Beneath Bone Lake

by Colleen Thompson

  Her interest waned as thumps and vocalizations reached her ears, sounds she associated not with saurians but humans. She went still among the lily pads but didn’t withdraw, mostly because she had sometimes known the boatmen to clean their catches on the water and toss the heads and entrails—an easy meal—over the side.

  Even a decade earlier, she might have been frightened off by the increasingly loud noise: the scraping, banging, and the human’s strange grunts. But large as she’d grown, she feared little, so it was not until something heavy flopped awkwardly into the water that she flipped her powerful tail and disappeared into the depths…

  Until she was drawn back a few hours later by the scent of blood seeping from the plastic. Suspecting a trap, such as the one that had shorn off half her rear leg many seasons earlier, she swam away and returned to it several times, until the sweetly enticing scent of decomposing flesh finally lured her back for good.

  At long, long last, Sam was living up—or down, he realized—to the McCoy name. Though he’d fought the stigma of the family reputation all his life, he felt only exultation as he untied the boat from its dock and motored off, grateful to the owner, who’d hidden a spare ignition key so carelessly.

  He’d write a thank-you note from the penitentiary, or—if he got extremely lucky—from whatever foreign clime he chose for his retirement. Somewhere tropical, he thought as he shivered in his sodden clothing. But it was no more than a fantasy, a derelict’s dream of finding a winning lottery ticket in the gutter. Realistically, Sam figured that his days—hell, his hours—as a free man were numbered.

  For one thing, the DEA agents who’d come after him weren’t stupid, nor were any of the other law enforcers who’d be called in to assist in the manhunt. If they’d decided he was involved in meth production and was possibly a murderer, they’d spare no effort to hunt him down.

  Ruby, who was almost certainly in custody, might protest, but they weren’t likely to buy whatever story she concocted. Even with the laptop and the flash drive in hand, it would take days or weeks for law enforcement to unravel all the questions. Days or weeks when Zoe Monroe might have no more than hours.

  So what are you going to do about it? What can you, at this point?

  As a breeze ghosted along the starlit bayou, Sam’s teeth began to chatter. Though a temperature in the low sixties wouldn’t ordinarily pose a problem, his wet clothing, his prior injuries, and the aftermath of his exertion made for an uncomfortable—potentially lethal—combination.

  Which meant that before he considered what, if anything, he could do, he was going to need to find his way to shelter and dry clothing—to help, if he could come up with anyone he might trust. And he was going to have to find it on the water, in the darkness, with a large group of professionals out to bring him in…

  Or maybe they were looking to bring him down instead.

  “Ruby. Ruby, wake up. Please—it’s been hours. Wake up before he comes back.”

  Like newsprint in the rain, the edges of the words blurred. Eventually, emotion bled through. Concern, regret, raw terror. Odors, too, musty, muddy, woodsy. Something like the scent of Paulie’s cabin, except—could that be blood?

  The last of these pulled Ruby closer to the dream-lake’s surface, close enough to finally recognize the voice. With a start, she sucked in a breath—or tried to, then choked on panic before she understood her mouth was taped. Bucking, she jerked forward, pulling taut against whatever held her upright and immobile.

  “Don’t try and fight it,” warned the speaker. “Please don’t fight it. You can breathe through your nose if you calm down. But you can’t let yourself get upset; you’ll clog up and you’ll suffocate.”

  Misty, Ruby realized. It was her sister talking to her, helping her breathe underwater. Ruby allowed herself to drift along with this new current, allowed the air to ebb and flow from her lungs.

  Yet this time, she remained anchored to her body. To the sick throb at her temples and the wrenching ache in her joints. She tried to shift, to curl into a less painful position, yet the bonds pulled at her flesh, uncomfortable, unyielding, and altogether real.

  “He taped you to the chair. Don’t struggle.” Misty slurred her words, sounding tired or drugged or maybe sick. From somewhere more distant, perhaps inside a nearby room, a radio played what sounded like a car dealership commercial.

  Desperate to see her, to assure herself that Misty truly was alive, Ruby tried to open her eyes. But it was dark—pitch-black in this place, or maybe she’d been somehow blinded?

  Or she could be dead. Dead along with Misty: a pair of rotting bodies at the bottom of the lake.

  “Your—your mouth and eyes are both taped. But if…if you tilt your head toward the sound of my voice, if you lean toward me just a little,” Misty whispered, “I may be able to reach the edges of the pieces on your face.”

  Ruby tried as hard as she could, frantic to see, to breathe freely and speak. And needing—yet terrified—to ask about her daughter. She heard Misty straining, heard her whimper, too, as if whatever she was doing was costing her pain.

  “I can’t—I’m just a couple of inches short, but I’ll never reach it this way.” Misty sounded near tears, yet somehow unfocused. “I’m so sorry…you can’t ever know how sorry. This is my fault, all of it. I don’t understand, but oh God, Ruby. I really screwed up.”

  Unwilling to give in, Ruby tested her bonds’ weaknesses and her own strengths. She found little to give her hope. Her fingers moved but her wrists and elbows were taped firmly to the seat back. Her ankles gave a little, more so as she flexed them. With nothing else to do, she continued working them while Misty whispered to her.

  “I gave Dylan a big deposit for materials. He was supposed to come out with a crew and take care of the roof and that other stuff you and I talked about. But he kept making all these excuses, and then he quit returning my calls.”

  Ruby was surprised, but mostly aggravated. She didn’t want that story now, while she was frantic to know about her daughter. Why couldn’t her sister understand that? And why did she sound so off? Had she taken something, or had Best forcibly injected her with whatever he’d used to nail Ruby in the upper arm?

  “I should’ve gone to Paulie or talked to you about it, but instead I tracked down Dylan and cornered him at home. He was screwed up, Rube, way strung out—I haven’t seen him like that ever, not even in his bad old days right after high school.

  “It took me a while, but finally, he broke down and told me he was the driver who hit the little Bradley girl last year.” Misty wept audibly as she continued. “He knew he hurt her real bad, but he panicked and took off in his truck. Afterward, he sat home crying, waiting and waiting for someone to show up and arrest him. But nobody ever came, and that messed with his head even worse.”

  Ruby heard her sister’s compassion, but she didn’t share it. Why hadn’t Misty mentioned Zoe yet? Was she purposely avoiding the subject or too overwhelmed by her own emotions to comprehend that Ruby cared for nothing else now?

  “As the months went by, the guilt got worse,” said Misty. “He couldn’t eat or sleep. That’s when Dylan started with the cocaine, started blowing tons of money on it, neglecting customers. Finally, Holly couldn’t take it anymore. She moved back to her parents’ place in Longview a couple of weeks ago.

  “All I did was try to help him. I swear, that’s all I really wanted. I thought together, we could beat it like I helped him beat it last time. Then he could fix up your house and everything could get back to normal. And you wouldn’t have to know I’d nearly lost your money.”

  Ruby didn’t understand. If this was about Dylan—and her sister’s naive tendency to believe the best of people—how did DeserTek fit in? DeserTek and the flash drive Ruby had so foolishly smuggled out of Iraq.

  “But he was in a lot deeper trouble this time,” Misty said. “These drug people he was wrapped up with found out about the accident somehow, and they were blackmailing him to keep it quiet, e
specially from his dad. They drained Dylan dry and refused to believe him when he told them he was out of money. And they were going to hurt him—maybe even go after Holly—if he didn’t come up with it. But it was never enough, Ruby. No matter what I gave him, they always wanted more.”

  Finally able to reach the floor with her feet, Ruby used them to scoot herself closer to her sister. Pain flared with even that small movement, but she gritted her teeth and fought past it.

  “Yes, that’s it,” whispered Misty. “That’s it, just a little—careful. Don’t tip over. If you fall, he’ll hear us—and if he does, it’s over. As horrible—as awful as it was with Coffin, this guy’s so much—when you look into his eyes, there’s nothing in them, nothing human.”

  Ruby’s flesh crawled with a fevered chill, for she knew without a doubt that Misty had to mean Best. Recalling the horror of their phone calls, the nightmare of what he’d done to Elysse, she wanted to scream at her sister, Where is he?

  Was he in the room with the radio, where Ruby heard the muffled sounds of what sounded like a baseball game? Was he in there with Zoe, doing something to her? At the thought, Ruby’s eyes burned behind the tape, and her nose grew stuffy. As breathing grew more difficult, she used her feet to scoot a little closer.

  “There. Right there.” Misty’s words were followed by more straining sounds and breathy sobs of pain.

  Ruby’s heart bumped went she felt the first touch, when she felt a pulling near her mouth. The pressure hurt; the damned tape must be wound around the back of her head, but at last, Misty must have found an end, an end she started working to peel away.

  Don’t cry, Ruby ordered herself, since already, she felt suffocated. No matter how much it hurts, you can’t afford to cry.

  The tape proved stubborn, coming away in tiny increments. But at last, just as bright warnings flashed across the black field of her vision, the corner of her mouth was freed, allowing her to suck in the most welcome breath she’d ever taken.

  “Zoe,” she attempted to say, but for all her urgency, the name came out indistinct and muffled.

  But judging from Misty’s sharp inhalation, she must have understood Ruby’s meaning nonetheless.

  “Zoe’s right here,” she said, “locked in the next room. I saw her a little while ago. He brought her to me with a basin of water and a cloth to let us wash a little. You’ll be proud, Ruby. Proud of how she’s holding up.”

  Ruby silently thanked God that her daughter lived and was nearby. Still, it seemed intolerably cruel to be so close to her yet absolutely helpless to go to her, to hold her, or get her to a place of safety. Once more, she struggled against her bonds, as if her will alone could break them.

  “Shh, be still,” Misty warned her. “I’m getting there, a little at a time. If he comes out, though, if he sees what I’ve done…” Anxiety tightened her voice.

  As more tape came away from her mouth, Ruby managed, “He hurt Zoe?”

  “Her arm’s sore. That bastard Coffin twisted it, trying to make me—but physically, she’s not in bad shape. Scared, mostly.”

  Locked up and terrified, and crying for a mother who couldn’t come to get her. What would that do to a child’s psyche? Ruby worked her stiff jaw, a thousand questions squirming in her brain.

  “I almost have it,” Misty whispered, “but you have to promise to be very quiet. He’s only in the second bedroom. He took something from your pocket and shut himself in there with a computer.”

  He had the flash drive, Ruby realized, heart jumping inside her chest. She didn’t know which scared her more, the thought of what he’d do if he believed somehow he had the right one, or how he would retaliate once he learned he didn’t.

  The last of the tape pulled away from her mouth, so suddenly that some of her hair came with it. Ruby bit her tongue to keep from shrieking.

  “Sorry,” Misty said, lightly stroking Ruby’s cheek with her fingertips. “But if you can stand it, I’ll work on your eyes, too. It’d go a lot faster, if I had both hands.”

  “You’re taped, too?”

  “Chained to this bed frame, wrist and ankle. Or what’s left of ‘em anyway.”

  “What do you mean, Misty? Did they hurt you?” Ruby asked, worried by what she heard in her sister’s voice.

  “Doesn’t matter right now. Except—the skin, where it was broken…there’s a pretty bad infection, from where I tried to work myself free.”

  Ruby felt the movement of her sister’s fingers, the careful search for the end of the tape covering her eyes. Thinking of Best, so nearby with the flash drive, she struggled to imagine some scenario where this would come out all right. Maybe he’d decide he’d gotten what he’d been paid to get, then leave them. Soon after, perhaps the DEA or some deputies or she didn’t care who would burst onto the scene to save them. Or maybe they’d come early, arrest or, better yet, shoot Best full of more holes than a bombing range.

  But when Ruby came to a fantasy where Sam smashed down the door, her breath hitched painfully. For instinct told her that he hadn’t risked so much, given up his future, only to get cold feet and bail out—that when he’d climbed onto the porch roof of a burning house, when he’d come after her at Dylan’s, when he’d eased the horror of the situation by making love to her, he’d shown her the real man behind the reputation, the man who’d already screwed up his life once to help someone in need.

  The man she’d miss forever, because this time, she was sure he’d died helping. Had been murdered by Hobson Best to keep him from interfering in the man’s plans to abduct her. Trapped behind the mask of tape, she shook, her hot tears burning, and she prayed, prayed with everything left in her, that his ending had at least come swiftly, that Best had been too distracted to make Sam suffer, too hurried to carve him up as he had Elysse.

  Loosened by the moisture, the tape pulled more easily from her eyes. She blinked, trying to clear them, and struggled to focus on the face of the sister she’d thought dead.

  At first, she saw nothing but a silhouette, a dim shape backlit by the cheap fluorescent lighting from what appeared to be a nearby kitchen. She had a vague impression of old paneling and an ugly mustard-and-brown-striped sofa shoved back in a corner, but her attention remained fixed on Misty, sitting on a wrought-iron bed of some sort. Misty, whose image slowly cleared.

  Ruby gaped to see her looking nothing like the sleek, blonde beauty she had left a year before. Though she struggled not to react emotionally, there was no stopping the flow of tears at the sight of her younger sister’s bruised face, tangled hair, and thin frame, swimming within the remnants of torn clothing. Misty’s gaze slid away, and Ruby was hammered with the brutal suspicion that powerless to stop it, her sister might have been raped.

  “Oh, Misty.”

  “Let me tell you, sister,” she said around a pained smile, “you don’t exactly look like Miss America yourself right now.”

  Flippancy. A good sign. “Yeah, well, as soon as we get out of here, I’ll be sure to schedule us a day spa package,” Ruby promised. “Ultramega makeovers all the way.”

  Misty looked away again, then whispered, “They made me get your money, Ruby. Coffin and his girlfriend, Jackie, and their scuzzy friends took Zoe from me, wouldn’t let me see her until I brought the—”

  “I don’t give a damn about the money, Misty. I don’t care about a thing you did to stay alive and keep my daughter safe,” Ruby said, though anger roared inside her at the news that Jackie had been more involved than she’d admitted. She hoped the bitch had stuck herself deep when she’d fallen on that knife at Paulie’s.

  Using her feet, Ruby concentrated on scooting closer to her sister.

  “But I—” Misty started before she recognized what Ruby was doing. Straining toward Ruby’s bound wrist, she whispered, “It hurts for me to reach down, but just…a little…bit more…”

  Both sisters’ heads jerked toward a sound and the rattling of the doorknob of the nearest closed door. Before Ruby could react, a muffled voic
e called, “Aunt Misty, who ya talking to? Has my mom come to get us yet?”

  Eyes flaring, Ruby sucked in a breath to call out to her daughter, but Misty clapped a hand over her sister’s mouth and darted a nervous glance toward a closed door on the opposite end of the room. Light seeped from around its edges, a sign the man inside was very much awake.

  “If you’ll go to sleep like a good girl,” Misty told the child as tears leaked from Ruby’s eyes, “I think your mom might come tomorrow.”

  “But I want to go home now,” Zoe whined. “I want my own bed and my own—”

  “Quiet, Zoe, or he’ll hear you.” After a warning glance at Ruby, Misty dropped her hand and resumed speaking to the child. “Just go to sleep and you can have some good dreams. I’m counting on you to tell me about them in the morning. Tell me all about the kittens.”

  “I’m dreaming about hamburgers tonight,” Zoe said. “And macaroni and chicken and peas and mashed potatoes. Every kind of good food.”

  “Mmm,” said Misty. “You’re making me too hungry. Off to bed now, sweetie. Hugs and kisses.”

  “Hugs and kisses,” came the small and sleepy-sounding voice.

  Ruby’s focus hung on her daughter’s words, on the fact that she was miserable and hungry, trapped, and, worst of all, only a few feet away yet so far out of reach. And a rage boiled up inside Ruby, a murderous fury that made her want to punish everyone responsible. Including herself for sitting here, completely helpless.

  As emotion threatened to consume her, she pictured herself locking her heart inside a chest, then pushing it into the lake’s depths. Later, when things were settled, she could dive down and retrieve it. She would weep for hours then, over Sam, Elysse, and the terrifying ordeal her child and her sister had gone through. But for now, Ruby understood her strength was needed, her determination. And a courage that she did not feel but must somehow scrape together.

  “I’m sorry,” Misty whispered, lowering her voice further. “But if she hears you, there’ll be no controlling her—and no saving her, either.”