Borderland (32 page)

"It's
a woman, isn't it?" Myra said. "It's a woman, and she's this Drusie
person that you and Andy talk about sometimes."

Christa
froze. "Drusie?"

"Yes,"
Myra said. Her mouth began to quiver. "Please help me, Christa. Do you
know what I'm talking about?"

Slowly,
Christa nodded. "Her name is Drusilla."

Myra put
a hand to her mouth. "Does she... show you things? Terrible things?"

"No,"
Christa said. "Drusie's our friend. I think she used to live here."

Myra was
crying now. "Oh God, I knew it. Ask her to leave me alone. Please,
Christa. I don't know what she wants and I've been going out of my mind with
the things she's shown me. She uses me to ... I don't even know what I'm saying
here."

Christa
put a hand on her shoulder. "I know, Myra. I know what you mean. She takes
something from us so we can see her and it makes us tired. Is she giving you
the bad dreams at night?"

"Yes."
Myra wiped her nose with a trembling hand. "What is she trying to tell me?
What does she want?"

"She
wants us to leave," Christa said simply.

Myra
stared at her. "Why?"

"Because
something terrible is going to happen if we stay. She told me so."

"How?
Can she talk?"

"Not
really, but I always know what she's saying. Haven't you seen her? Her lips
move but she doesn't have a voice. And her hair is always wet."

Myra put
her face in her hands. "I haven't seen her I've been her every night. I
know when she's around me, though, I can feel her. The day I had my nosebleed, that
was her. You knew that, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh,"
Christa said. "But I couldn't tell you. I thought you might get upset like
Daddy did."

"Upset?"
Myra repeated. A terrible cracking sound came from her throat as she tried to
laugh. "Over a little thing like a ghost?"

"She's
not a ghost," Christa said firmly. "Drusilla isn't dead. I know,
because I asked her if she'd seen my mom in heaven. Drusie hasn't been there
yet."

Myra was
staring at her again. "Christa, why doesn't she talk to me? Why does she
show me all these gory things when she could just talk to me?"

Christa
frowned in thought. "I don't think she can. If she could, she would've
talked to Daddy by now. She wants us to get away from here. When I told her
Daddy had decided to stay, she made a terrible noise in my head like the day I
spilled the Kool-Aid. It was awful."

"So
you knew about her then?" Myra asked.

"That
was the day I met her," Christa answered. "Before that I was afraid.
I thought she was a boogeyman. But then she touched me and accidentally
electrocuted me after I dropped the pitcher of—"

"Electrocuted?"
Myra echoed. "You mean you were shocked when she touched you? You were
sitting in the wet Kool-Aid and you actually received a shock?"

"A
big one," Christa said, nodding. "Made me so tired I went right to
sleep, remember?"

Myra sat
up in her chair. "Maybe that's what she takes from us. She needs the
electrical energy we generate to form what? An image around her spirit? I
should ask Cal about this. He knows about these things. He'll know what . .
." She paused and sagged back again. "What am I saying? I can't tell
him. He'll think his grandmother is right about my being a nut."

"Cal
wouldn't think that," Christa said. "He loves you. He wouldn't do
anything to hurt you."

Myra
sighed. "You're right. He wouldn't. But it's something to think about. If
I could think right now. I can't believe I'm actually having this conversation
with you. I think I'm living one of those hallucinations I've been so worried
about. This is all in my head."

"If
you ask me that's what she does," Christa offered. "I think she comes
inside our heads one at a time. Daddy has been right beside her and he never
saw her. And me and Andy never see her at the same time. I think she comes into
my brain and does something up there when she wants me to see her."

Myra bit
her lip. "Then how could she shock you?" Christa lifted a shoulder.

"I
dunno. Maybe I really shocked myself… with my own electricity."

Myra was
skeptical. "You say you think she used to live here. Who is she? Or
rather, who was she?"

"Drusilla,"
Christa said, frowning.

"I
know that, honey. But who was Drusilla?"

"Oh.
I think she's Daddy's great-something. Mine and Andy's too. Her last name is
same as ours."

Myra
stood up suddenly. "Darwin. He knew. He had to. He wouldn't let me touch
anything upstairs. No wait, I've felt her downstairs several times now, in the
kitchen. Why not before? I was in this house hundreds of times."

"I
think she came out because of me and Andy," Christa said. "Because
we're kinda related to her, I mean."

Myra
didn't appear to be listening. She seemed very excited. "Where's that old
Bible? The one Cal and Nolan were looking at the other day?"

"It's
in the living room," Christa told her. "Uncle Nolan left it on top of
the television. Are we going to read Scriptures?"

"No,
we're going to look for Drusilla. Cal said it was a family Bible. She should be
in there."

But she
wasn't. Christa sat on the sofa with Myra and looked at all the names on the
yellowed pages.

"Those
are the people in town," Christa said.

"They
damn sure are," Myra murmured. Her eyes had a glazed look as she scanned
the names. "And I know," she continued softly. "I know how they
adopted these children. Drusilla showed me. The monsters wanted to start their
own little colony. And they did."

Christa
was confused. "Who wanted to?"

Myra
blinked. "Never mind, honey. I was just talking to myself." She
lifted a hand to stroke Christa's hair. "Thank you for being honest with me
about Drusilla. It's hard sometimes for adults to keep open minds—at least
until we're slapped in the face with the scarier parts of our lives. Then we
have to sit up and stop denying the possibilities."

"Whatever,"
Christa said with a light shrug. "I think I'll go clear the table now. Oh
and here…” She dug the pill out of her pocket and handed it to Myra. "I
almost forgot. This was on the bathroom floor. We need to put it away so Andy
doesn't find it."

Myra
studied the pill. "Where on the bathroom floor?"

"Down
by the toilet. I think it's Daddy's. I saw him take a pill yesterday after he
got dressed. He must have dropped this one."

"Is
your Dad on any medication?" Myra asked.

Christa
wasn't sure what she meant. "I don't think so. I just saw him take the one."

"Huh,"
Myra said, still frowning at the pill. "I wonder what it is. It doesn't
have any markings on it."

"Maybe
it's an aspirin," Christa offered. "Daddy's been having a lot of
headaches lately. I'm going to clear the dishes now, Myra. Why don't you go up
and try to take a nap?"

"Thanks
honey. Maybe I will." Myra closed the Bible and put it aside. "Uh,
Christa, wait. Let's keep Drusie and all this ghost business to ourselves for
now, okay? God knows what Nolan would think, so for the time being let's make
this our little secret, all right?"

Christa
smiled. She knew Myra would say that.

CHAPTER 28

Vic was
restless. They drove all the way to Las Vegas, New Mexico when Jinx suddenly decided
to stop and find a motel room. He was too old for so much car time. He had
hemorrhoids. His back hurt. But Vic had woken up three times during the night
and found Jinx awake and moving toward the motel room door. He was going out
for a breath of fresh air. He was going to make sure the car was locked. He was
going to take care of those pails in the trunk.

Irritated,
Vic said he would do it. But once he was out of bed, an even more irritated
Jinx claimed it could wait until morning. Go back to sleep.

Vic
couldn't, and now it was morning. His pills seemed to be keeping him wired
rather than sedated, and he didn't understand the turnaround in the effects.
Sullenly, he watched Jinx sleep. After claiming to be bone tired, the old man
prowled around half the night and was now wasting valuable time. How easy did
he think it would be to unload a kilo of coke? You couldn't just drive into
town and announce your wares to the first ten people you saw. These days it
took time to find the right connections. Time to scope out the area and talk to
people, find out if any gangs were operating, and if so, which ones. Approach
the wrong person and you could find yourself fucked up for life.

Because
he didn't relish the thought of dealing with people who had absolutely no
regard for human life, Vic figured he would try the business district first.
Suits didn't like to buy from dealers who looked like a gang stereotype. They
preferred to conduct business in ways more subtle: morning papers exchanged on
street corners, bathroom meetings in chic restaurants at lunchtime and noisy,
crowded clubs after work. Vic used to love to catch those guys, with their
tailored suits and alligator-skin briefcases. Nailing those bastards was what
made the old days good.

He used
to love the looks on their faces when he flipped out that badge. And then,
always, the first words out of their mouths: "I want to see my
lawyer."

Vic
liked to tease them and say, "You will. We busted him a half hour
ago."

Oh yeah.
The good old days.

If the
suit approach didn't work out, Vic decided the University of New Mexico would
be his next stop. Summer or not, there would be a few people on or around the
campus. He would follow them to their hangouts and begin to look for the right
profile. The moneyed man who pulled up in a sleek expensive car and talked to
people one at a time. He might look like a businessman, or he might look like
Joe College himself, but the people who spoke to him would have a definite,
recognizable attitude toward him, and the conversations would be brief.

Vic
smiled to himself. Jerks. They were all would-be escape artists. Every last
goddamned one of them.

They
wanted to escape from everything that made them feel worthless. The job that went
to a better man, or the man who went to another woman. The boss who never
showed any appreciation or the parents who just didn't understand. They wanted
to feel good, or at least not bad, about being who they were, be it a doctor, a
judge, or a hard-luck little pissant born into a family of twelve living in a
two-room apartment. They wanted to feel good because life was more often than
not the shits and it was likely to stay that way. For a few hours, they made
the break to escape their own humanity. Because it hurt.

He took
out his bottle of pills and rattled the loose contents. Because things hurt.
Because life hurt.

Vic's
lip curled. Tough, right? It was time people learned to live with it, he
thought as he shook out a pill. You had to be stronger than the hurt, he told
himself as he swallowed the pill dry. You had to maintain and do the best you
could without giving in to the urge to whimper and piss and moan when things
didn't go your way. You had to charge right in there and make something good happen
for yourself. And if an obstacle arose, get past the annoying fucker with any
means at your disposal.

He
pocketed his pills and spared the sleeping Jinx another glance. His lip curled
at the sight of the bony, withered foot that was hanging off the edge of the
bed. The toenails were thick and dull yellow in color. The foot itself was
pale, veined and white with scattered springs of sparse, curling hair.

Talk
about annoying fuckers. Christ, he dreaded getting old and looking like that.
Face sinking in around your teeth. Balls hanging down to your knees.

Vic's
stomach lifted in revulsion and he forced himself to look away. Time to get
this goddamned show on the road. He would slip over to the café for a cup of
coffee; then he would come back and roust the snoring old bastard. Christ, it
was almost eleven o'clock.

He was
at the door when he thought of taking the keys along and gassing up the car. He
sorted through all of Jinx's pants pockets and finally spied the tip of a key
protruding from inside one of the old man's clunky black shoes.

Suspicious
old fart, Vic thought. Did he think I'd steal his car, or what?

He
pocketed the key ring along with the room key and approached the door again.
While he was at the gas station he might as well open the trunk and take care
of this lard-pail business. Get rid of the bumping sonofabitches. His nerves
could use a break. And if the old man didn't like it, tough. With the kilo
sold, he could buy all the goddamned lard he wanted.

Jinx
didn't stir as he left. Damned if old people didn't sleep like the dead, Vic
thought as the door closed behind him with a soft click. He stepped out and
squinted at the harsh sunlight bouncing off the cars in the motel parking lot.
His head was already beginning to hurt.