Teardrop

like wind rippling silk; then it ricocheted upward, into the air. It sailed higher, higher … and smashed into a window of the planetarium, where it left a jagged, gaping hole. Eureka imagined all the artificial stars inside swirling out into the true gray sky.

In the silence that followed, Ander said: “If I leave you alone, you’ll die.”

18 PALE DARKNESS

“I feel like a narc,” Eureka told Cat in the waiting room at the Lafayette police station that evening.

“It’s a precaution.” Cat held out a short tube of Pringles from the vending machine, but Eureka wasn’t hungry. “We’ll throw out a description of Ander, see if it sticks. Wouldn’t you want to know if they already had a file for him?” She rattled the can to slide out more chips and chewed contemplatively. “He did make a death threat.”

“He did not make a death threat.”

“ ‘If I leave you alone, you’ll die’? He’s not here now and you’re alive, right?”

Both girls looked at the opposite window as if it occurred to them simultaneously that Ander might be watching them. It was Thursday, dinnertime. It had taken less than five minutes after leaving Ander under the oak tree for Eureka to breathlessly share the details of their encounter with Cat over the phone. Now she regretted opening her mouth.

The station was cold and smelled like stale coffee and Styrofoam. Aside from the heavyset black woman staring flatly at them from across a table strewn with Entertainment Weeklys from three Brad Pitts ago, Eureka and Cat were the only two civilians there. Beyond the small square lobby, keyboards clicked from within cubicles. There were water stains on the drop panel ceiling; Eureka found dinosaurs and Olympic track stars in their cloudlike shapes.

The sky outside was navy blue with mottled gray clouds. If Eureka stayed out much later, Rhoda would grill her along with the flank steaks she prepared the one night a week Dad worked the dinner shift at Prejean’s. Eureka hated these dinners, when Rhoda probed into everything Eureka did not want to talk about—which was everything.

Cat licked her fingers, tossed the Pringles can in the trash. “Bottom line, you have a crush on a psycho.”

“That’s why you brought me to the police?”

Cat held up a finger like a lawyer. “Let the record reflect that the defendant does not contest the psycho allegation.”

“If being weird is a crime, we should both turn ourselves in while we’re here.”

She didn’t know why she was defending Ander. He’d lied about Brooks, admitted to spying on her, made vague threats about her being in danger. It might be enough to press charges, but it seemed wrong. What Ander had said wasn’t what was dangerous about him. What was dangerous about him was the way he made her feel … emotionally out of control.

“Please don’t chicken out now,” Cat said. “I told my new friend Bill we’d make a statement. We met at my pottery workshop last night. He already thinks I’m too artsy—I don’t want to flake and prove him right. Then he’ll never ask me out.”

“I should have known this was a ploy for sex. What happened to Rodney?”

Cat shrugged. “Eh.”

“Cat—”

“Look, you just give a basic description, they’ll run a search. If nothing turns up, we’ll scoot.”

“I’m not sure the Lafayette Police possess the most reliable criminal database.”

“Don’t say that in front of Bill.” Cat’s eyes grew earnest. “He’s new on the force and very idealistic. He wants to make the world a better place.”

“By hitting on a seventeen-year-old girl?”

“We’re friends.” Cat grinned. “Besides, you know my birthday’s next month. Oh, look—there he is.” She jumped to her feet and started waving, laying on the flirt like mayonnaise on a po’boy.

Bill was a tall, lanky young black man with a shaved head, a thin goatee, and a baby face. He was cute, minus the pistol strapped to his waist. He winked at Cat and beckoned the girls to his desk in a front corner of the room. He didn’t have his own cubicle yet. Eureka sighed and followed Cat.

“So what’s the story, ladies?” He sat down in a dark green swivel chair. There was an empty Cup Noodles container on his desk; three more were in the trash can behind him. “Somebody botherin’ you?”

“Not really.” Eureka shifted her weight, avoiding the commitment of sitting down on one of the two folding chairs. She didn’t like being here. She was getting nauseated from the stench of stale coffee. The cops who’d been around in the days after Diana’s accident had worn uniforms that smelled like this. She wanted to leave.

Bill’s name tag said MONTROSE. Eureka knew Montroses from New Iberia, but Bill’s accent was more Baton Rouge than bayou. Eureka also knew without a doubt that Cat was mentally practicing her Catherine L. Montrose signature, like she did with all of them. Eureka didn’t even know Ander’s last name.

Cat scooted one of the chairs close to Bill’s desk and sat down, planting an elbow near his electric pencil sharpener, sliding a pencil seductively in and out. Bill cleared his throat.

“She’s being modest,” Cat said over the pulse of the machine. “She has a stalker.”

Bill shot cop eyes at Eureka. “Cat says a friend of yours has admitted to following you.”

Eureka looked at Cat. She didn’t want to do this. Cat was nodding encouragement. What if she was right? What if Eureka described him and something terrible flashed on a screen? But if nothing showed up, would she feel any better?

“His name is Ander.”

Bill pulled a spiral notepad from a drawer. She watched him scrawl the name in thin blue ink. “Last name?”

“I don’t know.”

“This a boy from school?”

Eureka blushed despite herself.

The bell attached to the door of the police station chimed. An older couple entered the lobby. They sat down in the seats Eureka and Cat had just been sitting in. The man wore gray slacks and a gray sweater; the woman wore a long gray slip dress with a heavy silver chain. They resembled each other, both slender and pale; they could have been siblings, possibly twins. They folded their hands on their laps in unison and looked straight ahead. Eureka got the sense they could hear her, which made her more self-conscious.

“We don’t know his last name.” Cat cozied closer to Bill, her bare arms splayed across the desk. “But he’s blond, kinda wavy.” She mimed Ander’s mop of hair with her hand. “Right, Reka?”

Bill said “kinda wavy” and wrote it down, which embarrassed Eureka further. She’d never been more conscious of wasting time.

“He drives an old white pickup truck,” Cat added.

Half the parish drove old white pickup trucks.

“Ford or Chevy?” Bill asked.

Eureka remembered the first thing Ander had ever said to her, which she’d relayed to Cat.

“It’s a Chevy,” Cat said. “And there’s one of those air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror. Silver. Right, Reka?”

Eureka glanced at the people waiting in the lobby. The black woman had her eyes closed, her swollen, sandaled feet up on the coffee table, a can of Fanta in her hand. The woman in gray glanced Eureka’s way. Her eyes were pale blue, the rare extreme eye color you could see from a distance. They reminded Eureka of Ander’s eyes.

“A white Chevy is a start.” Bill smiled fondly at Cat. “Any other details you can remember?”

“He’s a genius at skipping stones,” Cat said. “Maybe he lives down by the bayou, where he can practice all the time?”