Hawk Moon

by Rob MacGregor

  Taylor handed him his cone. He wanted to talk to her, but he couldn't do it now. There were too many customers and she might not be willing to say anything with his father present.

  After Lansa paid Taylor, he and Will walked outside and sat on a bench. The temperature had warmed to the low sixties during the day and it was still mild out.

  "It's a nice town," Lansa said.

  Will pushed away the disturbing thoughts that had entered his head. "Yeah, but you know what? I think about the reservation a lot. It's strange, but I really think I miss being there."

  "We don't have all the stuff you've got here."

  "I know, but I've been thinking that all the stuff doesn't matter so much to me anymore. I just miss being on the mesa and looking out over the desert. There's a certain feeling there. I don't know how to describe it, but it's something special."

  "It's probably how the first Hopis felt when they arrived. They knew they'd reached their spiritual homeland and the great migration was over."

  "Where were the people before the migration?" Will asked.

  Lansa sipped his coffee. "I think you know that in our myths, it's said that Masau guided the people from the previous world into this one."

  Will had expected him to say Siberia or Asia and was surprised to hear his father mention Masau. He took it as a cue that it was time to tell his own tale. "Dad, I've been having dreams about Masau. More than just dreams, actually."

  His father's face was impossible to read. "Tell me about them."

  Will began by describing the dream he'd had while he was unconscious at the football game, and how, later in the game, an image of Masau had appeared to him in the stands. He described all the incidents and ended by saying that the John Wayne character in his dream Monday night had begun as Masau.

  "Masau is a powerful being," Lansa said. "He's known to enter dreams and to change his appearance. I'm not surprised you thought you were awake during some of your dreams. That's another one of Masau's tricks."

  Will frowned. "But is Masau real?" He knew it didn't come out right, but he didn't know any other way of saying it.

  "Masau is real, but real in a different way from you and me. In one sense, he's a projection of something inside us, a part of us related to the primal spirit of our people, and maybe to all people. But in another sense, he's an independent being, a trickster who cavorts through our world and penetrates our lives in very strange ways."

  Will wasn't sure he understood what his father was saying, except that he knew his time on the reservation had awakened something within him he wasn't sure he liked. "What do you mean?"

  "As I've told you, Masau is many things, including a god of death. So I'm not surprised that he appeared to you when there was death nearby."

  The ice cream, which Will normally craved, tasted like chalk in his mouth. "I feel like I'm responsible. I should've waited for Myra to leave before I drove away from the parking lot."

  "You might have been able to prevent it from happening at that place and that time. But you couldn't be with her every moment of the day. Her death is not your fault."

  Lansa stood up and tossed his empty paper cup in a trash can. Will did the same with the remainder of his cone. They started walking back to Will's house. "But why did I have these dreams? That's what I want to know."

  "That's another matter. We'll talk about that later."

  "But I want to know now."

  They continued on in silence past City Market, then turned right and headed down Original Street toward Ute Street and the house. "You were selected, Will."

  "Selected? What do you mean?"

  Lansa looked up at a row of expensive condominiums. "Last summer when we went on the pilgrimage to Kisiwu, you attracted Masau's attention."

  Will nodded. He hadn't forgotten his frightening experience inside the cave at the Spring of the Shadows or the peculiar dreams that had followed.

  "You were chosen then to be initiated into the tribe. Do you understand?"

  "But I came back here."

  "That doesn't matter. When Masau selects you, the initiation will take place regardless of where you are or what you're doing."

  "But why now?"

  "Because it's Hawk Moon, or the Initiates' Moon. The first initiation ceremony is taking place right now as part of Wuwuchim."

  When Will had arrived at the reservation, he'd known almost nothing of the Hopi ceremonies. But he'd soon learned about the annual cycle of dances and rituals, and now he recalled that Wuwuchim was the first of the three winter rites. It was also the time of the year when the kachinas returned to the Hopi mesas after spending the summer months in their home in the San Francisco Mountains.

  The conversation and his thoughts about intimate Hopi matters seemed out of place in Aspen. Just the sight of people in expensive designer clothing passing by left Will feeling as if he were caught between two worlds, a part of each, yet alienated from both of them.

  "What you saw in your dream was the third day of Wuwuchim when we smoke over the pahos that have been made on the first two days," Lansa said. "After that the pahos are taken to shrines and then the crier chief publicly announces the beginning of Wuwuchim from a rooftop."

  Will remembered the pahos, or feathered prayer sticks, he had taken into the cave at Kisiwu and how concerned his father had been about where he had placed them.

  "But in my dream, I saw Myra. What did that have to do with the ceremony?"

  "Nothing and everything. Masau showed you the event that would be your challenge. In order to continue with the initiation, you must overcome the obstacles you face."

  As they neared Will's house, one question lingered, and no matter how much he wanted to push it aside, he knew he must ask it. "Dad, did Masau have something to do with what happened to Myra?"

  Lansa shook his head. "Masau is not God. He may see death, but he doesn't create the circumstances that lead to it."

  That didn't make Will feel any better. It just meant that his vision was telling him what he and everyone else already suspected: Myra was dead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Taylor was peering into the mirror on the inside of her locker door when Will walked up to her, intent on getting answers. Her eyes widened, she turned around, and put a hand to her throat.

  "Will, you startled me sneaking up that way."

  "I wasn't sneaking. You got a minute?"

  She closed her locker, and her eyes darted right, left, then back to Will. She looked annoyed. "Walk me to my class. There're too many big ears around here."

  "Is something wrong?" he asked as they headed down the hall.

  "It's nothing. Just that, well, word has gotten around that I'm still friendly with you. Even Mr. Boorman, my history teacher, said I shouldn't be seen with you. That it didn't look good."

  "Boorman said that?" Will felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he realized his coach had turned against him. "What else did he say?"

  She hugged her books to her chest as they continued at a slower pace. "He said you played the game Friday even though you knew Myra was missing and that you changed the play at the end so you could get your record. He said it looked real bad for you, that you had drugs in your blood and that you'd lied to the sheriff. He couldn't understand why you hadn't been arrested yet."

  Will's throat tightened; his voice cracked as he spoke. "When did he say that?"

  "After class yesterday."

  "I know it looks bad, but—"

  "I believe you, Will. I don't think you'd hurt Myra."

  "You may be the only one around here who still believes me. Maybe I should just call you tonight. There's something I've got to talk to you about."

  She stopped and turned to him. "No. Ask me now."

  It seemed everyone in the hail was staring at them. "It's about last summer when Myra was working with you at the shop. You were going out with Jerry Wharton, weren't you?"

  "You don't think he had anything to do with what happened t
o Myra, do you?"

  "Should I?"

  "Jerry's really okay, Will. He's just stubborn, and he holds grudges too long."

  Will nodded. "I'm not concerned about him. But I remember Myra saying something about Claude Kirkpatrick hanging out at the shop with Wharton. Did Claude go out with Myra while I was gone?"

  Taylor took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled as she nodded. "She didn't want to tell you. She thought you'd take it wrong."

  "So she was seeing him."

  "For a while, but she just wanted to forget about it. It didn't work out."

  "Was Claude doing the Chill? You told me it was around last summer."

  Taylor glanced over Will's shoulder at someone passing by. "I think so," she whispered. "Claude and Jerry wanted us to try it. That was when things started to fall apart with Myra and Claude, because we didn't want anything to do with it."

  Myra must have wanted to tell him about her and Claude when she'd mentioned him coming to the shop. But she'd changed her mind, maybe thinking that he would be jealous. Or maybe it was something else. "Taylor, you don't think Myra was . . .”

  "Pregnant?"

  The word hung in the air, twisted and turned in Will's mind. His head pounded. His face felt hot. Was that what this was all about?

  "No, I'm sure that wasn't it," Taylor said. "She would've told me. Besides, I don't think things ever got that far with her and Claude. But something was on her mind, something she couldn't even tell me."

  He remembered that Myra had wanted to tell him something before he'd said it was over between them. "What do you think it was?"

  Taylor shook her head. "I wish I knew. I've got to go. I'm going to be late."

  Will hurried to class, his thoughts on Claude Kirkpatrick. He would see him at lunch and confront him.

  All morning, Will considered how he would approach Claude, what he would say. He didn't want to make any accusations, but it was going to be difficult to ask him about his relationship with Myra without doing so—especially after what happened in the parking lot after school the other day.

  Finally, when it was time for lunch, Will hurried out of class at the sound of the bell. He wanted to catch Claude before he entered the lunchroom, so he waited across the hall.

  It wasn't hard to spot Claude's curly head of hair towering above everyone else. He was walking with Paige Davis. Tall and graceful, her long neck was arched as she listened to Kirkpatrick. Will stepped in front of the pair. "Claude, I've got to talk to you about something."

  "Hey, I'm sorry I lost my head Monday. It was all my fault."

  "It's okay. That's not what I want to talk to you about."

  "Let's go sit down and eat lunch. Nobody is keeping you away from our table."

  Our table. As if he and his buddies owned it. "I'd rather talk to you here, alone." He looked at Paige, hoping she'd cooperate.

  But she held her ground. "If it's about Myra, I was her friend too, you know."

  "Suit yourself." He turned to Claude. "Why didn't you tell me you were going out with Myra last summer?"

  Claude shrugged. "It wasn't any big deal. I figured she would mention it when she started seeing you again. We just went out a couple of times. Did Taylor tell you about it?"

  "Yeah, and she told me you wanted Myra to take the Chill with you."

  Claude's expression turned sour. "No way. I don't think I'd even heard of that stuff back then."

  "But he knows about it now," Paige said and laughed.

  "Have you tried it?" Will asked, even though he knew the answer.

  Claude shrugged again. "A couple of times. So what?" He glanced toward the lunchroom. "Any more questions, Will? I'm getting hungry, smelling the food."

  "Yeah. C'mon and join us," Paige said. "You know we're all pulling for you."

  "That's right," Claude said. "No one wants to see you in trouble."

  Will hesitated, not certain what to do. Then he saw Charlie Baines standing off to the side, looking intently in his direction. "You guys go ahead. I'm not very hungry right now."

  He watched them walk into the lunchroom, then turned to Baines, who looked as unkempt as ever. He was wearing a different shirt today, one with a gaudy yellow and orange design with a green T-shirt underneath it. Part of his shirt was tucked in, and part of it was hanging out. His hair was mussed as always, and a thick strand fell over one eyebrow.

  "What's up, Charlie?"

  "Well, in case you're interested, we found out the source of your E-mail."

  "Who is it?"

  "It's a little complicated. Can you come to the lab? I want Corey Ridder to explain it to you. She's the one who figured it out."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ridder was sitting in a cubicle in front of a glowing monitor and eating a peanut butter sandwich. She wore jeans and a baggy red sweatshirt that reached to her thighs. Her curly hair was tied to one side of her head, which gave her a slightly comical look.

  "Here he is," Baines said. "I didn't tell him anything yet."

  Ridder nudged her round eyeglasses further up the bridge of her nose as she slowly turned in her chair. "You're a football player, right?" Ridder asked without looking directly at him.

  Will nodded, not greatly encouraged by her opening remark. No greeting, just a dumb question.

  "Okay, three years ago, before any of us were here, there was a scandal about steroids being used by the football team." She still hadn't looked at him and he wondered why she was avoiding his gaze.

  "I heard about it. What's that got to do with these messages I'm getting?"

  Ridder raised her head, her large brown eyes finally meeting his. He realized that even though she was usually in the lab when he was here, he'd never looked directly at her. There was something sensual in the flare of her nostrils and the curve of her mouth. At the same time there was a sense of depth about her.

  "Everything," she said, softly.

  She turned back to the computer and typed something on the keyboard. A list of names, each one followed by a series of numbers, appeared on the monitor. "Take a look."

  Will recognized the names of players who'd been on the Aspen High football team while he was still in middle school.

  "These are the guys who were involved. You getting this now?"

  Will shook his head. "Not really. What are the numbers?"

  "All right. These are all the E-mail codes that the players used. They thought they were real smart. They were buying and selling steroids via E-mail so they never had to talk about it."

  She pointed to a name. "This guy handled the steroids." Her finger slid down the list. "And this one collected the money."

  Will recognized the names of the two players who had been kicked off the team. But he didn't know anything about the electronic part of the transactions.

  "A real team effort, you could say," Baines said. "See you guys later. I'm going to lunch."

  A momentary look of panic crossed Ridder's face as she looked after Baines. For his own part, Will felt vaguely uneasy being left alone with Ridder, as if he might need a translator in order to understand what she said. Even if she was a computer wizard, she was still one of his classmates and he should have some things in common with her. "Corey?"

  "Yeah?" She sounded wary.

  "Is your name really Corey?"

  "Corina. I hate it," she said without looking away from the monitor.

  "So where did you get this information? I'm really impressed."

  "Oh, that. I went into the administration's database and pulled it out."

  "You can do that if you're a sysop?"

  "Not really."

  "You mean you hacked into it."

  "That's one way of putting it."

  "Isn't that dangerous?"

  Ridder shrugged, unconcerned. "There are different degrees of danger. Say if you paid me a hundred dollars to change a grade from a C to an A, I'd say, yeah, that's on the high side. But just to take a quick look and get out without altering anything is on the lowe
r scale."

  Will peered at the screen again. "Corey, I'm sorry, but I still don't get what this has to do with the E-mail I've been getting."

  "That's because you haven't realized yet how those football players were caught."

  "So tell me."

  Ridder closed the file and the screen went blank. Then she turned away from the computer and looked down the row of cubicles in each direction to make sure no one was within hearing distance. "That's the interesting part," she said, lowering her voice. "You see, when the principal who was here then got wind of what was going on, he told the sheriff, and detectives started arranging buys from the sheriff's office through E-mail."

  "How did he do that without making the players suspicious?"

  Ridder smiled. "They were allowed access to all active E-mail files and student codes. So they were not only able to find out who was making buys, but they also actually used players' codes to set up buys. That's how they caught the dealers."

  "I wonder why I never heard about this E-mail stuff."

  "Think about it. There weren't any trials, you know. The parents and their lawyers and money got involved and everything was settled behind closed doors. So, the methods that the sheriff's office used in their investigation were never revealed."

  "You're saying that the sheriff's office was hooked into our computer system here?" Will was still confused about how this revelation connected with his problem.

  "Not 'was', is. They are hooked in." Ridder spun around and began typing again. "Take a look at this." She pointed at the screen and moved out of the way. Will leaned over for a closer look.

  TO: PCSO

  FROM: AIlS

  RE: 1996-97 LIST OF STUDENT COMPUTER CODES

  Below it was a long list of names followed by numbers. The school had sent the Pitkin County Sheriff's Office the E-mail codes of every student. "Are you telling me cops can read our E-mail?"

  "Not only that, but they can create E-mail using your code. And someone did just that."