Lost in the Bayou

by Cornell DeVille

  When we reach the bottom, he pulls a chain. A naked bulb in the ceiling comes to life and pours a small amount of light into the area. Conrad grabs a dusty old armchair and scoots it beneath the bulb as the legs scrape on the concrete floor.

  “Sit!” he orders, pointing to the chair and releasing his metal grip on my ponytail.

  I rub my head as I look at him, trying to catch my breath. “No! I don’t want to.”

  Before I realize what’s happening, he shoves me into the chair. I pull my feet up and wrap my arms around my knees. I’m shaking now, uncontrollably. A whimpering sound, like a first-night puppy, is coming from me. A moment later, he’s holding the arms of the chair, and his stubbly face is in front of mine. I turn my head to avoid the smell and the frightening expression on his face.

  “You lie!” he screams in my face, and I nearly jump out of the chair as a meaningless squeak flies out of my throat.

  My heart is pounding in my ears now. My breath is coming in short, jerky gulps, and my voice sounds small when I reply. “What?”

  “You lie! Your parents are not alive. You’re trying to trick me. I’m not stupid, you know. A lot of people think they—think they can trick me, but they can’t. Do you think I’m stupid?”

  I shake my head as my brows shoot upward. “No! No! Not at all!”

  His lips curl into something resembling a smile. “Good. Now where is that sawed-off runt of a brother?”

  My mind is racing, trying to keep up with my heartbeat. I don’t want to tell him Andy is in the hospital. He’s probably crazy enough to go there and kill him right in front of the nurses. I can’t let that happen.

  He’s screaming in my face again. “Answer me!” A small puff of gray dust flies from the arm of the chair when his metal hand comes crashing down on it.

  I try to think. My voice is shaking when I reply. “He went—he went to—to the movies with Warner.”

  His eyes dart from left to right a couple of times before he stands up. He towers above me now, glaring down. “Well, isn’t that special. We’ll just wait for them. That should work out nicely, because I’ve decided to kill Warner, too. Did you know he tried to trick me?”

  I shake my head as a fresh breath rushes into my lungs.

  He nods before staring at the ceiling. “Yes. That crazy old man tried to trick me. Can you believe it? But I was too smart for him.”

  My uncle seems less agitated when he’s talking, so I encourage it. “How? How did he trick you, Uncle Conrad?”

  He glances back down at me. “He didn’t trick me. He tried, but I already told you I’m too smart for him. He said you and your brother were hiding in an old cypress tree. But he didn’t tell me about the quicksand. I could have died, you know.” He nods his head slowly. “I could have.”

  I can’t stop my legs from shaking, but I’m trying to be attentive so he doesn’t get angry again and start screaming in my face. The screaming is the scariest part.

  His eyes go wide and a faraway look creeps into them. “You know, I felt like Vince Walters after Barton and his gang tossed him into a pool of the stuff in ‘Quicksand for a Gambler.’” The small muscles at the corners of his eyes start twitching as he stares straight ahead with an unfocused gaze. “Episode 684, I think.” His head snaps toward me. “Do you remember that one?”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. Andy would remember, maybe, but I have no clue. I’m not certain what to do, so I nod my head and act as if I understand every word he’s saying. But it doesn’t matter. He’s not looking at me now.

  He shakes his head, and his eyes regain their focus. A serious, almost friendly look crosses his face. “The only problem was that I didn’t have my faithful companion, Tonto, to save me. But luck—luckily, I didn’t need Tonto this time.” His eyes burn into mine as he furrows his heavy brow. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

  I shake my head. “No. Of course you’re not stupid.”

  “That’s right.” He nods decisively. “Far from it. I used my head. When I saw those vines along the edge of the quicksand, I knew what to do. I pulled myself right out of there. That was pretty smart of me, don’t you think?”

  I nod at him, and I give him a smile I hope is convincing. “Yes. That was very smart. I’m glad you didn’t die.”

  His expression changes and I jump when his claw hits the arm of the chair again. “Liar!” He’s back in my face with his glaring eyes and his nasty breath. “I’m sure you’d be very happy if your dear uncle had sunk to his death in that quicksand.”

  I’m still shaking my head. “No.”

  “Tell the truth!” His warm spittle hits my face this time.

  I drop my head to avoid his eyes, trying to wipe the wetness from my face on my robe. “Okay. Yes,” I whimper.

  He smiles again as his face moves away. “Good. I’m glad we’re being honest with each other, Robin. You can’t trick me, you know. A lot of people try to trick me, but they can’t.”

  I nod. “I know.” I feel like crying, but I’m trying not to. At least not yet.

  “Well, this has been a nice little talk. But I have to go upstairs now and get a few things. I’ve decided how I’m going to kill you. Didn’t I tell you?”

  I look up at him and shake my head. I don’t think I want to hear what he’s going to say next.

  “No? I didn’t? Well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. Now don’t go anywhere.”

  I hear his crazy laughter as he stumbles up the steps, his claw hand scraping the railing as he goes. A moment later, the cellar door closes behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A Shot in the Dark

  WHEN HE TURNS THE KEY and the lock clicks, I’m out of the chair and searching. Looking for something—anything I can use to protect myself from whatever horrible thing he has planned for me. The wheels in my head are spinning a thousand miles an hour, and the adrenaline rushes through me even faster. It feels like I’m about to hyperventilate, so I slow down for a moment.

  Think, Robin. Think! He’s drunk. His reflexes are slow. Find something to hit him with when he comes back. Hurry!

  I scurry around in nervous circles. Searching for anything I can find. Furniture. Why do we have all these chairs? There’s nothing but chairs down here. I can’t hit him with a chair. I can’t even lift one. I need help.

  I need to think of what to do to get myself out of this situation before it’s too late. Suddenly an idea comes into my head. A moment later, I’m back at the chair again, standing on it, and unscrewing the light bulb. Ouch! My fingers fly to my mouth to cool the burn. The bulb is turning, but I can only keep my fingers on it long enough to move it a short distance each time. This is taking forever. When I finally get it turned far enough, the light blinks out and darkness settles around me. I leave the bulb in the socket. It’s too hot to take out, and I don’t have time to let it cool.

  The next minute I’m off the chair and feeling my way through the darkness toward the steps. When I reach them, I creep on my hands and knees until I make it to the landing at the top. My heart races. I press my back against the wall, so when the door opens, I’ll be behind it. A sliver of light is flowing under the door from the hallway. Seconds tick by.

  My breath whistles in my nose, and my pulse pounds in my ears like the steady beat of a drum. Footsteps! He’s coming down the hallway now, the heavy sound of his boots on the hardwood floor getting louder with every step. The sound stops, and his shadow floats across the small slice of light on the landing. The key clatters around the keyhole until he finally gets it lined up, and I jump when I hear the click of the lock. When the door swings slowly open, the hallway light floods in like a beacon, casting his long, dark shadow down the steps. I’m trembling behind the open door, waiting for the chance to get out of here.

  I jump when his laughter explodes in the doorway just before he steps through it. His claw is gripping the neck of a whiskey bottle. “What a clever little hombre you are,” he yells down the steps as he moves f
orward. I can see his back now.

  Oh, God, please don’t let him turn around and find me here!

  He’s on the first step. My breathing is too loud. He’s going to hear me. I hold my breath to stop the sound.

  “You can’t trick me,” he says as he moves to the second step. “I’m too smart for you.”

  Why am I hesitating? My mind screams at me to do something before it’s too late. If I don’t act quickly, my opportunity will fly away like a dry leaf in the autumn wind. A spark of courage ignites inside me. It grows into a raging flame, and I rush toward him, screaming something that’s coming from a place deep inside.

  My hands collide with his back. He falls forward, moving away from me in slow motion. Loud cursing fills the air as he tumbles down the steps until the darkness swallows him. The whiskey bottle sends a brittle explosion of shattering glass when it hits the concrete floor.

  Then nothing.

  I stand there with my mouth open, my breath coming in a fast, shallow rhythm. My ears strain to hear, but there’s nothing but a quiet stillness at the bottom of the steps.

  Run, you idiot!

  My legs refuse to obey. They’re frozen to the landing like the marble columns on a Greek temple. I can’t move. A low groaning floats up the steps. Suddenly, my legs have turned me around. I’m through the doorway, slamming the door, and reaching for the key to lock him inside.

  Oh, God! Where’s the key?

  I stare at the empty keyhole for a moment, trying to think of what I should do. Finally, a voice inside my head screams at me. Run! I head down the hall toward the screen door. It seems so far away. My feet barely touch the floor, and I’m running faster than I’ve ever run in my life. When my outstretched hands slam into the screen, the door flies out of my way and bangs against the house with a loud rattling clatter.

  I run down the veranda steps. Cold, driving rain stings my face. I don’t care—it feels so good to be outside and away from him. My mind is going a million miles an hour while I try to think of what to do. Warner’s voice floats into my head. “Do you still have the rifle I gave you?”

  The rifle!

  My feet slip on the wet grass when I make an abrupt turn and head toward the stable. I cover the distance quickly, and I’m inside a few moments later, dripping water on the floor and trying to catch my breath in the darkness.

  The rifle! Where is it?

  I remember leaving it by the door. I should’ve gotten it earlier. A bolt of lightning crackles across the sky and illuminates the doorway. It’s not there. I search frantically, but I don’t find it. Damn! I need to think of another idea, and quickly. I don’t know how long it will be before he’s out of the cellar and tracking me down.

  I’m trembling like a frightened rabbit when I sit down on the wooden bench to collect my thoughts. My leg bounces nervously as I try to think. My mind’s a blank. I start crying. Sobbing like a baby. Gotta be quiet! I wipe my nose on the sleeve of my soaked robe and try to compose myself. I can’t let him catch me again. Not after what I’ve just done. Any sympathy hiding in his dark heart surely evaporated when I shoved him down the stairs. I need to think.

  But there isn’t time. Star’s whinny spooks me, warning me that someone is coming. I run to the stable doorway. It’s him. He’s covering the distance quickly with his long strides. His large boots splash in the puddles as he gets ever closer. I’m breathing so fast it feels like my chest is ready to explode when Star whinnies again and an idea jumps into my head: Star!

  There’s no time to saddle her. No time for anything but getting out of here as quickly as possible. I leap on her back and head toward the rear stable door as Conrad enters the front.

  “You won’t get away from me this time, hombre!” he yells as another bolt of lightning skitters across the dark clouds.

  A quick nudge of my heels and Star explodes. I grip her long mane as we run through the field, feeling the comfort and safety of her warm back under me. The rain stings my face even more at the speed we’re going. But it doesn’t matter. Star is still running, taking me further away from him with each step of her powerful legs. Faster now. The trees are getting closer. We’re almost there. Just a few more yards, and we’ll be safe in the woods. In Sherwood Forest. Almost there now.

  Even above the rhythmic sound of Star’s steady hoof beats, the report of the rifle splits the air. Star stumbles. Falls.

  Oh, God! Not Star!

  The water explodes around me when I hit the ground, like the splash of a diver in a swimming pool. I slide some distance across the wet grass before coming to a stop a few yards from where Star has fallen. I’m dazed from the impact. When I try to stand, my ankle refuses to support me, sending a sharp pain up my leg. I drop back down on my knees with a whimper.

  Star’s hurt, too. She doesn’t get up, but gives me a pitiful neigh as I crawl toward her. Her nostrils are flared, and she’s breathing rapidly. When I reach her, I run my hands quickly over her body, trying to find where she’s been hit and how serious it is. Her neck and side feel wet but normal. Her legs seem fine, too. Maybe she just stepped in a hole and lost her footing. My hope fades when my fingers cross her hip and I feel the sticky warmth coming from the ragged hole in her flesh. Oh, my God! She’s bleeding!

  “Oh, Star,” I whisper as a lump grows in my throat. I wrap my arms around her neck. “I’m so sorry.”

  Rain pelts my face and mixes with the tears running down my cheeks. Star’s eyes are wide and filled with fear when I look into them. A moment later, the wind is knocked out of me when the large boot kicks me in the back. A sharp pain runs up my spine as I land on my chest next to Star. I know who it is before I turn my head and see Conrad standing there.

  “Come with me,” he says.

  “No!” I scream up at him as I turn over and snuggle my aching back against Star’s warm chest. “You shot Star! Go ahead and shoot me, too!” I’m still screaming. I open my soaked robe and point toward my chest. “Just do it and get it over with.”

  He reaches down and grabs my wrist with his cold, metal claw as I flail my other arm and kick my legs. But they don’t stop him. He lifts me from the ground and drags me away from Star. I keep trying to fight, but it’s no use. I don’t have much fight left in me now. He’s won. I hobble along behind as he leads me back to the house for the end of the game. My heart breaks when Star’s pitiful whinny fills my ears and I leave her behind in the rain.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Box

  BY THE TIME WE GET to the house, my ankle is starting to swell and the throbbing pain is shooting up my leg with each step. I’m shivering from the cold. Or maybe it’s the fear of what’s going to happen next. Water drips out of my robe and leaves a wet trail on the hardwood as he pulls me down the hallway toward the cellar door, still standing open. When he slings me inside toward the steps, I catch myself on the landing and an even sharper pain explodes in my leg. He slams the door behind me, and I hear the lock click, followed by the sound of his heavy footsteps fading down the hallway.

  He’s screwed the light bulb back in, and it lights a small circle on the floor, like a spotlight, with my chair in the center. I descend the steps gingerly, supporting myself with the railing as I go, and trying to keep from upsetting my ankle any more. When I reach the bottom, I direct my bare feet carefully around the broken remains of the whiskey bottle and head toward the chair so I can sit down and take the weight off my ankle.

  In the dim area just outside the circle of light, I see a bin that Mom uses to store old, outgrown clothing. I limp toward it and rummage for a few seconds before finding a worn flannel shirt of Dad’s and using it to dry myself. Once I get my hair dried as much as possible, the irritating trickles stop running down my neck. My robe is dripping like a fish when I take it off and try to squeeze the rain out of it. Surprisingly, except for the bottom of the legs, my pajamas aren’t too wet, since my robe absorbed most of the water.

  Before leaving the clothes bin, I find an old white robe o
f Mom’s. I trade my soaked one for it and slip my arms into the sleeves. It’s a little too big for me, but it’s much warmer and drier than the one I was just wearing.

  I hobble back to my chair and sit, waiting for whatever fate has in store for me. My breath is coming in shallow gulps, and my only hope now is that Warner will get home and stop Conrad before he goes any further. I wish he would get home soon. I know my uncle is going to be mad at me for pushing him down the steps. I wish I hadn’t done it now, and I’m pretty sure my fingernails are going to be coming out when he gets back. The thought of it almost makes me throw up.

  It’s much warmer in the cellar than it is outside, but I’m still shivering. My breath rushes in and I bite my lip when the lock clicks at the top of the steps and the door opens. When it closes and I hear the second click a moment later, I know he’s locked us in this time, and only one of us is going to leave when this is over. He comes down slowly, and the wooden steps groan from his weight.

  Please let him stumble and knock himself out on the concrete. Please. Please. Please.

  But he doesn’t. He just keeps coming, and he’s at the bottom step now, heading toward me. His boots crunch on the shards of broken glass as he walks across it.

  When he steps into the light, he’s carrying another bottle of whiskey and a small metal box. His clothes are still dripping, and his dark, wet hair is plastered against his forehead. He stops in front of me, shifting the cellar door key from his hand to the metal claw. The jaws glint in the bulb’s light and snap closed with a bright click before he stuffs the key inside his pocket. He places the bottle and the metal box on the floor in front of the chair. After he’s satisfied with their position, he points a finger at my nose and shakes his head at me.

  “Don’t touch. You savvy?”

  My head jerks up and down quickly as I nod in reply. I’m trembling as I glance at the box, and I stare at it for some time without realizing what it is. It finally dawns on me that it’s a lunchbox—a child’s lunchbox. Fingers of orange rust are creeping across the metal, but the colorful, raised image on the front is still clearly visible. It’s the Lone Ranger, riding across the surface on a white horse. Next to that image, in bold, slanted letters, are the words, Hi-yo Silver.