Bad Radio (17 page)

My eyes wandered from wall to wall, skipping from image to image. Most of them were bland and pointless. A hand pulling open a door. A bird. A view out of a car window, looking at field. Some of them were weren’t. There was a body, facedown in a bedroom with a dark stain spreading around the head, a dismembered dog on a kitchen table, and horribly, a knife pointed directly back into the center of the picture, two hands wrapped around the handle.

“Abe.” I turned away from the jumble of mesmerizing images and went to Anne, who was kneeling down and staring hard at a picture near the floor. “Look at this.”

It was a picture of a bathroom, looking into a mirror. A woman was leaning forward and putting on makeup. Her face was indistinct, being a small part of a small picture, but the shape of the features were there, if not the details.

“That’s from my dream. I dreamed I was that girl, putting on my makeup, in that bathroom. This is it exactly.” She stood up and turned her back on the sketch. “Is this what I have to look forward to? Being driven more and more insane by my dreams until I’m wallowing in garbage and trying to chop people up in my kitchen?”

“Well, at least you’ll bake a good candle.”

“That’s not helping.”

I hunkered down next to her and took her hand. “I think you and Georgia probably shared a certain sensitivity, but that’s all. Just because you can hear the music doesn’t mean you have to dance.”

“I hope you’re right.”

I helped her to her feet. “Me, too. Nobody likes a stabby roommate.”

The door at the end of the hallway turned out to be a bathroom. At some point the toilet had gotten plugged up, but that hadn’t stopped Georgia from using it. Looking at the sink, it appeared that she had resorted to mashing stuff down the drain towards the end. We pulled the door closed and prayed that we didn’t have to return to search.

Moving around the left bend brought us to the final door in the house, also closed. I put one hand on the knob. “Has to be her bedroom. Ready?” Anne nodded, and I pushed it open. The door swung open without resistance, indicating a lack of garbage on the floor, or at least along the door’s path. Beyond the entrance was only blackness. The odor coming from the room was that of stale, sour sweat.

Anne peered around me. “Turn on the light.”

“I’d have to feel around on the wall for the switch.”

“You are a huge baby. Move.” She pushed past me. I could hear the swish of her hand sliding around on the wall, and then the lights came on.

The floor of the room was stripped down to bare concrete. Strips of carpet tacks still adorned the edges of the floor next to the walls, and there was old blood staining most of them, coating the short nails and the pale wooden strips they were embedded in. Bloody footprints adorned the concrete around these spots, as if Georgia had trod on the carpet tacks and then kept walking around unconcerned.

Candles were stuck into the remains of other candles on the floor in a ragged circle around the dirty mattress in the center of the room. A plastic disposable lighter lay next to the mattress, a shockingly cheerful pink artifact from the outside world. The mattress was sagging, lacked sheets, and was covered in overlapping urine stains in the middle. At the head of it was the pewter gray arc of the altar piece. The twin spikes were shoved downward through the mattress where a person’s head would be, leaving the hard crescent as a pillow.

Anne made a face. “She slept on it? Jesus.”

“Well, that explains all the pee.”

“I’m not touching it.” She pushed me. “You get it.”

I bent over the bed and grasped it in one hand. As usual, it felt oily and squirmy under my fingers, only this time the sensation was more intense. I pulled and it slid easily out of the mattress. Holding it made me feel queasy.

“It’s more, I don’t know, active or something than the one we’re carrying. Put it in your purse, I don’t want to carry it.”

“It’s not going to fit in my purse, it’s like two feet long! Just hold it.” She was looking around the room at the walls. “What do you think all of this is?” The walls and ceiling were completely covered in long wavy lines, all the way to the floor. I shrugged.

“I don’t know, just looks like a bunch of curvy lines to me.”

“It must mean something. Look how clean this room is. And look at the candles. This room was important to her, like a shrine.” She peered closely at the lines. “This was done very carefully. See how the lines go over and under each other, but never break? Each one of these goes all the way up to the middle of the ceiling.” She chewed absently on one finger for a minute. “Light the candles.”

“Why?”

“I want to see what it looked like to her when she was in here. She wasn’t using the overhead light, she was using the candles and laying down on the mattress looking up. Let’s see what she saw.”

I started lighting the candles. “You can lie down on that mattress if you want, but I’m trying to cut back on rolling around in other people’s urine.”

Once the candles were lit, Anne flicked off the light switch. The room was suffused in swaying, amber light. Our shadows multiplied and convulsed on the walls.

“We have to get on the floor. She wouldn’t have been seeing all these shadows. Just lay next to the mattress.”

The smell of the mattress was unbelievable when I lay down next to it. If anything, the acrid stench of old sweat was worse than the ammonia of the urine. I put my head down on the concrete and looked up at the ceiling. And then I forgot about the smell.

They weren’t individual lines, they were pairs of lines. They started close together and parallel at the ceiling and eventually came together at a point near the floor, forming a long worm or tentacle. They passed over and under each other with no space between in an endless cascade that went all the way around the room without a break.

Each was painstakingly complete, from ceiling to floor, no matter how many twisting loops or dips into the mass it followed. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them writhed in the wavering candlelight, forming a slithering cascade all around us. In the center of the ceiling they originated out of a solid black area around the light fixture, colored in completely with marker. We were in a vast, wormy maw. And it was swallowing everything.

17

S
tepping into the bright fall sun was cleansing. I stood on the front step with my face tilted into the sun, eyes tightly closed, and was caressed by a breeze redolent with the scents of leaves and car exhaust.

I shivered, throwing off the clinging dread and madness behind me like a dog shedding water, and started walking to the car. Anne seemed to relax, blinking in the light as if waking from a dream. When we got to the car, I opened the trunk and changed out of my tattered shirt.

The car was deliciously quiet and clean as we pulled away from the curb. I rolled the windows down to let some air circulate around us.

Anne looked at me seriously once we were moving. “Should we call someone? The police?”

“I don’t know what the point would be. The victim was homicidally insane, and the perpetrator acted only to save a life. The public doesn’t need to be protected and the perp doesn’t need to be punished. I think we’re better off leaving things as they are.”

“I guess. Although it doesn’t feel entirely right to me.” Anne leaned back against her headrest and closed her eyes, clearly drained. “Where to now?”

“Since we’re here, I figured I may as well pay my respects to an old friend. You mind?”

She shook her head, never opening her eyes.

We drove in silence to the Arlington National Cemetery, just listening to the wind whipping past the windows and our own thoughts. I parked in the visitor lot and led Anne into the vast, perfectly manicured expanse of the cemetery. The grass was a deep emerald green, and as always, a deep hush permeated the air.

I bypassed the visitor’s center; I already knew how to find Section 36. All of my oldest friends were buried there. It occurred to me that this was the first time I’d ever been here not wearing my dress uniform with Maggie on my arm.

We didn’t have far to walk, the section that I wanted was right near the entrance. “I always thought this place would be stark and kind of oppressive. But it’s not.”

“There’s art here, even outside of the memorials. It always makes me think of cathedral art. The kind of things created by people with an eye on something larger than themselves.”

“It seems like a waste. We shouldn’t be glorifying war like this.”

I swept my hand out, indicating the endless rows of white tombstones studding the rolling lawn. “Yeah. Every morning we used to wake up scared to death that before the day was out, somebody would be face down in the mud with a sucking chest wound, and it wouldn’t be us, and we’d miss out on all that glory.”

I stopped in front of a grave marker, no different than any other one in this sea of tombstones. “This man saved my life more than once. He died saving all of us. If he were the only soldier buried here, then this whole goddamn cemetery would be the least this country could do for him.”

Shadroe Decatur

PFC

US ARMY

May 23 1920

November 3 1944

The stone was unchanged since the last time I had seen it. Unchanged from the first time I had seen it. The color was slightly different than the stones around it, a little brighter and more pure. It was made of Yule marble, same as the Tomb of the Unknowns. We got no medals, no public honors, no recognition of our unique service of any kind. I guess this was the government’s way of making it up to us after we were dead. Hooray.

“Best friend I ever had. Here’s to you, Rat.”

“Seems like all of your nicknames had a story. What was behind that one?”

I shrugged. “Nothing much. Just looked like a rat. Short, wiry, long nose, no chin. Took about five seconds in Boot.”

“He died in the war?”

I nodded, not taking my eyes off of the smooth white stone. “He was the only one. He died making sure he was the only one.”

“What happened?”

“Bags. Chased us all across Poland, getting thicker the closer we got to Piotr’s hideout. We were caught outside, no cover, just out in the open. Two of ‘em found us and just started coming in. We’d gotten ourselves boxed in by a barrier minefield. We’d been air-dropped in from a base a few miles away, just before dawn, and were just plain lucky that we hadn’t landed smack in the middle of the damn thing in the dark.

“We landed just outside the markers when they caught up to us. By that time we’d faced three or four of them in total, but always just one at a time, and we’d barely survived. They scared us pretty badly. Guns were nearly useless, especially since they wore steel helmets and moved like greased pigs, and they tended to run up on you before you could fire more than once anyway, and then they’d let your air out with those knives. We’d never seen two at once before.”

I sat down on the soft, fragrant grass. Anne joined me. “It was like a Buster Keaton reel. We started shouting and shooting, and running every which way. It wasn’t exactly how they trained us, but like I said, we were plenty scared. I guess we just panicked.

“They started pelting up on us with their knives out, one in each hand. In the split second before they reached us, I knew we were dead. There was no way we’d take one down before they killed somebody, much less both before they killed all of us. All that speed and strength and savagery. They could punch half a dozen holes in you before you could blink, and all the way to the hilt.

“We saw a German patrol go down once, died to a man fighting just one. We killed it from a distance while it was peeling the skin off the last one. Anyway, before I knew it, they were among us, slashing and stabbing. I barely managed to block the first hit. The second got me, down to the bone.

“Then all of a sudden they were flying past me. Shadroe had slammed into them from behind, one arm around each waist, and flung all three of them right past me into the minefield. Shad knew what he was doing, and his aim was good.

“He hit one of those AT mines square on top. Anti-tank mines take a couple of hundred pounds to set off. Turns out three grown men will do it. The whole fight was over in seconds. Even so, three of us were bleeding, Patrick bad enough for Henry to have to slap a field dressing on it. Just like that. If Shad hadn’t saved us, we’d have died right there.”