Maria didn’t want a relapse. Tonight she’d seen Freddie’s body without seeing a single hallucination. That was progress, right? But maybe it had had more to do with all the chanting and waving of rabbits’ feet from Jim than it had with the state of her psyche?
The two of them walked in silence for a few minutes. In the distance an owl hooted. Being outdoors was so good for Maria. It helped her reconnect with—
Her foot squished into a slimly lump of gook. She bent her neck forward so the spelunking light on her head would shine on whatever it was she had just “connected” with.
Her breath caught. Acid burned in her throat.
A bloated, oozing body of a dead animal was under her shoe. She had stepped right into its gut, and the putrid smell of decay now filled the air. The stench was worse than the time the she’d left a bowl of refried beans in the fridge for over a month. It was worse than the smell of sewage in her old apartment in Pittsburgh. No, it was more like …
Tehran.
The aftermath.
The day the worst had happened.
The panic struck her like a semi-truck hitting a confused deer on a dark, deserted road. It filled her mind, her lungs, her heart, her stomach. But not her soul. She had none.
Feet and hands were numb. Arms and legs tingled like she sat in an electric chair, awaiting her death sentence.
Throngs of disfigured ghosts surrounded her. Crowding her. Moaning, crying, shrieking.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why me?
“Someone help me!” she screamed.
Her knees buckled.
Jim grabbed her before her entire body fell into the decomposing mess that had once been a sly wolf looking for its prey.
He helped her sit down in the dirt.
At least she thought it was her on the ground. Her mind was floating away.
Into the dark.
Into the sky.
Into the nothingness of—
“Maria.”
It was Jim. He held his palm to her forehead.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
She nodded.
“A sickness of the soul?” Jim looked fiercely into her eyes.
“Yes,” Maria croaked.
Jim murmured something. What was he saying?
But he wasn’t saying anything. He was singing a slow, methodical chant.
As the notes filled Maria’s ears, her fists slowly unclenched. A section of calm opened in her mind, making it possible to think again.
“What happens to you?”Jim asked.
“I see ghosts,” Maria said. “A lot of them. Not like Acalan. These are ghosts … from inside me.” Maria might as well be honest. Even if Jim told others, she had a feeling most people didn’t give him the time of day.
“How often?”
“A couple of times per week.” Maria wanted to lie down in the dirt and die. She was tired. Tired of everything. The terror. The fear. The pain.
“How are these other ghosts not like Acalan?” asked Jim.
“They are always missing a part of their body.” Maria knew she sounded like she was headed for the looney bin. Had it been anyone but Jim, she would be mortified to admit these things.
“Parts of their body? What do you mean?”
“Arms, legs, fingers. Heads.” It was killing Maria to say these things out loud. Not even Dr. Roberts knew what her ghosts looked like.
“When did these ghosts start to visit you?”
This is where it got sticky. “I was working for the government. I was … captured. It was bad.”
The two sat together, neither saying a word as the owl continued to hoot from a perch somewhere in the canyon.
At last Jim spoke. “Maria, do you want to be rid of them?”
“Of course.” The thought of never seeing another ghost for as long as she lived sounded amazing.
“Come,” he said, motioning her off the trail. “Let’s talk a moment.” Jim pointed to a slab of mostly flat rock that shone in the moonlight.
The events of the day could not have gotten any weirder. It was hard to believe that just this morning she’d sat on her patio eating breakfast with Rod, contemplating taking the day off.
Too dizzy to stand, Maria crawled through the dirt to the spot Jim indicated. The rock was big enough for both of them to sit on, but just barely. They were much closer than Maria’s sense of personal space considered comfortable. She turned off her headlight, leaving her flashlight on so she could still see.
Jim simply closed his eyes and began humming. Maria was hesitant at first, but then she decided to follow his lead. She hummed her favorite tune—Brahms, of course. She assumed this was going to be the beginning of some relaxation ceremony where she would learn to be one with the earth, moon, and stars.
She was wrong.
“Maria, have you ever heard of a Ute Sundance lodge?”
“Never. Are you Ute?”
“I am nothing and everything,” answered Jim. “But that’s not important. In a Sundance lodge the Utes do ceremonies. Some of which are … rather painful. But their meaning and purpose are clear. It is about sacrifice. We must sacrifice something we love for something we want. You want to be rid of your ghosts, correct?”
“Absolutely.” Maria yearned for nothing more.
“Then you must give up something you love. From your description of the ghosts, I believe I know what it is.”
A sharp intake of air. “What?” The muscles in Maria’s jaw tightened.
“Part of you.”
“Part of me?” Maria shook her head. “Like what part?”
“A part of your body.”
It was like the entire world went mute. Nothing made noise. Only Maria’s thoughts screamed at her. This is crazy!
But was it? After what she’d seen? After what she’d done? Maybe this was exactly what she needed. Maybe it would allow her to let the guilt go. All of it.
“Do you mean if I cut off my hand, for example, my ghosts would disappear?” Maria’s voice sounded incredulous with a hint of awe.
Jim nodded. “Yes, but I wouldn’t choose a hand. A little toe would be a better choice.”
Was he serious? Of course he was. Maria had been in close contact with Jim for the last three days, during which time she’d never heard him crack a joke even once.
“A little toe?” Her voice faltered.
Could she do it? Could she cut off one of her own digits? Every neuron in her entire head was charged and wired.
It was ludicrous.
It was perfect.
Jim was insane.
Jim was a genius.
There was no logic to it.
It made total sense.
She could do it later.
Now was the time.
A calm spread throughout her. She knew what she had to do.
“Jim, could you help me do it? I have a pocket knife, but you might need to hold me down.”
“You’re ready then?” Jim didn’t seem too surprised.
“Yes. I want this.”
“Then you’ll want to use my knife. It’s much sharper.” Jim reached into his backpack and pulled out a hunting knife in an ornately decorated leather sheath.
Maria was already trying to take her shoes off. Her fingers were still numb, and they fumbled at the laces.
Jim stood up so she had more room on the slab of stone. At last she tugged her foot out of her hiking boot and pulled off her sock. She brought her knee to her chest and set her foot on top of the rock. It was cold, hard, rough.
Like where Maria’s soul should have been.
A toe was worth finding herself, wasn’t it? Could losing a toe bring her soul back? It was worth trying.
Unsnapping the top of the leather sheath, Maria pulled a gorgeous knife out of its protection. It was heavy in her hand. The handle elegantly carved. Could something of so much beauty create so much pain?
Maria pulled her little toe as far away fr
om the others as she could. She didn’t want to accidentally cut off two by mistake. She then flipped her headlamp back on so she could see better.
Had she gone completely mad?
Maybe she’d already been mad for a long time. Maybe this was the first sane thing she’d done since getting home from Tehran.
Sacrifice.
It was all about sacrifice.
Maria raised the knife six inches above her foot. Maybe a quick chop would be best. She didn’t think she had the guts to saw it off.
With a shaking hand, she inhaled as much air as she could. Steady, she told herself. Just one toe.
The tremor grew until she could hardly keep hold of the handle. Her hand was numb, and an overwhelming tingling sensation crept up her arm. She couldn’t do it. Not from a lack of desire. She wanted this more than anything she’d ever wanted in her entire life. She wanted her toe gone, and with it the pain and horror she’d known so intimately. The heart was willing but the flesh was weak.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Jim.” A deep breath. “Will you do it?”
Her arm was in near convulsions, but she managed to set the knife in Jim’s outstretched hand. His fingers closed around the handle.
“Yes.”
Relief and solace. That was all she wanted.
Jim’s hand was steady. His gaze firm. He raised the knife over her foot, poised to strike down at any moment.
The veins in his hands bulged.
Sweat ran down Maria’s temples despite the coolness of the evening’s breeze.
“Tell me when,” Jim said.
Memories of nights in Tehran—pleading for death to come. Visions of the endless days—waiting, crying, mourning.
A toe was a bargain. Her entire body should have been taken long ago. But her will to survive had been too strong. In Tehran, each time she planned to take her own life there was a persistent, stubborn, insubordinate part of her mind that wouldn’t let her do it. It made her live. It made her suffer.
Maria looked at her little toe. It was just a small, stubby thing. A part of herself. She was giving it up like others had before her.
“Now!”
Jim’s hand came down hard and fast. The clink of the metal blade against rock echoed in the empty night.
But Maria’s soul was no longer empty. Wholeness consumed her. She hadn’t even felt the pain.
Jim lifted his hand that held the knife.
Maria’s foot was intact. Her toe securely fastened where it always had been.
Yet she was changed.
She was different.
A sacrifice had been made.
Jim lifted his head to the sky and howled. Literally, howled.
Maria reached up and ripped off her headlight, letting if fall to the ground. Then she lifted her face to the stars, opened her mouth, and screamed.
“I.”
“Am.”
“A.”
“Good.”
“Person.”
Jim fell silent. He sat back down on the rock without another word. So did Maria. Her breath was even. Steady. Not rushed.
The stillness inside her was deep and lasting.
Ten minutes passed. Or was it a month? It didn’t matter.
Jim took Maria’s hand in his. He turned it over so her palm faced upward. He ran his fingers over the creases and then looked up.
“These ghosts,” he said, “they were your own demons.” He closed her hand and squeezed it. “They are gone. Your sacrifice is complete.”
“Jim?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know I wouldn’t cut off my toe?” Maria asked.
Jim looked her squarely in the eye. “I didn’t. But it didn’t matter. Either way would have worked.”
Because the snail is an endangered species, the federal government has prohibited … doing anything to the property that would disturb the creature, including … searching for Aztec gold.
–Deseret News. “Rare Snails Snarl Efforts to Snare Aztec Gold” by Jerry Spangler, Monday, December 9, 1991.
Chapter 29
IT WAS SO LATE, and every bit of strength had evaporated from her body, yet Maria still had to make one last phone call before going to bed. She’d promised Ryker she’d have someone trustworthy guard over the cave the next morning. She couldn’t do it. She had to get Whitney into questioning. Despite Freddie Crystal, Montezuma’s gold, and a bunch of endangered snails, there was still a murder to be solved.
She called Rod.
“Where have you been?” His voice wasn’t the least bit tired.
“The cave, and what-kinda-hello was that?” Maria’s words slurred together. The toe ceremony had taken everything out of her.
“Hello, gorgeous. Is that better?”
“Hmm. A little forced.”
“With reason.” Rod’s voice rose slightly. “Do you realize you left at 9 a.m. this morning? It’s after midnight. What have you been doing at the cave for fifteen hours?”
“I can explain, but not really. My brain isn’t working right. Ryker will tell you all about it in the morning.”
“Ryker?” asked Rod. “Ryker’s coming to my office tomorrow? What for?”
“Not exactly.” Maria wished she’d thought of a better way to say this. “You’re going to his. He needs you to guard the cave. Just you. No one else. He’ll explain everything.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I got a partner last year, since I never seem to make it to the office anymore.”
Maria was so tired, she was having a hard time reading Rod’s mood. “I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll make it up to you. It’s just that I have to work on the murder case tomorrow. There have been some developments. It’s a little crazy right now. I really—”
Rod’s voice softened. “It’s okay. I was just teasing. I’m happy to go. I was so curious what you were doing there today I about took off to find you, but I didn’t want you to think I was a stalker or something.”
The image of the two of them that morning holding each other warmed Maria. “As far as stalkers go, I could do worse.”
Rod laughed. “Hey, if you’re feeling up to it, I could come over and—” He stopped mid-sentence. “You’re wiped out, aren’t you?”
Maria sighed. “Yes. But I’d love to see you tomorrow. I’ll take care of the stuff I have to do at the station, and then I’ll join you at the cave. I’ll be there about dinner. How about I bring a picnic?”
“That sounds great,” said Rod. “I love PB and J.”
“Good thing, because you’ve seen in my cupboards and that’s about all I have.”
“Okay, well … goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” said Maria.
The conversation was over, but Maria didn’t want to hang up yet. She listened to Rod breathe for a few seconds and wished she could kiss him goodnight. But if she didn’t get off her feet that instant, her body might revolt.
Rod, too, hadn’t hung up.
“I really do gotta go to bed,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
Was this the awkward time people said things like “I love you” to each other?
“Maria?”
“Yes?” Her tongue felt dried and withered. If he told her he loved her, what would she say in return? She liked him. Sure. But loved him? It had all been too soon, too fast.
“Thanks for calling. I know it bugs you, but I like to know you’re okay. It’s just how I am.”
“You’re welcome.” She let her breath out, relieved and happy. He’d said the perfect thing. He worried about her. And for some reason, that wasn’t as annoying as it used to be. “Sweet dreams, Rod.”
“You too.”
“Oh, and Rod?”
“Yes?”
“Take a gun tomorrow. You never know.”
*
Pale faced and worried, Whitney walked into the front office of the police station at exactly at 10 a.m. She w
ore a silky shirt and nice pants, but her hair looked as if she’d completely forgotten to style it. It was then Maria realized she hadn’t returned Whitney’s curling iron to her. Things were not starting off on the right foot.
“Hi, Whitney,” said Maria, walking up to the distraught woman and shaking her hand. “Thanks for coming.” Maria had called Whitney a few hours earlier and asked her to come down to the station. She’d tried to keep her voice light and chill, but Whitney hadn’t taken it that way.
“Hi Ma— Chief Branson,” Whitney said. She stood and looked at Maria with an expression that said, “now what?”
“Beautiful weather, isn’t it?” Maria let a huge smile cover her face, trying to encourage Whitney to relax a bit.
“Yes.”
“Have you got anything fun planned?” Maria held out her hand, leading Whitney into a spare office at the station.
“No.”
Small talk was not helping. Maria reached into her uniform’s front pocket and pushed the “on” button of her voice recorder.
“I’m sorry to have called you so early,” said Maria, showing Whitney to a chair against the wall. She sat down right next to her. “I know you have your kids to get ready in the morning, but I needed to talk with you as soon as I could. I’m finishing up some work with my investigation of the mayor’s death, and I needed to ask you a few questions.” Another smile from Maria.
Nothing from Whitney.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of your Miranda rights?”
“Yes.” Whitney’s voice shook.
“I’m going to read those to you. It’s not a big deal. I always do it when I have someone come into my office. Just a formality. Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Well, that was a two-word answer at least. The longest of any Whitney had given so far. Still, the woman wasn’t warming up at all.
After reading Whitney her rights, Maria tried some more casual conversation, but nothing put Whitney at ease. Maria might as well start with the questions.
“So Whitney, can you tell me where you were from noon to six on the afternoon of the 11th?”
“What day of the week was that?”
“It was a Thursday.”
“I usually go into my work Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.” Whitney bit her lower lip. Maria worried she was going to make it bleed.
“And did you got into work on Thursday the 11th?”
Robbed of Soul: Legends of Treasure Book 1 Page 22