Chap 28

Marie felt a spongy "thunk" as her shovel struck something soft and giving in the sand. It was a little after 10 pm, according to the O' Rock station, one of Hank's favorites, she had been listening to 10 minutes earlier. She was still fresh at work in the, to her, early evening.

She quickly got down on her knees and began using her hands to scoop away dirt. The sand was cold as the ground gave up the day's desert heat, and the object she felt was even colder, its fingers seeming to clutch around hers. She gasped and stood up, a horrified sound gurgling in her throat. She both expected and didn't expect this. In either case, no one is ever prepared for such a thing. She had to let her sudden tears and terror subside for a few minutes before she could go fetch the more powerful emergency lamp from her car.

With more light now, she peered into the still, shallow hole she had made.

The New Mexico sands are in constant movement, shifting this way and that way according to winds, moisture, weight - and the body down in there was gradually coming up to surface. The hand seemed to be pointing upward, like the Joshua Trees around her, pointing the way to heaven. The body proper, still a distance below, must have almost been in a standing position at this point.

Marie was not made for this kind of job. Though a med tech with a knowledge of biology, she worked with live people who talked to her and had family stories and laughed and how could she keep going on with this now?

She switched off the light, let the desert darkness encapsulate her and her discovery. She hid from it, listening as a few crickets went back to their singing after her disruptive, alarming activities eased. She squatted down on her haunches, her arms clutched around her head, exploded into weeping as she tried to figure out what to do, what she Could do, next.

Henry? Henry? Have you left me now that I'm about to finally see you?

At some point she found she was sitting on the ground, the lamp still beside her, and was shivering with the night cold. She had not eaten much that week, grabbing some salty things from the motel vending machine or an occasional, larger snack from the only convenience/grocery/gas store out there. Her exhausted body was telling her to either get up or just lie down and cash it in. Though shaking, she felt nothing, was as unfeeling as the icy, desert night.

Using the nearby shovel to help her, she convinced herself to stand up, cranked the light a couple times out of habit, and flicked it on. The gray hand was still there, of course, waiting for her to do something alreadyabout it. She began timidly digging again.

As a black jacket sleeve began revealing itself from the ground, her already dawdling movements ceased. She just couldn't do it, she couldn't go further. Her goal must have been only a few more inches down, but she didn't want to see his face, what she had been longing to see for ages now, her obsession, and she didn't want it. Truthfully, she didn't want to see what was left of it.

It's okay, Sweetie, go and get someone. You don't have to show off for me. I know you're brave.

But they won't let me see you again if I tell them what I found.

Honey, what were you planning to do exactly? I mean, really? Really? He grinned widely in her mind, always joking, always trying to lighten the mood. The smile widened further into the size of a gaping shark's mouth, pointed white teeth growing and lunging for her, the decayed black eyes behind them splitting and falling from their dried sockets, runny, dark brown serum erupting from his tearing skin. Her obsession was waiting for her, waiting just below the surface.

No, no, no, that's not him! I don't care what he looks like, that's only a shed shell, a torn shroud discarded, no longer inhabited. It doesn't matter… what I see.

I just have to make sure I know what happened, Henry. What did they do to you? What is he responsible for? They won't let me look after they have you, they won't tell me, not really. They'll clean it, and you, all up.

They'll give a lot of details at the trial. The echo of him no longer had a body, floated ephemerally around her, was just a whisper more him than herself. Her imagination left her at the brink of discovery.

Will there be a trial? In any case, I won't wait that long.

She steeled herself, Hank would have been amazed, and began to dig faster.

"~~~~~"

Yael had come back with the blue as promised. He was grinning from ear to ear, like a small, mischievous, spotted leopard shark Jesse had once seen in an aquarium, nosing about in between the coral. He remembered Brock liking the baby sting rays when they climbed the shiningly clear glass tank sides, their bottom fins shaped like little footy pajamas, old men toothless smiles chuffing at them. Brock had asked if they could take some of the babies home. Jesse said, "We'll see," and managed to find him some printed on soft sleepwear Brock didn't take off for a week, even trying to wear them under his school clothes.

Jesse came out of his reverie as Yael sidled gently next to him on the bed. "I stashed most of it, but thought we could start with these." He opened up his long hand and showed Jesse the expertly rolled joints hidden there. "I'll hold them for you, that would be okay, right?"

"You did really good, Yael, thank you." Jesse's lungs ached for the smoke. He felt like he could go through a barrel of them in 10 minutes. "But the smell?"

"I already asked Father. He looked at me, then asked if they were for you. I wasn't sure what was better to say. I said, "yes." He stared a little longer and then told me to open the windows wide and shut the door so the others wouldn't be tempted. They're going to smell it anyway, but he seemed alright with it. It'll cover up the blue, too. I got so much of it, they just threw these in!"

Jesse didn't ask him how he "got" the money for everything, or what he did, he just hoped he didn't hurt someone… too badly. Yael's mood was cheery, a job well accomplished, as he lit the cig and held it for Jesse. His first, luscious drag almost consumed a fourth of the long joint. He coughed slightly, overeager, and tried to hold the smoke forever.

Yael suddenly pressed his mouth over Jesse's, darted his tongue between his lips and drew the smoke that drifted out into himself. He lingered over him, taking in his lips next, softly, as if they were as delicately made as the smoke. He slowly drew Jesse's lungs empty, smoke swirling around their mouths, Yael's tongue probing deeper into him. Jesse did not protest, did not want to protest, until he found Yael pulling back.

"I promised I wouldn't make you do anything you didn't want – not again. Do you want me?"

Jesse did not know what to say. When he had no say, there was no decision, only survival. Now, he had been without anyone, any comfort, any rest, for a long time. Can I just stop doing what everyone else wants for a moment? Is it such a bad thing?

Playing around with the emotions of a lunatic is a dangerous thing, kid. You better understand exactly what you are attempting.

And which lunatic are you referring to in this, by the way, Mike? Could I just, once, not have to think this through?

Think things through? That's hilarious coming from you, kid.

Yael was staring into him. He lifted his free hand, the other still held the smoke, and caressed Jesse's cheek, shifted his position so he could kiss his temple. "Not fast enough. I can tell. Maybe in a little while you'll be less scared. It doesn't matter, I'll still…" Yael became frustrated, always hunting for words. Instead, he held the almost dead ciggie up for Jesse again. "I wish I was more," Yael said.

Jesse took a small puff, his heartbeat slowing, and kissed Yael's fragile fingertips.