The Risen (12 page)

I
return to the medical complex at 4:45. The receptionist doesn't send me back to Bill's office, so I sit alone in the waiting room. Magazines cover the table beside me. Most are what you expect in a doctor's office,
National Geographic, Sports Illustrated,
that kind of thing. Only one,
Christianity Today,
catches my eye. I check the address label, and my brother's name, not a patient's, is on it. Which shouldn't surprise me. Bill, unlike me, has continued attending church as an adult. Soon I may know what compels him to.

When I check the clock again it's 5:05, then 5:15, then 5:20.
What if it's not surgery that is holding him up,
I suddenly realize. Robbie Loudermilk may not know
where I am, but he could locate Bill easily enough. Since this morning there might be new evidence, or someone who'd seen the three of us at Panther Creek or noticed our truck there the day Ligeia vanished. Each thought solidifies into inevitability. I look down and see that my thumb and middle finger are pinching my left knee.

A TV is mounted on the upper corner of the far wall. It's turned to CNN, muted but with the closed captioning on. I go up to the window and ask for the remote. The receptionist looks at me and I know she's about to say something like
We don't allow the channel to be changed.
But we are alone and she knows Bill told me to wait, so she hands it to me without a word. Then, as if the remote were some acknowledgment of trust, she gathers her belongings, locks the front door, and leaves.

At five thirty I keep the television's sound muted but change the channel to WLOS. There's been a train derailment in Marion and a protest against the state legislature in Raleigh. After some advertisements, Sheriff Loudermilk appears. His words scroll across the screen, telling of a new source who claims Ligeia Mosely got behind on a drug debt and was eager to leave Sylva as quickly as possible. Which makes it more
and more likely the murder was drug related, Loudermilk says, and a serial killer less likely. A third motive, the consequence of a personal relationship, has been considered too, the sheriff adds, but forensics has yet to find evidence of it.

“SHE SOUNDED LIKE
it's real serious,” I told my brother when he came to the dorm's hall phone.

“Serious for whom, Eugene?” Bill answered. “The way you've acted the last couple of months, I wouldn't—”

“She said serious for both of us,” I interrupted.

“I've got my calc class this afternoon,” Bill said. “You go and find out what this is about. Then call and tell me.”

“Ligeia said both of us have to be there.”

“If she's wanting me to get her alcohol or drugs, she can forget it,” Bill said. “Where are you calling from, anyway? You're supposed to be at school.”

“I am at school. I'm using the pay phone. You need to come, Bill. It's serious. I mean it.”

“All right,” he sighed. “Can you get out there without me having to pick you up?”

“I can use Mom's car.”

“Good. I'd rather Grandfather not know I'm home in the middle of the week.”

Bill and I got to Panther Creek first that evening. We sat down by the pool and waited.

“Where in the hell is she, Eugene?” Bill asked. “I've got a zoology test in the morning.”

“I'm here,” Ligeia said, stepping out of the woods, her shoes in her hands. She wore long jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt with
DISNEYLAND
on the front.

“What is this about?” Bill asked tersely. “If it's drugs, you can forget it.”

Ligeia looked at me.

“You didn't tell him?”

“Tell me what?” Bill said.

“That I'm pregnant.”

Hearing the word aloud made everything, including the creek itself, seem to halt for a few moments. I'd feel a similar sensation the night of the wreck, the same time-distorting suspension between the car leaving the asphalt and the tree rushing straight into my headlights. Then, once again, I heard the creek, and slowly, like a carousel starting up, time resumed its normal pace.

“That's not possible,” Bill said. “We were careful.”

“Evidently not careful enough,” Ligeia said.

“Look,” Bill stammered, “if your period's a few days late that doesn't mean—”

“It's not a few days. I haven't had a period since mid-June.”

“It could be something else.”

I had seen this same hardness in her eyes before, but only for moments at a time. Now it locked into place like a dead bolt's click.

“Should I go see your grandfather to be certain?” Ligeia said. “We could all three go.”

“No,” Bill said quickly. “Just give me a minute to think.”

He jerked his right shoulder, as if to throw off something that clung to him, then stared at the ground.

“Have you told anybody about this?” he asked, not looking up.

“No,” Ligeia said.

“Good,” Bill said. “Don't, okay?”

“All right,” Ligeia said. “But I'm not dealing with this alone.”

“I'm not asking you to. But a late period can happen
for other reasons,” Bill said, looking at me. “We were careful every time, right, Eugene?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“One never burst or leaked, or anything like that?”

“No.”

“Then everything's okay,” Bill said, as if giving a medical diagnosis, “because nothing like that happened with me either.”

“They don't always work,” Ligeia said, raising a hand and splaying her fingers. “Maybe a fingernail pricked one, or something happened when it was made.”

“I doubt that,” Bill said. “Maybe . . .”

Then he hesitated.

“Maybe what?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Bill said, “it was someone else.”

For a few moments Ligeia look puzzled. Then she understood.

“How in God's name could there be?” she asked, her voice rising. “The only places I'd been was here or church. You damn well know it's true. I'm pregnant and I need money to do something about it. I need it
now
.”

“Okay, okay,” Bill said, raising a hand. “I'm just trying to get things clear. You can go to the Asheville
Women's Clinic. They can do a pregnancy test. That way we'll know for certain.”

“I don't need a damn pregnancy test. Just give me the money to take care of it.”

Something shifted in Bill's eyes.

“No,” he said, and there was no compromise in his voice. “Not until we're certain.”

The wind gave a last sigh and grew still, the only sound now the gurgle of water.

“How am I going to get there,” Ligeia asked, “especially if this is supposed to be such a secret?”

“I will take you if Bill can't,” I offered.

“No,” my brother said. “You can take the bus. The clinic is downtown, next to the courthouse.”

“When?” Ligeia asked. “I can't just wait around, you know.”

“In the morning,” Bill said. “Once you get to school, walk down to the bus station instead. You can get back before school lets out. That way your uncle and aunt won't know.”

“I'll need money for the ticket and the doctor,” she said, “and for the test too.”

Bill checked his billfold and took out two twenties and a ten. All I had was a five-dollar bill.

“How do I know this is enough?” she asked, taking the bills.

“I've got more at home,” Bill said. “I'll get you at least a hundred. It shouldn't be nearly that much though.”

“Worried I might not bring back your change?” Ligeia challenged.

“No, I'm just making sure you'll have enough. Eugene can give you the money at school in the morning. Then you can get on the bus.”

“All right,” Ligeia said, taking the bills from our hands. “But if I am pregnant, it will cost a lot more than a hundred.”

“I know,” Bill said, running the fingers of his right hand through his hair. He kept the hand on his neck and turned to me.

“If it comes to that, I'll get you the money.”

“I'll pay half,” I added.

“I'll pay it,” Bill said sharply. “But none of us talks about this to anyone.”

I met Ligeia in the parking lot the next morning, two more twenties and two fives clutched in my hand. Angie Wellback was talking to her. It didn't look like a happy conversation. Ligeia motioned for me to stay
where I was. When Angie joined a group of girls nearby, Ligeia, hardly acknowledging me, came and took the bills from my hand.

TWO DAYS LATER
after homeroom, she motioned me under the stairwell to avoid the rush of students.

“I called and got the results,” she said. “I am pregnant, but the doctor told me since I wanted an abortion; she could arrange it, claim it was to save the mother's life. She got me an appointment at a clinic in Charlotte. She said they wouldn't hassle me.”

“When?” I asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon at four thirty,” Ligeia said. “I'll need money for a hotel and a bus ticket to Charlotte and then to Miami, because I'm headed there as soon as the doc in Charlotte says it's okay. I'll need fifteen hundred dollars. Tell Bill to bring it to the creek at nine tomorrow.”

“How will you get to the bus station?”

“Bill can take me to the station in Sylva, unless he's scared someone will see him drop me off. If he is, we drive me to Asheville and I'll get the bus there.”

“You won't be coming back?”

“Are you kidding?” she said incredulously. “Once I'm out of this place, it's forever.”

“You told me you'd stay until October.”

“No, I'm out of here,” she answered as the tardy bell rang, “and don't look so sad. You knew I'd be leaving soon.”

“I know.”

“Be happy I'll be back where I belong.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

A last classroom door slammed shut and the hall lapsed into silence. Ligeia set her backpack on the floor, placed her hands around her neck, and took off the love beads I'd given her.

“Here,” she said. “Something to remember me by.”

I put the beads in my shirt pocket, then took a pencil and note card out of my backpack, wrote my address and phone number, and handed the paper to her.

“You'll write or call me when you get there, won't you?” I asked. “That way I'll know where you are.”

“Sure,” Ligeia said, stuffing the paper in her back pocket, “but it takes time to find a place and get settled, so it will probably be a while.”

“Okay,” I answered and paused. “You and I know
this was my fault, not Bill's. I was the one that didn't wear the condom.”

“No, we don't know that,” she said, meeting my eyes. “I was certain it would be safe that day. It was safe. That's the truth, Eugene.” She nodded at the empty hallway. “We'd better get to class.”

“I really might come to Miami to live.”

“Good,” Ligeia said. “Look for a swanky bar or some white sand and you'll probably find me. Wouldn't that be a blast? And don't forget you promised to put your mermaid in a book.”

“I won't forget,” I said.

“And with a real cool name no one else would have,” she added, “and blue eyes and no freckles, right?”

“Okay.”

Ligeia gave my hand a soft pat.

“You had your own little summer of love, right?”

“I guess so,” I said.

When she left, I went into the boy's bathroom, afraid that I might start crying. I told myself to be relieved, that the “trouble” that had sent me into such a panic was taken care of. I looked in the mirror. No tears. I took a deep breath and went on to class. I wanted to tell her one more thing, but it was too late.

“This will wipe out my checking account,” Bill sighed later that afternoon.

“I want to pay half,” I said. “I mean it.”

“And what will you tell the old man so he'll co-sign?” Bill said. “‘Hey, Grandfather, Bill and I got this girl pregnant and we need money to pay for an abortion.' Yeah, that would go over real well, Eugene.”

“I could pay you back a little at a time.”

“No, I'm the one who will take care of this,” Bill said. “The old man is right about one thing. You make bad choices and you pay for them. I did something stupid. So it's my responsibility, not yours.”

“Because you're the big brother and you're supposed to look after the little brother, even when he doesn't want you to,” I said. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” Bill said, meeting my eyes, “and I will.”

“I want to go with you tomorrow.”

“No, you'll need to be at school,” Bill said. “If you aren't and Grandfather finds out, he'll make you tell him where you've been. You know he wouldn't let up until you did.”

I didn't answer but knew he was right.

“Ligeia said the procedure is tomorrow afternoon?” Bill asked. “That seems quick, but I suppose if
the doctor says it has to be done right away, they make the accommodations. You're certain of that, tomorrow afternoon, not next Saturday?”

“Yes, damn it,” I snapped. “Can't you believe I can do something right?”

“You haven't shown that lately,” Bill said coldly, checking his watch. “I need to walk on up to the bank before they close.”

The next evening Bill took Ligeia to the Asheville bus station. So that was it. Summer was over, and on the surface, Bill and I and the town appeared unchanged.

Ligeia's aunt and uncle filed a missing person's report, but she'd taken a packed suitcase with her so it was assumed she'd run away, probably to Florida, but as the sheriff had noted, what good was an out-of-state search when she'd be a legal adult in another month. It wasn't until Thanksgiving that I tried to talk to Bill about her. He'd placed a hand on my shoulder, then pressed so hard I winced.