Through the lens, the girl’s face was as radiant as phosphorus, but I could also see that her nose was swollen, her face bruised. She stared at me for a moment, and I sensed she knew exactly who I was, although she had only seen me briefly after the alligator attack at Red Citrus.
“You’re Tomlinson’s friend?” she asked, but there was a complexity to her intonation that signaled she was asking far more than that simple question.
“I’m taking you home,” I repeated. “That’s all I can tell you. But first I need to know how badly you’re hurt. Someone hit you in the face, I can see that. But were you burned? It’s important that you tell me the truth.”
My mind was already scanning our options. If Tula needed emergency attention, the decision was easy. I would call 911 and risk the fallout-claim to have found her wandering in the woods, which was true. If she was okay, I would park in the shadows at Red Citrus and not let her out of my truck until Tomlinson had arrived and found her “officially.”
But the girl replied, “I have a headache, that’s all. Some of my hair got singed. The only reason I’m not hurt is because”-her head pivoted toward Squires-“because the giant saved me. I have never met a man so strong-stronger than Hercules, even. We were in a building, there was a fire, so he picked me up like a bear, then we both crashed through a wall.”
Carrying the girl in my arms, I walked toward Squires. What I saw was unexpected. The man appeared to be badly burned on his shoulders, yes, but he had also been peppered with a shotgun and castrated. It caused me to remember what Victorino had said about the woman I had seen running from the RV, batting at imaginary flames.
“That Frankie is crazy,” he had told me.
It was a rare nugget of truth from the gang leader.
“Please,” the girl told me after several seconds. “You shouldn’t look at Harris anymore. He’s not covered. God is with him now, but we still need to show respect. I’ll come back later. I’ll pray for Harris and then cover him with a shroud.”
I wasn’t surprised that Tula was in shock. But I also wondered if she was delusional-something I had suspected from the first-because she leaned her mouth close to my ear as if to whisper a secret, saying, “Jehanne already told me that you were coming. That you would be wearing a helmet like a knight. I expected it to be made of steel”-the girl touched her fingers to my ski mask-“but this is the armor that Jehanne spoke of. I understand now. You are the warrior knight God sent to save me. That’s why I understand I cannot ask you questions.”
“Jehanne,” I said gently even though I had never heard the name. “Yes… that was good of her. I’m glad she told you because I didn’t want you to be afraid.”
Cradling the girl in my arms, I turned and began walking in the direction of my truck. Tula laid her head against my shoulder and began to cry. After a few steps, though, she pulled away and plucked at an oversized polo shirt that covered her like a dress, saying, “Normally, I’m not so weak, but I can’t help myself. It’s hard for me to leave Harris all alone because he fought for me so hard. He even gave me his shirt to wear. And he found my amulets-my shields.”
The girl was cupping what looked like a necklace, as she continued, “Once I was wearing my amulet, I thought everything was going to be okay, that God would heal him. That we would live in the mountains together, where I could take care of him. But then… but then…”
I felt the girl’s body shudder, and I expected her to say that it was then that Squires had died.
Instead, Tula turned to look at something I hadn’t yet noticed. It was an elongated form lying in the distance, difficult to decipher details even with night vision. I began walking toward the shape as I listened to the girl explain, “But even God can’t control evil. The power it has over people-a giant like Harris, it makes no difference. I wonder sometimes if even Jehanne understands.”
The girl nodded toward the shape, her expression fierce, then turned away before telling me, “Evil. That’s what killed Harris-even though I fought to save him just like he fought for me. She came out of the darkness, screaming profanities, and running. It surprised us. Both of us. I fought back. But Harris lost his strength and died.”
Carefully, I placed the girl on the ground, her back turned, and I walked to the body of the woman I had seen fleeing the RV. It was Frankie, I realized
I knelt, then risked moving the woman’s arms to assess her injuries as best I could. To be certain, I even used a small LED light to check her legs, her face, a portion of her abdomen.
The flames might not have been imaginary, but Frankie’s body had only minor burns. Some blistering on her arms and a head of singed red hair. Maybe the explosion had blown the woman clear of the fire-possible, if she had been standing in an open doorway when a cigarette ignited the propane.
I knew from what I’d witnessed that the woman was already drunk. Alcohol could have contributed to her hysteria, so Frankie had assumed the worst, panicked and sprinted into the woods. Maybe the woman had tripped and fallen. Or collapsed from exhaustion-but only after surprising the Guatemalan girl and her injured bodybuilder protector.
What my careful scenario didn’t explain was the blood that soaked the woman’s tube top… and the paring knife protruding from Frankie’s throat.
“She was evil,” Tula said to me, her back still turned. “She wanted to kill Harris and she finally did. But not his goodness. That’s what I was trying to save.”
My mind was working fast, already anticipating the questioning the girl would have to endure. Tula Choimha needed an out. Something real. Something she had witnessed with her own eyes so she could speak honestly of it later.
I said to Tula, “I want you to watch something. It won’t be pleasant. Later, though-when people ask you about what happened-you’ll be able to tell them honestly what you saw. Other things… things that happened earlier tonight… you’ll probably want to forget.”
I waited until I was certain that the girl had turned to look. Then I used the paring knife on Frankie-several times-before leaving the knife just as I had found it, in her throat.
We walked in silence then, the girl in my arms. It wasn’t until we were almost back to my truck that Tula looked up into my masked face and said, “Do you remember the goodness that was in you as a child? God’s goodness, I’m talking about.”
I replied, “Sure. Everyone does,” because I thought it might make her feel better or reassure her at the very least.
I had underestimated the Guatemalan girl’s strength, however, and her maturity. It was Tula who then provided me with a more tangible form of reassurance, saying, “That doesn’t mean warriors shouldn’t lie to protect other warriors. Joan of Arc did it many times to protect her knights. The Maiden has promised me it’s true-Dr. Ford.”
EPILOGUE
On the second Sunday in March, which is when daylight savings adds an hour of light to winter’s darkness, I drove my truck to the West Wind Inn, a mile from Dinkin’s Bay, and was on the beach in time to watch the sunrise.
It was 6:43 a.m. The sun had not yet appeared above the Sanibel Lighthouse, but clouds to the west were fire laced, tinged with pink and edged with turquoise from a sky that melded blue with the green of an old morning sea.
I had just taken possession of a custom surfboard, designed by surf icon Steve Brom and shipped from the Florida Panhandle by YOLO Boards of Santa Rosa Beach.
It was Tomlinson who had discovered the fledgling company, perhaps charmed by the YOLO acronym: You Only Live Once.
As my friend pointed out, the name didn’t mesh with his convictions about reincarnation or life after death, but, as he explained, “You gotta love the kick-ass spirit it represents.”
I was unmoved until I had tried one. The next afternoon, I spoke to Brom and ordered a board specifically for my needs. After discussing what I wanted, I then provided the man with my height and weight.