The only way back to America is through the village of Siempre. I hate the thought of treading there – Diablo shot me there, remember? I really want to avoid the bastard at all costs.
The only way to Siempre, is through the mountain, Juan points out.
I have to climb it. ‘No cable car, Juan? Fuck!’
‘Language!’ Enfermera chides.
The mountain’s daunting, eerie and I’m scared. I’ve never climbed one before, so I guess I’ll have to learn as I go. But I don’t mind too much because … I can’t mind. Hell, I’d move it if it meant getting out this place and back to clean drinking water, coffee, shampoo, my iPod, the internet and other such essentials.
Armed with just a map I sketched myself and two bottles of murky water, I start to climb the ominous mountain. Barefoot. My shoes didn’t survive my murder.
Throughout my climb, I worry about plunging to my death. Since I’m desperate to get back to the US, I heed the words of Deepak Chopra, ‘If you really want it, nothing will stop you.’ (Or was it Beyonce? Amy Winehouse? Whoever the fuck said it.)
Don’t look down. Don’t look behind.
Just one more step, Payton.
One more step. One more step. One … more …motherfucking step!
At night, the temperature in the mountain plummets and I’m freezing my ass off. I wrap my arms tightly around my wiry body and curse myself for venturing into Mexico. Why didn’t I go somewhere safe for a holiday? Like Iraq. Why didn’t I just stay in the warm, comfortable tepee with Juan and Enfermera and their pickled animal parts? Why didn’t I just stay and become a witchdoctor myself? That way I’d be the one dispensing opium. The thought of that gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling.
So what if they had sex (at their age) while I slept a few feet away? Why the fuck didn’t I steal a stash of opium for the trip?
Well, in spite of the precarious climb, I’m still alive. Maybe, it’s because I’m young, strong, an athlete. I can outrun and outswim just about everybody I know and I have medals to prove it.
Did my father nurture those talents in me? Nope. He was too busy diapering and burping the former soap actress he married.
It’s light, so I resume climbing and after a couple hours I see the top of the mountain. Tears spring to my eyes. If only I had a flag.
Now, all I gotta make sure is that I don’t run into Diablo or his hombres. I hide in the bushes and peer across the fields. When I see no signs of them, I venture out.
I limp all the way to the village and finally, I arrive emotional and exhausted, but extremely happy.
At first, the village kids scream in terror at the sight of me and back away.
‘Jesus Christ!’ one of the older kids say as they back away.
‘No! No!’ I cry. Damn! I shouldn’t have worn this long white dress.
“¡Es un fantasma!”
‘No, I’m not a ghost. Please!’I hadn’t anticipated this. Now I worry they will drive a stake or something through my heart. ‘It’s really me,’ I explain. ‘I didn’t die.’
A ghost that talks – that ought to reassure them.
‘Where’s Austin?’ I ask. They stare with eyes popping out of their skulls. ‘Austin, tall …um … henpecked …?’
‘Payton?’ A familiar voice whispers my name.
I spin around and look into Austin’s beautiful face. ‘Austin! Ohmigod Austin!’ He’s alive. My love is alive and living here. I fling myself into his arms.
‘Payton … am I dreaming?’ he whispers and hugs me.
‘No,’ I blubber, ‘it’s me Austin, I’m alive. I made it. I made it.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ he chants softly as he squeezes me to him. His arms around me feel wonderful and familiar and I want to stay in them forever. He holds me away to look at me, then hugs me, then holds me away and finally, he just holds me to him while the villagers clutch their children and stare.
I briefly tell him about how I survived my murder.
‘My family …?’
‘They’re here,’ he says as if in a trance.
‘Oh thank God!’
‘Come, let me take you to them.’
I see my dad first. ‘Payton?’ My dad slowly removes his glasses. ‘Can’t be,’ he mutters as he rubs his eyes.
‘Dad …Dad … It’s me Dad,’ I whisper and throw my arms around him.
Elaine and Paris are tearing. So is Austin. My dad isn’t crying and that bothers me. Maybe he’s in shock. I am so happy to see them all. I laugh and cry all at once.
‘God, you’re stick-insect thin,’ Paris says, her lips curling with an admixture of envy and admiration.
‘Vegetable gruel for three months,’ I say, clutching the front of my dress and shaking it. ‘Try it. You’ll puke, but you’ll be stick-insect too. Hey, that reminds me – got any steak?’
Jack, Austin’s good friend and business partner, a former native of Siempre, divides his time between Los Angeles and Mexico these days. He immediately arranges a steak the size of Siempre for me.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Do you have any butter? I really need grease now.’
The steak drenched with homemade butter is delicious but almost immediately, it makes me gag. Disappointing.
With an enigmatic smile, Paris walks over and takes my hand. ‘Got something to show you,’ she says, her eyes gleaming.
‘What? My steak …’
She ignores my protests and leads me to what appears to be a gravesite.
‘This is a cemetery Paris. What the fuck?’
‘Look,’ she says and points to a wooden cross.
I peer at the name on the cross and balk.
Payton Wagner
1977 -1999
RIP
‘Omigod! That’s …that’s me!’
She nods slowly, wriggling both eyebrows. ‘It sure is.’
‘Fuck Paris! You look so goddamn happy showing me this. And you call me psycho?’
‘Schizo,’ she corrects. ‘But sometimes, psycho too.’
‘Mmm.’ Same ol’ Paris. ‘My birth date is incorrect, you know. I was born in 1978.’
Paris squints at the cross. ‘Really? That’s funny, cos your dad wrote it.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yep. What a loser. You’d think he will remember the birth date of their only child, huh?’
I stare at her as her words sink in. She’s right. What can I say?
Time to change the subject. ‘So Diablo, he’s like, taken over the village then?’
‘Yep. We expected him to kill us too, but he didn’t. Says he’ll kill us all if we ever harbour a spy again.’
‘A spy? Again? He’s still going on about that shit?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I wasn’t a spy.’
‘He thinks you were.’
I shake my head. ‘Imagine, I was murdered because of a case of mistaken identity. Fuck!’
‘We had the pleasure of meeting his family too. His psycho mother Christa and his slutty sister, Santana. Evil bitches from hell.'