Haiku: Part 6
* * *Richard Keane was making homemade flies when the front gate of the zoo exploded.
They weren’t real flies. They were for fly-fishing. You could buy them but he preferred to make his own. There was a hook which was held in a vice, and a bit of fabric, and colored thread which was wrapped around and around and around it, and that’s what he was doing—wrapping the thread around and around, bent over the vise in his second floor study, concentrating on keeping the line taut—when he heard it.
It sounded like a car accident in his back yard.
It was a sound he felt almost as much as he heard it; it seemed to come from the foundations.
He dropped the thread and the little pliers and ran to the window, searching the grounds with his eyes. Most of the yard was covered in shadow, but there was a concrete path that ran throughout and it was almost glowing in the moonlight, and he began to trace that with his eyes.
It ran straight out from the rear of the mansion for about twenty feet and then split into three separate paths: the right path went to the pool and a wide patio area; the left became a narrow stone walkway and eddied through the gardens; and straight ahead was the path to the zoo. It was about 50 yards long and curved to the left as it ran out, because the zoo itself was built at a 45 degree angle to the house.
At the end of that path was a tall steel gate: the entrance to the zoo proper.
Standing in front of it was a bear.
A very big bear.
It was enormous. Its size seemed unreal, even from that distance; it looked to be at least ten feet tall. Its fur was brown and tufted and its shoulder blades stuck out like rocks under a tawny carpet. It was up on its hind legs and it was ramming the gate over and over with its massive front paws, its rear flanks shaking with the fury of each blow.
Richard stared, unable to move even though his property was being destroyed before his eyes.
A Kodiak. That’s a Kodiak. Twelve hundred pounds at least.
It rammed the gate again, bending the steel inwards and tearing one section away from the concrete.
No, fifteen hundred. Maybe more. Jesus.
Another crash and he was moving towards the room that held his hunting supplies. His body shaking but his mind with that calm that it always had. Not in the board room but in the bush.
In the room across the hall were two large glass cabinets, and in each of them were columns and columns of guns. They were locked but the keys sat right on top and he opened the right one and pulled out a large hunting rifle. He looked at it for a moment, blood thumping in his temples. Then he put it back and took out a different rifle. It was made to fire tranquilizer darts, not bullets.
There was no reason for a Kodiak bear to be in California. None, unless it was in a zoo. Hundreds and hundreds of miles north was the farthest border of their territory. But it was there and he trusted his eyes. It was out there, making a ruin of modern architecture as easily as a kid kicks over a sand castle.
He ran back to the study. The gate was hanging on by threads now, the bolts pulling out of the crumbling concrete and bending. The beast hammering at it with feral strength.
He took aim, not even sure he’d be able to hit it from that range. Darts didn’t carry like bullets. The gun had some range to it and he’d shot things from farther away but this was in the dark at an angle and had he even loaded it right? His hands had done the work without thinking and so he trusted that they had.
Just as it rammed both paws forward one last time, knocking the battered metal free and clear into the wide space of the zoo, he fired.
It spun and howled.
Got him.
He reloaded and fired again, this time with confidence. The gun was still loaded with darts gauged to the size and weight of a lion, and this was much, much larger.
It howled again, a huge sound that echoed off of the buildings and into the trees—and looked right at him.
He smiled at it.
“Incredible,” he sighed. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’ve come to the wrong—”
It charged the building.
He watched it, curious.
It’s just running towards the movement. Once it gets to the house it’ll turn and maybe try to—
The back doors of the house exploded inwards.
It was like a grenade had gone off below him. The floorboards shook.
And then there was pounding, pounding, like a horse made of lead towards the stairs.
Jesus Christ
He sprinted towards the third floor stairs at the end of the hall, leaping up them two at a time. His body had begun to move without asking his mind first.
There was no way a bear could run into a house and understand how to get up to him so fast. No way. Maybe given some time to puzzle it out—animals are smart, the big ones—but not that fast, charging right to him like it knew what stairs were. That was what his mind said while his body simply accepted it and ran. That was ok. He trusted his body more.
He gained the third floor landing and listened.
It sounded like a demolition crew was working its way through the house, but moving much faster than hourly laborers typically do.
There were thundering and rending sounds and he pictured what was happening: its giant flanks tearing up the walls as it took the turns and slammed into them. It was on the second floor, already.
Jesus Christ Jesus Christ
He ran up the hall and jumped for the string connected to the attic door. He couldn’t reach it. The ceilings were too high, they were all ten feet, he’d had it built that way because—well, because he could.
Crashing directly below him, towards the third floor stairs.
He jumped again and got it, the little knot at the end of the string in his hand. The attic ladder came down and he scrambled up it as the engine of destruction reached the top of the stairs behind him.
He pulled it shut behind him and crouched on the cross beams, breathing, the gun still in his left hand.
Should have got a real gun
There was silence, except for his ragged breathing.
There. The drugs did their work. Good bear. Good.
One massive paw came through the ceiling below him, inches from his left foot, utterly destroying the beam beside him.
Jesus Christ
He jumped and grabbed at the brace beam, the horizontal piece of wood that went between the diagonal rafters, forming a triangle. The gun was gone. He swung his legs up and wrapped them around it too, hanging from it like a monkey, just as both paws came up and destroyed the beam he had been crouching on.
He looked to the end of the attic, where the small ventilation window was.
The roof?
More wood splintered below him. It was going to bring the building down. Literally bring the building down.
The roof. He swung to the next beam and brought his legs up again, something he hadn’t done since he was a child on the monkey bars, but luckily, the movements came as easily as they had back then.
What is it they say about bears? A black bear will climb a tree after you, but a grizzly will knock the tree down? But that is not a black bear or a grizzly.
He looked to the end of the attic again, to the small ventilation window.
It was too small for him to fit through. He knew that. All he could do was hang on and hope that the animal couldn’t find a way to get up there.
He closed his eyes and hung on, tensing each time the noise erupted below him.
And after a while, he noticed, through his muscles, that he wasn’t as tense. The noise had stopped. He hadn’t even processed that with his ears; he had only noticed that he’d stopped twitching.
There was silence. Not even the breathing of the massive animal below him (and it would have been easy to see the beast, or hear it, if it was there, because the hole in the ceiling was now large enough to fit a small car through).
He hung on for another twenty minutes like that before he even dared to twist his head around to look down. When he finally did, he saw a strange sight.
Below him—below the hole that had been torn in his house—below the jagged beams and splintered wood—fifteen feet down, to the third floor hallway—a woman was lying on the floor..
Her skin was olive like a Latina or Native American, and she was covered with plaster dust, so much so that she looked like she had been dipped in powdered sugar like a confection. Her hair was long and straight, fanned out on the floor below her. Her eyes were closed.
She was naked. Her legs curved like a painting in the dust and the ruin, bent slightly at the knees.
Beautiful. She was beautiful.
“Huh,” he said. The sound came out as a ragged croak in the quiet.
Ashe was taking a cold shower when she felt it.
Change back before you pass out, change back before you pass out
She hit the faucet with the heel of her hand, turning the water off.
Haiku?
Changebfryu...
Haiku?
Nothing. No anger, no nothing. Just dead air.
Richard picked the woman up and carried her into the nearest room with a bed, which was a guest bedroom down the hall. Her breasts were covered in white dust like pastries and her hips rested against his stomach as he carried her. She was warm.
He placed her on the bed and looked at her and all of her tawny skin. She was a vision, even with her hair full of splinters and plaster and her limbs lying awkwardly. No, her limbs lying awkwardly added to it. He had a sudden, strong desire to kiss her. Maybe it would wake her up. But he liked looking better.
The surreality of the last hour let him think these things without awareness of himself. It let him forget about things like calling the police—or whoever you call about this sort of thing—and just look at her.
Where did you come from and where did the bear go?
He leaned over her. As if to find out by looking harder.
That wasn’t a dream, unless I’m still dreaming. Those holes in the walls and ceiling are real.
Her eyelids began to flutter, weakly, and then her eyes opened.
They were the color of dark brown glass, like a beer bottle thrown away and left in the sun. He stared at them, transfixed.
It was like there were secrets in there.
A feeling began to ease up the back of his neck. It was comfortable and warm and as if something were taking hold of the muscles back there. It was dull and dopey and nice. He didn’t want to look away.
There was—it was like a tug on his thoughts. He felt as if his mind were actually being pulled towards her eyes. It was pleasant. He let it happen, bemused. He wanted it to happen. He suddenly knew that if he just looked a little longer, he’d be able to hear her eyes and they would tell him—
Her eyes rolled up and closed, and as they did, the strange force released him. She was asleep again.
He blinked, coming back to himself.
It was like waking up from a long deep sleep even though it had only been a few seconds. It might never have even happened. He thought he must have been dreaming, and was maybe still dreaming the whole thing.
But the sudden waking jarred him back to reality and he looked around the room with that kind of sight that an emergency gives you, where it’s like you see everything for the first time even if it’s something you see every day. And only then did he start to really think about the situation, and what to do.
Call the police. That’s what you do.
But his house was destroyed and there was a naked, unconscious woman on his bed.
Police tended to want explanations about that sort of thing.
He pictured them walking in and asking him questions. The lights of their cars flashing outside and many men walking in, large men with dark shoes and dark belts and guns who were trained to ask people like him questions.
A bear had done the damage. They wouldn’t believe it but it was true, and maybe—who knows—they could have an expert look and they’d see the damage had been done by an animal and not by a human? Did they have experts like that? Either way, the bear he was certain of and that’s what he would say.
But the woman. When the police ask you why there is a naked, unconscious woman in your bed, “I don’t know” is not an acceptable answer.
And then he thought something else, something that put a cold stone in his stomach, and it was crazy but all of it was crazy—
He thought: what if they bring her to the hospital and they find that she’s unconscious because her blood is full of tranquilizers?
And it was crazy but there it was and the thought had shaken him.
No, no police.
He’d wait. Wait until she woke up and see what she had to say about... all of this. Whatever this was and whoever she was, she’d put him in a position just by being there. He couldn’t let her go without answers.
He walked over to the end table and unplugged the phone cord, then bent down and unplugged the other end from the wall. He lifted her limp arms up above her head and tied her wrists to the bedpost. Firmly but not enough to cut off the circulation, using sailor’s knots.
When he looked her over he had the desire to kiss her again. He went for some scotch and water instead, then returned, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching her breathe slowly in the moonlight.
Ashe paced back and forth across the apartment.
She’d tried calling out to Haiku over and over. She knew Haiku didn’t want to be distracted when she was out, because it could be dangerous, but the last message had scared her more than anything scary could have. It was nonsensical. Haiku didn’t say nonsensical things. She didn’t think them. But it had been like the slurred word of a drunkard.
And then the silence, which was worse.
Maybe she’d found her sister and just left with her.
But that didn’t feel right. Haiku was a woman of rules and she would not leave starry-eyed redheads just lying around, even if she was in a hurry. She would come back and clean up her business. And that inevitability worried Ashe too, but in a different way, a way that was less important at the moment.
She still felt the connection. It hadn’t been severed. She was certain that if Haiku had released her, she’d feel it. It was powerful enough that the lack of it would be powerful too. But there was just nothing.
She sat in a chair by the window, looking into the dark, imagining an owl flying up to it the same way a worried parent imagines the car of their teenager pulling into the driveway.
Maybe Haiku was in trouble.
It was a strange thought. It was like imagining an authority figure from early childhood in trouble. Not as she knew them as an adult, but when she was still 2.5 feet tall, looking up at them.
But if that was the case, what could she do? She had no weapons, no skills, nothing. All she had was narrow shoulders and a tendency to sunburn easily.
That wouldn’t stop Haiku if she was in trouble, though. If Ashe was in trouble, she was fairly certain that Haiku would show up and put an end to it fast. She’d say something like feel my seventeen syllables of justice and probably hit whoever was giving her trouble right in the face.
The thought filled her with a warm safe pride as she looked out into the dark. She was a pet but that also meant she was protected.
It also meant if her owner was in trouble, it was her job to act.
So.
So she was going to Richard Keane’s house.
Having decided and having felt it was the right decision, she dried herself off (she had walked out of the shower without even touching a towel and had been trailing water around the apartment ever since), got dressed and went.
Even Richard Keane’s driveway made her feel small.
The houses in this section of town couldn’t accurately be called houses. They were estates. Most of the homes—mansions, really—couldn’t even be seen from the road. The driveways were a quarter of a mile apart and curved off into the dark to somewhere.
Richard Keane’s, like many others, was blocked by a gate. It was iron and moored to a stone pillar on each side. There was a little metal box on the left with a button on it, and a speaker beside it.
Ashe turned off the car, got out, took a breath, walked up to the metal box and pressed the button.
Nothing happened. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to press it like a buzzer or talk into it. She decided to do both, holding the button down and speaking into it.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
She waited a minute and did it again. Nothing. She took another breath and imagined what Haiku would do in an emergency to give herself confidence.
“I know that something is going on in there. I don’t know what but I think that whatever it is, it probably seems very strange to you. I don’t think I can drive my car through this gate, but I’m about to try, and if I can’t, I’m just going to call the police and I’m sure they’ll find a way in.”
She waited, blood hammering in her temples just from having made such a threat.
About seven seconds later, the gate opened.
The house—the mansion—was dark. Not a light in any window.
The front door was open.
Ashe hesitated in front of it. She debated calling in first. No, Haiku would walk right in. She walked right in.
There was a wide, long foyer, dark like the rest of the house but the moonlight reflecting off of the floor was enough to see. It was a full moon. She hadn’t noticed until just then.
On the right wall was the head of a moose, mounted on a large wooden plaque. It was enormous. It was hard to believe such a huge thing could exist. But she’d seen them on the news and she supposed that it was real and that’s what they looked like up close. On the left wall was another large wooden plaque, but that one was empty.
She passed though into a larger room, a sort of cross between an anteroom and a living room.
It looked like a truck had been driven through it.
The path of destruction went right down the center and she followed it with her eyes to its source. It went through the room to a hall at one end, down the hall, through another room (maybe a kitchen) and to the back doors. The doors had been torn from their hinges and the door jamb was ripped and splintered.
She followed the path back—broken furniture, broken lamps and vases, even the rug torn up as if something had dug into it as it passed—to a wide staircase at the right of the room. The path continued up it; the wall beside it was bashed in. Like something heavy had slammed into in as it took the turn.
Against the wall, on the other side of the room, was a couch. Sitting on it was a man.
He was in shadow; the gaping hole of the rear doors and the windows let in much moonlight, but the couch was position just so that it was not in any direct light. An orange ember burned in front of his face. He was puffing on a cigar.
“Who are you,” he said. It was hard to tell but he didn’t even seem to be looking at her.
“I’m—” She thought about giving her name then thought better of it. “A friend of mine was coming here to see you. Then I didn’t hear from her. So I came.”
It’s a good thing you couldn’t think of anything stupider to say.
“Oh.” He looked at her. She could tell because the tip of the cigar turned towards her. “Are any other strange women going to show up at my house tonight? I could have made drinks.” He took a sip of something. Ashe could hear the ice tinkling in the glass.
“What happened?”
“I thought you were going to tell me that.”
“No, I... when I said that, I only meant... I don’t know anything about all of this.”
“A bear did it.” He grinned at her. His teeth were white in the dark. “Upstairs, too. You should see the third floor. It was incredible.”
“Where did it go?”
“Where did it go. That’s a good question. After I shot it—”
“You shot her?“
He narrowed his eyes at her strange choice of words.
“With a tranquilizer gun.” He indicated a long dark object on the table.
Relief flooded through her.
“Where is she?”
“Where is it? Is that what you meant to say?” His eyes glimmered. The both of them were in their own worlds, both of which were a bit separate from reality because of the things happening around them, and they looked at each other and recognized that but it did not ease the tension.
“Yes.”
“That’s a very good question. There should be a sleeping bear up on the third floor. Instead there’s a sleeping woman.” He tapped the cigar ash onto the floor. “Your friend?”
“Yes. Can I see her?”
“No.”
“Please? I need to see her.”
“No.” He stood up. “Not until someone tells me what... the hell... is going on here.”
“Ok. Ok.” She was small again. She’d tried to do the other thing and it had worked for a minute but now she was small again. “You won’t believe me, but, you got a new animal for your zoo recently, right? Like this week? A lion?”
“Why yes, yes I did.”
“She wants it. It belongs to her.”
He looked at her for a long time in the dark.
“The wild lion, which I took off of the savanna, about nine thousand miles away, belongs to her.”
“Yes.”
“And she came here, naked, in the middle of the night, while a bear was attacking the house, to get it back. And she expected to walk right out the front door and onto the street with an animal that weighs more than all three of of us combined.”
“Yes.”
“Are you a writer? You should be a writer.”
“It’s her sister,” Ashe blurted out.
“Well as long as it’s her sister, there’s no problem.” But then his face changed. It fell, and for a moment it looked like the cigar would drop out of it.
Then he looked at the stairs and an odd expression began to grow across his face. It lit up. A manic intensity filled his eyes and he began to smile in a way that made Ashe nervous.
“Her sister,” he said again.
“Yes. I told you you wouldn’t believe me, but whether you do or not doesn’t matter because when she wakes up—”
“Her sister.” He swung the manic eyes at Ashe and his face was full of a childlike glee. “It’s her. It’s her.”
Ok, maybe he does believe you.
He pulled something out of his belt. It was black and solid and heavy. A gun. Not a tranquilizer gun.
At the same time, a wave of intense drowsiness overcame Ashe. She staggered, her legs almost folding beneath her, and then it was gone.
Haiku?
There was no answer, but Ashe felt she was there.
“She’s waking up.”
“She’s tied up,” he said, offhandedly. He was only half listening. He was staring at the stairs.
“I don’t think that matters.” She approached him. “You need to let the lion go. Or I can, even. Just give me the keys.”
“Be quiet.” He cocked his head, listening.
A sound had began to build, somewhere above them. It was low and deep as it started. It was formless at first, like the bass from a stereo playing from a distance.
It grew, gained form, and became a growl.
The windows seemed to shake. Across the room, some small glass object on a shelf did shake. It reverberated through the house as if coming from within the walls.
“That’s not a bear,” he said softly. His tone was curious.
“What is that?”
“Shh.” He pointed the weapon at the stairs.
Haiku? Can you hear me? He has a gun.
The response came, but not as any human word. It was not even a sound.
It was a sensory twitch, and the closest Ashe could come to putting it into human terms was that it was like a butcher’s knife cutting through a fresh steak.
“You need to get out of here,” she whispered.
“I think you’re confused about which of us is holding a gun. Also, about whose house this is.”
“You don’t understand. She’s not herself right now. She’s not thinking like a person. We need to hide you someplace she can’t get into. In something made of metal.” She looked around, frantic. “The fridge. We can put you in it and tip it over, and that’ll stop her for long enough to calm down and then we can just take the lion and go.”
The growl grew. It was closer now, on the second floor. It was hard to tell what direction it was coming from.
Then... silence. No steps above them, no boards creaking, nothing.
The silence seemed very loud, to Ashe.
“Please. You need to go right now.” She took his arm to pull him towards the back door.
“Sit. Down.” He put a hand on her face—like palming a basketball—and shoved her, hard.
She flew back on her heels, pinwheeling her arms. The couch caught her behind the knees and she fell backwards and bounced off it, her shoulder slamming into the coffee table as she went down.
There was a flash of movement at the top of the stairs—then it was gone. Richard aimed at it.
Ashe’s shoulder throbbed with the kind of numbness that said it was going to hurt very much tomorrow. She hardly noticed. She struggled to her feet.
They were going to kill each other.
She looked around, looking for anything she could use, and saw the tranquilizer gun. It was on the table, right next to her leg.
She grabbed it and brought it up, never having shot a gun, not knowing whether there was a safety or something to switch or if it was loaded or what exactly would happen when she pulled the trigger, but she put it against her shoulder and it felt natural. Richard was only a few feet away and half of that distance was covered by the barrel of the gun. She pulled the trigger as he turned.
The dart hit him right in the neck.
He staggered back, his eyes going wide as dinner plates, and pulled it out, too late—it had done its job and deposited its drugs, almost directly into his bloodstream.
The gun came up and he pointed it at her. It swayed back and forth in the air.
“You just killed the both of us,” he said, staggering back against the wall.
“No.”
He kept the gun on her as he slid down but didn’t fire. He sat down against the wall, then fell over on his side in the shadows.
She bent and checked his pulse. Alive.
Haiku! I stopped him! It’s ok, you can—
There was a streak of movement at the top of the stairs. Orange and black stripes in a blur through the air.
A tigress. Larger than life.
It hit the stairs halfway down and pivoted on massive paws and launched itself across the room, one rear paw digging a hole into the wall as it pushed off, flying through the air towards them, it’s teeth bared and its mouth open and a roaring with a sound that seemed to tear the air.
It landed in front of her, its front claws tearing into the carpet, shaking the entire house like anything that weighs 600 pounds, no matter how graceful, will.
Ashe shrieked and fell back.
“No!”
She covered the man with her own body, protecting him. Her arms thin and white as they spread across him in the dark.
The tiger sprang, one paw landing on either side of her, its face stopping inches from hers. Snarling.
“It’s ok,” she said quickly. She forced the words out because the fear of it was trying to lock her up and if she let that happen, it was over. “It’s ok, he’s asleep, see?”
It roared, its mouth drawing back from its teeth, hot breath blowing on her face, with a sound so loud it was like an earthquake inside her head.
Ashe squeezed her eyes shut. She could hear it—Haiku—breathing.
She reached up with one small, shaking hand, her eyes still closed as tight as she could close them, and touched its face.
“Ssh.” Her voice was shaking too, and the sound came out as sh-sh-sh. “Ssh.”
Its fur was rough. She pressed her hand into it and pet it, feeling the shape of the massive head like a blind woman.
Come back to me, she thought. Please come back. It’s ok. It’s over. Come back.
The snarling had stopped but she hadn’t noticed, she wasn’t even listening anymore, and she felt the head get closer to her, and that scared her but she didn’t let that affect her hand while it stroked.
After a time, she felt it draw away from her.
She kept her eyes closed.
When she finally opened them, Haiku was on her hands and knees in front of her, staring at the carpet.
Ashe reached out and pet her head.
The zoo contained pairs and pairs of big cats.
There was a pair of cougars, a pair of leopards, a pair of cheetahs, a pair of jaguars, a pair of mountain lions, a pair of tigers, and, of course, a pair of lions.
Haiku opened the cages one by one. Most of them didn’t try to run out; they stayed where they were, looking at the door curiously. Only one of them, a cougar, charged the door when it was opened. Haiku growled at it and it ran back in, its tail between its legs.
They came to the lion cage and looked in. There was a large male and a medium-sized female. They were the only of the cats that Ashe could tell the difference between the males and females just by looking at them, because of the male’s mane.
Something occurred to her. She cleared her throat.
“That’s a boy cat. In there, with her.”
“Yes it is.”
“Do you think it tried to... you know.”
“Well I hope so. Then I won’t have to give her the sex talk. That’s an awkward talk to have.”
Ashe gaped at her.
Haiku laughed.
“Nothing happened. She looks like a lion but she doesn’t smell like one,” she explained.
“Ooooh.”
Haiku wiped her eyes, shaking her head. “I have a story to tell you when you can speak English again,” she said to the lioness. It was standing at the door, looking at them. It flicked its tail. She opened the door and it walked out and looked up at her.
She slapped it across the face.
It growled.
“That’s for being an idiot,” she said.
Ashe took a step back.
“Maybe you shouldn’t... slap the lions.”
“Come on.”
The pairs and pairs of big cats watched them go. They walked out of the zoo and through the ruined gates and down the cement path that seemed to glow in the dark.
As they passed the house Ashe stopped.
“We should lock him in a room or something,” she said. She was looking at the hole where the back door used to be. “Some of the cats might get in.”
“If he’s kept them well, it won’t matter.”
Ashe sensed that that was the end of that conversation.
They walked around the house towards the car, a redhead and a naked brunette and behind them a lioness, walking slowly and sullenly.