Daniel Hecht_Cree Black 02 (27 page)

Later, her comparative kindness rankled more than anger or contempt would have. But of course, she was right. Right right
right. It had been a stupid impulse on his part, given the situation, given all that had gone down. Under the circumstances,
getting together with her would have been something out of a Greek tragedy, what,
Oedipus Rex
or something. It went against the moral order of the universe. The gods didn't forgive such things.

The thought brought Donny out of his musings. Funny how the distant past could smack you upside the head, catch you when you
least expected it.

But in this case, maybe there was a reason his subconscious had dredged all that up. He turned to Nick, who was driving placidly
with one big-knuckled hand relaxed over the top of the steering wheel.

"You probably still know the lay of the land pretty well out there, don't you?" he asked. "Around the school? The mesa there?
You could still find your way around if you had to?"

Puzzled, Nick glanced over at him, and then his eyebrows jumped with surprise. " What—you think this goes that far back?"

Donny shrugged, feeling crappy, injured by life's burdens and impositions, pissed at Garrett, at Julieta, at himself, at
everybody. If the audit team gave him any grief today, anything at all, he swore to himself he'd tear somebody's head off.

"Just a thought," Donny told him. "I doubt it. But it always pays to be prepared."

29

THEY MET at the school. It was Joyce's first glimpse of the place, and Edgar had seen it only in the dark. When they got out
of their vehicles in front of the infirmary, they both looked around with the cautious curiosity of strangers on new turf.
The afternoon was comfortably warm and windless, the desert vast and without sound or movement; to the east, the mesa basked
in sunshine.

The school itself was very different. With the students back, the place was alive with energy. Classes were done for the day,
and most of the kids were outside. Groups sat under the trellises, skateboarders racketed up and down steps and curbs; a basketball
game was in full swing on the court behind the gym, voices calling in Navajo and English. Faculty members strode between buildings,
and the main parking lot was full of cars.

Cree felt drained after her session with Tommy. She'd left the hospital before his relatives returned, wanting to let him
have an uncomplicated visit with them, and had driven straight back. Though the sparkle of adolescent activity and emotion
here felt pleasant and warm, it only deepened the gloomy urgency she was feeling. It took her a moment to understand why:
because Tommy should be part of it.
Enjoying a warm afternoon outside with his friends. Instead, he was in a hospital room with nothing to do but feel the invader
growing in him, infiltrating him, turning him moment by moment into more of a monster. He was becoming like . . . like one
of the twisted, bloated things you used to see suspended in jars of formaldehyde at freak shows. It wasn't fair, it wasn't
right. It had to end. The kid deserved a life.

And it didn't help that as she was leaving Dr. Corcoran had sketched out the pharmaceutical protocols he was considering if
Tommy didn't shape up soon: Thorazine, haloperidol, Risperdal, maybe clozapine. Try the empirical approach, see if his condition
responded. The trial-and-error method that so often became just that—a wrenching trial for the patient, a lot of errors.
Dr. Corcoran talked as if he planned to have Tommy with him for a long time.

Tommy Keeday was in deep trouble. And Cree Black, Mrs. Ultra­sensitive Ghost Buster Queen, or whatever the hell she was, didn't
have a clue how to help.

"We need to have a conference right away," she told them as they came toward her. "Julieta McCarty is on her way over. I've
asked the nurse to join us, too. I want everybody on the same page here."

Ed gave her an appraising look. Joyce frowned and chided her, "Well, hello to you, too, Cree. We're glad to see you, too."

Cree just dipped her chin, took their elbows, and led them up the walk to the infirmary porch.

They convened in the dayroom, taking seats on the couch and chairs that surrounded an oval coffee table. Julieta arrived from
the administration building, Lynn came in from her office.

Once Cree had introduced everybody all around, she turned to Julieta."I've asked Lynn to join us because we need to be able
to share information about every detail of Tommy's condition and behavior. Lynn has spent more time with him during his crises
than anyone, and she may recall details that didn't strike her as significant at the time but might be crucial for our team.
But for her to do that, she'll need to know exactly how we're thinking of the problem. Which means, Julieta, that I need your
approval to share information with her. Per our confidentiality agree­ment."

Julieta didn't answer right away, but looked thoughtfully first at Lynn and then at Cree. She looked tired, but the effect
seemed to make her all the more lovely. Today she wore a gray wool pantsuit with a Navajo necklace that complemented the color
of her skin and hair, and she looked older, her beauty derived from her poise and dignity.

"Of course," Julieta said at last. But she gave a tiny shake of her head, and the message in her eyes was clear:
Everything but my secret. Peter Yellowhorse. My baby.

Cree nodded. "Lynn, you already know how we're thinking of this. I'm sure it strikes you as bizarre. Do you think you can
you ride with it despite your skepticism? Give our perspective a chance?"

The nurse was sitting in a soft chair and seemed huddled in on herself, slumped, holding her knees or toying with the end
of her braid. Her eyes rose to meet Cree's and the bronze speck sparkled. "You mean, the idea that Tommy's possessed?"

"As I told you, I don't like the typical assumptions that come with the term, but that's about it, yeah. What do you think
of that hypothesis?"

Lynn directed her coy smile at Julieta. "I just work here. I'll do whatever I'm told. Frankly, having seen him when it's .
. . on him, I don't find the idea such a stretch. Maybe being married into a Navajo family for sixteen years kind of wore
down my skepticism. Possession—that's what a Navajo diagnostician would probably call it." She turned back to Cree. "As for
confidentiality—" She made a lip-zipping gesture.

Cree found she couldn't stay seated. She was too energized, impatient, frustrated. She got up to pace the room as she brought
them up to date: "I saw Tommy at the hospital today. It's getting worse. Joseph kindly talked to them and they let me in as
a consultant, so I have access to him. But I have no authority to treat or prescribe. The doctor in charge of his case has
a tight psychological theory, but if Tommy doesn't improve he's also considering treating him for seizures, impulse control
disorders, schizophrenia. Which means lots of drugs, lots of side effects, personality alteration, long-term hospitalization.
I sure hate to see it go there. And I don't think it will work."

Julieta's lips had narrowed, and though she didn't move, her aura changed, the resigned dignity turning shaky again as desperation
rose beneath it.
A mother's reaction,
Cree thought.

Cree continued, telling them about her pending meeting with Donny McCarty to explore the possibility that the entity was indeed
the vengeful ex Julieta seemed so certain of. "Julieta, you've given me an impression of who Donny is and who Garrett was.
Is there anything you can add that will help me when I talk to Donny?"

Julieta thought about that and finally shook her head. "What you saw when we met Donny was pretty typical. How about you,
Lynn? You had contact with the McCartys when your husband worked for them, right?"

Lynn nodded and explained, "My Vernon worked as chief explosives engineer for McCarty for many years. He got to know them
pretty well. Not down here, he worked at the Bloomfield mine, up near Farmington. And I ran the Bloomfield medical unit for
a few years, so, yes, I saw both McCartys now and again."

"Can you tell me anything about them?"

Lynn shrugged. "I really don't know what might be helpful to you. I wouldn't know where to start."

"How about beliefs? Was Garrett religious? Is Donny? Or superstitious at all?"

"Garrett went to church, but I don't think he was really religious. I think he saw it as a useful way to network. Donny, he
doesn't believe in much of anything, I don't think. Neither struck me as superstitious in the slightest. Pragmatists, both
of them."

"What would be Donny's reaction if I suggested, for example, that I'd heard his father's ghost haunted the mine?"

Lynn chuckled. "Well, he'd get a kick out of it. He'd think you were a weak-brained female."

Julieta nodded agreement. "And he'd think I had put you up to it to give him grief in some way. Or that you'd heard it from
some superstitious Indian."

Cree turned that over in her thoughts, trying to find a way to engage Donny, enlist his help. "So . . . what is his attitude
toward Native Americans?"

"Donny always treated Vern with respect," Lynn said immediately.

"Patronizing," Julieta said. "Condescending. Navajos make up ninety percent of his workforce. He talks respectfully only because
he doesn't want to alienate his labor pool and sometimes needs to swing favors with the tribal government. As for Garrett,
he was pretty much an out-and-out racist."

Lynn looked like she was biting her tongue but kept a little smile at the corners of her lips.

Cree mentally filed it away as Joyce took notes. "Okay. If I can ask a favor, it's that you both ponder the issue. What can
you tell me about Donny that will allow me to ask about his father, the circumstances of his father's death? And Lynn, please
look back at every contact you've had with Tommy and tell me anything that you think might be helpful." They nodded.

"Okay. Julieta, I can't work only on the premise that we're dealing with Garrett's ghost. There are other possibilities to
consider. His . . . parents should be a high priority." Cree's eyebrows jumped; she had almost said
adoptive parents.
"Joyce, do you have anything on that?"

"Only the basics so far. Car crash, spring of '97. Father was driving drunk. Both died at the scene. The accident was up near
Tuba City. I'll keep looking into it, but if we want to consider one of the parents we'd have to ask ourselves, why would
the revenant come
here,
two hundred miles away, and why
now,
six years later? I mean, if one of the parents' ghosts homed in on Tommy, why not at the Keedays' place, or his previous school,
and much earlier?"

Cree nodded. "Good questions. We'll look for more information in the coming days. In the meantime, there's another possibility
you should know about, Julieta. I was very interested in Tommy's drawings of the cliff faces, so last night, Dr. Mayfield
and I went out to the mesa to explore. You had a drawing class with him out there, didn't you? Out at the big ravine?"

Julieta looked puzzled. "Yes. Why?"

"And Tommy said he got a touch of sunstroke up there?"

"Right. I'd forgotten. It didn't seem serious at all."

"His drawings changed drastically after those sessions. And I had a powerful contact with an entity or entities there last
night. I can't believe it's a coincidence. So I need to know the area's history better. Julieta, are you sure you can't tell
me any more about it? Lynn, do you know anything?"

Julieta shook her head. Lynn ventured, "Locally, I think it was once called Lost Goats Mesa. But I don't think it has a name
now."

Ed met Cree's eyes, and he smiled minutely:
goats.

" So—Joyce, I know you've got a lot on your plate, but can you add that in? Dig up some history for this area? Stories associated
with the mesa or the old trading post? Who lived here, when, anything."

Joyce had been taking notes on her pad, and looked up quickly. "I am all over it."

"Ed will need to conduct a comprehensive test of the school's electrical system, particularly the boys' dorm and this building.
The flickering of the lights might give us some clues. Julieta, can you put him in touch with your maintenance people so they
can help? He'll need to look at the whole grid here—transformers, circuit breakers, incoming lines, everything."

"Frank Nez is our chief physical plant man. I'll take you over to his shop when we're done here, but . . ."

"I'll tell him it has something to do with state safety compliance," Ed put in.

"Perfect." Cree had taken some notes on what she needed to accomplish at this meeting, and now she glanced down at her pad.
"I've got two more items on my agenda. One, as I said, I had an important session with Tommy today. The good news is that,
thanks to Joseph, Dr. Corcoran is letting me meet with the boy. And when I was there, I was increasingly able to feel it—
as something distinct or separate from Tommy. Which means I'm on the road to identifying it."

Julieta said haltingly, "And the bad news?"

"I'm sorry, Julieta. The bad news is, this thing is progressing rapidly. It's taking him over, minute by minute. So far, he's
been resisting it pretty well, and he can intentionally cooperate with people trying to help him. But I don't know how long
that'll be the case. I think it's wearing him out." Julieta's face broke into lines of grief, and Cree went on quickly, "I
didn't meet his grandparents, but on the off chance Tommy goes home, I'll need to have their approval to keep seeing him.
Julieta, that's an area where you can help. Speak to them, speak to Joseph. It would be good if Ed and I can rig him with
the FMEEG, but the technology there can be intimidating—we'll need some persuasion on our side."

Julieta was looking away, out the window at the empty western horizon, but she nodded.

"Finally, I'll need to go out to the mesa again tonight. Ed or Joyce, it would be good to have one of you there with me."
Cree faltered as she tried to explain to Julieta: "It . . . I sometimes have a hard time coming back. It helps to have someone
remind me who I am. What world I'm in."

Joyce gave her an approving nod.

"So, with that," Cree said, "off we go. Into the fray, swords upraised, right? All for one and one for all."

"And huzzah," Ed muttered. They all stood soberly and adjourned.