Looking Through Darkness

by Aimée Thurlo

  “I have some photos of the finished pieces, too, after they were done. John insisted on that, but they don’t do me much good. Would you like them?”

  “Absolutely. They’ll show how you transform a simple concept into a beautiful, finished sculpture.”

  He went to the shelf and brought out a big scrapbook, almost dropping the cumbersome volume before catching himself. “You’ll have to look through this.”

  She took it from him, placed the scrapbook on the table, and began to leaf through the pages. She’d seen this before on the shelf, but had never asked to see it, observing the boundaries of their friendship. The early pages held photos of Melvin in high school. “So you were a football player?”

  He laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised. I was a pretty decent receiver once upon a time.”

  “It’s hard to think of you as a jock. Your hands create such beautiful things.”

  “Catching the pigskin is a thing of beauty, too.”

  She laughed.

  “The photos John took are in the back, I think.”

  She flipped to the end and found the photos of Melvin’s sculptures. “These are great! I’ll design a special display and when you get the chance you can come inspect it. I’ll describe how it’s laid out and you can give me your feedback.”

  “Great.”

  The change of light in the room told Leigh Ann that the sun was now setting. Though she’d previously traveled the roads to and from his home in the dark, she decided that today, she didn’t really want to be out on this stretch of empty desert alone after the sun went down. “I’m going to have to get going.”

  “The sun’s set?”

  “Almost, yeah, but how could you tell?”

  “The shapes of objects begin to fade and I lose any sense of depth of field in what vision I do have. In many ways, this time of day is the toughest for me. The shapes of close objects just slip away and all I can do is accept it.”

  Her heart went out to him, but instinct told her that the last thing he wanted from her was pity. “Melvin, have you ever considered one of those laser-type canes for getting around in really low light? I saw one on TV.”

  “That’s pure fiction. They don’t exist for the public, not yet. But to be perfectly honest, I’d rather have your hand or arm,” he added with a grin.

  “And you’re welcome to them,” she said, “but for when I’m not around? Maybe there’s something besides the white cane…”

  “Someday there might be, but right now, the white cane’s all that’s available. I have one, but since I can discern the presence of most larger objects during the day and navigate around a room, I don’t need a cane. I might use one at night, yes, but normally I’m not out and about at that time,” he said, then added, “The bottom line is that I don’t want to become reliant on an aid.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with doing whatever you can to retain your independence.”

  “Some say that seeing-eye dogs and canes increase independence, and maybe they do that for other people, those with even less vision, but I see it as relying on something else that could be taken from you.”

  She considered this. That stubborn pride defined everything about Melvin. Although life had tried to force him down to his knees, he continued standing, fighting the odds.

  “If you were me, would you find it easy to depend on an aid?” he asked.

  After everything she’d gone through with Kurt, both during their marriage and after his death, she found it hard to completely trust anyone or anything outside herself. “No, I guess not. In that way, you and I are alike.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I better get going,” she said, picking up the box, ready to load the maquettes into her Jeep.

  He walked her to the door.

  “Would you like me to pick you up sometime tomorrow and drive you to the trading post so you can check out the display?”

  “No, that’s not necessary, Leigh Ann, I trust you. But I enjoy it when you drop by, so come over anytime.”

  Leigh Ann drove away slowly to avoid jostling the box. Her visits to Melvin’s were always filled with the unexpected and today had been no exception. She still wasn’t sure if she’d made a mistake by agreeing to let him sculpt her, but saying yes to him had come as naturally as the next beat of her heart.

  — SEVEN —

  Leigh Ann drove down a narrow, wavy asphalt lane between two thick rows of poplars that must have been thirty or more years old. They were sickly looking and in need of pruning.

  The trees lined the road near an abandoned housing development that had been built for employees of a natural gas company long gone from the area. The entire place gave her the creeps. Decades ago, this complex could have been overrun with children, but now there was only emptiness and an eerie silence.

  A pickup pulled onto the road from one of the turnoffs to the development. It turned half toward her, blocking her way, then stopped.

  “Crap, now what?” she muttered, tensing up.

  The driver stepped down out of the pickup and Leigh Ann saw, despite the fading sunset, that he was wearing a ski mask and carrying a baseball bat, or club.

  She slammed on the brakes and put the Jeep in reverse. Looking in the side mirror, she discovered that she was cut off behind, too, by a van that was parked across the asphalt. It must have come from a street behind her while she was watching the pickup.

  The second driver was also wearing a ski mask and carrying a club of some kind, maybe an axe handle.

  This was no carjacking; this was an ambush. She reached for her purse, then remembered that her .38 was still at home. Without a concealed carry permit, she hadn’t wanted it around when the sheriff’s department stopped by to question her. Stupid! She should have kept it in the Jeep.

  Trapped, she tried to figure out what to do next. She could try to run one of them over, but even if she did, she’d never get around their vehicle and through the trees fast enough to get away. Her only chance was to jump out and run before they got any closer.

  Leigh Ann threw open her door and raced across the road, slipping between two trees heavy with low branches, then into the thick undergrowth beyond. Thank goodness she was wearing loafers instead of western boots, slacks, and her Outpost knit shirt.

  Though the brush scratched her arms, she forced her way through until she broke into a clearing to the west. Ahead were four houses in a row, flanked by empty concrete pads where other buildings might have sat years ago.

  Maybe she could find someplace to hide in one of the empty homes. Then, once it was completely dark, she’d made a run for the highway.

  Leigh Ann dialed 911 as she raced toward the closest building. It was clearly unoccupied, judging by the broken windows.

  She glanced back and realized no one had come after her, but she still wasn’t about to slow down. Maybe they’d gone back to their vehicles and planned to chase her down that way. Or maybe they were trading their weapons for something with more range, like a rifle.

  Hearing a voice, she brought the phone to her ear.

  “911, what is the nature of your emergency?” a woman said calmly.

  “My name is Leigh Ann Vance, and two men wearing ski masks and carrying clubs came after me. I had to leave my Jeep and make a run for it. I’m in the old housing area west of the gas road turnoff in Kirtland.”

  Leigh Ann stopped to catch her breath. She looked back, but still couldn’t locate either man. Yet, peering through the trees, she could see all three vehicles still on the road.

  “Where are your assailants now, Leigh Ann?”

  “I don’t know. They might be hiding where I left my Jeep, waiting for me to come back.”

  “Keep moving away from the vehicles, Leigh Ann. Can you see anyone else?”

  “No. Maybe they wanted to steal my Jeep. Hell, they can have it.”

  “Help’s on the way, Leigh Ann. Keep moving and stay on the line. Can you see the main highway?”

&nbs
p; “Yes, it’s about a quarter mile away, to the south.”

  “Head there. There’s going to be traffic and that’ll work in your favor.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re doing fine. Stay calm and keep moving. A patrolman’s heading your way now.”

  “Tell him to hurry,” she managed, breathing hard as she ran.

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Leigh Ann was standing beside a sheriff’s department cruiser, breathing normally again, almost relaxed now as she tried to recall all that had happened the past quarter hour. The deputy, a slightly overweight man in his late forties with a bald patch, was on the radio, directing other patrol units that were searching for the two men who had threatened her.

  Her description of the attackers wasn’t very detailed. “I’m sorry, but the two things I noticed most were their masks and their clubs. All I could think about after that was running away as fast as I could.”

  “Under the circumstances, that was the right thing to do,” the officer said. “We’ve put out a BOLO for their vehicles, but without license plates or a better description…”

  “You’re right. What does ‘BOLO’ stand for, anyway? I hear it on TV a lot.”

  “It’s law enforcement jargon: ‘be on the lookout for,’ ma’am.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Come on. I’ll take you back to your Jeep. I want you to check and see if anything’s missing.”

  A few minutes later they pulled up in front of her Jeep, and in the glow of the vehicle’s dome light, she could see that both doors were open. “This makes no sense, Officer. As far as I know, they never even chased me. So why the trap? Look at my old Jeep. Did they want to steal it, then change their minds once they got a closer look?”

  “From your statement, I’d say you were the target, but after you got away, they decided to see if you had anything of value in the Jeep.”

  “Like my purse,” she said. She hadn’t taken it with her. She’d bolted instantly, knowing her cell phone was in her shirt pocket.

  She stood by the driver’s side of the Jeep and looked inside, her anxiety returning as she accessed her losses. The box with Melvin’s clay figures had been opened but she could see that the figures were still hidden in tissue paper, which hopefully meant that they were intact. The glove box was open, too, and her owner’s manual and insurance card were on the floorboard, along with the tire gauge and a credit card receipt for gas.

  Her purse had been dumped out on the passenger seat, but her wallet, two credit cards, and the photos of Melvin’s sculptures were all still there. The little bit of cash she’d carried, however, was gone. “All this for ten bucks?”

  The deputy shook his head. “That’s doubtful. Based on what I see, I think their intent was to scare you off, then take the opportunity to search your vehicle for something specific.” His laser sharp gaze remained on her.

  “Like what? Drugs? All I’ve got is a few aspirins.”

  “You tell me, ma’am. According to what I read on my MDT, the computer terminal in my cruiser, you were involved in another incident on the Navajo Nation just yesterday. Someone in a big black sedan ran your Jeep off the road. So this is no coincidence, is it? What are these people after, Mrs. Vance?”

  “All I’m sure about is that it wasn’t my Jeep either time. This old thing is held together by duct tape, wishes, and a prayer. Not exactly the ride of a rich woman.”

  Even as she answered, she realized that there was something else she hadn’t taken with her before rushing off. She looked at the ignition where one set of keys had hung, then looked at the scattered contents of her purse for the other set. “Crap! They took my keys!”

  “What were they to?”

  “The Jeep, my house, a friend’s home, my sister’s car key—and the trading post,” she said, her eyes widening. “See the logo on my shirt? I work at The Outpost.”

  “Targeting a business makes a little more sense,” the officer said. “You need to tell the owner to change the locks. You should do the same thing at your home, and warn your friend and sister, too.”

  “None of the keys were labeled, but I’ll tell everyone. Am I free to go?”

  “Do you have an extra set of keys to the Jeep or should I call a tow?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. There was a magnetic key holder inside the wheel well.

  Minutes later, she was on her way. Her hands were shaking even as she gripped the steering wheel. What the heck was happening to her life? Two attacks in two days … Kurt—this had to be connected to him. He’d never been anything but trouble, and now he was having the last laugh from his grave.

  “You mangy old toad,” Leigh Ann muttered under her breath. “I’ll straighten out your mess, and after that I’m going back to my maiden name. I don’t want anything more to do with you. I’m going to bury the memories, just like I buried you.”

  * * *

  Jo arrived at the trading post early as usual the next day, still thinking about yesterday’s brief conversation with Ben. Months ago Ben had told her that she’d get a visit from an area army officer if anything ever happened to him. At times like these her gaze continually searched the parking lot for a government motor pool car.

  Jo walked up the steps leading to the back door, fumbling in her purse for her keys. Leigh Ann had called last night to let her know what had happened and warn her to rekey the locks as soon as possible. Since none of Leigh Ann’s keys had been labeled, Jo figured it wasn’t an emergency. She’d get to it later today, or early tomorrow. After all, unless the person coming in quickly turned off the alarm, the security service and police would respond almost immediately.

  As Jo stepped up, key in hand, she suddenly froze. Hanging from the doorknob was a medicine bag made from the skin of a horned toad—clearly a gift from a skinwalker.

  She placed her hand over the deerskin jish Rudy had made for her. The little bag was fastened to her belt and contained Talking Rock medicine, scrapings from a rock found in a cave with a pronounced echo. That, along with other items in the bundle, protected Jo against Navajo witchery.

  Jo circled the trading post, entering though the front entrance and quickly turning off the alarm. After cleaning her hands using a lotion made from a Game Way plant, she pulled on a pair of work gloves and opened the back door from the inside.

  She removed the toad-skin pouch, then built a small fire in the gravel of the parking area and burned the artifact, being careful not to inhale the fumes. Holding an arrow point in her left hand, she carefully recited a prayer and concluded by throwing tiny bits of turquoise into the air.

  Neither the Modernist police nor most of the trading post employees would really understand this kind of danger—but she did. It would be up to her to keep them safe, and that’s precisely what she intended to do.

  * * *

  Leigh Ann made it to work just in time, apologized to Jo once again for losing her store keys, and made the changes in the display showcasing Melvin’s work. By nine, she was finished. After studying the result for several seconds, she turned to her boss, subtly straightening her long, lavender broomstick skirt, which nearly reached the tops of her western boots. Today, with a Western-style blouse and a tooled leather belt, she was dressing the part of a trading post employee. She even wore a ponytail.

  “What do you think, Jo?” she asked, anxious to show off her work.

  “It’s perfect,” Jo said. “Take a photo of it with your cell phone and send it to Sam. She asked me to collect images of all the displays and events at the store for our Web site.”

  Leigh Ann did as she asked, then took up her station at the cash register. It was a slow morning and time dragged, with the only interruption being the coming and going of the locksmith, who was smooth and efficient during his half-hour visit.

  Regina, across the big room, was lucky. She’d elected to straighten out the dairy cases and could, at least, keep moving.

  She was surprised when the door opened to admit Joh
n, with Melvin right behind, holding his arm. Leigh Ann’s heart quickened. As usual, Melvin turned slowly and smiled directly at her.

  “Hi there,” she said, stepping up to him and taking his hand just as he was about to bump into a wire rack filled with cookie packets. “Let me lead you to your display. Everything’s been carefully staged on a Burntwater Navajo rug woven in sand, gold, and white. It’s very eye-catching. Your maquettes are on the center of the table on top of small wooden boxes of various heights.”

  She guided his hand over them. “Photos of the finished pieces are placed next to each,” she added.

  His touch was so light that nothing was displaced. As she watched him, her thoughts wandered, imagining his fingers touching her that gently, and her skin prickled. She stiffened. This was neither the time nor place to revisit any fantasy.

  Leigh Ann mentally pulled herself together, adjusting her blouse, adding silent emphasis to her resolve. She saw a knowing smile on Jo’s face and realized she’d given herself away.

  “This was well thought out. Thanks for the care you took,” Melvin said, his voice softening just a little, but not too much.

  Remembering what John had said about Melvin’s cash-flow problem, she said, “This is going to give business a boost, for you and for us.”

  “No rush. I have a special project in hand now and since it’s very different from what I usually do, I’d like a little bit of time to settle into it.”

  “Did I hear right?” Jo asked. “You’re doing a new kind of sculpture?”

  Melvin nodded. “I needed the challenge.”

  “So what’s your new project?” Jo asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it yet. I need time to get a better feel for what it is I’m trying to create and what I want the sculpture to say.”

  “Fair enough, but you’ll bring it here first?”

  He nodded. “You’re the only retailer I deal with these days.”

  “I know it’s halfway to lunch now, Melvin, but have you had breakfast yet?” Leigh Ann asked.

  “If you call a Coke and Hershey bar breakfast. We nearly ran out of gas and had to find a station in a hurry,” he said, and laughed.