by Bruce Jones
“Nothing wrong with my mind, buddy. Nothing wrong with my legs for that matter.”
Richard didn’t know what to say. He was wondering how Laurie was making out down there. Did she find the syringe? Would he hear Maser from way up here if he came through the front door right now? “So. Bobby sold all your books, did he?”
“Put them on eBay, I think. Almost all.”
“Almost. But he kept a few?”
“Just one. I kept it. Hid it from him.”
“Did you? Which one was that?
Say it--
The doughy face became lost a moment in a wave of lines and wrinkles, like a rubber mask collapsing in on itself. “I put it away. Only…”
Say it--
“Only--?”
“I don’t…remember where. Or maybe I do. Maybe I do remember only he found it. Sold it with the others.”
Richard watched her. “Or…maybe he kept it for you, Mrs. Maser.”
The filmy eyes seemed to lighten a touch, or maybe it was just the bad lighting. “For me? No. He never did anything for me. Sooner put me in my grave than do anything for me. Put in there with that poor dog.”
Richard felt his throat close. “Did…did you have a dog, Mrs. Maser?”
“Name’s Zelda.”
“Did you have a dog, Zelda?”
“Not me. I was a cat person, had twelve of them before Bobby insisted I come live with him. It wasn’t our dog. Just a stray.”
Maser walked in behind them. Richard whipped around so fast is sent a lance down his neck. The doorway was empty.
“Some poor old skinny hound always hanging ‘round. Specially our place. I think Andy used to feed him; he hung around the boy all the time. Do you remember that poor little retarded boy, Andy? Mr.—what was the name?”
“Denning. Richard Denning. Yes, I remember Andy. A nice boy.”
“Dumb as a post. Retarded, you know.”
“I remember.”
A rattling sigh. “But yes, a nice boy. A good boy. Not like Bobby.”
“Oh?”
“Well, did you know him or not?” Scolding.
“Bobby? Yes. Very well.”
“Then you know what he was. Still is. Cold. Removed. That’s the word…’removed.’ Know what I mean? Andy was the dumb one but he had heart at least. He loved that skinny old yellow dog. Ran away, he said.”
“Andy?”
“The dog. Jesus. Keep up! You’re still a dreamer.”
“No, you said, ‘ran away he said.’ Who said?”
“Bobby said. ‘Dog ran away.’ But he lied. He shot it.”
There was no air in the bedroom despite its size. Richard wanted to open a window, almost asked for permission. But the woman looked so frail.
“Bobby shot the dog? He told you that?”
Now she sounded cross and dismissive. Clearly she thought Richard was a little slow. “Aren’t you listening, buddy? The first thing a good writer learns is to listen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It seemed to spark something in her, his use of the word ‘ma’am—a memory of respect maybe. Anyway, her voice softened again. “I already told you, he said the dog ran away. But he shot it all right. Maybe just to spite Andy. He could be that way. He could lie so you’d almost believe it. Most folks would believe it. Not me. Anyway, he was covered in blood. Botched the thing.”
“You saw him?”
“Course I saw him. Can still see him. Standing there in the screened porch doorway all smeared with red, rifle in one hand, Pyx in the other.”
“Pyx?”
“‘Spilled some paint on me,’ he said. “Bullshit. I killed chickens on a commune before I ever had Bobby. I know what blood looks like.”
“You said something about a Pyx?”
“A Pyx?”
“You said he was standing there smeared with red, the rifle in one hand and the Pyx in the other.”
“No.”
“But that’s what you said. You said he had a rifle in one hand and a--“
“Before?”
“Before he left!” She looked at him critically, her eyes suddenly sharp. “That why you couldn’t make it in Hollywood? Didn’t know how to listen?”
Richard rubbed at his forehead, leaned forward in the vanity chair. “Let me just try and get this straight. He left the house with the Pyx, is that what you’re saying?”
“Now you’re listening.”
“And when he came back, he was smeared with bl—with red. But he didn’t have the Pyx with him. Is that it?”
“Why would he have it with him then? It wouldn’t make sense.”
Richard had to clear his throat to speak. “I don’t understand, Mrs. Maser…”
“It’s Zelda. You’ll never be a real writer you don’t pay closer attention.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Another dry rattle, this one a sigh. “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? You always did live in your own world. Your own made up world. Bobby said that about you…”
“I’m sorry, could you go over the part with the Pyx again--?”
She laced patient hands across the fat duvet, pale hands, skeletal hands stretched over with parchment. She really looked much older than she should, withered, used up. It made Richard wonder what Maser was giving her.
“He’s standing in the screened-in doorway there, the rifle in one hand, Pyx in the other. ‘Where are you going, Bobby?’ I asked him. ‘Out with the fellas,’ he says. ‘And what’re you doing with that?’ I said.
“Meaning the Pyx.”
“’What am I doing with what?’ he says. And he turns around and holds out his empty left hand. “It’s Barry’s rifle, Mom,’ he says, and off he goes down the back lawn. Barry…” She seemed to lapse into silent nostalgia.
“Zelda?…” Her eyes snapped back to his face. She smiled.
“Only he had it all right. Had it stuck down the front of his pants. I could see it.”
“The Pyx?”
“Well, what else have we been talking about? The Pyx, yes!”
“So, he took the rifle and the Pyx with him when he left, but didn’t have it when he came back. When he was covered with bl—with red. He didn’t have the Pyx then.”
“What would be the point? He did what he did and left it with the dog. Buried them somewhere, I guess. Made his wish, put it in the Pyx and buried it with that yellow dog. Out in the woods somewhere.”
“He made some kind of wish? What wish?”
“You all did. Otherwise what was the point?” She looked into his eyes and he saw the old Zelda for a moment, the life-filled, exotic Zelda of his youth. “You really don’t remember at all?”
Richard sat quietly a moment.
Gun. Dog. Pyx. Woods.
“And he…he put his wish inside the Pyx?”
“That’s the way it was done, according to the book. You should know, you were there.”
Richard’s cheek twitched. “I was there?”
“In the carriage house, when I read to you kids from the book! ‘Put your wish within the Pyx,’ it said, ‘and bury it deep with the kill.’ In Latin, of course. Though how Bobby could remember all that Latin is beyond me.”
“The Latin from the book. The one he stole from you later?”
“Perhaps...”
“Maybe…maybe he took the book with him…”
The rubbery face collapsed inward again, the eyes becoming slits. “Yes…I suppose he could have done that.” She nodded slowly. “Suppose that’s possible. Stole it twice from me.”
“Once then and once later.”
“Suppose maybe he could have.”
Say it--
“Which one was that, Mrs.—Zelda?”
“The book? Oh, the big one. Big leather one. Heavy. All Latin. Had to use the dictionary myself to decipher the thing. Old book. Ancient,” she smiled a secret smile. “You’d never guess in a million years who gave it to me!”
“Who?”
“Let�
��s just say it was an old admirer…Used to read it to you kids. You were always roaming about the stacks…”
“The Latin book. That’s right. What color was it again?”
Say it--
“What?”
“The book, Zelda. What color was it, that old leather cover?”
“Color? Gold. Bright, shiny gold leaf. Embossed letter. ‘The Book of Nhall.’ Beautiful old thing. Like a spider.”
Richard cleared his throat again. “Spider?”
“A black widow. Beautiful but deadly. With a touch of red. Like blood. Wish I still had it…it meant a lot to me…but I never saw it again after that day…”
Maser came in behind them.
Richard jerked around again and found Laurie standing there, an urgent look on her face. She glanced at Mrs. Maser then mouthed the words silently to Richard.
“Security guard!”
TWENTY-FOUR
“What do we do now?” Laurie said.
They were standing in the darkened living room staring out the wide picture window at Maser’s sweeping front grounds. A dark blue Topeka Security van had just pulled into the carriage circle. Two uniformed men exited the front seat in a kind of practiced unison. Both held oversized black MagLites before crisp uniforms, shiny black belts and hat brims. They looked confident and professional, unhurried but assertive.
“Find the syringe?” Richard said calmly.
“No. And I searched Maser’s study thoroughly.”
Richard grunted. “He got rid of it.”
“Or maybe it was just trash day. Richard, what about the guards?”
Richard turned from the window in moonlight. “Slip out the back, Jack?”
Laurie snorted. “Don’t try to be coy, Roy?”
He smiled, took her arm. “Just drop off the key, Lee.”
They hustled silently toward the Florida Room. “And get ourselves free!”
They retraced their steps to Richard’s car without event, not looking back.
* * *
In the passenger’s seat Laurie yawned hugely. Then sighed. “It’s late.”
“Early.”
She nodded. “So where now? The hospital?”
“I’ll drop you at your place first.”
She scooted over, ignoring her seatbelt, took his arm. “No. I want to stay with you.” She let her head fall against his shoulder. A cop might stop them for that, Richard thought, but he didn’t care. Cops didn’t bother him. Nothing bothered him right now but the answer to all this. And he was sure there was an answer. Somewhere. A bit less sure about the question.
Richard’s cell phone purred. He flipped it open and checked the caller I.D.
It was Shivers.
“What’s up, Shiv?”
“I woke you, right? Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Is Laurie with you?”
“None of your business, asshole.” He could imagine Shiver’s tentative grin.
“She’ll want to know. Is she asleep?”
Richard glanced at Laurie’s dark locks against his shoulder. “About.”
“Know what tomorrow is, Rich?”
“Umm. Saturday?”
“Scroogie’s birthday.”
The interior of the car seemed to shrink a little. He didn’t want to know what was coming next. But he should have guessed.
“Sally is falling apart, buddy. She’s convinced her husband is suffering.”
There’s no proof of that, Richard wanted to reply, but Shivers wasn’t the person to say it to. And besides, Richard had no proof to the contrary anyway. “She wants to pull the plug?”
“Tomorrow,” Shivers said in his ear. “Four p.m. Time and date of his birth.”
Richard could think of nothing to say.
“I know. We’re all exhausted. No one’s had much sleep. But she’d like all the Deadenders there, Rich, and…”
“Of course, I understand, I’d be there anyway.”
“I know you would. Sorry to wake you—“
“You didn’t.”
“—or wreck your night, but I wanted to give you a heads up.”
“Thanks, Pete. Are you there now, at the hospital?”
“I’m here.”
“Get your dead self home and grab some sleep. Take something if you have to.”
“To sleep or to stay awake tomorrow?”
Again, Richard didn’t know what to say.
“Welcome to the grimmest day of your life.”
“All our lives, Pete, all the Enders.”
“Yeah. See, ya.”
“Yeah.”
Richard folded the cellular and replaced it.
He drove in silence for almost a full minute.
Then Laurie said, “I’m coming too.”
He put his arm around her, kissed the top of her head. “We need sleep. Your place or mine?”
She was already drifting off again. “Whichever’s closer.”
Richard’s was closer.
* * *
Beyond exhaustion, probably beyond thinking past the next second, Richard found himself nevertheless craving coffee.
Laurie leaned against his kitchen’s doorjamb with lidded eyes and watched him at the sink and counter as he ground fresh Fog Lifter beans. “You’re not serious.”
Richard poured the grounds into his Mr. Coffee, added water to the reservoir. “I’m too keyed-up to sleep anyway. You go on to bed.”
“Richard, you’re a wreck. You will sleep, if you give yourself half a chance.”
“Wanna make love?”
She slumped deeper into the jamb. “Aren’t you the smooth-talking out-of-towner? You don’t want to make love, you just want to forget for awhile.”
He shook his head. “I want to make love because you’re the sexiest thing on two legs. And because I love you.” He shrugged. “And because I want to forget for awhile.”
He turned at her chuckle and saw her limp smile from the doorway. “And I’m very proud of you, Laurie. You were wonderful tonight. I mean that.”
She smiled sleepily and came to him, reached up and smooched his mouth. She reached down and squeezed him. Came down off her toes with a smile gone wry. “I think somebody’s already gone to sleep. Your mind’s not on it, love.”
“That,” he said, kissing her ear with a nibble, “is not my mind, ma’am.”
“Yeah, right.”
He slumped against her in sudden mock defeat. “I’m so close to it, Laurie…so close…but I just can’t get it.”
She held him, rubbed his back. “Your mind is pudding, sweetie. Let it sleep, give it a chance to help you.”
He slouched atop her. “I’m afraid.”
“Of?”
“If I go to sleep I won’t be close anymore, the whole thing will slip away.”
“That’s the logic of fatigue. And you’re breaking my back, darling.”
He pulled himself upright, sighed heavily, took her shoulders in both hands. “God you’re beautiful. Did I actually forget how beautiful you are? Look at you.”
“Okay. You win. But you’ll have to undress me…” Her head fell on his chest.
The coffee pot gurgled at them.
Richard kissed her cheek and stumbled back to the counter. “Are you having some?”
Laurie threw up her hands submissively, “Why not? I probably won’t sleep either.” She crashed on a kitchen chair, crossed her arms on the table before her and put her head in them. “Start at the beginning,” she yawned, voice muffled by Formica.
Richard carried their cups over, started to sit down, changed his mind and paced the floor instead. “The beginning. That’s the problem. The part of the puzzle that’s still missing. One of the parts, anyway.” He drank coffee while pacing, spilled some. “Shit.”
“Okay, start with what you’ve got, then,”
He shuffled around the table. “What I got…what I got…”
“First thing that comes to mind, don’t think about it.”
What mind, he thought. “Woods... Zelda...gold book. Is this a word association technique?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Minored in Psychology, right? Where was I?”
“Gold book.”
“Gold book…dog monster.”
Laurie lifted her head, appraised him.
“What--?”
Her red eyes narrowed. “That’s the first time you’ve ever used the word ‘dog’ and monster together, in conjunction with each other, did you know that?”
“Is it important?”
“I switched minors.”
“Great.”
She put her head back down. “Keep going anyway.”
Richard paced around the breakfast table,. “Maser… Scroogie…youth…”
“Youth?”
He thought about it. “Yeah, youth.”
“What kind of youth? Your youth? The old days? The Deadenders?”
He frowned, then nodded. “I guess.”
“Richard, don’t guess. Say what comes to mind, stop thinking about it. You’re too wiped out for this. Me too.”
But he didn’t want to quit. “Okay…yeah, my youth…the Deadenders...being young…the fact that I’m growing younger--”
“You’re what? Richard, you’re not making sense.”
He shrugged and spilled coffee again. “Seem to be growing younger, anyway. I had canc—“
Her head shot up. “What! Cancer? I thought you were kidding!”
Blurting again.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, “it’s in remission. In fact…it’s gone, Maser checked me thoroughly and...” he trailed off thoughtfully.
“Damn, Richard! You might have told me you were sick! Things like that kind of go with trust and love.”
He was staring into space. “…didn’t want do worry you…“
She watched him. “What is it? What are you thinking?”
He turned to her.
“Richard?”
He looked away again. “Maser.”
“What about him?”
He dropped into the chair opposite her. “…the fact is, I only have his word for it. He shoved a bunch of charts and papers at me, yes, but he’s the one with the sheepskin, not me. He knew they’d just be fancy medical terms on paper to me…”