Downwinders: Blood Oath, Blood River Part 3

As she walked back into the kitchen, her mother chided her. "Now why did you go and wake her up when I asked you not to?"

"I want you to do something for me," Deem said, taking a bite of her cereal and joining her mother at the small table.

"What?" Margie said, lowering her magazine.

"I want you to check her for bites," Deem said. "Look for a blister that's soft but feels like there's something hard inside it, like a small stone."

"You think she was bit?" Margie asked.

"Maybe," Deem lied, knowing she couldn't share the full truth with her mother. Margie was a true believing Mormon and didn't like Deem's gift or anything she considered supernatural. She could believe in a G.o.d and Satan, but ghosts were a step too far.

Deem often felt herself walking a tightrope with her mother. Deem had stopped going to the church that her parents raised her in, finding it didn't meet her needs and took up way too much of her time. Margie wanted Deem to return to the church, but Deem told her in no uncertain terms that wasn't going to happen. They'd reached a sort of detente in the house, avoiding the subject of religion and the supernatural. Margie considered Deem's use of the gift to be evil, and Deem considered Margie's adherence to the church nave.

What really threw Deem was that her father was also gifted but had remained an active Mormon until the day he died. He'd even been in the local leaders.h.i.+p of the church. Deem never understood how he balanced the two; to Deem, they seemed very much at odds with each other. And Deem knew her father's pa.s.sing hit Margie hard not only had she lost her husband, but she was no longer the wife of a powerful stake president, overseeing the spiritual and temporal welfare of ten local wards. In the male-dominated LDS church, she was now just a widow, fit for making meals at funeral receptions, attending the temple, and little else.

At times it made Deem angry. But most of the time it just made her feel sorry for her mom, so she tried to be gentle with her when her mother pressed her to go back to church. The rest of the time she tried to avoid the subjects of the church and the gift when she was around her.

"What I'd like you to do is check her arms and hands," Deem said, "and see if you notice anything that looks like a bite."

"Would it cause her tongue to go black like that?" Margie asked.

"Could be," Deem lied. "I've got to go check on something this morning, but I'll be back in a while. Try and see if you can find a bite before then. It might help us figure out what to do for her."

"Alright," Margie said, standing from her chair and taking Deem's empty cereal bowl from under her. She walked it to the dishwasher and put it inside.

"When I come back, if she's not better, I'll help you take her in to the clinic," Deem said.

"Thank you, dear," Margie said, looking up at her from the dishwasher and smiling. Deem knew her mom appreciated Deem taking a leaders.h.i.+p role in the house, now that her father was gone. She also knew her mom would never acknowledge that Deem was in that role. Margie was so used to doing what other people told her to do, following instructions just came naturally to her. Deem had filled the gap created by her father's departure, and Margie had been happy to let her.

"Are you alone?" Deem asked Winn over her cell phone. "Good. Drag your a.s.s out of bed, I'll be there in a half hour."

She pulled her truck into the 7-11 at the west end of Mesquite and two minutes later walked out with a Big Gulp, sipping it through a red straw. She climbed into her truck and placed the drink into the cup holder adapter. Normal cup holders couldn't accommodate a Big Gulp, but Deem found an adapter at the D.I. that enlarged the hole for the cup perfectly. It would also hold Super Big Gulps on those occasions when she wanted extra caffeine.

She eased the truck out of the parking lot. It was filled with others walking out with their own Big Gulps.

A half hour later she pulled her truck into the dirt driveway by Winn's trailer. Winn came out as she walked up to it, and they sat together at the cable spindle table. Winn lit a cigarette.

"It followed me home," Deem said. "I saw it last night, in my yard."

"The creature from the bus?" Winn asked, surprised.

"Yes," Deem said. "It tried to come into the house, but it stopped when it saw me in the River."

"Back up and start from the beginning," Winn said. "How did you know it was there?"

"I heard it on the roof," Deem said. "I'd woken up around two. I found another blister with a piece of bone in it, just like the one you cut open on the bus. Then I heard it walking on the roof, so I went downstairs. I saw it in the yard. It saw me, and came up to the windows in the living room. It pa.s.sed through them, just like it did on the bus. I dropped into the River, and that spooked it. It ran off."

"Interesting," Winn said. "We've got to figure out what this thing is, exactly. Now that it's decided to attach itself to you."

"Now you believe me," Deem said.

"Sure I do," Winn said, flas.h.i.+ng her a smile. It was the kind of smile Winn used on women all the time. It usually worked on them, but it had little impact on Deem.

"It isn't a ghost," Winn said. "A ghost wouldn't physically latch onto the bus like that. Or go to the trouble to run next to the bus in the first place. What did you see when you entered the River?"

"A normal man," Deem said. "Middle aged, rather boring looking. Dressed in a suit, like he was going to work. Far from intimidating."

"Any idea what it might be? Or who?" Winn asked.

"I can't think of anything," Deem said. "Nothing I've encountered before."

"I'll post something on my forum," Winn said. "Someone will recognize what it is."

"I wish I had a book, like Roy's," Deem said. "His book had five generations of knowledge in it. Do you know how valuable something like that would be?"

Winn knew that although she was talking about a book, what Deem really wanted was her father back. He'd been her source for information and guidance, and with him gone she often felt helpless and isolated.

"Hey, my mom didn't leave me a journal, either," Winn said. "Apparently our parents didn't get the memo."

"What bugs me," Deem said, "is that Mormons are so keen on keeping journals. My dad was a stake president, probably told hundreds of people to keep a journal. Why wouldn't he have kept one himself?"

Deem took a sip of her Big Gulp.

"I wonder if he did," Deem continued, "and my mom hasn't given it to me. Or maybe he has it locked away somewhere."

"He never mentioned one?" Winn asked.

"No, never did," Deem said.

"Then maybe there isn't one," Winn offered. "It might be that simple."

"It's bugging me," Deem said.

"Seeing Roy's book got you all worked up," Winn said, crus.h.i.+ng his cigarette into the red plastic ashtray on the table. "His was grand; all that history. But not everybody has that. Are you writing one?"

"Me?" Deem asked. "What would I write?"

"See," Winn said, "that's how it happens. Next thing you know, you're dead in a mine somewhere, with nothing to leave your gifted child. You should start writing now. What we learned in St. Thomas, for starters."

"I suppose you're right," Deem said. "I'll have to find a blank journal and start." She looked at Winn, who had propped his feet up on a plastic milk crate.

"Your mom never left you anything?" Deem asked.

"I don't think it would have been useful, if she had," Winn said. "Most of the time she was too drunk to speak, let alone write."

"She must have sobered up enough to teach you how to use your gift," Deem said.

"Hardly," Winn said, lighting another cigarette. "It was a buddy of mine named Chris. We both figured out we had the gift about the same time. I got most of my information from his father. Sometimes I'd ask my mom something and she'd try to answer me, but I think she hated that part of herself and she didn't have much to say about it."

"Is that why she drank so much?" Deem asked.

"I don't know," Winn said. "Probably. That and men. She wasn't very good with them. She couldn't keep one for more than a year. Always fighting."

"Geez," Deem said, "it's amazing you turned out normal. Well, as normal as you are, I guess."

Winn shot her a dirty look and Deem smiled back.

"How long before someone replies to your post?" Deem asked.

"No way of knowing," Winn said, putting his cigarette out and standing. "I'll get it posted and call you as soon as I hear something."

"Alright," Deem said, getting out of her chair and walking back to her truck. "Thanks," she called back over her shoulder.

"Don't mention it," Winn yelled back, walking back inside his trailer.

As Deem drove back to her house in Mesquite, she thought about her conversation with Winn. As sad as Winn's upbringing was, he turned out fine. He's been a good friend to me, Deem thought. I should lighten up on all the s.h.i.+t I give him.

She was still bothered by her father and the lack of a journal. It didn't sit right with her. She'd seen Roy's book, a collection of different hand-made volumes all bound together. A mess, but a beautiful mess, full of a hundred years of information. She felt stranded with just Winn for support. She had friends in Kingman, and now up in California and the Pacific Northwest, but they were so far away.

She considered trying to contact her father again. She'd tried multiple times since his departure, and on none of those occasions had he communicated with her. Deem felt he'd pa.s.sed over, no longer available to communicate with the living. He knows he left me down here, Deem thought. You'd think he'd hang around for a while, make sure I'm getting on OK after he's gone. But no.

The last time she tried to contact him, she went so far as to break into the Mesquite cemetery at night and sit right on his grave for the seance. Even that hadn't worked. No, her father had moved on.

But the journal, she thought. He must have kept one. He wasn't a hypocrite, telling people to do one thing while doing another. He must have had one.

When she'd asked Margie about the possibility, Margie denied ever seeing her father keep one. Maybe she's lying to me, Deem thought. Maybe she had a look at it, saw stuff about Dads gift, and thought it was evil. She'd hide that from me. I'll bet it's tucked away in the house somewhere. I'm going to look.

After Deem returned from shuttling Margie and Virginia to the clinic, she started going through boxes in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Margie had come down to ask her what she was doing, and Deem said she was looking for some items from her childhood. After Margie expressed concern that she not make a mess, she left her alone and Deem was plowing through box after box.

Why do we keep all this s.h.i.+t? Deem wondered as she opened another box, this one full of Tupperware. Why keep a box of Tupperware?

She made her way through half of the bas.e.m.e.nt when she got a call from Winn. He'd found someone who claimed to know what the creature might be.

"He lives in Indian Springs," Winn said, "but he said he'd drive over here after work. I suggested Pete's, in Overton. Can you make it around six?"

"I'll be there," Deem said, checking her watch. That'd give her three more solid hours of box searching.

"Great, see you then," Winn said.

Deem worked through the boxes for a couple of hours more, then decided to take a break. She went upstairs to pour herself a Diet c.o.ke from a bottle in the fridge. Margie was in the kitchen making a tray for Virginia.

"How is she?" Deem asked.

"The same," Margie answered. "She won't eat anything. I'm going to put the most tempting things I can think of on this tray and take it into her. I'm quite irritated with that doctor. We wait half an hour to see him, then he has no idea what's wrong with her."

"Did you find a bite on her?" Deem asked.

"I haven't looked," Margie said, arranging a vase with a flower for the tray.

"Will you please?" Deem asked. "It's important."

"The doctor didn't say it was a bite," Margie said.

"I'll check her myself if you don't," Deem said.

"Really, dear, what makes you think you know more than the doctor?"

Deem turned and left the kitchen, walking down to the guest bedroom. She knocked lightly, then entered.

Virginia looked worse. Her eyes had dark circles around them and her breathing seemed more labored.

"Aunt Virginia?" Deem asked, trying to wake her. "Aunt Virginia?" She shook her gently.

Margie came into the room behind her. "Leave her alone!" she said. "Let her sleep."

Virginia's eyes opened and she smiled when she saw Deem. "Oh dear, it's you!"

"Aunt Virginia," Deem said, "I need to check you for bites. I'm worried that what you have might have been caused by a spider bite or something like that. Have you felt any b.u.mps on your skin? Anything like a bite?"

"No dear," she said weakly. "But I haven't checked. I feel too weak."

Virginia's arms were over the bedspread. Deem glanced them over, not seeing anything.

"Do you mind if I check you?" Deem asked.

"Oh, stop," Margie said.

"Well, if you think it would help, of course," Virginia said.

Deem moved closer to her and ran her hands under Virginia's arms, not feeling anything. Then she raised her hands to Virginia's neck and reached behind it.

"What's this?" Deem asked, feeling something strange.

"I don't know," Virginia replied, suddenly alarmed. "I don't feel anything."

"Would you roll to your left?" Deem asked. Virginia slowly rolled, exposing the back of her head.

Deem lifted Virginia's hair, and at the base of her hairline was a large red welt, about the size of a quarter.

"Oh!" Margie said, moving closer to see the welt.

Deem poked at it with her finger. It looked red and swollen. "This doesn't hurt at all, when I poke it?" she asked Virginia.