Bones (34 page)

"That can be remedied," Jack said.

"Damn straight," Stinger said. "I'm going back home."

Travis cleared his throat and said, "I'm going with him."

"What?" Frank and I said in unison.

"Travis here has a notion he'd like to learn how to fly a helicopter," Stinger said. "And I said that seeing as he has already made out his will, I'll teach him."

"I won't let another twenty-odd years go by before I come back," Travis said quickly, knowing my first concern. Until recently, family misunderstandings had separated me from my cousin, and I wasn't willing to lose track of him again. "I'm just going to spend a little time trying something new," he said. "I think I'll probably set up a place of my own when I do come back, though."

The men were looking at me, waiting for a response. "If it's what you want to do," I said, "that's great. Just don't become a stranger."

He became animated, telling me about how much he had enjoyed riding up in the cockpit of the helicopter with Stinger, about Stinger's desert retreat, about the work Stinger did with the helicopters.

"Any word on Parrish's whereabouts?" Jack asked Frank.

Frank shook his head. "We're getting reports from all over the place, some in town, some as far away as Australia. Not too uncommon to have this kind of stuff going on when there's a serial killer on the loose. People feel afraid, they start seeing him everywhere."

And how, I thought.

As soon as dinner was over, I told them I was going to bed early, that it had been a long day, and I was tired. It was the truth--perhaps not the whole truth, but the truth.

But when I lay down, I couldn't sleep. I was tense, and felt an unhappiness, the cause of which I couldn't name.

On the contrary, I had nothing to be unhappy about, I told myself. I was home safe and whole, unlike everyone else who had traveled to the mountains with me a week ago. I could not rid myself of visions of their faces, and found myself thinking especially of Bob Thompson, whom I didn't even like, which for some reason made it seem worse to me, trying to remember him kindly when I felt so little kindness toward him.

Bingle came in, and put his head on the bed next to me. I petted him until I heard him flop to the floor in a heap and sigh. Cody came in and pointedly ignored him, but curled up in the crook of my knees and purred.

I don't remember dozing off, but that night I dreamed I was standing in a field of pieces of men--not the mess of reality, but nice neat whole body parts: heads and torsos and feet and hands and arms and legs--all bloodless and clean, more like disassembled mannequins than men. It was up to me to reassemble them, and I felt that it was urgent that I should do so, but the mixture of parts wasn't right, and I kept making mistakes. I'd put the wrong foot on a leg and couldn't get it off again, the wrong neck on a head. And then I began to smell the stench of the real meadow, the death smell, growing stronger and stronger--the parts were going bad, because I wasn't assembling them fast enough. Some of the heads were angry with me; they were dying because of me, they said, and started yelling my name, making an angry, protesting chant of it.

After a time, I realized that it was Frank, not yelling, just gently saying my name, holding me, stroking my back. I was shaking, and for the longest damned time, I couldn't stop.

"Do you smell it?" I asked.

"What?"

When I didn't answer, his hands went still for a moment, and then he said, "The field?"

"Yes. You do? I think maybe it's on my clothes or something I brought back--or maybe Bingle--"

"Irene . . . no, I don't smell it."

I looked into his eyes, saw that he was serious, and said, "I have to get out of the house."

"Okay," he said, having plenty of experience with my claustrophobia.

We got dressed, gathered all three dogs, and went down to the end of the street. It was after midnight, and the cops who had been assigned to keep watch at the top of the stairs leading to the beach weren't too crazy about our plans, but let us go past them.

The moon was up, and although it wasn't full, it was bright enough to light our way. I took in great breaths of the salt air, and other scents receded. The sight of the endless silver stretch of moonlit water, the sounds of the advance and retreat of the waves, the soft give of the sand beneath my feet, all were so different from the mountain meadow of my dream. The terrifying images gave way, and I began to relax.

More aware, then, of Frank's big warm hand holding mine, I said, "Sorry, you probably need some sleep, and here I am dragging you down to the beach."

"I've had my share of bad nights, too. You can't go through this stuff and expect that now that you're home, you'll just pick up where you left off."

"No." After a moment, I said, "This time--I don't know how to come back from there, Frank. It's with me. It frightens me."

He put his arm around my shoulders and said, "Maybe you should talk to somebody."

I didn't answer. Two nights ago, I had told him everything that had happened in the mountains. He had listened patiently, and although he had been upset by how Parrish had terrorized me, and probably didn't approve of my trying to draw Parrish away from Ben, he didn't criticize me or blame me for what happened. The perfect listener, as far as I was concerned. So I knew that when he now said "talk to somebody," he meant a therapist.

"Just a thought," he said after a while. "I'm not trying to push you."

"I know you aren't," I said, but felt relieved.

"And you can always talk to me."

I pulled him closer to me. "Yes, I know. Thanks." We walked a little farther, and I said, "I guess that's why I don't worry about needing a therapist. I've got a great husband, I'm surrounded by family and friends--I have a support group. Ben--I get the distinct impression that he's not so lucky."

"The other day at the hospital, that's what Jo Robinson said. She was going to try to contact Ben's sister and some of his friends, but in the meantime, she thought Ben could use whatever emotional support we could offer--although she's concerned that you won't take care of yourself."

"Where does his sister live?" I asked, choosing to steer the conversation away from Jo Robinson and her concerns.

"In Iowa."

The dogs came by and shook water on us, making us swear and laugh all at once. For a time, we simply walked and watched them.

Bingle was enjoying himself immensely; today he had definitely been the happiest I had seen him since we brought him home. It occurred to me that with his level of training, David must have spent many more hours working with him than we did with our dogs. How often each day was this dog used to being walked? Would he lose skills if we didn't work with him?

The three dogs were getting along well together, engaging in harmless but rowdy play--dodging one another's charges, tumbling dramatically in the sand, chasing one another into the water, then running up onto the beach.

Frank said, "I've been thinking about the front steps."

I stopped walking. "The front steps?"

"I think I can get Pete and Jack to help me build a ramp. We'll need to make some changes in the bathroom, too, maybe get one of those handheld shower goodies, and a seat. Dr. Riley can probably give us a list of things that we wouldn't even think about on our own."

"Frank--" I swallowed hard. "You've had to live with my twenty-five-year-old cousin . . ."

"Like most guys his age, Travis has had better things to do than hang around the house. You know I haven't minded having him stay with us. I like him."

"But Ben--he's going to have problems, Frank. In fact, he had problems before all of this happened. This is not a great time in Ben Sheridan's life."

"Do you dislike him?"

"Last week, the answer would have been 'yes.' "

"Now?"

"I guess I see things differently. The situation forced me to spend some time with him when he should have been at his worst. Instead it seemed to bring out the best in him."

We turned around and headed back. Frank said, "I found you up there before Parrish did because Ben--even though he was obviously half out of his mind with pain--came up with the idea of sending Bingle with me to look for you."

"You would have found me anyway."

"Maybe," he said. "But who knows? With Parrish on the loose, it's not a chance I would have wanted to take. The other thing is--you know the old bit about saving someone's life?"

"And then becoming responsible for it? You aren't going to convince me that you're suggesting Ben should stay with us because of that."

"No, but there's some link between the two of you now, just because you survived this together."

"A link? Frank, maybe I should make something clear--"

"No need to," he said firmly. "I don't suspect that at all."

"Why not?" I asked, and he laughed.

"Don't worry--I have no doubt that you're attractive to other men."

"So you think Ben is gay?"

"No, I think Miss Ellen Raice would have blurted that out to us right off the bat."

"True."

He smiled. "And you didn't just invent Camille Graham to be cruel to Stinger, did you?"

"No. So what is it?"

"I trust you," he said. Then with a mischievous look, he added, "Besides, there are certain advantages to marrying girls like you, who never quite get over being Catholic--I would have seen the guilt from a mile away."

I opened my mouth to protest, shut it, then muttered, "You're right," which made him laugh again.

So we decided that it would be good for Ben to stay with us. It was not so easy to convince Ben.

Frank proceeded to make the changes to the house anyway, saying that it would make it easier for Ben to visit. We both kept hoping that Ben would change his mind.

The sister in Iowa called Ben once, said she was sorry to hear about his trouble, but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't afford a trip out to California, and since she was seeing a man who might pop the question at any moment, strategically, this was not a good time for her to leave Iowa. He told me the phone call was more than he had expected from her.

He was moved to another section of the hospital, and began grueling physical therapy sessions. During those two weeks, he got many calls from friends across the country, but he always told them not to bother coming out to see him.

Those were busy weeks for me, just as I had hoped they'd be. Other members of the news staff, sick of hearing from John about my productivity, started hinting to me that I could slow down anytime.

No, I couldn't.

I was on the run, after all--as surely as I had been in the mountains. Parrish seemed to be everywhere. Seated at other tables in restaurants, walking past me on a crowded sidewalk, going down the stadium stairs at a ball game. He came out of a bookstore as I walked in, stood in the shadows at a bar when I had a drink after work with friends, stood on the pier, staring at me, when I ran on the beach. He was at the back of the bus when I rode it, he drove past me when I walked. I once saw him get into an elevator ahead of me--I took the stairs, four flights up.

I don't do well with elevators anyway.

Although each time was as terrifying as the first, I learned not to screech or run or point--and eventually, not to tell anyone what had made me suddenly turn pale, not to tell anyone anything about it at all. This, even though I knew that Frank wouldn't belittle me if I told him of every incident. What did that matter? I was too ashamed not to belittle myself.

When I wasn't working, I was visiting Ben or making preparations for his release from the hospital. I went back to David's house without Bingle, cleaning it up just in case we lost our argument with Ben. I asked Ben if he wanted me to do anything with David's belongings; he said no. "Except--could you bring some of those training tapes in? I think Sister Theresa is going to get a VCR in here for me."

"Bribing nuns?"

"You should talk, dog smuggler."

"What training tapes?"

"The ones of Bingle and the SAR group. The group videotapes some of the training exercises so that they can study the way the dogs work, the way the handlers work with them. David used to watch the tapes all the time. They'll be on the bookcase."