Road to Nowhere

  Because she was in trouble.

  “Yes, it is,” Free said.

  Because she had done something wrong.

  “I live the other way,” she insisted.

  With her knife.

  “We’ll be getting off the freeway in a second,” Free said.

  The knife she had not left at Bill’s house.

  “No,” she said. “No.”

  The knife in her pocket.

  “It’s the next exit,” Free said.

  The knife she had used to cut into someone’s skin. “I live three hundred miles from here!” she cried. But whose skin? Who was really bleeding?

  “Get real,” Free said.

  Bardos Lane. Border Lane.

  Teresa’s stomach lurched. “I feel sick.”

  Border World. Bardos.

  “We’re getting off here,” Free said, slowing.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  They drove into a residential area. The rain continued to fall, but lightly now, as if the growing daylight was capable of drying up the clouds that had plagued them all night. They turned into an apartment complex and parked in a carport. Free jumped out and Poppy and Teresa got out slowly. Actually, Poppy had to help Teresa up. She was so sick she had trouble staying on her feet.

  “Where are we?” she mumbled.

  “Same old Teresa,” Free said, striding into the complex. Poppy helped her as they followed him.

  “I’m going to have to lie down soon,” Teresa said.

  “Yes,” Poppy said, her voice gloomy as midnight.

  Free led them into an apartment. He had the key. Teresa collapsed on a couch near the door and closed her eyes for an instant. To say she was in shock would have been like saying victims of serious burns were familiar with pain. Her pain, devastating as it was, could now hardly cut through the fog she had entered. They had killed two people. Blood was all over her clothes. Plus, she was bleeding. She had accidentally cut her left wrist with her knife. Like she had accidentally cut the nurse’s throat. Oh, God, Free had just aimed the gun at them and pulled the trigger. All for a few lousy bucks. The sin of it all. Having slept with him, she must now have disease growing inside her.

  Teresa opened her eyes and looked around.

  The apartment looked familiar. Very.

  “Where are we?” she mumbled again.

  Neither of them answered her right away. Free was in his glory, skipping around the living-room as if he had just found a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. He had his empty green garment bag in his hand and was unfolding it on the floor. Poppy sat smoking at a table in the adjacent kitchen. Teresa could hear water running. She turned her head with great effort and saw that the door to the bathroom was lying partway open and that someone had left the water running in the bathtub and that it was overflowing.

  “Somebody should turn that water off,” she said weakly.

  “Why don't you do it?” Free asked.

  “I’m too sick to get up,” Teresa said.

  “Always an excuse with you,” Free muttered.

  She was offended. “You killed those people, you animal.”

  Free laughed. He was smoothing the wrinkles out of his empty bag. What had he done with his other clothes? Just thrown them away? “It was fun,” he said. “Did you have fun? You killed one of them, too, remember?”

  “That was an accident!” Teresa protested.

  Free giggled. “What a memory!”

  Teresa cried weakly. “Would somebody please turn off that water? The noise of it is hurting my head.”

  Free paused in his task and approached. “You're the only one who can turn off the water, Babe. Poppy and I ain’t got no hands.” He stopped. “Do you want to watch TV?”

  “Huh? No.”

  “I have a video you might enjoy,” Free said, ignoring her. He pulled a tape from his coat pocket and walked over to the VCR. He thrust the tape into the machine and turned on the TV. “You keep asking where we are – and I've already told you. But you can think of this tape as a kind of a road map to the highways in these parts.”

  “I can't watch anything right now,” Teresa whispered, her head falling to one side. She had to struggle to remain conscious and she had to ask herself why she was trying at all. Because if she just blacked out she could forget her pain. It was so tempting, just to escape. Yet something kept her eyes open.

  “Believe me, you’ll watch this,” Free said.

  The tape started. It showed a young woman closing her apartment door and striding towards her car in the night. The camera followed the young woman – she was really only a girl – as she threw an overnight bag in the back seat and climbed in. The girl started the car and, looking both ways, pulled out into the rain.

  The rain.

  Lightning flashed, giving her a glimpse through the damp window.

  Recognition. The girl.

  “That’s me,” Teresa gasped, sitting up.

  “Yes,” Free said. “That’s you leaving your house this evening.”

  “Where did you get that tape?” she asked.

  “I have friends in high places,” Free said. “I have more friends in low places. Do you want me to rewind the tape?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “I want you to turn it off. You shouldn’t make tapes of people without their knowledge.”

  Free snickered. “I have a tape of you in the most compromising of positions.” He leaned close, and she couldn’t imagine how she had thought his mouth tasted fresh. His breath reminded her of a sick patient in a hospital; it stank of decay. “I have a tape of you naked in the bathtub! What do you think of that, Miss Teresa?”

  “You lie!” she swore.

  He hooted at the ceiling. “I lie!” He spun round, making a dance of it, and skipped back to his bag. “All right, I’ll leave you in ignorance. You seem comfortable there.” He knelt on the floor by the bag and pulled down the zipper. “An old army issue,” he said gleefully.

  The bag intrigued her, but not in a good way. She had seen something like it before. “Where did you get that thing?” she asked.

  “These bags were used in the sixties and the seventies,” Free said. “Many of our finest young men returned home from Vietnam in one of these.”

  “A body bag,” she whispered.

  He had been carrying it around all night. Slowly emptying it.

  For what?

  Wrong question.

  For whom?

  “Right,” Free said with a giggle.

  The need to know, even in denial, was what was keeping her eyes open. Teresa got up with great effort and turned on the TV and VCR.

  She pressed Rewind. Counted time by the numbers. Then pressed Play.

  She was taking a bath. Naked.

  “I told you.” Free snickered behind her.

  A hot bath, with the water running a little so that it wouldn't get cold when she started to get cold. Teresa glanced in the direction of the bathroom where the water was overflowing and soaking the carpet of the hallway. The water was not entirely clear. There was something in it, floating around, but also thinning out. Teresa glanced back at the tape. She was picking up a knife, that young pretty girl. So much pain on her face. But no extra pain as she took the blade in her right hand and cut a deep gash across her left wrist. Pain, so she had believed at the time, was only for the living. There was no need to open both veins. Her parents were out. She had all night to die. The blood spurted silently into the water and the girl leaned back and closed her eyes.

  The girl had been wrong about death taking away all her problems.

  Teresa turned off the tape.

  It all came clear to her in a single moment.

  The whole insane night. Of course, there were no witches, no castles, no magical priest. These things did not exist on the planet earth.

  “I killed myself,” she said.

  “Yes!” Free cheered behind her. “And I am here to collect you, my hard-earned reward. That’s what I have this bag for.”
r />   Teresa stepped towards the kitchen, hugging the wall; she needed it for support. “Is it true?” she asked Poppy. “Am I dead?”

  Poppy was pale and exhausted. She ground out her cigarette in an ashtray. “Almost,” she said, and the regret in her voice was plain.

  Teresa nodded. There was no sense denying it now. She did not need to step into the bathroom to see. There was a girl dying in there.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “Not long,” Poppy said.

  Teresa nodded again. No wonder her wrist hurt. She remembered then, quite clearly, opening the vein. Her nausea must mean her heart was running out of blood to pump. “Who are you two?” she asked.

  “My name is Candy,” Poppy said. “Popcorn and candy, you could call me. That’s John behind you.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I call him Jack.”

  “You're both dead?” Teresa asked.

  “Yes,” Poppy said.

  Teresa coughed. “Why are you here?”

  “For fun and profit,” Free said.

  “He was here to tempt you,” Poppy said. “At least that's what he thinks. I was here to help you, if you wanted my help.” Poppy shook her head. “You didn’t want it, Teresa.”

  Teresa nodded. “How could you have helped me – after what I did?”

  “Bardos is the realm between the living and the dead,” Poppy said. “On rare occasions it’s possible to make choices here that affect where you go – whether you go anywhere.”

  “I made the wrong choices,” Teresa whispered.

  “You cut the poor nurse's throat,” Free joined in.

  “Shut up,” Poppy told him. She turned back to Teresa. “It wasn’t so much what you did, it never is. It’s what's inside. You wouldn’t let the truth in.”

  “You lied about everything,” Free interrupted, now airing out the body bag, flapping it in the middle of the living-room as if he were getting ready to set up a tent. “You never slept with Bill. He didn’t want you. He wanted Rene and you couldn’t face it. It’s as simple as that.”

  Poppy slowly stood. She faced Free, who paused in his play with the bag to see what she’d do next. There was suddenly fire in Poppy's usually cool expression. She held out her arm and pointed at him.

  “You have a nerve calling Teresa a liar,” she said. “After the lies you told tonight. You’re a hypocrite.”

  Free appeared genuinely perplexed. “What lies did I tell?”

  Poppy was impatient. “About John.”

  Free dropped his bag, suddenly angry. “I told it the way it was. I accept what I did, the good and the bad. I don’t try to dress it up like Mother Teresa here. Or like you, Poppy. Candy was nothing but a lazy chick with the loyalty of a politician. You prattled on about how she searched for John all those years. If she looked so hard, how come she didn’t find him?”

  “Where was she supposed to look?” Poppy demanded. “She had no leads – John made sure he left none for her. It was John who ran from her, not the other way round. And why? Because he was embarrassed for screwing up.”

  “He didn’t screw up! He was just trying to help her pass her stupid test.”

  “John didn’t have to hit the teacher,” Poppy said. “Even when he did, even when he went to juvenile hall, it wasn't the end of the world. John could have called Candy at Berkeley when he got out. They could have worked something out together. They were strong together.”

  “John was the only strong one!”

  “John was weak when it really mattered!” Poppy yelled. “When he hurt his hand, what did he do? He felt sorry for himself. So he was in pain. Lots of people are in pain. They don’t become junkies. They don’t blame the world.”

  Free was indignant. “You don't know what pain is. You cake-walked through life.”

  “I suffered,” Poppy said. “Everybody suffers at one time or another. But I worked to make myself a life. I made mistakes, sure, plenty of them, but I didn’t hurt anybody.”

  “I didn’t try to hurt anybody, either!” Free cried.

  Poppy clapped her hands together. It was as if she had been steering him in a direction and he had just taken a critical turn. “Yes! That's true. That’s the truth you don’t know. Listen to me, I came here tonight for you as much as for Teresa. You don’t belong in this awful place, John. You belong with me.”

  Free snickered. “I can’t go with you after what I’ve done.”

  “What did you do?” Poppy asked.

  Free chuckled. “In case you’ve forgotten, I killed you.”

  “No,” Teresa interrupted.

  Free glared at her. “You stay out of this.”

  “No,” Poppy said quickly, eyeing Teresa closely. “Let her talk. Think of her as an objective observer. Teresa?”

  Teresa pulled herself off the wall with what strength she had left. “I enjoyed the story of Candy's life,” she said. “She sounded like a nice person. But it was John’s story that kept me captivated. I think it was because he had so much potential and kept missing out on opportunities. Until the end I thought he would turn it round. He would get his act together and find Candy and live happily ever after. I know you told me at the start that they weren't going to be together, but I still kept thinking they would be. Do you know what I mean?”

  “No,” Free said. “You know nothing. You never even met John.”

  “But I did,” Teresa said. “I met him through you. I got to know him pretty good. He had a hard time. I went through nothing compared to him. I admired him in a way, I really did. But you see, when you got to the part in the store, I knew you were lying. I spoke to Poppy about it, you can ask her. I know that John didn’t kill Candy.”

  “I did!” he protested. “I shot her in the heart.” He looked at Poppy. “You tell her.”

  Poppy shook her head. “She’s just told you, John.”

  He was confused. “But I was there. I know what happened.”

  “No,” Poppy said. “I was there. I was in that store with the only man I had ever truly loved. You were there with your self-pity and your guilt. You carried your guilt to the grave. You didn’t shoot me. The cop shot me trying to hit you. He killed me, accidentally it’s true, but he killed me nevertheless. When I got hit, you did everything you could to hold me up, and keep me from falling on to that dirty floor. Not because you were still using me as a shield. But because you wanted to hold me. You wanted that more than a chance to shoot back, which you could have done. You wanted it more than a chance to surrender and to live. You just wanted to hold me. You died wanting that.” Poppy took a step towards him. “Why do you have to play the devil every night for the rest of eternity? You’re not such a bad guy. I still love you. Do you still love me?”

  Free stared at her as if seeing her for the first time, or perhaps as if he were seeing her after a very long time. Teresa didn’t know when they had been alive.

  “What did you want to tell me just before you died?” he asked.

  “That I named my son after you,” Poppy said.

  “You weren't making that up when we were in the car?” Free asked.

  “I told the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  Free was silent again. Then he took a deep shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said.

  “Yes?” Poppy asked.

  “I still love you,” Free said.

  Tough cool emotionless Poppy wept. She nodded her head and bit her lip. “Yes,” she said, and it could have been the most wonderful sound in the world – in the whole universe – to her. She threw open her arms. “Hold me now, John. Hold me forever.”

  They embraced. They kissed.

  It was wonderful. Beautiful.

  Teresa even shed a tear, she was so happy for them.

  Happy. Such a feeling for a dying soul to have.

  None of this changed the fact that she had slit open her wrist.

  No ruby slippers. No going home to a dead body.

  Teresa felt happy for them but miserable for herself.

  “You
’re not dead yet,” Poppy said, looking over at her from Free’s arms, reading her mind.

  “But you said?” Teresa began.

  Poppy separated herself from Free. She positively glowed, as a guardian angel should. Teresa had not realized angels could be so human.

  “What did I say?” Poppy asked. “What did the priest say? Did you let him finish? Of course not, you ran out the door. You ran from your mistakes. But had you stayed, you would have heard that all mistakes are forgiven if you offer them to the divine. It’s a very deep secret, this one.”

  “But I don’t know how to offer anything,” Teresa said.

  “There is no how,” Poppy said. “The truth itself is a true offering. That would be accepted. What is the truth here? You tried to kill yourself? You can see that now – that you did it out of self-pity. You learned about self-pity from John's story. You demonstrated that right now. Forget about the people you killed tonight. They were already dead. Forget what happened at the witch's house. I don’t care. You and Free behaved like children, but all that matters is that you’ve learned from each other.” She poked Free in the side as she spoke. “And to think, he came here tonight hoping to drag you down to the lower regions.”

  Free smiled. “They’re not so bad once you learn the ropes there.”

  Poppy gave him a look. “Do you want to go back there?”

  He scratched his head. “Ah, no.” He hugged her close. “I think I’m ready for a change for the better.” He paused. “Are you sure I didn’t kill you?”

  Poppy laughed. “Had you tried to shoot me you would have missed. You were always missing me.” She turned back to Teresa. “What am I going to do with you, silly girl?”

  Teresa fought a wave of dizziness. “You're not physical. You can’t drag me from the tub. I’ll be dead by the time my parents get home.” She lowered her head. “It doesn’t matter what kind of offering I make to God.”

  “Why don’t you make it and see what happens?” Poppy asked.

  “But?” she began.

  “Go ahead, try it,” Free said. “What can it hurt? If it works for you, I might try it myself.”

  “What do I do?” Teresa asked.

  “Feel what you feel,” Poppy said. “Then let it go to the divine. It doesn’t matter how you think of God. It only matters that you let him think of you.”