A Passing Curse (2011) (46 page)

“It’s actually a whistle. The shamans used it to summon certain….” he paused and touched his lips as if afraid he might speak the truth. “I’d like it back. It could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“You’d like it back? How did a whistle Professor Hamsun found in 1963 make it into the hands of a 200 year old Indian girl?”

His eyes went dreamy. “I’d like you to stay with us, truly. It can be a highly paid sabbatical for you, a grant to pursue your studies. You can rest, possibly I can convince you to honor our agreement, and you won’t have to teach those dreadful children. I’ll give you the million dollars as grant money.”

“You were never giving me a million dollars,” she said and backed away from him. When she felt the door against her back, she said it, “You were there. In Romania. You were waiting in the coffin.”

“What?” Ajax was up now and moving toward her. “Please don’t say that.”

“You were under the castle.” She turned her body, put her weight on her back foot, ready to kick his legs out from under him. “You were waiting for me.”

Ajax was about to answer when a spray of glass, bright as diamonds, shredded the air to the side of them, a crystal scythe rushing past. She ducked in slow motion. Ajax came for her in heavy fog. His mouth moved but he made no noise. She started for the door. She was getting the hell out.

Reese looked though the scope. He adjusted the focus. The cross-hairs narrowed. The bronze windows were mirror finished, but he was able to see the long skull’s shadow, not clearly, but the way the head was cocked, that angle of aloofness, told him he was looking at the back of Ajax’s elegant head. The cross-hairs intersected the center of the cranial vault. He touched the trigger and hoped that Rupert had sighted properly.

The recoil rocked the rifle against the mounting springs. The blast flared the bedroom white and knocked him back a foot. He felt blood down his nose from the concussion. The spent shell casing ejected with such force that it stuck into the wall, like a small spear, still smoking.

He could barely see through the cordite haze. The castle looked no different. Had he missed?

He grabbed the mounting post and pulled himself up. He looked through the scope. A three-inch hole had been punched through Ajax’s window. The rifle had already loaded the round marked with three red rings, the fire. He felt the trigger. Just like Rupert Amos had said, he’d feed Ajax the fire.

The second explosion knocked her flat. Then flames and the back of her hair crackling, curling up. She smelled burning rope and tried to move but it was like running in deep sand. An oval rug erupted, the burning wool smelling like hair. She tripped and rolled. The smoke was heavy. She held her breath. There was no light. She was going under

She was dying and strangely relieved. She felt herself being drawn off the rug and onto the smooth wood floor, almost cool. She saw a cold light coming closer, a glimpse of the sun. She heard rain falling, soaking her, flushing the fire.

30

When Reese heard her outside fumbling with the lock, he got off the bed, and opened the door. He’d been waiting in her room for over an hour drinking beer. He backed away from the door, feeling unsteady. She pulled her keys from the lock. The door swung open. She was a sight.

Her face was drawn and ashen, her eyes stark-white, her hair frizzled, the ends burned, her clothes disheveled and sooty. She smelled like a house fire. He went to embrace her but she pushed him away and walked around him. “What happened?” he asked, feeling sick.

“You dumb bastard,” she said in a hard voice, too tired, he guessed, to muster much anger. It was the first time he’d seen her look vulnerable. He felt an odd wave of warmth for her.

“You weren’t supposed to be there,” he said lamely. There was no sense denying it.

“I wasn’t supposed to be there?” She grabbed a towel and wiped her face. She wet another towel in the sink, turned on the vanity lights, and scrubbed around her eyes. She fumbled with the zipper of her pants, and pulled them off. He focused on her. Legs long and tan, her panties incredibly white. He felt drawn to her and uncomfortably hot. She caught him staring and said, “I wasn’t supposed to be there? I was sitting across the desk from him.”

He tried to hug her but she pushed him away. The heat he’d felt earlier suddenly disappeared.

“You blew the room up. Ajax got me outside, somehow. Through fire, smoke, it was incredible. He saved my life.” She wiggled out of her shirt. She sat on the bed in panties and bra and ran her fingers through her hair. “The sprinkler system put out the fire before the fire trucks arrived. Ajax told the fire chief that a water heater blew. He took Ajax’s word and left. I didn’t even stay to clean up. I’ve been driving around for an hour.” She wiped her face on the clean towel he brought her and stared at him. “An hour trying to figure things out.”

“Ajax is alive?”

“Disappointed?”

He told her about Pine Creek. He told her about Ajax spreading the virus. The way he planned to distribute the virus. “We’re running out of time,” he said.

Her face was a mix of disbelief and curiosity. “How do you know Ajax called Unicorn Medical impersonating you? How do you know Ajax sent out bad blood? It could have been a maniac nurse. They’re always killing their patients.” She hit the headboard with the heel of her hand and turned on him. “You almost killed me.”

“I know, I’m - ”

“You almost killed me, Reese. There’s not a goddamned thing you can say.”

“I’m sorry.” He watched her calm herself. Her breathing slowed. He told her about Rupert Amos. He told her what Ajax had done to his landlord.

“You went off half-cocked,” she said. “Ajax is on his last leg, a basket case, has AIDs for all I know, and you claim he’s planning world destruction and pinning people to walls. Skinning them inside out?”

“Fit enough to save you.”

She shook her head. “What makes you think it wasn’t Rawlings, like the Chief said? What makes you think it wasn’t one of a hundred other different possibilities?”

“Rupert was alive after I shot Rawlings.”

“It could be Rawlings had a partner. It could be anybody. First you say Ajax is giving orders to a serial killer, then you have him personally killing all these people. You could be right, but you could be wrong. You have no proof. No right to launch rockets at Ajax.”

“It was a twenty millimeter anti-tank shell, armor piercing, followed by an incendiary round.”

“I see. I apologize. It was not a rocket. Sorry.” She opened the refrigerator, grabbed a miniature bottle of Jack Daniels, drained it. “I’m ready to tell the cops about you,” she said. “I mean it. If the Chief won’t arrest you, I’ll call the state cops.”

“The Chief gave me permission.”

“Permission? The Chief okayed you shooting at Ajax with a cannon? That’s insane. I thought the Chief was Ajax’s partner.”

“He more or less gave me permission,” Reese said. “He’s having an attack of conscience.”

“You more or less nearly killed me,” she said. “Your story makes no sense.”

“Try this,” he said. “Ajax knows I shot at him, so, if he’s innocent, why isn’t he screaming to the FBI? Why’s he telling the fire chief that the water heater blew up?”

“I have no idea. He hasn’t exactly been himself. Could be from all the fireworks headed his way. Could be he’s feeling the pressure from one highly motivated or simply delusional ex-cop.”

“You need a doctor.” He pointed to her arm. When she touched the old bruise, he said, “The other arm.”

She lightly touched the fresh looking bruise. “Ajax grabbed me when he pulled me out of the fire,” she explained. “When he saved my life. That’s all it is. What else could it be?”

“Hematoma, a skin pop.”

“What?”

“Junkies get them all the time.” He grabbed her arm. He rubbed his finger over a scab of blood in the center of black and blue. “Has anyone stuck a needle in you?”

“Fuck-off.” She twisted away from him. She opened and drained another bottle of whiskey.

“Do you remember every minute you’ve been with Ajax? No blackouts? No fainting?”

“Fainting?” She got off the bed and pointed her finger at his face. “You think Ajax is taking my blood? Drugging me. Turning me into a zombie? Don’t you? It’s a bruise, Reese. I’m fine. You need the doctor. A head doctor. I’m serious.”

He stepped inside her wagging finger and took her by the shoulders. “I’m not worried as much abut Ajax taking your blood as I am about him turning you into a zombie.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” She twisted out of his grasp. “A zombie? What a beautiful thought. He’s readying me for a career in serial killing? Is that it? I’m his next Homer?”

He stared at her. She was right. Ajax had no intention of killing her. “He’s saving you. He wants you. He has plans for your future. With him would be my guess.”

“What?”

“He loves you.”

“I don’t believe this shit.” She shook her head slowly, as if disgusted with him, and opened another bottle, gin this time, and drained it. She pointed to the shotgun leaning on the chair holding the brown paper bag. “Now what?”

“Give me a minute,” he said. He picked up the bag and walked into the bathroom. When he came out, he twirled to let her have a good look. “Like it?”

She laughed wearily. “Are you taking the vows?”

He tightened the cord of the priest’s robe and pulled the hood over his head. “It’s me.”

“You never cease to amaze me,” she said, but managed a smile. “You need therapy, Reese. I’m serious. A few hundred volts of therapy.”

“It’s an old hunting trick,” he said. “To catch a varmint you wait by his hole. You wait by the hole he crawled into. He’ll eventually come out. He’ll show himself.”

“Ramon’s room?”

“There’s an aqueduct that runs from Ajax’s house to the mission, to the catacombs directly beneath the room. It’s how Ajax comes back and forth. He’s been doing it for ages.”

She shook her head as if totally defeated by his logic. He’d been hoping for her encouragement, but he was lucky she was still talking to him. “I told the Chief I’d be in the room dressed as a priest, waiting for Ajax.”

“I’m sure that impressed him.”

“Telling the Chief is just like telling Ajax. No difference.”

“Ajax saved my life, today. I’m fairly sure he’s saved my life before,” she said as if she didn’t half believe it herself. “In Romania. Things like that can leave you conflicted.”

31

Reese lit another candle. He didn’t want Ramon’s room too bright, just enough to look comfortable. He wanted to roll out the welcome mat. The priests had washed the floor and walls. There was no blood smell, no death smell, just the lemony, bleachy odor of industrial detergent. The priests were good at cleaning up messes.

He walked outside. He breathed in the cold air and pulled the hood over his head. The stars twisted above him, haunting the black skies. To the left, topping the hill, the castle gave off a yellow glow, a skull lit by a guttering candle.

He bet the son of a bitch was staying away from the windows.

If Rusty had been hurt badly or killed, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. She’d been right about one thing - he’d lost his mind, momentarily. And he wondered if he’d been losing his mind for years and compensating, throwing people off the scent, with alcohol and good acting.

He moved around the room. He didn’t have time for thinking. Who was he? And what the hell was he doing here? He didn’t have time for introspection. He’d tried to kill Ajax once today and bungled it, and Ajax would be hot for revenge. Ajax would come for him. Ajax was a score settler.

He stood at the rail briefly and walked back inside. Someone had fixed the latch, but he did not lock the door.

He picked up a pamphlet titled “The Mission through the Ages” and read how the priests had saved the Indians from the soldiers and how the wonderful priests had taught the less-than-wonderful Indians many useful trades, such as tile and tallow making, and brought them under the umbrella of God.

He clicked on his flashlight, a Mag-lite the size of a small log. He checked both desk drawers. Empty. The closet, an armoire, the same. Under the plank bed he checked for anything stuck up under the frame. Nothing. He felt under the desk. Nothing.

He was about to sit down again when something moved along the far wall. He swept the wall with the light, saw nothing. He turned of the light. Points of light popped in his eyes as he stared at the wall.

He looked under the desk and the bed again. Nothing. He picked up the shotgun from the corner. He checked that it was cocked and on safe and leaned it next to his pry bar, the Mustang’s lug wrench, that he’d brought in case he got bored and wanted to search the walls for loose stones.

He walked outside again and came back in. He wanted a cigarette. Waiting in Ramon’s room now seemed ridiculous. He’d stay until midnight and spend the rest of the night listening to Rusty tell him how stupid he was. At least she’d forgiven him for nearly killing her. Maybe not forgiven him, but she was still talking to him.

He idly played the Mag-lite over the far wall and noticed a sandstone block in the corner had a larger than usual space between the next block.

He used the chisel-edge of the lug wrench, wedging it in the crack, but the block wouldn’t move. He brought the candle from the desk. A draft sucked the flame inside the crack. He chipped at the mortar on the opposite side and found that it was falling away inside the block. Soon he had one block loose. The mortar felt gummy and a little wet. A repair from the last visit?

According to Lavour, the aqueduct from the springs beneath Ajax’s castle had once emptied into a cistern located in the warren of basements beneath Ramon’s room. Lavour had discounted any secret doors, but said it was possible. Anything was possible in an old mission with walls six feet thick in some places.

He’d already thought about getting a search warrant, but the priests and the Chief would have balked at any sort of demolition, balked at anything to uncover the truth.

As he worked, he was not only helped by the candlelight but also by the moonlight from the high window, lighting the stone pale blue.