TWENTY-TWO

Antimony, Utah

 

 

 

 

 

THE TWIN ENGINE VULCANAIR descended through a layer of low lying rain-cloud. To Tara, it resembled a turkey buzzard riding the updraft of a thermal wave, its ugly beak sniffing at the air for carrion. Through a veil of gathering mist, she watched Mathias from the doorway of the home as he patiently waited at the edge of a makeshift grass landing strip a hundred yards away.

From here, he looked small and insignificant. With his hands pushed deep into the hip pockets of his blue jeans and his slicker pulled low over his eyes, he seemed child-like. The symbolism made Tara’s heart lurch.

Tara hoped the plane would crash, disintegrate into a ball of flame and scorched debris, explode on impact with no survivors. Unexpectedly, and to her delight, a crosswind caused the plane to wobble precariously from side-to-side on approach. For a hopeful moment, Tara held her breath. But the pilot quickly corrected. The aircraft settled smoothly to the ground.

Tara watched as Mathias presented himself to the lone occupant like a lamb to slaughter. Or perhaps Mathias was already dead, had been since the Registan, and she’d refused to accept she was living with a ghost.