Self-Defense (50 page)

“Did you kill him?” said Lucy. “Did you
give him that overdose?”

That surprised Lowell, but he rebounded
with a snort.

“No-o,” he said softly. “He did a fine job
of that himself. My error was
kindness.
Giving him cash when I knew what
he’d do with it. He’d come up here, in this room. Lie on the floor, rolling
around, begging and vomiting—a
craftsman
of cowardice. And evidently
you, Stupid Girl, are his apprentice.”

“Him,” said Lucy. “Me. That’s some
parental report card.”

“Is that what Siggie Fraud, here, told
you? That you can blame your shit-life on
me
? That you have some
right
to happiness?”

Shouting and spraying spit, his words
pushing him forward.

“You’re not meant to be
happy
!
There’s no grand
plan.
Your happiness doesn’t mean two buckets of sour
puss
!”

“Not to you, that’s for sure.”

“Not to
anyone
! God—whatever
He
is—looks down on you, sees your misery, scratches His balls, cackles, and
pisses steaming
buckets
on your head! His condo-mate Satan stops
buggering tiny animals just long enough to add to the torrent! The raison d’être
isn’t
happiness,
you styoopid
nin.
It’s
being.
Existence. Inherence.
It doesn’t
matter what happens, or doesn’t, or who else is
! Fuck the
consequences;
you
occur
!”

I remembered Nova’s little speech. Someone
had paid attention during class.

He glared at Lucy, breathing hard. Seized
by sudden wet, rumbling coughs, he sucked in air, started to tilt back on the
bed, and forced himself upright again.

“Didn’t know you were religious,” said
Lucy, nearly breathless herself.

“Get to know me,” said Lowell. “You’ll learn
lots
of things.”

She looked at him, then sat on the bed,
hard enough to make him bounce.

Pinching sheet between thumb and
forefinger, she rubbed the fabric.

“What kinds of things will I learn,
Daddy?” she said in a small voice.

After a second’s hesitation, he said, “How
to create. How to be a cathedral. How to piss from the heavens.”

Lucy smiled and played with the sheets
some more. “Be God in six easy lessons?”

“No, it won’t be
easy.
You’ll
change my diapers, wipe my armpits, and powder my thighs. Fetch my papers in
your mouth. Get down on your knees and acquire an attention span. Learn what a
good book is and how to tell it from crap. Learn how to whore for your
own
good. How to rid yourself of redbugs like that curly-haired leech over there,
how to finally stop binge-purging on self-pity.”

He shook a finger at her. “I’ll teach you
more in one day than all the marrow-suck schools full of eighth-wit arsenods
taught you in—what are you?—twenty-six years.”

He leaned forward and touched her arm. His
fingers looked like crab legs on her plaid sleeve. She didn’t move.

“You have no choice,” said Lowell softly.
“As is, you’re
nothing.”

She studied his pale, twisted hand.

Then her eyes moved back to the rear door.

She gazed into his eyes for a long time.

“Nothing?” she said sadly.

“The quintessence of it, Angel-pie.”

She hung her head.

“Nothing,” she repeated.

He patted her hand.

She sighed and seemed to grow small.

My fear for her rose like floodwater.

Lowell giggled and traced a line from her
wrist to her knuckles.

She shuddered but remained still.

Lowell clucked his tongue, cheerfully.

She was breathing deeply.

Eyes closed.

I got ready to pull her away from this
place.

Lowell said, “Welcome to reality. We’ll do
everything to make your stay as interesting as possible.”

Lucy looked in his eyes again.

“Nothing,” she said.

Lowell nodded, smiled, and stroked her
hand.

Lucy smiled back. Peeled his fingers off
and stood.

Walking to the rear door, she tried to
slide the bolt. It was rusted and stuck, but she freed it.

Lowell’s head craned, his body warping as
he strained to watch her.

“Fresh air?” he said. “Don’t bother.
Sweetness is a lie, your senses are despots. Get used to stale.”

“I’m going out for a stroll,” she said in
a flat voice. “Daddy.”

“To think? No need to. It’s not your
strong suit. You finish your homework and then you can play—pay close attention
and I’ll turn you into something interesting. You’ll endure.”

“Sounds pretty Faustian. Daddy.”

Something new in her voice—punch-line
satisfaction.

Lowell heard it right away. His face lost
tone, the bones softening, the skin giving way.

“Sit down!”

Lucy stared.

“Sit down!”

Lucy smiled. And waved. “ ’Bye, Daddy. It’s
been educational.”

She threw the door open.

Green filled the doorway and sunlight
shocked the room.

Lowell squinted as Lucy looked out at the
green tide; then he sprang forward, groping for a hold on nothingness. His
lower body was leaden, and it anchored him to the bed.

He cursed Lucy, God, the Devil.

“Nice property you’ve got, Daddy. There’s
someone I need to look for out there.”

A terrible comprehension took hold of
Lowell, a preliminary death. He pitched harder, fell forward, flopping face
down on the mattress.

Lying there, face pressed against the
sheets, he labored to breathe as he watched Lucy disappear.

His eyes met mine.

His were bottomless and terrified.

I glanced at the black phone and
considered ripping it out of the wall. But there had to be other extensions in
the house—why remind him of the instrument?

As I left, I heard him howling, like a
child, for Nova.

At first I thought Lucy had slipped into
the forest. Then I heard footsteps along the side of the house.

Returning to her car. Good.

When I caught up with her, she didn’t
acknowledge me. How many sessions would it take to unravel what she’d just been
through?

We reached the Colt. But instead of
opening the driver’s door, she went to the back and opened the trunk.

Personal justice.

Finally pushed too far?

I ran over just as she pulled a shovel out
of the trunk and put it over her shoulder.

Brand new, the price tag still looped to
the handle. Bearing it like a rifle, she headed back toward the house.

I blocked her.

She passed around me. I blocked her again.

“Come on, Lucy.”

She walked away. Once more, I caught up.

I felt like screaming,
This is nuts!

What I said was, “Don’t let him get to
you, Lucy.”

“
Nothing.
Maybe so, we’ll see.”

We were hurrying alongside the house now.

“He’ll call his friends. They’ll come
after you.”

She ignored me. I took hold of her arm.
She shook me off.

“Listen to me, Lucy—”

“He won’t do
anything.
He doesn’t
do
anything, he just talks—that’s his game, talk, talk, talk.”

“He’s still dangerous.”

“He’s
nothing.
” Furious smile.
“Nothing.”

We came to the dirt patch behind the
building. Women’s lingerie flapping on the line. The back door was closed. Nova
had heeded Lowell’s cries.

Nodding as if in response to a suggestion,
Lucy forged forward, into the green.

Low shrubs and tender shoots, shadowed by
the tree canopy, gave way quickly to dense ferns, creeping vines, brambles, and
broad-leafed things that looked to be some kind of giant lily.

Lucy used her hands to clear the way, and
when that didn’t work she began hacking with the shovel. The tool proved a poor
machete, and soon she was breathing hard and grunting with anger.

“Why don’t you give me that?”

“This isn’t your problem,” she said,
chopping. “If you really think there’s danger, don’t put yourself in it.”

“I don’t want you in it either.”

“I understand what I’m getting into.”

She touched my hand briefly, then resumed
poking through the brush.

My choices were: Drive back to PCH and try
to reach Milo, carry her out bodily, or stick with her and try to get her out as
quickly as possible.

Physical coercion would probably destroy
our therapeutic relationship, but I could stand that if it meant saving her
life. But if she resisted it might prove difficult, even ugly.

Maybe the best thing was to stay with her.
Even if she found the gravesite, she’d learn soon that exhumation with one
shovel was beyond her physical capabilities. And the thought of her out here,
alone, scared the hell out of me.

Maybe I was overestimating the danger.
Lowell was a monster, but in his own sick way he’d been reaching out to her.
Would he sentence her to death?

She’d gone only a few yards but the
vegetation had closed over her like a trapdoor and I could barely make out her
plaid shirt. I looked over my shoulder. The house was obscured, too. No visible
pathway, but as I followed Lucy’s footsteps, a troughlike depression in the
earth became evident.

Long-buried trail.

She was moving as surely and quickly as
the brush would allow.

Knowing where she was going.

Guided by a dream.

I clawed my way through the vegetation and
got right behind her. The plants were taller, the treetops thicker, and soon
there was more green than blue in the sky. Things slithered and scampered all
around us, but other than a suddenly vibrating leaf or tendril, I saw nothing
move. From time to time, I heard the broom-sweep of wings flapping in panic,
but the birds stayed out of sight, too.

The growth became jungle-thick. Lucy swung
the shovel like an ax, sweat running down her face in sooty streams, her chin
set, her eyes hard and clear. I took over and got us through faster.

We came to the first of the small cabins,
a fallen-down roofless thing, nearly hidden by emerald clouds. Lucy barely
looked at it. Tears were diluting the sweat tracks, and her blouse was sodden.
I wanted to say something comforting but she’d just been raped by words.

A second cabin appeared a few minutes
later, just a loose pile of logs managing to support a tar roof. Shiny, black,
wasplike things buzzed through holes in the tarpaper, swooping in, then jetting
out like tiny dive bombers.

Lucy stopped, stared, shook her head.

We kept going.

Our silent trudge took us past three more
cabins.

Gnats and chiggers were having fun with
our faces. The sudden takeoff of a huge brown bird nearly stopped my heart. I managed
to catch a glimpse of the creature as it forged up through the treetops. Big
square head and five-foot wingspread. Horned owl. The silence that followed was
unsettling.

Lucy didn’t seem to notice. Pinpoints of
blood pocked her face where the bugs had gotten her, and her palms were raw
from wrestling with vines.

“Give your hands a rest.”

She said, “No,” but she complied.

Getting through wasn’t easy even with my
pushup-tightened arms. Hers had to be numb. I ripped and sliced, wondering how
much grace time we had. Knowing we were leaving an obvious trail for anyone who
followed.

“Even if you find her,” I said, huffing,
“after all this time, she won’t look like a person. There may be nothing left
at all. Animals carry off bones.”

“I know. I learned that at the trial.”

The trough deepened and I had to fight for
balance. Lucy was looking up at the trees.

Something lacy? Trees of all kinds were
everywhere, an untidy colonnade rising through the undergrowth.

It was two-forty. The sun had peaked and
was falling behind us, dancing through holes in the overgrowth, a tiny,
brilliant mirror.

A new sound: more of the groundwater, a
trickle that recalled the one I’d heard driving up.

The kind of moisture that hastens
decomposition.

“Even if you find her, what will you do?”

“Take something back with me. They can do
tests and prove it’s her. That’ll be evidence.
Something.”