Catfish in the Cradle

by Wile E Young

  I held him out to Vicky. “How long have you been serving me breakfast? Please, just trust me on this one.”

  Vicky looked in my eyes and I stared back with as much grit and honesty as I could muster, hoping, praying that she could see that I was serious.

  The pretty blonde waitress let out a long-suffering sigh. “I can see Sammie Jo’s face. I know you aren’t lying, Grady, but damn if this ain’t all manner of weird.”

  “You have no idea.” I replied deadpan, handing my grandson to her.

  ****

  I drove faster than I should have on the way home. Even if I was in a hurry, I pushed the envelope of the speed limits on the pine-enshrouded back roads. The dust was kicking up something fierce as I flew down the drive to my house.

  The old police cruiser and Otis Porter were waiting for me.

  I didn’t bother slowing down. He had already seen me and there would have been no real purpose to pretending that I wasn’t breaking the law.

  Otis kicked the dirt as I locked the truck. “Could cite you for that speed, Grady.”

  “You never have before,” I replied.

  We shook hands and Otis sighed heavily. “Beau never made it home. Can’t find his truck, it’s like he just vanished.”

  My temper flared. “You think I had something to do with it? Is that why you’re out here, Otis?”

  Otis held up his hands. “Jesus, Grady, I’ve known you since we were in grade school. You don’t have a murderous bone in you unless the Cowboys lose on Sundays. I just wanted to know if you’d seen him.”

  He was suspicious of me; I could tell it from his wide eyes that looked like they were seeing me for the first time. I glanced at the pistol on his hip and wondered if I could snatch it and blow his brains out before he had the chance to react.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  I stood back and apologized to my friend. The migraine had returned, splitting my brain right down the middle. My vision went sideways, and I staggered. Otis caught me easily and patted my back.

  “Whoa man, whoa… what’s wrong?”

  “Migraine…” I managed to gasp out as the Sheriff hauled me into my own home and sat me down in my chair.

  Otis was rummaging around in the kitchen. I could hear the drawers opening up and silverware being flung everywhere. “Where is your damn medicine cabinet?”

  I shook my head and gestured back towards the bedroom “Bathroom.” I gritted my teeth. “Second drawer.”

  My friend headed deeper into the house. I heard him call out faintly, “Where’s Lincoln?”

  I groaned in response, shutting my eyes. The splitting axe in my mind was strong and I felt Otis hands under my head. “Open up, bud.”

  I obeyed, and I felt the dry taste of pills on my tongue and a glass being lifted to my lips. The cool water trickled and carried the pills down my throat.

  I couldn’t tell if the medicine actually helped, but the heavy sense of happiness that had flooded through me was gone replaced by the hot and sweltering knowledge of grief and fear that had become my world.

  “Lincoln is with Vicky.”

  “The waitress?”

  I nodded and explained to Otis exactly why I had brought Lincoln to her. By the end of it, Otis looked pale enough to be a close relative of my grandson.

  “You got booze? I need a drink.”

  I chuckled darkly. “Aren’t you not supposed to drink on the job?”

  “Fuck that, with what you’re telling me I want to retire and leave all this in the rearview. I’m entitled to a damn drink.”

  I licked my lips and smiled. “You aren’t wrong. Booze is above the refrigerator.”

  Otis brought back two glasses and we both nursed singles of bourbon that had been ruminating for a few years. Neither of us said anything as we stared at the ice cubes rattling around inside the glass.

  It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes; I checked my watch and the minute hand had barely ticked past 1:16.

  “You don’t think it’s damn peculiar that the boy grew like he was eating super veggies?”

  Otis didn’t have to point it out to me, but I was more surprised by how my reactions came and went to it. Two days ago I had been ready to strangle him in the crib when I had seen the growth spurt, then that look from those big black eyes and I felt nothing but affection for the boy. Alternating anger and love, a mental war that confused me all to hell. I had always been an assertive man, and wishy-washy people had always been a pet peeve that I had eagerly scorned whenever the subject came up. Couldn’t believe I was acting the same.

  “And I’ve talked to Sheriff Schaefer down in Mooringsport a few times. Hubers pay him a pretty penny to look the other way. he’s never mentioned a Savant Huber.”

  Maybe I had suspected that the man was making it up, but I wasn’t a cop, didn’t have the slightest clue how people came up with aliases or identities other than straight up lying.

  Otis sighed and leaned back in his chair, scratching at his neck and taking another sip of the bourbon. “There was that story from when we were kids about Barnie Huber’s eldest daughter, what was her name… you remember?”

  I had remembered a few Hubers from Otis and me’s grade school, but it had been over forty years and I couldn’t recall the girl he was talking about.

  “Holly Huber, that was her… God, she was a knock out.”

  I nodded in agreement. The memory came back strong: long blonde hair and cut off shorts that had left many a preteen boy drooling.

  “Yeah, yeah I remember her now. God, my imagination ran wild with her when I was kid…”

  Otis clacked his glass against mine and both of us smiled at the memory.

  “Better than a Playboy.” Otis smiled before that grin disappeared and he bottomed out the bourbon. “Well Holly went missing… supposedly met a guy and ran off… sound familiar?”

  I bottomed out my own glass in response. “You think that Savant Huber is her kid?”

  “Maybe. If he isn’t then her disappearing just like…” He didn’t finish and he ran his finger around the inside of the glass. “It’s a helluva coincidence is all that I’m saying.”

  The thought was sobering, and suddenly the warm liquid coursing through me did nothing.

  “I’ve got an alligator to hunt.”

  Otis looked like I had just hit him over the head as he stood up. “You can’t be serious?”

  “It’s a man-eater and there is money involved. You bet your ass I’m serious.”

  Otis transformed from my friend into the grim manifestation of law enforcement that I had spent my life avoiding in the backwoods and bayous. “Grady, something is seriously wrong here, and if you can’t see that then you’re a fucking idiot…”

  My temper flared up. “What do you want me to do Otis? I’m fucking alone! My daughter is dead, my wife is dead, and that boy is all I have left!”

  The tears welled in my eyes. I was desperate, and in my heart I knew that Lincoln was at the center of something terrible, knew that something had been whispering for me to act like nothing was wrong with him.

  Otis never wavered. He let me continue unabated. “I can’t just… I can’t…” Even my excuses rang hollow to my ears.

  A smooth Cajun accent answered me. “Can’t turn your back on your family.”

  Luc was standing in my doorway, his lips drawn into a thin line. “Hello, Sheriff. Good to see you.”

  Otis paled as he saw the resemblance. “You aren’t—”

  “That I am, here to tell you that there’s bad whispers coming out of the river.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  We followed Luc down to the boathouse and the river’s edge.

  “How come you didn’t tell me that a Robichaude was back?” Otis hissed at me.

  “Just found out myself. Why, scared?”

  Otis looked taken aback, his cheeks deepening into a dark red, the ancient shame that he had allowed a lynch mob to escape justice under his watch.

>   “Worried for the bastards who actually did it.”

  My cheeks were hot and still wet. I hadn’t bothered to wipe them. I was embarrassed letting my weakness show… now I was angry. Angry at the world, angry at God, my friends, everything…

  Luc walked out into the shallows, his boots caked with the mud and grime. He gestured for us to follow suit.

  Otis looked at the water and then his sweat-stained uniform. “Shit.”

  I walked out into the water without hesitation, letting the muddy water wash me clean from the damn sentiment and feeling towards anything, transforming me back into the cold bastard that Renee had accused me of being on her death bed.

  My wife had a point. I had written off my daughter easily enough after she had left. I wouldn’t claim any kind who betrayed her father for some lowlife.

  “Alright, Mr. Robichaude, I’m sorry but I’m going to need some explanation about what the fuck this is!” Otis hadn’t moved from his spot on the shore. He eyed the water, no doubt looking for snakes.

  “You want to find your deputy sheriff? He’s out there.” Luc pointed to the middle of the channel with a dead certainty that shriveled up my anger and sent chill bumps racing, suddenly aware of how cold the water was and wanting to back out.

  Otis paled, all embarrassment forgotten and reluctantly began stripping down until his brown slacks were the only thing left. A heart surgery scar and a nest of white hair crisscrossed his chest and a bit of a spare tire that I could relate too wiggled as he waded out to join us, looking like he would rather be doing anything else.

  “Stay close to me, the things that we are about to parley with… well they don’t really take too kindly to us.”

  I shook my head, nearly laughing. “Luc, you’re a good showman for sure but let’s be honest: the whole voodoo thing was just hearsay, your family were just normal folks… you don’t have to play it up for us.”

  Luc’s look stopped me cold as he cracked a cold smile. “You think that, Grady Pope?”

  Otis put a hand on my shoulder to steady himself and I nearly jumped out of my skin at his touch. He looked scared… I had never seen him like this.

  Hell, I hadn’t been this frightened since I had discovered Luc’s family.

  Luc was whispering. Otis and I stood back, chills racing up our spines as something subtle weaved its way through the air.

  Luc produced a small red pouch from the folds of his jacket and loosened the string, though keeping it bound. The cloth came apart and a smattering of dust and things too quick for me to make out tumbled into the river as Luc glared silently at the murk and mud.

  There was a splash off to our right, a wake moving towards us, tell-tale signs of something massive moving under the water.

  “Grady, Sheriff… I need you both to unburden your minds, and for your sake as well as mine, don’t panic.” Luc spoke calmly as his eyes fixed on the water in front of him. His hand twitched even though he tried to hide it.

  “The hell, boy?” Otis spoke incredulously, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, like it was some sort of grand joke that he wasn’t in on.

  “Your mind is going to be struggling to handle what it sees. You’re going to want to run screaming. But I implore you both, stand your ground…”

  Otis splashed forward in the water, striding past me as he fixed his best authority face. “Alright, this mystic shit stops now. I have a missing person, a man-eater, and don’t have time—”

  We never heard the log as it came flying through the air and landed with a hulking splash between Otis and Luc. The Sheriff screamed and fell backwards into the water then flailed, trying to find his feet. I hoisted him up and both of us stared at the massive piece of floating wood. I thought I could see Luc begin to sweat.

  “Please, Sheriff, Grady, be silent and don’t move.”

  Maybe it was the earnestness in his voice or my fear at what was swimming around us, but I bit down hard on my tongue and waited. The cold clamor of terror raced down my spine as I stood waist deep in the river and looked around me.

  Luc said something that I couldn’t make out, and there was a temporary stillness that descended on the world. My breathing was sharp, and I could make out each individual wheeze and chatter of my teeth in the frigid water. The spring sun was blistering, but it did nothing to prevent the chill creeping across my body.

  I could hear Otis’ ragged breathing as he attempted to keep himself in check, probably wondering like I was if the rumors were true about the Robichaudes and their strange proclivities.

  Something brushed against my leg and I stiffened; it was smooth and reminded me of the gelatin desserts that Renee used to make me. I blinked quickly and saw the water roiling and Luc glancing intently around us.

  “Don’t move, Grady!”

  Luc’s voice carried authority, and I kept both eyes riveted forward on him. I heard multiple splashes around me, and each one was like a bullet shooting through my senses. After every muffled splash I flinched until I was practically shaking.

  My instincts were screaming at me to run. I had been around enough large predators to know when I was outclassed… whatever it was behind me could tear us limb from limb. It was just a feeling but one that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was fact.

  The sound of dripping water echoed directly behind me, and beyond my gaze I felt something to my immediate right stand tall out of the water.

  There was something to be said for that feeling of being watched or that someone was standing behind you. Ancient instincts and feelings left over from when caveman huddled around fires and prayed to whatever heathen god would listen that they wouldn’t be the next thing screaming in the dead of night as they choked on their own blood.

  That’s how I felt now with whatever was standing next to me.

  There was an odd sucking noise and then a deep warbling.

  I felt a deep-seated terror fill my soul and I struggled not to run or collapse into the water.

  Luc replied in the same loathsome tongue consonants and grunts combining into something unintelligible. It sounded so wrong coming from a man’s lips, like it should have set his mouth aflame and made his gums bleed.

  The smell hit me like a tidal wave, a powerful musk of primordial strength that made me want to cover my nose to hide the scent, only for it to snake up my nostrils and infect every inch of me. Nausea flooded me, and I tried not to vomit as I struggled to keep my feet planted firmly in the mud under me.

  “Robichaude, what the hell is this? What’s going—” Otis voice wavered to my left, like he had regressed forty years into a child withering under his father’s glare.

  “Quiet!” Luc hissed, and I heard Otis give out a small yelp. I could hear his breathing becoming rapid and I was afraid that his years of pigging out on greasy burgers and chain smoking were about to catch up with him.

  Whatever it was that had stood up from the water leaned close to me. A hot breath hit my face and it smelled like old blood and heavy mud. More croaking speech that Luc returned, and I suddenly felt a grip like iron close around my throat. It was loathsome, like rubber and snakeskin mixed together; I could smell the rot underneath the sharp nails that pinched into my skin.

  I gurgled beneath the grip but kept my eyes firmly shut. Luc spoke fast and the thing holding me answered. Whatever conversation they were having wasn’t pleasant.

  “Grady?” Otis called. He was terrified. Hell I didn’t blame him. “Oh… my… God…”

  I knew before he began screaming that he had turned to look.

  There was a gunshot, and the repulsive hand left my throat in a flash. I kept my eyes facing forward and my feet planted as Luc screamed something that I couldn’t hear over the sound of Otis’s terrified howls, raising a hand and making the sign of the cross through the air. Gurgling roars like drowning lions echoed around me, and I heard Otis’ screaming become a gurgle that faded away just as quick.

  It was over; the echoing splashes and roars fading into the nor
mal birdcalls and distant boat engines.

  Luc panted, wandering over to shake my shoulder. “It’s… okay, Grady.” His voice quivered, and when I looked close I could see the fresh tears that he was trying to hide as he looked helplessly at me. “I told him not to panic.”

  Otis was gone, his spot in the water still calming down from whatever had come up from the river.

  “Where is he…” I managed to grunt out. I wanted to scratch the skin off my neck, I could still feel the awful touch.

  “They’ve taken him down to the Cradle. I…” Luc took a shuddering sigh as he grasped my shoulders. “He didn’t listen.”

  There was a groan that echoed through the water, and the tail end of Chevy pickup suddenly bobbed to the surface in the center of the river.

  I stared with morbid curiosity as I tried to make sense of what my world had become. There was no damn sense, just shit that would have made a braver man lose himself.

  I recognized that truck. It was Beau Caldwell’s. The metal was covered in mud and silt, green algae suckled over the chassis and inside the tire groove. The paint had been scratched by drifting debris, and the cab had flooded.

  I could see the barest outline of a hand behind the glass, a crawdad chewing happily on the bloated extremities.

  “How—” I stammered it out and Luc looked grimly as Beau Caldwell’s swollen face floated past the window, eyeballs rolled up and skin hellishly purple. The crawdads that had found their way into the truck at the bottom of the river snipped at the stringy and rotten strands of his exposed neck.

  The bottom feeders feasted, and I realized that Beau Caldwell had been snapped in two before his head had been ripped off.

  My stomach churned, and I reached out for something to support me and found Luc’s shoulder waiting. My vision was swirling, and darkness spun at the edges.

  Luc’s voice drifted into my ear. “Come on, Grady, I’ll get you fixed up… then we’ll talk.”