He shook his head gravely. “Then we have a serious problem.”
And then the room began to spin.
27
Sandra Keane
Taos, New Mexico, December 1970
The group agreed to return the first week in December to finish two more songs, but a week before they were due to arrive Hugh called to say that Ezra was back in the hospital. They’d have to push the recoding to the New Year. Lenny Brandt wasn’t available again until February, so they agreed to try again then. Hugh was anxious to finish the rework of the first few tracks, but without Lenny it was impossible.
Taos got eighteen inches of snow in the mountains, a thinner layer blanketing the Pangea Ranch. The town was lovely at Christmas. Sandra and Marie went into town to see the lighting of the Christmas tree, sipping hot chocolate with cinnamon in the spot where Nora had been killed.
On Christmas Eve, Luke suggested they drive to the Taos Pueblo to see the Christmas Eve Procession—a sacred ceremony where the statue of the Virgin Mary was carried down the church stairs. At dark, as she walked among the bonfires that lit the sky red against the pink adobe walls of the Pueblo, it occurred to her that she’d never seen so much fire before she’d moved to Taos—from the fireplaces, to the fire pits and smudge sticks, to the bonfires that surrounded them at the ceremony.
“All the fires?” Sandra asked. “What are they for?”
Luke was quiet. “They are supposed to ward off the darkness.”
As the chimes began to ring from the church, she looked at him and he couldn’t meet her eye.
They were the darkness.
“We shouldn’t be here, Luke,” she said, taking his hand as they made their way back out of the pueblo.
After Christmas, Sandra was surprised when Luke got a letter first from Lily, then Hugh, saying they’d gotten married in Las Vegas. Ezra had continued to go in and out of the hospital as though being back in Los Angeles had unmoored him. Although it had been the early energy between Sandra and Hugh that had driven the band, something about Ezra not being able to come back had been the final nail in the coffin. Without him, the strange energy they’d created in the studio was gone—they needed all four of them to continue it. There was a finality to Hugh’s letter, as though he knew the band was over. His getting married was also an indication that he felt it was time for them all to grow up. She’d wondered how Luke had managed to stage a recording studio, but considered it probably hadn’t been that hard to promise a shot at stardom to four naive kids. But there was no need for the pretense of other people at Pangea Ranch anymore. The world consisted of her and Luke now. She thought it was sad because those months with Hugh, Lily, Ezra, Bex, and Lenny locked in the studio recording that album had been one of the best times of all her lives.
There continued to be knocks on the front door at night, and Sandra healed people when she could and finally began accepting money from grateful patrons. While she now knew that her power came from a dark place, she convinced herself that she was using it for a good purpose. She was helping people with it.
While looking at the composition books one day, Sandra found a curious thing. A blotch of ink had formed a fingerprint—Nora’s fingerprint. To Sandra it was a precious thing—proof of her existence. Globbing up ink on a piece of scrap paper, Sandra pressed her own finger in the ink and then onto the composition book. Side by side. Identical fingerprints.
On an early-spring morning, Sandra answered the door and found a man standing on the front porch. His hat was low and she looked down at his black bag, which resembled a full garment bag, the kind that carried a rented prom tuxedo. But it looked too bulky.
Marie came to the door and began translating. The man said his daughter had been hit by a truck while walking on the highway. The man insisted on seeing Sandra—he’d heard about the Pangea Ranch—before taking her to the funeral home.
When the man unzipped the bag on the floor, Sandra realized the girl’s head was not attached. Nothing was attached. She gasped loudly and then knelt down by the bag.
“I was hoping,” said the man.
Sandra could hear the cadence coming down the steps and knew that Luke was standing behind her. Sandra shook her head and turned, touching Luke and whispering in his ear, “I’m sorry. I can’t. She’s… she’s too far gone.” Sandra looked up at Luke, grateful he was there.
The man shrank in front of them and then reached for the bag.
“I can do it,” said Luke. “Leave her here. Come back in the morning. Daybreak.”
The man took his hat off. “You can?”
“Come back at daybreak.” Luke was rolling up his sleeves.
When the father had gone, Sandra spoke. “How can you fix that?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Luke.” She reached for his hand. “Don’t. Listen to me. This is unnatural. This is wrong.”
“None of this is natural, Sandra. Just give in to it.”
“I mean it’s dark, Luke. We have a choice.”
“We’re dark, Sandra.” He sat on the church pew and stared at the bag. Sandra reluctantly joined him. He began to laugh. “We really don’t have a choice.”
“What can I do?” She put her hand on his leg.
“Nothing.” He stared at the floor for a moment and then nodded toward the bag, which had begun to stir. Sandra thought she’d throw up; the idea of what was about to come out of the bag terrified her. “It’s done. I’m going to go get a drink. I feel like a nice bourbon tonight.”
She watched him walk down the hall, as if he’d done something banal like sweeping the front porch.
From the body bag came more stirring. Within minutes, a complete and whole girl unfolded. Her long dark hair emerged first, sitting atop a pair of shoulders, then slim hips and long legs. She was naked and Sandra ran to get her a blanket. When Sandra touched the creature—and the thing was still a creature at this point—it pulled back like a beaten dog.
“Luke!” Sandra yelled.
“She’s confused,” said Luke calmly from the hall, holding an amber glass of bourbon. “That’s why I told her father to come back. She needs time to adjust to the world again.” He shook the drink.
“What the fuck have you done?” Sandra wrapped the blanket around the girl. “We will pay for this, Luke.”
“She needs to sleep,” said Luke, ignoring her. He stood and began to walk back down the hall. “Put her in Ezra’s old room.”
“Luke,” Sandra commanded.
He turned.
“This is wrong.”
He turned again and walked away.
In the morning, the man came to collect his daughter, offering Sandra a horse and a bag of cash. She declined both. Oddly, Luke had been missing all morning and had given no instructions about this newly formed girl, so Sandra simply handed her back over to her father. She was still quiet, but the man seemed to anticipate some change was to be expected.
Sandra found Luke sitting on the back porch. It was cold—too cold for him to be sitting out. His lips were tinged with blue, which was contrasted by the occasional orange glow of the cigarette he smoked.
“Why did you do that?”