either.”
“I won’t judge you.”
“It’s not that. There are pieces of the
story missing. Without them I just look like a
fool.”
“Take the chance. Maybe I can help you find the
pieces.”
“No one can. None of it makes sense. I’m
like that guy in
The Man Without a Country
, I’ve got no roots, nothing solid to hold on to. I
love my parents but I have an awful time talking to
them.”
“Everybody does. It means you’re one hundred
percent normal.”
She chuckled, a sad little noise. “And all the
time I thought I was crazy. I have the worst time trying to
talk to them. And I know I’ve got to, I don’t
think I can let another day pass without doing that. But
how can I?”
“Try it out on me first.”
She didn’t say anything. I let her alone for a few
minutes, then I nudged her arm. “What happened to
you?”
“I was in New Mexico,” she said at once, as
if she’d been waiting for me to ask it one more time.
“I got in trouble…I can’t tell you about
that. But I’ve been carrying it around for weeks now.
If I don’t tell somebody…”
I gave her a little squeeze: nothing sexual, just
friendly encouragement,
“That’s where I picked up my stalker, in
Taos.” Again she tried to lapse into silence. But
then she said, “I had a room there. I’d come
home and things would be moved.”
“Ransacked?”
“No…but yeah, maybe. I had the feeling
he’d done that, been through all my stuff and then
put it all back, just so. But he’d always leave one
little thing out of place, something obvious like
he’d wanted me to see it. Once he left a cigarette,
still burning in a Styrofoam cup. He wanted me to know
he’d just left. Then he started with the phone. It
would ring late at night and I’d hear him
breathing…or humming that song.”
“You told me before: you knew what he
wanted.”
“He told me. But I can’t explain it now, so
don’t ask me.”
“Explain what you can.”
“I felt like something evil had come into my life.
I’d turn a corner and he’d be there, right in
my path. He looked like a cadaver, his eyes were all sunken
and he had holes in his face, deep pits across both cheeks.
Scared me deaf and dumb. I can’t tell you what it was
like. I’d walk down to the phone booth and call home
and he’d come up behind me, rip open the door, and
stand there staring. He said he could kill me, right there
at the telephone—
kill you and go up to North Bend and kill your mother
too
. God, I just freaked. Then one night he got into my room
when I was sleeping. When I woke up the next morning there
was a dead…rat…on the bed beside me. And I
really freaked.”
I was listening to her words, trying to figure how and
when this had all happened. It had to be sometime after the
first Jeffords break-in, but before the second. Whatever
else her stalker had done, he’d pushed her onto that
next level of desperation. She had failed to get what
she’d gone after at the Jeffords place—what the
stalker also wanted—and had gone back for another run
at it. Then what?
Then she took it on the lam: jumped bail, struck out for
home. “So how’d you get back here?” I
asked. She had driven her car, she said in that flat tone
of voice that people use when you ask a stupid question.
But I was trying to get at something else, something she
couldn’t yet know about. “What roads did you
take?” I asked, and she laughed and wondered what
possible difference it could make. “I came across the
Sangres, up the Million-Dollar Highway to Grand Junction,
then took the freeway home.”
Slater had lied about her coming through Denver. He had
probably lied about other things as well. The pockmarked
man sounded like someone I had met quite recently, and my
whole involvement felt suddenly dirty.
I couldn’t get her to say any more.
“I’ve already said too
“I won’t judge you.”
“It’s not that. There are pieces of the
story missing. Without them I just look like a
fool.”
“Take the chance. Maybe I can help you find the
pieces.”
“No one can. None of it makes sense. I’m
like that guy in
The Man Without a Country
, I’ve got no roots, nothing solid to hold on to. I
love my parents but I have an awful time talking to
them.”
“Everybody does. It means you’re one hundred
percent normal.”
She chuckled, a sad little noise. “And all the
time I thought I was crazy. I have the worst time trying to
talk to them. And I know I’ve got to, I don’t
think I can let another day pass without doing that. But
how can I?”
“Try it out on me first.”
She didn’t say anything. I let her alone for a few
minutes, then I nudged her arm. “What happened to
you?”
“I was in New Mexico,” she said at once, as
if she’d been waiting for me to ask it one more time.
“I got in trouble…I can’t tell you about
that. But I’ve been carrying it around for weeks now.
If I don’t tell somebody…”
I gave her a little squeeze: nothing sexual, just
friendly encouragement,
“That’s where I picked up my stalker, in
Taos.” Again she tried to lapse into silence. But
then she said, “I had a room there. I’d come
home and things would be moved.”
“Ransacked?”
“No…but yeah, maybe. I had the feeling
he’d done that, been through all my stuff and then
put it all back, just so. But he’d always leave one
little thing out of place, something obvious like
he’d wanted me to see it. Once he left a cigarette,
still burning in a Styrofoam cup. He wanted me to know
he’d just left. Then he started with the phone. It
would ring late at night and I’d hear him
breathing…or humming that song.”
“You told me before: you knew what he
wanted.”
“He told me. But I can’t explain it now, so
don’t ask me.”
“Explain what you can.”
“I felt like something evil had come into my life.
I’d turn a corner and he’d be there, right in
my path. He looked like a cadaver, his eyes were all sunken
and he had holes in his face, deep pits across both cheeks.
Scared me deaf and dumb. I can’t tell you what it was
like. I’d walk down to the phone booth and call home
and he’d come up behind me, rip open the door, and
stand there staring. He said he could kill me, right there
at the telephone—
kill you and go up to North Bend and kill your mother
too
. God, I just freaked. Then one night he got into my room
when I was sleeping. When I woke up the next morning there
was a dead…rat…on the bed beside me. And I
really freaked.”
I was listening to her words, trying to figure how and
when this had all happened. It had to be sometime after the
first Jeffords break-in, but before the second. Whatever
else her stalker had done, he’d pushed her onto that
next level of desperation. She had failed to get what
she’d gone after at the Jeffords place—what the
stalker also wanted—and had gone back for another run
at it. Then what?
Then she took it on the lam: jumped bail, struck out for
home. “So how’d you get back here?” I
asked. She had driven her car, she said in that flat tone
of voice that people use when you ask a stupid question.
But I was trying to get at something else, something she
couldn’t yet know about. “What roads did you
take?” I asked, and she laughed and wondered what
possible difference it could make. “I came across the
Sangres, up the Million-Dollar Highway to Grand Junction,
then took the freeway home.”
Slater had lied about her coming through Denver. He had
probably lied about other things as well. The pockmarked
man sounded like someone I had met quite recently, and my
whole involvement felt suddenly dirty.
I couldn’t get her to say any more.
“I’ve already said too
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