Ceremony of Flies (5 page)

“I know it’s stupid, taking off like that,” he says real low, almost a whisper. “But there’s not all that much to stick around Truman for. There’s nothing there. No work, no interesting people, nothing. Then my mom died and her house seemed real big and real small at the same time and it was filled up with the half-finished needlepoint and five different flavors of tea in the cabinet and every time the doorbell rang...” Rex looks over. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Of course,” I say because saying no means I’m not going to hear the ghost story.

“Every time the doorbell rang, which wasn’t so much, I could swear I’d hear footsteps on the way to answer it.”

He stopped speaking like he was done.

“And?”

“And what?”

“What happened then?”

Rex contorts his face into a shape that says he is pondering the question. Maybe he really is an actor, because this expression of his is definitely playing to the back row.

“I’d go answer the door and it was the UPS fella with a package for my mom or something.”

“That is about the lamest ghost story I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not supposed to be a scary ghost story. I was explaining why I left. That was the reason. It was too sad to stay in that house with my mom still there but not really there. Just the wisps of her like dust on the floor that I should sweep away.”

That’s sweet, I guess, if sweet is the kind of thing you’re into. The guy loves his mom.

“Seemed like the time was right. If I was ever going to do anything, you know
be
anything, I should do it then. And then the same week I had the idea to go, I met up with Jack Lord. It was a sign.”

When he says it like that, it doesn’t sound like the stupidest plan anymore. I sit for a second and try to imagine him in that empty house and it seems like he might be someone who understands that feeling of drowning in emptiness. I feel like I want to put my arms around Rex and hold on to him as tight as I can.

But I don’t.

The bartender comes through the door without our burgers. He has a look on his face like someone’s got a good grip on his balls. “Judith Ford?” he says with a businesslike tone that doesn’t at all fit with ambiance of the establishment.

I hesitate a second too long, I guess.

He holds up the credit card and cuts it in two with some rusty scissors. “Keep your seat. I’m going to have to call the police.”

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I jump off the stool. It hits the floor with a crash. The gun catches on the bungee cord belt where I’d stashed it. The cord snaps when I tug it out. The magazine is loose. I pound it into the handle like I’ve seen on TV. A flow like undertow I can’t control moves my arm.

Whatever’s going to happen is going to happen.

The panic and fear and excitement are there but separate, like the wave has already crested. I pull the trigger. The shock jolts through me. I pull again. Again.

The bartender’s face explodes. Blood and bits of stuff splatter the mirror behind him. There’s a hole where his eye used to be. I watch him crumble and fall. He tips over the trash can.

The flies go wild.

“What’d you do?” Rex yells at me. He backs away from me like he’s just seen a monster.

“He was going to call the cops,” I yell.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

What now? I’ve got to get out of here—fast.

“Come on, Kitty, we’re friends. Don’t shoot.” Rex holds up his hands and smiles his gleaming white smile.

“I’m not going to shoot you with your own gun, stupid.”

Unless you wink at me, then I will fucking kill you.

“That’s my gun?”

“Yes,” I say.

Rex is looking a little peaked like he’s about to spew on his shoes.

“And now we’re going to get the fuck out of here together, because nobody’s going to believe I did this by myself.”

“Kitty, I gotta get to L.A.”

“Fuck L.A.! That’s a stupid plan.”

Rex snaps his mouth shut.

“We need gas! We need money,” I yell at him because he’s not seeing the bigger picture.

Fuck!

I spin around and the pool player is edging his way to the back door. He raises his hands. Sweat is trickling down his neck into the collar of his coat.

“Give his money back,” I yell. It comes out sounding way more shrill and crazy than I intend.

“Yeah, okay awright.” He reaches into his breast pocket and throws a wad of cash on the pool table. “Here you go.” He looks me in the eye like he’s going to find my code of honor there.

I pull the trigger. Pull again. I can’t hear anything but vibration between my ears.

The top of his head disappears. He crumbles to the floor.

“Turn the motherfucking gas on!” I scream at Rex as I snatch the money from the table and run for the door.

5

The weird brown twilight of the Crossroads Bar and Grill follows us, merging with the cloud of dust and pebbles, churning up as we tear out of the parking lot.

“Go faster,” I yell, even though we’re going fast enough for the tires to slide on the road.

Fuck Fuck Fuck!

The nose of the car points up onto the highway. “No!” I scream. I grab the wheel and yank it.

The car veers.

Rex makes a howling sound like a kicked dog.

“Not the highway!” I yell.

The car bumps over the edge of the on-ramp and bottoms out hard enough for my teeth to slam together.

Rex probably meant to hit the brake but he hits the gas. The engine roars. The back end fishtails. Gravel and desert sand sprays behind us sounding like rain as the particles hit the car. We fly away from the highway at a perpendicular angle.

“Is this south? Is this the right way?” My voice sounds shrill and thin.

Rex doesn’t say anything. He probably doesn’t know either. At least we’re on back roads and going faster than I’ve ever gone before. I can feel the fear inside me, but it’s tucked away and separate. I know it could get out any minute and make me ache with it. But for right now, it’s stashed away.

In no time at all, we’re away from Barstow. For miles and miles there is nothing to see but sand and Joshua trees and sometimes, a rock formation that looks like shadow puppets, hands in the shape of a jackrabbit. “Are you okay?” I ask Rex.

He doesn’t say anything. He grips the steering wheel tighter and leans down close to it. He’s grinding his teeth. His jaw twitches in that angry way men’s jaws move when they’re holding violence in.

The sun through the weird brownish haze is dropping closer and closer to the horizon. The glare on the road is fierce. I feel around on the seat for the sunglasses, but I can’t find them.

I squint through the amber light into the setting sun’s molten white core. A shadow—a silhouette—a person! “Stop!” I shriek. “Someone’s in the road.”

“Wha—” Rex starts to ask and then he sees the figure too. He slams his foot on the brake. We slide sideways, then spin. I hold on to whatever I can grab. The dashboard—the edge of the seat—air.

The Joshua trees wave their twisted arms as we spin past them, by them, through them.

And then we are tipping. My hands are wrenched free and I’m thrown into Rex. The gear shift bashes my knee. Rex’s head slams into the steering wheel. For a moment, in spite of the pain in my leg, it feels thrilling like a roller coaster. Then I realize that ten tons of classic car are about to come crashing down on us. Miraculously my fear stays tucked away. And equally miraculous, the car stops moving.

Just stops.

I breathe out slowly, afraid to move in case the slightest vibration might cause the inertia to pick up where it left off. I’m on top of Rex with my face pressed into his neck. This is the first time I’ve ever touched him, I realize. His face is pressed against the side window. Blood drips from his eyebrow onto the glass.

I give it a moment to make sure it’s really over. My heartbeat is slamming in my ears like a heavy metal anthem.

“Kitty,” Rex says. It’s not a question or even a statement. It’s like the
amen
at the end of a prayer.

“Are you okay?” I ask as I contort myself into some backward then forward spider-walk and use my jungle-gym skills to get first off Rex, then out of the car. A twinge of pain shoots through me when I put weight on my leg, but it’s not more than I can stand.

I am in the sea of wild landscape that flew by the car windows what seems like a lifetime ago. The road is barely a road. It’s more like furrows in the ground just big enough to hold the tires. It’s a child’s road made in a sandbox with matchbox cars. This doesn’t feel secure or even real. Who knew that blacktop and street signs could be a comfort? I’ll bet this place isn’t on any map.

Creaks, croaks and hums swirl around me as nocturnal beasts come alive. I think the thing that slithered away and hid under the car was a lizard. I hope it was a lizard. The desert is not as empty as it appears.

Once I’m on the ground, Rex has no trouble sliding out. His movements are stiff as he stands up. Maybe he is older than I thought.

“You’re bleeding.” I wrap the too-long sleeves of my shirt, his shirt, around my hand and reach up to wipe off the blood.

He shoves my hand away like he’s mad or he thinks this is
my
fault. “Poor old Linda, she’s the one that’s hurt.” He puts his hand on the passenger-side door that’s up in the air. He’s got a strange heartbroken look on his face. “I’m sorry, baby. We’ll get you all fixed up.”

“You can patch her up, Rex. She’ll be as good as new,” I say, because what the hell, the guy loves his car.

He spins around and glares in the direction we were going before we wrecked.

The sun sinks down below the horizon. It’s not dark yet, but dark is coming fast.

I hate the dark.

In the golden-brown twilight up on a little ridge where two roads cross, stands the little black boy and the dog from back at the bar and grill. From back at the parking garage in Vegas?

Maybe now is the time I should do the math. This kid can’t travel at the speed of light. Something is wrong here. Or maybe something is wrong with me.

I was never very good at math.

I can’t see the looks on their faces but I can tell they’re looking our way. Looking and standing perfectly still.

They must have wanted to come with us, I think, because my brain’s kind of rattled from rolling around in the car. They followed us. I get that feeling like something is off again, but I don’t want to examine it too closely. I don’t want to turn over that rock. Something truly horrible might be under it.

Rex squares his shoulders like he’s going to fight and stomps through the scrub and sand and broken cactus. “Hey!” he yells at them.

I run to catch up with him.

They don’t flinch or respond in any way. Not the boy. Not even the dog. They remind me of a movie poster they’re posed so perfectly against the dying blaze of the sun.

“You got no sense?” Rex yells as he breaks into a run. When he gets to the place where the two roads cross, he grabs the boy by the arm and yanks him. The dog snarls, but Rex doesn’t pay any attention. “You’re going to get killed standing in the road like that.” Rex shakes the boy.

The dog bares its teeth and growls but it doesn’t attack.

I rush up to Rex and put my hands on his arm to make him stop shaking the kid. “He didn’t mean it. Did you?”

The little boy is making sounds like he’s crying, but no tears are coming from his big brown eyes. A fly lands on the corner of his mouth. The hum of it is too loud for a single insect.

Rex lets go of him.

And without even thinking about it like it’s an instinct, I hug the kid and hold him really tight. The fly drone hums in my ears. He’s skinny. I can feel his bones against me. His hair is wild and matted in dreadlocks like maybe his mother is white and doesn’t know how to care for it. Or maybe she’s dead a long time like my Chinese mother. His hair smells like the desert, dusty and dry. I get the feeling like we both know what it feels like to be drifting unmoored in the big emptiness. I rock back and forth with him. He stops making the crying sound.

A sound, a howl, rises up into the air. It’s close by, no, far away. I can’t tell. I don’t know where the animal that is making this hollow, hungry sound is. The dog inches closer to the boy as if to protect him. Perhaps to step into the gravity of humans and away from the wild. The howl decays into yipping and whining.

Coyotes.

Must be, although it could as easily have been demons. The first howl is joined by another, another. A pack of coyotes.

I kept a rabbit in a hutch in my backyard when I was little. His name was Frank. I kind of had a dark side as a kid. He was awesome. He thumped at me when I didn’t pet him enough. He nuzzled under my chin. His fur was the softest thing I’ve ever touched. Someone left the cage unlatched, and the cat got in his hutch.