Heart and Soul by Jackie May

Author:Jackie May [May, Jackie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bluefields
Published: 2021-03-11T22:00:00+00:00

Jay’s house is like an antique patchwork quilt—it’s huge and old and worn paper thin. It’s also literally a patchwork, since we have stretched blankets and sheets across many of the gaping holes in the walls. The floors are bare concrete. Some of the ceilings sag so low, I can reach up and touch my palm to them. Still, for me it’s the most like a traditional house I’ve ever lived in, after growing up in a trailer and then moving into my Pontiac Crap-pile.

His Pontiac Crap-pile, I remind myself, and then I quickly move my thoughts elsewhere.

The boys are asleep in their typical fashions: Jay sprawled sideways across our bed, where he fell face-first, like a tree cut down; Russo on a downstairs couch, with his feet crossed and fingers interlaced over his chest, like cowboys who lie on the ground and pull their hats down over their eyes. I’ve heard that about cops—that they can sleep anywhere, at any time, just by closing their eyes. And now I’m in a house with three of them.

It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning, and I’m wide awake. If I shifted, I could sleep, but there’s no sense in that now. Alarms will be going off soon for witching hour. I should put coffee on.

My flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks are no match for January cold. Jay’s laid out on top of our comforter, so I have to pull the blanket down from a hole in the wall. When I do, I see through that hole to the hallway, where there’s a hole in the floor, and through that hole I can see into the dining room downstairs, where Hillerman stands at the sliding glass door, staring out at darkness in the backyard.

“Do you ever sleep?” I ask, padding down the stairs.

“No,” she says quietly. “I don’t need it. But Charlotte does, so I try to be as still as I can. Doesn’t always work.”

I stop. “Oh. It’s you.”

In the dim orange light from above the stove, I see a pot filled with water and ramen noodles. I pull the blanket tightly around my shoulders, now wishing I hadn’t left my handgun upstairs. Psh, what good’s a gun against a demon spirit, anyway? What I need is an exorcist, but what do you do when the exorcist is the one who’s possessed?

“She still gets rest. Her mind, I mean. That’s the most important thing.”

“You keep her up like this a lot?”

“No. Never. I try to respect her…” She can’t latch onto the right word.

“Her property?”

“Her ownership. This body was hers long before it was also mine. I never take command, unless it’s important.”

“I see. Ramen noodles are very important.”

“I don’t know why I make them. Just a habit, I guess. Going through the motions of a past life. I grew up in Southern California. Then we lived in Phoenix and Las Vegas. I’ll never get used to these winters.”

“We’re really talking about the weather over a pot of noodles? I have to say, you don’t sound like a demon.

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