“Is she okay?” Claire shifted from foot to foot. She hoped they left soon.
Tom said, “I think she’s trying to tell us something.”
Nova nodded. Her lips strained, her tongue flicked in and out, and she uttered what seemed to be the same series of sounds she had made before. Linked vowels.
“Is it to do with Elizabeth?” Charlie asked. “Do you know who killed her? Did you remember something?”
Nova nodded vigorously, her features straining, her mouth writhing as she tried to force sound from lips that were half dead.
Was it a word? Was Nova croaking the name of Elizabeth’s murderer, or the father of her child? Claire leaned forward. The sounds made a pattern, and she thought the pattern might make a word. Ih-uh-ah-uh. Claire ran through the list of suspects in her head. Allen, Howard, Tom, even Mary – none of them had names with four syllables.
Nova repeated the sounds again, more insistently. The consonants were merely suggested, the vowels slurred. “Nih-cuh-wah-gwah.”
“Yes, Nova, yes. There’s no hurry,” Charlie said gently. “We have all the time in the world.”
Nova rolled her eyes at that, as if she didn’t have the time. She tried again, the same series of sounds. “Nih-cuh-wah-gwah.”
Suddenly, Claire understood. “I’ve got it! She’s saying ‘Nicaragua.’ Right, Nova, is that what you are saying?” But if that was what she was saying, what did it mean? Nova had said she suggested Elizabeth take a quick trip to Mexico for an abortion, but as far as Claire knew, Elizabeth had never been out of the country in her short life.
Nova shook her head from side to side, what looked like anger twisting the features on the right side of her face. She made the sounds again, but they were the same sounds, and Claire heard the same meaningless meaning to the pattern. Nih-cuh-wah-gwah.
“That’s what I hear, too,” Tom said. “Nicaragua. But I don’t understand what it means.”
“Did Elizabeth go to Nicaragua?” Claire asked.
Nova shook her head.
“Was the man who got her pregnant from Nicaragua?” Tom asked. He added, more to himself, “Although I never met anyone from Nicaragua until about five years ago.”
The old woman shook her head again. Her lips still formed the word, softer now, her tone sounding hopeless. Tears leaked from her eyes. Was she confused, disoriented? Was she stuck back in a time when Regan was president and Nicaragua was the enemy? In her confused brain, could Nicaragua be a code word for all that was wrong, for the warring factions of her body?
“I think she is … stuck. Is that right, Charlie? Is your brain stuck?” Charlie looked at Nova for confirmation.
Nova nodded, and half her face curved into a smile, making it look oddly like a tragedy/comedy theatrical mask.
Charlie took the pen and paper from beside the telephone that sat on an otherwise empty desk. “Nova-le, could you write for us? Could you write what you are trying to say?”
For an answer, Nova held up her right hand, twisted like a claw.
“Could you attempt with your left hand?” Charlie asked. “I will hold the paper for you.”
Tom helped Nova sit up, careful of the tubes that ran into her nose, then supported her with his arm around her shoulders. Charlie held up the pad of paper and put the pen in Nova’s left hand. Nova’s hand shook so hard that Charlie tried to curve her own hand around it. “Go on, now, Nova-le,” Charlie urged gently. “What are you trying to tell us about Elizabeth?” They all leaned in closer to see.
Nova drew one shaky line down the paper, about three inches in length. Charlie helped Nova lift her quivering hand off the page again. A second line, starting out an inch or two to the right of the first, then leaning in to the first line as it went up until they touched near the top of the page of paper. Charlie helped her lift the pen again. Nova’s hand wobbled violently over the page as she strove to put the pen back down again where she wanted it.
A voice from the doorway made them all jump. “What exactly is going on here? I will not have my patients disturbed.” It was a tall, gaunt woman with steel-gray hair pulled back into a tight bun underneath her cap. She was also dressed in a dated-looking nurse’s uniform, but she inhabited it completely as the young woman had not. On her, it didn’t look like a costume, but rather armor.
Nova voice took on a tone of protest, but she used the same sounds as before. Now that Claire was sure what it was, it was easy enough to hear the syllables build one by one into the meaningless word. “Nicaragua!”
“Well, I was just visiting my great aunt, and she-” Claire began, only to be immediately interrupted.
“I’ve read her chart. Nova has no living relatives.” Claire watched as a new thought occurred to the nurse, pulling her mouth down into a frown so deep the lines on either side made her look like a nutcracker. “Wait a minute! Are you trying to get this poor woman to sign an altered will?” She snatched the paper and pen away.
Everyone but the nurse looked shocked. “No!” Claire said. “She was trying to tell us something! Listen to her. She kept trying to tell us something, but she can only say the word ‘Nicaragua.’”
Obligingly, Nova croaked out the syllables again.
“See,” Tom said. “We’re old friends of Nova’s. We know she doesn’t have any family, but we were afraid the doctor wouldn’t talk to us unless we said we were related to her. And she’s been trying to tell us something. Something that seems to be very important to her.” Claire noticed Tom left out the part about it being very important to them, and to a girl who had been murdered fifty years before. “But it’s like she was stuck. All she can say is one word. And we finally figured out it was Nicaragua. So we were hoping she could write down whatever she was trying to say.”
From the bed, Nova spoke again. Now that Claire had heard her say ‘Nicaragua’ a dozen times, she noticed that Nova was able to shade it with meaning. This time, there seemed to be hope in her voice.
“Hm,” the nurse said, her tone not completely convinced. “I’ve heard of this. It’s a variant on Broca’s aphasia. Word perseveration. A patient is sometimes left with just a single word. In time, Nova may regain her language. But as for today, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. You’re upsetting her. For all you know, she’s asking you to leave. And even if she’s not, you’ll just have to wait to try to communicate with her. She’s very fragile just now.”
Nova repeated her one word, imbuing it this time with a tone of protest.
The nurse leaned over the bed. “Your friends can come back in a couple of days, Nova.” The tone was one you would use with a toddler. “When you’ve had some time to rest and recover your strength.”
“We will be back, Nova-le,” Charlie said. She squeezed Nova’s hand.
Tom and Claire also said good-bye. Claire leaned down to smooth the hair off Nova’s forehead, but she kept her eyes on the notepad the nurse held loosely in her hand. The new line Nova had added ran perpendicular to the other two. She had drawn a very shaky letter “A.” As in Allen.
Chapter 42
NDHOLE
Traffic was slow on Barbur Boulevard, and it took a couple of stoplights before Claire could see why. The TV crews were out again, only this time they weren’t filming Charlie and Claire’s house. Instead, they were all clustered around a cheap apartment complex, the kind with peeling paint and aluminum-framed windows. The walls on one corner of the building had been defaced with the now familiar black spray paint. Only the words were different. “Nigger!” “White Power! “Go back to Afrika!”
Standing in front of two TV cameras was a small figure Claire recognized. “That’s Jason from Capitol Hill Elementary!”
Charlie made a noise that was either the word “no” or a moan. When Claire looked over at her, she looked pale and ill. Tom patted her knee.
Feeling sick herself, Claire pulled over. The criminalist was right. These people were cowards. They attacked the old, the young, the homeless, those who couldn’t fight bac
k. She looked again at the words. Something about them bothered her, but maybe it was the horrific sameness of what had happened to her own house: the black runny paint, the misspellings, the hate the words conveyed.
People milled about in the parking lot – reporters, photographers, apartment residents, neighbors, and the curious who had just been driving by. Claire got out of the car, but Charlie hung back, as if she couldn’t stand to be so close to evil again. Tom turned in his seat, put his hand on her knee, and began to murmur in her ear.
Claire saw Jason’s brother, Matt, wearing a Seattle Mariner’s baseball cap and talking to an earnest-looking woman with a tan reporter’s notebook. “I’m joining the Marines next year, when I turn 18. Some of my buddies just got back from serving in the Gulf.” Maybe the military would work out better for him than the other things they’d tried.
Jason hadn’t noticed her yet. He was being interviewed by another reporter, his voice so soft that she couldn’t hear his answers, only the reporter’s ridiculous questions about how he felt. How did they suppose he felt? Frightened, vulnerable, alone. Claire’s heart turned over in her chest when she realized that he was wearing the T-shirt silk-screened with a dragon that she had given him – and no coat, despite the fact that it probably about fifty degrees outside.
Someone had set up a card table near the spray-painted words. While she waited for Jason to finish talking to the reporters, Claire went over to it. On it was a petition demanding tolerance, peace, and justice, signed by two dozen people, and addressed to nobody in particular. Next to it sat a bucket, with a sign taped to it that read “Donations.” There were a lot of bills in it, most of them ones, but a few tens and twenties, too. Claire put in a twenty-dollar bill.
The reporters had turned their cameras on the crowd, so Claire went up to Jason and gave him a hug. He hugged her back, hard, his shoulders and arms feeling as tight as a stretched wire. “Jace – I am so sorry!” She opened her mouth to offer him a place to stay, but then closed it. Really, was her house any safer than his apartment?
He looked past her to focus on her car and Charlie. “I know that lady with you! She’s the lady on TV. My brother and I watched her. The same thing happened to her, and everybody helped her, like they’re gonna help us.”
Claire blinked. Matt must be trying to put a positive spin on things, to keep his brother from focusing on the frightening reality.
Even though Jason might not be safe at her home, she could still put him up in one of the hotels on Barbur. Although the Bridge City Motel would presumably be a bad idea. “Do you need a place to stay, honey? ‘Cause you could tell your dad I could put you up someplace.”
“We’re gonna stay right here. Matt says we’ll be safe.”
Claire shot a glance at Matt, who was ducking his head while an older woman gave him a hug. Seventeen years old and trying to put on a brave front for his little brother. “Honey, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Claire began.
Jason set his jaw. “Matt promised that we would be safe. He said he could guarantee that nothing would happen.”
Claire gave up arguing. She didn’t want to tarnish his obvious hero-worship. Jason needed heroes right now. An adult would be more likely to listen to reason. “Why don’t I talk to your dad?” She looked around, although she didn’t know what kind of man to look for. “Where is he, anyway?”
Jason looked down, scuffed one toe against the ground. “He hasn’t exactly been around for a while.”
“What do you mean?” Although the pieces were beginning to fall into place. The ever-present dirty red flannel shirt, the two boys alone at Fred Meyer, the evident lack of supervision Jason was receiving in the hair-combing and teeth-brushing departments.
Clearly uncomfortable, Jason looked around for his brother. Matt hurried over and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Hey, you’re the teacher lady, right?”
“I do volunteer work at the school.”
Jason said in a monotone, “She was asking about dad.”
Matt’s green eyes met Claire’s, then he looked away. “He’s out of town on a business trip.”
What kind of mechanic went out of town on a business trip? “I’m thinking it might be better for you two if you stayed someplace else for a few days. Until the police have had a chance to investigate this more.”
Matt started shaking his head, then stopped when he saw Claire get out her wallet. “Well, if you want to help, that would be great.” She gave him $47, all she had left in her wallet, then excused herself for a minute and went to the car to talk to Charlie and Tom, who contributed an addition $81. She pressed the small bundle of bills into Matt’s hand. He was looking past her, at Charlie, with an odd look on his face. “I don’t feel right taking it from her. She got picked on, too, same as us. Is she okay?”
Claire hesitated. “It’s taken it out of her, that’s for sure.”
He pressed the money back in her hands. “It wouldn’t be right. Tell her,” he hesitated, as if trying to find the right words, “tell her I’m really sorry for everything. And that I’m sure nothing else will happen to her.”
But Charlie didn’t want her money back. So Claire waited until Matt was busy talking to another reporter before she went and put the money in the bucket.
Chapter 43
ONAL4S
After Claire drove home, Charlie and Tom decided to go out to lunch. They didn’t say anything, but by their body language, Claire knew they didn’t want or need company. She found Dante sitting in the living room, making a list of what he had learned so far about the drawings. She started to make sandwiches, but she hadn’t gotten any further than slicing some of Charlie’s bread when a sound cut through the air.
The noise was high-pitched, not quite a wail or a scream, but a pure ululation. A shiver tugged Claire’s shoulders up to her ears. The sound was of fear and horror past words.
She and Dante ran outside. In the driveway stood McKenzie, the girl Claire had met a week ago. Now she stood staring open-mouthed at her dog. Looking agitated, brown eyes rolling, it was walking stiff-legged down Claire’s driveway. Clearly something was terribly wrong with it.
“What happened, honey?”
McKenzie opened her mouth to speak, but then she looked at her dog again. No sound came out beyond a new wail. To Claire’s horror, the muscles in the dog’s legs began to twitch so hard that she could see them jumping from ten feet away. The dog fell over in the driveway. Dante bent over it, touched it lightly on the forehead, and its legs began to paddle the air.
Claire took the girl’s hot, wet face and turned it toward her, holding her hands like blinders so the girl couldn’t see the dog. She leaned down until their faces were only a few inches apart. With an effort she kept her face calm, her voice steady. “McKenzie, tell me what happened.”
“Bailey and I were by Gabriel Park. I had him off leash, but then I couldn’t find him for a minute. When he came up, he had found this squirrel. It was dead. I think it was already dead when he found it. It was really gross. Bailey had bit into it and I could see its insides. I yelled at him and yelled at him, and finally I pulled it out of his mouth. He growled at me and he never growls.” Tears leaked steadily down her face, but at least now she was talking. Claire had tugged on McKenzie’s arm until she turned, so that her back was to the dog. “Then on the way home he started acting funny, jerking at every sound, and walking all weird, stiff-legged, so I tried to hurry. And then he started doing - that.”
Dante stood up. The dog was finally still. Claire thought it must be dead.
“Sounds like some kind of poison,” Dante said. He looked at Claire. “Is there a veterinary hospital you can call?”
“There’s Dove Lewis in Northwest.”
“Take her into the house and give them a call.” He patted McKenzie’s back. “Go on inside with Claire, honey.” Then his mouth opened as he thought of something else.
“You said you touched that squirrel?”
Mc
Kenzie’s mouth started to quiver again. “Yes – but I threw it in some bushes.”
“You’d better wash your hands with soap and hot water. For a long time. And be careful not to touch your eyes or mouth.”
“But what about Bailey?”
At the sound of the girl’s raised voice, the dog began to jerk again. Claire was relieved that it was alive, even though part of her wished it would die.
Dante kept his voice soft. “I’ll stay here with Bailey, honey. You go on in with Claire.” Over her head, he gave Claire a significant look that she translated as, Keep her away from the window.
It seemed to take Claire an eternity to find the number for Dove Lewis and dial it. When they answered, she explained what had happened. “And now the dog keeps having seizures every time there’s a loud noise.”
The woman’s voice on the other end of the line was professionally calm. “It sounds like some kind of poisoning. You’d better get that dog in here as fast as you can. As gently as you can, cover the dog with a blanket, pick it up and put in the car. I’ll alert the vet you’re bringing your dog in.”
Dante folded down the seats of the hatchback and then rode in back with the dog, although he was careful not to touch it. They had covered Bailey with a dark gray wool blanket Claire kept in the back for the freak snowstorm that would never happen in Portland. Trying to ignore how her hands trembled on the wheel, Claire drove as quickly and as cautiously as possible.
At a stoplight, she looked in the rearview mirror. The blanket trembled as underneath it tremors raced across the dog’s flanks.
At the veterinary hospital, Claire didn’t even have time to come to a complete stop before McKenzie was racing in the door. The first few seconds were a blur of action, as two vets whisked the dog away to the back.