Sleepwalk (18 page)

Frank’s sense of shame deepened.

He’d come out here to offer his condolences and express his sorrow.

Instead, Rita Moreland was comforting him.

Jed came awake slowly. Darkness surrounded him, yet his room was filled with a strange silvery glow, as if a full moon was somehow shining through the ceiling itself. But when he looked at the window, the night outside was a velvety black.

The glow was somehow coming from within the room itself

He sat up, then gasped.

Perched on the top rail of his cast-iron bedstead was an enormous bird. It looked like an eagle, but Jed was certain he’d never seen one this large. Indeed, as he watched, it suddenly spread its wings and its feathers filled the room, spreading from one wall to the other. Jed felt his heart begin to pound, and he involuntarily shrank back. But a second later the bird settled down again and its head turned sideways so that one of its eyes fixed on Jed.

It was from the giant bird’s eye that the silvery light emanated, a cold radiance that hung in the room, yet did not wash away the darkness. When Jed held up his hand to shield his eyes against it, he found that his hand was invisible. Though he could feel his fingers touching his face, the bird’s image remained before him, as clear as ever.

The bird’s beak opened, and a single word issued forth from its throat.

“Come.”

Jed froze as he recognized the voice that had risen from the maw of the great bird.

It was his grandfather’s voice, as clear as if it had been the old man himself standing at the foot of the bed.

The enormous bird spoke the word once more.

“Come.”

And then it spread its wings and the room filled with a great roaring noise as the bird rose straight upward. It seemed to pass right through the ceiling, and as it rose higher into the pitch-blackness of the night, Jed could still see the silvery light radiating from its eyes. It hovered in the air for a moment, then wheeled around,
and with a great rushing sound as its wings found the breeze, it soared toward the mesa.

As it disappeared, Jed came awake for the second time.

This time he was lying on the sofa, the television droning in the background. In his mind the dream he’d just awakened from was still fresh and vivid.

So vivid, it hadn’t been like a dream at all. Even now that he was fully awake, he still felt as if he had actually experienced the presence of the enormous bird.

He had a strange urge to go to the mesa, to Kokatí, right now, and find his grandfather.

His reverie was broken by the sound of his father’s truck pulling into the driveway, and a moment later Frank, leaning heavily on Judith Sheffield, lurched through the back door and into the kitchen. Jed stared stupidly at his father for a second, then his eyes shifted to Judith.

“He’s drunk,” she said. “Help me get him into his room, and then I’ll tell you what happened.”

Jed took his father’s other arm, and between the two of them they managed to get Frank through the living room and down the hall into the master bedroom. He collapsed onto the bed, rolled over on his back and held out his arms toward Judith. “Stay with me?” he asked.

Judith felt herself reddening, and glanced toward Jed. To her surprise, the boy was grinning broadly. “It’s not funny,” she snapped. “Of all the things for him to say—”

Jed tried to control his grin and failed. “Why shouldn’t he say it? He’s been wanting to all week. Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?”

Judith’s blush deepened. “Jed!”

“Well, it’s true, even if he’s too drunk to know what
he said,” Jed insisted. His eyes fixed on her, twinkling impudently. “You want to get him undressed, or shall I?”

“You do it,” Judith mumbled, her cheeks still burning. “I’ll go make some coffee.”

Five minutes later Jed joined her in the kitchen, still snickering. “What happened?” he asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drunk before. Not like this, anyway. He’s really blitzed.”

“Max Moreland died this afternoon,” Judith told him.

Jed’s laughter faded away. “Mr. Moreland?” he echoed. “Wh-What happened?”

Judith explained, then added: “Your father got the idea in his head that someone from UniChem killed Max.”

“Oh, Christ,” Jed groaned. “What’s going to happen now?”

Frank Arnold’s voice filled the kitchen. “Now,” he said, “I’m going to find out what
did
happen.”

Jed and Judith spun around to stare at him. He was standing in the kitchen door, a bathrobe wrapped around his large frame, his face still wet from the cold shower he’d just taken.

“I thought you were asleep,” Judith said.

Frank shook his head. “I wasn’t asleep, and I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t know what I was saying.” His eyes met hers squarely, and his voice dropped. “And Jed was right—I
have
been wanting to ask you to stay all week.”

Once again Judith felt herself beginning to flush, and once again she found herself glancing involuntarily toward Jed.

Jed, realizing that whether or not Judith spent the night with his father was up to him, hesitated only a
second. “I think maybe I’ll take off for a while,” he said, his eyes shifting to his father. “Okay if I take the truck?”

“The keys are in it,” Frank replied, his eyes never leaving Judith.

Jed started toward the back door, then turned and winked at Judith. “See you in the morning. And pancakes would be great for breakfast. We haven’t had a decent pancake around here for years.”

It wasn’t until he was a block away from the house that he realized where he was going. When he’d left, he thought he’d drive around for a while, or maybe go see if Gina Alvarez was still up.

But now that he was in the truck, he knew.

He was going to Kokatí, to see his grandfather.

Brown Eagle emerged from the kiva. He’d been sitting on the stone bench facing the firepit for hours, his body motionless, his mind turned outward from his own spirit to accept whatever might emerge from the sipapu in the center of the floor.

He had maintained a silence during his long vigil, listening only to the voices from the underworld. When at last he came back to himself, he discovered he was alone in the kiva. There had been ten others in the holy place when he’d come in so many hours ago, and he had no recollection of them leaving. But that was all right; it often happened to him when he was in communion with the spirits, and when the communion was over he had no memory of where he’d been or what he’d done, much less of what anyone around him might have done.

Indeed, for all he remembered, he might never have been in the kiva at all.

Tonight, as he climbed out of the hatch in the chamber’s roof, he had the distinct feeling that this wasn’t the first time he’d left the kiva since the vigil began.

Tonight he’d been possessed by Rakantoh, the greatest of all the Kokatí spirits, who had dwelt in the canyon until the dam had forced him to fly away from his home.

Yes, tonight the great spirit eagle Rakantoh had come to him, and they had flown together. Flown, and seen many things; things that he needed, for reasons the spirit had not yet revealed to him, to tell his grandson.

So he strode away from the kiva and went to look out over the canyon and the lake that flooded Rakantoh’s ancient home.

He stood at the edge of the canyon, waiting in the darkness, and when, half an hour later, he saw headlights bobbing across the mesa far in the distance, he knew at once that it was Jed.

Rakantoh had summoned him, and he had answered.

Tonight Brown Eagle would introduce his grandson to the mysteries of the kiva.

It was close to midnight, and Rita Moreland knew she should feel exhausted. Until an hour ago the phone hadn’t stopped ringing, and though Greg had argued with her, she’d insisted on taking every call, exchanging a few words with all the people who had offered her their sympathy. After a while the words had come almost automatically, but still she’d listened, and spoken, and been amazed at how much her husband had been loved. For the last hour, though, the phone had been mercifully silent, and she and Greg had sat alone in front of a small fire that had now burned down to no more than a few glowing embers.

“You should go to bed, Aunt Rita,” Greg said, rising from the sofa to sweep a few coals off the hearth and place the screen in front of the huge brass andirons that had been in the fireplace as long as the house had stood.

Rita’s hand fluttered dismissively. “I wouldn’t sleep. I’d just lie there, waiting for Max to come home.” Her eyes, their normal curtain of reserve lifted, were bleak
and lonely as she gazed at her nephew. “But he’s not coming home, is he?” she asked.

Greg made no answer, knowing none was expected.

Rita leaned forward and picked up her glass. A half inch of Max’s favorite bourbon still remained, and Rita held it up to the light of the fire, the glowing coals flickering eerily in the amber liquid. “We have to decide what to do, Greg,” she said.

Greg nodded briefly and sank back onto the sofa. “The funeral will be on Friday morning,” he told her. “I’ve already made most of the arrangements. It’ll be at the old church.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that,” Rita replied, her voice oddly detached, as if she hadn’t yet brought herself to deal with Max’s funeral. “I was thinking of the company.”

Greg’s brows rose slightly. “I’m not sure there’s anything that needs to be done. Uncle Max signed the sale today—the papers are in his desk.”

Rita’s lips tightened. “But there was something wrong—he was going up to the dam to talk to Otto Kruger.”

Greg nodded. “It was something about the maintenance reports,” he said. “There was a problem up there today. Some damage to the main power flume. Uncle Max thought there was some kind of irregularity—”

“Irregularity?” Rita repeated. “What do you mean?”

Greg’s eyes shifted to the floor, and when he spoke again he sounded almost embarrassed by what he had to say. “I’m afraid Uncle Max didn’t read the last reports very well,” he said. “He seemed to think he’d ordered some repairs that weren’t made. But he’d signed the report, and the repair orders.”

Rita frowned. “I find it hard to believe Max would have let the dam go,” she said.

Greg met her eyes. “Aunt Rita, he was getting old. He was already suffering from high blood pressure, and his arteries weren’t in the best condition. He should have retired five years ago.”

Rita turned the matter over in her mind, hearing again the last conversation she’d had with Max. He’d sounded upset—indeed, he’d sounded furious—but he hadn’t told her exactly what the problem was.

At whom had he been angry? Himself, after discovering his own mistake?

Or someone else?

She’d never know.

She took a deep breath. “All right,” she said. “I suppose there’s no point in trying to figure out exactly what happened. But what do we do about the sale? Max seemed to think it shouldn’t go through.”

“Not exactly,” Greg replied. “He wanted to find out what had happened up at the dam—how bad the damage was. I suppose it would have affected the value of the company.”

“You mean UniChem might not want it anymore,” Rita translated. To her surprise, Greg shook his head.

“Not at all. In fact, Paul Kendall heard everything Otto Kruger had to say about the dam, and it didn’t seem to bother him at all. He’s quite willing to let the deal go through with no changes.”

Rita stared at him. “But that doesn’t make sense. If the dam’s damaged badly, the company’s not worth as much.”

Greg shrugged. “I suppose when you have as much money as UniChem does, whatever it will take to fix the damage doesn’t mean much to them. They just seem to
want the company, and they don’t seem to care what it costs.”

“But why?” Rita insisted. “Max always said that if a deal looked too good to be true, it
was
too good to be true. If they’re willing to pay the same price, disregarding the condition of the dam—”

Before she could complete her thought, a loud crash echoed through the house, followed by the tinkling of glass. Rita and Greg stared at each other for a moment, then Greg was on his feet, charging out to the foyer.

On the hardwood floor, amid the shattered remains of the broken judas window in the large oaken door, was a rock the size of a fist. Ignoring the rock, Greg jerked the door open and stepped out onto the broad veranda that fronted the house. But he already knew it was too late. The moon was low in the sky, and the darkness of the desert night surrounded him.

Whoever had thrown the rock had already disappeared into the vast emptiness around the house. Still, Greg left the porch and quickly searched the grounds before going back in and gingerly picking the rock from among the shards of glass.

It was a river cobble, round, flat, and worn smooth from eons of tumbling. But on one of its surfaces a word had been scrawled with a laundry marker.

Bitch
.

Greg stared at it in puzzlement, then finally looked up at his aunt, who was standing in the wide arched opening of the living room.

“What does it say?” Rita demanded, her voice clear and calm.

Greg handed the rock to his aunt, who turned it over and read the single word. “Why the hell would anyone
want to do something like this?” he asked. “And tonight, of all nights?”

Rita shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice sorrowful. “Apparently I don’t have the sympathy of everyone in town after all.”

Greg’s eyes hardened. “I’m calling the police,” he said. “There’s no reason why we should have to put up with vandalism.”

Rita took a deep breath, then shook her head. “No,” she said, the exhaustion of the long evening finally closing in on her. “Not tonight. I don’t want to talk to anyone else right now, Greg. I just want to go to bed and think for a while.”

But a few minutes later, when she was at last alone in the large bed she’d shared with Max for almost half a century, she found she didn’t think at all.

She fell asleep, and dreamed of Max.

Jed had no idea what time it was, except that the sun had risen and a bright patch of light lay trapped on the western edge of the kiva floor. The fire still smoldered, tendrils of smoke drifting up to dance for a moment in the rays of the sun, only to climb onward, escaping out of the hatch and riding away on the breeze.