Cristina

by Jake Parent

  Her brain screamed at her to shake Anise awake. Slap her if she had to. Anything to break the spell of whatever had taken hold of her. She also remembered once hearing something about not waking a person who’s sleepwalking, although she wasn’t sure if that was even true.

  And is that what this is? Sleepwalking?

  No. There was something more going on. Some force in the room with them. Anise’s body pulsated with an unseen electricity, making Cristina think of the high-powered electric fence that had surrounded the girl’s detention camp. The buzzing energy was so palpable, she couldn’t bring herself to reach out and touch Anise, fearful that doing so might mean both of them receiving a powerful shock.

  The fear and uncertainty paralyzed Cristina.

  She had no idea what to do.

  Anise turned toward her, still with that wicked smile. The lids of her eyes were closed but shaking, as if in the middle of an intense dream. Then they opened, and for a moment, Cristina thought she must be the one dreaming. The eyes she was looking at weren’t the soft brown of her daughter’s. Not even close. They were now an electric red, like a picture taken with bad lighting.

  Their glow intensified. The heating coils of an electric stove.

  Along with the light came a vision.

  As if a projector had penetrated into Cristina’s mind, she saw Annie being lifted from her bed in the room that now belonged to Anise. The little girl was afraid, not wanting to go. As hard as Cristina strained, she couldn’t see who was taking her. Everything but the girl was soaked in the same red glow that filled the living room.

  Annie’s face morphed into Anise’s and then back again.

  Reality and hallucination – if that’s what it was – were fully meshed, to the point Cristina could no longer tell what was real and what was imagined.

  These parallel worlds felt like two scenes from a movie spliced together, with some unseen person on a set of controls fading them in and out. At one moment, she was staring into Anise’s hypnotic red eyes. In the next, she saw Annie wearing a pretty white nightgown with polka dots, holding her stuffed hippo in one hand, being carried down the stairs, the hallway, and out the backdoor by someone whose face Cristina still couldn’t see. The little girl looked too afraid to cry. But even if she’d been able to find the will, producing any sound would have been impossible. Her mouth was sealed tight by her abductor’s leather-gloved hand.

  At a total loss for what to do, Cristina suddenly remembered the crucifix.

  She heard Michelle’s voice.

  “There ain’t no atheists in a foxhole, honey.”

  Grabbing the cross from under her shirt, she kissed it and began to say the only prayer she knew.

  “Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name . . .”

  The red glow of Anise’s eyes began to pulsate, brightening and dimming like a lighthouse beacon.

  “. . . Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done. On Earth, as it is in heaven . . .”

  The pulse quickened, reminding Cristina now of the spinning lights on a dance floor.

  “. . . Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses. As we forgive those who trespass against us . . .”

  “NO!” Anise suddenly said in a deep voice that wasn’t quite human.

  “NO!” This time in the voice of a child, though not her own.

  “NO!” A woman who sounded both scared and angry.

  Cristina squeezed the crucifix in her hand, hard enough that she thought the metal might snap.

  Tears ran down her face.

  “. . . Lead us not into temptation. But deliver us from evil . . .”

  Anise reached into the pocket of her nightgown and pulled something from it. Cristina couldn’t tell what.

  Anise touched the object to the closet door.

  “ . . . For thine is the kingdom. The power. And the glory forever. Amen.”

  The light stopped.

  Anise collapsed to the floor.

  Cristina ran to her daughter and held her tiny, limp body close to her own. At first, she was sure Anise was dead.

  Tears became intense sobs.

  Then, she felt the subtle pressure of the girl’s chest moving up and down. She grabbed the back of her daughter’s wrist and found a slow but steady pulse, as if Anise had fallen into the deepest, dreamless sleep imaginable.

  “Oh, thank God,” she said, a phrase she’d probably used a million times in her life, but had never meant it sincerely until now.

  “There ain’t no atheists in a foxhole, honey.”

  Fear and sadness combined inside her with an intense sense of relief, leaving her mind exhausted and numb.

  Anise shivered.

  Cristina rubbed her daughter’s cold, bare arms.

  “Owie, mamma,” Anise said in her familiar voice, blinking sleep from her eyes as she spoke. “Why are we downstairs?”

  A new wave of tears made it hard for Cristina to speak.

  She managed to say, “Chica, I love you so much. You scared mommy.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t remember anything, baby?”

  Anise looked up into her mom’s eyes and said, “I was dreaming that a little girl who used to live in my room wanted to play with me. Her name is Annie. She couldn’t talk because someone bad did something to her. But she showed me pictures in my head, and it was kind of like talking. She told me that she didn’t want to scare us. She thinks we’re nice people and that’s why she wants to help us.”

  “Help us do what?” Cristina was trying her best not to freak out any more than she already was. “Tell mommy, right now.”

  “I don’t know, mamma. We were playing with my animals and then I woke up. I’m really tired. I want to go back to sleep now.”

  “OK, baby. OK.”

  Although the rational side of Cristina’s brain said to immediately walk out the front door, get in the car, and drive as far away from the house as possible, there was a deeper, primal instinct inside her that said they needed to stay.

  She picked Anise up from the floor and held her in her arms.

  As she turned to walk toward the stairs, Cristina saw what Anise had been doing with the object in her hand. There were three chilling words written on the door in the bubblegum-pink kid’s lipstick Anise had received as a present for her birthday.

  DON’T TRUST HIM.

  TRUST

  28

  “Michelle, it’s Cristina. Hey, girl. Sorry I haven’t called lately. I’ve just been really busy getting moved in and all. But I’ve been thinking about you and the ladies a lot. I miss you guys. Anyway, I promise not to wait so long before I call again. But give me a ring when you get a chance. It would be nice to hear your voice. OK. Love you. Bye.”

  It was 6 AM.

  The sun had finally started to come up. The cheap wax of the Virgen de Guadalupe candle from Walgreens had burned almost completely down to the bottom of its glass cylinder. Yet, Cristina remained hesitant to blow out the flame. She knew the candle was nothing special, but for some reason it still seemed so comforting. Even in the grey light of morning, the red, yellow, and blue-green of the praying woman’s clothes warmed her bedroom with a sense of security.

  Cristina sat up in bed, trying to remember the story of the Virgen de Guadalupe. She could only recall bits and pieces. Something about an Aztec boy who saw a vision of the Virgin Mary. That was all that came to mind. And the fact that the image of the Virgen, along with that of St. Christopher, was prominently displayed in just about every Mexican household she’d ever been in. Both were supposed to protect you. She was never sure from what. Evil, she guessed.

  But was that even possible?

  The more she thought about it, the more she began to believe what her uncle had said about the way evil most often works through subtle deception. She didn’t necessarily believe in some red devil with a pitchfork (any more than she did a bearded white-guy in the sky), but Cristina did feel like she’d seen “real” evil before. And wh
ether that evil came in the form of her ex (a person she once very much saw as a savior), or in a stranger (like the charming serial killers she’d seen on TV documentaries), their deception was almost always revealed only after a mask of goodness had been removed.

  Fingering the crucifix between the tips of her fingers, she couldn’t help but snicker at her new found interest in spirituality.

  “There ain’t no atheists in a foxhole, honey.”

  Since Michelle hadn’t answered the phone, Cristina decided to call Tío Alberto, who she figured would be awake even so early on a Saturday. He answered after the first ring.

  “Cristina? Is everything OK?”

  “Tío, um . . . yah. Everything’s fine.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to lie, or even exactly why she’d called him in the first place. Maybe just to hear his voice. “Why aren’t you working? You’re always working.”

  “I am working, sweetheart. But I stopped by church to speak with Father Antonio about your situation.” The way he said the last word reminded her of when she got her first period and he found someone to talk with her about how to use a tampon.

  When she didn’t say anything, he continued.

  “Father Antonio says he can come by on Friday. Does that work for you?”

  She was about to say yes, before she remembered the stupid family court summons. Which then reminded her she was still supposed to get a drug test. And that flared her intense hatred of Anthony.

  She had to fake a smile to make sure the anger didn’t come across over the phone.

  “Tío, Friday’s bad for me.”

  “OK, well he told me if Friday didn’t work for you that he could do Thursday, but he’d have to cancel some things to make it happen.”

  That made her feel bad. Did she really even want to bug this guy? What had actually happened last night anyway? She was still unsure it hadn’t all been a dream. Or at least parts of it. Who knows. Everything was so confused. Her brain felt like a car engine that had been running too hot for too long. She kind of wished she could just turn it all off for a while.

  And, like that, out of nowhere, for the second time in a week, she felt like getting high.

  “Mija? Are you there?”

  “Yah, Tío. I’m here. Thursday’s fine.”

  “Alright. You’re sure everything’s OK? You sound a little distant.”

  “I’m just tired is all.”

  “More dreams?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him.

  “Just girl stuff, Tío.”

  “OK. OK. I’ll let you go.”

  She could almost hear him blushing.

  “Oh,” he said. “I also called my client last night, the FBI agent. I asked him about the case of that little girl. He said he didn’t work on the investigation. But he knows about it, and he said he’d talk to a few people who had. I gave him your number. I also told him about that cult.”

  As happy as she was about possibly getting some answers, she hated the idea of dealing with cops. And, at a time when one of her main goals in life was to create some space for herself, she really didn’t like the fact that there were more and more people getting involved in her business.

  “Thanks, Tío,” she said, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

  “Anything for you, sweetheart. You know that. Now, I have some trees I have to go try not to fall out of. You get some rest.”

  Cristina said goodbye and ended the call.

  Rest sounded like a wonderful idea. The adrenaline of last night had dissipated, leaving her feeling simply exhausted.

  She sank into her bed and fell asleep.

  29

  The phone buzzed on the nightstand, but Cristina wasn’t able to shake herself awake in time to answer it.

  Before she could look to see who had called, a series of loud banging noises rang out from the kitchen. She slipped out from under the covers and crept downstairs, hand wrapped around the knife in her robe pocket.

  She was surprised, shocked, and then confused when she looked at the closet door on her way down the hallway. Completely blank. Not even a hint of the words that had been so clearly written there the night before.

  An image flashed into her mind like a video clip. Annie being carried through the sliding glass door, out into the dark, some unknown person’s gloved hand over her mouth.

  The ghostly memory burst like a balloon as soon as Cristina turned the corner into the kitchen. She had to bite her bottom lip and cross her arms to stop from breaking into laughter.

  There was Anise, making her way across the kitchen, an intense look of concentration on her face as she carried the large metal mixing bowl filled with what must have been half a box of Cheerios floating in a deep pool of milk. The concoction slopped over the sides as her little hands fought a losing battle to keep the liquid in balance. It didn’t help that her fingers were also attempting to keep hold of a giant serving spoon.

  Cristina stood watching until Anise finally noticed her. The girl stopped. A bit of milk flopped over the edge of the bowl, adding to the trail of white spots on the floor leading from the refrigerator.

  Anise’s focused face morphed into a bright-eyed, angelic smile.

  “Hi, mamma. I was hungry and you looked really tired. So I figured I’d just get my own Cheerios today.”

  “That’s what you figured, huh?” Cristina held her hand in front of her face to hide a smile. “Looks like you did quite a job there, chica.”

  Anise considered her mother’s words for a moment. Deciding they were a compliment, she offered a thankful nod before sitting at the table to begin her breakfast.

  Does she remember anything? Cristina wondered as she replaced the serving spoon with something more suitable.

  Kids were certainly resilient, and hers perhaps more so than most. But Cristina thought there was no possible way Anise could have zero memory of the ordeal.

  Yet, there she was. Looking as peaceful and happy as could be.

  “Chica?”

  No answer at first. Only a far-off stare as spoonfuls of Cheerios went from bowl to lips.

  “Do you remember what happened last night?”

  Still no answer. She was in her silent eating mode.

  “Anise, I need you to talk to mommy for a minute. Do you remember what happened last night?”

  “Yah.”

  Cristina sat next to her.

  “Tell me what you remember, sweetie.”

  After a moment of thoughtful recollection, Anise answered, “We ate pizza! And Aba was here. And Tío, too. Mommy, I wish they could have dinner with us every night.”

  “Me too, baby. Me too. What else happened?”

  “Um . . .” Anise’s face searched for a piece of information she was sure she was supposed to know. “I went to sleep with Aba on the couch and she was snoring.”

  That memory brought a round of giggles.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yah.”

  Anise leaned forward, placed her small palm on her mother’s forehead, and asked, “Are you feeling OK, young lady?”

  It was a halfway-decent impression of Cristina.

  “Yes, Dr. Anise. Mommy feels fine. You’re sure you don’t remember anything else? Not even a dream you had? About the little girl who used to live here?”

  Anise contemplated the question and then shook her head.

  “I don’t remember any dreams.”

  It was possible she was lying, but Cristina didn’t think that was the case.

  “OK, sweetie. You eat your cereal. Mommy is going to go outside for a sec.”

  Anise’s only response was the sound of cereal crunching between teeth.

  In the backyard, tightening her robe and making sure she was out of Anise’s line of sight, Cristina lit a cigarette.

  Her phone showed that the missed call was from Michelle, but she hadn’t left a message. There was a text, though.

  Hey girl. Love you too. Call back when you can. Day or night. Stay r
ight.

  Cristina was about to call her again when another text came through. This one from Casey.

  Can I take you two beautiful ladies to lunch?

  As hard as Cristina tried to fight it, as much as she sat there and hated herself for thinking it, some part of her now doubted Casey.

  DON’T TRUST HIM.

  The “him” couldn’t be him, could it?

  No. She refused to believe that. There was no way Casey was a bad person. She’d known plenty of awful – horrible – men in her lifetime. He wasn’t one of them.

  Besides, she couldn’t just throw away a chance to connect with the best guy she’d met in years, maybe ever, just because of some message she probably dreamed up.

  The further she got into the sunny morning, the more she was convinced that’s exactly what it had been.

  A dream.

  Had to be.

  Done with her cigarette, she texted back.

  We’d love to. Just tell us when and where.

  His reply came quickly.

  Meet at the end of the pier. Noon. Bring swimsuits.

  30

  It turned out to be another gorgeous day in Pleasure Point. The California sun was shining. The breeze light. The beach in front of the amusement park was again crammed with people.

  Cristina and Anise looked out over the sea of bodies as they walked hand-in-hand up the pier’s entrance ramp. Underneath them, sand turned to water. The empty spaces between the pier’s wooden planks provided a clear view of the choppy ocean below. Anise squeezed her mother’s hand and stared downward, using great caution not to bring either of her feet anywhere near the gaps.

  On the car ride down, and as they circled for twenty minutes looking for parking, Anise hadn’t stopped talking about jumping in the water. She was disappointed they weren’t going directly there, and she was letting Cristina know about it.

  “Why did I put my bathing suit on?” she asked with attitude.

  “We’ll go in the water. But first we have to go meet Casey and eat some food.”

  “Who’s Casey, mamma?”

  A good question, Cristina thought.

  “He’s the nice man who was playing with you under the pier the last time we came to beach.”