Free The Threshold by Marlys Millhiser Page A

girl.”
    “I saw her first in Alta and—”
    “Alta, yes … stinking place. Full of noise and stupid people. Taught school there. Stay away from Alta. Hard on young women. I should know.”
    “But Callie … she’s bugging me so.”
    “Now they’re messing in Alta’s history too? Not with my help they’re not.” Mildred took out her dentures and refused to speak again. The sunken face and faded eyes looked completely mad.
    “Cree, I want to go to Alta and spend the night.” Aletha stood at the door of his condo. She’d come straight from Mildred Heisinger’s.
    “I’m a real sucker for a subtle proposition.” He led her to the table, poured them both a cup of strong coffee. “But there’s an embarrassment of beds here.”
    “I don’t mean to sleep or to … I mean to camp. I’m afraid to go alone, and you’re the only one who knows what’s going on.”
    He slid some papers into a manila folder. “Just what is going on?”
    “I have to warn Callie not to come to Telluride. Or this part of it anyway.”
    “You mean the line. That’s what they used to call these streets of vice.” He took the folder into the bedroom and spoke from there. “I talked to Tracy at the Senate. She wouldn’t open up about the experience you two had until I told her about the vanishing roadblock.” He came back without the folder, put his hands on the table, and leaned over her. “If what she said is true, Callie has already visited the line. You can’t change history.”
    “How do you know? Would you have believed any of this could happen to begin with? That we could even be seeing this … history?” He was massive standing over her like that and she began to doubt the wisdom of all this trust she kept putting in him without thinking it through first. “Do you know who lives across the street from you? Callie’s old teacher. And I mean old.” She slid out of the chair and went to the window to point out Miss Heisinger’s cupola and to get away from him. “I’m sure it’s the Miss Heisinger Callie told me about at the Senate.”
    “Tracy and I have about decided you’re the catalyst that’s making all this happen. There aren’t even any old rumors of such a thing going on before Aletha Kingman came to town. Have to admit I’m curious.”
    “Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you about tonight.” Now that he showed interest in going, she’d almost decided she didn’t want to be up there alone with him. On the other hand, she didn’t want to be up there with no one, either. “I was just excited and I didn’t know what I’d do if I met up with a bear or a ghost or two.” Her laugh sounded thin even to her.
    “I’m no protection against ghosts.” He pulled a couple of rolled sleeping bags off the shelf of the coat closet. “Not a real hotshot when it comes to bears either, but I’m a great camp cook. You choose the menu. Any flavor you want.” Cree separated packets of freeze-dried food from a cardboard box into different piles. Stroganoff, spaghetti and meatballs, pork chops, stew, peas, and more. “Now, this group tastes like glue. This bunch tastes like old tires. And these all taste like kitty litter.” Cree had noticed the thinness in Aletha’s laugh too. “But once the sun goes down and the chill comes up and there’s not a thing to do but eat, even dirty rocks taste good.”
    “We could just sit in the car all night and talk and keep watch.”
    “Anybody who works as hard as you do needs her rest. But first …” He took her by the shoulders and marched her over to one of the couches. He tried not to notice the instant alarm in her eyes at his touch, the smooth little rear which was about cut in half by her jeans. One minute she looked like everybody’s kid sister—vulnerable and luscious—and the next, hard and bitter. He didn’t know much about schizophrenia but her behavior certainly called that word to mind. “I want to know all about this prison business you keep