Bad Things (25 page)

 

After a month of work, Don Quixote still didn't look much like a knight errant, but his noble steed had taken on a distinctly horsey cast. Rick stood back and surveyed his work with satisfaction. The legs and tail were completed, and if not perfect, they at least had the long-limbed wraithiness that he so admired.

Scratching his chin thoughtfully, Rick studied the belly of the beast. He wasn't sure how to handle the penis, and as a result, he'd spent the morning perusing equine genitalia in his Metropolitan Museum of Art book. Eventually he decided that his horse must indeed have one, but wasn't sure of the logistics—macho or subtle was the problem now. After a final moment's thought, he chose subtle; nothing flashy, a simple Daumieresque pointy suggestion of stallionhood.

He used his discarded shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then pulled the mask back down and went to work on the underside of the horse. After a few moments, he was snickering to himself, feeling juvenile, and wishing Dakota were here to crack a few of his off-color Mr. Ed jokes.

He'd heard from Dakota regularly. O'Keefe had made a point to phone him—as well as Audrey—every Sunday to get the lowdown on their latest date. Each week he also asked if he'd told Audrey that he could actually see the “jack-offs,” as he called them. Rick would say no, he hadn't, and don't you tell her, either. Since the night he'd told her the tall one about the cousin in Scotland, he'd religiously sidestepped the topic every time it started to come up, and Audrey was kind enough to let him. He would have liked to know if she really had done any research, but it was easier to avoid the whole thing.

Still and all, things were going very well. Over the last few weeks he and his family had settled into a pleasant routine. Though Rick still avoided going out at night as much as he could, he found that his rather Pavlovian response to the phrase “I'm Thomas” helped him see the greenjacks as something more closely related to annoyance than crippling fear. It concerned him far more that he saw them at all, though the cat's reaction had made him suspect that he wasn't completely mad. That knowledge diminished his fears more than anything else, and perhaps that was why he'd originally told Audrey as much as he had.

As for Shelly, she spent most of her time at her job in the mall and the rest of it with new friends, other high school kids, none of whom, as far as Rick could tell, wanted to be exotic dancers or rock stars.

There'd been no serious trouble between father and daughter since she'd been working, and Rick had quickly rewarded her, and himself, with cable and paid half the fees to have her own phone line installed. So far, she'd asked for nothing else and had even talked about saving for a car. Impressed, Rick had started to secretly scan the used-car ads with the intention of giving her the surprise of her life for her seventeenth birthday at the end of the month.

Cody, meanwhile, had turned down Rick's offer of metal sculpting lessons in favor of studying under Hector Zapata's green thumb. Rick wanted to feel hurt, but gardening was so much safer than what he proposed that, in truth, he was more than a little relieved that Cody was occupied with vegetables, flowers, slugs, and snails, not to mention the coveted twice-weekly rides with Hector on the sit-down mower. Bob the Invisible One was still his best friend, but Rick figured that once school started and Cody made some real flesh-and-blood friends, old Bob would be history.

Cody also adored Carmen, and she was as good with him as she had been with Rick. Her protective streak still ran deep, which made life much easier for him.

She and Rick got along fine now that she had ceased mentioning the need for the two of them to talk. As much as he loved her, he couldn't help being uneasy around her. He felt like she knew something he didn't, and suspected that it had to do with the fleeting visions of her in the blue nightgown, smelling of cold, still water, that had haunted him since his arrival. He couldn't shake it, but he couldn't place it either—not that he wanted to. He only wanted it to go away, and had come to suspect that the vision had something to do with whatever it was she'd wanted to talk to him about since his return. The past, he told himself frequently, was the past.

That old blast from the past, Aunt Jade, had behaved herself amazingly well since that one awful night. He'd barely seen her, and no more poodles had made unwanted appearances. He'd never gotten her to admit that she'd told Cody about the passages, but he was certain she had: She wouldn't look him in the eye when she denied it.

Rick had briefly feared that all was lost with Audrey after Jade's obscene demonstration and his angry reaction, but that wasn't the case, and their relationship continued, tentative and slow, but very enjoyable. Delicious, in fact.

He was falling in love, he knew that, and he didn't try to fight it. If they were to continue, he supposed he would eventually have to tell her the truth about the greenjacks. He couldn't lie to her forever. In the back of his mind, he had a partial plan that had something to do with waiting until Halloween and making sure she saw Big Jack—assuming, of course, the creature actually existed. So many of Rick's memories were elusive or nonsensical that he sometimes wondered if they were all false versions of what had really happened.

And that possibility was too upsetting to dwell on. He'd decided the only healthy thing to do was to stop thinking about the past and concentrate on today: the challenges of home ownership, career, and family.

The only real problems he had were with the house and his own indulgences. He intended to begin renovations, but there was no time between his column and his sculpting. When he began the Quixote project, it was supposed to be something he did once or twice a week, a hobby, nothing more. But he'd become obsessed with it to the point that he'd apologized to Carmen for his laziness. Carmen, bless her soul, had responded that he actually
was
working on the house, because the sculpture would be a decoration for the garden. Thin as it was, he appreciated the excuse and used it whenever he felt guilty.

As he welded another seam together, he reminded himself that there were some things that needed to be done soon, excuse or no excuse. Although he'd driven two nails into the hidden passage in Cody's room, he hadn't sealed any of the others yet because he was still putting fresh bait inside them: It took a long time to do in twenty years' worth of rodents.

Even out here, there were still rodents. Frequently he heard their scrabbling around the ancient Rambler in the corner. He'd replenished the bait several times, but they kept coming.

“Ricky?” Carmen stuck her head in the open doorway. “You want some lunch?”

He turned off the torch and removed his heavy gloves and welding mask, which took the temperature in the workroom down about a million degrees. “Lunch?” His damp hair clung to his forehead, and he pushed it back with his fingers.

“I'm making chili dogs.” She smiled. “Cody says they're your favorite.”

“He does, huh? You never made hot dogs for me!”

“They had pork guts and hooves in them back then. I didn't want to poison you. I got chicken dogs.”

“Beaks and claws!”

“Ricky!' She feigned anger.

“Sorry. Sure, I'd love one. Do I have time for a shower?”

“If you hurry!” With that, Carmen turned and walked quickly away.

A few moments later, Rick ascended the stairs, humming contentedly to himself until he saw that the door to his room was ajar. He knew he'd latched it—he always did.

Entering, he saw with relief that everything appeared normal and decided that Carmen must have come in to take his laundry basket and had forgotten to close the door.

“Quint?”

No answer. Shit.

By now he knew to check under the headboard for the cat. Sure enough, he was there, ears and whiskers flat back, unwilling to come out. The feline had uncharacteristically sulked virtually all the days they'd been here, acting frightened and nervous, and exhibiting none of his usual cocksure arrogance. Now he growled in a high-pitched tone that spoke of fear, not aggression.

“Quint?” he called, feeling on the nightstand for his flashlight. “Quint?” His hands closed on it and he brought it down, flicking it on and shining the beam on the cat.

The animal was soaking wet.

“What'd you do, cat?” he asked, chuckling.

The cat growled.

“I'll bet you saw a mouse and ran so fast, you tipped over your water bowl. Is that it, fur-ball?”

The cat was not amused.

Poor idiotic cat.
Smiling to himself, he left Quint where he was, walked into the dressing room, and stripped, dropping his dirty clothes on the floor. He'd have to remember to put them in the hamper before Carmen saw them.

He entered the bathroom, surprised to see Quint's water bowl pristinely full, the floor around it dry. “Where the hell did the water come from, Quint?” he called as he opened the shower door.

“My God.” He staggered backward, not comprehending what he saw hanging low in the shower. “My God.” His bare buttocks hit the countertop and he stood there, blood pounding in his head, making him dizzy. He stared. “My God.”

It was a poodle, soaking wet and limp, its white fur matted, its pinkish flesh showing between the clumps of fur. The shower massager's hose was knotted around its neck.

“Jade, you crazy bitch,” he whispered as his heart slowed down. “Great, just great.” She'd hung one of her damned stuffed dogs in his shower and probably ruined the hose to boot.
At least I have a couple spares under the sink.

He put his hands around the animal.

The dog was soft and warm.

He snatched his hand back, moaning softly at the sight of the creature's black bulging eyes, thickened tongue, a little trickle of blood from one nostril.

Frantically he washed his hands, pushed the shower door closed with his toe, then pulled his dirty jeans back on.

The cat was her real target, he thought wildly. Jade had tried to kill his cat.

Slamming his door behind him, he flew down the front staircase to Jade's door. He yanked on the handle. Locked. “Jade! Open up!” he yelled. “Now! Unlock this goddamned door!” Inside, a dog yipped wildly.

Carmen raced into the room, Cody and Hector behind her. “Ricky! What's wrong?” she cried. “What is it?”

‘She—she—”

Cody was clinging to Carmen's skirt, peering at him with wide eyes.

“Cody, it's okay, go to your room,” he said as calmly as he could. The little boy stuck his thumb in his mouth and started toward the stairs. “No, wait!” God knew what else might be up there. “Don't go up there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carmen cross herself. “Cody,” she said, “why don't you and Hector take your lunch over to our house. Your papa and I gotta, we gotta . . .” She faltered, looking at Rick.

“Plumbing problem,” he said lamely.

“We gotta fix the plumbing, then we'll come over, too.”

“Why you mad at Aunt Jade, Daddy?”

“Uh, I'm not mad.” He could barely control his breathing. “We'll be over in a little while.”

Jade's heavy footsteps could be heard approaching. “Hector,” Carmen ordered, “Take him.”

“Come on, Cody.” Hector scooped the boy into his arms. “We've got Pepsi in our fridge,” he said, leaving the room. “You want a Pepsi?”

“What happened?” Carmen whispered as Jade started to turn her lock.

“She hung one of her poodles in my shower,” Rick whispered. “She knotted the sprayer cord around its neck. I think she tried to kill my cat.”

Carmen stared at him, then hissed, “Shhhh!” as the door opened.

“What's going on here?” Jade's black hair was wild above a long green terry robe. She wore no makeup, and looked faded and dry and old. One poodle bared its teeth and growling from behind her calves.

“How dare y—” Ricky began.

Carmen grabbed the bare skin just above the back of his pants and pinched. He silenced.

“Well, what is it?” Jade asked huffily.

“Miz Jade.” Carmen put her hands on her hips. “What were you doing just now?”

“Taking a nap,” she huffed. “What the hell does it look like?”

“I thought maybe you were taking a shower.”

She showed no real reaction to Carmen's words. “Why would I shower in the middle of the day? We were having our nap, weren't we, Mister Poo?”

“Where's Stinkums?” Rick asked calmly.

Jade looked flustered. “Stinkums? Come here, Stinkums.”

She turned and disappeared into her rooms.

Rick started to follow, but Carmen grabbed him by the belt loop. “Don't tell her,” she ordered.

“Why not? She knows. She did it.”

“She wouldn't kill her own dog.”

“Before you said—”

“Forget what I said!” Carmen snapped, her eyes fierce.

“Carmen, she's nuts. She tried to kill my cat.”

“You told me that already, but I didn't see any scratches on her.”

“She's probably wearing that robe to hide them.”

“No. The cat would have scratched her hands.”

He could hear Jade moving around in her room, calling Stinkums in a quavering voice. “Look, Carmen, she's the only one who could have done it.”

“Don't say anything to her. Not yet.”

“Stinkums?” Jade's voice was tinged with hysteria now. “Stinkums?”