Part III
A tiny sound woke him, like the tearing of tissue paper, and his eyes snapped open into darkness. Ink thick and then the slow dissolve of black to grey, blue, and then the blurry outlines of the room. Heavy wooden dresser, coats on the back of a door and then his own shape, dimly naked legs wrapped in a tangle of sheets. Rubbing a hand through his hair he frowned at the realisation of where he was. Lenwood; a pitiful offshoot of the main town of Barstow. Rissa's front room, on a fold-out hastily made up into the world's most uncomfortable bed. He twisted, grimacing at the sound of the metal frame, and turned over onto his side.
It was better than a ditch, that he had to concede. Although a ditch would perhaps have been a little less complicated. A ditch wouldn't have necessitated dealing with the emotions of a doe-eyed and affection starved nineteen year old, with a fatherless son and the beginnings of a worrying crush on him. Wadding the pillow up beneath his head he sighed, flipped over on his back again and stared at the ceiling.
She was a sweet girl and generous but - and he had to keep reminding himself of this one - painfully young, and he'd felt his gut twist when she'd made him the offer, so tentative but so full of compassion as it was. Horrified that he had nowhere to go, no idea where his family was. Instinctively offering everything she had to the man they now both knew had saved her life, her kindness to him was like whisky to a drunk and he seemed to have no power to resist it. He didn't know if he had always been alone, he only knew that right now her affection, no matter how facile, was wonderfully comforting and real. The fact that, as it turned out, she didn't know his name either seemed irrelevant. He said it was Pete so that was what she called him.
Her tiny apartment Grammy Foster's money had bought was barely big enough for a midget, let alone a teenage girl and a growing child, but somehow Rissa had made it into a home. Her beaming, proud smile as he had told her so made her seem years older than she really was.
"It's not much, but I fixed it up pretty good didn't I? Made the curtains and the slipcovers all myself!"
She dropped her bag down on the floor, and gave him another big-eyed grin before turning back to the door.
"Make yourself at home. There's soda is the fridge and some cold pizza I think. I've got to go get Tommy. I'll just be five."
Gave him a friendly shove when she realised he was still standing in the doorway.
"Mi casa su casa, Pete."
And the brief touch of her fingertips on his arm left a warm imprint, four hot circles.
"Seriously. What's mine is yours."
And that was that. Her offer was certainly timely, because - let's face it - he had nowhere else to go, and if the price was a little guilt, a little helping of nervous sexual tension then he could handle it. He was a grown man after all, and she was just a kid. Albeit an attractive and patently fertile one. With breasts.
He turned on his side again, pulled his legs in and tried not to think too much about that. Thought about Dawn instead. Faceless Dawn with her soft, pleading voice and gentle hands. Goofy Dawn who still dotted her i's with little circles and abbreviated words to single letters.
"Hope u don't think we're running out on you
but we really need to get home before dawn (ha!ha!).
I'd say we'll c u again soon but i don't think Barstows
top of r fave fun hangouts after tonite!!
Hope u and Liss r both O.K and that the baby is 2.
Asta La Vista,
Dawn x"
She'd written the note on the back of some hospital note paper, torn off neatly through the middle to make sure her writing filled the sheet without leaving any white space; any big gaps that might have looked like awkward silence. Her signature curved up at both ends like a smile, and where the 'w' went down she'd looped it over to make a little 'x'. A kiss for a friend she'd barely met, but who she'd cared enough about to risk both their lives.
::they're going to kill them, you've got to stop it::
When Rissa had returned she'd laughed to find him still in almost the exact same position, a foot or two closer to the kitchen but still standing, hands still pushed firmly down into his pockets. Then laughed again as he'd been forced to move, shoved backwards by the sturdy insistent hands of her son. The little boy's face was perfectly round, a thick jumble of chestnut curls with dark eyes like an otter's. Looking down at him, he felt uncertain whether the emotion in them was curiosity or animosity.
The kid stared at him and he stared back.
"'lo."
The greeting seemed a little combative, so he replied just as warily.
"'lo yourself mate."
Brown eyes narrowed down to slits as he made fists, grabbing up the fabric of his jeans.
"I've been Gamma's"
"Have you now?"
A pause.
"Enjoy yourself did you?"
"We had cookies. And 'renge."
Rissa interrupted.
"Orange, sweetie."
"Yuh."
"Yes."
Stooping down his mom swept him up into capable arms, turning her face away from hands that grabbed stickily for her shiny hair.
"Noooo! Want to play with the Daddy!!"
The blush that rose to her cheeks was almost painful to see, and her eyes darted away to the side apologetically.
"Sorry, I didn't...he calls everyone that. All men I mean. He thinks Daddy means man."
Pushed her face into his hair and kissed him fiercely, even as he flailed at her.
"Noooo! Down!!"
"When you've had your bath, sweetpea. Now be a good boy or Pete won't want to stay for dinner."
The kid's mouth wavered, blobby crocodile tears as his head swivelled, eyes fixing on his. Swallowed hard.
"We having fish-sticks."
Rissa laughed,
"No we aren't! You ate 'em all up remember, pig-boy? I'll order Chinese OK?"
Tossed him back another grin as she headed for the bathroom, toting the boy on her hip.
"What the hell...it's a special occasion."
After dinner she'd made up the bed without asking him, and he'd helped her move Tommy's cot into her room out the back: "Just until you figure out what you're going to do." Together they'd sat up till late watching some old cop show she said she liked and then, after she'd put the kid to bed for the third time and final time, opened up a couple of beers. The TV meant there was no need for any more questions or polite conversation he didn't have the energy or the presence of mind to make, and at midnight she'd cleared her throat and said she had to go to bed. Although he wasn't completely sure, he thought he'd seen the merest hint of lustful hope in her face.
"There are...ah...clean towels in that closet if you want to go grab a shower. We'll probably be gone pretty early, so we'll try not to wake you."
Her eyes in the blue night glow of the TV looked tired, but she gave him the same bright white smile she'd been giving out all day.
"You should take it easy tomorrow. Sleep in. Watch some TV, there's a..."
a hand went out, gestured awkwardly,
"There's a video rental place down on the corner. Not much choice but some good action ones you might not have seen..."
Her eyes dropped to the floor before slowly making their way back up to his face again, and this time the look in them was unmistakable.
"Maybe if you're still here tomorrow night you could...come out with Liss and Gary and I? We usually go on over to the Roadhouse in Barstow Fridays."
She shrugged,
"It's a dive but the beer's cheap, and they have karaoke. Sometimes this crazy old couple get up and do Sonny and Cher. It's a real scream."
The sentence hung in the air between them and he frowned, trying to think of the right thing to say as the silence lengthened. Rissa's hand came up to push back her fringe, and dropping one shoulder she gave him a look that seemed to hover somewhere between good humour and embarrassment.
"It's OK if you don't . Want to...I mean. I just..."
and another half-hearted shrug,
"I thought if you were, you know, alone...you might just prefer some company. That's all."
She breathed out gently, not quite a sigh and then turned and walked slowly back to her room. A minute, and then the soft night-time sound of drawers being opened and closed; teeth being softly brushed, and then the light went out and he was in darkness.
Staring at her door in the gloom now, he had to admit to feeling just the tiniest bit sorry to be on the other side. Tried to imagine what she looked like in there, all golden-tan and tangled limbs, sheets thrown to one side in the heat. Felt himself stir at the image and rolled again, thought of something else instead. Grammy Foster's toothless smile in that faded picture. Dawn's note. That metal disc.
He hadn't looked at it again all day, hadn't even thought to mention it to Officer Frederick. Rolled over to the edge of the sofa-bed and reached underneath for his jeans. It was still there in the back pocket, forced right down, and when he drew it out a little more black flaked off and stuck to his palm. In the cool blue darkness he turned it over slowly, noticing for the first time the ruined shape; like a many-pointed star gone supernova. Pressed into the centre gently and stopped when it gave a little, the tiniest hairline sound. Put it down on the bed instead in front of him, then crossed his legs and just looked at it.
He could imagine what it had once been like - although it wasn't a picture yet - but there was more than that. He could feel it's connection to him. It wasn't anything he cared about, just a thing, but there was something - and he almost caught it then. Dragging like sea-washed sand at the edge of his memory.
Someone unseen reaching out, the heavy chain looping and spilling out of the confines of a small hand, his folding around it. And then nothing. An echoing emptiness like some vast cavern left by the passing of the tide. He struggled for the image again, tried to summon the owner of the hand, the owner of a voice he hadn't so much remembered as felt. A golden sound that pulled at him; harp-strings of pain and love and impossible longing. Closed his eyes and willed it to come back.
"Can't sleep?"
Rissa's voice was barely more than a whisper but he lurched back as if slapped. Her answering jerk away was painfully fearful, and he found himself almost immediately apologising, reaching to reassure her.
"Sorry...I...you just..."
She allowed herself to be caught, eyes still wide. Shook her head at him.
"No I'm...sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump. I thought you were awake is all."
Let his hand drop from her arm again before turning slowly to one side. A soft click and they were both illuminated by the low light of a lamp. She gave him an apologetic look, attempting to flatten down her bed-mussed hair a little, frowned.
"What were you doing? Meditating or something?"
He raised his eyebrows scornfully before realising that, in actual fact, that was pretty much exactly what he had been doing. He lifted the amulet up, unsure how much he wanted to share.
"It's this. I'm just trying to work out what it is. How I came by it. 'Spose I went into a bit of a trance."
Rissa's gaze skipped from his to the pendant in his fist, then back again. Smiled tentatively and held out her hand.
"What is it? Like an heirloom or something?"
Gently, she turned it over, dusted a fingertip over the surface.
"Is this like...hieroglyphics?"
"Where?"
Surprised, he started up before remembering he was naked. Twisted the bed sheet around his waist and took the thing back carefully from her, blew on it. More blackened sand and metal flakes dusted off, speckling the bed and reaching out she pointed out the faint, almost indecipherable markings he'd failed to notice.
"There."
Tilting it into the light he suddenly saw what she meant. Six or seven faint indentations that could have been characters of some kind, although of no alphabet he recognised. He squinted, tilted it again. Part of the first one looked a little like a horse, but that wasn't something he felt was worth sharing at present. Frowned and nodded, before gently placing it back on the bed.
For a moment they stood in silence, both staring at it, then Rissa spoke softly.
"If you like there's a guy I know, a friend of Poppy's, who's into that kind of thing. He lives over in Rich, but I'm sure if I gave him a call and told him about it he'd see you. He's a collector, but he's crazy about all kinds of old stuff. Rare antiques, Egyptian crap, that kind of thing. If nothing else he could maybe tell you how old it is."
Her eyes were bright again, hopeful with the prospect of returning a favour, with helping him somehow. Looking back at her he wondered what he'd done to deserve such kindness from a virtual stranger, before remembering, oh yeah. The whole life-saving deal. Gave a small nod before sitting back down on the fold-out. Her skin smelt of fruit and flowers, and her close proximity to his naked body suddenly seemed very distracting.
"That'd be great."
A pause.
"Thank you."
She smiled, and he noticed her gaze linger on his torso a little longer than was absolutely necessary.
"OK. Well, I'd better hit the sack. Early start and all."
She went to turn out the lamp, and he stopped her quietly.
"S'OK. You can leave it on. Don't think I'll be getting any more sleep tonight anyway."
Her eyes met his fleetingly and he looked away, before turning over onto his side. Heard her almost-sigh again.
"O.K then. "
A long pause and then from further away, a little inside her room;
"'Night Pete."
Her door clicked shut and he grunted, pushed his head further into the pillow and brought his knees back up. Tried to think of something dull. Something boring as fuck. Something other than a luscious nineteen-year old girl, with tumbling chocolate hair and a slim, nubile, golden body that had all been clearly visible through her filmy baby-doll pyjamas. Anything other than that.
Like, faced with the choice of giving himself any name in the whole bloody world, why in hell had he chosen 'Pete'?