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Central After Dark

Casey Moores


THE BURRITO TRUCK


My marriage hadn’t lasted more than six hours before our first throwdown, full-out screaming fight. I have no idea what brought it on and, to be honest, I couldn’t even process most of what Daniela was saying as it was happening. We’d no sooner started to consummate our marriage when she blew up. I swear she started speaking in tongues and I think her head spun entirely around. Granted, it was an emotional moment, and my brain was a mix of alcohol and endorphins, but I remember it being exactly like in The Exorcist.

Keeping my head tucked and a defensive arm up, I fought to get my tuxedo back on. I had some better casual clothes in my suitcase, but it wasn’t time to go digging. With her eyes glowing red and fireballs imminent, I grabbed what I could.

Thus, I was sloppily redressed in my rented wedding tux when I ran the gauntlet for the door. Some of you might think less of me for running and not fighting back, but I couldn’t risk hurting Daniela. Even under those circumstances, I could never hurt her. Up until that very moment, everything about the relationship had been perfect. The very fact that we’d actually waited until we were married to make love . . . well, let’s just say I’d never even entertained the idea with any other woman.

Just like in the movies, a lamp crashed into the wall as I escaped. As soon as I closed the door, I paused and took a breath. There was a surreal sort of calm in the hallway, especially as she’d already stopped screaming. It made me question my sanity for a moment. Had I imagined the fight?

Stomping feet and the jiggling door handle knocked me out of my reverie and sent me into a dead sprint. Rather than wait for the elevator and give her time to catch up, I busted into the stairwell. The elevator dinged its arrival just as the door swung closed behind me. I flew down seventeen floors without so much as pausing to catch my breath.

When I exited into the main lobby, I took two quick steps before stumbling to a stop and reversing my course. One of her older brothers—either Theo or Thomas, I could never tell them apart—stood at the main entrance, clearly looking for someone. I could only imagine it was me. If Daniela so much as hinted that I needed a beating, I was certain they’d give me one. In a flash, I turned down another hallway and hauled ass for a back exit. Ignoring the “Alarm Will Sound” sign, I smashed through one last door into open air. I collapsed for a few long seconds, hands on my knees, hunched forward, and gasping for breath, and hearing no alarm.

The warm, dry Albuquerque air felt wonderful in my lungs. Overhead, there wasn’t a cloud in sight and a full moon smiled down on me. For a brief moment, I pretended the world could be calm and pleasant.

Since I wasn’t sure if I’d been spotted, I collected myself and jogged toward the overpass over I-40, Albuquerque’s major east-west highway. The further away I got, the better. In the cool, quiet night air, I finally had time to think about the fight.

She was pissed I wasn’t a virgin. First off, why had she thought I was? Second, how the hell had she known? The biggest sting was when she’d called me a worthless college dropout. It was half true, maybe even fully, but she’d married me knowing that, right? She was the reason I was going to turn all that around, the reason I’d gotten a steady job and become a respectable, contributing member of society once again.

A giant, shiny pickup truck rumbled past and kicked up a minor dust storm as I continued to the south side of I-40 along Louisiana. I knew a gas station on Menaul where I might get a friend to pick me up. Digging into my pockets, I found my wallet, but had a momentary freak-out when I didn’t find my phone.

I was cut off from the modern world.

Some older people might say, “There’re still pay phones, right?” For one, I didn’t see any at the gas station. For another, I didn’t have any quarters. Finally, I know calling collect used to be a thing, but who memorizes phone numbers anymore? Except maybe my parents, but I wasn’t going to call and tell them the horribly expensive wedding they’d just paid for was already wasted money.

The gas station was closed, which I should’ve expected at two in the morning. Without any means of contacting anyone, I walked along the edge of the state fairgrounds in a daze and reviewed my crappy, limited options. Halfway down, spectral green eyes floated out ahead of me. I halted as a coyote trotted through a hole in the fence and stopped to stare at me. When it ran away on the sidewalk, I followed it until it disappeared from sight.

When I arrived on Central, I turned west and walked along the parking lot of the Downs Casino. A sick part of me considered heading inside and betting every dollar to my name on black at the craps table, but a voice of reason reminded me where my luck was sitting.

Anyone who knows anything avoids that section of Central most of the time and definitely after dark. However, for the born-and-raised Burqueño street rats like me, it’s no big deal. I’ve got a Zia tattoo on my ass, I know who Don Schrader is, and I can work out which food trucks double as meth dealers. I’ve gotten stuck in traffic behind the Breaking Bad Tour RV and I’ve helped recover a balloon that landed on the street outside my apartment. My blood is a blend of red and green chile. Christmas.

If you know, you know.

As I often did, that night I got a strange sort of comfort walking among the colorful assortment of characters you encounter on Central. In my tuxedo, I must’ve looked out of place among the homeless, crazies, crack addicts, and meth heads. Even so, the denizens of Central passed me by as if I were one of them, as if they could sense I was.

As I crossed Central and turned right, I spotted the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen—Pablo’s Burrito Truck. He actually sells microwaved Allsup’s Burritos and I’m pretty sure it’s one of those food trucks, but at that moment in my life, his truck looked like heaven.

Since there was no traffic, I jogged across the street and beelined it. Crouched beside a bus stop was an older Hispanic-looking woman with short, black hair and dressed in one of the older styles of Army camouflage. Odds are she got it from a surplus store to look like a vet, but you never know. Crow’s feet erupted along the sides of her eyes when she opened them and smiled.

“Spare some change for a bite to eat?” she asked.

Let it be said, that although the panhandlers and homeless are pervasive throughout Albuquerque, I still have a soft place in my heart for them.

“Uh, wait here and I’ll grab something,” I replied.

She smiled wider, revealing a full set of dark yellow teeth. “May the goddess bless you.”

The words shot through me with a warmth I hadn’t expected. I couldn’t explain why, but a huge weight lifted from my shoulders.

At the truck, I asked Pablo for two burritos and two bottles of water.

“Hey, Matt, why you all dressed up?” Pablo asked as he shuffled around inside.

“Just got married,” I said. It was so weird to say out loud. The wedding had been just hours earlier, yet here I was, wandering along Central without her.

“Wow, how’s that going for you?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

He shrugged and glanced all around, as if my wife might appear somewhere nearby.

“That good, huh?” he asked. The microwave beeped behind him. “You wouldn’t want one of my special burritos, would you?”

“No, man, can’t afford it.”

“What if I said it was on me?”

I drew in a deep breath as I considered it.

“No, probably best I keep my head for now.”

“Okay, my good friend, but if you change your mind, offer stands. Here you go.”

I pulled out my wallet, but he waved me off. I must’ve looked really pathetic to earn charity from Pablo. Lucky me—I’d emptied the wallet on the cash bar at the reception.

Back at the bus stop, the woman eagerly awaited my return. I passed her one of the burritos.

I thought she’d snatch it and run off, but instead she grabbed my hand and peered into my eyes with a powerful intensity.

“Evil has found you, hasn’t it?”

I knew my bride was angry, and my family might agree with the assessment, but evil seemed a bit of a stretch. I was too dumbfounded to answer.

“It doesn’t like being rebuked and seems impossible to fight at times.” A smile grew across her face. “But you keep faith and it’ll be okay.”

Faith? I don’t have much faith in anything.

She released my hand and took a water bottle.

The roar of a bike blasting along Central stole my attention for the briefest moment. Every so often, some jackass needed to make a lot of noise for no good reason. The jackass raced away on his shiny black crotch rocket. Moron didn’t even have a helmet.

“Faith in what?” I asked. However, when I turned my head back, she’d disappeared without a trace.

Shrugging it off, I sat at the nearest bench and dove into the greatest burrito I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.


SAN MATEO


I sat on that park bench, perfectly content, with a full belly and basking in the warmth of the old woman’s thanks. It’s hard to tell just how long it lasted, but while it did, everything seemed just fine. I’d almost completely forgotten about my bride and her vicious, unexpected onslaught.

“Who?” someone said in the distance.

“My bride,” I said in a virtual stupor.

“Who?” they repeated. It was low, but loud, and rattled like someone rolling their r’s.

All at once, I freaked out at the realization that whoever it was had been reading my thoughts. In a panic, I straightened and searched all around for the speaker. A pale white face stared at me with two beady black eyes from atop a bus stop across the street.

It was a large, white owl.

A coyote was uncommon, but not unheard of. An owl in the middle of the city was more surprising. While I stared at it with curiosity, I decided I couldn’t sit on a park bench all night. With a jolt, I realized Pablo might’ve been able to help me contact a friend. Sadly, the truck was closed up, dark, and his beater Volvo was gone. I’d been too focused on my burrito to notice. With no better ideas, I headed west.

Further along Central was a series of closed auto shops. At length, I reached San Mateo. On the opposite corner was a Walgreens, dark as everything else. Across the street I saw the white brick of the Castle Megastore—a massive adult novelty store where I’d hoped to become a frequent shopper with my new bride. Though her earlier actions hinted that such was not to be, you never knew. Sometimes the crazy ones were the likeliest to take you there.

Just south of the Castle, however, was a 24-hour Walmart. My prayers were answered, and salvation awaited. Nothing against Walmart, but I never thought I’d be so happy to see one. I was pretty sure they still had pay phones and enough business that I could probably beg a few quarters out of someone. Since there was zero traffic, I hurried across the street.

A few of the stereotypical Central characters loitered around the bus stop on the corner: scraggly-faced shopping cart man in his army surplus camouflage, rough-looking meth girl in lumpy spandex shorts and a stained tank top, and even the semirespectable-looking gentleman in an old, worn brown suit. Meth girl inspected me, did the smiling head twitch, and stood up.

“Hey!” she said in a sharp bark, but her next words were soft and attempted to be coy. With zero self-awareness, she scratched her crotch and hobbled my way. “Can you . . . uh, you looking, er . . . I got something for you . . . ”

Realizing I was her chosen target, I hurried past them along Central without making eye contact. I’d have to go the long way around, but I knew from experience that she’d get more aggressive the more I engaged. She shouted obscenities at me when I ignored her, but didn’t chase after me.

Once clear, I planned to cut across the Castle parking lot toward the other corner of the Walmart. That’s when I heard a baby crying. I wasn’t going to go searching for the baby and its mother, but I did look up. Far off down the sidewalk, I saw a small bundle on a bench and could only guess that was the baby. There was no mother anywhere in sight.

As I stood there, arguing with myself over checking it out, I saw another coyote—or maybe the same one, impossible to know—trot out from behind a building, heading for the bundle.

I freaked out.

I broke into a sprint. I’m not a noble man, but I couldn’t let a coyote eat a baby. The coyote disappeared from view as I ran along the back of the Castle. The baby stopped crying, but I kept it in sight as I went. Thankfully, I reached it before the coyote did.

Only, it wasn’t a baby, it was just a light brown shopping bag full of trash and dirty clothes. I shook the bag, lifted it, checked under the bench, but still didn’t find a baby anywhere. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement in the unlit far corner of the open lot. A dark lump, which I assumed was the coyote, shuffled around. From that same direction, I heard the baby erupt back into its desperate, solemn wail.

My heart dropped. I’d gone to the wrong spot and now the coyote had gotten to it. My pulse pounding in my ears, I ran toward the vicious, baby-killing animal. As long as the baby was still crying, there was hope.

As I approached, the crying was replaced by a retching snarl. The dark lump crawled out from the darkness, and it was no coyote. It looked like a large, hairless dog with a coal-black, hunchbacked body, except in place of a snout and eyes was a spectral patch of white with no features.

I froze in terror. When I scanned behind the strange beast for any signs of the baby, the creature craned its head back and released a short, high-pitched wail.

A shudder shot down my spine.

There’d never been a baby.

With a gulp, I tensed my muscles and forced control of my limbs. Fearing that sudden movement might attract it, I slowly slid my feet backward one at a time and eased away. One of my feet hit a chunk of concrete and I keeled over like a falling tree. Stars exploded in my eyes and pain erupted across the back of my head as it smacked into the sidewalk.

Reeling, I propped up on an elbow and rubbed the back of my head. There was no blood, but it hurt like hell. The faceless monster stalked toward me, crouched low and preparing to spring, the way I’d seen tigers move on TV. I scrambled to my feet and braced for its attack.

With a soft yip, the coyote raced out from nowhere and charged the creature. They fell into a swirling melee of snarls, claws, and teeth.

Not caring to see who’d win, I ran. The great battle was directly between me and the path to the Walmart, so I couldn’t go that way. If I retreated, I’d have to deal with meth girl again and I’d rather have joined in on the scrap. My only option was west down Central.

Though my feet were blistered from walking so far in dress shoes and my tuxedo pants weren’t exactly made for running, I ran for several blocks, past the old Hiland Theater, past a strip mall, and past O’Neill’s Pub.


NOB HILL & UNM


At my level of fitness, a dead sprint turned into a fast run after a dozen steps, which devolved into a slow jog within a couple blocks. Not long after I’d passed O’Neill’s, I slowed to a walk and checked to see if anyone or anything was following me. It looked clear, but I kept walking anyway.

Whereas I was normally comfortable enough with the many homeless people of Albuquerque that I’d make eye contact and say “hello,” I now looked at all of them with the suspicion of a tourist in the wrong spot at the wrong time of night. I had nothing against homeless or panhandlers, but on that night, it seemed prudent to be overly vigilant in case they were something else. It felt crazy to even consider that possibility, but with what I’d seen . . . 

Am I crazy? Was it real? Did Pablo slip me some shrooms in that burrito or something?

Lost in thought as I walked, I found myself at Carlisle Avenue. It’s the road that separates one of the many sketchy parts of Central Avenue with Nob Hill, aka Snob Hill. It’s a nicer stretch where some of the first hipster establishments moved into Albuquerque. Just up the road from my corner was Organic Books, one of the best spots to find local authors. Right on the corner was the Cinnamon Sugar and Spice Cafe, which I wished had been open. I could’ve killed for one of their maple bacon cinnamon rolls just then.

Further down the street I couldn’t help but think how much of a local I was. I spotted a dance studio that had once been the Clockwork Jabberwok game store. They’d had a gorgeous mural in back until the next jerks who moved in painted over it. Further down was an interior design store that was once Kelly’s Bar & Grill. Of all the establishments on Nob Hill, I’d thought Kelly’s would’ve lasted forever.

As everything on Nob Hill was closed, I kept walking. Past Girard Boulevard, everything switches over to University of New Mexico territory. Most of those businesses were closed as well, and I’d been out of school so long I no longer knew anyone there, but I knew at least one place that would be open. Hurrying past where the Denny’s had turned into a Chipotle, I arrived at the infamous Frontier Restaurant. I’d gone there all the time for a late night, early morning or hell, sometimes a late morning breakfast. That was until my grandmother had learned it was cool and started going there. Nothing against her, but it totally ruined the vibe.

It was busy as ever. I spotted a table full of transexuals with five o’clock shadows. You’d think I would’ve recognized at least one of them, but it’d been too long since I’d spent time there. As I pondered going inside anyway and explaining my story to someone, I realized how crazy it all sounded. Everyone who’s spent any amount of time on Central at night is used to a good deal of crazy. I knew that if I’d approached myself with my story, I would smile, nod, and walk away. There was zero chance anyone inside would do any different.

Dejected, I walked around the corner and sat on a bench to think.

“Now there’s a man who’s lost his way,” someone said.

I glanced to my left to discover Don Schrader had sat down next to me. Yes, the Don Schrader. For the non-Burqueños, he’s a well-known local who’s famous for being a colorful oddball, kind of like Albuquerque itself. I knew him by the rainbow watch cap, handmade bead necklace, cutoff jean shorts with a braided rainbow belt, and his lack of a shirt, which showed off his dark orange tan. Sitting next to him, I had a funny thought.

As tan as he was, most people who didn’t look too close would probably think him a Native American or Hispanic. I happened to know he was neither. He came from Illinois as a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War. I, on the other hand, was a full fifty percent Navajo. However, with my pale complexion and bright blue eyes, everyone assumed I was one hundred percent white boy.

“Funny world we live in,” he said, as if reading my mind.

“You’re—” I tried to say.

“Yes, I am,” he said. “Want to tell me what the trouble is?”

I searched for the words.

“You go to school here?” he asked.

“Yeah, briefly.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Oh, I had a good opportunity, and I know how lucky I was, but that was the problem. A lot of my friends didn’t have that same opportunity. It didn’t feel fair, so I walked away.”

“Fair,” he snorted. “Of all the elements of the human condition, fair isn’t one of them. You shouldn’t shirk the gifts the world gives you. You should embrace them. Let them help you do as much good in the world that you can. Having opportunity doesn’t make you a bad person; it’s what you do with it, same as everything else.”

As nice and well-spoken as the words were, they depressed the hell out of me. That’s because he was right. I’d wasted a good thing and all because of some lofty concept of fairness. As if I was somehow making my friends’ lives better by squandering my good fortune. What I’d thought was virtue now felt like laziness.

“But don’t think you have to be anything anyone else tells you to be. And don’t wrap yourself around old choices. We take ourselves from where we are and move forward. Anyway, you want to tell me what brought you here?”

I snapped out of my navel-gazing reverie. Of all the people in Albuquerque who would never believe my crazy story, I’d accidentally found the one man who definitely would.

But where to start?

“Well,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “as you might’ve guessed”—I waved at my disheveled tuxedo—“I was in a wedding earlier today—or, yesterday, I suppose. Everything seemed perfect. I mean, there were signs leading up to it, but that’s beside the point.”

“Signs,” he said. “Let’s hold there for a moment. What signs?”

“Well, I mean, my brother and first choice for best man refused to stand with me. I never understood why, but he was always heavily against Daniela. Said she wasn’t right for me, but wouldn’t say why.”

When I stopped for a moment, he said, “I’m guessing there’s more to it?”

“Yeah, I guess. There were some big dustups.” I leaned back, put an elbow on the back rail, and stared into space. “She’d get super angry at the silliest things. I swore she was about to kill me a few times, but she’d leave and come back later as if nothing had happened. But that’s normal, right?”

He tilted his head and frowned. “What our society considers normal is a misunderstood version of reality, what’s been twisted and confused by centuries of blind tradition. Normal’s in the eye of the beholder. But please go on. What happened tonight?”

“Tonight, right.” I paused for a moment of recollection. “After the wedding, we headed on up to our suite. Now, mind you, I’ve been quite the manwhore for most of my life since puberty.”

“A man after my own heart,” he said with a solemn nod. “Continue.”

I had to smile at that. “But for this girl, I waited. Never done that before, and it’s one of the things that made me think it could be true love.”

“Reference previous statement about confused tradition, but go on.”

“Yeah, so we’re finally about to do it, and she starts screaming about how I’m not a virgin. I’d never really said that I was, but I’d never said otherwise, I don’t think. But either way, I have no idea how she knew. Just went straight to psychotic, kicked me off, and started throwing things. I barely made it out alive.”

“Well, now, I’m quoted in a lot of places saying this: To hear many religious people talk, one would think that God created the torso, head, legs, and arms, but the devil slapped on the genitals. What kind of ceremony was it, Catholic?”

“No, thank God, no. It was pagan or something. I really don’t know and it was kind of weird, but I went with it.”

He shrugged again and put a hand in the air. “Well, Christians don’t have a monopoly on silly ideas that they’ll get all heated about. Virginity is thought to be a requirement for purity. For some reason, your beloved must’ve gotten it in her head that you weren’t pure.”

“Well, I’m not, I just said—”

“You said you’re not a virgin. I’m telling you that’s got nothing to do with purity. You can be the biggest manwhore in the history of time, like yours truly, but it doesn’t make you any less pure unless you do it out of greed or malice. Lust itself isn’t bad, it’s how the goddess or whoever made us. It’s kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy. You’re told that by having sex you’re no longer pure, so people take that and let the guilt fester inside them. That’s what darkens their soul. But I can tell you still have a remarkably pure soul for all you may have done.”

“I appreciate you saying so, but I’m not so sure you’re right.”

Slapping his hands on his knees, he straightened his back and stretched. “Believe what you want to believe. It’s all any of us do.”

The whoosh of brakes releasing drew my attention to Central. Expecting to see a bus roll by, instead I was graced with the appearance of the Breaking Bad Tour RV. There’s no way there was an actual tour happening at that hour, so I assumed the driver was heading home from a night out. Baller to use the RV to hit up the clubs.

“So, what do I do about her? Oh, wait—I haven’t gotten to the weird stuff yet. You see—”

I turned back and he was gone. That’s Don Schrader for you, just floating from one spot to the next.

“Who?” An owl stared at me from the streetlamp above. If I had to guess, I’d say it was the same owl from before. It tilted its head before jumping off and swooping away.

I sat for a few more minutes, taking in everything Don Schrader said. Eventually, I stood to head toward Downtown, where some of my friends lived.

As I walked, I passed by a few small groups of college kids heading from one spot to another. One cute girl with red hair and pigtails gave me the look that I knew well from my philandering days, but getting it on with a random college girl wasn’t going to solve my marriage conundrum.

I walked along and glanced to the southwest corner of the UNM campus. On the sloping grass hill were the Lobo statues—a collection of wolves in various poses. When one of the smaller statues turned to look at me, I determined the shrooms Pablo must have slipped me hadn’t worn off yet and hurried down the street.


DOWNTOWN


Before long, I was walking between the Presbyterian hospital and the semi-infamous Crossroads Motel. You’ve probably seen that hotel in a show or movie, as it’s the quintessential seedy motel where trysts and drug deals happen. It’s a case of reality imitating art imitating reality. I’m certain the place survives entirely on commissions from use in movies and TV shows.

From there, I followed the underpass below I-25. On the far side, I spotted the Hotel Parq Central, one of Albuquerque’s well-known haunted locations. Naturally, it was a psychiatric facility in the recent past.

The combination of a screaming woman and a crying baby drew my attention to a struggle on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. It looked to be a bag lady struggling against a large man.

Though self-preservation told me not to, I ran to see if I could help. As I closed in, I recognized the old woman as the very same woman to whom I’d given the burrito. Her attacker, however, was not a large man. Coal-black skin stretched along skinny limbs and a hunched back—the crybaby monster from before. My shroom trip had reengaged.

I told myself I was seeing things and it was some homeless man who was angry this woman was at his corner. Whatever the situation, he was actively trying to hurt her. Kill her, by the look of it. He had long, sinewy fingers around her neck and was shaking her violently.

I searched for a weapon and, finding none, drew upon the two years of karate I’d taken as a kid after Karate Kid had come out. Moving up next to him, I turned, raised my knee, and gave him the best sidekick I could muster. The kick struck true, knocking him over and forcing him to release his grip on the woman.

Pain shot through my groin as I pulled a muscle. I lost my balance and fell onto the woman. When we collected ourselves, I came face-to-face with the attacker and raised a fist. A white, faceless oval stared at me. That was the closest I’ve ever been to the old adage that if you stare into the abyss, it stares back.

I hesitated, wondering whether I could punch it. Would that white void suck my arm in? A shudder ran through my soul at that thought and I stared back, frozen with indecision. Kicking it again was a no go. My groin was in tremendous pain, and I was barely standing.

Whack!

The woman had taken advantage of the moment to slam a metal baseball bat into its midsection. It screeched, rolled over backwards, and skittered sideways into a shadow.

She grabbed my hand and pointed to the hotel.

“Up there! Come with me!”

I looked up at the hotel and saw someone watching us through one of the upper windows. If they’d seen the whole exchange, I could only imagine what they were thinking. The face disappeared, though I didn’t see them move. The burrito was truly fucking with me. Had any of the encounters been real?

I pinched myself and it hurt. At the very least, it wasn’t a dream.

“Are you coming?” she said with urgency.

I looked back to the hotel, looked at my disaster of a tuxedo, and looked at her. The hotel staff would probably call the cops at the sight of us. As she took a step, I freed my wrist from her grip and grabbed hers in turn.

“No, this way,” I said. “They’ll never let us in there. I got friends down this way.”

I looked back and saw the Faceless Crybaby leap from one shadow to the next. It paused in the next spot and I brought my attention back to hurrying down Central. We passed a few more hipster additions to the street, attempts at gentrification that hadn’t taken hold, though the restaurants themselves looked to be doing fine. A few blocks down and across the street, I spotted the old high school that was now swank studio apartments.

“There,” I said. “I got a buddy in there.”

I had a buddy in there. When we got to the gate and dialed the apartment, there was no answer, so I dialed again. A very pissed-off woman answered and cursed about me calling at that hour and no she didn’t know who Joe was but he sure as shit didn’t live there anymore. Then, she hung up.

As it became clear that we weren’t getting through the gate, I scanned across the street for any sign of the Faceless Crybaby. I saw a dark lump and squinted to try and see it better—

“Blop blop!” a police siren warbled as a cop car flashed its lights and rolled by. The officer glared at us, but didn’t stop. After it passed, I looked back toward the dark lump. It was gone.

“We should keep going,” the old woman said, tugging my hand toward downtown.

That seemed like just as good an idea, I had friends that lived down there as well. Assuming they hadn’t moved like Joe had since . . . 

Damn, how long has it been since I talked to Joe?

“Well, here’s hoping,” I said.

We hurried along another block and hit the major railway underpass. Right as we started through, I noticed a man with sunglasses and a thick black mustache leaning against the wall in front of us. Though I was pretty sure I knew what he was doing in this spot at this time of night, I didn’t think he’d hassle us if we hurried by without making eye contact.

“What’s up with you, homes?” he asked as we passed by.

Caught off guard, I glanced over and saw him examining me up and down. I assume the tuxedo made me stand out.

“I’m good,” I said. “Just passing through with my, uh, friend here.”

“You two don’t look like friends,” he said with a tilt of his head.

I kept walking and hoped he’d give up.

“Hey homes, hold up!” he said. I heard a click.

I knew I shouldn’t look back, but it was clear he’d drawn his piece and there was a small chance he was about to plug me in the back for disrespecting him. In Albuquerque, it was always best to be polite to armed people—which is most of them.

Turning around, he was indeed holding a shiny chrome pistol, though his arms were relaxed and it was pointed at the ground. He held it as casually as if it were a cigarette in between draws.

“Why don’t you come here so we can talk, homes?”

As I stood frozen, he sniffed, raised the pistol with a bent wrist, and waved me back with it.

Then, my heart stopped at a sound that will freak me out until the day I die. A wailing baby. The black-skinned, white-faced monster pounced on the vato’s back.

The woman tugged at my wrist and we both turned to run. I heard the monster crying and the vato shouting, followed by a series of gunshots. Neither of us turned back, we just kept hustling along. I say hustling because with my pulled groin muscle I wasn’t running.

Downtown, as I feared, was completely shut down. The random groups of partiers had dispersed, and even the cops that came down to disperse them had packed up and left. That meant it was damn near morning. The only signs of life on Central were a few other homeless wanderers, but none of them paid us any attention.

Some guy on the other side of the street startled me a little when he started yelling profanity at some guy named Mike, but when I looked over, he was alone at a bus stop. As I said, it’s hard to define unusual on Central when it’s dark out.

We went past the rotting shell of the Pyramid apartments, a luxury condo development that flopped in ’09. At a stack of apartments, I thought to stop and try calling another friend who’d once lived there, but the woman kept going and I didn’t want a repeat of my earlier call.

Robinson Park was, as usual, a homeless campground. When the woman crossed the street, I wondered if she was taking me to her tent, but I was relieved when she continued. On Tijeras Avenue, I saw an old settler-style white home that looked as if it desperately needed a fresh coat of paint. A low, white picket fence stretched across the sidewalk in front of the house. I knew for sure I still had some friends living inside that house.

I was surprised to find she was leading me to the exact same house. As we approached, I got a massive feeling of apprehension. The lights were all off and there were no cars in the driveway or on the street.

“Come on, come on!” she urged.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“It’s okay. I know who lives there,” she said.

While it was entirely feasible that at least one of my friends would’ve known this woman—Albuquerque’s one big, small town, after all—something about the entire situation felt wrong.

She moved on without me, opened the creaky little gate in the fence, and continued on the walkway up to the house. She turned back and pointed a scolding finger.

“Do you want to wait for that thing to catch up to us?”

I did not. Though instincts told me not to, I followed her.

“Matt?”

It wasn’t the use of my name that turned my blood cold and froze me in my tracks. It was the fact that it was Daniela’s voice saying it. When I snapped my head, I found her standing right there on the sidewalk, just a few yards to my left. She wore a body-length white coat and her long black hair was loose around her shoulders. She seemed calm, but nervous, as if afraid of how I might react to her.

“Daniela? How . . . what are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you. I’m sorry I blew up like that. It’s just, well . . . if you come with me we can talk about it.”

“Let’s all go inside here, where it’s warm,” the old woman said.

I glanced at her and saw the door had swung open. I wondered who’d opened the door for her, as it still didn’t seem like anyone was home. Then, I noticed a pale-faced teenage girl, wearing a simple white nightgown, staring at us through a window with eerie curiosity.

“Matt, who’s that?” Daniela said. In the bright glow of the moon, I saw her eyes narrow—a sign that she was getting angry.

“Oh, it’s no one. A homeless woman who was getting mugged, so I was getting her someplace safe.”

Stalking right up to me, Daniela grabbed my elbow and tugged me along.

“That’s my husband,” she said with a smile that her eyes didn’t match. “So pure of heart. Anyway, she seems fine now. We should get back to my car.”

“Where are you parked?”

“Over in Old Town.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in for a moment?” the old woman said. Her voice was insistent, almost desperate. Her eyes were fixed on me and slightly narrowed.

“No, we’re fine. Glad to see you’re okay.” Tugging a little more, Daniela led me west along Tijeras.

“Thank you for your help, young man,” the old woman said as we walked away.

Before I replied, Daniela put a finger on my chin and drew my attention back to her.

“I was so worried when you ran off,” she said. She relaxed her grip on my arms and let her hand drift down to hold my hand. It was nice.

“It seemed like you needed some time to cool down, so I wandered out to grab some food. Not too many choices at this hour.”

She chuckled and I saw the sweet, beautiful woman that I’d married had returned.

“No, there really aren’t. Please tell me you didn’t get food from some sketchy late-night taco truck.”

We turned onto Central and continued along it toward Old Town. I spotted the Dog House a couple of blocks back and across the street. I wished they’d been open—I totally could’ve gone for a foot-long chili dog with a side of chili cheese fries.

“Nope, of course not. I got one of those Allsup’s burritos.” It wasn’t a complete lie. “Daniela, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I’m sorry I never specifically told you I’d—”

“No, it’s me that should be sorry. It’s not your fault; it’s not the sort of thing that comes up in conversation. Or at least, it never did and that’s not your fault. It was naive of me to think you’d never . . . but it doesn’t matter. You’re still perfect for me, either way.”

Relief washed through me. My marriage wasn’t going to end on the very first night. I wasn’t a failure. I wasn’t going to live my life alone.

“That’s what I needed to hear. I was so worried that . . . that I’d messed everything—”

“Well, don’t. You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

“God, I love you. Oh! How’d you find me?”

Silence. I looked at her and it felt like she was avoiding my gaze. Her hand stiffened for a moment and then relaxed.

“One of your friends saw you walking near the university. They said they called you, but you didn’t answer and it was too far for them to chase after you, so they called me. I figured if you were walking west on Central, I’d head you off from the other direction. Almost as soon as you left, I felt bad and tried to come after you, but you were gone.”

She gave my hand a quick squeeze.

“Huh. Which friend?”

“Oh, um . . . it was Joe.” The statement almost sounded like a question.

“Weird, Joe doesn’t go to school anymore and I think he moved.”

“Maybe he’s seeing someone. It doesn’t really matter, does it? The important thing is I’m here and you’re here and we’re together again. For the rest of your life.”


OLD TOWN


We reached Lomas Avenue, crossed it, and turned north onto San Felipe. We were inside Old Town proper. Way back in the day, there’d been a fort or something. At some point, the Mission was built there. These days, it’s a big tourist trap full of shops and restaurants. If I recall correctly, you can take a ghost tour around Old Town at night. It’s always the oldest parts of town that lend themselves to ghost tours.

As we entered the main square, she headed toward the gazebo in the center. There were a few parked cars that people left overnight, but not hers.

“Where’d you park?”

“On the far side, right next to the Candy Lady,” she said.

“Ah.”

Without saying anything, she led me up the steps of the gazebo. It wasn’t actually on the way, so I figured she wanted to stop there for a bit and maybe make out or something. It was pretty cool being married and having someone to kiss whenever you felt like it.

The gazebo had some candles placed around the railing, which I assumed was from some recent event. There was always a fair or wedding going on in Old Town.

She turned and looked at me. As I leaned in for a kiss, I caught a glimpse of not one, but two of the white-faced monsters creeping through the shadows nearby. I straightened to get a better look, but found nothing. I jumped when the wooden stairs squeaked. Twisting my head, I discovered the two monsters walking up the steps behind me.

“Daniela, get back!” I twisted about and put my hands out defensively. I wasn’t too sure what I could do, but I had to protect my wife.

In the blink of an eye, they straightened up, their bodies filled out, and their faces bubbled up, eventually resolving into the faces of Daniela’s two brothers.

I had not expected that.

They rushed up, grabbed my arms, and held me in place with an insurmountable strength. I struggled and looked to Daniela for some sort of sign.

“Daniela? What’s going on?”

She chuckled as a devious, devilish grin grew across her face.

“What’s going on is that I need you for my ritual.”

“Ritual?”

“What, did you really think someone as gorgeous and successful as I am would love someone as useless as you? Please. Now hold still, don’t fight, and it’ll all be over soon.”

It was at that moment I decided marrying her had been a mistake.

Stepping back, she went to a small sack and drew out a long-nosed lighter. She walked around the edge of the gazebo, lighting the candles and speaking in some strange language. As she disappeared behind me, I looked down and found a circular design painted in red on the floor, with little, periodic swirly marks.

“Shouldn’t that be a pentagram?” I asked. I’m not sure why I asked it. It’s not like I knew anything about whatever magic she was about to perform. As I think of it, I’m now surprised by how calm I was during the whole thing. I should’ve been screaming and begging for my life.

As she reemerged into the periphery of my vision, an animal yipped. One of her brothers cursed and let go. The other brother quickly wrapped both arms into a tight lock behind my back. I turned my head to see what was going on and watched the first brother chasing after a coyote.

The coyote ran straight for a building on the southeast corner and crashed through the window, with the brother close on its tail. I hoped that an alarm would sound, but no such luck.

Ropes tightened against my wrist as the remaining brother bound me. He kept hands on my restraint and my shoulder.

Daniela finished lighting the candles and reached into the sack to swap the lighter for a curvy knife with a turquoise-inlaid handle.

Another yip from right behind us. The brother holding me cursed and shuffled about.

“Deal with the damn thing!” Daniela hissed. “I can handle him.”

He released my shoulder and stomping feet on wood announced his departure.

With a strength I’d never experienced, Daniela grabbed my collar and forced me to my knees. Her words fell into a steady, repetitive rhythm.

“Takmul, Kornav, Lethruto! Takmul, Kornav, Lethruto!”

“Treguna, Mekoides, Tracorum, Satis Dee!” I said. I’m not really sure where that came from, it just seemed the thing to say.

“Shut up!” she shouted with pure rage.

Another crash of glass sounded to my left and I saw the brother jumping in through a window to the Covered Wagon, a tourist trinket shop that sold painted horses. As he went, his body shriveled and he transformed back into the coal-black, twisted monster. With a high-pitched wail, he disappeared into the building.

“Look, can we just talk about this?” I asked. “I mean, maybe we can try couple’s counseling or something?”

She ignored my questions and kept chanting. Wind howled around the gazebo and kicked up dust until I couldn’t see beyond it. With eyes closed, she raised her arms and clasped both hands on the dagger. In moments, she’d plunge it down and kill me.

That finally set me to freakout mode. A lifetime of poor choices flashed through my mind. All the things I’d done for the wrong reasons piled up, leading me to the sort of person who’d rush into marriage with an evil sorceress or demon or whatever she was. I’d ignored so much good advice, ignored so many signs telling me to go the other way.

Am I really going to let her kill me without a fight? Maybe I should. Maybe I deserve this.

Staring up at the blade, I nearly gave up. My life really had been wasted and this, in an odd sort of way, felt like a fitting end.

Then, somewhere deep within my soul, from some source of strength I didn’t know I had, an overpowering counterargument emerged with a single word.

No.

This was not how I was going out. Despite the failures of my life, I did not deserve this. Moreover, I would be damned if I was going to be the reason this evil woman in front of me was going to achieve some higher level of dark, demonic power or whatever.

I lurched upward to my feet.

Having somehow forgotten my hands were tied, it wasn’t until I was falling forward that I realized I had no way to catch myself. I rose about six inches before crashing forward, accidentally jamming my face directly into her breasts.

Putting one hand to my collar and the knife to my throat, she shoved me back into position. With a psychotic gleam in her eyes, she smiled and kept chanting. The flames of the candles, rather than extinguishing in the wind, grew until they stretched several feet into the air and expanded until they all looked like tiny, dancing devils.

She closed her eyes again, shouted even louder, and I knew the end was seconds away. I struggled against her grip, but to no avail.

The pitter-patter of tiny feet rattled along the floorboards behind me, followed by yet another yip!

Jaws latched onto my wife’s knife arm, and she snatched it away. Her chants turned to a great snarl of rage, and she released me to wrestle with the small animal.

I took the opportunity to roll forward and, having learned my lesson, didn’t try to stand until I’d balanced on my toes in a crouch.

The knife clattered to the ground behind me. As the two combatants seemed to have forgotten me for the moment, I flopped backwards onto the knife and wriggled around until I got hold of it. Then, I wormed myself to the stairs and tumbled down, miraculously finding my feet at the bottom. As I worked the knife against my restraint, I decided not to stick around to see who’d win.

Rather than risk going near where the brothers had gone, I ran north toward the San Felipe de Neri Church. Knowing it was closed, I ran to the left, remembering the gate in back. Halfway down the block, the knife made it through a cord of rope. It loosened enough that I could writhe out of the rest.

The back gate was locked, but climbable. I stuck the dagger into my belt and grabbed the fence as high as I could. A ball of feathers hit me in the head, and I let go. The owl I’d seen earlier swooped in a low circle just a few feet from me. It landed, shook itself out, grew several feet taller, and shrank inward—transforming into Daniela.

It kind of pissed me off to know my evil wife was using an owl as her spirit form or whatever you call it. I like owls and she was besmirching their good name.

Face darkened and twisted in fury, she charged at me with her fingers out and slightly curled as if she meant to scratch me to death.

I dodged sideways, lost my balance and stumbled until I bumped against the low wall to the Church Street Cafe courtyard. Momentum carried me over and I spilled over onto a metal chair. As I collected myself, I saw the coyote run up with a limp. It bit onto her leg, and Daniela threw it off with a hard kick. With a yelp, it crashed against the wall.

She advanced through the entrance and snarled at me again in a very unattractive way. I backed up to the door of the restaurant and drew the knife. Even considering recent events, I had serious doubts I’d find it in me to use it against her.

When she was two steps away, one of the chairs flew across the courtyard on its own and cracked into her legs. Daniela cursed, staggered, and searched for her attacker. Another chair flung itself at her from the other direction.

A glowing white figure materialized beside me. It resolved into the appearance of an old Hispanic woman in a long black dress, who was waggling her finger at Daniela with a look of strong disapproval. Movement at the entrance drew my attention to the reappearance of the coyote. In the same manner as Daniela, the coyote stood up on its back legs, grew, stretched, and transformed into the homeless woman I’d left behind at the house on Tijeras.

The woman rushed in, grabbed Daniela’s hair with one hand, and punched her in the ribs with the other. Daniela twisted, threw an elbow into the woman’s face, and wrapped her arms around the old woman’s. She wrenched until the woman let go, and Daniela stomp-kicked the woman away. Another chair flipped over and tumbled at Daniela, but this time she caught it and tossed it away as if it weighed nothing.

With a look of renewed determination, Daniela turned back to me and stomped forward. She reached for the knife. I tried to pull it away, but she was too fast and grabbed my wrist. We struggled for a moment, but she was stronger and it became obvious she was going to win.

The old woman charged back in, but Daniela backhanded her in the face without losing any strength on my wrist. A chair lifted and smashed into Daniela’s hip. With great force, she was crushed against me. The hilt of the dagger was jammed so hard into my ribs that I feared one might have cracked.

As we broke apart, we both looked down in surprise at the dagger that was now firmly embedded in Daniela’s gut. I’d always thought that only ever happened in noir movies.

“Oh god, Daniela, I’m so sorry, I—”

In retrospect, apologizing was silly, but the whole situation still had me heavily confused.

With a nasty hiss, she pushed me back, put her hand on the hilt, and ripped the blade free from her stomach. Once again, she raised the knife up with clear intent to kill me.

From behind, the old woman grabbed Daniela’s wrist with one hand, bent her arm with the other, and spun the knife back down into Daniela’s chest. The two women stumbled back while the old woman seemed to gain strength at the same rate that Daniela lost hers. The old woman punched the knife into my evil wife over and over until Daniela stopped struggling.


CHICKEN AND WAFFLES


I stared in dread at the corpse of the woman I’d married the previous evening. My horror only grew as the body shriveled up. It wasn’t just rotting away before my eyes, it was transforming again. The bones twisted and darkened into some sort of corrupt blend of large bat with horns and a devilish mask.

The old woman pushed the grotesque thing aside, stood up, and dusted herself off. Standing up with a calm demeanor, the woman seemed a great deal more . . . noble. She was dignified and confident. The groveling, pathetic beggar I’d met at Central and Louisiana was completely gone. Even her camouflage blouse and pants looked more like a uniform than worn-out Army surplus.

“Thank you, Sara,” she said to the glowing figure beside me. “I knew I could count on you to help with an unfaithful lover, regardless of context. I hope they’ve been respecting you here.”

I turned to see if there’d be some sort of response, but the ghost—Sara—was already gone.

“And you, my young friend. Good work there, at least at the end. Would’ve been a lot easier if you’d let me take out one of the minions at the hotel, or maybe gotten us inside Nadia’s house on Tijeras. But this all worked out well enough, didn’t it?”

“What the hell?” were the only words I could muster.

“What do you mean?” she replied, as if there was nothing unusual about the night’s proceedings.

“I mean . . . what the hell?”

Her shoulders slumped and she scoffed while rolling her eyes.

“Are you still catching up?” she said. “It’s pretty simple. Since you’ve got that pure soul and abundant unrealized potential, this succubus here meant to sacrifice you in a ritual that she thought would increase her power, maybe raise her up in the ranks of her kind or . . . whatever it is they aspire to.” She shrugged and shook her head dismissively. “Anyway, the spirits and I were able to take out her servants, with absolutely no help from you, but you were a great help taking her down. Even as clumsy a fucker as you are.”

“Spirits?”

“Oh yeah. I tried to use a couple more I knew of along the way, but you kept dragging us away from them. Little Nadia probably could’ve taken this demon down by herself. Couldn’t have picked a better place to wind up, though. Lots of help to be had in Old Town. I’m kind of sad we couldn’t include the one at the Chapel of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Now she’s a fighter, but Sara did well enough.”

“What?” I said, still high-pitched and panic-stricken.

“Oh dear, you’re still in quite a bit of shock, aren’t you. Tell you what.” Straightening, she narrowed her eyes and looked east toward the Sandia Mountains. “Sun’s coming up, soon. You hang out here while I go clean things up, and then I’ll take you up to the Sawmill for chicken and waffles.”

“But what am I supposed to do?”

“About your wife, well, trust me when I say no one’s gonna come looking for her. With your life? Hell, that’s your problem, same as anyone else. If you mean right now, I just told you.”

I stood on Church Street for a few minutes, trying to process it all. Ghosts, monsters, demon wife—that part made the most sense out of everything—a homeless coyote woman . . .  It was all too much.

Lost in thought, I followed the woman when she came back and dragged me to the Sawmill. I rehashed it all over again as we ate. The more I mused on it, the less weird everything seemed. I’d already suspected that most of Albuquerque was haunted, I mean the signs are everywhere. Shaman coyote women, well, that’s just par for the Southwest as a whole, really. Demons and devil women on Central after dark—it kind of fits the vibe when you think about it.

I guess it wasn’t that unusual a trip down Central after all.

The chicken and waffles were delicious, though they could’ve used a little more red chile.


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Framed