Try Darkness (29 page)
The demon head got closer and opened its mouth, laughing and mocking, and I was sure I was destined for that maw. And I was scared.
Then the head exploded, soundlessly, all traces of it disappearing.
I heard a voice. Familiar, but I wasn’t sure if it was real.
“Easy,” Father Bob said. “How do you feel?”
It was still night. I was lying on my back. My head felt like it was in eight sections.
“What happened?” I said.
“Anything broken?”
“Get me up.”
“You sure?”
“Get me up.”
He put one hand under my head and the other under my shoulder. Helped me to a sitting position. I tried to blink some of the gravel out of my brain.
“What’d they do?” I said.
He didn’t answer.
I knew then it was bad. “Tell me.”
“They took Kylie,” he said.
A BLINDING LIGHT
shot through my head. White flame. I grabbed both sides with my hands.
“Sister Mary?” I said.
“She’s all right.”
“Where?”
“Up at the car. Praying.”
I fought the hot and cold in my brain. The world started coming back into focus. Lights in the sky, lights down in the distant valley.
Took Kylie.
“They said something,” Father Bob said. “They said don’t talk to the law. If we talk to the law she’s dead.”
“Anything else?”
“They said they’d make contact. Tomorrow night.”
I stood up. My head was spinning. “Who are they going to contact?”
“They didn’t say. We need to get the police involved.”
“No way. Not yet.”
“We can’t just wait,” Father Bob said.
“They wouldn’t go to all this trouble just to harm her,” I said. “We wait to hear what they want. It’ll be money. The only question is how much and how to deliver it.”
“She must be so frightened,” Father Bob said.
“She’s got some grit,” I said. “You and Sister Mary pray to your God that she keeps it.”
WE HAD TO
break it to Sister Hildegarde. And then everyone in the community. Once it was learned Kylie wasn’t there anymore, there’d be questions. And questions could leak out of a monastery and into a cop station.
Sister Hildegarde was not pleased. We met with her in the front office.
“Absolutely you must call the police,” she said.
“Not yet,” I said.
“You do not have the authority here, Mr. Buchanan.”
“I’m telling—asking—you not to say anything to anyone. It’s critical that you don’t give out any information.”
“Mr. Buchanan, you have imposed yourself upon us, in good faith I have no doubt, but nevertheless—”
Sister Mary said, “Sister Hildegarde, would you consent to a period of prayer before making a final decision?”
Sister Hildegarde snapped her a look. “What is that supposed to mean, Sister?”
“Nothing, I—”
“Your piety is becoming something of a problem here. And—”
“Please,” Father Bob said. “This is not getting us anywhere. As your priest, Sister Hildegarde, I am advising you to wait.”
“And you do not have authority,” Sister Hildegarde said, though she sounded the least bit unsure.
“But I do. If you’ll recall, this was my appointment by the archdiocese. I am here at their behest.”
“The decision will be made through vote of the council,” Sister Hildegarde said. “In accord with the constitutions of the community. And that’s all I have to say on the matter.”
YOU CAN’T SLEEP
, so you think about things.
You think about your life and your powerlessness.
You think about being alone in the world.
You think about angst and the absurdity of life. How little control you have over anything. And even when you choose to do anything, it’s pointless because there’s no ultimate meaning, so what does it matter? What does anything matter? So what if a little girl gets iced? If anyone does? What does it matter, because we’re just accidents of nature and when it’s over, it’s over. No life after death, no singing with harps—that’s what you think about at night when you can’t sleep.
And then you wonder what makes you go on, what makes you care, because it’s in there somewhere, the caring, even if you don’t know why, even if you don’t know any reason for it. It’s just there and that’s why you don’t sleep.
You look out at the dark, you walk around in it, you think maybe there’ll be a big insight, a sudden realization. And then everything will all add up. That’s the hope part, the part the absurdists call a fool’s game.
Are you just a fool like everybody else?
You think of the girl and you think of her being scared and you can’t stand it, and caring becomes torture.
If God was in the room right now you’d scream at him.
That’s what you think about when you can’t sleep.
THE MORNING WAS
no better. The community went about its business, but the word gradually spread. Faces looked at me with concern, but a little something else, too. Like maybe I’d brought an infection to this place.
Like I’d overstayed my welcome.
I was a mess and I looked it.
So I cut weeds on the outside of the wall. I worked in the sun. The heat felt good on my body.
Father Bob came out and made sure I had Gatorade. But I kept clearing the weeds. Every hack was one less thought.
Around four I knocked off and took a shower in my trailer. Got out, dried off, fell on my bunk and fell asleep.
It was dark when Father Bob shook me awake.
“They called,” he said. “They want to talk to you.”
SISTER MARY WAS
waiting for us in the office. We didn’t say anything. Like a voice would snap whatever thread held hope for Kylie.
The office phone rang five minutes later. I took it.
“Buchanan,” I said.
“I know.” The voice sounded electronic. Purposely masked. “The girl is all right.”
I waited.
“Did you hear me?” the voice said.
“Yes.”
“Good. You know that if you go to the police or the federals, you will never see her again?”
“Yes.”
“This doesn’t have to end bad. It’s all up to you. You and the Catholics.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ll find out. A little at a time. You can’t trace this. Don’t try.”
“I want to talk to Kylie.”
“You don’t get to make up the rules.”
“This a game?” I said.
Pause. “Don’t question me.”
“Let me talk to her, then we’ll go on.”
“I’m not gonna tell you again.”
“We’re negotiating here,” I said. “A little give on each side.”
“You want me to give you something?”
“Just so I know she’s okay.”
Another pause. Longer. “If this is going to be a problem, I’m gonna get upset. And you don’t want me upset. I sort of lose control when I’m upset. Now you just hold on.”
I heard a sound like the wind blowing across the microphone of a cell. Then silence. Then a scuffing sound. And low voices.
Then I heard her. “I wanna be with Sister Mary and Ty.” She said it in a low voice, a scared voice. Trying hard to be brave.
It ate my insides up.
Silence again, then the sound of the wind. He was going outside.
“That’s all you get,” he said. The electronic voice was mobile. It now sounded like one of those vibrating things people hold to their throats when they’ve lost their voice. Simple. “There’s a pay phone at the Thrifty gas station on Foothill. You take the 118 to the 210, get off at Ocean View. Turn left, then left again on Foothill. You’ll run into it in about a mile. You getting this?”
“That’s on the other side of the Valley.”
“Wait at the phone. I’ll call you. Come alone. I’ll be watching. If you come with anybody, the girl is going to get hurt. You have one hour. One. If you’re not there, the girl will feel some pain.”
THE THREE OF
them looked at me, waiting.
“I have to go,” I said. “I have an appointment.”
“I’m going with you,” Sister Mary said.
“I have to go alone. This is only the beginning. I don’t want to get any of you or St. Monica’s more involved. Whoever they are, they want to deal with me, so I’ll let them.”
“Will they hurt her?” Sister Mary said.
“Yes,” I said.
I HAD TO
burn some tire to get there in time. The 118 jammed up at Balboa, so I broke the law. I hopped into the diamond lane, reserved for cars with two or more. I was taking a big risk, that I’d be spotted by the CHP or a cop. But a bigger risk was not getting to that pay phone in time. The thought of Kylie getting some harm done to her was almost choking me.
It was forty-seven minutes by my watch when I took the turn onto Foothill. I followed it until I saw the yellow and red sign for the gas station.
And the pay phone, under a blue sign.
With a guy taking up the space.
I pulled into the station and swung around and parked just beyond the phone. The lights of the station cast a yellow glow. I could see that the guy on the phone wasn’t dressed too sharply. His long hair was greasy. He was jittery, moving around as he talked.
He eyed me as I approached. “I need to use the phone,” I said.
“What? Wait . . . Billy . . . wait a second.” He put the phone on his chest. “What’d you say?”
“Sorry, I need to use this phone. I need to have it now.”
“I’m talking.”
“I’ll give you five bucks if you hang up now.”
“You crazy?”
“Five bucks.”
He rejected the offer with a few words about what I could do with my five dollars. I took the phone out of his hand and hung it up.
“Hey man!” he said. Looking at me. Sizing me up.
I put the fin in his pocket and said, “Leave.”
He hesitated.
“Now,” I said.
He google-eyed me, as if he wanted to scare me off. But he had nothing on me. I was more than half crazy at this point. I pushed him hard. His back slammed into the phone.
It took the google right out of him. He walked away fast.
There wasn’t much traffic at this hour. It felt like a desert town at night in some B movie.
But the phone ringing made it real.
“
THAT WAS JUST
great, the way you handled that guy,” the voice said.
I looked around.
“Don’t bother,” the voice said. “You can’t see me.”
He could have been anywhere out there, with night vision optics. Or on a roof, or right behind me.
“What now?” I said.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. I want you to bend over and grab your ankles.”
“What?”
“Don’t make me repeat this. Bend over now and grab your ankles.”
That’s what I did, leaving the phone hanging from the wire. I stood up and took the phone again. “Happy?” I said.
“Real happy. You’re doing what I want you to do. You see how easy that is?”
“Let’s get to it,” I said. “You want money?”
“Yeah. I want money. Lots of money. How much you got on you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find out. Right now.”
I took out my wallet and looked inside. I had two twenty-dollar bills and a couple of singles. “Twenty-two bucks,” I said.
“Any credit cards?”
“Yeah.”
“How many credit cards?”
“Two,” I said.
“American Express? Visa?”
“Both.”
“Great. Here’s what you do. Take out the bills and credit cards. Wrap the bills around the credit cards. Do that right now.”
“Twenty-two dollars isn’t going to—”
“Do it right now. Don’t question me again.”
I shut up and did what he said.
“Now, walk that over to the fence. You’re going to see a can of Campbell’s Bean-with-Bacon soup there. An empty can. I want you to put the money and credit cards in the can, put the can back down where you found it, then come back to the phone. I’ll wait.”
I let the phone dangle, walked over to the chain-link fence that sided the gas station. There was enough light for me to see the can. I picked it up and put the money and credit cards inside. I put the can back on the ground.
I turned to walk back to the phone. It wasn’t dangling anymore. The guy I gave the five dollars to was standing there, holding it, looking at me with a half smile.
“Don’t hang up,” I said.
He hung up.
“WHAT’S IN THE CAN?”
he said.
“Get out of here,” I said, approaching. I took two steps toward him. Something flashed. He had a knife, holding it flat against his belly.
“Get me the can,” he said. “I wanna see what’s in it.”
“Listen,” I said, “you don’t know what’s happening. You’re being watched.”
“Right.” He started walking toward me, slowly, tapping the knife against his chest. “Tippy tap, tippy tap,” he said. “I like to play with knives and forks and spoons, and I like to cut things.”
I looked around. If the guy came at me, I didn’t have many options.
“Tippy tap, tippy tap,” he said, closer now. I had to start backing up.
Knife guy kept coming and I didn’t think he was serious about sticking me, but I wasn’t going to test him. He backed me up past the fence, then looked down. Saw the can and edged toward it, keeping an eye on me and another on the can. He kicked it slightly.
It fell, some bills flapping out.
“Muh-nay,” he said. “What is up with that, Doc?”
“I wouldn’t touch that,” I said.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t do a lot of things, probably. I like to do things.” He held the knife in his right hand as he squatted and reached for the can with his left. He pulled out the bills and the cards. Stood up and looked at them.
“What’re you doing this for?” he said. He shot a look at the phone. “Who you talking to?”
“Publishers Clearing House,” I said. “Congratulations. You win. Now you better get out of here because some bad dudes are around and they can see what you’re doing.”
“What are you talking?” He looked at my cards. “Tyler Buchanan. You a rich guy?”
“Shut up. Put the money and the cards back.”
He smiled, put the items in his shirt pocket, and pointed the knife at me. “You got any more on you?”
