Forty-Four Book Eleven (44 series 11)

by Jools Sinclair

  He lost every time. I could see that the years of smoking had burned a large, dark hole in his chest.

  It was almost too loud to hear myself think, but my mind still managed to shout above the noise. It brought up memories of Charlie Modine, who had chain-smoked nonstop, and that of course led me back to Samael and what he was doing here with me and whether I had more in common with Charlie Modine than I realized. The thought had been haunting me and I couldn’t come up with any other explanation other than I had really killed Ben and somehow forgotten.

  Had Nathaniel Mortimer even been there in that hospital room? Did my guilty mind just invent the whole story to explain away the horrible thing I had done?

  Between the smoke and my thoughts I lost my appetite and walked back out to the sidewalk.

  I spent the night in a shady hotel room with paper-thin walls and faded curtains that failed to block out the flashing, blinking lights coming from outside. I would have stayed somewhere better, but my options where limited to places that didn’t ask for a driver’s license at check-in.

  At one point I had a dream where I was dancing at the engagement party, my hips swaying slowly in rhythm to the beat of the loud music. I reached out for Ty through the smoke that hung thick and stale in the air and I could feel his hands searching for me, touching me. Suddenly the smoke cleared and I saw that it wasn’t Ty there with me, but strange men with lecherous eyes that made my skin crawl. But I kept dancing.

  “Shake it, baby,” they cried. “Shake it hard.”

  I looked down and saw that I was barely wearing any clothes.

  When I woke up I wanted to wash away the nightmare, but the tiles and shower curtain were alive with mold and mildew and other things, so I settled for the sink. I tried not to look at my face in the mirror. I knew I wouldn’t like what I saw.

  In the morning I headed out to the bus station.

  “El Paso,” I said when I got to the counter.

  The man studied me for a long moment before handing me a ticket and repeating, “El Paso.”

  CHAPTER 4

  I washed my hands in the cold water and then splashed some on my face before looking in the cracked mirror. I tried not to scream, but it was a shock. I didn’t recognize the person staring back, and it had little to do with the new haircut. If the police were looking for the girl from my driver’s license photo, they wouldn’t find her here, in a gas station bathroom on the outskirts of Lordsburg, New Mexico.

  My eyelids were twice their normal size. My face was flushed and puffy, bloated and blotched, like a dead fish washed up on the shore. I looked worn and used up. There was no resemblance to the twenty-three-year-old who had left Bend a week ago.

  I finished evening up the sides of my hair using the small scissors that I had bought a few minutes earlier. Someday soon I would dye it, maybe red. I looked again in the mirror and decided to go with bangs, cutting them thick and letting them flop across my forehead. They made me look even stranger, both younger and older at the same time.

  Looking at the new me, I thought of a story and went over it in my mind in case anybody asked. I rehearsed quietly. My name was Callie, Callie Walker from Stockton, California, and I was running away from an abusive relationship. I would buy it if I saw me coming down the street.

  I collected the long strands and tossed them in the trashcan. I washed down the metal sink. It reminded me of something from a jail cell and I shuddered.

  Someone pounded on the door.

  “Hey, there’s a line! You still alive in there?”

  I put the scissors in my backpack and unlocked the door, squeezing by a large woman carrying a toddler.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to rush you, but the bus is gonna pull out any minute,” she said, her bright lips cracking into a smile.

  I glanced over and saw that the driver was still standing in the parking lot, talking to a couple of the other passengers. I walked over to Samael, who was sitting at the curb, and sat down. He handed me back my coffee that I had left with him.

  “Nice look,” he said.

  I nodded and took a sip.

  Samael didn’t ride on the bus with me, but was always at the stops after I pulled in. The sign at the bank across the street flashed 106 as the sun beat down without mercy, burning away the air.

  “I feel like I’m on another planet,” I said under my breath.

  Three men passed by and one of them stared at me. He stopped for a moment and then winked, pushing his lips together and kissing the air. I held his gaze, returning it with an angry fire until he walked away.

  I looked over at Samael.

  “They don’t see you, do they?” I said.

  “No, not all of them.”

  I waited a minute before continuing.

  “So what’s the criteria? Why do some people see you and others don’t?”

  A sadness passed over his face like a shadow.

  I tipped back the cup and downed the remains of the coffee-flavored water.

  “What’s your money situation?” he said.

  “I’m down to about three hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “You have any other reserves?”

  “Not really.”

  Before leaving Bend, I had taken my rainy day stash from home, had stopped at an ATM and pulled out as much money as I could from the different cards that I had, and stuffed the cash in my pocket and shoes for safe keeping. I had started out with more than a thousand dollars and on hindsight I realized that it had been stupid to drive so much. But at the time, it felt like it was the right thing to do.

  “You’ll need some work,” Samael said.

  “Well, I can’t exactly go apply at Macy’s, can I?” I said, the bitterness spilling over.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Is that why I’m heading to Texas? Have you had this idea for a while?”

  We sat there in silence.

  “Samael,” I said. “Why are you here? Why are you helping me? If that’s what you’re doing.”

  He didn’t answer right away, his gaze on the driver who was heading back over to the bus.

  “We’re helping each other, Abby,” he said finally, standing up and squinting into the brightness. “I’ll see you in El Paso.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said.

  He walked away just as the driver leaned on the horn, signaling to everyone that he was ready to get back on the road.

  CHAPTER 5

  Nobody was sitting next to me on the last part of the trip, but there were two ghosts staring at me in the back, trying to get my attention. They were just a couple of rows down, seated next to each other and covered in blood. They were young men, rough and unkempt. One had a swollen black eye and the other one looked to have several broken fingers on the hand he waved in the air when I glanced back. It looked as though they had both been in a horrible fight and I wondered if they had killed each other.

  Whatever had happened to them, I wasn’t going to find out.

  I pulled down the baseball cap and slouched low in my seat.

  When I woke up, we were rolling through the streets of downtown El Paso. I was glad to get off the bus, but immediately felt uneasy when I stepped out on the sidewalk. I didn’t have a plan and I didn’t have a car. I felt naked and exposed.

  I picked a direction, heading west toward the hazy, falling sun, trying to walk with purpose.

  The city was washed in dust, the streets clogged with slow-moving cars and delivery trucks, their fumes hanging heavy in the air. I scanned the crowded sidewalks for Samael but didn’t see him. I kept walking, not knowing what else to do, grasping the strap of my backpack tightly in my fingers.

  I passed homeless men and women and the smell of urine and despair. I brushed by drug addicts, jittery and nervous, asking for money. I saw faceless people waiting for the bus.

  I kept walking.

  My apprehension grew and I missed the open desert road. I was out of my element, but I told myself that if the police were looking f
or me here it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. This was a good place to get lost. Maybe that’s why Samael had me come here.

  Or maybe it was just a place for the lost. Another stop along the road to wherever he was leading me.

  There was nothing to do but put one foot in front of the other and keep going.

  I saw more ghosts too, vying for my attention like the ones on the bus. A woman was limping across the street, dragging her bloodied leg as she tried to catch up. Another one, a man wearing a bandana wrapped around his head, smiled at me with silver teeth. I kept my eyes down, picked up my speed, and blew past them.

  I ducked into a small grocery store and bought a candy bar and water. The sun was going down and I had to think of something. I needed a place to stay for the night.

  There were seedy motels that rented rooms by the day and by the hour along the other side of the street with some unsavory types hanging out in front of the old buildings. I could hole up in one of those, if I had to, barricading myself inside until morning. Or I could keep walking and hope to find a better place somewhere along the next block or the one after that. Or I could just keep walking the whole night through.

  I felt uncomfortable but not afraid. The police were my only concern, and I was confident for the moment that they had their hands full with the day-to-day crime of a city this size. Normally I might have been afraid of walking along the streets of a strange town at night, afraid of hands reaching out for me from a dark alley, afraid of the shadows. But my life was all shadows now and I felt no fear in the darkest shadow of all. My heart.

  I turned a corner and saw a group of people in a long line.

  At the end of it stood Samael.

  CHAPTER 6

  He was next to a storefront located between an insurance office and a vacuum repair shop. Other than a few words of Spanish here and there, the people waited quietly, their clothes muddy and their faces streaked with dirt and dried sweat. The pungent smell in the air made my eyes water.

  “Maybe next time you can fill me in a little more,” I whispered when I walked up to Samael. “I had no idea where I was supposed to go when I got off the bus.”

  He looked at me and then nodded once, very slowly.

  “What is this place?”

  “Somewhere you can stay,” he said. “A place where they don’t ask too many questions. You’ll blend in here.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Obviously I stuck out like a sore thumb.

  “Who are these people?” I said.

  “Farm workers. They sleep here.”

  So that was why they all had dirt on their faces and clothes, especially on the knees of their jeans. It also accounted for the strong smell of onions. I looked up at the sign above the doors as I walked to the back of the line. El Campesino Farm Workers Shelter.

  Samael stood with me and a few minutes later a woman carrying a clipboard started making her way down the line, speaking in both Spanish and English. When she reached me, she smiled wearily and pulled a pen from behind her ear.

  “Are you working tomorrow?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Then you can come in for the night,” she said. “Just put down your name.”

  I started to write Abby but stopped myself and wrote Callie Walker.

  “Is this your first time at the shelter?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Well, there are some rules. You can sleep here each day you work. It’s free, but it’s on a first come, first serve basis. We open the doors for the night after we serve dinner. You can use one of our mats if you don’t have your own. Spots go quick, so get one as soon as you get in. Women usually stay together in the back office by the water fountain.”

  I nodded.

  “If you want to come back tomorrow, make sure to get here before seven-thirty. Otherwise, you’ll be out of luck and have to sleep out here on the sidewalk. We have a large overflow every night.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Bathrooms and showers are in the back, but there’s usually a line, although not nearly as long if you’re a woman. You can get a locker too if you want to stow your things while working, but don’t leave valuables. Questions?”

  I shook my head.

  “Okay, so…” She looked at my signature. “Let’s see. You didn’t fill in the name of the farm where you are working.”

  She waited for an answer and I thought I would end up sleeping on the street, but then heard Samael whisper in my ear.

  “Davis,” I said.

  She wrote it down.

  “Good for you,” she said. “That’s one of the better ones. Their bus leaves here at three. There will be a bell to wake you.”

  I nodded again.

  “Oh, and if you want to eat dinner you need to be here by five and be willing to do a shift. That’s when we start serving. Four dollars a plate. But again, it goes quickly. There are vending machines in the back if you get hungry tonight.”

  She stared at me for half a second longer and then moved down the line, skipping over Samael and asking the man standing behind me the same questions.

  When the doors opened and the line began to move, Samael walked away without saying a word.

  “See you later, I guess,” I said as he disappeared around the corner.

  Inside, the smell of whatever had been for dinner hung in the air. As I walked through the large, open room, I saw that the floor was already about half covered in blankets and bedrolls and clothes and people. It reminded me of television footage of those emergency shelters people went to following a natural disaster. But looking around, I realized that for these people the disaster didn’t ever come to an end. It was a way of life.

  Maybe that’s what Samael had meant when he said I would blend in.

  I followed two young women about my age to the back and rolled out my mat. They both glared at me, and one of them said something to the other under her breath.

  “¿Qué está hacienda esa gringa puta aquí?”

  A few minutes later, the woman with the clipboard made an announcement.

  “Thanks to Food City we have an extra donation tonight of fruit juice boxes and crackers in the kitchen. It’s all free, but please take only enough for yourself. Remember too to keep the floor clean. Please throw out your trash.”

  The juice was gone by the time I got to the front, but I was able to get a small packet of crackers.

  I went back to my spot and sat down, leaning against the wall. My stomach was grumbling but I ate slowly, savoring every crumb, as I stared out through broken eyes and wondered what tomorrow would bring.

  CHAPTER 7

  I never would have believed that I could have slept one wink on a hard floor, surrounded by a hundred or so strangers, but somehow I did.

  I woke up shivering, my eyes wet, as I heard an alarm going off in the dark. I sat up and felt groggy and couldn’t remember where I was or what I was supposed to be doing. All I knew was that it was early, much too early, and my mind wandered to Meg’s Diner and I thought I better hurry up and get ready so Alberto wouldn’t yell at me for being late. I needed to fire up the grill, poach eggs, butter toast…

  But then as I rubbed my eyes, the slow and devastating realization hit of where I was.

  Dim lights came on up above and I saw that the women around me were all moving, rolling up their pads, folding blankets, packing things in bags. One of them was ancient, with wrinkled, shriveled hands and long gray hair that she was twisting up into a bun. She had to have been in her eighties. It was wrong for anyone to have to live like this, especially someone her age.

  I went to the small, crowded bathroom and washed my face, brushed my teeth, and used the facilities quickly. There were two sinks and just one stall and the constant sound of flushing made me think again of a prison. I ran my fingers through my short hair and headed back out.

  My empty stomach pushed me toward the vending machines in the back room off the kitchen and I bought a dry, st
ale bear claw. I ate half of it as I watched the quiet movements in the shelter. I saved the rest for later.

  In the main room, about half the people were stirring and getting ready while the rest remained on the floor, still sleeping. When I finished, I headed back over to the water fountain and noticed the old woman again, praying, her face shining in the muted light.

  I stored the pad and blanket, but decided to bring along my backpack. There wasn’t anything important in it, just a few water bottles and a cheap phone I had bought at a gas station. I hadn’t told Samael about it. I wasn’t planning on using it anyway. The police were probably waiting for me to make just that kind of mistake. To call someone like Ty or Kate and give away my location. But I wasn’t going to do that.

  As much as I wanted to hear his voice, I knew that I couldn’t call Ty. It would only make things worse, and it was already beyond hard. He would beg me to come home, or beg me to tell him where I was, and I wasn’t going to do either. The same went for Kate. But having the phone brought me some comfort, especially in those dark hours before sleep, letting me think that I always had a way back home even if I really didn’t.

  I followed the women out into the chill of the night and stood there with about fifty others on the quiet sidewalk, waiting. Even though it had been insanely hot just a few hours earlier, it was freezing now. I shouldn’t have been surprised. That’s how it was in the desert. Maybe this one had different plants and animals and a more southerly latitude than the high desert in Oregon that I was used to, but it was still the desert. And the thin windbreaker I had wasn’t helping much.

  I looked around, hoping to see Samael, but he wasn’t there.

  I could feel the questioning eyes again of the two women I had slept next to, and I could almost hear the words repeating behind their stares.

  What are you doing here, white girl?

  I had the same question.

  Just then an old school bus rolled up and parked, leaving the headlights on and the motor running. A man jumped out, holding a sheet of paper and yelled, “Davis Farms, Hatch, New Mexico.”