolan beside her.

  Finally she felt his hand on her arm in the darkness. He pulled her in front of him and dropped a light kiss on her nose before giving her a shove. "Go on inside. I'll be right behind you."

  Myra rubbed at her nose and left the garage to sprint to the house.

  "Mom?" Cal said as she entered the kitchen. He was sitting on her stool, eating some of the meatloaf she had prepared for dinner. "You okay?"

  "What?" she said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  He shrugged. "Your face looked funny when you came in, kind of flushed. Was Nolan mad?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "I'm sorry." Cal put his plate on the counter. "I had to tell him. I know you didn't want to involve them, but after what happened I thought he had a right to know."

  "Yes, I realize that," Myra said. "It's all right, Cal. It just makes me angry when he blames… Never mind. Are you sure you weren't hurt today?"

  "Positive," Cal said with a smile. "The bigger I get the harder it is to try and snatch me."

  Myra went to him and touched his knee. "Cal, will you tell me the truth if I ask you something?"

  "Sure," he said.

  "All right. The reason you don't want to go back to your grandmother . . . is it because of me? Because you know I don't want you to?"

  Cal scowled. "Just what the hell did he say to you?"

  "Answer me, please," Myra said.

  "I don't have to, Mom. You know my reasons. She has her own best interests at heart, not mine. She wants to parade me in front of her friends like one of Grandpa's racehorses. I won't be used like that." He got off the stool then. "Listen, Nolan can be a real ass sometimes, but overall he's a decent guy. I don't know what he has against you, but if he says anything else, just blow it off. You know and I know—he doesn't. Okay?"

  "Okay," Myra said, and when Cal reached out to hug her she hugged him back hard.

  "Hey," said a voice from the kitchen entrance. "Your mom's a hell of a kisser, kid. Scabby lip and all."

  Cal leaned away and looked at her with raised brows. Myra tightened her mouth and glared as Nolan entered the room. He was carrying a box fan.

  "Where did you get that?" she asked.

  "He bought it," Cal said quickly. "And he said we could borrow it if I help him clean his room. But that may be a while, because tomorrow I need to work on the Mustang. Did he tell you we got a radiator?"

  "Yes." Myra glanced at the smiling Nolan. The light in his eyes told her all she needed to know. She sighed and looked away. "I'll clean the room in the morning. Right now I'm going to bed."

  "No goodnight kiss?" Nolan said as she made to push past him.

  Myra stepped on his foot in reply and went down the hall toward the stairs. She could put up with him for another few days. But once that radiator was in the Mustang, she and Cal were getting as far away as possible.

  CHAPTER 13

  Vic found himself staring at the kitchen phone when it rang for the first time. The lines had been repaired since last Tuesday, but he'd never actually heard the phone ring. Who could it be? They had given the number to no one—unless Nolan had given it to Carrie, his red-haired ex-roommate, the night he made his promised call. Vic didn't think so; Nolan hadn't talked long enough. Did the arms of the telemarketing world encompass even remote Denke?

  "Daddy, aren't you going to answer that?" Christa asked. "It's too high on the wall for me."

  Vic blinked and went to lift the receiver. "Hello?"

  "Jinx Lahr here," said a familiar voice. "Am I speaking to Vic Kimmler?"

  "Hello, Jinx," Vic said. "What can I do for you?"

  "Just a quick question or two, Vic. How's things a-goin' out there?"

  "Well . . ." Truthfully, things were shit. Nolan and Cal had been handling the car repairs and didn't appear to need or want any help from Vic. Aside from fixing up what he could around the house and occasionally helping Myra in her garden, Vic had been occupied with nothing but worrying, sweating, and feeling worthless.

  "That bad, huh?" Jinx said in his ear. "Well, I was wonderin' if you'd had that appraisal fella out that way yet."

  "No," Vic said. "Not yet. He said the earliest he could get out would be sometime next week."

  "Huh. Well, that might work out real good," Jinx said. "Today bein' Friday, I thought you might like to mosey into town around five or so and chat with me and the boys. Friday's our official day for town business, see, and we'd like to offer you a little proposition."

  "Is that right?" Vic asked. "Regarding what?"

  Jinx chuckled. "Don't do business over the phone, young fella. Don't like to, anyway. I like to look at a man when I'm talkin' to him."

  Vic laughed and looked at his watch. "In that case, I guess I'll see you in two hours. At the diner?"

  "That's the place," Jinx said. "Be lookin' forward to it. 'Bye now."

  "'Bye." Vic replaced the receiver and looked down to see Christa watching him. "That was Jinx, the old guy at the diner. He says the town has a proposition for me."

  "What's that?" Christa asked.

  "It means they're going to make me an offer. What, I don't know, but it should be interesting. Those guys are a bunch of lunatics."

  Christa's tiny dark brows met. "They're what?"

  "Funny, sweetheart. They're funny to listen to."

  "Can me and Andy go?"

  "Nope. This is business. Where's Myra?"

  "Doing laundry."

  "Well, let's go find her." Vic lifted his daughter off the floor and groaned as he balanced her on his arm.
"When did you get so big? You must weigh a hundred pounds."

  Christa laughed and put an arm around his neck. "I do not. Myra says I must've lost five pounds since we got here 'cause my shorts are so baggy. She calls me baggy britches."

  Vic's smile slowly died. "Have you really lost weight, honey?" He knew he had, but the thought that his children might be losing weight was an uncomfortable one. The heat was partially responsible, he was sure, but they hadn't exactly been eating eight-course meals lately. A pang of guilt assaulted him as he looked at her arms and legs. Were they too thin?

  "Probably," Christa was saying, "because we haven't been eating any candy and we only had ice cream once. Myra says we're all pur-something our systems."

  "Purging?" Vic said.

  "Yes. That's what she said. It means we're getting rid of all the bad stuff. Except for Uncle Nolan. She said he could purge till he dropped and he wouldn't get rid of the fat between his ears.”

  "She said that?"

  "Uh-huh."

  Vic shook his head and carried Christa into the pantry. The washing machine was on, but Myra was absent. He walked to the screen door and saw her out back hanging clothes on the line. Good idea, he thought. They didn't need the added heat of the dryer, although the sky was promising to cloud up and become overcast. He glanced toward the garage and heard the pounding of metal, Cal and Nolan knocking the dents out of the Lincoln.

  "I think the fat in Uncle Nolan's head is what makes him so cranky sometimes," Christa said in a serious tone.

  "Don't say anything to him about it," Vic warned. "It'll make him even crankier. Where the hell is Andy, anyway?"

  Christa pointed up.

  "What's she doing upstairs? She'd better not be messing with anyone's stuff."

  "She's not. She's just playing."

  "By herself?"

  Christa's nod was hesitant.

  "Whatever," Vic said, and he pushed open the screen door. Myra glanced over her shoulder and smiled. She was pretty when she did that, Vic found himself thinking. Generally she was so serious it was hard to think of her as anything but Myra, but when she smiled she became a soft, honeyed blond with gentle blue eyes and a disarmingly sweet mouth. He was still slightly pissed about the secrets she had kept from them, the business with her mother-in-law, but he thought he understood her reasons.

  As things stood now, the Browning shotgun and the nine-millimeter Beretta were being toted again, this time by Nolan and himself. Vic had acceded to Nolan's claim of being the better shot and given him the pistol. The shotgun rested on two hooks by the front door on the living room wall. Vic had wondered what the hooks were for until he'd placed the shotgun up there. Then he'd wondered why his father had needed to have a shotgun by the door.

  He missed his own handgun. He had been forced to sell it before moving and it had been like a sad farewell to a close companion. The old Colt .38 had been with him every day for ten years. He had other weapons, but none were as familiar to him as the Colt. It was strange to miss it so much, that inanimate thing.

  Myra's smile widened as Vic and Christa approached her. "Was that the phone I heard?"

  "Yes," Vic said. "I need to go into town at five. Jinx Lahr called and said they have a proposition for me. Maybe they want to make an offer on the place. Would you mind looking after the girls for me?"

  "If you'll pick up some gas while you're there," Myra answered. "Cal says the Mustang is completely dry."

  "No problem. Do we need anything from the store?"

  "Not that I can think of." She winked at Christa. "Maybe a package of cherry Kool-Aid. The grape gets pretty slippery."

  Christa smiled and Vic put her down. "Why don't you help Myra, Christa. I'm going to see what Andy's up to."

  "Maybe I should come with you," Christa suggested.

  "Why?"

  A shrug. "I don't know."

  Vic disliked that answer and she knew it. "Just stay here and help. That's our stuff too, you know. Myra's not our maid." He waited until Christa went to stand beside Myra before turning back to the house. The girls had been acting strangely lately, almost secretive, and that annoyed Vic. He knew they liked to play their games, but when it came to shirking work or disobeying him it was time to stop. And he didn't like the idea of Andy playing upstairs. The stairs were steep and ultimately dangerous for little girls who operated with two left feet most of the time.

  He called for Andy as he entered the house, though he knew it wouldn't have much effect. He had watched her play before and never seen such absorption. At the top of the stairs he passed through what felt like a patch of cold air. He paused, frowned then decided that a window was open somewhere and that the long awaited rain forecasted by the television weatherman was indeed coming.

  "Andy?" he called. "You still up here, honey?"

  He heard nothing. He stepped forward and felt the cold again, different this time. It didn't feel like a breeze now, rather it felt as though it were moving with him. He glanced at his arm and was surprised to see his flesh beginning to goose pimple. He rubbed his palm over his arm and reached for the first door to his right—Cal's room.

  "Andy, are you in—" His mouth snapped shut and he staggered back a step. A noise of disbelief came from his throat as his eyes bugged.

  The bed.

  Flies swarmed over the stacked corpses to land on protruding tongues and the long jagged gashes of slashed throats. Men, women, naked, dead, long white legs and arms, some with coarse hair, others fine and… bloated green bellies and livid backs…staring eyes with milky irises that still managed to convey dread, agony and the last terror-filled moments of human life about to be ended....

  Vic threw himself back into the hall. He stumbled over something directly behind him and heard a sharp cry as he landed hard on his backside. He looked to see Andy kneeling beside something on the floor.

  "Daddy, you stepped on Barbie's car! It's smashed!"

  "Andy!" He snatched her by the arms and jerked her away from the open door of Cal’s room. Her eyes rounded in alarm and she stared at him with something like fear. "You're hurting. Daddy, you're hurting my arms!" She struggled to pull away, and as he gripped her even tighter she began to cry. Vic ignored her tears and came up from the floor. He held her against his chest and put one hand on the back of her head to keep her from looking in the direction of the room. Then he looked.

  His hand fell away from Andy's head. His mouth opened and he gaped at the neatly made vacant bed and the plump embroidered pillows. Freshly laundered curtains fluttered in the breeze coming through the open windows. One fly buzzed lazily at the screens. The room darkened for an instant as a cloud made a momentary pass over the sun then the sheets were bright white again, the air once more filled with sunlit particles of dust, the room empty.

  Andy's sobbing intensified. Vic closed his mouth and looked at her. "Jesus, I... I'm sorry about the car, Andy. I'm sorry I scared you."

  "Can. . . you. . . fix it?" she asked between hiccups.

  He glanced down. "I don't know. I can try. Maybe we can glue it." He quickly glanced at the room again, half-expecting to see it changed after having looked away for an instant. He saw nothing. No one.

  What the hell was wrong with him? He'd never had a hallucination in his life.

  Stress, he thought suddenly. That had to be it. He'd reached his breaking point and was stressed out. He was lucky to have lasted this long without suffering any physical problems. Or maybe it went deeper than that. The bodies had to mean something, the ghastliness of the vision itself.

  Maybe he was experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Wait, no he couldn't be. He'd been in supplies during the war. He hadn't seen that kind of carnage anywhere but in K.C. after a gang killing.

  Okay. There you go, son. You've been thinking about that shit all day today. Your gun. Your old job. No wonder it came back on you. Stressed out, buddy. Too much worrying about the house, the girls, the bills, Cal being kidnapped. . . and the sorry performance of the Cubs
. He forced a nervous laugh. Christ, what a mess.

  "Daddy?" Andy said uncertainly.

  "What, honey?"

  "Can we go down and try to fix Barbie's car now? She can't go anywhere without it. She'll be just like Drusie and won't be able to leave. And she won't be able to help her new kitty friends."

  Vic smoothed her hair. Drusie was a new one on him. Georgie, Barbie, and now Drusie—little Andy had a thing for names that ended with a long e.

  Like Connie.

  Don't start that crap, he warned himself.

  "Okay," he said aloud. "Let's go see what a little glue will do." He put Andy down and reached for the small red sports car. He had really smashed the hell out of it. It would take more than Elmer's…”

  An icy sensation at the back of his neck cut off his thoughts and made him instantly alert. He saw nothing but a puffy-eyed Andy smiling hopefully at him. Vic gave his head a shake and ran a hand over his nape.

  Maybe he should talk to the doctor while in town. This kind of stress was nothing to mess around with. It could even kill a man.

  CHAPTER 14

  Ed Kisner cruised west on U.S. highway 54 in his tan Pontiac Bonneville sedan. He was a born sightseer, a natural people-watcher, and he enjoyed getting away from Denke to do these things. He liked Wichita especially. It was a clean city and full of nice friendly folks willing to help an old man. Before Darwin Kimmler's death, Ed's city had been Tulsa. Ed hated Tulsa. He always had trouble meeting his quota in Tulsa. Since receiving Wichita as an assignment he had done better.

  Well, last time didn't really count. That wasn’t his fault, no matter what Jinx Lahr said. Accidents happened. He'd thought the kill was clean. God knew he wasn't a doctor. How was he to know?

  Jinx could be such a snooty old bastard some times. Thought he knew everything. And okay, he was plenty smart, but he wasn't that smart. Ed thought of lots of brilliant stuff on his own. Of course when he did Jinx tried to make it sound like it wasn't so hot, that he'd already thought of the same thing himself. But Ed knew better. Jinx just wanted everybody to think he was the end all, be all.