The Water Keeper

by Charles Martin

  “Because finding people is what I do.”

  “Whatever happened to Marie?”

  I was quiet a minute. Shook my head.

  She pressed me. “What happened?”

  “She died.”

  Ellie swallowed. Summer held back a sob.

  I tried to return us to the moment. “I know it’s hard and that I’m asking you to be older than you are, but I think I have some experience with Key West. I know that convent. Least I think I’ve seen it. Hang in there a few more days. I’ll take you there. We’ll go together.”

  Disbelief drained down her face. “Why would you do that?”

  “Whoever put that ring in this envelope is trying to send you a message—” Just then, my phone rang. Colorado. I answered, “Hey.”

  “Your girl is awake. Asking for you.”

  “Where’d they take her?”

  “ICU. Same hospital.”

  I was about to hang up when I looked at Ellie. I turned, speaking quietly. “Hey . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  I asked him, “Do you know something I don’t? Something about me?” He heard my question in the tone of my voice. I’d seldom used it with him.

  “I know a lot you don’t.”

  “I’m asking you something specific. If you knew it, it’d come to mind.”

  “What I hear in my confessional stays there.”

  “You’re gonna pull that with me? After all we’ve—”

  “Doctors say she’s going to need a few months to recover, but she will. The Narcan you injected probably saved her life.”

  Water lapped against the hull of the boat. For some reason, all I could think of in that moment was Angel. I could hear the clock ticking. “I’ll be in touch.”

  I hung up and turned to Ellie. She was staring at the ring and shaking her head. “What message?”

  I knew her world was crumbling and I didn’t know how to answer. “Stay. A few days. A week maybe. We’ll go together. Maybe we can figure it out. Then if you like, I’ll put you on a plane. Deal?”

  She took her time considering this, finally nodding. Quietly, she folded the letter and sat on the back bench. Alone. Turning the ring on her finger. Staring at it with each turn. It occurred to me that it might be the first piece of real jewelry she ever owned.

  Chapter 30

  Gunner heard us coming and charged out of the hospital room, his nails scratching the polished floor. He tackled me in the hall. The strength of his excited licking and tail-wagging told me he desperately wanted out of that hospital. Clay was sitting up when I walked in. Whatever they’d given him had worked. He looked ten years younger. He stood up. “If you’re waiting on me, you’re backing up.”

  I sat next to him. “How you feeling?”

  “Better. I’m good. You?”

  “I need a few minutes, but collect your stuff. We’ll be on the water in an hour.”

  “I like the sound of that.” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk with you when you get a second.”

  “Is it urgent?”

  “It can wait.”

  Summer and I exited the elevator on the ICU floor, and I showed my clergy credentials to the nurse. She read them and showed us to the girl’s room. A deputy stood guard. The doctor was leaving when we walked up. I told him who I was, and he briefed me on her condition, which was stable but still bad. She’d either ingested, injected, or been given some form of opioid and then a fatal dose of hallucinogenic drugs. He ended by saying, “Nobody takes that recipe or that amount unless they want to check out. Hence—” He glanced at the deputy. He rubbed his hands together. “Although there is a chance someone else gave it to her.”

  The room was dim. Lit only by screens and little blue, green, and red lights. An IV had been inserted into each arm. Her pulse was slow but steady, and while low, her pressure was stable. Her eyes were heavy. When we came in, her head turned and her right hand flipped over, inviting mine.

  I sat, rested my hand in hers, and said, “My name’s Murphy. Most folks call me Murph.”

  Her eyes closed lazily and then opened. She slurred her words. “Pleased to meet you.” She swallowed. Another long blink. “Casey.”

  “How you feeling?”

  “Alive.”

  “You remember anything?”

  She shook her head once. Then she spotted Summer and the Jerusalem cross hanging at the base of her neck. She considered it. Tried to shake off the fog. “I had . . . My temperature was getting high. Really high. Somebody put me in a tub and filled it with ice.” She shook her head. “Packed me in ice. Armpits. Everywhere. A girl. When I came to, she was gone . . . I made it to the shower.”

  “You remember her name?”

  “Never met her.”

  I held up my phone, showing her Angel’s picture. “This her?”

  She nodded. She looked up at Summer. “She yours?”

  Summer nodded.

  Casey reached for Summer. “When you find her . . .” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Hug her for me.”

  Summer kissed Casey on the forehead.

  Casey spoke without looking at me. “The men were . . .” She turned her head farther. The shame fell like a shadow. “One after another. I lost count. Weeks.” She swallowed. “Then they injected me . . .” She looked up at me. “Is my life over?”

  This right here was what the men spit out. The residue. When they were finished, this was what was left over. My anger roared. Countless times I’d knelt by similar bedsides and been asked similar questions. I shook my head. “I think you’re only just beginning.”

  “Feels over.”

  “You have any family?”

  “No.”

  “You up for a little travel?”

  She nodded. “Anywhere but here.”

  “I’m going to talk to these doctors, and when you get well enough to travel, I’m going to request they release you into my custody. Or at least, some folks who work with me. They’re going to come get you and fly you on a private plane to Colorado, where they’ll nurse you back to health, give you a place to live, and get you in school. You’ll meet other girls like you.”

  “Total losers—”

  I laughed. “Don’t kid yourself. We all lose our way. Sometimes it just takes somebody else to find us and bring us back. Remind us.”

  She laughed. “Of what?”

  I leaned in close and spoke slowly so my words would register. “That we were made to want and give love. That no matter how dark the night, midnight will pass. No darkness, no matter how dark, can hold back the second hand. Whether you like it or not, whether you want it or not, whether you hope it or not, whether you build a wall around your soul and cut out your eyes, wait a few hours and the sun will crack the skyline and the darkness will roll back like a scroll.”

  The tears drained. “This place . . . is it really real?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you be there?”

  “I’ll come check on you.”

  “You promise?”

  “I do. But first I have to go find someone.”

  She glanced at the cross. Then back at me. She was shaking her head. “They won’t let her leave.”

  “I know.”

  “They’re saving her. Taking bids. Her and a couple others. An online auction. They take pictures of her. Some when she’s passed out. Then they post them. Bids get higher. They’re bad men. Guns and . . .”

  I nodded. “Any idea where they’re going?”

  “They’re hush-hush. But I heard them say Cuba. They’re excited because they’re getting a lot of money for her and they don’t want to end the auction.” She squeezed my hand. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  “Shhh.” I stood. “Breathe in. Then breathe out. Then”—I smiled—“do it again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. You’ll like Colorado this time of year.”

  She stared at the window. “I’ve never flown on a plane.”

  “Well, this will ruin you for ordinary travel, but it�
��s a great way to start.”

  She was crying now. A fetal ball. Sobbing silently. Holding it in. Summer sat and cradled her. For a moment, Casey wouldn’t let it out, but after it built and she couldn’t hold it anymore, it burst forth. I’d heard the same noises before, which made it all the more painful. The deputy poked his head in, but when he saw what was happening, he nodded, backed out, and stood guard.

  I knelt next to her bed, my face inches from hers. When she opened her eyes, she was looking beyond me. Into the past. All the ugly stuff. The memories the darkness painted. She tried to make the words, but they wouldn’t come. Finally, she whispered, “Who will ever love me after . . . ?” She motioned to herself.

  I cradled her hand in mine. Waited until her eyes locked on mine. “Right now there is a man walking this earth who can’t wait to meet you. He’s been waiting his whole life.”

  She chuckled. “I thought I was the one on drugs.”

  “When he meets you, his heart will flutter. His palms will sweat. He’ll think somebody stuffed a bag of cotton in his mouth. He won’t know what to say, but he’ll want to.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s how we’re made.”

  “You’ve seen this?”

  “I’ve married these people.”

  “Are you a priest?”

  I shifted my head from side to side. Paused. Then nodded once. “I’m also a priest.”

  “But—”

  “Love is an amazing thing. It takes the brokenness, the scars, the pain, the darkness, everything, and makes it all new.”

  “You’ve really seen this?”

  “I’ve lived this. Known it. Know it.”

  “And all this is in Colorado?”

  “Yes.” I considered my next question carefully. “You like to read?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, I’m going to send you some books. Something to pass the time. Mostly they’re just check-your-brain-at-the-door romance novels, but they’re entertaining. They might fill your hope bucket and maybe we can talk about them next time I see you.”

  She nodded. Wanting to believe me but afraid nonetheless. When I turned to leave, she wouldn’t let go of my hand.

  Walking down the hall, I pressed Redial on my phone.

  He answered. “She said yes.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “And she’s never flown, so—”

  “We’ll roll out the carpet.”

  “And she likes to read.”

  “You asked her that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You having second thoughts?”

  “Just send her some books, will you?”

  “You got a favorite in mind?”

  “You know better.”

  “I know.” He paused. “The trail on Angel is cold. I got nothing.”

  I turned so Summer couldn’t hear me. “I know. I’m thinking they’ll fuel up once more around Miami, maybe take on more girls, then head to Key West and disappear.”

  “They know by now. That phone in the tree was put there by somebody who knows what he’s doing. This is not his first time.”

  I was about to hang up when I had a thought. “Hey, one more thing.”

  He waited.

  “See what you can dig up about a Sisters of Mercy convent. Somewhere in South Florida. Probably Key West.”

  “Probably a story there.”

  “Not sure. That’s where you come in.”

  I hung up and pressed the button for the elevator. Standing there, afraid to look at Summer for fear that she’d read my face, I felt her slide her hand in mine. She inched closer, her body touching mine. She said nothing.

  Which said a lot.

  Riding down the elevator, I knew I needed to speak. I stared at the numbers above us. “We need to get south. Quickly. Things are . . . I can’t—”

  She pressed her finger to my lips. “I’m not afraid.”

  The numbers decreased by one. When I spoke, it was only to myself, and she couldn’t hear me.

  “I am.”

  Chapter 31

  Four thousand rpm’s felt good. Gone Fiction glided across the top of the water at thirty-one mph. Clay reclined in the beanbag, his feet propped on the front casting deck. Gunner gave his best Titanic impression, hovering over the bow. The wind tugging on and flapping his ears. His tongue wagging in rhythm with his tail.

  Summer sat alongside me on the helm seat. She was never far, closing the physical distance between us with each new day. I knew that some percentage of her clinging to me had something to do with the very real possibility that she might never see her daughter again. And with each day that passed, it grew more real. Her proximity to me was a self-protective thing—she wanted something or someone to hold on to if there was no one else.

  Ellie sat with her knees tucked up into her chest on the back bench, staring east, mindlessly spinning the ring on her finger. She hadn’t eaten much breakfast or lunch. Fingers’ orange box rested above me, tied into the T-top. Staring down on all of us. Probably laughing. The thought of spreading my friend’s ashes on the water where we first met seemed a long way away.

  Truth was, we were in a bad way. Trouble piled on top of trouble.

  When Bones and I opened the town, we knew we needed a secluded fortress. Drug-addicted women who have been emotionally, physically, and sexually abused need a safe space to unwind all the knots the evil has tied. Getting free is tough enough without looking over your shoulder.

  So we built it in a secure place: a deserted town. Literally. What had once flourished in the late 1800s with schools and churches and shops and kids playing games in the streets became a ghost town when the silver ran out. Situated in a high alpine valley, it’s one of the more beautiful places I’ve ever been. And given newer technology and better roads, it’s now accessible while also hidden. The altitude takes some getting used to when you’re two miles above sea level, but acclimation doesn’t take long. Most folks who live around there have no idea we exist. We like it that way.

  To guard us, Bones brought in some ex-Delta guys and SEALs and guys retired from Los Angeles SWAT. We let them live rent-free. Educate their kids for free. Free health care. And pay them to stand guard. Which they do. Rather zealously. Not only that, but most are still on some sort of active duty, which requires them to stay current in their training. And because the mountains around us are some of the toughest anywhere, they bring in their military friends and conduct their mountain and cold-weather urban training all around us. Sometimes they even let me play along. We share stories at twelve thousand feet.

  While Bones plays the happy-go-lucky grandpa everyone loves to love, he walks those mountains morning and night, and there isn’t a footprint or broken twig that gets past him. These are his sheep.

  For lack of anything more creative, we used to just call it The Town. But somewhere in our first year of operation, one of the girls said something to change all that. She’d had a rough go. Through no fault of her own, she was taken from her home and sold as a sex slave. For two years she was traded around. Suffered horrors untold. To medicate, she took anything she could get her hands on, numbing the pain of the present and past and future.

  Took us a while to find her. When we did, we airlifted her there. She stayed in ICU for two months. Bones took her under his wing, which I thought was amazing when we learned what she had endured. The fact that she would ever get within arm’s length of another man surprised me. But Bones is like that. Everybody’s grandfather. Or the grandfather they never had. Four years into her stay here, she’d graduated college—with a nursing degree no less—and taken a job in our hospital. Working with the girls. Nursing them back to life. She’d met a guy. Bones liked him. They’d set a date. She’d asked Bones to walk her down the aisle.

  During the early years of The Town, many of the girls wanted to climb to the top of the mountain, which leveled out just above fourteen thousand feet. Problem was, most of them were in such bad shape or they’d be
en beaten so badly that they were months from being physically able to make the trek. So Bones and I bought a chairlift and had it installed. All the way to the top. It sits four across. We also built a cabin. Roaring fireplace. Espresso machine. We called it the Eagle’s Nest.

  A few weeks before her wedding, this girl and her fiancé and Bones and I had ridden to the top and were sitting on the porch, sipping coffee, looking out across a view that spanned seventy to a hundred miles in most every direction. And as we sat up there, she started shaking her head. She said, “There was a moment in my life when I was lying in the darkness, a different man every hour, on the hour, day after day after week after month, and I felt my soul leave. Just checked out of me. Because to live inside me was too painful. I let it go because I couldn’t understand how anyone, much less me, would ever want to live inside me. Too filthy. Too . . .” She trailed off, just shaking her head.

  Finally, she turned and looked at us. “Then you kicked down the door. Lifted me up and carried me. Here. And slowly, I learned to breathe again. To wake up and see daylight. And what I found with every day was that something in me stirred. Something I hadn’t known in a long time. Something I thought was long since dead. And that was my hope. Hope that somebody, someday, would see me. Just a girl. Wanting love and willing to give it—to give all of me. I had this hope that somebody would accept me without holding my past against me. Without seeing me as stained. As the horror. As something you just throw away. But somehow . . .”

  She sank her hand into the snow resting on the railing. “Like this.” For several minutes she just cried in the arms of her fiancé. But it was what she said last that changed the name. Looking from Bones to me, she said, “I never thought I’d walk down an aisle in white. How could I ever deserve that? Not when . . . And yet, I am. I don’t really understand it, but somehow, in some impossible way, love reached down inside me, took out all the old and dirty—the scars and the stains that no soap anywhere would ever wash out. And love didn’t just clean me but made me new. And maybe the craziest part of that is how I see me.”