Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,55

nose. “No A/C.”

Sticking a hand out the window, I said, “The whole world is our A/C.”

“So that’s a no,” Elien said, but he just had another of those weird smiles.

We reached the mobile home neighborhood twenty minutes later, and if it had a name, I couldn’t see it. Most of the homes were trailers with aluminum sidings. They were set up on blocks, which meant they all had stairs and a small deck. The gravel road cut between dirt and crabgrass yards, and dust floated up behind us. It didn’t look like a bad place, but it looked like a hard place that people had tried to make better: on one of the homes, a paper banner had letters in crayon that said WELCOME HOME, BILLY; in front of another, a patch of sunflowers gave a shock of color; at the edge of the crabgrass ahead of us, someone had cobbled together a stand out of scrap lumber, and letters in black paint said LEMONADE 25C SMILES FREE.

When we got to David Bass’s home, I could see some of the same effort at home improvement: the shutters had crisp white paint, and two potted mums sat on the deck. The lattice closing off the crawlspace looked new, and a raised bed for a vegetable garden was covered by a thick plastic sheet. He had a corner lot, so I drove to the end of the street and turned, wanting to see as much as I could before we approached the trailer.

Then I stopped.

“What’s wrong with his door?” Elien asked.

My first thought was that a bear had gone at the screen door on the back of the mobile home. That was the only explanation for the long rents in the screen, for the way the aluminum frame had crumpled along one edge. My mind was already trying to come up with explanations: this was the last street of the trailer park, and it backed up to a stretch of woods that ran all the way to Bayou Pere Rigaud. A bear could have come out of the forest. Sure, I thought. And that same bear just wandered up to David Bass’s back door and clawed his way inside.

I put the car in park and left the engine running. “Stay here.”

“No way.”

“Elien, it’s not a conversation. Stay here. Get behind the wheel, and if you see anybody besides me come out of there, you drive away as fast as you can. Come on, slide over.”

“Yeah,” Elien said, his eyes softening. “Thank you. Of course.”

As I got out of the car, Elien reached over, turned off the car, and pocketed the keys.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“Going with you.”

“You don’t have a gun.”

“Neither do you.”

“You could be in danger.”

“So could you.”

“Yes, but I’m—”

“What? Butch?”

“What? No, a deputy.”

Sliding out of the car, Elien turned his attention to the mobile home. I came around and grabbed his arm.

“I appreciate what you’re doing,” Elien said. “But I can take care of myself.”

I could smell that peppery, prickly heat of him; it filled my lungs like gas waiting for a match.

“I’m going first,” I said.

“You might have to let go of my arm.”

I gave him a little shake because the other option was growling.

“It’ll be ok,” he said, and he squeezed my fingers before pulling my hand loose.

The treads of the steps groaned as I went up them. The wind picked up, stirring the chimes that hung from the end of the trailer. Then the breeze snapped the screen door open, and I froze, my knuckles white where I gripped the rail. Sweat broke out across my chest, my back, stinging drops under my arms. After ten seconds, I eased myself up another step, and then the door banged shut. Pennants of torn screen drifted, stirred by the breeze.

When I got my hand on the door, I counted another ten seconds, and then I pulled it open and slipped inside. I smelled death immediately: loose bowels, blood. I was in a small kitchen. A bag of microwaveable wild rice sat on the counter, and the microwave door was open. 0:02 flashed on the timer.

Keeping my steps as quiet as I could, I moved along the trailer, checking rooms as I went: the living room, with a console TV and a plaster Jesus nailed to a six-inch cross; a room filled with banker’s boxes; an office with an ancient laptop and a Cheshire cat mural on the resin paneling; a bathroom with a soap dish shaped to look