Randy White - Night Vision

She pushed herself away from the woman and said, “I can’t breathe, please put me down. I need to blow my nose because the man hit me.”

The woman dropped Tula without warning-like a practical joke. When the girl’s head banged the steel steps to the trailer, it evoked a snort of laughter from Frankie.

“Good,” she said. “Knock some sense into you.”

The woman had found a tissue in her jeans and was rubbing at the blood on her shirt, her balance unsteady, getting madder as she smeared the blood. Then she gave up and hurled the tissue at Tula. “Stop fighting me! If you don’t, I’ll tell that Mexican to kill your boyfriend. How’d you like that?”

Tula was on her feet, sniffling, trying to stop her nose from bleeding, but her eyes were focused on Squires, who was still on his back, hands folded across his belly like a corpse because of the tape. The two men had the doors to the giant’s truck open. They were leaning inside, throwing things out onto the ground, while the Mexican with the gold teeth walked toward the RV, a bandy-legged man trying to appear taller than he was.

Frankie looked away from Tula long enough to grin at the V-man, who was close enough for her to call, “Does my Mexican stallion need a drinkie?”

Then the woman stabbed her fingernails under the girl’s chin, lifting Tula’s face, and whispered, “How’s a little saint like you gonna feel? Murdering your sweetie when God knows you could’ve stopped it.”

Tula could barely hear the woman’s words because, suddenly, the Maiden was in her head, voice firm, telling her what to do, what to say. The girl’s heart was pounding, but she wasn’t afraid-not for herself, anyway-but she ached for Squires, who lay on the ground, breathing fast, shallow breaths. She watched him turn his head to the side and cough, something bubbling out of his mouth and nose.

Blood, Tula realized.

Inside the girl’s head, the Maiden’s voice warned, “He has a bullet in his lungs. To save him, God will forgive you for anything you must do. I lied to my Inquisitors. Remember? ”

Tula remembered. Jehanne had even warned the vigilante priests that she would mislead them, if necessary, to spare her warrior knights. It was in the book Tula had left back at the trailer park.

I would rather have you cut my throat than betray my knights by telling you the truth, the saint had vowed.

Lying to an enemy wasn’t a lie-it was a weapon. And it made Tula furious to see the giant lying on the ground, vulnerable and in pain. It caused her to remember that she had weapons of her own.

You were born to do this, the Maiden whispered over the noise of Frankie’s voice. You were born to fight evil, to smite the devil down.

Evil. This woman, Frankie, was evil. Tula had known it from their first meeting. In Harris Squires, the girl had recognized the scars of the redheaded woman’s sins. A wickedness so pervading that it had clouded the man’s goodness. It clung to him like an odor.

That odor filled the air now, stronger than Frankie’s drunken breath, as Tula looked into the woman’s face and said, “I’m sorry… I don’t want you to be mad at me. I’m sorry about your blouse-you’re so beautiful, it’s a shame. Because of the way you look, a woman so tall and pretty, it scares someone like me. That’s why I tried to get away.”

The woman appeared startled. It took her a drunken moment to process what the girl had said. “You’re goddamn right you should be sorry. But maybe the stains’ll come out if I don’t let it dry. I’ve heard if you use warm water-”

Abruptly, Frankie stopped, as if she’d just realized something. She had been looking at her tank top, pulling it away from her breasts, but then grabbed Tula by the hair and tilted her face upward. “Hey! Where’d you learn to speak such good English? Don’t get the idea you can fool me, you’re not smart enough.”

The girl stared at Frankie, wanting the redheaded woman’s eyes to concentrate on her, only her. At the convent, Sister Lionza had taught her that focus was required if she hoped to influence a person’s thoughts.

Tula winced because the woman was hurting her but maintained eye contact, saying, “I don’t blame you for being suspicious, but there’s something you don’t understand.” The girl lowered her voice as if to whisper a secret. “I’ve never had anyone say the things you just said to me. It’s like you were inside my mind. You understand my thoughts. Do you really? It would be nice to know that someone really understood. I feel guilty sometimes-and alone.”

Slowly, the woman released Tula’s hair, looking at her, her expression puzzled. She watched the girl’s posture change, noting the girlish cant of hips, the innocent dark eyes, before asking, “What I said about not killing Harris, you mean? Or about the tomboy thing?”

By then, Victorino was close enough for Tula to glance at the man, then say to Frankie, “Maybe later we can talk-just us together? It’s. .. it’s not easy for me to trust anyone, but you seem… different than other women.”

Victorino arrived, throwing his arm around Frankie’s waist, asking, “What’s the problem with the little bitch now?”

The woman disentangled herself from the man and gave him a shove, demanding, “Where’s the money? Did you find it?”

The V-man couldn’t believe what he was hearing, the woman mad at him again for no reason. “You been watching the whole time,” he said. “What the hell you think? My boys are doing that job right now, stop worrying. I give them an order, you can bet they gonna do it.”

“Priceless,” the woman muttered, “a regular genius,” as she placed her hand on Tula’s shoulder. When the girl felt Frankie’s fingernails on her skin-their questioning pressure-Tula walked her hand across the small of the woman’s back and leaned her weight against Frankie’s thigh despite the welling disgust inside her.

Tula was concentrating on Squires, sending the giant strong thoughts, telling him, Stay alive… stay alive… stay alive, as Frankie said to V-man, “Tell me something-why’d you have to slap this girl? You’re so goddamn dumb, I’d slap you myself if your face wasn’t already such a mess.”

The man thrust his wrist out, saying, “The bitch bit me, what you expect?”

Frankie didn’t even bother to look. She leaned her nose toward Victorino, standing on her toes, Tula noticed, to tower over the man. “Big tough Mexican stud,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Harris almost kicked your ass, that’s what really happened. So you went and did this.” The woman nodded toward Tula.

“A girl with a face as cute as hers, now I’m going to have to take her inside and get some ice. Why’d you do it? It make you feel like your dick’s bigger to bloody up some defenseless girl? Well, it hasn’t done much for you so far, amigo.”

Victorino was glaring at the woman, pretending not to notice that one of his soldiers had stopped to listen, while the shorter one-Chapo-held a VHF radio to his mouth, talking to someone.

As Frankie took the girl’s hand, turning her toward the open door, Chapo called to V-man in Spanish, saying, “Hey! Calavero says some white dude stopped, he’s asking for jelly boy. A redneck in a truck.”

Tula’s attention vectored, thinking, Tomlinson?

The girl shook her hand free from the woman, senses probing the darkness beyond the silhouettes of trees. Her mind was alert for the aura of godliness that accompanied the strange man with long hair. Instead, she discerned an unexpected force-something cold out there beneath the stars. It was a focused energy, dispassionate, moving her way. And human… Or was it?

Tula tilted her head, hoping the Maiden would provide confirmation, but received only a vague premonition of violence.