The Influence(93)

THIRTY




The storm hit at midnight.



****



Ross was awakened by the thunder. It didn’t sound like any thunder he’d ever heard before, and he lay in bed listening to it over the rattle of rain on the roof. Immediately before each peal, lightning flashed, and for brief irregular seconds it seemed as though some hidden cameraman was taking flash pictures of the room.

The truth was, the thunder reminded him of the roar of some monstrous beast. Rather than a loud echoing whipcrack, the traditional noise of air heated and expanded by electrical discharge, the sound was throaty, animalistic, building to a crescendo rather than starting big and fading. It did not seem possible that such a sound could be formed by mere weather, and he imagined some massive creature hiding in the night, behind the clouds, ready to tear apart Magdalena…Arizona…the United States…the world. It was a ridiculous thought, but none the less frightening for that, and he remained in bed, waiting for the flashes, listening for the roars, knowing in his heart that at the root of it was that thing in the shed, that fiend they were calling an angel, that dead monstrosity that was metamorphosing into…something else.

Staring at the horrorshow window with its runny rain backlit by periodic lightning, he tried to think of what could be done. But he had been trying to think of that for days—as had Lita, as had Dave, as had Jill—and nothing had come to him. He was not a person who thought outside of the box, and even under ideal circumstances his imagination was what could be charitably called compromised. In a situation like this, where the box was an octagon made out of flypaper and cheese, he was next to useless.

Still, he told himself that even illogical problems had logical solutions, and he tried itemizing in his head everything he knew, everything he’d seen, heard and suspected, hoping that an idea would occur to him.

It didn’t.

He fell asleep thinking of one of Jill’s paintings, the one with the chrysalis in the shed and the skinned dog in the corner, walking on its hind legs.

He dreamed that Lita was lying naked atop that black chrysalis, and Jill was lying on top of her, and little sparks of blue lightning were shooting up from the dark egg beneath them and illuminating their faces with expressions of ecstasy.



****



Not only was this type of thunderstorm out of season, but it was by far the largest one they had ever experienced. Lita and Dave were sitting up in bed when the thunder and lightning started. They’d been awake already, had heard first the wind, then the rain, but it was not the storm they were discussing, nor was it the angel and its ramifications. They were talking about Dave’s parents. The subject had come up on its own, and, for the first time since the accident, he was crying. He had never been the most emotionally demonstrative guy, and she wasn’t surprised that he had not cried at the funeral. Detached numbness was the biggest response she figured he’d show. But she was surprised tonight when he had started talking about his childhood home in Sonoita, and she was even more surprised when he had started welling up. Surprised, touched and ultimately pleased. She had always been of the opinion that emotions were better let out than held in. It was much healthier, and she was relieved to see Dave opening himself up this way.

“I miss my mom,” he said into her shoulder, great sobs wracking his body. “I miss my dad.”

In the back of her mind was the idea that this emotional unburdening was not all his doing, just as somewhere in her brain she was thinking that this thunderstorm was…not quite right. But she refused to allow her thoughts to go that deep. She held him close, and chose to believe that a perfectly normal storm had triggered perfectly normal memories and emotions in her perfectly normal husband.

Outside, the storm grew more frenzied. If they’d still had chickens, Lita would have been worried about them. She was worried about her horse, but he had access to the barn and had been through many monsoons. He knew what to do. The bees were another matter. The wind seemed strong out there, seemed to be growing proportionally as the lightning grew brighter and the thunder grew louder. If the hives were knocked over…

She said nothing about it, not wanting Dave to go outside and check—which she knew he would.

Dave pulled away, wiping his eyes, embarrassed that he had been crying. But she would not allow him to be embarrassed, and she took his hands in hers, moved them away from his face and looked into his eyes. “I love you,” she said.

He smiled through his tears. “I love you, too.”

The phone rang.

They both jumped.

There was a slight lull in the ruckus outside, and, except for the sound of the rain, the house was quiet. The phone rang again. Lita looked over at the closest extension, on the nightstand on Dave’s side of the bed. Her first reaction was to not answer. But it might be important. So she told Dave to grab the phone, afraid to do it herself, and she held her breath, watching his face as he picked up the receiver and said, “Hello?” There was a long pause. “It’s for you,” he said, handing it to her, and she could tell from the expression on his face that it was not Ross, not one of her friends, but something serious.