In the Valley Of

There are always ways to tell when you're ready to leave. That's either when your stomach begins to hurt or your hands start to sweat. But by God, I was pretty sure I was ready to leave. It wasn't that I disliked them, but I was tired and homesick. The conversations were wearing thin, anyway. They had gone from childhood stories and evil bosses to the weather. And the weather is a sore place to be in a conversation. So, while we were still a decent couple in their mind, it was best to leave it at that. All around, it was best to leave. But my date, she was a talker. She had a little wine, and I kept reminding her to pull up her bra strap. She was a sloucher, but not in a lazy way. In a drunk way. An incredibly sloshed, probably gonna wipe vomit out of my car for a week way. I kept shaking her arm, but she would just squeeze outta my grip, bare her teeth at me, and make a noise halfway between a laugh and a tremor.
"Yeah... it's been stormy back home, too. Maybe global warming isn't a crock of shit, huh?"
I tugged her again. She didn't budge. So, the only way to bargain with a drunk person is to offer them something they want. And by the way she was standing and twirling her hair, I knew exactly what that was. I whispered in her ear, and we were off on our merry way home in less than ten minutes. I helped her into the car.
"They were so sweet, dear... we need to send them a gift basket. Maybe some coffee or something."
I turned the air real cold. I saw her dozing off, and I wasn't having any of that.
"Jesus, Lot... it's the middle of winter... are you trying to get me sick?"
I smiled.
"Only so I can take care of you... breakfast in bed, foot rubs, sponge baths..."
She giggled, and I could smell the alcohol coming in waves out of her mouth.
"That sounds pretty nice... maybe I will get sick. Or I could just pretend."
She got real close to my ear.
"Are we home yet?"
She was anxious. That was a good sign.
"Pulling in..."
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" Get up..."
It was a hoarse voice, so I knew it had to be Corragan.
"Lot?"
He poked me with something cold and metallic.
"Hey... I'm up... I'm up."
I sat up, scratching my head. There were speckles of dust in it. My tent was rather untidy. I had spilled Travel all over my pallet. Corragan looked at me with that surprisingly childish face, his bushy hair flapping in the sandy wind. The sun was glistening behind his ear.
"Boss, we'll clean all this up for you. But we got a man squabling near the Ridge."
He said it like news, but it was a problem. One I had to deal with. He handed me my gun. He followed me with his eyes until I was all the way out of my tent.
"Feel free to tip me anytime."
"Whenever you deserve one, sure."

The wind was carrying warm, dry air. The Desert is always that way, of course. But today, it carried over into my throat. When were at the edge of our cliff, Corragan pointed down into the valley.
"There he is..."
In the valley, close to our protected pond, an old man was hunched over, dipping his hands into the water. He would stop for a few a seconds and look around, and dip his hands again. I looked though the scope on my gun, and zoomed in enough I could see the color of his eyes. Brown. Before he could take another dip, a sent a bullet into his skull. His head exploded, and his body fell near to the pool. Buzzards were circling above it in moments.
"We gotta move the old man."
Corragan looked at me crossely.
"Why?"
"We have to perform the Rites... it's only just."
"We didn't know him, though."
"No. But if we dont, he will never rest."
We tried to not speak of these matters. But they loomed around us. Two years ago, Corrogan lost his mother to a wild dog. She had been traveling in the wild. He refused to touch her body and demanded that no one else touch it, either. And after a few nights had passed, he saw her in the wilds. A spirit. A spirit grieving eternally.
"She gave me one look... and it was sad, and angry, and bitter."
There was something in this place. It would not let spirits move on. I have encountered the being only once. It... it had taken my form and forced itself upon Corragan. When he recovered he awoke with burns across his back. We called it The Thing with a Thousand Faces. But we didn't know what it was.
"We'll bury him," Corragan agreed.

"The greatest intimacy of my life is grief... it makes love real... its proof that the ones I love were real... that they could leave such a big hole."END of part 1