"So you knew about her then?" Myra asked.
"That was the day I met her," Christa answered. "Before that I was afraid. I thought she was a boogeyman. But then she touched me and accidentally electrocuted me after I dropped the pitcher of—"
"Electrocuted?" Myra echoed. "You mean you were shocked when she touched you? You were sitting in the wet Kool-Aid and you actually received a shock?"
"A big one," Christa said, nodding. "Made me so tired I went right to sleep, remember?"
Myra sat up in her chair. "Maybe that's what she takes from us. She needs the electrical energy we generate to form what? An image around her spirit? I should ask Cal about this. He knows about these things. He'll know what . . ." She paused and sagged back again. "What am I saying? I can't tell him. He'll think his grandmother is right about my being a nut."
"Cal wouldn't think that," Christa said. "He loves you. He wouldn't do anything to hurt you."
Myra sighed. "You're right. He wouldn't. But it's something to think about. If I could think right now. I can't believe I'm actually having this conversation with you. I think I'm living one of those hallucinations I've been so worried about. This is all in my head."
"If you ask me that's what she does," Christa offered. "I think she comes inside our heads one at a time. Daddy has been right beside her and he never saw her. And me and Andy never see her at the same time. I think she comes into my brain and does something up there when she wants me to see her."
Myra bit her lip. "Then how could she shock you?" Christa lifted a shoulder.
"I dunno. Maybe I really shocked myself… with my own electricity."
Myra was skeptical. "You say you think she used to live here. Who is she? Or rather, who was she?"
"Drusilla," Christa said, frowning.
"I know that, honey. But who was Drusilla?"
"Oh. I think she's Daddy's great-something. Mine and Andy's too. Her last name is same as ours."
Myra stood up suddenly. "Darwin. He knew. He had to. He wouldn't let me touch anything upstairs. No wait, I've felt her downstairs several times now, in the kitchen. Why not before? I was in this house hundreds of times."
"I think she came out because of me and Andy," Christa said. "Because we're kinda related to her, I mean."
Myra didn't appear to be listening. She seemed very excited. "Where's that old Bible? The one Cal and Nolan were looking at the other day?"
"It's in the living room," Christa told her. "Uncle Nolan left it on top of the television. Are we going to read Scriptures?"
"No, we're going to look for Drusilla. Cal said it was a family Bible. She should be in there."
But she wasn't. Christa sat on the sofa with Myra and looked at all the names on the yellowed pages.
"Those are the people in town," Christa said.
"They damn sure are," Myra murmured. Her eyes had a glazed look as she scanned the names. "And I know," she continued softly. "I know how they adopted these children. Drusilla showed me. The monsters wanted to start their own little colony. And they did."
Christa was confused. "Who wanted to?"
Myra blinked. "Never mind, honey. I was just talking to myself." She lifted a hand to stroke Christa's hair. "Thank you for being honest with me about Drusilla. It's hard sometimes for adults to keep open minds—at least until we're slapped in the face with the scarier parts of our lives. Then we have to sit up and stop denying the possibilities."
"Whatever," Christa said with a light shrug. "I think I'll go clear the table now. Oh and here…” She dug the pill out of her pocket and handed it to Myra. "I almost forgot. This was on the bathroom floor. We need to put it away so Andy doesn't find it."
Myra studied the pill. "Where on the bathroom floor?"
"Down by the toilet. I think it's Daddy's. I saw him take a pill yesterday after he got dressed. He must have dropped this one."
"Is your Dad on any medication?" Myra asked.
Christa wasn't sure what she meant. "I don't think so. I just saw him take the one."
"Huh," Myra said, still frowning at the pill. "I wonder what it is. It doesn't have any markings on it."
"Maybe it's an aspirin," Christa offered. "Daddy's been having a lot of headaches lately. I'm going to clear the dishes now, Myra. Why don't you go up and try to take a nap?"
"Thanks honey. Maybe I will." Myra closed the Bible and put it aside. "Uh, Christa, wait. Let's keep Drusie and all this ghost business to ourselves for now, okay? God knows what Nolan would think, so for the time being let's make this our little secret, all right?"
Christa smiled. She knew Myra would say that.
CHAPTER 28
Vic was restless. They drove all the way to Las Vegas, New Mexico when Jinx suddenly decided to stop and find a motel room. He was too old for so much car time. He had hemorrhoids. His back hurt. But Vic had woken up three times during the night and found Jinx awake and moving toward the motel room door. He was going out for a breath of fresh air. He was going to make sure the car was locked. He was going to take care of those pails in the trunk.
Irritated, Vic said he would do it. But once he was out of bed, an even more irritated Jinx claimed it could wait until morning. Go back to sleep.
Vic couldn't, and now it was morning. His pills seemed to be keeping him wired rather than sedated, and he didn't understand the turnaround in the effects. Sullenly, he watched Jinx sleep. After claiming to be bone tired, the old man prowled around half the night and was now wasting valuable time. How easy did he think it would be to unload a kilo of coke? You couldn't just drive into town and announce your wares to the first ten people you saw. These days it took time to find the right connections. Time to scope out the area and talk to people, find out if any gangs were operating, and if so, which ones. Approach the wrong person and you could find yourself fucked up for life.
Because he didn't relish the thought of dealing with people who had absolutely no regard for human life, Vic figured he would try the business district first. Suits didn't like to buy from dealers who looked like a gang stereotype. They preferred to conduct business in ways more subtle: morning papers exchanged on street corners, bathroom meetings in chic restaurants at lunchtime and noisy, crowded clubs after work. Vic used to love to catch those guys, with their tailored suits and alligator-skin briefcases. Nailing those bastards was what made the old days good.
He used to love the looks on their faces when he flipped out that badge. And then, always, the first words out of their mouths: "I want to see my lawyer."
Vic liked to tease them and say, "You will. We busted him a half hour ago."
Oh yeah. The good old days.
If the suit approach didn't work out, Vic decided the University of New Mexico would be his next stop. Summer or not, there would be a few people on or around the campus. He would follow them to their hangouts and begin to look for the right profile. The moneyed man who pulled up in a sleek expensive car and talked to people one at a time. He might look like a businessman, or he might look like Joe College himself, but the people who spoke to him would have a definite, recognizable attitude toward him, and the conversations would be brief.
Vic smiled to himself. Jerks. They were all would-be escape artists. Every last goddamned one of them.
They wanted to escape from everything that made them feel worthless. The job that went to a better man, or the man who went to another woman. The boss who never showed any appreciation or the parents who just didn't understand. They wanted to feel good, or at least not bad, about being who they were, be it a doctor, a judge, or a hard-luck little pissant born into a family of twelve living in a two-room apartment. They wanted to feel good because life was more often than not the shits and it was likely to stay that way. For a few hours, they made the break to escape their own humanity. Because it hurt.
He took out his bottle of pills and rattled the loose contents. Because things hurt. Because life hurt.
Vic's lip curled. Tough, right? It was time people learned to li
ve with it, he thought as he shook out a pill. You had to be stronger than the hurt, he told himself as he swallowed the pill dry. You had to maintain and do the best you could without giving in to the urge to whimper and piss and moan when things didn't go your way. You had to charge right in there and make something good happen for yourself. And if an obstacle arose, get past the annoying fucker with any means at your disposal.
He pocketed his pills and spared the sleeping Jinx another glance. His lip curled at the sight of the bony, withered foot that was hanging off the edge of the bed. The toenails were thick and dull yellow in color. The foot itself was pale, veined and white with scattered springs of sparse, curling hair.
Talk about annoying fuckers. Christ, he dreaded getting old and looking like that. Face sinking in around your teeth. Balls hanging down to your knees.
Vic's stomach lifted in revulsion and he forced himself to look away. Time to get this goddamned show on the road. He would slip over to the café for a cup of coffee; then he would come back and roust the snoring old bastard. Christ, it was almost eleven o'clock.
He was at the door when he thought of taking the keys along and gassing up the car. He sorted through all of Jinx's pants pockets and finally spied the tip of a key protruding from inside one of the old man's clunky black shoes.
Suspicious old fart, Vic thought. Did he think I'd steal his car, or what?
He pocketed the key ring along with the room key and approached the door again. While he was at the gas station he might as well open the trunk and take care of this lard-pail business. Get rid of the bumping sonofabitches. His nerves could use a break. And if the old man didn't like it, tough. With the kilo sold, he could buy all the goddamned lard he wanted.
Jinx didn't stir as he left. Damned if old people didn't sleep like the dead, Vic thought as the door closed behind him with a soft click. He stepped out and squinted at the harsh sunlight bouncing off the cars in the motel parking lot. His head was already beginning to hurt.
CHAPTER 29
Cal dropped the baseball he had been bouncing off the barn and stared at Nolan. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Yeah, I heard you. I just can't believe you asked me something like that."
"Would you mind answering the question?" Nolan was irritated by the boy's amusement.
Cal picked up the ball. "No, I don't believe in ghosts. I do believe in the primal capacity of the reptilian brain to access certain levels of activity beyond this plane of existence." He grinned. "Okay?"
"Reptilian brain?" Nolan scoffed.
"Why did you ask?"
"No reason. Just your common dumbass curiosity."
"Do you believe in ghosts?" Cal asked.
"Not really," Nolan said, already regretting having mentioned the subject to the little smartass. But he was bugged and his state of buggedness was getting worse by the day. Something strange was going on with Myra. Not the regular, oh, gee, kind of strange, but your serious cosmos-connected what-does-it-all-mean kind of strange. After witnessing her night terrors for the last week he couldn't help putting the details of her grisly dream together with the names of those adopted in the Bible. It was all he could think about lately. And it was weird thinking.
Somebody kills the parents and takes the kid. Could that really happen? Did it? Myra was having the exact same dream every night, and last night even Nolan had felt something in her room. For a brief instant his flesh had goose pimpled and he suddenly remembered the night of the fire and the way his window slammed shut. How? And why would he be reminded of that again?
Reptilian brain. Maybe there was something to that. Not necessarily the reptilian brain, but the part that made Kreskin so goddamned amazing. Or the part that caused wild poltergeist activity to occur in the homes of people with adolescent children (puberty really was hell) or maybe the part that schizophrenics met the first time they talked to themselves and someone answered back. There was a hell of a lot of maybes out there.
But it didn't explain what was going on here. Nolan liked a good, scary shiver as much as the next person, but he wasn't into this oogahboogah shit. Myra wasn't having much fun either.
"Hey," Cal said. "Are we going to play catch today or not?" Nolan looked up and forced his attention back to the tangible world. "Did you get the horses taken care of?"
"I told you I did. Come on. Your hands are better now. I promise I won't bum any holes through your glove."
"Hey, don't get cocky, kid."
"I'll leave that to you, Nolan Solo," Cal said.
Nolan groaned. "Your lip is as bad as your mother's. You know that?"
"She taught me everything I know. C'mom, put your glove on. Let's see some of those shortstop moves."
"A half hour," Nolan said. "Then I need to check out that pump. The water pressure went to shit this morning in the middle of my shower."
"I'm surprised you noticed with all the racket you make in there."
Nolan snatched his glove from the ground and shoved his hand inside. "Put your arm where your mouth is, hotshot."
"All right," Cal said with a grin.
Twenty minutes later Cal was begging for mercy. He held up a hand in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry I mouthed off. No more bullets, all right? You nearly broke my hand with that last one."
Nolan shook his throwing arm. It felt pretty good. Nice and loose. Not too bad for an old man.
Old in baseball terms, anyway.
Cal took his glove off and sauntered over. "Want me to look at the pump with you?"
Nolan's eyes narrowed. "And make a fool of me again? If you know what's wrong with it, say so. If you know how to fix it, do so."
"Hey, don't get your nerve ends excited. I was only asking. I don't know what's wrong with it."
"Will wonders never cease?" Nolan said in a dry voice. "Something he doesn't know. I'll have to write this down so I can remember it. I'll look back on this moment fondly, I can assure you."
"Now who's being a smartass?" Cal said. He looked hurt.
"You and your mom," Nolan said. "You can dish it out, but you can't take it. Laugh Cal. People respect a man who can laugh at himself. Remember that when I'm gone." He took off his own glove. "Now, if my hopes and suspicions are correct, the pump only needs to be primed. Let's go see if I'm right."
He was. For once. Cal helped him haul the water and the boy's face grew longer with each passing minute. Finally Nolan turned to him. "What is it? You're driving me crazy with this hangdog look of yours."
Cal's face filled with color. "It's not hangdog. I was just thinking about how much I'm going to… when you're gone, you know. I'll really miss, well, just doing things with you, you know? I'll miss you. A lot."
Nolan experienced a sudden thickness in his respiratory area. He squatted and tried to clear his throat. This was what he had been dreading, dammit.
"I'll miss you, too," he said finally. "You're one great kid."
Cal sat down by him "So where do you live in Kansas City? Maybe I can come and see you sometime."
"At the moment I don't live anywhere," Nolan told him. "My few material possessions are locked up in a storage unit in Overland Park. It's a long story, so don't ask the details."
"Then how will I know where to find you?" Cal asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Nolan met the boy's anxious blue gaze and felt the thickness in his chest expand. Now he knew how Shane felt.
"I don't know, Cal," he said honestly. "Looks like neither of us knows where we're going from here."
"Sure," Cal stared at the ground. "That's it, huh? You drive out of here and you could give a shit whether you ever see me again, right?"
"Wrong." Nolan gently cuffed him. "How can I tell you where I'll be when I don't know that myself?"
Cal lifted his head. "What about my mom? I know you'd like her away from here. She's funny and a blast to be around most of the time. Here she's just too worried about everything to be her normal self. You should see her in a dress and makeup. Ba
ck in Houston these guys used to trip over their own feet when they saw her walking down the—"
"Whoa," Nolan said. "What are you doing? Trying to sell your mother? You don't have to. I like her, Cal. It took me a while, I'll admit, because I'm not used to liking women who treat me like—" He stopped and grimaced. "But then I've always been an asshole where women are concerned. Just ask Vic, he'll tell you."
Cal blinked at the bitterness in his voice. "She doesn't listen to Vic. And even if she did, she once said she's probably fated to fall in love with assholes. She even read this book about it."
"Thanks," Nolan said. "That makes me feel so much better."
"You know what I mean," Cal said. "What makes Vic think you're so bad? Have you dogged a lot of women?"
"Yeah," Nolan said frankly. "I have."
"Why?" Cal asked.
Nolan looked at the sky. "Some things are beyond even a genius's scope of understanding. Especially one who's never even had a girlfriend."
"Try me," Cal said in a tight voice.
Nolan smiled at him. He loved the way the kid bristled when someone called him genius. You'd never know it to look at him, not with his tousled blond hair and dirty white T- shirt. He looked just like an average summer-loving kid.
"Well?" Cal prompted.
"Okay. Why did I dog all these women? Well, for one thing, I hate the stuff that gets in their belly buttons when they wear jeans. It's the same stuff that gets in the crack of their ass when they wear tight jeans with no underwear. What else? Let's see. Oh yeah, I hate the way their hair smells after a visit to the hair salon. Even worse is the stuff they use to remove pubic hair. Now that shit stinks. They take this tube of cream, see, and they smear it--"
"Forget it," Cal said in disgust. "I don't know why I bother talking to you. You're so full of bull you'd crap for a day if you had an enema. Why can't you be serious for once?"
Nolan smacked a mosquito on his arm. It was bloated with his blood, a female. He squinted toward the sun. "I don't know, kid. Maybe I should read your mom's book."
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