"The spirits are warring," Oki exclaimed. He pointed to his face. "Is this not the proof that there is war?"
Mama Cecilia nodded but only in her brain. It was not her way to answer questions that had obvious answers. She saw the red upon his face. That was proof of the spirit war although Mama Cecilia knew this was not truly spirit blood. Oki had rubbed something red on his face. Mama also knew the brain was a feeble thing; it was the heart that was the center of all knowledge. She believed the spirits were at war because he said so, and because bad things had been visited upon her house, and because her heart hurt. She blinked once as Oki turned in a slow circle. When he came back, he rose up a bit, raised one crooked old finger, and narrowed his crinkled eyes.
"The bear says to the wind, 'can you not blow the other way so I can smell who it is that hunts me?'" Oki turned full circle. He raised a crooked finger on the other hand. "And the wind says to the bear, 'I can blow but one way, the way I am meant to blow. You must wait until you can smell the hunter. Until then you will use your eyes and your ears to find the one who hunts'."
Oki sang a bit and danced a little, and when he was done with his trance, he sat across from Mama Cecilia and picked up the frozen colors fallen from the Aurora Borealis. The stone helped him see into the future.
"I know what you wish to find, Cecilia," Oki said.
"Yes, I am looking for my–"
"Do not name the person you are looking for," he admonished.
For a moment, Mama Cecilia's motherly longing interfered with her good sense. She knew that it was wrong to name the thing you wanted to be told about. The bad spirits were all around. Some were looking to harm that thing that should not be named. She did not want her son harmed. She did not want anyone harmed. Mama put her lips together tightly so the bad spirits would not hear her ask for her son.
"I will tell you this. In the war there are survivors, Cecilia. As with all wars, there is a victor and one who is not a victor. Even in the spirit world. There are the deer and there are the wolves. Sometimes the victor is swift and other times the victor is strong."
Oki sat back. He slipped the hat from his head and slowly took away the cloak of hide and needles. He looked very tired as if he had just traveled a great distance. His old face was lined deeper for the spirit war, his black hair seemed dull but the silver in it still shined. He was a shaman for a while, but now he was once again a man who liked to see the people on television. That was fine. He had told Mama Cecilia what she needed to know.
"Thank you, Oki, for showing me the way. I will use my eyes and not just my nose. I will not worry about the wind and which way it blows. I think I will win the war."
"I think, Cecilia, you did not need me to tell you that," he answered.
"Still, it is good to know the spirits have spoken to me through you," she answered politely, with gratitude and respect.
"Not many believe any more," he lamented. The stuff on his face no longer looked like battle wounds but like rivers of red tears.
Mama said nothing. Oki spoke the truth and when the truth was spoken there were no extra words that would make it truer.
Mama Cecilia left the house that was painted the blue of the ocean and walked toward her own house again. Even though the evening was gone and it was now dark night, even though there were no lights to guide her way except for the moonshine, even though the snow had started to fall again, she did not hurry on her long way.
The walk home was easier than the walk to Oki's house because she did not walk in sadness. Mama Cecilia had heard in her deepest heart Oki's words and understood them in her deepest brain. She did not lift her head to the wind in the hopes of catching the scent of her son. Instead, she used her eyes and started to look closely at the forest and trees and dirt and mountains. She listened for their spirits to tell her if he had passed their way. If she did not find him that day, she would look again tomorrow and the next day because her moccasins could take her a long way.
Now she knew that looking and listening was what she must do.
CHAPTER 13
I don't feel like myself in this place. I don't know who I am. I smile and that bothers Billy, but it makes Melody happy. Duncan and Teresa, too. Funny, I think of them as my friends. I've been wondering why I feel this way. I think it's because I didn't have to save them, or follow them, or watch them get hurt. It's not like being with my mom who was always a train wreck waiting to happen; it's not like being with Josie whose goodness brought the train wreck to her.
This is like something new just for me and Billy. We are outsiders, but they don't think we're weird because we don't do the religious thing and we don't think they're weird because they do. Nothing is better than being with people who just are what they are.
But I don't think being here makes Billy happy. No matter how much I want him to be, he isn't. He should be, but he isn't.
"What do you think?"
Hannah held her arms out and kicked up one leg. The other one was a rock of concrete from knee to ankle. The thing was ugly and rough as a potholed road. Billy had freaked when he first saw it, but Hannah wasn't upset and that freaked Billy even more. It was like she went into the truck one person and came out another. She wasn't guarded, or suspicious, or looking for options and ways out. She was just grateful that the people who found them knew what to do about her leg; Billy was worried that it would be seriously screwed up by the time they got to a doctor. These were just regular people no matter how much they talked about God, and what did they know about broken legs? That, Hannah pointed out when she was awake for more than fifteen minutes at a time, was exactly the point: there was no doctor, there was no way out of this place, they were stuck for the duration. They had done what they set out to do. They had reached the ends of the earth. The fact that they arrived smashed to pieces hadn't been in the plan, but they had survived.
"Billy? Billy? What are you looking at?" Tired of holding out her arms, tired of trying to distract him, she flopped them down.
"I hate the cold and it always feels like it's midnight around here." His forehead was against the window, and his good hand was flat on the wall. Billy wasn't really thinking about the weather. He was thinking about her. "I thought you were going to, you know, die."
"I know," she answered. "I do know."
"What would I have done if you died, Hannah?"
"But I didn't. You kept me alive. That was incredible, Billy." Hannah said this too quickly, too brightly, as if she were giving the dirt on the floor a quick flick under the rug so she could pretend everything was tidy. "So? Come on. What do you think of the stuff Melody lent me? Billy, look. Please, look."
Hannah put her arms out again. Billy looked. He smirked. She tried to smile, and that was funnier still. He planted his butt on the windowsill.
"You look like that lady on the pancake mix box."
"Aunt Jemima is a hundred years old," Hannah said.
"Naw, they drew a new one. She's really good looking. I mean, she still looks like Aunt Jemima but she's maybe twenty." Billy hooked his good thumb in the front of the old pants he was wearing. They were too short for him and too wide, but he didn't seem to mind. "We ate those pancakes all the time at home."
"Do you miss your sister?" Hannah asked.
"I try not to think about her. The way she was the last time, you know, wasn't really a good memory." He drifted away to a terrible place and then pulled himself back again. "Anyway, you're like the new babe Aunt Jemima."
Billy shook back his hair. The shadows under his eyes, the furrows on his forehead, and his bruised skin, made him look older, exhausted, and despairing. He couldn't be still unless he was sitting beside Hannah's bed. Now that she was starting to move, and he couldn't find a comfortable place to be. He pushed off the sill and plopped himself on the braided rug beside the bed, stretched out his legs, and leaned back on his elbows. He used to sit like that in Josie's house. In the old days, Hannah tried to ignore him. Now she c
ouldn't imagine being without him.
"What do you think the girls at school would say if they could see me like this? Not that it matters. That was a thousand years ago anyway. All that stuff. . . Stupid. . . ." Hannah laughed a little and realized she didn't want to think about home either. Going back was never, ever good. "What's with all the high necks and long sleeves?"
She pulled at the material in the full skirt that fell below her knees. She plucked at the cuffs on the purple blouse printed with tiny yellow flowers. She missed her flowing tops, her bling, her jeans that fit like a second skin, but she appreciated what Melody had done for her. The kindness of giving so much when these people had so little did not escape Hannah's notice.
"Everybody here is really, like, modest and stuff," Billy said. "They're Amish, I think."
"No. They're kind of born again but with their own religion," Hannah said. "Duncan told me they believe that if you face your sins head on and resist the temptation to sin again, then you earn being healed by God. So, I guess my mom would have to stay with me twenty-four seven if she wanted to get into heaven."
"My sister didn't have any sins. She's in heaven."
"I was just saying what these people believe." Hannah took a deep breath and walked herself back to a safe topic. "Melody said my clothes were trashed. Did you see them?"
"She's going to try to sew up your jeans, but she's still trying to get the blood stains out. She didn't think you'd want to see the blood stains."
"That's nice of her," Hannah said. "And I'm not laughing at these clothes, you know. I'm not laughing at anything. I'm really grateful."
"I know." Billy's head tilted to one side as he mirrored her. "They saved your boots, but it's going to be a while before you can put shoes on. Well, one at least."
"No kidding. This thing is tight. I think it's cutting off my circulation," Hannah laughed. "The socks aren't bad. They're warm."
"Teresa knit those. She can do anything."
"You like her." Hannah tired to find a bright spot for him.
"She's okay," he admitted.
"So, can we go now?" she begged. "Please, Billy. I have to get out of this room."
Billy curled himself up, got to his knees, and walked on them until he was at her feet. He smoothed the wide, shapeless skirt and then put his hands on Hannah's knees. He looked her in the eye.
"We should go home. We need to go home."
Hannah's spine stiffened. His touch felt intimate and that wasn't good. Billy was her history. Their boundaries were set so long ago that Hannah didn't want to blur them. She could count on his affection, but she couldn't count on him to keep her safe. That was why she wanted to stay. They were both safe here.
"If we go home, then what was all this for, Billy? Really, what?"
"I don't know anymore, Hannah. I really don't."
"It was for you. I mean, I know it was for me, too. I do know that, but mostly it was for you." Hannah moved his hands away.
He fell back on his heels, defeated and then Billy pushed himself off the floor. The window drew him back time and again. But he wasn't seeing what he wanted to see. The perpetual night was a solid wall to him while Hannah thought of it as a cloak. He had never been moody, but now he was. He had never whined, but now he did. Hannah didn't know what to say, so she struggled to stand up instead. Her first step was for balance. Her second step was a 'thunk' of a heavy foot as her casted leg came down hard. Billy whirled around and reached for her.
"Hannah. Don't–”
"It's fine."
She had taken more steps without him in her life, and been more injured than this, but he looked so horrified now that Hannah took his hand. When she was beside him and looking out the window, he said:
"Why do you think you can do everything by yourself, Hannah?"
"Because there never was anyone to help?"
"I don't think you look very hard for people to help you," he answered.
They stood side by side and Hannah wondered if he was right. Not that it mattered now. They didn't have to look for people to help, they had a whole bunch of them waiting just outside the door. This minute, though, they only needed each other. The snow sparkled in the moonlight. Hannah didn't mind that Billy's little finger was petting hers. He always needed to be tethered, and maybe she did, too. Just the littlest bit.
"Josie would come for us if I could call her," he said.
"But there isn't any way to do that. Duncan says we're here for the winter." Hannah reminded him. "Besides, we should let her have some peace."
"You really think that's what she wants?" Billy asked.
"Maybe she deserves it." Hannah glanced at him and even she knew that was lame. Next thing out of her mouth was the truth. "We deserve it. It's been a long run. If it was easy to get out of here, then it would be easy to get in. It isn't and that means Gjergy Isai will give up."
"I think he already has."
Billy faced her, but Hannah couldn't look him in the eye. She could barely breathe with him so close and the night so quiet, but Billy was on a roll and didn't notice.
"I think we got kind of hysterical. Nobody would chase us that long. And I'm just so tired, Hannah. If we can't go home, I want to go somewhere with you. All these people creep me out."
"We have a long way to go before we're strong enough to be on our own."
Billy shook his head. Hannah caught the swing of his hair out of the corner of her eye but then his hands were on her, turning her, squeezing her arms until she paid attention to him. Hannah's eyes dropped and then her chin dipped. She stared at his chest and thought it was strange to feel so small beside him.
"Hannah, listen. It's more than the accident. I can't sleep. I don't sleep."
He gave her a little shake. When he did that, her head snapped up. Not because she was feeling that familiar anger but because she felt so sad that he didn't understand they had fallen in a soft place. She wanted him to rest with her. Here. For a little while.
"You've been worried about me too much and not about yourself," she said. "You have to–”
"No, No. You're not getting it." He let her go. He put his hands to his face and rubbed as if it would wake him from a dream. "It's something they're giving me. Medicine, or something in the food, or – "
"No, they're not." Hannah put her hand on his arm, her fingers hooking into the open work of the old sweater he was wearing.
"We're just on another planet, that's all," she insisted. "We've got to get used to the atmosphere."
"Maybe you're right."
Billy shook his head. He didn't know where he should look. He couldn't look at Hannah without his heart breaking. He was tired of the window because there was nothing to see. He was tired of closed doors, because even if they opened there was only another room beyond the one he was in. If he started to run, he wouldn't know which way to go. Instead of sand, Billy saw snow; instead of being warm, he was freezing; instead of days that give up the ghost in a golden haze over a green/blue ocean, the night never ended and the day never began. Instead of the sweet familiarity of Hermosa Beach where he wandered at any hour, he was surrounded by forests and boxed in by mountains.
"I liked it better the way it was." His sad smile took a lot of effort. "Just us, Hannah, until we get back to Josie and Archer. That's the way it should be."
"I always thought I was the one who didn't like people." She gave his sweater a little tug. Billy frowned.
"What's with you, Hannah? You're like, just. . . I don't know. You're just like all given up." He waited for her to change back to the person he had followed to the ends of the earth. When she didn't, he said: "I don't want to get buried here."
"We can wait out the spring. I like it here, Billy. Please. It's just a few months."
"It's Duncan," Billy blurted out. "He gets up. He prays. He moves around and I'm afraid to close my eyes."
"What do you think he'll do?"
Billy shook his head.
He had no answer. "I just can't sleep with him around."
"Well, that's all I do," she muttered. "We're a pair, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess," he mumbled.
"We're both awake now, so can we get something to eat?"
"I want you to tell Duncan I should move in here with you. I'll sleep on the floor. I could sleep if I was near you," Billy insisted.
Hannah was going to tell him that she didn't think that would be a good idea. The rules of the house were clear: men didn't go into women's room. Then another thought crossed her mind. Billy was too concerned about sleep, too concerned about being separated, too concerned about Duncan.
"Did someone do something to you, Billy?"
"Naw, nothing like, man." His shoulders dropped. She missed the point. "It's like I'm alone all the time and never alone. I don't know how to explain it."
"Then maybe we should just go have some dinner." Hannah did a quarter turn. She stumbled before she could take her first step. Billy caught her.
"And I'm not making stuff up," Billy insisted. "Duncan's an ass. Everyone does whatever he says."
"You do everything I say," Hannah answered and Billy went cold.
"I always thought we worked together, dude."
The blood that flooded Hannah's cheeks was hot, and her shame was instantaneous. What happened to his sister had given him good reason to follow whoever was willing to lead, and she was the one who volunteered. Hannah thought she was noble; now she knew she had been arrogant and cruel.
"I'm sorry." Hannah leaned into him and put her cheek on his chest and her arm around his waist. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it."
Billy closed his eyes, hardly hearing her. She was nestled against him, and he wanted to put his arms tight around her in the worst way. Instead, he held her away.
"Forget it. Let's go downstairs. Just remember they aren't all like Melody and Teresa."
Before Hannah could ask him what he's talking about, Billy swept her into his arms. She threw hers around his neck and put her stitched head against his bruised jaw. When he opened the door, Hannah saw the world was bigger than the attic room again and she was happy.
The Witness Series Bundle Page 189