Finding Casey (29 page)

“I see,” she said. “Thank you for sharing this information with me. I can tell that you trust me, and that makes me happy.”

Always be polite. “You're welcome.”

A few minutes later, she said, “I have another question, but again, if it's too private you don't have to answer. What was your real name before it was Laurel? The name you were born with. Before you met Seth and Abel.”

Hot tears. Ears roaring. I felt like I did on that bad, bad day when Abel got his knife out and said I wasn't worth keeping anymore. Soon the sound would come, and Seth would hear and he would kill the animals and make me watch. Then he'd kill Aspen, and then he'd kill me and there would be nothing, but maybe that was Our Creator's plan, and all these days I'd lived already were His Grace or Mother Earth's wish? I got up from Aspen's bed and tried to walk but my legs wouldn't work and I nearly fell down until Mrs. Clemmons caught me. She helped me sit down in the chair where I spent most of my time. Orange chair. Smelling of antiseptic. I slept there.

Then she knelt down in front of me and placed her hands on my shoulders so that we were close enough to feel each other's breath. I shut my eyes but the hot tears kept coming. “What is it, Laurel? What has you so upset?”

My eyes itched and I opened them to rub away the itch. It was hard to look at her but I did. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Clemmons. That is one thing I can't tell you. I promised a long time ago that I wouldn't say it out loud ever again.”

She nodded. “What about writing it down? Could you do that?”

She had a pen and a notebook in her pocket, and before I could answer, she offered them to me. Blank paper. Nothing on it unless I wrote something, and if I did it, that something would change everything. “Seth killed my parents,” I whispered. “He promised he would kill everything I love if I ever told,” I whispered. “I've seen him kill things.”

Mrs. Clemmons's nostrils flared and I wondered if she ever felt such hot tears. Did anything ever make her so sad that she'd make the sound? Probably not, she was smart and knew how to
talk and I was stupid and worthless and nobody wanted me except for Aspen who would not wake up. “Laurel, I can assure you, Seth will not get anywhere near you.”

“Aspen.”

“He won't get near her, either. I promise.”

“But Mrs. Clemmons,” I whispered. “The animals. He could hurt the animals. He might have already. He did it before.”

She put her hand over her mouth and then I did see the hot tears. I didn't want her to feel so sad because I felt sad enough for both of us. “Seth made me a place. But he's got the devil in him like everyone does. He can be mean and it's my fault. When he hurts an animal he does it to show me how angry he can get and what will happen if I don't follow the script.”

Mrs. Clemmons still had tears coming from her eyes. This was all my fault, Aspen being so much trouble, and me with filthy clothes and her having to buy me things she probably couldn't afford and her job was so hard, especially if she had to work with people like me and those doctors who were supposed to heal people but couldn't, not always. She tried to help me. She had tried so hard I had to give her something in return. So I took the paper and pen from her and I printed my old name:

CASEY T. MCGUIRE

I handed it to her and then I sat back in the chair to wait for the bad things to happen, one-two-three, forever. Sometimes Seth told lies, For the Greater Good, but the one true thing I never doubted was that Seth promised that no matter where I was, or who I was with, if I told, he would find me. First he'd kill everything I loved, including Aspen, and then he would kill me. Inside
Kill
is only
Ill.
No other words, no story. I prayed for the
animals. “Brown Horse, I'm sorry,” I said. “Please forgive me, and Curly the dog and the chickens. I will dig your graves and put stones on top. I won't ever forget you. I'll bury you myself and pray for you always.”

Juniper's butt was frozen and her hands felt stiff; all that would have been tolerable if Chico wasn't sitting so close to her that she could hear his breathing. If they fell asleep, could someone say they had “slept together”? Topher wouldn't be happy about that. He'd sent her five more texts but she hadn't read any of them. It was bad enough that she'd have to tell him she and Chico had done the interview together. Maybe they should go back to town, get some coffee, come back in an hour. A quick look at her watch made that plan seem pointless. By the time they drove to Española and back, they'd be late for the interview.

“Sorry,” she finally said to Chico, who looked quite content covered up by her sleeping bag. “I can't sit here another minute. I'm going for a walk to get my blood moving.”

“I'll come with you.”

“Suit yourself.” She reached into the cargo area for some beef jerky and tucked an apple into her pocket. Maybe eating would warm her up. She opened the almond can to grab a handful, and then from behind, Chico touched her shoulder. She shrieked. “What are you doing?”

He held up his hands and stepped back. “Are you always so
jumpy? I was trying to fix your scarf before it falls off you. I know how you get all lost in thought. How many scarves have you lost this winter?”

“Not that many. Why?”

“Because every time you come to class you have on a different one.” He tucked the scarf ends in and stepped back.

“Thanks. Sorry I freaked out a little there. I just wasn't expecting it.”

“Forget it. Which way do you want to walk?”

They heard a horse whinny, and Juniper pointed in the direction where the sound had come from. “I love horses. Besides, we've already seen that way, so let's go this way.”

Ahead of them, a paved two-lane road stretched into the distance, frost-heaved in places and rutted in others. New Mexico in winter was various shades of brown and bare branches. The evergreen piñon trees stood short and stubby compared to California's redwoods. To Juniper, their severe beauty was always a challenge. The left side of the road revealed the rocky, harsh beauty of Ghost Ranch, yet the right side, near the river, was like an entirely different ecosystem. She imagined it in summer, with corn growing everywhere and farm stands selling fruit and heirloom tomatoes. “In New Mexico, everything comes down to water, doesn't it?” she said to Chico.

“How do you mean?”

“Who has it, who sells it, what they do with it. My grandparents are farmers. What do yours do?”

Chico put his gloved hands into his pockets. “They're retired. My grandpa was a mailman. My grandma taught school, but now she has dementia. They live in an assisted-living facility near my auntie. It's a terrible disease,” he said. “I hope it never happens to anyone you love.”

“Thank you for saying that. I'm sorry you have to go through it.”

He shrugged. “What can you do? You have to honor your grandparents.”

They walked for a while, the snow crunching beneath their boots. Every now and then a flake hit her in the face, but it was barely snowing. The wind picked up, chapping her cheeks, and she pulled her scarf up over her nose. Then ahead of them, they saw a for-sale sign advertising “14 acres, well/water rights, established orchards/greenhouses.” All that was behind a metal gate with a keypad entry.

“Seems kind of weird for out here in the sticks, don't you think?” she said.

“Some people want privacy. Cool mailbox.”

The old coffee can serving for a mailbox was painted New Mexico's famous sun-bleached indigo blue, a color you'd never find in a paint store. Stenciled in white on the side were two words, THE FARM. The fence all around was chain link instead of coyote fencing, which was a kind of New Mexico tradition.

“This place sort of creeps me out,” Juniper said to Chico.

Just after she spoke they heard the horse whinny, the sound now coming from the opposite direction. “Sounds like the horse is loose,” Juniper said. “We'd better catch it before it gets hit by a car.”

“Look over there,” Chico said, pointing to the two-story adobe house. “The front door's wide open. That can't be on purpose, not on a day this cold.”

Juniper peered over the fence. There were no cars, no people, just a two-story adobe house with an open door and a yurt with a giant tear in its side. To their right a wooden building was boarded up, but according to the bleached sign, it had once
been a café. It reminded her of a bad dream, and she wished they'd stayed in the car and fallen asleep no matter what Topher might think. “Chico, I think something is wrong in there.”

He nodded. “I'm getting the same feeling. We should call the cops.”

Juniper looked at him. “Seriously? Do you know how long it would take a cop to drive here? What if this is Pueblo land? They won't come at all. I think we should find that horse and see if someone's hurt or needs help.”

“The gate's locked. How are we supposed to get in?”

“You can boost me over the fence.”

“Juniper, there is no way I'm doing that. Let's go back to town and stop at the Pueblo police department. They'll investigate or call the cops. I'm sure we passed it on the drive in.”

But Juniper's mind was on the horse, and she was already on the fence, climbing up the chain link like it was made for exactly that purpose. “Anyone home?” she called out when she hit the ground on the other side. “Hello? Your front door's open.”

The horse whinnied again, and she cocked her head, trying to tell where the sound was coming from. A barking dog appeared, rib-showing thin, no particular breed, like the brown res dogs New Mexico was famous for. This one wagged her curly tail as soon as Juniper extended her hand.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Chico said. “What if she has rabies?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Chico. She doesn't have rabies.” Juniper took some beef jerky out of her pocket and handed it to the dog. She sniffed, then took the jerky gladly, snarfing it down. She whined when no more was forthcoming. Then the dog lay down and showed her belly for a rub the same way that
Caddy did. “Look at her, Chico. She's someone's pet, and she's starving. Climb over and help me.”

“I hate to think what you'd be doing had I not come along today,” Chico said as he placed the toes of his boots in the chain link.

“I'd be asking Anna to climb the fence is what I'd be doing. This dog's being neglected and one thing you might not know about me? I've called campus police three times for people leaving their dogs locked in cars. I'll get between a three-hundred-pound gangster and his pit bull if he's abusing it. I have the SPCA on my speed dial. I loathe cruelty to animals. If there isn't anyone here to take care of this dog, I'm bringing her home with me.”

“The dorm won't allow dogs.”

“Eff the dorm. I'll take her to my parents' house.”

Chico jumped down to the ground beside her. “We're taking a quick look and then we're calling the cops.”

Juniper was already halfway to the house. The two of them called out, “Hello?” over and over. Aside from the dog thinking that was an invitation to play, there wasn't any response. When they neared the front door, Chico took her hand, and she had to force herself not to say anything, because he was being protective of her, that's all, the same way her dad would, and the truth was, she felt a little afraid. The dog refused to go indoors. All Juniper could think was there's something horrible in there. There's something not even the dog wants to see.

The entry of the house was a long hallway with plastered white walls, a basket of magazines, among them
Wellspring
and those free newspapers you could find at Whole Foods. The light switch didn't work. There were pictures on the walls of Buddha, Jesus, and several of those Hindu gods with all the arms. To the
left was a room with a big wooden table and six chairs, three of them knocked over. On top of the table were brochures advertising spiritual retreats. The large kiva-style fireplace was full of ashes. A stack of yoga mats and cushions sat on the floor.

The kitchen reminded Juniper of those books of unexplained mysteries she'd loved when she was a kid. Stories of ships abandoned at sea, tables set, a meal in progress, and no one could explain what became of the missing crew or why. She wondered if there had been something similar going on here, because draped over one chair was a down jacket, and on the plates at the table there were the remains of a breakfast. A round loaf of bread looked chewed on one end. If the dog hadn't gotten to it, mice had. And where were the people?

“Hello!” she called. “Anybody home?”

Out the sliding glass door behind the house was a canvas-covered dome-like structure, and when Chico saw it, he said, “Sweat lodge. This is one of those New Age places. You know what I mean, like a spa, but for meditations and retreats. Probably they went broke, put it up for sale, and some realtor showing the property left the door open.”

Juniper said, “I'd believe that if the indoors wasn't in such a mess. Who puts their house on the market and leaves dirty dishes on the table? Maybe somebody homeless came in here and camped. Let's go check the bedrooms.”

Chico stopped her in the kitchen. “I'll check them. You go back outside to find the horse.”

“Shouldn't we stay together?”

“You'll be fine.”

He reminded her of her dad right then, being all protective. If Daddy Joe knew where she was and what she was doing, he'd blow a gasket. Back outside, she hoped the property was abandoned,
not some kind of mass-suicide scene with dead bodies that had Kool-Aid stains on their mouths. What if some madman sneaked up on her with a knife? Or strangled her with a piece of piano wire? Listen to yourself, she said. Where in the heck is someone going to get a piano wire out here? Stop watching
The Sopranos
. Her heart hammered. She made the kiss-kiss noise she used to make in California when she wanted the horses to come to the fence. No more whinnying at all. The dog stuck by her, happy-go-lucky, her curly tail in the air, as if now that Juniper was here she'd be getting regular meals again. “Don't worry,” she told her as they walked toward two hoop greenhouses that hadn't been visible from the road. “I won't leave you here.”