Bad Things (26 page)

“You do what I say, Ricky. Promise.”

“I promise.”

Jade ran back into the living room. “Stinkums is gone! My little Stinkums!”

“We'll find your dog,” Carmen said gently. “You go finish your nap. Ricky and I will find him.”

Jade stared at them.

“Go on. He's around here somewhere. The bitches are in heat outside. I'll have Hector look out there.”

Jade stared at them suspiciously, and Rick could barely contain himself. He trembled with an almost overwhelming urge to do violence to the woman until, staring at him in alarm, she slowly retreated into her room and shut the doors.

“Stinkums?” he heard the old bitch call as she turned her lock. “Stinkums?”

“Come on,” Carmen ordered. He followed her into the kitchen, where she collected a garbage bag and a butcher knife. “Let's go,” she commanded as she started up the back stairs. Silently he followed her, wondering what the knife was for.

At his room, she opened the door and went in. He followed, feeling impotently angry and afraid as she marched into the bathroom. He stopped to check behind the bed to make sure the cat was all right.

“Ricky, can you come in here?” she called.

Reluctantly he entered the bathroom and saw that she'd used the knife to cut the hose. The dog lay on the counter, and his stomach lurched as he watched her wiggle its head, then pry its mouth open and peer inside.
“Madre de Dios,
I don't know how she told those dogs apart,” she said, still prodding the animal. “It hasn't been dead long.”

“No.”

“It's neck's broken. Must've snapped when it was hanged. Ricky, hold that bag open for me, please.”

Jade's screams began as Carmen dropped the dog, shower head and all, into the bag. Startled, Rick dropped the bag, and it thumped sickeningly to the floor.

“Stinkums! What have you done with Stinkums?” She hobbled forward, and Rick could see that the stairs had taken their toll. As she passed the bed, Quint's horrifying yowl rent the air, followed by violent hissing.

Jade shoved past Rick, bending with surprising agility and grabbing the bag, muttering the animal's name over and over and over. She pulled the poodle from the black plastic and held it to her chest, kissing its dead muzzle, cuddling it, stroking it, talking to it.

Rick felt sick.

Jade rose on creaking legs, looked Ricky straight in the eye, and slapped him as hard as she could. “You're evil!” she cried. “You killed my dog! You killed my Stinkums!” She reached out to slap him again, but this time he caught her wrist. He wanted to twist it, to break it.

“I didn't kill your damn dog, Jade” He was shocked by the controlled icy coldness in his voice. He saw Carmen staring at him in surprise. “You tried to kill my cat,” he continued, his voice growing chillier. “He got away, so you did this.” He gestured sharply at the animal in her arms.

“No I didn't! You killed my Stinkums!”

“Maybe Robin did it,” he heard himself say in a nasty, sarcastic tone. “You blame everything else on him. Why not this too? Maybe Robin did it, Jade.”

“Ricky,” Carmen began.

“She's like a spoiled little kid,” Rick continued. “She does whatever she wants, then blames my brother.”

Carmen crossed herself.

Jade squeezed the poodle harder, and something disgusting leaked from its rear end. “I have to call Mr. Whalen,” she announced, storming from the room.

“The taxidermist,” Carmen said dully. She opened the vanity, removed a sponge and cleanser, and one of the extra shower massagers. “Here.” She handed the head to Rick. “You fix this while I clean up.”

Silently he did as she asked. Carmen handled problems with action; it didn't matter what the action was, but she believed you had to do something—vacuum, tie knots in string, scrub down the kitchen—it didn't matter what.

“Excuse me,” he said, reaching past her for a wrench he'd left in the medicine cabinet.

Carmen watched him, amused. “You never did learn how to put away your toys, did you, Ricky?”

Her words eased the tension between them, and they quickly finished their work.

“Now,” she announced, “I'm gonna call Hector.” She went to Rick's bedside phone and dialed, spoke rapidly in Spanish, then turned to Rick. “Okay, let's get your cat's stuff. His box and his toys. Throw away the food—Hector's taking Cody to the store to buy more.”

“What? Why?”

“Your cat's gonna live with us for a while. At night you can bring him back to sleep with you, but then you bring him right back.”

“I don't see why—”

“He'll be alive, Ricky.”

“Okay, but I'll feed him here—”

“No. You got too much rat poison around. It'd be easy to poison his food. I'll feed him. Just change the water every time you bring him back.”

A chill traveled down Rick's back. Carmen's seriousness scared the hell out of him.

Five minutes and several painful scratches later, Quint was secure in his arms, and he and Carmen walked out back and into her cozy little house. Hector and Cody were gone. She shut the door. “He'll be fine. Let him go, he likes it here. We won't let him out.”

He took off Quint's leash and collar and was amazed to see the cat immediately start acting like his old self, moving through the house, rubbing, examining, stopping just short of marking his territory, thank God.

“He won't explore the main house,” Rick said. “Maybe it's too big.”

“He doesn't like it. He knows. Cats know things, Rick. So do dogs.” She snorted. “You can't tell it with those inbred rats of Jade's, but a real dog, he knows, just like cats.”

“Knows what?”

“In a minute. Sit down.” She pointed at a rocking chair nearby and disappeared into the yellow and white kitchen. “Good,” she said. “They brought all the food over. I'm gonna heat it up for us.”

Rick loved the Zapatas' two-bedroom, one bath cottage. It was a square little Spanish-style bungalow built with arched doorways and ceiling fans like the main house, but much more comfortable and cozy. It had rusty brown carpet, much newer than the stuff in the main house, and the pale eggshell walls served as a background for an assortment of weavings and hangings. Across from the fireplace, an organ took up a short wall, a beautifully bright Mexican blanket hanging behind it to muffle the sound. Ricky had considered the bungalow a haven when he was a child, and he realized now that his feelings hadn't changed.

“Okay, come and eat.”

He entered the kitchen and took a seat across from Carmen at the little pine table. They made small talk while they ate. When they were done, Carmen scraped the leftover chili into a bowl and gave it to Quint.

Rick shook his head watching the cat make happy growl sounds as he devoured the food. “That's the first time he's been really interested in food since we moved.”

“It's that house, Ricky. He doesn't like that house.” She went to a cupboard next to the refrigerator and withdrew a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses, brought them to the table, then fetched a small plate, a knife, a tub of margarita salt, and a whole lime and brought them also.

“It's kind of early for a drink, isn't it?” Rick asked, thoroughly enjoying the scent of lime zest as she cut into the fruit.

“Yeah, it's early, but we're gonna do it anyway,” she told him. “You're never gonna calm down otherwise, and it's time for us to have our talk. I think this is the only way you're gonna sit still for it.”

She held him with her eyes, and he found himself nodding agreement. “What about Cody?”

“You should've let me teach you Spanish, Ricky. I told Hector to buy cat food and then take him to the movies. We have all afternoon.”

“Swell,” he muttered as she poured the shots. “Just great.” He should have known Carmen would get her way in the end.

The ritual of lime, tequila, and salt was one Carmen found comforting. It was something to do, something to occupy a worried mind, and to return serenity to an anxious one. She hoped it would work on Ricky, because the things she needed to talk to him about, to force him to remember, certainly weren't going to calm him down.

She licked a spot on her hand and shook salt on it, then waited while Ricky copied her. Solemnly they swallowed their shots, then bit into the lime wedges.

“I'm worried about you,” she began. “You're wound up tight, like a watch that's gonna break.”

He shrugged, and she couldn't help but smile: It was the same gesture that he'd often made as a child.

“I'm okay.”

“You will be.” She poured two more shots. “Let's do it again.”

“I don't want to get sloshed.”

“You're not gonna get sloshed, Ricky. You're just gonna relax a little. Drink.”

“Yes, boss.”

They performed the ritual again. “You gotta calm down, Ricky, or you're gonna do something you shouldn't.”

“What do you mean?” he asked defensively.

“You let the old
puta
get under your skin. If you're not gonna send her away, then you better ignore her. You're so angry right now that I think you're gonna explode soon.” As she spoke, she poured two more. She figured it would take at least four shots to get him loose enough to really talk to him.

This time he downed the liquor without protest. “I'm fine, Carmen, I told you.”

“Stop it!” she snapped. “Stop lying to me. Stop lying to yourself. You lie all the time. You see those little jacks, but you won't admit it. You'd rather think you're crazy than to admit you see them, wouldn't you?”

He said nothing.

“Answer me, Ricky.”

He slammed the glass down on the table. “What the hell am I supposed to think, Carmen? Nobody else sees them. What the fuck am I supposed to think?”

“Watch your mouth. You're a fool. You gotta just accept that you've been gifted with the sight.”

“It's not a gift. It's a curse.”

He was hiding so much from himself. “Robin used to tell you everyone would think you were crazy if you told on him or if you told other people about the greenjacks.”

“How . . . how'd you know?” Obviously he was shocked. “I didn't tell you . . .”

“No. I heard him threaten you. You were so embarrassed that I didn't say anything to you. He knew your soft spot. I thought you'd grow out of it, but all you did was learn to hide it. You still don't trust yourself at all.”
And maybe you shouldn't,
she thought, watching him. She loved him as if he were her own, but . . .

His dark blue eyes had glazed over. “So you got me drunk to tell me I need to trust myself?”

“No. I got you drunk so you wouldn't think I was crazy when I tell you what I'm gonna tell you.” She had the sinking feeling he wouldn't believe anything she said, but she had to try.

“What do you have to tell me?” He sounded like he was waiting for his death sentence.

“Ricky, things have been happening in that house ever since you left.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jade didn't kill her poodle. She wouldn't do that.”

“So who did?” he asked skeptically. “Why did you tell me she put that other dog in the dryer?”

“Because I thought it might stop when you moved in. Sometimes these things work that way. You just never know.”

“What would stop?”

“The spirit.”

“What?”

“That house is haunted.”

“Yeah, right. So a ghost tried to kill my cat but missed and got the poodle instead,” he said caustically. “Who's the ghost? My dead brother?”

“Yes.”

“And this ghost could pick up a dog, break its neck, and tie a knot around its neck, all after hosing it down so it was nice and wet.”

“It could make someone else do it,” Carmen said.

“Possession?”

“Probably. I think it's sort of a . . .” She searched in vain for a word. “An
espectro ruidoso.
You know, a noisy ghost.”

“A poltergeist?”

“That's it.”

“It's really hard to buy, Carmen. Sorry.”

“Look at your cat, how he acts here and there.”

Ricky said nothing for a long while. When he finally spoke, it was in a soft, beaten voice. “He sees the greenjacks, Carmen.”

“What?”

“The cat can see them.”

“Good. Then he sees the ghost, too. But why do you believe him, but not yourself?”

Slowly Rick smiled. “I guess I have to. He's not going to try to spare my feelings, is he.”

The last comment was a statement, not a question, and Carmen breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he'd come around.

Then he said, “So who's being possessed, Carmen? Me?”

She swore at him, a long stream of Spanish invective that made him flinch, even though she knew he couldn't understand a word. This wasn't going the way she wanted.
“Madre de Dios,
Ricky,” she said after a moment. “You gotta stop feeling sorry for yourself. I told you, things have been going on since you went away. For instance, do you know how many dogs have died in the last fifteen or twenty years?”

“A lot.”

“More than what you think. There were some that couldn't be stuffed.”

“What happened to them?”

“What didn't?” Carmen threw her hands up. “Want one more?”

“Yeah.”

She poured. “One got ground up in the mulching machine. Another was roasted in the oven. A few years ago, one got in one of the passages.
Madre de Dios,
the smell. Rats ate most of it before we found it. Another was run through with knitting needles.”

“Good God. How?”

“You name it. Some are honest accidents, I think—chewing electrical cords, choking on toys, and Hector certainly tried to avoid the one that ran under the lawn mower . . .” She grimaced. “But the things like today, that's mostly what happens. Things that can't be accidents.”

“Carmen, from what you're telling me, Jade is certifiable.”

“She can hardly get up a flight of stairs when she's herself, Ricky. How do you explain the dog we found stuck on the weather vane?”

Ricky's eyes widened. “Well, I guess if I can buy greenjacks, I can buy a ghost.” He looked longingly at the empty shot glass, but made no move. “I still think Jade's doing most of this herself—and poltergeists are supposed to be directed by people.” He made a silly-looking smile. “I read a book once.”

“You're plastered, Ricky,” Carmen said, feeling pretty plastered herself. At least the tension had dissipated.

“Carmen, did you know Jade makes sounds at night like she's making love with someone?”

“Puta.”
Carmen shook her head. “I gotta apologize—I never go over there at night. I knew she used to, but I was hoping she didn't anymore. She's so old.”

“That's silly.”

“It's unholy.” Carmen crossed herself. “Ricky, I think she's having sex with your brother's ghost, that's what I think.” She crossed herself.

He looked unconvinced, and at first she was surprised, then she figured it made sense. If he claimed to see greenjacks, but didn't even believe himself, why would he believe her?

“Carmen?”

“What?” She smiled and squeezed his hand again. He was guileless now, once again the little boy she would have given her life for. “What, Ricky?”

“There are things I can't remember.”

“Like what?”

“There was something about a baby.”

Madre de Dios,
she thought,
here it is.
“Yes?”

He raised his eyebrows, then took his hands back and pushed his dark hair away from his face. “There was a baby that died.” He paused a long moment. “Evangeline had a baby, didn't she?”

He's starting to remember.
Carmen tried to hide her nervousness.
Let him get it on his own,
she prayed. She didn't want to tell him. “No,” she said finally. “She was good at getting pregnant, though.”

“Oh, God.” He looked at Carmen with heavy eyes. “I'd forgotten. You called her ‘Our Lady of the Abortion Clinic.' ”

“By the time that girl was fifteen, she must've been to the women's clinic half a dozen times to get rid of her mistakes. But she never had a baby,” Carmen said harshly. “Remember? She ran off with a Hell's Angel or something, when she was about sixteen.”

Rick nodded. “I drank too much.”

“Me too. I'll make coffee.” She stood and set to work, wondering if he would remember any more on his own.

“Did you know that Robin wanted to get Evangeline pregnant?” Ricky asked. “Jade, too.”

She spooned ground beans into the coffeemaker. Good, he was still thinking. “Why?”

“He wanted to make sons who had the sight. For the jacks,” Rick shook his head. “He wanted me to.... do it too. I guess he thought I'd be more likely to produce children with the gene.”

“The gene,” she repeated.
Keep him thinking about children.
The coffee burbled as she set two cobalt-blue mugs on the table, then brought the pot over and poured. “You must've been very worried that Cody might have the gene.”

“I was, but there was no need.” He sipped his coffee. “When he was born I talked Laura into letting his middle name be Thomas. At the time, I didn't know why that meant so much to me. I didn't remember until I came back.” He smiled. “Cody's nothing like I was. He's fearless. And he doesn't see things.”

“The name fits.” She smiled gently. “He's a lot like you, Ricky. Just remember, he didn't have a mean brother teasing him all the time.” In truth the boy reminded her very much of Robin when he was very young, before his happy, mischief-making personality soured and turned mean. She watched Ricky, thinking how frightening it was to see Robin's chill anger on his face when he'd confronted Jade. “Ricky,” she began slowly. “Speaking of Cody, are you going to take him away Halloween night?”

“I hadn't thought about it.” He paused. “I want to be here . . . I want to see Big Jack.” He stared into his coffee. “That is, if I didn't imagine him.”

“You think you might have?” she asked hopefully.

“I . . . no. I mean, I remember seeing him. But maybe I made it all up because I felt guilty when Robin fell out of the tree. Carmen, I think about it a lot. He
did
change after that.”

“Yes, he did,” she agreed solemnly.

“Well, he got hit on the head. Maybe he sustained some brain damage.”

“Could be.”

“I always felt sort of responsible—”

“You shouldn't. You didn't make him climb out there.”

“I know I didn't. But I shut the window, then took my sweet time opening it again.”

“Ricky, you thought Big Jack was out there.”

He made a disgusted sound. “Yeah. And then, when Robin lost his balance and fell while climbing back in, I made up this whole scenario about how Big Jack was trying to get me, and he sacrificed himself for me.”

“You could be right,” Carmen said soothingly. “But what about the greenjacks? You still see those, and you said your cat sees them.”

“There might be a logical explanation.” There was hope in his eyes as he spoke. “You know that Audrey's an eye doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I told her about a fictitious cousin of mine who sees them, and she said it's possible for eyes to work differently, even that it could be a genetic thing. She said she'd research it.”

“Has she found out anything yet?” Carmen asked, pleased that he'd looked for help, even in such a roundabout way.

“I haven't let her talk about it. I—”

“You need to.”

“I know.”

“What about Big Jack?” Carmen continued. “You're saying that though you see the little ones, you don't believe in him?”

“Yeah.” He paused, studying his fingernails. “Maybe I don't. It seemed so real. Emotionally I believe, but intellectually I don't buy it. That's why I want to be here. If it does exist, I want Audrey to see it.”

“Maybe you should let Hector and me take Cody up to Madelyn. My sister's having a Halloween party for her grandkids.” Despite her love for Ricky, she didn't want his son to be with him.
If Ricky thinks he sees Big Jack, who knows what will happen?
She had to make him remember about the baby, for Cody's sake.

“We'll see, Carmen. I think I'd feel better keeping him with me. We'll see.”

They started on their second cups, Ricky silent and thoughtful. Finally he looked up. “You know when I asked you about Evangeline having a baby?”

“Yes?” She could see him struggling to hide from the memory, and decided to prompt him a little. “Maybe you were thinking of Jade's baby.”

Ricky's hand shook, slopping coffee over the rim. “Jade.” He shook his head. “There's something about Jade's baby, and you said it was our secret. You had on a blue nightgown and it was wet and it smelled liked the koi pond.” He shook his head. “You said it was our secret, but I can't remember—”

Carmen realized she was trembling, too. “His name was Paulie,” she said, trying to hide her dread. “You loved him very much. Do you remember that?”