by Mark Reps
“Please come in the house,” beckoned Eskadi, avoiding her question. “Song Bird is fixing you some sassafras tea.”
Inside Song Bird’s dwelling, the aroma of sage mingled with the sweet smell of mesquite logs crackling in the fireplace. From his seat at the kitchen table, Song Bird rose, moving towards his visitors with the agility of a man half his age. His black hair, speckled with streaks of gray, was pulled into a short ponytail and banded together by a beaded leather strap. Attached to the leather tie was a single eagle feather.
“Song Bird, this is Doreen Nightingale,” announced Eskadi.
No sooner had Eskadi spoken than Song Bird reached out with the open palms of his hands inviting Doreen’s touch. The graceful manner with which they exchanged a light touch was befitting of royalty. Doreen was overcome with a sense of serenity as Song Bird closed his warm hands around hers and studied the lines on her face. As she looked into his eyes, her heart felt light.
“Walk with me,” said Song Bird. “Please.”
Doreen mutely obeyed. Walking to the door with her palm rested lightly on the old Apache’s ancient fingertips, an airy sensation encompassed her. Song Bird escorted her out of the dwelling, gently placing a hand on Doreen’s back. Eskadi and Zeb silently watched the pair as they disappeared beneath the cottonwood and acacia trees into the desert surroundings. Heading down the partially hidden path where Amanda had last been seen, they came quickly within view of Song Bird’s daughter’s house.
The delightful, harmonious chorale of sounds from the throats of unseen cactus wrens and tree swallows, singing in unison, surrounded them. When they reached the spot on the walkway where Amanda Song Bird was allegedly abducted, a hepatic tanager buzzed just above their heads.
“Your hand on my back feels tremendously hot.”
Doreen turned in Song Bird’s direction, but as she spoke, her knees buckled. She dropped to the ground, weeping uncontrollably. Through the film of her tears, she saw the apparition of a young Indian girl, running and giggling. The sound of her laughter struck an instant chord. It was the same voice she had heard in her dream. Doreen swooned and her world went dark. She began to shed tears as the vision of the girl became enveloped by a rapidly moving black morass.
Song Bird tenderly wrapped her up in his arms and held her body tightly against his as she wept. When the tears slowed, she spoke involuntarily.
“Perish.”
She choked out a single word between deep sets of sobs.
“Perish.”
As she spoke, the joyous singing of the birds gave way to an eerie silence. The whole of the natural world stopped as it listened to her words. Doreen’s tears pooled in the wizened, wrinkled hands of Song Bird who cradled her head as he sweetly chanted a traditional Apache cleansing prayer.
It could have been a moment or an eternity, but, in Doreen’s mind, sorrowful hours passed as Song Bird held her in his arms. When she at last became coherent enough to move, the Medicine Man helped the exhausted Doreen back to his house.
Zeb and Eskadi helped Song Bird lay Doreen on a small bed in front of the fireplace. Within moments, her tired body was lost to the waking world.
“Is she okay?” asked Zeb. “What’s going on?”
“She’s fine,” assured Song Bird. “There is no need to worry about her. She is exhausted from her ordeal, nothing more.”
“What ordeal?”
“I’m certain she will tell you all about it,” said Song Bird.
Zeb covered Doreen with a blanket and drew close to her side. Song Bird and Eskadi huddled together momentarily before leaving the house. Together they walked to the ancient mesquite tree where Eskadi helped the old man ceremoniously remove his clothes. Across the sleeping body of Doreen Nightingale, Zeb watched as Eskadi towered over a seated, naked Jimmy Song Bird. Running a cedar branch along the sides of the elder Medicine Man’s body, the tribal chairman stopped occasionally, dropping a handful of sand down the wrinkled skin of Song Bird’s back. Together the Indians ululated in a haunting, high-pitched tone that made the hair on Zeb’s arms stand at attention. Confusion and sadness swept through the sheriff as he watched the men participate in a ritual whose meaning was lost on him.
Four times Eskadi turned away and lay prostrate on the ground as Song Bird changed directions. With each directional rotation, the tribal chairman rose at the Medicine Man’s signal and repeated his actions with the cedar branch and sand. When they finished, the old man dressed in new clothes that Eskadi had gathered from the house. Building a small fire, the men burned the shirt and pants Song Bird had been wearing. They left the clothes to burn as the pair paced off slowly in a westerly direction. A moment later they disappeared over the side of a small hill into the dense underbrush.
Zeb sipped sassafras tea and gently rubbed Doreen’s back. He thought of Song Bird’s loss, of Jake’s pain, of Doreen’s beauty. A new sense of compassion was flowing through his veins. He felt afraid, yet free. Afraid of the changes that he knew must come, yet free to choose them. He contemplated what he had just witnessed, wondering if it was all somehow related to the murder of Amanda Song Bird. His new level of this unseen knowledge demanded he understand the connection. In his heart and his head, he couldn’t know soon enough.
An hour passed and the sun sat squarely overhead. Sensing that Song Bird and Eskadi would not be returning any time soon, Zeb carried the softly snoring Doreen to the back seat of his truck. Still at a loss to comprehend the morning’s events, his intuition hinted that an unseen hand was playing an ever-increasing role in all that was going on around him. He found himself unexpectedly praying for guidance and understanding.
Halfway back to Safford, where the Indian Hot Springs wash ran under the highway, Doreen stirred ever so slightly. Zeb glanced over his shoulder to check on his sleeping beauty. She was purring like a kitten, not moving a solitary muscle. What a different picture she posed, lying there, than when Maya and Jenny would be passed out in the back of his car, drunk.
Zeb saw his life as a circle begun anew as he pulled in front of the pink house and parked once again behind the Harley. Doreen stirred as he shut off the engine of his truck. Moments later she yawned and lifted her weary head, surprised to see they were parked in front of her house.
“Zeb, what are we doing here? Have I been sleeping?”
“You’ve been out like a light. Don’t you remember falling asleep?”
“Not really. The last thing I remember was Song Bird’s hand in the middle of my back. I felt very warm, almost hot, and I was certain I was going to faint. Only I didn’t. After that, everything just sort of gets hazy.”
Doreen rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and let out a burst of laughter.
“I do remember one other thing.”
“What was that?”
“I dreamed I was a princess. And you, you were my knight in shining armor carrying me in your arms,” said Doreen. “I was trapped and only you could save me from the savages who wanted to make me their slave. You were my hero.”
The sheriff’s ego soared as he got out of the truck to open the door for his still drowsy passenger. Walking to the house arm in arm with Zeb, Doreen’s head suddenly cleared as her eyes fell on the smudged dirt stain on her skirt.
“I fell on the trail,” she declared.
“What?” asked Zeb.
Doreen pointed to the dust and dirt just above her knee.
“I just remembered that I fell onto the ground and began crying. It wasn’t long after Song Bird and I went for a walk down the trail towards his daughter’s house, near where his granddaughter was kidnapped,” she said. “My legs gave way, and I tripped or maybe I collapsed. I don’t know for sure. I might have even hit my head and face because my lips feel swollen and numb.”
Zeb put a hand on her cheek, allowing his thumb to rest on her lip. She responded with a soft kiss.
“Your lips look fine,” he said. “But you say you tripped? What happened? Why did you fall?”
“S
ong Bird had his hand on the middle of my back. I was listening to the birds singing. It was beautiful, like in a movie or a happy dream. Then, all at once, everything stopped, and the birds quit singing. In that moment of complete silence, I was overcome with so many feelings at the same time that I thought I was going to leap right out of my skin.”
Trembling, Doreen put her arms around Zeb and held on tight as she continued her explanation.
“Everything I ever felt about love, hate, joy, happiness and sadness all came shooting through me at once in a big ball of emotion. Let me tell you, that was exhausting. It took the legs right out from under me.”
“I can’t imagine,” said Zeb. “When you walked down there with Song Bird, I knew something important was happening to you. But I didn’t know what it was. Tell me, what did Song Bird do?”
“He put his hands on my face and turned my head so I could see directly into his eyes. Instantly I began to dream or at least that’s what it felt like. Song Bird’s pupils looked way inside of me, and then they turned into eagle’s wings. I was scared. I thought I was going to fly. For a split-second I was certain I had gone crazy. Then I fell to the ground in a heap and began to cry. I couldn’t control myself. For some reason I kept trying to talk, but only one word came out of my mouth.”
“Doe, what word did you say?”
“Perish. I kept saying perish.”
“Perish?” asked Zeb, “like…in…to die? Maybe you thought you were dying.”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t think I thought I was going to die. I just know it meant something important. The word perish kept echoing in my ears. Then for a second or two I thought I was going to drown. Imagine that, drowin’ in the middle of the desert. Wouldn’t that be a weird thing to do? That musta been all those tears I was sheddin’.”
Reliving the experience caused Doreen to swoon.
“Zeb, I am so pooped, and I feel lightheaded. I need to lie down. What is going on with me, anyway? I never felt like this before.”
In her state of exhaustion and barely able to stand, Zeb lifted her into his arms and carried her in the house. Inside, he lay her on the living room sofa.
“Punkin, would you get me a glass of water?”
Zeb raced into the kitchen, sliding across the newly waxed floor, and poured Doreen a glass of water from the refrigerator. He hurried back to find Doreen barely alert.
“Here, Doe, take a sip.”
Holding the glass steadily, he gently poured a teaspoon or two into her mouth.
“I’m so dang tired,” she mumbled. “I can barely keep awake.”
He wanted to comfort her more but felt so inept. He reached out to hold her as she began to fade. As her lids drifted shut over her deep blue eyes, the rhythm of her breathing slowed its pace to one compatible with sleep. Zeb grabbed the coziest blanket he could find and covered her. Standing back as slumber completely overtook her, Zeb reached down and gently pulled the hair away from her face. He saw only innocence.
Zeb headed to his office. His thoughts drifted back to the events of the morning. Song Bird’s mysterious interpretation of his and Doreen’s dream, as well as Doreen’s reaction, had him stymied.
“Perish? Perish? Perish,” he said aloud.
Doreen’s intuition had told her it didn’t mean to die, but at the same time she felt as though she was going to drown. Perish meant only one thing in Zeb’s mind, death. His mind was spinning with that thought as he parked in front of the office.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff. You’re looking a little, uh, different today,” said Helen.
“Well, I feel a little different today,” said Zeb.
Helen extended her hand, which held a neatly folded note.
“I think you’re going to want to get to this right away,” said Helen. “Your other messages are on your desk.”
Sheriff Hanks opened the note. It was a request from Jake Dablo for a meeting at the Town Talk at three o’clock. That gave him an hour to tend to office matters. Sifting the paperwork on his desk, he remembered back to the days of Sheriff Jake Dablo. Come hell or high water, three o’clock meant it was coffee break time. He shook his head. Jake hadn’t been in town for three o’clock coffee in nearly seven years. It was another encouraging sign that Jake might have finally licked the demons that had been chasing him for so long.
“Helen,” shouted Zeb, “how did Jake sound when he called?”
“He was real chatty with me. Just like he always used to be in the old days. It sounded like he wanted to talk to you about official business, but I’d say he sounded real good.”
Zeb considered the former sheriff’s new state of sobriety. In the back of his mind, he hoped that the alcohol washing out of Jake’s system had jarred loose some previously known but not comprehended fact about his granddaughter’s murder. If the death of Amanda Song Bird was the triggering factor, maybe, just maybe, Jake had a revelation about how the murders were related.
If it were true that Jake’s dark days were leaving him, he would have two things on his mind—the murder of Amanda Song Bird and the unresolved death of his granddaughter, Angel Bright. A feeling of hopeful anxiousness ran through Zeb as he made his way to the Town Talk.
20
The sound of the passing truck startled the killer. He took a deep breath. Realizing he had momentarily nodded off, he quickly brought himself to full attention, chastising himself for making such a stupid mistake. He had parked under some trees behind a big boulder across the road, halfway between Song Bird and his daughter’s house. The vehicle was out of sight now, so he didn’t know if it was Song Bird, Maya or just someone passing by. He stepped out of the car and cautiously climbed on top of the boulder, making certain not to be seen. Binoculars in hand, he stared down the road. Through the cloud of dust, he could tell it was Song Bird’s truck that had passed by.
He scrambled down from the rock and jumped in the car, taking off after the truck. He had been stalking Song Bird, Jake Dablo and Zeb Hanks for months. Only Song Bird carried no pattern to his day. Song Bird was the X factor in his plans. The Medicine Man had too many variables in his life. He could be going somewhere to do a healing or merely on a social call. Wherever he was going, his trail of dust was easy to follow from a distance.
At the highway, the old Indian turned south toward Safford. The killer followed at a safe distance, keeping the truck within view at all times. As he crossed the city limits, he passed by the Wal Mart and the Safeway store. When he passed by the Native American supply store, he knew Song Bird wasn’t in town to shop. At the edge of downtown, the stalker watched the truck turn right. One block later it turned left into the parking lot of the Town Talk.
The killer parked across the street in an alley and watched the old Indian step out of his truck and walk into the café. Raising an imaginary gun, he pointed a finger in Song Bird’s direction and quietly said, “Bang. You’re dead.” Then he giggled. His levity came to a halt as he noticed Jake Dablo’s beat up old pickup was also parked in the lot along with an official San Carlos Reservation truck. He tapped his fingers against the wheel and checked the time. Three o’clock. What were Jake and Eskadi doing there? It wasn’t something in either of their routines. His head snapped suddenly to the left as a kid on a bicycle shot by his car door. Take it easy, he reminded himself. Turn lemons into lemonade. Learn something.
He pulled his binoculars from the glove compartment. The shadows and the sun glare on the café windows made it impossible for him to see inside. He would have to get out of his car and walk down the street in broad daylight if he was going to see what was going on. His heart beat a little faster, not much, just enough to notice. He liked the feeling of danger.
He pulled the car out of the alley and across the street, parking behind a semi-truck for cover. He stepped out of the car, leaving the door unlocked. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses. Even now, in late autumn, the sun felt hot, too hot. He preferred the coolness of night.
Staying close to the bui
ldings, under the awnings in the shaded recesses of the sidewalk, he walked casually toward the Town Talk. Two old women passed him. He was pleased as they all mutually ignored each other.
He passed the entrance to the café and ambled slowly past the large glass windows in front of the building. Glancing into the café as he moved by, he noticed little because of the sun and shadows. He continued on to the end of the block and stopped, bending over to tie a shoelace that had not come undone. He needed a plan. He reminded himself to think clearly.
Reversing his tracks, he made a second pass at the café, this time stopping in front of an advertisement for the county fair placed in the window. Now he could see clearly into the restaurant. It took him only a moment to realize he was watching a meeting with Song Bird, Jake Dablo, and Eskadi Black Robes.
He turned to spit, but stopped when his eye caught the reflection of a tall man in a cowboy hat walking toward the café entrance. The killer brought his hand to his cheek and rubbed the corner of his eye in an attempt to cover his face.
Sheriff Hanks was the fourth man at this meeting.
21
Hanging his cowboy hat on the antler rack, Zeb glanced around the room. The café was bustling with men on midday break. At one table businessmen animatedly discussed the current state of the local economy. At another, farmers ranted and raved about cotton and cattle prices as well as the failure of the Department of Agriculture to prop up price supports as they had promised they would. There was more than a little talk of throwing the bums out of office on Election Day. At one of the back tables, hidden behind a small wall, a cross section of retired guys played liars poker. The sheriff exchanged nods and howdies with each group.
Zeb noticed Jake, at the counter laughing and shaking dice with Eskadi Black Robes. They were gabbing away like long lost friends. Behind the counter, Maxine Miller was hustling away, keeping things running as smoothly as she could without the aid of the napping Doreen.