The Influence (16 page)

Jackass waved down at her from his perch on the ladder. “Hey there, Lita!” 

“Hey yourself!” she called back. 

“Still got your freeloading cousin living off you?” 

She smiled, shaking her head. “
Now
I understand how you got your name!” 

He laughed, and she waved as Darla let her into the house.  

Ordinarily, Darla was grateful for visitors. As a stay-at-home mom in a family with one drivable vehicle, an old intermittently working Ford pickup, her options for social interaction were limited, so she talked on the phone a lot, was diligent about updating her Facebook page, and was always very happy when someone dropped by. But today she seemed nervous and unusually taciturn, almost as though she resented Lita’s presence and wanted her to leave. It was a very uncomfortable vibe, and rather than accept the perfunctory offer to sit down, Lita lied and said that she was in a hurry and had just popped in to say hi. 

“Oh,” Darla said, and did not elaborate. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t called since we got back from Las Vegas, but we’ve been really busy, and after what happened to Dave’s parents, it’s been like an emotional roller coaster.” 

Darla was staring out the window as though looking for someone. She nodded absently. “Mmm-hmm.” 

“I guess I should’ve called before coming over,” Lita said, edging toward the door. “Maybe I’ll come back at a more convenient time. I have to get going anyway.” 

“Okay,” Darla said.  

Outside, Lita waved again to Jackass, who was still on the ladder. He, at least, seemed the same as always, and that made her feel better as she got in the car and drove away. On impulse, she decided to stop by JoAnn’s and see what she thought about Darla’s odd behavior. JoAnn lived close enough that she often saw Darla on a daily basis, so she’d probably have more insight into their friend’s state of mind. And since this was her day off, she should be able to check in on Darla and get back to Lita pretty quickly.  

She turned down the narrow lane that ended at JoAnn’s ramshackle house, thinking, not for the first time, that if someone ever opened up a coffeeshop in town, that person would make a fortune. Magdalena needed a place where people could gather and talk that wasn’t a bar.  

Weston’s truck was gone, but JoAnn’s beat-up Jeep was in the carport, and Lita parked right behind it. JoAnn was certainly in a good mood. She came out of the house before Lita had gotten out of the car, grinning widely, country music blaring loudly from the open door behind her. “Lita!”  

“Hey.” She tried on a smile, but it didn’t fit right. 

“You headin’ to the market?” 

“Actually, I am. But I thought I’d stop by and see how—” 

“That’s great! Think you can give me a ride? I need to pick up a few things and Weston don’t want me drivin’ until he gets that front tire fixed on the Jeep. There’s a spare on there now, but it’s bald, and he don’t trust it.” 

“Uh, sure…” Lita said. 

“That’s great! I’ll be right back!” She ran into the house, shut the music off, and came flying out seconds later, purse in hand. “Let’s get outta here!”  

Slightly bewildered by her friend’s manic energy, Lita got back in the car and started the engine. 

“I was gonna walk, but since you showed up and were goin’ there anyway…” 

“No problem,” Lita said. 

“So. How are things with you?” JoAnn turned in the seat to face her and stared, waiting for an answer. 

“Uh, fine. But I stopped by Darla’s before I came over, and she
didn’t
seem so fine. I was wondering what’s up with her. Have you noticed anything…strange?” 

“I ain’t seen Darla much, actually. Been too busy. Weston has about all the jobs he can handle, and I been promoted at work. This weekend, we’re actually buyin’ a new freezer! Can you believe it? I think it’s gonna be a good year.” 

“Yeah? I’m glad to hear it. But I’m worried about Darla.”
And you, too
, Lita thought. “She didn’t say anything, but something’s wrong. I was wondering if you could look in on her. Or give her a call. Today, if you can. Then call me and tell me what think.” 

JoAnn nodded, but… 

But Lita didn’t think she would do it. 

That was a weird thought. Had JoAnn and Darla had a falling out? Maybe they had and, subconsciously, she was picking up on the signals.  

No, Lita decided. It was something else. Both of her friends were acting strange, and she watched and listened to JoAnn as they shopped at the market, looking for some kind of clue, some indication that would tell her what was going on. 

Back at home, Dave and Ross were acting oddly, too. Almost conspiratorial. Was she just being paranoid? Her period was due any time and her hormones were swirling, so it wasn’t out of the question, but she didn’t think that was the case. 

What was the case, then? 

She didn’t know. The entire day was crazy. Everything was all topsy turvy, and she felt anxious and unsettled. She didn’t want to confront Dave—he was having a difficult enough time right now without her piling on—so she cornered Ross in the yard, quizzing him. He said Dave was worried about the chickens and the eggs they were laying. She already knew that, and while she didn’t think Ross was lying, she still had the sense that he was keeping something from her. 

That night, in bed, Dave was more charged up than he had been in a long time. They’d been in a lull lately, even before he’d gotten the news about his parents, but tonight he came roaring back. He felt bigger and harder inside her than he ever had before, and while that was great, he pounded away with such ferocity that it hurt, and afterward her crotch was so sore that it was painful even to roll over and go to sleep.  

But sleep she did, eventually, and she dreamed that all of her friends and family were planning a surprise birthday party for her. Only…when she walked into the room and they jumped out and yelled “Surprise!”, they were standing behind a black birthday cake with black candles, and the smoke from the candles coalesced above their heads into the shape of a terrible horned demon. 

FIFTEEN 

Dylan didn’t remember Mr. Noodle. 

Darla ate dinner silently as Tom and Dylan talked enthusiastically about who they thought would be in the playoffs this year. She felt sad. When he was younger, she and her son had done everything together: making beds, making lunch, dusting the furniture, reading books, playing games. She’d been there for every moment of his life, had suffered through
Teletubbies
and
Barney
, had sung along with
Sesame Street
songs and laughed with him at the slapstick antics of his favorite character, Mr. Noodle, on
Elmo’s World
. Today, she’d discovered that he didn’t even remember Mr. Noodle. It had come up casually in a conversation, and when he’d stared at her blankly after she’d made the reference, Darla realized for the first time that all of those special moments they’d shared, all of those memories she thought they’d been building, were completely one-sided.
She
had memories. He didn’t. And she had never felt so depressed in her life. 

Still, she looked at him across the table and realized how lucky she was, how lucky she and Tom both were. They had a great kid, a wonderful family, and God had blessed them. It was churlish of her to worry about and obsess over such a small and ultimately insignificant matter as Mr. Noodle. But finding out that he’d forgotten about the
Elmo’s World
character was symptomatic of a larger realization: Dylan was growing up. 

Darla experienced a profound sense of loss. They’d done so many things together, but there were so many things they
hadn’t
done, things he was too old to do now, and she wished that every year of his childhood could last five years so they would have time to do it
all
.  

Now that he was ten, he was moving away from her emotionally, toward Tom, and while that was the way it should be, she still didn’t have to like it. 

In fact, there were a lot of things she didn’t like. 

She’d found herself distracted lately. Yesterday, for example, she was pretty sure Lita had stopped by to see her, but when she tried to recall the visit, nothing came to mind. She could not for the life of her remember why Lita had come over or what they had talked about or how long she had stayed. 

Something was wrong. Something had been wrong for awhile now. Things had not been right since… 

She didn’t want to think about it. 

Except she could think of almost nothing else. 

Darla had never been religious, but she was seriously considering going to Father Ramos’ church. He seemed like a good man, a nice man, and from what everyone said, he had a handle on what was going on here. Maybe he could explain to her what was happening. 

Explain
what was happening?  

That wasn’t really why she was thinking of going to church, was it? 

No. 

She’d had the fear of God put into her. 

She’d heard that phrase all her life—
the fear of God
—but until now had not really known what it meant. The New Year’s party had changed that, and everything that had happened since was just further confirmation. Like the Wizard of Oz, God was great and terrible, and those who incurred His wrath, as they all had, were doomed to suffer His punishments.  

Tom and Dylan were laughing at some sports joke, and she smiled with them, though she had no idea what was so funny. She felt sad again, looking at her boy, the fear abating for a moment. Everything seemed to be falling apart, and she wished it was six years ago and Dylan was four, and that damn New Year’s Eve party had never happened. 

**** 

Weekends were boring. 

Dylan would have preferred to attend school seven days a week. It was a long bus ride to Willcox, but it was worth it because other kids were there. He had friends at school, other boys he could play with. Here at home, he was pretty much stuck with his parents, and while he loved them and all, they weren’t that much fun to hang around, and he usually spent a lot of time by himself. 

There
were
other kids in Magdalena and the surrounding area, but not that many and none his own age. 

Often, when he tired of playing computer games and his dad was too busy to throw the ball around and there was nothing worthwhile on TV and he wasn’t in the mood to watch a DVD, Dylan ended up hiking by himself near the M mountain. He didn’t know if the mountain had a real name, but that was what the people in town called it, and he had actually gone up to the M before and walked around the giant letter. He’d even sat in the middle of it. From down by his house, the M looked like it was made of white powder, like the stuff they used to mark off a football field or draw the lines between bases, but when you got up close, it was actually made up of boulders painted white and arranged in the shape of the letter. 

The trails on the mountain branched off in seemingly infinite directions, and he wasn’t sure if some of them were animal paths or if they were all manmade. Sometimes he saw other people hiking, couples mostly, adults, but he liked it better when he was by himself and there was no one else in sight. 

Like today. 

Dylan walked up a narrow switchback trail he’d never been on before. There were hoofprints on the hardpacked dirt, though no shoeprints other than his own, as far as he could tell. He should have brought some bottled water—his mom was always on him about that—but the day was pretty cool and he didn’t plan to be gone that long. 

From up ahead, behind a large outcropping of rock that looked almost like a miniature castle, Dylan heard what sounded like two kids talking. One of them laughed at something the other one said, and Dylan’s heart sped up with what could have been excitement, could have been apprehension. For this had the potential to go either way. The kids might be happy to have someone new to play with and welcome him to their hideout, or they might resent the fact that he’d discovered their secret spot and start throwing rocks at him. 

He approached cautiously, not sure whether to announce his presence.  

The boulders that made up the outcropping were larger than they’d appeared from further back, and he could see spaces between them that looked almost like passageways.
Cool
, he thought. 

“Hey!” Dylan called out. “Is anyone there?” 

He knew there was, and figured he could judge by the response he received whether he should continue on. But the kids ignored him, kept talking and laughing amongst themselves, and he realized that he could not make out a single word they were saying. That was odd. This close, he should have been able to hear them more clearly, and he wondered if the reason neither of them had responded to his shout out was because they couldn’t hear
him
. Sound did strange things when you were up here. 

The path ended at the edge of the outcropping, and he stood next to a pillar-like boulder, yelling into the space between it and the cliffside. “Hello!” 

The other kids did not respond, although they both burst out laughing before continuing with their conversation. They were messing with him, Dylan thought, and the idea so annoyed him that he picked up a couple of pebbles from the ground and slid between the rocks as quietly as he could, intending to scare those brats within an inch of their lives. If he’d had the ability to do a deep voice, he would have pretended to be an adult, but since that option was out, he thought he’d throw the pebbles up at the cliff, above where they were, and fool them into thinking there was an avalanche. 

It was a good plan, and he stopped, peeked out from between the boulders at a flat open space surrounded by tall rock, and saw— 

—no one. 

The kids were laughing. He could hear their voices coming from the small area directly in front of him, but there was no sign of anyone around. He stepped out, looked in each direction, thinking that his ears had been playing tricks on him, that maybe they’d detected his presence and were hiding between other boulders, waiting to jump out at him. But, no, despite the voices, he was the only one here.