The Faceless One (16 page)

He picked up the top page.

He smiled to himself—in all his years she was the only one who had called him James, a way of teasing the oh-so-serious young man who had courted her. He found he loved the way she said it, and even now it gave him a little thrill to read it.

It was the last thing she had ever written to him. He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to her signature, then turned the page over. The back was blank, her writing and the design barely showing through.

He sat down and carefully wrote his note, then went to look for a ride to California.

George Watters wasn’t surprised to see Jimmy at his door. He had no visitors besides the nurses. His sons and daughters lived too far away to visit with any regularity. Used to be they’d fly him out for Christmas, but that hadn’t happened in several years.

“Hey, Injun Joe,” George said, smiling. Jimmy was his best friend, as good as they come. George sometimes felt like a kid with Jimmy, two pals trying to con the teachers and sneak out to a baseball game or the picture show.

Jimmy looked troubled, and George tilted his head.

“What’s wrong?”

Jimmy motioned inside.

George opened the door wider and stepped aside to let Jimmy pass. When Jimmy was inside, George closed the door, locking it for good measure. That way they could hear the key if one of the nurses tried to come in unannounced.

Jimmy was seated on the armchair in the corner. Their rooms were similar, but George had put up framed photos in his: Miles Davis, Ray Charles, Beyoncé, and Norah Jones. He used to keep a picture of his late wife, Maddy, on the dresser, but it only made him feel lonesome. He had replaced it with a picture of Martin Luther King.

“So, you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Jimmy held up his hand and dug into the pocket of his windbreaker. He held up two bottles of Johnny Walker Red, taken by George in what he called The Great Pan Am Raid of 2011. He had shared his haul with Jimmy, and no one else—liquor was far too precious and rare a commodity at Golden Summer. George knew that if Jimmy was willing to part with two of his bottles, then it was pretty serious.

“I’ll get some glasses,” George said.

He returned with two small glasses he had taken from a Holiday Inn. Golden Summer had made him switch to plastic a year ago when he had gotten drunk and cut his hand on a broken glass. Plastic. Shit, he wasn’t child. Man needed a glass to drink his liquor from. He kept the glasses hidden with his liquor. The staff had assured him they didn’t go through the rooms while residents were away, but George wanted to play it safe. Besides, he and Jimmy knew Nurse Belva had made them a personal crusade. It would be a fine day for her if she caught them
at something worse than smuggling cold chicken out of the kitchen.

Jimmy and George each poured the contents of the small bottles into their glasses. George raised his. “To better days.”

Jimmy sighed and clinked glasses. They drank, and the liquor ran down their throats like molten gold.

Jimmy sat a moment, letting the warmth spread through him. George waited patiently. Things happen in their own time, and the only one who tried to hurry them was a damn fool. “I need to go to California, George,” Jimmy said.

George wanted to ask why, but he figured Jimmy would tell him. “I take it you asked Thomas.”

Jimmy snorted derisively. “Thomas thinks I’m a senile old fool.”

Jimmy smiled ruefully, and George could see the hurt in his eyes.

“I’ve got some money, Jimmy. Lord knows it’s not much, but you are surely welcome to it.”

Jimmy held up his hand. “I need a ride, George.”

George looked at him.

“I can’t drive,” Jimmy said. “Never bothered to learn when I was in Yanut, and I don’t have time now.”

“That’s about eleven hundred miles, Jimmy. You can’t fly there and take a cab?”

“I don’t have enough money for all that.”

“Between us, we’ll come up with something,” George said. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s so important in California?”

Jimmy looked at him. “How much do you know about my people?” Jimmy asked.

“Just what you told me,” George said, “Hell, I hadn’t even heard of them until you came along.”

Jimmy nodded.

“My people are very old. Not as old as some, but we were there from the earliest days. We tried to stay close to the land. Then the whites came, settlers and traders, and we lost our way.”

George stroked his white goatee. It was an old story, then.

“There are things we learned that many have forgotten. The books about our people are filled with our charming ways, our quaint stories. Some talk about our art, others moan about our decline.”

Jimmy looked at George and his eyes had the brightness of a distant fire.

“But there are things we have never told anyone. Things too terrible to forget, but many forgot them just the same. People who should never have forgotten what they learned. People
like me.”

And there, in a room soaked in sunlight, Jimmy told George about The Faceless One.

“Many generations ago, before we had named ourselves Tlingit, our ancestors came to this place.

“The holy men of the people introduced themselves to the gods of the new land, and the gods appointed
Naas shagee Yéil
, Raven, as their spokesman. Raven was the Trickster but also kind and wise. He agreed to teach Men how to fashion masks of each god, and in this way they could both honor the god and summon it. Through the mask, great mysteries could be experienced safely.

“Raven asked each god to present a design for the mask that each found pleasing, and all complied. All but T’Nathluk.

“He refused to show his face; he wanted to terrorize these new creatures, not receive their pitiful gifts and songs. T’Nathluk hid far down in his dwelling and would not permit Raven to create his likeness.

“Raven consulted with the other gods, and they agreed this would not do. They enjoyed the company of the Tlingit and did not want to see them suffer at the hands of T’Nathluk. Combining their magic, they fashioned a mask that was the Face of Nothing, an emptiness bordered by precious metals and stone, and beyond this by fang and claw. In this way, they would both honor T’Nathluk and make a warning.

“Raven went to the dwelling of T’Nathluk with the mask. He taunted him for many nights, telling him he was afraid to try the mask. So great was T’Nathluk’s rage that he came roaring from his dwelling, and his howls flattened trees and mountains for many miles. He tore the mask from Raven and put it on, and there he was trapped.

“Raven placed the mask far below the earth, in a wall of ice. He instructed the shamans to keep all away from the place and let T’Nathluk rage within his tiny prison. He warned them that anyone who touched the mask or moved it would free T’Nathluk into a world just outside our own … further, he would be at the mercy of T’Nathluk.

“The shamans shuddered at this. The youngest, Ata’ar, asked what might happen if someone were to wear the mask. Raven said such a one would be killed outright.

“ ‘What if he were strong?’ Ata’ar asked, and they all could see a strange light in his eyes.

“ ‘Anyone who survived wearing the mask would free T’Nathluk, and he would destroy the Tlingit and all the world,’ Raven warned.

“Then Raven left them to place their talismans and charms before the cave. They kept a watchful eye on Ata’ar, but he was clever and slipped away.

“The elders found him attacking the ice wall with his stone ax, trying to free the mask
and T’Nathluk.

“They dragged him from the cave as he cried about the voice in his head. In the end, his polished skull was the first placed in the cave to watch over T’Nathluk.

“The shamans decided such knowledge was too dangerous for the People. They would keep it secret, and the People would be safe.

“And so it was for many hundreds of years …”

Steven, Liz, and Bobby got to LAX with over two hours to spare. Once they had gone through the rigors of baggage check-in and security, they still had over an hour until their plane boarded. Bobby had Bonomo and a couple of Pokemon figures to keep him occupied. Liz had brought a historical novel on the Aztecs, and Steven, who owned a bookstore, had brought nothing.

If he just sat there, he would be plagued with thoughts of Daniel, and right now he just wanted to place his brain on autopilot. He kicked himself, thinking of all the books in his shop that he might have picked up.

Fortunately, the airport had a fairly large bookstore in the terminal. He browsed through the titles until he found a horror novel that looked promising and a police procedural that had been well reviewed.

As he was heading for the cashier, he glanced over at the magazines and newspapers. He saw Daniel.

Steven stopped dead. Daniel’s photo was prominently displayed on the front page of the
New York Post
, along with several other people’s. The headline proclaimed: “
TAXIDERMIST CLAIMS
3
RD VICTIM—ARE THERE MORE?
”

Shaking, Steven picked up the paper and added it to his purchases. As he left the store, he guiltily removed the paper, folded it in half, and stuffed it deep down into the plastic bag.

He returned to where Liz and Bobby waited near Gate 44-A. Liz was reading her paperback and keeping an eye on Bobby, who played on the floor near her carry-on. She glanced up at Steven and smiled.

“Find something?”

He nodded.

Liz stretched and glanced at her watch. He loved how lithe and catlike she was, especially in moments like this. There was almost a feral quality about her, a wildness that seemed like a secret only he was privy to. He had told her once after a spectacular night of lovemaking that going to bed with her was like a vacation on the Island of Dr. Moreau. She had giggled, kissed him fiercely, and given him a hickey that had lasted two days.

“Another forty minutes to go,” she said. “Feel like a cup of coffee?” She looked at him, and a smile crossed her face. She could always tell when he was thinking about sex. He returned
her smile and responded with a casualness his pounding heart belied.

“Sure. Want me to get it?”

She gave him a sly look, telling him with her eyes that she knew he wanted more than coffee.

“You are so bad,” she whispered.

“Look who’s talking,” he said. “Want me to get that coffee?”

“Nah. I want to stretch my legs. We’re going to be on the plane a good five or six hours.”

She stood and stretched again, then tossed her book onto the seat. “Double latte?”

He nodded. “And one of those big chocolate chip cookies.”

“Cookie!” Bobby said excitedly.

Liz looked at Steven. “Thanks. Now how are we going to get him to eat his lunch?”

Steven looked at his son. “If I give you half of my cookie, will you promise to eat all your lunch?”

“Sure,” Bobby said, nodding with such an exaggerated motion that his whole body shook.

“Even gross vegetables and tomatoes?” Steven asked.

“Yeah, even rat whiskers and monkey snot.”

“Bobby,” Liz reprimanded, trying not to laugh.

“Sounds like he’s eaten airline food before,” Steven said.

“He’s got a gross sense of humor, and you know it. I wonder where he gets that from?”

Liz gave him a quick kiss and headed for the Starbuck’s at the far end of the terminal.

Steven sat down. He was anxious to read the
Post
, but Bobby was trying to get in his lap. Steven hauled him up.

“You ready for a plane ride, big guy?”

Bobby nodded, his total-body nod again.

Steven stroked his hair. Suddenly, Bobby hugged him fiercely. Steven, surprised, hugged him back. Bobby then pulled back and looked at him with his large blue eyes.

“What was that for?” Steven asked.

“I’m sorry about Uncle Daniel,” Bobby said, his voice low.

Steven felt a lump rise into his throat, and his eyes began to well up. He wiped at them.

“You miss him, huh?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah, sport, I do.”

“Is Uncle Daniel in Heaven?”

Steven nodded. “Yeah, I believe he is.”

“Will I go to Heaven when I die?”

This is getting a little morbid
. “Yes, but you’re going to live a long, long time before that happens.”

Bobby looked at him.

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Steven crossed his heart.

“And you and Mommy will stay around if I get scared? Always always?”

“Sure we will. What’s bringing all this on?”

“The Bird-Man,” Bobby said simply, as if that explained everything, then squirmed onto the floor.

Who or what was the Bird-Man? Steven wondered. Sounded like some piss-poor superhero cartoon, as lame as some of that Hanna-Barbera stuff from the sixties. Maybe the show was too scary for little kids. He’d have to ask Liz about it. If it was making Bobby think about death, he shouldn’t watch it anymore.

Steven turned and looked back. There was no sign of Liz. It would probably take her another ten minutes to get the lattes and bring them back. The newspaper waited for him, hidden like a snake under loose stones. What might the consequences be of disturbing such a creature? Still, he wanted more information about Daniel’s death. Steven fished into the bag and brought out the copy of the
Post
. Bobby was deep into his play, and Steven carefully folded the newspaper so that Daniel’s face was hidden. He turned to the article, which began in earnest on page three. He skimmed through the article until he saw Daniel’s name, although after only a few lines he snapped the paper shut. His brother had been skinned alive? Decapitated?

Several grisly photos of other apparent victims had accompanied the article although the only ones of Daniel were a university photo and a shot of one of his fetish-laden windows. Steven felt sick to his stomach. Roberts had been right; he would rather have not known the lurid details of his brother’s death. Not wanting Bobby to see the grisly piece, he rolled up the newspaper and stuck it in his carry-on. Steven shuddered again and hoped he could keep from vomiting. He leaned back and closed his eyes, trying not to imagine Daniel’s messy remains.