Coldheart Canyon: A Hollywood Ghost Story

TEN

It was night in Coldheart Canyon, and though it was the wrong season for the Santa Anas proper to be blowing, the wind that came up about a quarter to midnight was warm for a night in early spring. It carried away the smell of burned rubber and spilled gasoline; it even took away the stench of the vodka-laced vomit Maxine had ejected. With the vodka out of her system, she found she could think a little better. With trembling fingers she unfastened her seat-belt and fell through the open door, out of the seat in which she'd been hanging and onto the grass.

She lay there for a long time, alternately sobbing and being stern with herself. Luckily—if this can be said to be luck—she'd had two previous experiences with car wrecks, the second of which had been substantially worse than this one, in that it had happened on the 101 in the middle of the morning rush, and involved nineteen vehicles and eight fatalities (one of them a passenger in the same stretch limo in which Maxine had been traveling). She had suffered a hairline skull fracture, a dislocated shoulder, and back problems that her chiropractor had blithely announced would be with her for the rest of her life.

Unless she was very much mistaken, she was not in anything like as bad a condition after this little fun-ride as she'd been on that occasion. Shaken up, yes; dizzy, sick and a little hysterical, certainly. But when she finally crawled away from the car, and got to her feet, she was pleased to discover that she could stand up quite well, and that nothing hurt with that piercing hurt that suggested something had been broken or punctured.

'You must have had an angel watching over you.'

She looked round at the wit who'd spoken. It was Todd. He was close to the car, trying to wrench open the door on the driver's side.

'Is Tammy still in there?' Maxine said.

'Yeah. I'm afraid she is.'

'How does she look?'

'How the hell do I know?' Todd remarked. 'It's too dark to see.'

Yes, it was dark. And though that wasn't good for finding out how Tammy was doing, it did suggest the absence of their pursuer.

'It's still here,' Todd said. 'Just in case you were wondering.'

'Where?'

He pointed up. Maxine followed his finger. The angel's light brightened the high branches of a nearby pine. It wasn't as steady as it had been up at the house. In fact, it was fluttering nervously, which made Maxine picture a flock of luminous birds up there, all shaking out their feathers after a rainstorm, and hopping from bough to bough in their agitated state.

'Hey you!' Maxine yelled up at the light, too frustrated and angry to care about the protocol of what she was doing. 'Tammy could be bleeding to death in there. How about a hand down here?'

'I don't think it's interested in helping anyone but me. I had to beg it to let me get you two sorted out before it . . . you know . . . came and took me.'

'You mean you talked to it?'

'Yeah. While you were unconscious.'

'And you promised—'

'I promised I'd go with it, as soon as you two were safe. That was the deal.'

'Huh. You made a deal with an angel.'

'What else was I going to do? I had to do something. And it was my stupidity that got us into this mess.' He put his head through the broken window. 'At least she's still breathing. But she's also bleeding.'

He lifted his hands and displayed his palms for Maxine. They were blood-soaked.

'Oh God.'

'You know what?'

'What?'

'You're going to have to go for help. Because that sonofabitch isn't going to let me out of its sight. Can you do that?'

'Can I walk? Yes I can walk. Can I walk as far as Sunset?' She drew a deep breath. 'I don't know. I can try.'

'Okay then. You go get someone to help Tammy. And for God's sake be quick about it. I don't think she's got much time. I'll stay here with her. Not that I've got much choice.'

'A deal's a deal.'

'A deal's a deal.'

'Have you got a cigarette?'

Todd stood up and dug in his jeans pocket. 'Yep.' He pulled out a crushed packet, and examined its contents. 'Two Marlboro Lights. One each.'

'Matches?'

'Never without.' He came over to Maxine, and gave her the better preserved of the cigarettes.

'You light it,' she said.

He put both the cigarettes in his mouth and lit them from a single flame. Then he handed Maxine's back to her.

'Didn't somebody do that in a movie?' he said.

'God, you are an ignoramus. Yes, of course. Paul Henreid, in Now, Voyager. I showed it to you.'

'Yeah,' he smiled. 'I remember. Maxine Frizelle's Ten Favorite Moments.'

She drew on the cigarette, and started to walk back along the path carved through the thicket by the car, to the street.

'Hurry,' Todd said.

Tammy ate her meatloaf in silence, thinking of nothing in particular. Aunt Jessica busied herself in the kitchen, coming in now and again to be sure that Tammy was eating all her vegetables. If the plate wasn't cleaned, there'd be no dessert. No pie or cake. Aunt Jessica wasn't a very good cook but she knew what her niece liked. Pie and cake, preferably with ice cream.

'You're going to be a big girl,' she said to Tammy when she brought through the slice of peach cobbler and ice cream. 'Big all over. And that can get a girl into a lot of trouble.'

'Yes, Auntie.'

'Especially with the boys.'

'I know, Auntie.'

'So you have to be extra careful. Boys take advantage of big girls, and I don't want to see you hurt.'

'I won't let them, Auntie.'

'Good,' Aunt Jessica said, though she didn't sound much convinced. Back into the kitchen she went, leaving Tammy to enjoy her cobbler a la mode.

The first couple of mouthfuls tasted good. She ate them thinking of nothing in particular. The clock ticked on the mantelpiece. Aunt Jessica's canary chirped in its cage.

She took a third mouthful. For some reason it didn't taste as good as the first two; almost as though there was a piece of bad fruit in it. She put her napkin up to her mouth and spat out whatever it was, but the taste of dirt, and the gritty texture of it, remained on her tongue and in her throat.

She put down her spoon, and put her fingers into her mouth.

'Wait . . .' somebody said.

It wasn't Aunt Jessica who spoke to her, however. It was a man's voice. A gentle man.

'There's . . . something ... in my mouth . . .' she said, though she wasn't quite sure who she was talking to.

'Dirt,' the man told her. 'It's just dirt. Can you spit it out? Spit hard.'

She glanced back toward the kitchen. Aunt Jessica was at the sink, washing pans. She wouldn't approve of Tammy spitting in the house.