Kitabı oku: «The Reckoning», sayfa 2
Chapter Three
Alex poured herself a cup of coffee and carried it and decaffeinated tea for Sarah over to the breakfast nook table. The drugs had kicked in, so Sarah appeared less hysterical and more focused than she had been earlier, which was a relief to Alex. She needed Sarah’s mind sharp if they were going to find Erika, especially as the police were tapped out on avenues of investigation.
“How are you feeling?” Alex asked, studying her cousin’s face. Some of the color had returned, eliminating the ghostlike look she’d worn earlier. The skin around her eyes was puffy and red from crying, but that was hardly unexpected.
“I’m as good as I’m getting for now.”
“Do you want anything to eat?”
“No. My stomach couldn’t handle it.”
“Okay, but don’t go too long without having something … even dry toast.”
Sarah looked up and gave her a small smile. “Yes, mom.”
Alex slid into the chair across from Sarah and pulled a small pad of paper out of her purse to take notes, then changed her mind and reached for her recorder. “Do you mind if I tape this? I want to make sure I get everything.”
“That’s fine,” Sarah said and looked at her, a guilty expression on her face. “I’m sorry for not telling you Holt was back in town.”
“I was bound to hear about it sooner or later,” Alex said, trying to sound as casual as possible.
“I guess. I’d hoped that he’d figure out what he was doing next and be gone before you crossed paths.”
“Well, it’s happened and no one shouted or cried. It’s been ten years, and we’ve both moved on with our lives, but I appreciate your concern.”
“We’re cousins. Looking out for each other is what we do, right?”
Alex reached across the small table and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Absolutely. Have you told your mother?”
“No. She’s not … good. Not since Dad died.”
“I’ll call the nurse’s aide tomorrow and talk to her about your mom’s care. Let’s keep this between us for now.” Sarah’s mother had been in a nursing home for several years battling lung cancer, but ever since the death of her husband she’d seemed to give up entirely.
“Are you ready to talk?”
Sarah nodded and Alex slipped a blank tape into the recorder and turned it on. “Start with what you told me earlier, so I can get it on tape, okay?”
Her cousin recounted the details she’d provided earlier with Alex interrupting to clarify names and times. When she was done, Alex said, “When you called me, you said the witch took Erika. What did you mean?”
Sarah stared blankly over Alex’s shoulder and out the window. “You know what I meant.”
Alex felt a trickle of fear run up her spine. “That stuff about the witch was all a story. You know … something parents made up to keep us kids from playing in the swamp.”
“Was it, really?” Sarah locked her gaze on Alex. “Do you know that for certain? You saw the same thing on that island as I did. Are you going to deny that?”
A chill passed over Alex and she crossed her arms and leaned on the table. “I’m not denying what we saw, nor that it scared the life out of me. But the police never found any proof that the woman who lived there took those kids.”
“The witch that lived there,” Sarah corrected. “The police didn’t want to believe.”
“Believe what?” Alex blew out a breath. “That a witch on an island in a swamp kidnapped children and used them as sacrifices in a voodoo ritual? Of course, they didn’t want to believe something like that, but it wouldn’t stop them from investigating. There was never any evidence that those kids had been on the island.”
“The evidence was burned in the ceremony. You know something about the old ways, Alex, even if your current life has you locked into science. You know the swamps of Mystere Parish are full of people who practice black arts and have for hundreds of years.”
Alex threw up her hands. “Even if it were all true, what makes you think Erika is on the island?”
“Because.” Sarah rose from the table and walked into the kitchen. She climbed onto a step stool to open a cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out something in a brown paper bag. “I found this in her room, hidden under her bed.”
She opened the bag and pulled out a doll with blond hair and blue eyes and placed it on the table. The blood rushed to Alex’s head and she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself as a wave of dizziness washed over her.
It couldn’t be. Not after all this time.
“Where did she get this?” she asked, struggling to maintain a calm tone.
“Not in any store, that’s for sure. I looked it up online. That doll hasn’t been manufactured in over thirty years.”
“Did you ask her?”
“Of course I asked. After I had a heart attack and then managed to regain control. She said she found it in the backyard at the edge of the swamp, but she was lying.”
Alex stared. “How do you know?”
Sarah shrugged. “She’s my kid. I know when she’s lying. I pushed the issue, but she stuck to her story.”
“Have you told her about … I mean warned her in a way she could understand?”
“I told her an old, evil woman lived in the swamp and that it wasn’t safe for little girls to go into the swamp without an adult. She’s always stayed away before. I checked all her shoes and her rubber boots, but there was no sign she’d been in the swamp or tried to wash away the evidence.”
Alex’s mind raced, trying to absorb everything Sarah said … trying to make sense of all of it. “When did you find the doll?”
“Three days ago.” Sarah slumped back into her chair. “And then there was the crow.”
“What crow?”
“It was on the clothesline outside Erika’s bedroom window every morning for the last week when I went in to wake her. I closed the blinds and went outside to shoo it away, but every morning, it was right back in place.”
Sarah shivered. “Last night, I heard a noise out back. I looked out the kitchen window and could make out the outline of the crow just sitting there. Like it was watching her, even though the blinds were closed.” She looked straight at Alex. “You know it’s an omen.”
“No.” Alex shook her head. “I don’t know any such thing.”
“What about those birds that fell from the sky last week? It was all over the news. Hundreds of them, Alex, lying everywhere in Mystere Parish.”
“There are theories—”
Sarah waved a hand, cutting her off. “I know all about the theories, and I know what Sam LeBlanc down at Animal Control told me—that the vet couldn’t find anything wrong with any of the birds he autopsied. They’re lying so they don’t cause a panic.”
“They just haven’t figured out the reason, yet,” Alex said, forbidding her mind to wander into Sarah’s realm of thinking.
“We have to go out there,” Sarah whispered.
“No!”
“Why not?” Sarah challenged. “If there’s really no danger, as you suggest, then what’s the harm?”
“Because the swamp contains all sorts of dangers that aren’t mystical. You know that as well as anyone. Don’t play stupid now. I won’t listen to it.”
“So you think an alligator or two should keep me from looking for my baby?”
Alex took one look at the determined look on Sarah’s face and knew she’d never win this argument. “You can’t just go tromping around the swamp without a plan. Neither one of us owns a boat, and we haven’t fired a weapon since we were kids. We’re not equipped for this.”
“So we rent a boat, and I know plenty of people who’d loan us rifles. It’s not like you forget how to use one altogether, you know.”
“No. We went to that island twenty years ago. I don’t even know if we could find it, and even if we did, we could be arrested for being there.” A thought flashed through her mind and as hard as she tried to shut it down, it was the only thing that made sense.
“What?” Sarah asked. “You have that look like you thought of something. I’m desperate. I’ll do anything to get my baby back.”
Alex nodded, her mind made up. “We don’t have the authority or the equipment to get to the island, but I know someone who does.”
“Holt?” Sarah shook her head. “His uncle will never let him do that … not for me.”
Alex clicked off the recorder and stuffed it in her purse along with her notebook. “So I’ll ask him to do it for me.”
Sarah bit her lower lip, but a tiny bit of hope flickered in her eyes. “What if he says no?”
“He won’t say no.” Alex rose from the table and bent over to kiss Sarah’s cheek. “He owes me.”
HOLT WAS JUST CLOSING UP his office at the sheriff’s department when Alex strode in the front door. He took one look at the determined look on her face and knew he was in for it. He’d seen that look many times before, and it always ended with Alex getting her way or getting angry. Given the situation between Sarah and his uncle, he didn’t see how this was going to end well for him at all.
“I need to speak to you,” she said, her voice clipped and professional. She glanced over at the dispatcher, then back at him. “Alone.”
He opened the office door and waved her inside. “Did you learn anything more from Sarah?”
“Yes, but you’re not going to like it.” She recounted Sarah’s story about the doll and the crow.
Holt leaned back in his chair, trying to ignore the overwhelming feeling that he was on shaky ground. Sarah’s fears were outrageous, but what didn’t compute was why Alex had brought them to him.
“You can’t possibly think that a six-year-old managed to find that island, steal a doll and get back home without her mother noticing she was missing.”
“No, but I also don’t think she ordered a thirty-year-old doll off eBay and paid for it with animal crackers, either. What if someone left the doll for her to find? What if someone gave it to her? All I know is what Sarah told me. Everything started happening after Erika brought the doll into the house.”
“You know I don’t believe in that stuff,” he said finally, but even then, that niggle of doubt had already started in the back of his mind. “Maybe when we were kids it seemed plausible, but I thought we’d grown up.”
“We have, and normally, I would try to diminish or redirect someone’s thoughts away from this line of thinking, but Sarah’s child is missing. No amount of logic or scientific explanation or even calling her childish is going to talk her out of this. Either you lock Sarah up to keep her out of the swamp, or someone is going to have to check that island for Erika.”
“Someone?” He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not going out there.”
“You scared?”
Holt bristled and sat upright in the chair. “Hardly. But that island is private property and I have no grounds for a warrant and even less for trespassing.”
“It’s not trespassing if you go to ask questions, is it? You don’t even know if the woman is still there. She wasn’t young when we were kids. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe the island is empty. Regardless, you have every right to walk up there and ask anyone you find if they’ve seen a missing little girl.”
Holt searched his mind for an argument, but he couldn’t latch onto one. Not a legal one, anyway.
“Of course,” Alex continued, “if you’re concerned that your uncle won’t approve, I could always hire a guide and go myself. I’m sure I can find someone at the docks who’s willing to take me out there.”
“No! You’re not traipsing around that swamp with some underemployed fisherman looking to make a quick buck.”
Alex leaned forward in her chair. “You lost the right to have any input in my life a long time ago. Either you do this with me, or I do it with someone else. Rest assured, I’m going into that swamp to look for Erika, if for no other reason than to put Sarah’s mind at ease.”
Holt held in a string of cuss words that would only hack Alex off and wouldn’t make him feel any better about the situation, anyway. He knew he was fighting a losing battle.
Something had happened to Alex and Sarah many years ago in that swamp—something they refused to tell Holt about, but something that scared them so badly it had changed them permanently. If Sarah thought there was any risk of Erika encountering the same thing they had—whatever that was—he knew nothing short of death or arrest would keep her out of the swamp.
“Fine,” he said, “but I’m not going into that swamp at night and neither are you. That’s not up for discussion, regardless of what rights I lost.”
She rose from her chair. “I have no problem with waiting until daylight.”
“Six, then. At the dock.”
“I’ll bring coffee.” She gave him a single nod and walked out of the sheriff’s office.
I’ll bring the questions. If ever Holt was going to get an answer to what had happened in that swamp years ago, it would be now, when it might affect his ability to find Erika. And you could bet he was going to ask.
Through the plate-glass window, Holt watched Alex drive away and for the second time that day felt as if he’d been hit by a truck. Managing an entire day alone with Alex, without wanting her, was going to be impossible. He’d known that as soon as he’d seen her walk into Sarah’s house. And he had no idea what excuse he was going to give his uncle for requisitioning the sheriff department’s airboat and cruising around the swamp all day.
But he was going to have to think of something.
He didn’t think for one minute that a witch on an island in the swamp had taken Erika, but he didn’t quite believe Bobby had, either. That left him in a quandary, and Holt didn’t like unanswered questions. This situation was full of them.
Reaching into the desk drawer, he pulled out his uncle’s whiskey bottle and poured himself a shot. He wasn’t about to admit to Alex that Sarah’s story had unnerved him just a bit. He’d have liked to blame his upbringing—a superstitious, overprotective mother and an absentee father—but it was more than that. During his time overseas with the military, he’d been special ops, and he’d spent some time in places the military wasn’t technically supposed to be.
He’d seen a lot of things he couldn’t explain. So many that he stopped dismissing ideas just because they didn’t compute in a traditional way, the way he had when he’d been a boy in Vodoun. Maybe Erika had found the doll somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be and that was why she lied, but it was far more likely that a stranger had given Erika the doll. Sarah, being a good parent, would have cautioned Erika not to talk to strangers, much less take something from them, which was why the girl would have lied.
None of that explained who had given a thirty-year-old doll to a little girl, where Erika or Bobby were, the mysterious staring crow or the birds falling from the sky. Except coincidence.
And Holt hated coincidence even more than he did unanswered questions.
Chapter Four
Alex pulled up to the dock at five minutes till six, already nervous about the day before it even started. The local weatherman had reported a disturbance in the Gulf of Mexico that was due to hit Vodoun that evening. The sky was already gray and overcast and made everything seem even grimmer.
Holt stood on the dock talking to one of the local fishermen, and Alex couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in ragged jeans, a black T-shirt and steel-toe boots. Time certainly hadn’t erased his sex appeal, and that frightened her.
But not as much as their destination.
Twenty years ago, Alex had promised herself she’d never set foot in the swamp again, and all these years she’d kept that promise. Erika and Sarah were the only reason she was going there now.
Let’s get this over with.
She climbed out of the car and reached back inside for the two coffees in the center console. The fisherman was still talking to Holt, who gave her a nod as she approached. When the fisherman saw her, he wrapped up his conversation and headed to his boat.
“I hope that’s strong and black,” Holt said.
Alex handed him one of the cups. “Is there another kind?”
“Not in my book.” Holt took a sip of the coffee. “You ready?”
She sat her coffee down on the pier. “Yeah. Let me grab my things.”
She hurried to her car and pulled her backpack from the passenger’s seat. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed back to the dock.
Holt looked down the bayou, then back at her feet. “This is going to be rough. I’m glad you wore good boots.”
“Just because I live in the city doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what the bayou’s like,” Alex said.
She placed her backpack on the pier and removed a nine-millimeter from the side pocket. She checked the clip for the third time that morning, then slipped the gun back into the pocket, zipping it tight.
“I don’t remember nines when we were kids,” Holt commented. “Or is that something you picked up in the big city?”
“Actually, it belongs to Ms. Maude. I paid her a visit last night after I got Sarah to sleep.”
“Ms. Maude? The crazy old cat lady on Miller Lane?”
“No. Ms. Maude, who likes cats, whose father was a Precision Military Weapons Specialist and who happens to have a target gallery in her barn.”
“That explains a lot,” Holt said, “especially about her single status.”
“So what you’re saying is that Ms. Maude might have married if all the men in Vodoun weren’t a bunch of wimps?”
“I think it’s safer if I don’t say anything else at all.” He took another drink of his coffee and glanced down at her mug, which was still sitting on the dock.
She placed her backpack in the boat and scooped up her coffee. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “I’d kill people for less.”
Holt sighed and untied the airboat from the dock. “I don’t know how far I’ll make it on one cup of coffee.”
Alex stepped into the airboat. “There might be a full thermos in my backpack, but you’re going to have to earn it.”
Holt pushed the boat from the dock and jumped in with a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He leaned over, preparing to kiss her.
Alex put one hand on his chest to stop him. “Not like that.”
“That used to be the way I earned things.”
“The price has increased. Inflation, you know?”
He raised one eyebrow. “I guess that’s what happens when things age.”
Before Alex could retort, he started the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat. Alex turned around and looked over the bow of the boat as Holt took off from the dock. She waved at a couple of fishermen as they made their way up the channel from the dock. At the end of the channel, where the fisherman turned left to the open waters of the lake, Holt turned right into the narrow bayous and inlets that led deeper into the swamp.
Holt slowed as they progressed through the tiny channels, the edges of the airboat sometimes scraping the bank on both sides. It was denser than Alex remembered. Moss clung to almost every branch of the cypress trees that created a canopy over the bayou. The deeper into the swamp they went, the more dim the light became until it seemed almost as if twilight had come, even though it wasn’t yet seven a.m.
The darkness seemed to set upon her like a wet blanket, weighing her down and making breathing more difficult. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it slowly out. She’d known that coming here again would affect her, but she’d underestimated by how much. She’d spent a lot of years in New Orleans concentrating on her education and then her practice. And even more years trying to put the swamps of Mystere Parish out of her mind. Apparently, it had been wasted time. It seemed that for every hundred yards they moved deeper into the swamp, she could feel her heartbeat kick up just a bit.
Alex glanced back at Holt and the grim look on his face didn’t help calm her at all. For more reasons than one, he probably regretted agreeing to do this. If he hadn’t known how absolutely bull-headed Sarah could be, Alex knew, he wouldn’t have agreed at all. But checking it out himself was preferable to forming a search party to look for Sarah, who would walk on hot coals to save her daughter.
Holt cut off the engine and Alex looked back at him. “Is something wrong?”
He pulled a cane pole from the bottom of the boat and began to push the boat down the channel. “We’re almost there. I didn’t figure I should announce our approach with a turbine, even though the sound has probably carried for miles.”
Alex nodded as the smell of mud and rotting foliage hit her. The blanket of decaying water lilies was the only indication of the water beneath, and the brush from the bank met the water’s edge, giving the appearance of a solid surface of brown and yellow. The sunlight was almost gone completely, leaving them to push farther into the darkness.
As they rounded a corner, Holt pointed to a dilapidated pier, almost hidden behind cattails and marsh grass. Alex gripped her seat with both hands trying to slow her racing heart.
The dolls.
She thought she’d prepared herself for coming to the island again, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. The dolls had always littered the island, attached to every tree branch and post—some of them just resting on the ground. Some said the witch woman placed the dolls there to attract the children she sacrificed. Some said the dolls had been blessed and placed there by the villagers, hoping to imprison the witch in the swamp forever.
Alex didn’t know the truth and doubted anyone else did, either. What she did know is that the dolls scared the hell out of her. Sitting, dangling … in various states of rot and decay. Torn dresses and pants. Some missing parts. But all of them with one thing in common—the eyes were intact.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes, watching them as they drew closer to the bank.
Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes. Each one following their every movement.
Alex drew in a ragged breath and slowly blew it out. She had to focus. Finding Erika was her only priority. All her fears and thoughts of the past could wait until she was locked safely inside her townhome back in New Orleans.
Without a doll in sight.
Holt guided the boat to the side of the pier until it made contact with the bank. At one time, there had been a path from this pier to the old woman’s cabin, but Alex could barely make out a trail now. Clearly, no one passed this way often.
“Are you ready?” Holt asked when the boat rested against the bank.
Alex nodded, unable to trust her voice at the moment. She rose from her seat, lifting her backpack as she went. She walked to the front of the boat, ready to step onto the bank, then stopped cold.
On the lowest branch of a cypress tree directly in front of her sat a blond doll in a blue dress, just like the doll Sarah had found in Erika’s room. Just like the doll she’d never wanted to see again. But unlike the doll Erika had, this doll was old and weathered, the blue dress hanging in tatters on the pale body. The blond hair matted and twisted around the doll’s body.
And this doll’s eyes were closed.
Alex felt her pulse racing in her temples. She took another deep breath and before she could change her mind, stepped onto the bank. The instant her foot made contact with the ground, the doll’s eyes flew open.
“Oh!” Alex choked back a cry and stepped back, bumping into Holt who had moved to the front of the boat, just behind her.
Holt caught her by the shoulders, steadying her before she lost her balance in the rocking boat. The doll stared at her, its bright blue eyes seeming to look straight through her and into her soul.
“What’s wrong?” Holt asked, his voice low.
“The doll. It opened its eyes when I stepped on the bank.”
She looked back at him, certain of the incredulous look she’d find on his face, but instead, he stared intently at the doll.
“It was probably just vibration from your step. When I docked the boat the eyes loosened a bit, and your footstep was the final shake it took for them to open.”
His words made complete sense, but Alex got the impression that even Holt wasn’t quite buying his explanation. He just didn’t have a better one.
“Let’s get this over with,” Alex said and stepped onto the bank, deliberately looking past the doll. But as she walked past the cypress tree, she could feel its eyes upon her.
Holt stepped out of the boat, pausing only long enough to pull his pistol from the waistband of his jeans, then stepped in front of her. “Stay close. If you see or hear anything odd, grab the back of my shirt but don’t talk. Okay?”
Alex nodded and fell in step behind him as he pushed deeper into the dense undergrowth. The light diminished gradually until it had all but vanished and a thin mist rose from the mossy ground. Despite the cool fall temperature, a sheen of sweat formed quickly on her brow, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. The humidity was high today because of the approaching storm. Damp leaves from the dense foliage brushed against her bare arms, making her flinch. She pushed spiderwebs out of her way as they passed, but could still feel the remnants tickling her bare skin.
The air seemed thicker, the swamp completely devoid of the noises one would expect to hear. The sound of hers and Holt’s footsteps crunching dead marsh grass echoed in the still air. Alex peered around Holt’s shoulder, trying to make out a path or structure, but all she saw was more swamp.
All of a sudden, Holt stopped short and she bumped into his back. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
He reached up and moved a sheet of moss from his field of vision and scanned the swamp from left to right. Finally, he shook his head. “I thought I saw something move, but I might have been mistaken.”
“There should be something moving out here, right? I mean, should it be this still?”
Holt’s grim expression let her know that he’d also noticed the quiet and didn’t like it any more than she did. “Maybe it’s because of the storm moving in.”
“I thought it wasn’t going to start until this evening.”
“Maybe it’s moving faster than the weathermen reported. The marsh creatures know better than humans what’s going on with the weather. Likely, it’s coming in sooner than they think, which means we need to find the woman and get out of here before the bottom drops out.”
Alex nodded, the thought of being stranded on Doll Island in a raging thunderstorm sending her heart fluttering all over again. “Do you have any idea which way to go?”
“It looks like the brush clears a little about twenty yards just south of us. We’ll go that way then reassess. I have to tell you, if we don’t find a path soon that looks like someone’s used it in the last century, I’m not going to venture much farther in this swamp. It would be foolish.”
“But Erika—”
“I’m sure Sarah doesn’t want or expect you to put yourself in danger, not even for her daughter. We don’t do Sarah or Erika any good dead, and there’s far more dangerous things in this swamp than a bunch of creepy dolls and an old woman.”
“Fine,” Alex said, knowing he was right but hating it at the same time. Granted, odds were against their finding any sign of Erika on the island for so many reasons, but if they returned so quickly with nothing, Sarah would be upset.
Holt pushed the brush to the side and headed south. Alex followed him about twenty yards when he stopped again and pointed to a barely discernable trail that ran back in the direction of the dock and, opposite of that, deeper into the swamp.
“It’s not well traveled,” Holt said.
“Given the growth rate of swamp foliage, how long do you think it’s been since someone used it?”
“I don’t know. A month, maybe two.”
“But there could also be another trail that is being used on a regular basis.”
“Could be. Or it could be that this trail was made by thrill seekers and the old woman is long dead. But we’re not going to figure that out standing here.” He pointed down the trail that led deep into the swamp. “I think you should take out your gun. Just to be safe.”
Alex swallowed and pulled the pistol from the pocket of her backpack. Holt gave her a single nod and strode forward into the darkness.
The sounds of their progress through the swamp seemed to echo in a vacuum of silence. Alex pushed a branch out of her way and collected a spider on the back of her hand for the effort. She shook her hand to fling the spider back out into the swamp, then rubbed her hand on her jeans, certain she could still feel the creature crawling on her hand.
Holt constantly scanned the swamp as they walked, up and down and in every direction. Threats this deep in the bayou were numerous and could come from the ground or from above and all of them deadly. It felt as if they’d been working for hours, but Alex knew it had been only minutes since they’d left the boat.
She knew coming here had been a long shot—a nonshot, really—but she found her spirits waning the deeper they pushed into the swamp. Even if Erika had been here, how could they possibly find a clue in all this?
Just as she was about to call the whole thing off, Holt stopped and turned to her, one finger over his lips. She froze and looked in the direction he pointed to the left of the trail. Just past a thick grouping of cypress trees, she could barely make out the outline of a roof.
Alex nodded, understanding that Holt wanted to make their approach as quiet as possible. He exited the path, cutting straight through the swamp toward the cabin. Slowly and stealthily, they crept closer and closer until they reached the tree line that marked the tiny clearing that the cabin rested in.
Holt lifted his pistol and pointed to hers. Alex removed the safety and clutched the gun with both hands. If she had to shoot, she wanted to make sure it was a steady shot. Holt slipped from behind the wall of cypress trees and hurried over to the wall of the cabin. He pressed his body against the wall, listening for any noise inside, then motioned for her to join him.
