The Man and The Outlaw

Chapter Eight

Mae led the way through the brightly colored front doors of the center, the building branching off into two wings from the main welcome center, halls lined with rooms. There was a dark-skinned woman with ringlet curled hair waiting beside the check-in desk as they entered, Mae had phoned her friend ahead and they shared a hug before Mae introduced her to the rest of them.
"Nice to meet you Brenda," Clara said. "We really appreciate you letting us come."
The woman smiled brightly and handed them each a visitors' badge. "It's no problem at all. If Mae says you're good people and you need some help, then I'm much obliged to be able to do so."
Brenda led them further into the center down a series of hallways. The place had a chemically clean smell, mingled with undertones of something musty, and older people shuffled around here and there, some in house shoes and bathrobes, others in sweatsuits or blue jeans. Most of them took no notice of Clara and the others.
Gloria Valdez was in room D14. The door held her name in big block letters and a photo of her, along with several stickers to indicate that oxygen was being used in the room and other things that Clara assumed had to do with the woman's condition. Brenda led them in to make the introductions.
Gloria was seated in a brown recliner with a quilt over her legs, though the room itself was at least ten degrees warmer than the hallway had been. She had olive colored skin and silver hair that hung in a braid down her back. She wore simple framed glasses on a beaded chain around her neck and there was an oxygen line tucked neatly under nose and around the backs of her ears, the tube snaking away to the floor and disappearing behind her chair. She was staring fixedly out the window on the far wall to her right and only looked away when Brenda touched her gently on the shoulder.
"How are we today Ms. Gloria?" Brenda asked in a cheery, but quiet voice.
Gloria didn't seem to recognize her, but she smiled anyway, her gaze drifting past her nurse to fall upon the four others in the room. Her wrinkled brow creased further.
"Who are they?" she asked in a hoarse voice.
"You've got some visitors today," Brenda explained. "They want to talk to you about your grandson. You know, like those men did awhile back."
There were still no signs of recognition or understanding from Gloria Valdez as to whether she remembered when the authorities came or whether she knew why these were here now, but Clara, Walker, and Loren came into the room and sat down on the various pieces of furniture around the old woman. Mae and Brenda left them to it, and disappeared back into the hallway, closing the door as they went.
The small room became instantly more stifling, and Clara felt beads of sweat sprout and slip down her back. Walker popped the front of his shirt a few times to try and keep it from sticking to him and Loren wiped the back of his hand across his brow as Gloria turned her head to look at him.
"Who are you again?" she asked.
"We're looking for your grandson, you know, Hector Valdez," he told her, uncertainty lacing his tone.
"Hector?" She looked surprised. "Well, he was just here."
Shock coated the faces of each of them as they collectively sat forward in their seats. Clara felt excitement and anxiety rise in her chest. If he had just left, they could reasonably catch him within the next few hours. They needed only to find out what he'd told the old woman.
"He fell off his bike and scraped his knee a right good one. I cleaned it up for him and gave him some cookies to make him feel better," she explained with a reminiscing smile.
There was an almost audible deflation in the room. The old woman was confused, living in another time. Clara chastised herself for jumping so quickly at such a futile and unreasonable hope. If Hector Valdez had been to visit his grandmother just before them, the scene at the center would've been a whole lot different. Their security and other town officials would have fallen upon him like buzzards to roadkill. With sickening realization, Clara could see that this interaction might not be as useful as she had hoped.
"Ms. Gloria?" Clara reached out gently and placed her hand on the woman's arm. Gloria turned towards her and when she saw her, her eyes lit up, never even straying to the scarf at Clara's neck as she was so accustomed to experiencing from people she met.
"Arlene? I didn't know you were coming to visit with me today," she said, looking both happy and a little suspicious.
"Ms. Valdez, my name's Clara Thompson."
But Gloria Valdez was not hearing Clara's correction.
"Arlene, did you finally get through that rehabilitation program? I told you that it'd be good for you," the old lady continued like Clara hadn't spoken at all.
Walker, seated next to Clara on Gloria's couch, nudged her subtly with his arm. Clara turned to him, and he leaned into whisper in her ear.
"Play along with her," he told her. "She seems to think you're one of her daughters, maybe a niece or a cousin. Just go with it."
His breath in her ear made chills run up her spine and for a moment it was hard for Clara to focus on his words. When she caught what he was suggesting, she agreed it was a good idea and followed his guidance.
"I, uh, just got out yesterday. I thought I'd come and see you and um let you know," Clara told Gloria. Gloria patted her hand and nodded her head approvingly.
"I'm proud of you sweetheart. And I know Hector is too. He's missed having his mother around," she said.
So, that's the game, Clara thought excitedly. She was to play the part of Gloria's daughter, The Outlaw Valdez's own mother. She knew that this could prove to be helpful if she could keep the ruse up convincingly and steer the conversation in the right direction. A flash of concern crossed her mind at the thought of tricking a senile old woman, but Clara convinced herself that it was nothing that would really hurt her. She might even enjoy the little time spent in the past, reminiscing with a daughter who obviously never came to visit anymore.
"Ms. Glor-...er...Ma?" Clara carefully considered her next line and then continued, "Hector's been staying with you since I've been away, right?"
Gloria's eyes darkened slightly.
"Of course, he has," she said indignantly. "I'm his grandmother. Who else would look after him?"
Clara nodded and licked her lips, noting the slight tension in the woman's body language.
"Do you think I could...well, would it be alright if he came home with me today? I'm sure you'd love a break."
Gloria fiddled with the beads around her neck and stared hard into Clara's eyes, a sharp edge there that made it clear she had no intentions of letting Hector out of her sight. Clara wondered why she held onto him so tightly. This was his own mother after all.
"I don't think that's a very good idea, dear. Have you started taking your pills again?" the old woman asked with an honest, unfiltered tone.
"What pills?" Clara blurted before remembering she was supposed to know already.
"You know what pills, Arlene," Gloria scowled. "Same ones Doc Nichols put you on after what happened with Hector."
"What happened with Hector?" Then, remembering herself, Clara added, "I'm having a little trouble remembering, Ma. I've been gone awhile."
Gloria Valdez's face grew firm and harsh. For a moment, Clara caught a glimpse of the intimidatingly strong woman she must have been in her prime. Clara could see it would've been ill-advised to mess with this younger woman.
"You don't just forget something like that, Arlene. Not even under an ocean of booze and hard drugs. A mother never forgets the day she decides to choose herself over her own child. Just ask any of the lost souls at those awful preborn clinics. You don't forget, no matter how hard you may try," Gloria glowered.
"I can't remem—"
"You do!" Gloria erupted, spit flying from her lips and her hands balling into fists in her lap. "And if you don't, then you're more out of your mind than any of us ever thought. If you really don't remember, then you should know that I haven't forgotten, and I never will. That phone call in the middle of the night still haunts me. All I could hear over the receiver was your moaning and bawling."
"Bawling?" Clara had lost the sense of where the conversation was going. This was uncharted territory and, still dwelling on what it meant when Gloria had spoken about a mother choosing herself over her child, Clara knew she had no control over the flow of words anymore. Gloria Valdez meant to get it all off her chest now regardless of what anyone else had to say.
"Heavens yes! I couldn't get a word out of what you were trying to say so I threw the phone down and left for your place straight away. I nearly broke my neck on the ride over in the dark."
"What place?" Clara interrupted suddenly, grasping at fragile straws to get what she needed.
"That awful little shack of yours between the Riverton Quarry and Deadman's Gulch." Gloria wrinkled her nose at the thought of it. "I was two steps away from plunging off the side of that narrow quarry road. Honestly Arlene, I don't know how you raised a child in that place."
Gloria was shaking her head in judgement and Clara had to bring her back to the story, overjoyed by the revelation of an actual location where Valdez might be going but suddenly hooked to hear the rest of the tale. You never could guess what might come in handy to know in the long run.
"What happened when you got there?" Clara asked, the ruse dropped altogether as Gloria needed no tricking to continue.
As Gloria opened her mouth to go on, Walker erupted in a fit of terrible, wet coughs that he couldn't completely shield with his fist. He was sweating profusely now, and a little color had drained from his face.
"Are you alright son?" Gloria asked him. She reached out to put a hand on his knee, but Walker stood up from the couch and exited the room without a word.
Loren and Clara's heads turned in concern as he went, but there were more important things happening at the moment. Clara was suddenly terrified that Walker's interruption had thrown Gloria off so much that she would not be able to remember her train of thought and the story would be lost to the ages forever. A pause hung in the air like thunder.
Finally, Gloria seemed to pick up the trail of the story again and continued to speak to Clara in an even, recollecting tone. Her eyes were far away like she was watching everything unfold before her just as it had done in real time long ago.
"There was only one light on in the house when I got there. The door was unlocked, and I went in, fumbling around for more light, and shouting for you. I could hear you crying towards the back of the house, where Hector's room was.
"You were weeping at his open door when I rounded the corner. Before I even got a good look at you, I checked on him. I couldn't believe it with all the racket you were making but he was asleep. I took hold of you, to calm you down and get some actual words out of you to figure out what happened, and that's when I saw the gun in your hand."
Both Clara and Loren had leaned in, hanging on every word that fell the woman's lips as she went on. Gloria's eyes were locked on Clara's, but she wasn't seeing her. She was back in the house, Clara knew, reliving whatever horrible thing she had come upon that night.
"I knew what you'd done then but I couldn't move for a second. I must've been in shock. When I got myself going again, I ripped that thing from your hand and rushed to Hector's side. That's when I noticed all the blood. It'd been too dark in the room for me to see it from the doorway."
Clara couldn't believe what she was hearing. What kind of mother would shoot her own son? How could someone survive something like that? And what did it to you, if you did?
"But he lived," Clara breathed, the words coming out no louder than a whisper. "How in the world did he live?"
"By the grace of God and your piss-poor aim, I suppose," Gloria spat venomously.
"You'd covered his head up with some pillows and a blanket. You meant to hide his face so you wouldn't have to see him I think but it also softened the blow. Docs said, way you shot at him, the bullet skirted around his skull and got lodged at the base of his hairline, behind his right ear. Said all that blood was pretty superficial, head wounds just do that, you see. If you'd shot him with a real gun, not that plinky little .22 you carried, then I doubt he'd have made it and you'd have been rotting in a prison cell rather than bouncing from one rehab place to the next."
Her face grew suddenly somber, the residual anger falling out of it.
"Maybe I shouldn't have thought up that story we told the doc. Maybe I should've let you get taken in for what you'd done. Sometimes I think it might've even been better if he had died that night. It would've saved him from all the trouble they say he's got into now," she mused softly, shaking her head.
"You should've raised him better, Arlene. I did the best I could with you, and you owed him the same. Ain't easy raising a child you never wanted, I know that, but had you done better for him, he might not be in the mess he's in now. I..."
She faltered and put a wrinkled hand up to her face, closed her eyes.
When she opened them again they seemed clearer, brighter. They fell on Clara, and she saw there was no longer any recognition in them.
"You're not Arlene, dear," she sighed, shaking her head apologetically. "I'm sorry to confuse you with her. My head doesn't work like it used to."
Clara smiled, assured her that she was perfectly alright, and reintroduced herself and Loren.
"What happened to Arlene?" Clara asked gently.
With a sad gleam in her eyes and a heartbroken smile, Gloria explained how Arlene had died young, succumbing to the grave she'd dug herself with booze and drugs. She was only thirty-seven.
"She could never forgive herself for what she'd done—I'm not sure how anyone could really—and I don't think Hector ever did either, though he never confronted her on it once he was old enough to have wanted to. He'd only been five at the time and he was such a good boy, so alive. He could convince me of just about anything, even without saying a word sometimes. But after that, as he got older, he drew more within himself, spoke less to any of us. I'd catch him sometimes with his finger on that bullet beneath his skin—they had to leave it in, you see, because they didn't want to risk causing damage to his ear—and his eyes would go almost a gray color, all the green would fade right out of it, staring into a place no one else could see. A place where bad things happened," the old woman told them.
She coughed then, a quiet almost polite noise, and Loren offered her a glass of water that was sitting on a side table near her. Gloria thanked him and sipped from it gratefully.
"I know you're looking for him, but I'm afraid I can't help you find him," she admitted once her throat had cleared. "He's been a ghost to me for many years, even before all the bad things he's doing now. I probably wouldn't recognize him if he swept right in and sat on my lap like he used to." She smiled at the thought, a regretful grandmother's smile and Clara got to her feet. It was time to let the woman rest.
"You've been a lot of help Ms. Gloria. We really appreciate taking some of your time," she told her.
Gloria waved a hand at her. "I always enjoy the company. Come back whenever you'd like. Next time, I'll have that sweet nurse scrounge us up something sweet."
"That'd be mighty fine," Clara replied, though she wondered if Gloria Valdez would even remember them in the next few hours, let alone days. Her eyes were already starting to dim again.

***
They ran into Walker coming out of the bathroom as they made their way back towards the welcome center and the front door. He was wiping his mouth with a paper towel and his face was still awfully pale.
"Doin' alright?" Loren asked him.
"I'm fine," Walker assured him, managing a plastered-on smile to go with his lie.
"You don't look fine," Clara retorted. "That chest cold looks like it's got you by the balls."
She smirked but Walker didn't seem to find the comment funny.
"I'll kick it in a few days," he grunted. Clara shrugged and lifted a hand at Mae who was sitting with Brenda, chatting quietly together near the front of the center.
"Get what you came for?" Brenda asked as the three of them approached.
"More than I'd reckon," Loren answered thoughtfully. "She's a sweet old lady though, isn't she?"
"Too sweet to belong in the same family orchard as the likes of that outlaw, if you ask me," Brenda replied. "But I guess sometimes the apple falls miles from the tree."
"If the breeze blows hard enough," Clara remarked quietly, still wondering what kind of person it took to pull a trigger pointed at their own flesh and blood, and also what growing up with something like that hanging over your head could do to a kid.
Mae thanked her friend, hugged her again tightly, and they exited the senior center with a reinvigorated sense of purpose. Clara felt good at having a place to aim for. She knew exactly where Riverton Quarry was, and it wouldn't be too difficult to track down a house near Deadman's Gulch. The rest of Gloria's story rested more uneasily with her. She couldn't discount the crimes Hector Valdez had committed just because of his upbringing, but she couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, the younger version of him anyway who had to go through all that.
They found their horses right where they'd left them and began to mount up and head back to Spencer. They'd decided to spend one more night in the relative comfort of the small gray house before plotting a course for Valdez's hometown. As Clara reached up for the pommel of her saddle, she noticed something that stopped her dead in her tracks, one foot poised in midair halfway to the stirrup she'd intended to put it in.
There was a small, light purple colored flower laid across the seat of her saddle. It blustered softly in the breeze and Clara was amazed that it had stayed put long enough for her to find it. Her heart began to pound in her ears, a cold sweat breaking out on her back as she whipped her head from side to side, investigating each strange face near them and scouring any places that looked like they could conceal a man. When she was satisfied that no one was watching them, she picked the flower up gingerly in her fingertips as though it might bite her if she wasn't careful.
"Whatcha got?" Loren asked from atop his own horse. Mae leaned over the head of her own animal to get a look too. Walker was sitting atop his horse, looking a bit dazed and thoroughly exhausted. He hadn't noticed anything going on around him.
"Wind must've blown it up there," Clara shrugged as casually as she could.
She let the flower fall between her fingers to the ground. No one else seemed to catch it, they had accepted her explanation with ease, but as they left out, she made sure to crush the thing beneath her boot before mounting her horse. She hoped in doing so that she could also crush the sheer panic that had stolen over her at the sight of it and the gnawing suspicion that it wasn't merely a coincidence that she'd found the flower in the first place.