Bill Pronzini - A Wasteland of Strangers

“I don’t care,” I said out loud. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t give a shit about anything anymore.”

Then I started to bawl. I couldn’t help it. I lay there bawling my head off, with my knees pulled up against my chest, and I couldn’t stop — for the longest time I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t suck in enough air and then I got too much and started to hiccup and then finally I stopped hiccuping and just lay there, tear-wet and cold and empty.

Empty, man.

After a while I crawled out from under the leaves and dead stuff and stood up, all shaky and feeling even more weirded out than before. That wind was really icy. Black ice up here, black ice down in the lake. The open part of the Bluffs was off to my left and I went in that direction, toward the road. Once I tripped over something and fell and skinned my knee, but I didn’t care about that either. I wasn’t thinking about anything anymore. I felt so empty and weird. When I came out of the trees I saw the road, empty like I was, leading down, but I didn’t go that way. Instead I walked out toward the cliff edge. I still wasn’t thinking about anything.

Then I was standing right on the edge, where the ground falls away sharp and straight down. Seventy or eighty feet straight down. The wind shoved at me like hands, so hard I could barely keep my balance. Over on the far shore the town lights and house lights winked and shimmered, reflecting off the black ice. Anthony was over there by now, maybe. And Daddy... Oh, God, how could I tell him? He’d have a hemorrhage. I quit looking at the lights and looked straight down instead. Some rocks down there, in among the cottonwoods and willows... never mind that. Look at how shiny the black ice is, out away from the shore. Lean forward so you can see better. Heights don’t bother me. Deep, black ice doesn’t bother me either. I felt so weird. The dope... Anthony... the baby... my trashed life. But I wasn’t afraid. Shiny, black ice. Lean out just a little farther—

Noises behind me, quick and close and louder than the wind. And somebody said, “You don’t want to do that.”

I almost lost my balance turning to look. My foot started to slip. But he was almost on top of me then, a big, black shape that caught my arm and yanked me back and swung me around before he let go. Then he was the one standing at the edge, with his back to it, like a wall that had sprung up there.

“Pretty close call,” he said. “You ought to be more careful.”

I couldn’t see his face too clearly. All I could see was that he was big, real big. My arm hurt where he’d grabbed me.

“Who’re you?” My voice sounded funny, like somebody pulling up a rusty nail. “Where’d you come from?”

“I’ve been up here awhile. Where’d you come from? The car that drove off a few minutes ago?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I was still thinking about black ice, but I didn’t feel so spacey anymore. The weed high was starting to wear off. “Why’d you grab me like that?”

“I didn’t want you to fall.”

“Why should you care?”

“Why shouldn’t I? What’s your name?”

“Trisha.”

“Trisha what?”

“Marx, okay? What’s yours?”

“John Faith.”

I rubbed my arm. “You’re the guy in the Porsche. At the Chevron station yesterday.”

“That’s right.”

“Stranger everybody’s talking about.” I guess I should’ve been afraid then, on account of the things people were saying about him, but I wasn’t. Not even a little.

He didn’t say anything, so I said, “What’re you doing up on the Bluffs?”

“Watching the lights.”

“What lights?”

“Around the lake.”

“By yourself? What for?”

“Safer than spending the evening with an armful of potential trouble.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. You have a fight with your boyfriend?”

“More than a fight. He’s not my boyfriend anymore. I hate his guts.”

“That’s the way you feel now. Tomorrow...”

“Tomorrow I’ll hate him even more.”

“Why? He do something to you?”

“He did something, all right. I wish I could do something to him.” Like cut off his lover’s nuts.

“What’d he do, Trisha?”

“He got me pregnant.”

I don’t know why I told him. A guy I didn’t know, a stranger everybody was saying was some kind of criminal. I don’t think I could’ve told Selena straight out like that, and she’s my best friend. But I wasn’t sorry I told him. It was like spitting out something that was choking you.

“And he doesn’t want to marry you, right? That’s why he’s gone and you’re still here.”

“Yeah.”

“Your parents know yet?”

“No. My mother wouldn’t care if she did — she’s been gone three years and she didn’t even send me a card on my last birthday. Daddy cares, but he’ll have a hemorrhage when he finds out.”

“Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “ I don’t care. About the kid or his asshole father or what happens to me. I just don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Sure you do. You care, Trisha.”

“Oh, right, you know more about me than I do. What makes you so smart?”

“Hurt inside, don’t you? Worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

“No. Yeah. So what if I do?”

“Then you care. People who don’t care don’t hurt. Think about it. The more you hurt, the more you care.”

“I don’t want to think about it. All I want is to stop hurting.”

“That’s what everybody wants. Bottom line. Everybody hurts, everybody wants to stop hurting. Trick is to find a way to do it without hurting anyone else. Or yourself.”

“Isn’t any way.”

“Not for some. But you’re young. You’ll be all right if you don’t let yourself stop caring.”

I was shivering again, hard. That wind was really cold. And the high was all gone, and most of the weirdness, and some of the emptiness. I could still see the lake down below, the deep, black ice; then I shook my head and the shiny image went away. I hugged myself.

“How about if I give you a ride home?” John Faith said. “My car’s off the road a ways and the heater works good.”

Don’t ever accept rides from strangers. How many times had that been drummed into my head? But I didn’t hesitate. He didn’t scare me; I wasn’t scared of him at all.

I said, “All right,” and went with him into the dark.

The lord works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform. For the second time that day He put me in a position to bear witness to the evil in our midst and do something about it.

I had just finished checking the chain and dead-bolt locks on the front door, and was standing by the window, testing its catch, when I heard a car outside. It was noisy, noisy-familiar, and when I parted the drapes I saw the disreputable car of that stranger, John Faith, rattle by and swing to the curb a short distance up the street. The passenger door flew open almost immediately and a young girl jumped out and ran off. It gave me quite a shock. The more so when I recognized Trisha Marx as soon as she passed under the streetlamp over there.

Her house was where she ran to, three north of ours. I expected the bogey to leap out and chase after her, but he didn’t. Took him by surprise, no doubt, and he knew he couldn’t catch her. In any event, he sat inside with the headlights still on and the engine puffing out exhaust fumes until Trisha disappeared around back. Then he U-turned and drove off the way they’d come.

Another outrage, pure and simple. Had he put his huge, dirty hands on that poor child? Well, he must’ve tried; otherwise why would she jump out and run home the way she had? She’s only seventeen. And poorly taught and plain foolish, I say, to let a man like that get her into his car in the first place.