'Yeah, well, it's not something that comes up often in normal conversation. 'What's your father do for a living, young man?' 'Well, sir, he's a SWAT commander.' Tends to dampen polite conversation. Anyway, he taught me everything his own troops learned, and then some. Knife throwing, marksmanship, climbing, just about everything a young boy needs to know at a public school in Atlanta.' He pointed at his bow. 'Except archery, unfortunately. College was to be a necessary evil, then right into the police department as a rookie, and finally a member of his own crack corps.'
'What happened?'
'It was his dream, not mine. Is this where the dramatic music comes in?'
Molly nodded. 'Strings usually.'
'Well pretend. Anyway, he wanted me to study-criminal justice, I wanted to study philosophy and theology.'
'Theology?' Molly said, shocked.
'Yeah. I wanted to become a minister.'
'Jesus, forget what I said earlier, okay? I didn't mean anything.'
'I said minister, Molly, not eunuch. My dad and I used to have some real screaming matches at home about that. Well, I was always very good in science and math, so my mother's compromise was physics. That's what I got my degree in.'
Season tilted her head at him. 'You've got a degree in physics? I thought you worked at the university as a janitor or something.'
'Maintenance, if you please. After graduation I let my father talk me into at least trying out for the force, giving it a chance.'
'And?' Molly asked.
'I gave it a chance. I didn't like it, so I quit. He hasn't spoken to me since.'
'And your ministry?'
He shrugged. 'Lost interest in that by my sophomore year.'
'That leaves physics.'
'I wanted to take a few years off, see if I was still interested in that enough to pursue it any further.'
'And? Christ, why do I have to pull every word out of you?'
Rydell laughed. 'And I applied to several graduate schools and was accepted by all of them. I'd decided to go back in the fall. But the best laid plans of mice and men…'
'Tell me about it,' Season said. 'At least you had some choices. My parents had me acting since I was eight months old. They thought it was so cute to stick me in their films, kinda like Alfred Hitchcock, which is who I looked like as a baby. When the rest of my friends were trying to figure out which end of a tampon you inserted, I was in my own sitcom.'
'Friends of the Family,' Molly said.
'Yeah, right. I was pretty horrible, huh?'
Molly shrugged.
'I know. I didn't know how to act, still don't. But I had the right look, and the right name. We ran for four seasons. When I decided to go to college, my parents thought it was a great idea. Until I told them I was going to major in physical education. They thought only dykes liked that.'
'Your parents read Reader's Digest, too,' Rydell said.
'I don't know what they read, except Variety. Anyway, I ended up doing a lot of sports, and you know what? I loved it. And you know what else? My folks thought it was great too. They came to every event I competed in whenever they were in Los Angeles.'
'Happy ending,' Molly said.
'I guess so. I was pretty happy, everything just as I wanted it. Except for one little problem. Guys.'
'You're kidding?' Molly said, surprised.
'I wish. It seemed that every guy I went out with thought he had to compete with the image of my father in movies. They were always trying to be so cool, you know, staring with sophisticated indifference. Acting cynical. In bed they were so concerned about their performance you'd think they were auditioning for Francis Ford Coppola. Jesus, what a mess. I think if-'
'Hey, Molly!' Tag Hallahan's voice shouted above his running feet. He burst into the room, looked surprised to see all of them, but recovered quickly. He was panting as he spoke. 'It's Jennifer Ravensmith,' he said urgently. 'She's missing. Her body's gone.'
20.
The moon might have been full, it was hard to tell. The shimmering haze of the Long Beach Halo hung like a thick cloudy veil between heaven and earth making the moon look like a spilled blotch of phosphorescent milk. Still, it provided enough diffuse lighting for Eric to see what he was doing.
He stood atop the roof of the library and scanned the ravaged world around him. Far off into the distance were dozens of scattered campfires like fallen stars. He imagined the many people huddled around them, desperate for warmth, jumping at every sound in the night. Good people like the ones here, anxious not only for survival, but to preserve the dignity of civilization. But there were also evil people to whom survival was the only end, and that justified any crime. People like Fallows and his henchman, Cruz. And among them, Annie and Timmy. Frightened, alone. Waiting for deliverance.
Eric knew what he'd done wrong. He understood his mistake.
He thought about this as he stood balanced on the edge of the roof, constantly adjusting his balance to the ever-shifting wind that nudged him. He looked down, felt the grinding in the pit of his stomach that heights gave him. He smiled and began removing his clothing. All of it. He knew his fatal error now and was going to do something about it. Now.
At last he was naked, balanced with his back facing the edge of the roof. The breeze swirled gently around him, ruffling the hair on his body, tensing his genitals. Eric felt the movement, but was otherwise numb to the sensations. The wind was neither warm nor cold, heavy nor light. It only existed.
'Ritual,' Big Bill Tenderwolf had lectured him. 'Ritual provides answers when we are not yet certain of the questions.'
'Sounds like you've been reading too many fortune cookies,' Eric had replied with a youthful smirk.
Big Bill had laughed. 'Perhaps. But even the ritual of fortune cookies has its function. Ceremonies have no intrinsic meaning, I'm sure a clever boy like you has figured that out already, right? Every time you see a funeral you shake your head at the hypocrisy. After all, the person's dead, right again?'
Eric said nothing, amazed and a little ashamed that his thoughts had been so transparent.
Big Bill had clapped a meaty hand on Eric's shoulder. 'Those are perfectly natural conclusions. For the young. But the adult needs more. During especially emotional times, whether happy or sad, the prescribed ritual is a comfort. It gives strength. It forces order where there is emotional chaos. Sometimes it forces a person to face himself.' He tapped a finger against his temple. 'Maybe it is all a state of mind, but it is formidable. Like self- hypnosis. And sometimes it can release powers in a person they didn't know they had. Ritual is nothing to be mocked, boy.'
Eric hadn't understood that until much later, maybe not even until this very moment. Still, Big Bill Tenderwolf had taken him into his home in the Hopi village of Shongopovi and taught him the many rituals, customs and folklore of the Hopis. How the Hopis had emerged from a horrible underworld when the earth was not yet fully formed; how they migrated south looking for a sacred spot, some for the exact center of the Earth; how they were led by the Twins, also called the Little War Gods, who helped stabilize the surface of the Earth and taught them how to survive, as well as ceremonies. How these gods, sensing their people's weariness, would come and dance for them, until they poked fun at their peculiar faces. But before returning broken-hearted to the underworld, they permitted ceremonial masks to be made resembling their faces. And ever since then, Hopis have donned these katcina masks to perform the dances necessary to stimulate harvest, bring rain, and promote warfare.
Big Bill Tenderwolf had taught him the katcina dances, the peculiar warbles, the pulsating rhythm, the
