Corrosion (6 page)

Baker grinned. I guess you did. And I don’t blame you none. Man shouldn’t treat a woman like that, not most of the time anyway. But that fight ain’t my concern. Shit, if I investigated every fight in Huerfano County, I’d hardly have time to piss and shit.

So what is your concern?

His eyes met mine and they were hard and mean. Dead hog, he said. Couple days back I got a phone call from Nick. Told me one of his hogs had been butchered. Said somebody slit her throat from end to end. Went down and took a look. Nasty stuff. Ol’ Nick was good and pissed. Folks down here don’t take too kindly to people destroyin’ their livestock. You understand.

I nodded my head because there was nothing else to do. And what does this all have to do with me?

Don’t know for sure. When I talked to Nick, he mentioned your name. Mentioned the fight and all. Said he wouldn’t be surprised if you was the one. Now I ain’t sayin’ you did it, but I ain’t sayin’ you didn’t either.

I didn’t have anything to do with his hog, I said. Fellow is probably just sore that I whipped him at the bar.

Probably.

Well, I said. Did you want to talk to me about anything else?

He smiled. No, mister, I guess that does it. And you’re probably right. Ol’ Nick was probably just sore about what happened at the bar.

So then? What do you want from me? I was good and sober now, but my head was throbbing.

Just wanted to have a chat, that’s all. Introduce myself, you know.

Pleasure, I said.

We both stood there for a while, and he watched me unblinking.

If there’s nothing else, I said, I guess I’ll be getting some sleep.

Sure, sure. He took a step forward, stuck out his hand again, and I shook it. When I tried pulling away, he kept on gripping it. He was stronger than I thought. Your truck fixed? he asked.

Yes, sir.

Well, then. You might want to consider movin’ along, you know? Just so you don’t get into any more trouble.

You ordering me to leave your town?

No, mister. Just a friendly suggestion, that’s all.

I pulled my hand from his grip. Have a good evening, Sheriff.

A smile and a wink. You do the same, Joseph.

* * *

The days fell in number and everything was wrong. I worked and I drank and I slept. I even paid the hotel whore a few times because I was lonely.

The stranger and the sheriff kept their eyes on me. My brain was bouncing around in my skull.

I didn’t see Lilith at all. I thought we were through. It was just as well. I had some cash, the truck was fixed, and the Mountain was waiting. But I couldn’t go. I don’t know why.

And then one night I was sitting on the hardwood floor of my hotel room, being drunk, listening to the rain and the radio. The Louvin Brothers,
Satan is Real.

That’s when I heard pounding on the door. I sat there, unable to move. The pounding continued. Unsteadily, I rose to my feet, walked across the room, and pushed open the door. Lilith McClellan stood there, a pathetic heap of a woman.

She was wearing a blue prom-style dress, torn at the shoulder. Her hair was soaking wet, she was shivering, and blood was tricking from her nose. Her cheek was swollen and bruised, her eyes vapid. Oh, Joseph, she whispered, her voice filled with despondency and broken glass.

I pulled her inside, shutting the door behind us. We sat down on the bed and I grabbed a hold of her. What happened? I said. Did your husband do this to you?

She didn’t say a word, but the tears began to roll down her battered cheeks, mixing with blood and drugstore mascara.

I’ll call the cops, I said. Tell ’em what the old bastard did to you. Then we’ll get you to a hospital. I’ll drive you there.

No, she said. That’s not what I want. I don’t want cops. I don’t want hospitals.

What are you talking about? You’re hurt. Gotta get you taken care of.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Then she spoke: You once said that it takes courage to kill somebody.

Yes. I believe it does.

So I was wondering. Have you ever killed anybody?

It was all wrong. The mood was pitch-black, and there were strange shadows dancing on the walls. I took a deep breath. I didn’t answer right away and when I did, I spoke slowly, cautiously. War changes you, I said. It causes you to do things you didn’t think you could do.

Like killing?

Yes. Like killing.

A long pause. Then Lilith reached into her purse and pulled out a pistol. .38 Special. Revolver action.

I eyed the gun dispassionately. Returned my gaze to her face, jaw trembling, nostrils flaring.

She placed the .38 in my hand. My fingers closed around it.

He’s a monster, she said.

The world is filled with monsters, I said.

Believe me, I’ve thought this through. It’s the only way. You might think I’m just emotional right now, but I’m not. I know what needs to be done.

And you want me to do it.

Yes. I want you to do it.

I smiled, shook my head. I’m not killing anybody, I said. My voice sounded strange, out of place. I’ll take you away with me, but I’m not killing anybody.

He’s got a life insurance plan, she said. It’s good money. More than we could ever earn.

I grinned thin-lipped. So that’s what this is about? Money?

She wiped away a crimson tear. It’s about a lot of things. But the money would help, don’t you think? I mean, let’s be real, how much do you have? Not enough for us to live on, I bet.

I didn’t answer, just stared at the pistol in my hand. My brain was soaking in kerosene. A strike of a match and…

Somberly, I placed the weapon on the windowsill. Then I turned back around and spoke, my voice quiet, measured. Let’s talk about something else, I said.

What…what do you want to talk about?

Let’s talk about your other boyfriend. I saw you at the bar the other day. I saw you with that Mexican. The two of you were having a hell of a time.

She rose from the bed, her parted lips coated with blood. Oh, Joseph, she said. That guy, he—

Means nothing to you, right? Is that what you were going to say?

I’ve known him for a while. We get together now and then. That night, well I was drunk. I was lonely. You weren’t around. I’m sorry, Joseph, I’m so sorry. I know I’m a whore. I’ve always been a whore. But it doesn’t change the fact that I love you. It doesn’t change the fact that I want to be with you.

It was funny, what she said, so I laughed. I laughed and laughed and hiccupped and laughed. I just couldn’t stop. A minute or more without pause. Lilith begged me to stop. I only laughed some more.

I…I don’t know what else you want me to say, she said. All I can do is say that I’m sorry and that I love you and—

My laughter ceased but my grin remained. You don’t need to apologize, I said. You only have to do one thing for me. Just one thing.

What is it? I’ll do anything for you, Joseph, you know that.

Just keep lying to me. That’s all I need. That’s all I’ve ever needed.

I picked up the gun and aimed it at her head. Instinctively, she covered her face with her hands. But I didn’t shoot. I didn’t want to hurt her. She was a broken angel and I loved her. I said: I’ll do it. I’ll shoot him in the skull and then we’ll be together for a spell. You just keep on lying and I’ll keep on lying and we’ll be happier than hell.

CHAPTER 8

The next morning, I sat on the windowsill and stared down at the street below.

An old man with overalls and a washed-out face stood on the curb reading a newspaper. A couple of high school kids sat on the hood of a truck; he was pulling her close and she was resting her head on his shoulder. A woman wearing a long flower dress and carrying a grocery bag in either arm trudged down the sidewalk, a ragamuffin little girl following a few steps behind. And there was the whore from the hotel, her face wind-chapped and spiteful…

Outside, the wind was picking up, and I could hear some trash cans crashing against the asphalt like drunks on a dance floor. I pulled out my can of snuff and snorted a pinch. Then I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to sleep. That’s when the vision came to me. A memory or a premonition. A vision so vivid that I started twitching and jerking, fingers covering my mouth in terror.

I’m on the Mountain and the snow is falling. I’m just standing there, a homemade axe slung over my shoulder, gazing at the old shack, wood rotting before my eyes.
And then I look up and see a figure, monstrous and translucent, dart from behind a collapsed mine and vanish into the trees. Trancelike, I move away from the shack and start toward the thick forest where the creature has vanished. Dead branches and dead leaves crunch beneath my feet, the winter snow whitening the high hills of hell.

Within the woods, ancient and deep, the pines sway back and forth in unison, the shadows swarming and lunging. The sun peaks through the clouds and reflects brightly against the dirty snow. I swivel my head, searching for the strange creature. Nothing but trees and snow and frozen weeds. I look down. I see footprints, barely visible. Eyes peeled on the ground, I follow the footsteps as they wind through the mountain trees. I quicken my pace. My breathing is heavy and irregular. Off to the right, a stream flows gently, blanketed by snow. Somewhere an eagle screams.

I walk a long ways, far away from the mining shack. Then the footsteps are gone and so is my shadow. I tromp through drifts of calf-deep snow, breathing hard. I catch another glimpse of the stream, dark under snow and ice and branches.

And then I see the opening of a cavern. The sun is sinking behind the jagged peaks, and the sky is a muted pink. Several large stones block the cave’s opening. I get to my knees, drop my axe to the ground. The stones are lodged into the dirt, made heavy by the snow. It takes me some time to pull them away and when I look at my fingers, I see that they are bleeding.

On my hands and knees, dragging the axe behind me, I enter the cave. Everything is dark, the light vanishing completely as soon as I pass the first bend. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a lighter and strike it on. The rocks are pale and seem ready to collapse inward at any moment. The dirt floor is damp. It smells of a primeval pool of water, of mildew and rot.

Then the lighter goes out. I strike it a few times but it doesn’t take. I toss it aside and continue onward, unable to see my hand an inch in front of my face. From somewhere outside the cave I hear what sounds like shouting, a ghostly Comanche battle cry. And then another sound: an echo of high-pitched shrieks followed by a thunderous whooshing and then my own screams as a colony of invisible bats fly around my head, hungry for feeding time.

I continue crawling through the tunnel as it becomes narrower and narrower. And then the sudden onset of light. I tilt my head upward. There is an opening in the ceiling, not much more than a foot in diameter, and the final remains of light filter through.

Just ahead, the walls widen into an underground room, the end of the passageway. I straighten up and step inside. My fingers are bleeding badly and I’m shivering. I can see the plumes of my breath.

On the dirt floor are several cans, all opened and emptied. Beans and corn and soup and apple juice. Smashed and rusted. There is a wool blanket, all tattered and torn and eaten through. And lying on the blanket, what looks to be the remains of an old lurid graphic novel. I bend down and pick it up. It is waterlogged and nearly disintegrates in my hands, but I can still make out the artwork on the cover: a muscular and heavily tattooed soldier brandishing a machine gun, about to shoot through the skull of a knife-wielding, turban-wearing Arab.
Fight to the Finish
it’s called. I drop the comic to the ground and stare up at the wall. Black scrawl written in the handwriting of a child: I am because I am because I am because I am.

And then he appears. A boy of about sixteen. Face sickly, eyes wild. He wears a wide-brimmed preacher’s hat. He takes a few steps forward. I know who you are, he says. I raise my axe. He’s unconcerned. He continues walking toward me. I know who you are, he says again. When he’s no more than a step away from me, he covers his face with his hat. I can hardly breathe. A moment later he removes the hat and I can see that his face is melting, skin dripping to the cavern floor like wax. I drop my axe to the ground and he’s laughing and laughing and I realize that I’m staring at my own face…

* * *

Two days later, three in the morning, wind blowing hard. Lilith was gone. We’d made some plans before she’d left. They weren’t all that well thought out. I’m gonna be staying with my aunt in Rifle, she’d said. I’ll stay there for two nights. Here’s the key. You might have to jiggle it a bit. And walk lightly. The floor creaks. It shouldn’t matter. He’s a sound sleeper. Especially when he drinks. He always drinks.

It didn’t get any lonelier than this. I put on my jacket. I walked down the hallway of the hotel. One of the room doors opened and a man stood there with thick yellow-gray hair, slicked back into a pompadour. His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes cloudy. His hands were covered with lesions. He wore a too-small white T-shirt, his belly bulging out the bottom. I nodded at him. He watched me walk down the hall, and then I heard the door close.