“I’m not so sure that’s true . . .”
Dupree was suddenly annoyed. “This is no time for false modesty. It doesn’t matter whether you’re conscious of it or not. The vital thing is to recognize where that hunch comes from. The process doesn’t seem logical in most cases, certainly not to the minds of ordinary people, those who haven’t explored the dark well of evil. But you’ve been there. You mentioned latent variables when Emerson asked how you evaluated the probabilities. Anyone can put together the obvious bits of evidence to suggest a coherent hypothesis. I’ve lectured on that a thousand times. But there’s a special talent endowed to only a few, and they all have one thing in common.” He looked deep into her eyes. “They’ve all lived through hell.”
She glanced down for a moment, even though she knew she shouldn’t, because it was an admission his insight was accurate. She lifted her gaze and detected in Dupree’s always-controlled facial expression the satisfaction of being proved right. She couldn’t help wondering why this was so important to him.
“That’s why you have the ability to see things hidden away in some blind corner, invisible to others. It’s the gift of second sight, which is required to monitor a demon. You have to know the demon intimately to maintain your safe distance, all the while keeping your eye on the fiend.”
Dupree crossed his arms on the table and leaned in close. “You can do that. You paid a high price for that ability. I want to know where it comes from. When you found the old woman’s body under the roof out on the farm, you said the situation reminded you of a place. Tell me about that.”
Her boss searched her face, silently testing her defenses and probing for weakness.
Amaia overrode her urge to look down submissively again. She chose to present a more confident front. She met and mastered his challenge. “I have no idea where that came from. I’m not tied to that place, I have no roots there, and I’d never thought about those old stories. I suppose somebody told me those legends when I was little. It was a simple logical deduction. Some synapse clicked and hauled that reference out of my subconscious.”
He shook his head impatiently. “It’s no use trying to explain it away. The place where we were born and grew up shapes us forever. Our origins determine our character and how we see, hear, learn, and draw conclusions.”
“Agent Dupree, I’ve lived as long in the United States as I did in the town of my birth. I came here as a child.”
“But you went back.”
“I went to a city in Spain, a place that has nothing to do with where I was born. I never particularly cared for my birthplace. I didn’t much dislike it either. It’s an ordinary, run-of-the-mill little town.”
“Elizondo.”
She reeled as if he’d struck her.
He wouldn’t leave it alone. “A place you never mention, known for folkloric traditions so powerful they enabled you to explain why the Composer found nothing grotesque about shoving a grandmother’s corpse under the roof of a farmhouse.”
“I remember those stories, but not the details. I thought they were foolish.”
“Are you sure you always felt that way?”
“Yes. Always.”
“You don’t recall a time when you really did believe them, maybe just for an instant? No need to feel ashamed. It’s a basic tenet of anthropology that the motivations and rationales determining human behavior all across the planet are fed by identical needs, anxieties, and fears. Those apprehensions shape people’s understandings of their place in the world. Your knowledge and mastery of the mythology give you the privilege of the damned. Sherrington had it, and so do you.”
She kept shaking her head, denying it.
He appeared to give up. He checked his watch. “It’s getting late. We have a tough day ahead, so we need to hit the hay.” Dupree got up and went to the bar to call the others.
Amaia sighed, relieved to have escaped his interrogation. Dupree returned and put a generous tip on the table. “There’s a reason why some people cut off all ties with the places where they were born and grew up. It’s always an unpaid debt. Be careful about unpaid debts, Salazar. They come due sooner or later.”
Amaia had to restrain herself from touching her scalp, where the scar under her hair was burning.
21
PREMONITION
Elizondo
Engrasi’s theory was that premonition was essentially a manifestation of the survival instinct, a capacity formed over centuries of human evolution but now mostly masked by the commercial abundance of developed economies. Premonition was the innate sensitivity to signs we used to be able to read in the air—all those changes constantly evolving at a level below consciousness that can signal an approaching storm, an upcoming birth, the menace of a predator, the outbreak of an epidemic, and even imminent death.
She believed in first impressions. In her view, that first encounter was the moment when the senses, the receptors of perception, were still fresh enough to read a situation accurately. Our perceptions advise us without the extraneous information that only misleads and misinforms us.
The knock on the door at eleven o’clock in the morning was completely out of the ordinary. She bristled. Engrasi wasn’t expecting visitors, and it was too early for Amaia to be back from school. She put down the book she’d been reading, went to the door, and was surprised to find Juan, her brother. He was usually hard at work this time of day. His appearance alarmed her. He was always dressed in his baker’s whites during the work week. Today he was outfitted in a sober marine-blue suit she’d seen him wear only in church on Sundays. She was even more alarmed by the fact he hadn’t called to let her know he was coming. Over the previous three years, Juan had come to her house only when summoned. Engrasi’s heart began to pound. Something must be wrong.
Later, when it was all over, she thought back on that first impression. She sensed the alarm bells, felt the surprise and amazement. She suspected, intuited, perceived . . . and yet she decided to hear him out because, after all, he was her brother.
She gave Juan a hug and a kiss, took his hand, and led him to the living room. He was reluctant to take the chair she offered; he stood in the middle of the room and gave her a broad smile. He began rambling on about how well the bakery was doing, the investments he was making in new equipment, how Rosario’s initiatives had brought in a lot of new business . . .
Engrasi refused to put up with his blather. “Why are you here, Juan?”
“It’s something good, Engrasi, something really good that’ll please you.” He sat down at last but was still as stiff as a board.
She went around the table and took the seat opposite him. The concentration in his face and the way he was rubbing the fingers of one hand with those of the other made it obvious he was mentally rehearsing a prepared presentation. It took him a few seconds to find his opening point. “Engrasi, I was very worried after our conversation about our little girl.”
Engrasi just nodded and waited.
“I was very hurt by what you told me, sis. I don’t want you to think I dislike Amaia, because I love her more than life itself . . .”
Engrasi studied his expression.
“I talked with Rosario. It was very difficult for me, but I told her what you said about the horrible things people say about Amaia. Engrasi, Rosario broke down in tears.” Juan seemed about to do the same. He resisted the quiver in his lips by clamping them shut, closing his eyes, and reaching out for Engrasi. She took his hands in hers. “Engrasi, the drugs make her feel strange. Nauseated, you know? Sick and angry. Dr. Martínez said those side effects are common, and they will last until he gets the dosage right . . . and sometimes that takes years. Rosario admitted that there were times she didn’t take her pills at all, and that’s when she said those things. But now it’s all better.” He shrugged, an involuntary sign that even he didn’t believe what he was saying. “It looks like the doctor found exactly the right mix of drugs. She’s been a lot better for quite a while now. She’s her true self again, the way she was when I met her. You can’t imagine how much she regrets what happened. She asked me to apologize to you.”