The Year's Best Horror Stories 15 Part 12

Soon she recognized the pinched, nasal singing of a notoriously genderless pop star whose cross-dressing had got him banned from network television a decade-and-a-half ago; responding to the demands of a changing market, he had recently resurfaced in the guise of a romantic crooner. The new persona was thin and unconvincing to anyone old enough to remember more than last season's styles, but her ten-year-old daughter did not seem to notice. For Casey, however, the effect was weirdly disorienting. The generic voice was as false as beaten aluminum, the song a lush overstatement of the love between man and woman, something he knew nothing about. He's got it wrong, Casey thought. Or does he? Perhaps he was right to mock it in this way; after all, what was it about but self-delusion? Was his exaggeration as perverse as it seemed? Or was it the perfect deadpan satire? Did it matter? Is it about anything, she wondered, anything that counts in the long run? She lowered the volume as far as she dared and tried not to listen.

"It's going to be time for lunch soon," she said when the tape ended. "There should be an Anderson's Split Pea Restaurant coming up in a few miles. At least I think that's what the sign said. Why don't you help me watch for it?"

"I told you, Mom, I'm on a diet. You don't even listen to me."

All right, thought Casey, okay, I give up. I haven't done anything well enough to please anybody in a long time. Why should today be different? She leaned back and slitted her eyes against the blinding summer's day and drove on.

"Why can't we wait and eat with Erin? Aren't we going to take her out for lunch? The food there must be awful."

"Yes. No. Not lunch, baby. We won't make it in time. We're not even halfway there."

"But when we do, she is coming with us, isn't she? Home, I mean?"

"What home?" Casey snapped.

"What does that mean? Dad gave you the house, didn't he? We still have a place to live. What are you talking about?"

"Us," Casey told her. "He gave it to all of us, to you and your sisters. But only because the court told him to. He didn't do me any favors. Get that straight, young lady."

"And the car. He left you this car, didn't he? All right, us. Lizzy and Erin and I are old enough to drive the car anytime we want to, right? I'm sure! Plus he sends you checks twice a month. We could be a lot worse off. What are you complaining about?"

It's about the time when I'm lying in bed, half-asleep and half awake, waiting for the snooze alarm to go off again. That time when I can't tell what's real and what isn't. That's it. It's that way all the time now. That's what it's really about.

Eventually the cliffs leveled and opened to the shallow bay at Pis...o...b..ach, where the sun's high angle was diffused by a residue of late-morning mist. Casey left the highway and searched for a place to stop. Along the waterfront she saw young people wearing Top-Siders and personal stereos side by side with retirees in ventilated Olympics caps and walking shorts, each group vying for its rightful s.p.a.ce at the edge of the continent, at the last westward frontier. It was an uneasy coexistence at best, one that could not continue indefinitely.

"I don't like it here," Lori said.

"Why not?"

"It reminds me of old people."

"And what's wrong with that? You used to love going to Grandma and Grandpa's. We all did. The swings in the backyard ..."

"Who?"

"You and your sisters."

"That wasn't us, Mom. You're thinking of somebody else."

She realized with a start that Lori was right. Casey's parents had sold the house where she grew up, the one with the swings, and moved to the mobile home park near the coast before Lori and Elizabeth were born, when Erin was still a baby.

"We don't have to stop and see them, do we?" said Lori. "I thought we were in a hurry."

"Did I say anything about seeing Grandma and Grandpa today?" Casey did not want to fight. She did not have enough of anything left inside her for that. "All right, where would you like to stop? Even if you're not eating. Because I know I'm going to be hungry before we get to Lockewood."

"The Pink Virgin Inn," said Lori, consulting her book. "It says right here that it's one of California's Ten Most Exotic Attractions. They call it a Must-See."

Casey shuddered. She recalled the Pink Virgin Inn all too well. It was indeed exotic, right up there with the Winchester Mystery House and Hearst Castle, a monument to kitsch built by a multi-millionaire flying saucer buff's widow as a memorial to their undying love. Geoff had taken her there for one night of their honeymoon fourteen years ago. One night was enough. In the morning they had wandered arm in arm through the pink-flocked corridors, past rose quartz copies of Michelangelo's David (with fig leaf added) and Rodin's The Kiss, and out onto the grounds, where the moist pink rim of a heart-shaped swimming pool glistened like the lips of an obscenely-exposed secret orifice. At the time it had seemed sweetly campy, almost touching; in retrospect it was clear that Geoff had made a joke of their marriage even then, from the beginning. No, the Pink Virgin Inn would be better left to other sadly misguided couples on their way to or from quickie weddings in Reno, or as a protection against saucer landings. If the s.p.a.ce people had any sense they'd take one look at it and pa.s.s over, leaving California to the natives.

"It's too far from here," said Casey matter-of-factly. "It's quite a ways inland. We don't have enough time."

"Right, Mom." Lori made the second word into a curse.

"My, look at the boats," said Casey with great effort, maneuvering down an esplanade constricted by the unwieldy bulk of parked recreational vehicles. "So many. And the fishermen. Are those yellowtail? Lori, put down your book and pay attention. This is educational."

In the back seat, Lori made a breathy, disgusted sound.

Once they were out of town the ocean stretched away nearly at eye level, poised to lap over the pavement and engulf the car in an attempt to further erode the sand dunes on the other side. Casey drove without making any more suggestions; if Lori did not want to enjoy the trip, that was her problem. They still had a long way to go before nightfall, and Casey's stomach tensed at the prospect of locating the facility after dark. And there was something else. As she picked up speed along a frontage road and returned to Route 1, following the coastline, she could not avoid thinking again of her parents, and the subject filled her with confusingly mixed emotions.

She had been to see her mother and father seldom in recent years. Perhaps twice with the entire family, when the girls were small, and not often before that when her parents still had the big house. They had rarely come down to L.A., though there was more than enough room. It was because of Geoff. Wasn't that right? Coming from a broken home himself, he had never been comfortable with a traditional family scene. It wasn't his fault. She told herself that. When the arguments started she blamed herself, convinced that she was slighting him in some way. That was how he made her feel. After he had embarra.s.sed her in front of them one time too many she decided it was not worth the trouble. They would understand. They would have to. They could do that, couldn't they?

They did, she was sure of it. She had a life, a husband and children of her own, with demands on her time that she could not ignore. The truth was that she did not want them to see that her marriage was less than ideal. Hadn't they raised her properly? The visits dwindled until each episode took on an impossible weight, so that she was practically out of her mind with nervousness by the time they got there. And yet, they seemed to understand.

And that only made it worse. When she went to see them on her own, it became more and more of a strain to convince them that nothing was wrong. They asked few questions, preferring to maintain a respectful distance, to avoid the appearance of meddling, until they slipped so far away from her that they began to fade like the memory of a past life. Soon they no longer had anything in common to talk about-the estrangement became complete. And still they never complained. She carried the guilt inside her like a private wound, waiting and hoping that time would heal it somehow, but that had not happened yet. And now it was too late. How could she tell them that her husband had left her, that her first-born had run away? They would think it was her fault, just as Geoff said. Most of the time she believed it herself. He had taught her that.

They would never know how close to them she had come today, or even that she had had to make such a trip. And that was almost sadder than anything else.

She left the highway again at Morro Bay and found a parking s.p.a.ce behind Dorn's Restaurant, though the thought of lunch made her nauseous. Yet she had to feed her daughter, didn't she? The entrance was decorated with patriotic bunting to advertise a special menu in honor of the Olympics. A TV newscast reported preparations for the 1500 and 5000 meter men's finals; she ignored it. As Casey and Lori sat at a window table, b.u.t.tering fragrant rolls and watching sailboats dip like birds through the glittering waters, she tried to unwind for the first time all morning.

It was pleasant here, the conversations at the surrounding tables friendly, the voices of other travelers who had taken refuge in this safe harbor. But what could she say to them? She and Lori were probably the only two customers who were not following the Games in Los Angeles, and there was no reason why they should be interested in her problems. She ordered a cup of clam chowder and a croissant sandwich-with any luck Lori would share it-and turned her attention to the glorious oceanfront panorama that now shone through the lifting fog. A flock of gulls flew past the gla.s.s, their wings shaped like the tops of hearts, and settled lazily on the dock to warm their b.r.e.a.s.t.s in the midday sun.

"Did you know," said Lori, opening another pat of b.u.t.ter, "that fourteen percent of the sea gulls in the Caribbean are gay?"

"Keep your voice down," said Casey. "This isn't the Caribbean."

"No s.h.i.+t, Sherlock," said Lori.

An elderly couple at the next table glanced up, then frowned into their fruit cups.

Casey took hold of Lori's arm. "Don't you ever speak to me that way again," she whispered. Under the table, she squeezed the girl's wrist fiercely. "Do you hear me?"

"Chuh," said Lori.

Casey took a good look at her, at the untamed wisps of hair over her eyes, at the new insolence in the line of her jaw. It was a stunningly accurate imitation of her big sister. Casey was on the verge of losing her, too. Like Erin, would she start skipping school, then run away when she realized that her father was never coming back? Was she already hiding drugs in her room? And yet Casey knew that her daughter was not to blame.

"You know," she said softly, "it hasn't been easy for me, trying to hold a family together. You might try to understand that. You're a big girl now."

"Why don't you let Doug be the man?" said Lori. "You don't have to act tough just because Dad's gone."

She thought of the man she had met only a few months ago, when she was still a basket case. Yes, he was a part of their lives now. But for how long?

"What makes you think he's going to hang around once he finds out what rotten excuses for daughters I've got?"

Instantly she regretted saying that. It wasn't true, of course. They were wonderful when Doug was there, and they adored him. And they were beautiful even when he was not there; Lori had made breakfast and gotten Elizabeth off to school for weeks after Geoff left. She saw the shocked expression on Lori's face.

"I'm sorry," Casey said. "I didn't mean that."

"It's you, Mom, don't you know that yet? Why do you think Dad left? It wasn't because of me or Erin or Lizzy. We didn't want him to go. At least he still loves us. He took Lizzy this weekend, didn't he?"

"I said I was sorry," said Casey through her teeth. She felt eyes on her. "Lori, don't do this to me. Don't make a scene."

"Oh, right, Mom. That's all you ever worry about. That someone will think you're not a good mother."

Casey struggled for control.

"What are you going to do, hit me? Why don't you? Why don't you act just like Dad? Go ahead!"

Trembling, Casey raised her hand, as the waitress appeared at her elbow.

"Who ordered the Sprite?"

Lori lowered her head onto her arms.

"That's fine," said Casey with a strained smile. "Skip the coffee." She cleared her throat. "Could you tell me, please, where I might find the ladies' room?"

The restaurant had quieted, like the silence that follows some terrible explosion. She was sure that everyone was watching. Cups suspended in mid-sip, silverware glinted in the blaze from the hot panes. She pushed her chair back, rose unsteadily, and left the table.

She supported herself over the sink until her stomach stopped convulsing. When someone came in to use one of the stalls, Casey hastily reapplied her makeup and went back out into the hall.

She hesitated next to a wall telephone, listening to the reanimated din from the dining room. Her waitress pa.s.sed by on the way to the kitchen. I must look like a fool, standing here, Casey thought. She busied herself with her purse, and her fingers closed around a loose coin at the bottom.

Reflexively she dropped it in the slot and dialed Doug's number.

When the operator came on the line, she dug deeper into her purse. But she could not come up with the right change.

"Deposit eighty-five cents for the first three minutes."

Already the number was ringing; the operator would interrupt the connection until she paid, and in the meantime Doug might hang up. She could reverse the charges, couldn't she? He wouldn't mind. He had asked her to call en route and tell him that she was safe.

"h.e.l.lo?" His voice.

"One moment, sir. Ma'am, will you please deposit-?"

She hung up without speaking.

It was just as well. What could Doug do? He was a dear, kind man, sympathetic and eager to please-too eager, she thought. She was not sure she could trust that. At least Geoff had been forceful, decisive.

She retrieved her coin. Then, on an impulse, she searched her purse for her address book.

How could she have forgotten it?

It had been so long that she could not remember her parents' number. She opened the telephone directory and scanned the columns. Yes, this one would be a local call.

A synthesized voice informed her that the number she was dialing was no longer in service.

That was a mistake, obviously. She rang the operator, then directory a.s.sistance, but there was nothing else under their name. That meant they had switched to an unlisted number. Why? So that they would not be bothered by crank calls, she thought. Like this one.

Back at the table, Lori had not touched her half of the sandwich. Casey put a ten dollar bill down next to the check and left without waiting for the change.

She crossed the parking lot, got in and sat staring straight ahead at the bay and the huge outline of Morro Rock, now wreathed in shadows as the sun disappeared behind another fogbank. The sailboats listed between whitecaps and disappeared into darkness.

Lori slid over the back seat, dumping her magazines onto the floor. "Thanks, Mom," she said. "You don't have to be such a b.i.t.c.h, you know. It isn't my fault."

"I know."

But who then, she thought, can I blame?

On the way inland, Casey almost detoured by her parents' mobile home park. She realized that she had intended all along to stop there but had not admitted it to herself until now. But then she thought: Maybe they went south for the Olympics. Dad always was into sports. They didn't let me know they would be in L.A. because they didn't want to bother me, to impose.

If they had taken the coastal route, she had probably pa.s.sed them on the highway and not even noticed.

They saw a sign pointing them to Lockewood shortly after the sun began to sink into the sea. As the mountains to the east grew dim and jagged, Lori gave up on her reading. The light was failing and the motion of the car as it crept higher made the words do an insect dance on the pages of her book. She decided not to look outside at all from now on; the foothills were no longer elephants dozing on their sides but a shadowy border that was darker than the twilight.

"Are we there yet?" she asked.

"That sign had better be right," said her mother. "I don't see any other road ..."

"Why don't you turn your lights on?" she said impatiently.

"I was about to do that." Casey did, and then there was a chain link fence ahead and another sign with the words: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY-NO ADMITTANCE.

"Oh, great, Mom. Now what are we gonna do? Turn around and go back? It was a real good idea to send Erin to this place. Wasn't it."

Casey got out her gla.s.ses and rolled the window down. "I didn't send her here. She was the one who ran away. When they picked her up, I simply told them they could keep her for a while. Until she straightened out."

Lori did not answer. Her throat hurt and her eyes stung. It must have been the cool air. She rubbed her arms to make the goose b.u.mps go away.

Her mother honked the horn and a man in jogging shoes came out. He looked like a camp counselor. When Casey told him who they were he started fooling with the padlock. He got the chain off and swung the gate open, and Casey drove through without even saying thank you.

The dirt road felt soft and shaky, as if there was an earthquake going on inside the hills. Her mother had to hold the wheel tight to keep it from jerking out of her hands. After a while there was another gate, this one open, and yellow lights from a group of low buildings. The car nosed in, as the ground shook harder and began to rumble. Then a big light came on behind them, so strong that Mom had to look away from the mirror and put on the brakes.

A sound like an elephant's trumpet blasted them. It was so loud that Lori was afraid they were going to be trampled. Mom finally unfroze, yanked the wheel around and stepped on the gas. The car jumped to the side, leaves and branches clawing at the top, and rolled to a stop between some trees, as a bus like the one that took Lori to school tore up the road and bounced through the gate. Lori heard kids yelling.

"Hey, are you all right?"

A girl who was old enough to be in college came running over. She was wearing a red-white-and-blue T-s.h.i.+rt. She tried to open the car door, but the b.u.t.ton was down.

"Gee, I'm real sorry 'bout that! Everybody went on a field trip today and, well, the kids are pretty excited. The driver was in a hurry. He must have had it up to here with them by now."

"You really should do something about that road," said Casey, taking off her gla.s.ses and touching her hair. "Now, can you please tell me where I might find Erin?"

"Who?"

"I'm Erin's mother. I called yesterday. It's arranged."

The young woman leaned in to get a better look at Casey. "Is she one of the older girls?"

Casey fixed her with a steely gaze. "She's thirteen." She said it as if she thought she had been insulted.