The Bone Man

by Vicki Stiefel

  I thought Chetro Ketl was the great house with the raised plaza and large kiva, but I wasn’t sure. I did remember it had a huge, straight back wall hundreds of feet long.

  I peered up, but could see nothing. The windows would be too high up for me, anyway. There was something I was forgetting.

  I closed my eyes, tried to see with my mind. I pictured the great kiva and its stonework and the small square windows and . . .

  Staircases. Short ones. They led to the main floor of the great kiva.

  I rested my hand on the wall and walked. I heard no noises from inside. They’d gone silent. Had they heard me? I wet my lips. I was toast if they’d heard me.

  But that couldn’t be it. I’d been quiet, and they’d been busy.

  I stopped walking for a minute and listened. It seemed like voices, low, mumbling. Angry, maybe?

  I began walking again, almost trotting, feeling the wall with my hands, the ground with my feet. My knee throbbed. I walked faster.

  The stone was rough beneath my fingers. Would I ever find that damned door?

  And then I touched space. I stumbled forward, almost fell on my face so a shower of pebbles tumbled downward.

  “Did you hear something?” said the one voice.

  “Yup,” said the second. “You’re a real jerk. Some animal makes a noise, and you get spookier than Casper the Friendly Ghost. Get over it, bubba.”

  “Nope,” came the first voice. “I’m gonna check.”

  I flattened my back against the kiva. If I zapped him, would everyone hear the noise? No time to figure that one out.

  Footsteps. It sounded like they were on the kiva steps.

  And then he was in front of me, blocking the moon. I couldn’t see a gun. I was sure he had one, but still . . .

  I gasped, he turned, and I pressed the Taser button.

  It failed to go off, or I missed or something.

  He lunged at me, and I sidestepped. I saw something bright and shiny in the moonlight. A gun. I tried to twist out of his reach.

  He grabbed me with one hand, squeezed hard, so I yipped in pain. I tried to kick him, failed, and got slammed in the face. I tumbled backward, but he held on and laughed.

  “Fun, eh?” I said. “C’mere, fella. You don’t know what you’re missing.” I used my sexiest voice, and he chuckled.

  “You wanna see it?”

  “Of course,” I said. “You’ve got me good.”

  He made a slurping sound and pulled me close. “I do, don’t I?”

  “Oh, boy, do you ever, sweetie.” I hauled off and whammed him in the face with the rock.

  He crumpled right into me, and I tumbled, too. We rolled over and over down the kiva steps and poured out onto the kiva floor.

  I rolled away into deep velvet shadows. The dark was my friend now.

  “Dick?” called a second voice. “You playing one a yer lame-ass jokes?”

  Dick sure as hell wasn’t joking. I got on all fours, clutched the rock, except I had to put it down to check on the Taser.

  A beam of light sliced the night. Over to my right, across the great kiva, another doorway, with fire flickering in its center, led to another room in the great house. That’s where they were.

  Now all I had to do was get to that light across the kiva while the other guy kept calling for Dick.

  I crawled. I was fast, but it was still crawling. And now they were alerted. Some alien was among them—me. Why hadn’t that damned Taser worked? The thing was stupid and useless.

  Pebbles bit into my already bruised knees. I paused, caught my breath. All I heard was silence and some wet, heavy breathing.

  I glanced at the stars once for courage. Oh, my, they were magic.

  I got my feet beneath me and duck-waddled on. When would they hear me? Know I was there? Cripes, where the hell were Hank and Aric?

  My breath sounded loud in my ears. I tried to calm down. I was getting closer to the light. I had to get there without them noticing me. My thighs burned as I waddled my way forward around the edge of the kiva.

  “You look pretty funny, lady. Hey, what’d you do to ol’ Dick?”

  I was afraid to look, but, yes, the silhouette of a man stood maybe six feet from where I was crouched. Moonlight splashed on the barrel of the gun he pointed at my face. My breathing became shallow. I grew dizzy and put my hand out to steady myself.

  “Don’t move, lady!”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  I was blinded by the sudden flashlight sprayed on my face.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  He spit. “The dead live here, missy,” he said. “Have some respect.”

  Where had I heard that? Wait a minute. Something . . . I used my hand for balance and stood. “Who the hell are you, and what do you want?”

  “You’re a pisser, all right,” he said. “I knew you would be. I’ve got a good memory. Do you?”

  Did I? The dead live here. . . . Ahhh. The National Geographic people a lifetime ago at The Grief Shop. I’d been the one to say those words. Now, how to play it. “No, my memory’s not so hot.”

  “We’ve been looking for you, lady.”

  “Well, here I am, big boy.” Did I really say that?

  He ran the flashlight beam up and down my body. “Just like I remembered. Nice.”

  “Well, thanks, mister.”

  “Ohhhh, she’s frisky.”

  I stepped forward.

  “Hold it!”

  I stopped. “You know it’s freezing out here. Isn’t there somewhere warm where we can go and talk?”

  A rustling in the dark. Maybe the guy I’d conked on the head. I didn’t have a lot of time.

  “Go and talk,” said my captor. “Three of my pals are dead ’cause of you. You’ve hurt our business. Bad.” The snick of a gun. “Come with me.” He waved his gun, and I was forced to lead the way.

  He beamed the flash so I could find my footing. Nice guy. The wind rose, and a howling in the distance gave me shivers. I walked beneath a squared arch into a dark passage. Someone breathing, labored, forced.

  “Who’s in here with us?” I said.

  “Your boyfriends.”

  I looked around, frantic. But I could see nothing on either side. “Where are they?”

  “Not your business.”

  He moved closer, and I smelled his glee. He took hold of my arm and dragged me forward, through the arch and across a smaller kiva. I stumbled once on a rock, almost went down. He kept me vertical.

  Across the kiva and inside another arched tunnel. Here, there was a whirring sound and I smelled gas. He flung the beam around, as if to show me his hidey hole. Two inflated air mattresses lay on the floor, with a crumple of blankets atop them. To my left were two large, flat boxes. I walked toward them. One box contained hundreds of potsherds, all jumbled together. Another box was sealed and addressed to . . .

  He twisted me around, pulled my hips to his and ground his pelvis into mine. His erection nauseated me. I turned away.

  “Look at me, bitch.”

  I did. His gun hovered near my face.

  I gasped for breath and finally glimpsed his face. I was right. The curly-haired Geographic guy filled with arrogance and pride.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “That feels great. Too long, baby, out here. One sec, and we’ll be good to go. Yes, we will.”

  With the gun still pointing at my face, he reached into his pocket and produced a plastic pull tie, the kind I’d seen used by cops in place of handcuffs. They were almost impossible to remove. If he got that thing on me . . .

  My mouth dried. He’d rape me and kill me without a moment’s regret. I stepped back, tried to focus on a plan, came up empty.

  “You don’t go anywhere.” Both hands reached for me.

  I stepped backward, stumbled on the rocks, landed on my back in the dirt. I lifted my hand. Blood seeped where one of the ancient potsherds had cut me right across my palm. “Shit on you!” I hollered.

  “Oh, honey bitch, that’s no
t what I’m gonna do.”

  He propped up the flashlight so it splayed across the floor onto me. I wasn’t sure I could even move. I sensed his grin, although I couldn’t see it. Everything outside the sea of flashlight was coal black.

  Okay. On my back. Focus. I moaned. It sounded fake to me, but what the hell.

  “That’s it, honey bitch. Get ready and wet for ol’ Paulie.”

  Ready and wet? Cripes. I moaned again, since it obviously entertained him. At the same time, I slid my hand slowly downward.

  He pulled out his penis, shined the light on it. I felt his grin broaden. “Look what I’ve got for you.”

  Oh, Christmas. He was certainly primed for action. “Wow,” I said, hoping I sounded positive. “That’s really something.” Maybe I could bite it off. Yeah, but I doubted he’d let me get that close. My stomach heaved at the prospect of rape.

  “Sure is, honey bitch.”

  Get over it, Tal. Do something. Anything. I tried to think of something, but all I could do was pant in fear.

  He rubbed himself, grinned. “You are a pretty pussy. Even all beat up.”

  Oh, God. I slipped my hand into my jacket pocket, danced my fingers around in search of the Taser. Cripes, it was in the other pocket.

  “You’re awful quiet, honey bitch.”

  “I don’t mean to be,” I said in a faux sexy voice.

  He kneeled in front of me, but not near enough so I could grab him. The gun in his left hand never wavered. It was like a snake, one I couldn’t take my gaze from.

  I’d arrived in this nightmare place and time, and no one could come to my aid. No one was near. No one to hear my cries. My rape. My end.

  I scooted a couple steps backward.

  “You got nowhere to run, honey bitch.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I said.

  He tittered. “Stupid. Money. You’re dumber than you look. But I’ve got to admit this part’s fun.”

  “Money. All these people dead for money.”

  “Lots of it, honey bitch.”

  “My name is Tally.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He turned and cranked up the heater.

  I couldn’t believe this jerk was the man who’d killed Delphine and Didi and the governor and Natalie and . . .

  I readied my foot. I’d push it into his crotch the minute he came near. Who was panting? Oh, it was me. Loud and shallow in my ear, like some fearful stranger.

  He slipped his penis back into his pants and moved forward. “Time to tie your little pretty self up.”

  His right hand shot out, and he yanked me hard, so I fell forward onto my left side. Something cracked, and tears came as I was blinded by the pain. I growled, refusing to give him any satisfaction.

  “Oh, did I hurt the little girl? I liked it.” He laughed harder.

  I swooped my hand into my right pocket. This was my last chance. Third time and all. I pulled out the Taser, pointed it at him and zapped!

  Nothing happened. Nothing.

  “Bitch!”

  I scooted across the dirt floor, flopped onto an air mattress.

  He grabbed my feet, unsnapped my jeans button, and tried to pull down my pants. “You’ll be sorry.”

  The jeans were tight. He was having trouble. He pulled, and I squirmed, anything to get away from him. My jeans went down over my bum.

  He hit my ass, hard.

  I gasped.

  I felt him above me, moving, about to . . .

  I raised the Taser one more time, didn’t know what else to do, twisted around and . . . Hell. I hadn’t pulled back the safety. I pumped my legs, kicking and twisting as I slid back the plastic on the top of the Taser, a beam of light and a glow around a red-marked button.

  “What the fuck!” he shouted.

  Clawed hands reaching for me! And I pressed the button, hard, harder. Pressitpressitpressit.

  I panted, harsh, guttural sounds of fear. Pressingpressing.

  The Taser’s wires flew out and zapped him.

  I sucked in breaths.

  Ohgodohgodohgod.

  Calm, I told myself. Calm. Ohm. Ohm. Calm.

  I shook my head twice. Focus, dammit. I looked, saw him writhing and barking like a dog in pain in the light from the Taser’s beam.

  Clutching the Taser, I scrambled to my knees. He still writhed on the floor of the tunnel, and I was afraid to touch him, but I had to. I wiped one hand, then the other, on my shirt to get rid of the greasy feel. I wanted to pull up my pants, but I didn’t have time. How long would he be in pain? I had no idea.

  I reached for his gun, wrapped my hand around the stock, and pulled it toward me. Took the flashlight. Oh, God, I wished he’d stop moaning. Searched, found the black pull ties. Wrapped one around his hands, faster. He kicked out, and I lurched back, but I’d gotten his hands tied, had the gun.

  Panting, couldn’t stop.

  Could I Taser him again? I didn’t know. And if I did, would it kill him?

  He was still rolling around, moaning.

  I felt this incredible sense of satisfaction and instantly felt guilty. I had to calm down. I was dizzy, hyperventilating.

  Okay. Calm. No matter what. Calm.

  I looked at my hand. I held several ties, the flashlight. His gun. I looked sharply to my right. There it was. Okay.

  I tugged my pants up and fastened them.

  Maybe I should hit him on the head, knock him out.

  Om. Calm. His hands were bound. He couldn’t get to me. Maybe I could tie his ankles. But the ties weren’t long enough.

  I was sweating and shaking. A fricking mess.

  A sound, just outside the entrance to the tunnel. I pressed my back against the wall, flicked off the light. Still a light! Shit! Shit! I slid the Taser door closed, so the other guy wouldn’t see the light from the Taser.

  Pitch black. Safe.

  “Paulie?” It was the voice of my first attacker.

  Dread crept over me. I was in some monster nightmare that would never end. I knew what I had to do, hated it, but I made myself pick up a rock, and I brought it down on Paulie’s head. It make a sickening thud. I didn’t think he’d awaken anytime soon.

  “Hey, Paulie, you there?”

  Stumbling and shuffling sounds. Then a flashlight blazed on just outside the end of the arched tunnel.

  What to do? I could Taser him. Maybe. But I wasn’t sure it would work a second time. No, I had to draw the guy away from Hank and Aric. Yes, that made sense. How?

  One, two, buckle my shoe.

  “Here I am!” I shouted.

  The light went off, and everything got quiet. Again, I heard labored breathing, a moan. Okay, if I stayed there, I might be able to take him out. That was probably the better thing to do.

  A bullet ricocheted off the side of the tunnel.

  I ran. Over my shoulder, I hollered, “Catch me if you can, sucka!”

  Between my pants for breath, I heard him following.

  “Gonna get you, bitch!”

  Yup, he was after me.

  Then I tumbled over a rock and fell into emptiness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Whoomp. I blinked, adjusted to the moonlight, wiped the dust from my face. Just a small fall, into what looked like another circular room, this one lower than the others.

  Laughter, coming from behind me.

  I pushed myself to my feet, reached into my pocked.

  The Taser was gone!

  I scrambled on all fours, feeling the crusty earth, rocks, dried grasses, droplets of rain. Nothing. Nothing. NOTHING!

  Now what? Oh, cripes.

  I would not let this son of a bitch do me in. No way.

  I crouched low, listened. Okay, he didn’t know exactly where I was.

  Bullets. A hail of them. I ducked.

  But, no, he didn’t have my location. He was heading off in another direction. I could go back, try to free Hank and Aric.

  I should wait, listen. Just for a minute.

  I sat, huddled, arms a
round my knees. I hugged myself, tried to find that quiet place I knew existed that was safe and serene. Just for a minute. My head felt light, woozy.

  I rubbed my temples. Was I going crazy?

  Think practical. Right. I tried to picture the kiva, the maps. Cripes. All I could see was the stupid sign saying DON’T CLIMB PREHISTORIC STAIRWAYS—VERY DANGEROUS.

  They hadn’t looked that dangerous in the picture I’d seen. I’d bet the sign was for their protection, not the climber’s.

  I tilted my head back. Oh, my—the blanket of stars. They were there as always. Beautiful. Wonderful. A freshening breeze caressed my cheek, oddly warmer than the night.

  The stairs. A whisper.

  The . . . stairs.

  I was hearing that, as if in a dream.

  I grew calm, quiet, tried to listen to words that felt inside me, yet . . . whispers on the wind. Maybe I was living my end, where, they say, clarity drowned one in truth. I strained to hear. The desert sounds, the rustling and scratching and small yips and chirps all receded.

  The air grew even clearer. Softer, warmer, yet charged with electricity. Chaco glowed.

  My head swirled, and there, in front of me—Chaco as it once had been.

  She was magnificent, with her people busy building, cooking, dancing, worshiping. The great houses wore roofs, and some of her people wore much finery. And over there, macaws—three of them—had leashes of leather on their feet. They sat on perches and watched, their heads swiveling back and forth.

  I was dreaming . . . I was crazy . . . what . . .

  To my right, the canyon walls glittered red and yellow and ochre in the blinding sun. A stream, clear and melodic, wove beside the canyon wall. Where some small trees grew, a man, a warrior, walked to a woman, young and fair who had a twisted foot and hair down to her thighs.

  He kneeled before her. She nodded, then rested her hands on his shoulders. She kneeled, too, and they kissed and made love by the stream.

  What was going on? I rubbed the cut made by the potsherd that had sliced my palm. Except my palm felt smooth. No cut. I held up my left hand. Nothing. My other palm was uninjured, too.

  I held up both hands, and the sun felt warm on the backs, my fingers, all warm. This couldn’t be real, yet . . .