Cypress Nights

by Stella Cameron

  Bleu retched. The explosive bumps in her chest sapped her strength. All she could make were gurgling noises. The trees seemed to suck her in and close her off from safety.

  The steel-armed person punched the middle of her back.

  She threw up around the gag. Her head, shoved forward while the cloth was loosened, stopped her from choking to death.

  The instant she took a clear breath, he gagged her again.

  Her arms wouldn’t work. They had no strength. She couldn’t stand.

  He jerked her upright and cuffed her across the side of the head.

  She heard voices. People coming out of Pappy’s. Were they looking for her?

  “No one out here,” someone yelled.

  The voices went away.

  Bleu shook, couldn’t stop shaking. She didn’t try to see who was behind her. He wouldn’t let her anyway but if she could identify him she would have no hope of getting out of this alive.

  The pressure of the arm around her chest slackened.

  Before she could try to move, a dark, rough bag shot down over her head and upper body. Wrapped tight, she heard the distinctive sound of tape ripping from a roll, and felt that tape whipping around the outside of the bag to trap her inside.

  She was going to die.

  Chapter 37

  A short time later the same night

  “Those folks out there pretty much take care of their own problems.” Spike couldn’t remember the last time one of the bayou settlements had come to him for help.

  “Bill Pelieu, it was who phoned,” Rose said. He stood, straight-backed in the doorway to Spike’s office. Rose was still sorting out just how close he wanted to get to his boss.

  “Good guy,” Spike said. “Did he say exactly when it happened?”

  “He’s not sure. Reckons they don’t use that boat often. It’s old and they keep it for emergencies. But it’s his and he doesn’t like it that someone else decided to clean things up for him. That’s the way he put it.”

  A pirogue had gone missing from behind Pelieu’s house. He and his friends had searched for it but had come up empty-handed.

  “Damn.” Weary, Spike shoved back his chair and stood up. “This has to be seen to. I won’t have those good people being picked on when someone decides I’m too busy with other things to do anything.”

  He was too busy with other things, but he’d deal with the problem just the same. “Do you know how to get out there and take a complaint?”

  The horrified expression on Rose’s young face said it all. Rose was new to the area. He came from Texas.

  “Of course you don’t,” Spike said, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll go myself. It’s time I showed myself out there again.”

  Rose coughed. “If I could be spared to come with you, I’d know how to get there next time.”

  “You’ve got it.” Spike grinned and made for the coffee pot. “Call Pelieu back and tell him I’ll be out in the mornin’, first thing.”

  “Will do.”

  The phone rang as the door closed behind Rose.

  “Devol,” Spike said into the receiver.

  “Roche here. I’m out at Pappy’s for the fund-raiser. Bleu’s gone.”

  “What d’you mean, gone?” He didn’t need the coffee anymore.

  “Disappeared. As far as any of us can tell, she’s not on the premises. We haven’t found any sign of her in the parking lots, and we’re going through the surrounding areas. Spike, I think someone’s got her.”

  The desperation in Roche’s words matched the way Spike felt. “I’ll put out a call for help, and we’ll be right there.” Dear God, don’t let Bleu turn up dead.

  “Someone already tried to get at her, remember?” Roche said. “They think if they can get rid of her, everything will stop with the school. We’ve got to talk about that—once we get Bleu back.”

  “Sure. Do you think what I think? It doesn’t ring true that someone’s so obsessed about the school, they’ll kill to stop the project.”

  “I can’t talk about killing now. But yeah, that’s what I think.”

  Spike tried to measure his response. “They intend to take down as many as they have to.” He’d never been much of a diplomat.

  Chapter 38

  A little later the same night

  “Will I be all right?” she said. “No one will know I did anything wrong?”

  Justice snatched up her panties and bunched them over her mouth. “I told you not to talk. I hate a woman to talk when I’m busy. Say another word and you’ll be swallowing these.”

  Little wonder that no one had a clue what was happening. He, Justice, ran them around, confusing them more with every move he made.

  He kept his hand where it was and held her against a wall in the closet. “You’re going to like this,” he said. More important, he was going to get what he needed: she would do what he wanted, when he wanted. Everything must come together quickly now.

  She’d happily taken off her own underwear when he’d told her to. “You follow orders really well.” He considered how he wanted this to happen. He didn’t have much time, so it had to be fast.

  But he also had to be satisfied.

  He grabbed first one, then the other of her wrists and trapped them in manacles hanging by chains from the low ceiling.

  She started to shriek.

  “Shut your fucking mouth,” he said, pushing his face into hers.

  Everything but her underpants was still on her body. He hauled her skirt above her waist. Too bad he had to do so much of this by feel.

  She felt just fine. But he couldn’t locate what he wanted to use quickly enough.

  He laughed aloud. He was slipping. From its sheath against his side, he removed the Italian knife. He gave himself a second to think, to make a decision. Then he reconsidered.

  Still laughing, he plunged the handle of the knife between her thighs and inside her.

  The chains rattled, she threw herself back and forth, her knees hitting at him as if she were a dancing marionette. Gasps of breath jolted from her. Why didn’t she try to scream and shout again? Why didn’t she beg?

  If she thought he’d stop because she didn’t beg him to, she was wrong.

  Three more times he sunk the knife handle into her.

  She jigged and puffing sounds came from her throat.

  Time to use the part of his knife he loved the most. He withdrew it and felt her sag.

  He flicked out the blade, pulled the neck of her top away from her body and positioned the knife inside. Swiftly, expertly, in one swift slash, he slit her clothes open until they fell away. He sheathed the knife and felt her.

  Big breasts. That’s the way he liked them. Her destroyed bra still hung from her shoulders. That was a picture he could see and like in his mind.

  He had a pole stiff enough to do pull-ups with.

  Pinching, squeezing, he pushed her breasts together.

  She was panting again.

  Women were so predictable; this kind played the game of “nice” when they were as raunchy as they came.

  Pursing his mouth, he drew hard on one breast, sucked, knowing how he would mark her. She swung, shoving herself harder into his face.

  If he had fifteen more minutes, he was lucky.

  The zipper on his pants opened loudly, and he pulled himself out. Once he started, he gave her a little piece of news with each thrust.

  “You made a big mistake.”

  Using only his penis, he lifted her from the floor.

  “You tried to make deals with me.”

  He didn’t give her feet a chance to settle on the floor again.

  “You’re sorry now.”

  This time the chains jumped.

  “Listen closely.”

  He was getting too close, and he hadn’t finished talking. Pulling out didn’t make him happy.

  “I’m getting everything I want. No one will get in my way. Don’t try. Give me what I want, when I want it.”

  One more sl
am and he came. He clutched at handfuls of her torn clothing for balance, but he wasn’t like other men. He recovered almost instantly.

  “It’s too bad there’s another potential problem to get rid of. Someone was careless. Was it you?” He shoved his face into hers. “We both know it was. You didn’t think I’d find out we’ve got a crazy lady who knows too much, did you? You should know me better.”

  “No one would believe her—”

  “Shut up. She won’t be left around to tell inconvenient tales—you’ll help take care of that for us.”

  When she was out of the manacles, he said, “Don’t do anything stupid. And be ready when I come for you.”

  Chapter 39

  After midnight

  Streams of light shot behind Bleu’s eyelids. If she opened them, the bag sent more scratchy dust into her eyes.

  She smelled wet earth, mold, rotting leaves. What felt like pipes dug into her back.

  When she drew in air, crazy little sounds bounced from her throat. She shook so violently, she bit into the sodden gag. Only forcing her mind to be still, empty, let her breathe through her nose until the retching stopped again, and she calmed down.

  It didn’t last. The shaking started all over, and the biting, the carving pain from the base of her skull to her eyebrows.

  Her ankles were bound together.

  The man, he drove her here—never speaking, not touching her again until the vehicle bumped over rough ground. They had stopped, and he dragged her outside. He pulled her in one arm, then threw her down.

  She didn’t know how long ago he’d left her there.

  Struggling only scraped the bag over her skin. She struggled anyway. Several times, she had fallen sideways onto the ground. Now she was sitting again, her back against the pipes, sweating, scraping her heels back and forth, trying to find a way to free her feet.

  “My God.” She heard her desperation inside her brain. If she couldn’t get away, that man might come back.

  He would come back.

  An idea niggled its way into her thoughts. She tried to force it back. Her trembling became spasms of shaking that burned her muscles.

  What if Michael had asked someone to come after her? What if that person waited until she made the move to Toussaint, then came after her? Michael warned her she’d never be free of him.

  An engine, its noise getting louder, didn’t register at first. When it did, she tried to scream and felt tears pour down her cheeks. Closer and closer, a vehicle came. And then the engine shut off.

  Bleu knew what vehicle it was and who drove it.

  A door slammed.

  She strained, but heard no footsteps.

  Another door opened.

  A jangle and a thud. Metal things hitting the ground.

  The second door slammed shut.

  Cold shot up Bleu’s legs. The skin stretched tight and it ached. Slowly, she inched herself sideways along the pipes.

  Too much noise. All she could do was pretend to be dead—or unconscious. Deliberately, she let herself slide until she lay on the ground again. She slumped there—her face and body twisted downward, her legs pulled up—and waited.

  He was close. The metal clanged again. Another thud, this one louder, sounded.

  Grunts shocked her. Sounds of something heavy shifting, a great slap against the ground.

  Soon, he’d come for her. He was getting something ready first.

  She mustn’t make any noise, but mucus clogged the back of her nose and her throat. Bleu needed to cough. The hot tears mixed with grit in her eyes.

  Something slid and the man grunted again, and he dropped whatever he was carrying.

  She thought he laughed under his breath before the clatter of hard things sounded once more.

  And he laughed out loud.

  Grinding. A rough sound like cogs falling into place.

  I can’t, please, I can’t do this.

  Bleu remembered hearing something like that before. A drill, a very old-fashioned one, crushing its bit through wood. Only the sound was different.

  A subtle pop and a cracking. He hadn’t made the hole true, and whatever was around it had burst open.

  Something to use on her? A box to bury her in?

  Sliding, sliding. Sliding away from her. A heavy thing was dragged, while the man strained. He banged into things, but didn’t curse.

  And, finally, silence fell again.

  Could it have been someone else who came back? Had the person failed to see her? She’d been very still. Bleu panicked. What if help had been feet away but, in the darkness, the other person didn’t see her?

  She moaned.

  Listening so intently her ears hurt, Bleu squeezed her eyes shut and fought to hear any small sound.

  Nothing.

  How could she know if the person who had been there was good or bad? If he’d gone away, surely someone else would come eventually. Roche wouldn’t let her stay lost. Neither would Madge or Cyrus or any of the others.

  An abrupt thunder of blows on hard surfaces came from all around her. Louder and louder. She was like the inside of a drum absorbing wild beating on her shell.

  Around and around it went. Starting at one side and moving in a circle.

  Bleu got out a scream, and another. She screamed over and over and rocked her face on the hard ground. Gathering herself onto her knees, she curled over and fought as best she could inside the bag. She remembered her watch and managed to wrench it off. With the catch, she picked away at the cloth under a band of tape.

  It wouldn’t work. Or it would take forever. Or he’d hear and stop her.

  He would stop her anyway.

  Not for several seconds did she realize the hammering had ceased.

  A door on the vehicle opened. The tools, or whatever they were, landed somewhere, probably inside.

  For a long, long time, a sound like wind moving leaves grated at her. To remain quiet was her choice.

  Once more, a door closed hard.

  The engine turned over, and the rumbling receded slowly until Bleu was left in the dark inside the bag again, with the smells and the occasional skittering of a critter.

  Don’t let him come back again.

  Chapter 40

  Daybreak

  Too weary to raise their faces, the men emerged in a straggling line from woods along the back way from Pappy’s to St. Cecil’s.

  Roche kept his eyes down, still searching, even though he’d stumbled onto the broken blacktop on what was an extension of Parish Lane. The lane ran from the center of town all the way to join with Bonanza Alley between the rectory and the church.

  “We’ve got to regroup,” Max told him, arriving to throw an arm around his shoulders. “We don’t know if Bleu’s been found elsewhere. A report could have been called in.”

  Hardly able to hope, Roche used his cell phone to reach Spike. While he waited for an answer, Marc Girard joined them, then Guy Gautreaux with his black dog.

  The sheriff answered his phone. “Spike here,” he snapped out.

  “Heard anything?” Roche said, driving a finger and thumb into the corners of his eyes.

  It took a long time before Spike said, “Nothing. Goddamn it, it’s like she evaporated.”

  Roche didn’t want to consider that image. “We need to know where to start next.” More searchers emerged from the trees and walked heavily toward him.

  “Come on in,” Spike said. “We’ve got more pairs of boots from the state. We need to make sure we’re using everything we’ve got as best we can. We’ve already started sending for locals to help and we’ll get more people from the surrounding areas. Ozaire knows someone with dogs—”

  “Stop!”

  “I’m sorry, Roche. We’re all wearing thin.”

  Max move to stand in front of him, his frown deep. He looked into Roche’s face.

  “Into the station?” Roche said, gathering himself. A small crowd grew around him.

  The sight of Madge, limping along the lan
e, shocked Roche, but before he could go to her aid, Cyrus came from behind her and put an arm around her waist. He half carried her. Sam Bush ran to hold her from the other side and the threesome carried on.

  “Spike, you want us at the station?” Roche repeated.

  Spike came back on the phone. “Can you wait right where you are?”

  “In the middle of Parish Lane?” Roche said. “No. I’ve got to keep going. I can’t waste any time.”

  “Wait a minute,” Spike said. Then, “I want you to send as many as are able to go through the town alerting people. We probably need them now.”

  “Probably?” Roche heard negatives in every word spoken to him. “You don’t think we’ll find her, do you?”

  “I didn’t say that. Send them now. Then they need rest and so do you.”

  “I’ll go with the others.” He couldn’t do anything else.

  “Roche,” Spike said. “I’ve asked the FBI for help. They’re already in Toussaint.”

  “For God’s sake—”

  “I had to,” Spike said. “I’d be negligent if I didn’t. I’m telling you, so you don’t get shocked when you fall over one of the agents.”

  “Thanks.” He closed his eyes and muttered, “FBI,” knowing everyone else would feel as desperate as he did, but he couldn’t keep them in the dark.

  “Wazoo called to say she thinks she knows something useful,” Spike said. “I told her I’d see her at the rectory. She’s on her way there now. It’s up to you, but if you want to, you could wait and hear what she has to say.”

  Roche didn’t think he could deal with Wazoo. He told Max what Spike had said.

  “Roche,” Spike shouted at him. “Say somethin’, will ya? I can’t hang on this line any longer.”

  “We’re on it,” Roche said and hung up.

  He looked into his twin’s face and Max nodded slightly.

  “You think I should hear what Wazoo has to say?” Roche asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll get the rest going into the town. We’ve got to have reinforcements. Calling in the feds was the right thing for Spike to do.”