The Edge of Reason

by Melinda Snodgrass

  Which says a lot about Albuquerque, thought Richard. “And you never thought to call the police?”

  Rhiana trudged over to a couch and collapsed as if her body had lost its skeleton. “By the time I figured out that this wasn’t your typical coven they had me locked up.”

  “Give me the address,” Richard ordered. She did.

  He should have called his lieutenant, taken backup, but he was a terrible liar, and he couldn’t find a way to explain why an off-duty police officer should be interfering in the South Valley. Before heading out he pulled the shotgun out of the trunk and propped it against the passenger seat. He had started to roll out of the parking lot when the passenger door was yanked open and Rhiana jumped in.

  “You are not leaving me.”

  Richard’s peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the backdoor swinging open and a ragged figure jumping in. Richard slammed on the brakes and heard an aggrieved “Ow” from behind him. Looking around he stared into the dark eyes of the homeless man. He was nursing his nose with both hands.

  “Excuse me!” The last pieces of Richard’s patience frayed and snapped. “Get out of my car.”

  “You have to protect me.”

  “You might need my help.”

  His unwanted passengers said it in chorus.

  “Look, this is not some f …” He bit back the profanity and swallowed hard. “Some game.”

  “You’re wasting time,” said Homeless.

  And indeed, driving seemed more profitable than arguing.

  Chapter FOUR

  They flew south on the freeway, the sun hanging red and swollen on the horizon. The barrel of the shotgun was cold and bumped uncomfortably against Rhiana’s knee as they bounced over New Mexico’s famously bad roads.

  She had learned that the homeless man was called Cross. Just Cross, he’d said when the policeman pushed for more. She learned that every button on the radio was tuned to the classical station and that Oort wouldn’t permit smoking in his car. The tape in the deck was a mystery novel.

  She glanced over at the driver. Oort’s skin was white and taut over his cheekbones and blue shadows hung beneath his eyes. She sensed she didn’t look much better. They had only managed two hours of sleep.

  She guided him past the two prisons, across the railroad tracks and down a narrow dirt road. Trailers sat on dusty one-acre plots. Often the area around the trailers was dotted with dead cars on blocks, broken washing machines and various kinds of farm equipment. Mixed breed dogs, most of them chained in front of peeling doghouses, sent up an ululating chorus as they bounced across the washboard surface of the road.

  “If anybody’s still there they sure know we’re coming,” remarked Cross from the backseat.

  Oort’s mouth tightened into a thin line, and his grip on the steering wheel turned his knuckles white. At first Rhiana thought he was angry at the homeless man. Then she realized he was scared. She sympathized. She had spent days afraid, locked in that trailer.

  It loomed up ahead of them now, unique from its fellows in the total absence of yard clutter. She sagged with relief. It seemed that Josh and the others had decamped. Oort parked on the side of the road outside the drooping barbwire fence. Taking the shotgun, he climbed out. His hands opened and closed around the butt of the shotgun as he eyed the seemingly empty trailer. He then moved to the back of his car, opened the trunk and pulled out the bulletproof vest. Cross looked on approvingly.

  “You’re a cautious guy. That’s good.”

  Oort stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and said, “Stay here with the car.” He tossed his cell phone to Rhiana. “If something happens call for help.”

  “If something happens I’m going to run,” she said.

  “That’s okay too. Just call at some point so maybe I can get some help,” said Richard as he stripped off the overcoat and jacket and shrugged into the vest. He pulled his badge out of his coat pocket and clipped it onto his belt. He looked down at the ground for a moment and drew in a slow breath, as if he were trying to gather his nerve.

  Rhiana and Cross watched as Oort made his way in quickly toward the trailer. He was careful to stay out of the line of sight from the windows and the front door. Cross started after him.

  “Hey, wait,” hissed Rhiana. “He said to stay here.”

  Cross looked back over his shoulder at her. “It’s incredibly liberating when you can’t be killed.”

  “Yeah, well, I can be killed.”

  “I think you’ll be okay for a few minutes,” came the comfortless reply.

  Oort reached the side of the trailer. There were three steps leading up to the front door. Rhiana watched as Richard stood well off to the side of them, and stretched out an arm, but he was too short to reach the door. He reversed his hold on the shotgun, and pounded on the door with the wooden butt.

  “Police! Open up!”

  The only response was the door swinging open under the first blow, and the cop nearly losing his grip on the barrel of the shotgun at the unexpected removal of resistance.

  Cross appeared in the doorway and peered down at Richard. “They’ve cleared out, but you’ve got to see what our resident sorceress has done. You’ve got some serious mojo, girl,” the homeless man called out to Rhiana.

  Embarrassed, she hustled over to join the men.

  “I thought I told you to stay with the car,” Richard said angrily.

  “I ignored you,” said Cross.

  The blunt challenge seemed to fluster him. Richard opened and closed his mouth a few times, then said weakly, “Well, this is a potential crime scene so don’t touch anything.”

  “Her fingerprints are probably all over the place,” Cross pointed out. “And I don’t have fingerprints.”

  “Of course you do. Everybody does,” Richard said. Rhiana followed him up the stairs and into the trailer. “Unless you’ve burned them off with acid or something.”

  Cross thrust out his hand, palm up. Richard inspected the tips of his fingers while Rhiana peered over his shoulder. The palms were smooth but with an old scar in the center of one and a fresh wound on the other. The fingertips were as smooth as a mannequins. Richard didn’t just drop the other man’s hand. He threw it away, and took a couple of steps back.

  He jerked his head toward Cross’s hands. “Those are stigmata.”

  “This one is,” said Cross, pointing at the old wound. “This one was me and a knife.”

  “What caused the other one?” Rhiana asked.

  Cross laid a hand on his chest. “Look, kiddies, this is a construct. How it looks depends on what folks are focusing on. Fingerprints have never been a big part of the vision, but stigmata …” He gave a thumbs up. “Very big with the religious crowd.” He sighed. “It’s a drag.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Richard.

  “Of course you don’t, but this is a bad time for explanations,” said Cross. “How about we save it until after we’ve looked for clues.” He made quote marks in the air as he said the final word.

  It seemed sensible so they searched. They found some cut electronics wire, and a soldering gun which had fallen behind the battered green couch in the living room. There was a stack of videotapes from Blockbuster next to the old fifteen-inch television and the VCR. There was food in the refrigerator and Richard pointed at the half-filled pot of coffee sitting on its stand in the maker. The group had forgotten to turn it off and the smell of scorched coffee hung in the air.

  “They left in a hurry,” said Richard as he turned off the coffee maker with the tip of a pen from his coat pocket.

  They checked the first bedroom and found the bed rumpled and unmade, a few clothes in the closet and a suitcase fallen open on the floor. Shirts and pants hung like tongues over the sides of the open bag. The mirror over the dresser had a gray sheen instead of the twisting colors, but Rhiana jerked her gaze away, afraid it would draw their attention.

  The second bedroom was much the same except that light was pouring in th
rough the open bathroom door. They stood in the doorway and stared at the back wall of the trailer. A portion of it had crumbled into fluffy ash. The portion that remained was crisscrossed with fine gray lines like a spider’s web.

  “Like I said—mojo,” said Cross.

  The blue eyes locked on her. “You did this?” Richard asked.

  “I had to get out.” There was the faint smell of an unpumped septic system overlaid with the tropical fruit smell of an overturned bottle of shampoo. It caught in the back of Rhiana’s throat and her stomach heaved. She swallowed hard.

  “What did you do?”

  “I deconstructed the molecular structure.”

  “Could you do this to anything?” he pressed.

  “With enough time and enough energy to draw on.” Rhiana caught a glimpse of herself in the medicine cabinet mirror, distorted by the silvering of the mirror. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes and her hair trailed in rattails over her shoulders. She jerked her gaze away. They might still be there. She pulled her thoughts away from the mirrors and faced Richard. “Of … of course there’s a size limit. I couldn’t bring down a building … . At least I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t test it,” said Richard. He led them back to the living room.

  As they walked Cross asked, “How did you draw the power without them noticing?”

  “Naomi and Alice were so scared they weren’t noticing much,” said Rhiana in an undertone. She didn’t want the policeman to hear and realize that she’d tried to feed on him.

  Richard pulled a Palm Pilot from his coat pocket and set it on the scratched end table. Next he removed a handkerchief from his pocket, picked up the phone receiver and with the tip of a pen dialed in *69. He listened, then hung up the phone and wrote a number in the Palm. He took a slow turn, carefully inspecting the living room. He squatted on his heels and inspected the rectangular impression in the bilious green carpet.

  “We need evidence techs,” he said. “And I need a plausible story to get them.”

  “Our employer will get you whatever you need,” said Cross.

  “My employer is the Albuquerque Police Department.” He turned to Rhiana. “Give me the names of the people involved in this,” he ordered.

  “Josh Delay, Alice Rangold, Naomi Parsons and Dan Douglas.” She followed the swift flourishes of the stylus.

  “How did you all get together?” Richard asked.

  “There was a notice in the Sub at UNM.”

  “So you were all students?”

  “Me and Alice, Naomi and Dan were. I don’t know about Josh. I’m not entirely certain that was his real name.”

  “Another reason we need evidence techs. It doesn’t look like any of you were wearing gloves, and this place hasn’t been wiped.”

  “Yeah, and I can’t wait to see what your police techs are going to make of the magically disintegrated wall,” said Cross. “You really ought to keep this in the family, so to speak.” Rhiana could tell from Richard’s expression that he hadn’t considered this aspect. “Are you going to call the number?” Cross continued.

  “No, I’m going to find out who it belongs to first.”

  There was an aggressive pounding on the front door and all of them jumped. “Hey!” a voice yelled from outside. “We told you to get the fuck out of here. What are you doing back?” The accent was the lilting cadence of a New Mexico Spanish speaker.

  “I’m a police officer,” Richard called. “Please open the door and show yourself.”

  The door swung open. Standing on the top step was a smooth-faced young man with sleek black hair and deep brown eyes. In one hand he held a statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe and in the other a .357 magnum. In the dirt yard behind him were a number of Hispanic males ranging in age from the mid-teens to their seventies. They were all armed.

  “I’m going to show you my ID. Okay?” Richard said.

  The young man nodded tense and tight. Richard reached slowly down to his belt and unclipped his badge, holding it up high so as many as possible could see it.

  “It’s okay, he’s not one of them. He’s a cop,” the young man called back to the crowd. They surged forward to the foot of the steps.

  “What happened here?” Richard asked.

  The answers battered at them. Strange lights. Weird noises. The oldest male moved forward, the others giving before him with the lightest touch from his parchment-thin hand.

  “My grandfather used to go into the mountains and wrestle demons. They were walking last night.” The old man stared at Rhiana with cataract-clouded eyes. “And I saw La Llorona, the Weeping Lady, last night.” Rhiana shifted sideways until she stood behind Cross and Richard and hoped she wouldn’t be recognized.

  Cross cast her a sardonic look, and muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Hey, you’ve been upgraded from sorceress to demon.”

  “Shut up.”

  “So we came over this morning and told the brujos to get out,” said the young man.

  “So they left because of your request?” Richard asked.

  “No, sir, they were already packing. We just didn’t let them finish.”

  Two spots of color blossomed in Richard’s cheeks. “Then you saw what they were driving?”

  “Oh yeah, couple of minivans.”

  “Brand new,” offered a heavyset man.

  “All tricked out too,” said a teenager enviously.

  Out came the Palm and within minutes Richard had detailed descriptions of both vans, including the temporary tags.

  “Look, we need to make sure this place is secure and nothing gets touched.” The policeman gave the neighbors a sweet and sincere smile. “But there’s this big hole in the back wall, so I was wondering if you would keep an eye on things until I can get some evidence techs out here.”

  “Like those guys on those CSI shows,” said the young man with the shotgun.

  “Exactly like that.”

  “Cool. Yeah, we’ll watch it.”

  “We wouldn’t touch anything anyway,” said the old man with a warning frown to the assembly. “Get yourself cursed.”

  “Great. Thanks so much.” Richard checked his watch. “We’ve got to go.”

  They piled back into the Volvo. “Can you drop me back at the office?” Cross asked as they pulled back onto paved road and headed for the freeway.

  “Sure.”

  “What about me?” Rhiana asked.

  “I don’t know. Taking you to work with me would be tough,” said Richard with a frown between his pale brows.

  “You can stay with us,” said Cross.

  “Forgive me, but whatever else you might be, right now you seem to be a homeless bum, and your boss is … well, I don’t know what he is, and somebody attacked the building … .”

  “I think they were gunning for him.” Cross jerked his head toward Richard. “Not you.”

  “Me!? Why?” the cop blurted, and he had gone even whiter if that was possible.

  “Look, both of you should just relax. You’re with me and Kenntnis now, and we’re the pros from Dover,” said Cross.

  “Pros at what?” Richard asked. “What does Kenntnis do?”

  “Controls one of the great fortunes of the world. He endows universities, funds scientific research, supports Doctors without Borders, finances politicians, puts computers in grade schools, donates money to the United Nations Fund for Population Activities … . How long do you want me to go on?”

  Richard glanced back over his shoulder at the homeless man. “Until you get to the point. He does all these things, but what’s the ultimate goal?”

  “They’re not worthy in and of themselves?”

  “Of course they are, but no one does this without an agenda. He seems to be asking me to join in, but I don’t sign on until I know what’s behind the curtain.”

  They were driving north on the freeway and making good time. The tires thrummed on the asphalt and the headlights formed a necklace of light stretching south. Ahead of them taillights g
lowed red.

  “We should wait for Kenntnis. He can explain this better than I can,” hedged Cross.

  “Why are you with him?” asked Rhiana.

  “Because I want to die,” he said simply.

  Rhiana’s neck jerked as Richard abruptly braked the car, and looked back at the other man.

  “You told me you couldn’t be killed,” she accused.

  “Yes, which is why the dying part is hard.”

  “Explain, please,” said Richard. Each word was very, very carefully enunciated as the policeman hung onto the ragged edge of control.

  “Okay, but you’re going to need a history lesson, and it goes back thousands and thousands of years.”

  It wasn’t like him; the ostentatious lifting of the arm, shaking back the cuff and looking at the watch face, but Richard was nearing the end of his frayed and exhausted patience. “Can we do this in the next twenty minutes? Or can we have the CliffsNotes?” Richard asked sweetly.

  “Okay, asshole,” said Cross. “Riding in the backseat of your car is Jesus Christ.” He jammed a dirty forefinger against his chest and gave them a smirking grin.

  Rhiana slid her gaze to the left and met Richard’s eyes. He suspected that his expression was mirrored on her face. She pressed her lips together, but a bubble of laughter escaped. It broke the policeman’s control and then they were both whooping with laughter.

  For Richard it was the release of almost twenty-four hours of confusion and tension. The curtain had been pulled back and the Great and Powerful Oz had been revealed to be a poor deluded head case. The world began to settle back into normal patterns. Somewhere there were logical explanations for the earlier events, and like the homeless man they would be found and understood.

  A new sound cut like a bass continuo through their laughter. Guttural gasps were coming from the backseat. Neck muscles twanging, Richard snapped his head around. Cross was arched as if he was trying to touch his feet with the back of his head. Blood suffused his face, turning it almost black. Foam speckled his lips. Richard jerked the wheel and with a squealing of tires sent them careening across three lanes of traffic. Horns blared. It was too dark to see the fingers being thrown, but he could imagine. They came to a halt on the shoulder. Richard tossed his cell phone to Rhiana.