. . . a mutual acquaintance of ours knows . . . And he’s acting very damn strange. Belton surely meant Carmelo and hadn’t said his name in case Carmelo was eavesdropping. That made sense. But why end the message so abruptly?
So I’m in my RV now and I’ll meet you—
Meet me where? If Belton had added a location, his voice had been obliterated by the metallic noise that overpowered the speaker in my phone.
It didn’t matter.
Belton was a smart man. If he wanted to intercept me before I got to the campground, he would know where to park. Probably somewhere on this road—I was only a mile away. If not, he would soon call. When he did, I would explain that Krissie was a priority. And what could it matter if Carmelo knew I’d found a sunken canoe?
That all seemed reasonable, but I double-checked my line of reasoning anyway. Rather than lessening its hold on me, the drug in my system had branched deeper. Headlights of passing cars were painful to my eyes. The Halloween moon, bright as it was, pulled at the darkest fears within. As a defense mechanism, my anger exerted a thrumming pressure on my temples. It made me irritable; even eager for a fight.
You’re not yourself, the voice of reason warned. Don’t be reckless. If you lose, the drug wins.
Lose what? A scrawny teenage girl was the person who had something to lose, not me. I was a grown woman, belted safely in the steel confines of her car. I had my cell phone and a gun.
Reckless thinking, the voice countered. Then proved it by stressing an uncomfortable fact: You don’t know Belton Matás any better than you know Theo . . . or the others you’ve met in the last two days.
My lord . . . that was true. I sat there a moment, wondering if I should return to the Cadence property and wait for police as the dispatcher had ordered.
No . . . I couldn’t do that. If someone organized all the women in the world who had been plain-looking and unpopular as teens, life would offer more hope for girls like Krissie. But here, on this night of wind and moon, I was an organization of one. And, by god, I was not going to leave that girl out there alone.
I wouldn’t search recklessly, though—a concession to the nagging voice inside. First, I sent a text to Birdy that included my location and a few details regarding plans to meet Belton and search for a runaway girl. Then, because I wanted to hear a voice I trusted, I left the same information on the biologist’s machine. Even though he was out of the country, I knew that Tomlinson, his best friend, checks messages daily after pilfering a few beers.
There! It was eight-fifteen on a Saturday night, a busy, sociable hour even in an isolated spot like the campground. Someone might be hosting a party and there was a chance Krissie would join her “friends” there. If Belton wasn’t waiting for me around the bend, there would be enough activity to shield me from Carmelo or anyone else too smart to risk witnesses.
The backpack containing the Devel pistol was on the floor, passenger side. I hauled it onto the seat beside me, checked my rearview mirror, and drove on.
• • •
I ROUNDED A CURVE onto a gravel straightaway and, in the distance, my headlights found what I had been hoping to avoid:
SLEW VACCINE AND HERPETILE
TRESPASSERS RISK ENVENOMATION
The warning sign near the gate where Birdy and I had seen a strange muscular little man and heard something stranger escape into the trees.
Still no call from Belton. And no chance he had slipped past me in his rental RV. The road was too narrow. Oaks and mimosas fenced both sides, their canopy interlaced so only a strip of moonlight glazed the road and a serpentine path along the river.
Serpentine . . . The word jarred a sensitive nerve in my brain, causing it to twitch, then spark. My full attention was demanded. This was not a normal reaction. I knew it. I braked to a stop and told myself, Breathe slowly, the feeling will pass. It had been thirty minutes since I’d exited the smoky confines of the Cadence house. The effects of the drug would gradually wane, not get stronger. That’s what I wanted to believe.
But was it true? Aside from a few puffs on a joint, I didn’t know anything about drugs, especially hallucinogenics—except for what Tomlinson had told me about an uncommon mimosa tree. In South America, native people smoked or inhaled the resin to go on what he called vision quests, a sort of trance that lasted hours, even days. The mimosas of Brazil were massive compared to Florida’s variety. As I could see through the window, the same was true of trees that bordered the road.
The fact was, my symptoms might worsen. Why was I lying to myself?
Serpentine . . . The word continued to annoy me. It had something to do with Krissie. She had sobbed about things in her head, then mentioned snakes—Gail wouldn’t stop talking about snakes. Gail had also promised to take Krissie to a party. No . . . another party that was nearby.
From a distance, the sign taunted me—Slew Vaccine and Herpetile. Then the carnival poster of Chuman, the man-beast, tried to force its way into my mind, fangs bared to frame a lewd drawing of a snake. Repugnant. I banged at the steering wheel to banish the image. The message was obvious, yet I wouldn’t allow my imagination to wander into a subject so dark.
“Theo, you bastard.”
Aloud, I said those words. Then pulled the backpack onto my lap and opened it. The Devel pistol was there atop mosquito netting and other emergency supplies. I cracked the slide an inch—yes, the chamber was loaded. I laid the pistol on the seat, lowered my window, and drove ahead.
I was sick and tired of being afraid.
The gate was open. If there was a party, there might be music, so I stopped and listened. Trees harbored a screaming chorus of frogs, but that’s all. I had no idea how far back the buildings were. A long way, no doubt. I angled into the mouth of the drive, my headlights showing a glittering swirl of insects and waxen foliage.
I was so focused on the driveway, I almost missed what happened an instant later: fifty yards down the road, a hunched figure stumbled from the shadows. It ducked my lights, then vanished into shadows on the other side. A second person followed, but much faster, running with an odd loping gate.
I only got a glimpse and was so startled that I sat there dumbly for a moment. I wasn’t imagining things but didn’t understand what I’d just seen.
Two drunks, I told myself.
No, that was wrong. The first person might be drunk but might also be hurt—and was being pursued by a second person who was faster.
Krissie?
Male or female, I couldn’t be sure. But the person who’d stumbled had appeared too bulky to be a teenage girl. More likely, it was a sizable, overweight man.
Belton.
I shifted into reverse, spun the tires, then kicked gravel again when I put my car into drive.
If I hadn’t been searching, I wouldn’t have noticed Belton’s RV hidden by trees on a utility easement that sliced cross-country from the road to the river. At first I saw only red taillight reflectors, so I backed up, jammed the SUV into gear, and turned toward the ditch.
There it was: a cream-colored camper, the driver’s door open, the vehicle canted to the left on uneven ground. The easement didn’t look drivable and Belton was too smart to try even if he’d had a reason. It was possible he’d suffered a stroke and gone off the road—which would also explain the person I’d seen stumble. If Carmelo had been involved, he had been running away, not in pursuit.
My window was still down. Twice, I yelled Belton’s name, then put the car in park. I didn’t want to get out without first calling 911 and wouldn’t have, but Belton answered me, calling, “Hannah . . . ? I need help, Hannah.” He sounded weak and confused.
My reaction was to act, not think. I threw the door open, grabbed my phone, and ran; jumped the ditch, weeds knee-high. “Are you hurt?” I yelled. “Where are you?” His voice had seemed to come from near the camper, but now I wasn’t sure.
; “Here . . . Can you see me?”
No. My headlights showed the RV in full frame and oak trees that separated it from the road, but all else was moonlight and shadows. “Keep talking, I’ll find you.”
“To your left a bit, dear. My god . . . I have no idea how this happened.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. They got me so drunk or stoned.”
Drunk? I didn’t believe him.
“We have to get out of here, Hannah.”
“Hang on. Everything will be okay,” I said. But I was starting to panic because I was almost to the RV and still couldn’t see him.
“A bit to your right, dear, then keep walking straight.”
I did, taking long strides. The RV, with its door open, was directly ahead but with no dome light on to show what was inside. I had to kick my way through palmettos to step up on the running board . . . then nearly fell back because of the smell—a fecal musk I instantly associated with sickness. Yes . . . the old man had suffered a stroke and lost control of his bodily functions. I forced myself to confirm the cab was empty, then pushed away.
“Say something, Belton. I might have to go back to my car for a flashlight.”
“I’m feeling . . . woozy.”
His voice seemed to trickle down from the trees—impossible, but sound plays tricks in the woods, especially at night.
“Shake the bushes, if you can. Am I getting closer?” I assumed he had collapsed on the ground so was tromping a slow circle around the camper.
“My son was here,” Belton replied in a dreamy way. “I keep hoping.” Then he mumbled something else.
“You have a son? Tell me about your son. What’s his name?”
More mumbling, which my ears locked onto. I turned toward the lights of the SUV and slowly, very slowly, allowed my eyes to drift upward from the ground to the moon-bright branches of an oak tree—and there was Belton Matás, his shirt ripped off, sprawled over a limb that was eight feet off the ground.
I yelled, “Belton!” and ran toward him. Maybe I screamed, too. I’m not sure, but something I did caused an explosion of movement high, high in the oak tree. I looked up. Three stories above, blackened by the full moon, a man-sized creature stared down at me. Hanging from his distended arm was something that resembled a life-sized rag doll.
This time, I definitely did not scream. But I did yell with all the fear and anger in me, “Get the hell away or I’ll shoot you!” It was an empty threat, the gun was in my SUV. But the creature responded, replied with a metallic screech that threatened me even while it retreated. At the same instant, I heard the snare drum crackle of limbs shattering and something heavy falling toward me from above.
Instinctively, I threw my hands up . . . then was knocked sideways by a weight that numbed my shoulder before it thudded to earth. The sound alone was enough to sicken me—a gaseous thump, like hitting a pumpkin with a sledge. There was sticky residue, too, a sheen of black on my arm. Dazed, I tested with my fingers and sniffed—it smelled of brass.
Blood. I was bleeding. I explored my face, forearms, my shoulder, yet found no wounds.
What had happened? It took me a moment to figure out I was on my knees. I got up, eyes automatically seeking the creature in the tree. The thing was gone. A crashing noise told me it was traveling fast through the oak canopy toward the river. That was good . . . But there was still something very wrong. Something missing from the sounds and odors I had become accustomed to. What? I couldn’t think straight.
“Are you hurt, Hannah dear?”
Belton’s voice. He was several yards away, still in the tree but making an effort to swing down. Then he yelled, “Watch out!” just before he fell and landed hard on his side.
I ran and knelt, then helped to steady him when he sat up. “Don’t try to stand,” I said. “Don’t do anything until the police get here.” I was trying to make sense of events and also trying to remember what I had done with my phone. I’d had it in my hand until . . . ?
“It’s too bad about the child,” Belton said. “I swear, an animal that strong, there was nothing I could do.”
“What child?” I replied, but shushed him before he could answer. Suddenly, I understood what was troubling me. My SUV—the headlights were still on, but someone had switched off the engine. Captain Summerlin’s journal, the gun, everything except my phone, was in there. I said, “Shit,” and started toward the road . . . but only got a few steps before I stopped and whispered, “Oh my god.”
It was because of what I saw at my feet. Illuminated by headlights was the rag doll body of a girl who had fallen through tree limbs before knocking me down. Nothing identifiable left of her face. But the lavender blouse told me the blood on my arm was Krissie’s.
Belton startled me by hollering to someone, “Figured I was dead, didn’t you? Idiot.”
I looked up. A man crossed the ditch into the headlights, coming toward us. It was Theo, not the simpleton guide. I found out for certain when I tried to run—Carmelo had exited the camper, aiming a shotgun.
• • •
THERE WAS A PARTY under way in Theo’s garage apartment, but no one saw him bully me into the building of tile and neon with steel doors that protected the reptiles housed inside. Shelves of acrylic trays and large terrariums in a space that smelled of lab rats and Clorox. No windows, only air-conditioning ducts, so the stink of snakes mixed with decades of mold.
“This is all her fault,” Theo reasoned, talking to himself. “She got nosy. Now she won’t cooperate—there’s no choice when some mark acts like a hick.” He swung me around by the shoulders and stood close enough that I felt his breath on my face. “Last time I’m going to ask . . . Where’s the Civil War journal?” He waited for pressure to build inside his head, then screamed, “I know you’re lying about that book being in the car!”
I had ceased trying to fight—couldn’t, the way my hands and ankles were bound—but I wasn’t going to beg. Several times he had accused me of lying about the backpack, which was missing. At first I thought it was to distance himself from the theft. But now, half an hour later, I was convinced someone had beaten him to my SUV and stolen the backpack. Carmelo, I assumed, until Carmelo—that bastard—had slapped me while demanding the same information.
Except for a brief meltdown, I had managed to maintain control. Or at least sound calm, which was evident when I replied, “Birdy is a deputy sheriff, Theo. How many times do I have to say this? She knows where I am. A dozen squad cars will be here soon, so why make it worse? I’ll be your witness by telling the truth: they can’t blame you for a murder your chimpanzee did—even if he is your responsibility.”
I was too mad not to add that last barb. And too late to take it back. Theo, his cheeks coloring, sputtered, “Don’t call him that. Oliver isn’t a chimp. He’s part ape—a Bondo. Get that through your thick skull. He makes one little mistake and it’s like the end of the world. “
I started to say One little mistake? but caught myself in time, while Theo jabbered on. “Don’t you dare blame him. That . . . teenybopper was an idiot to be out there alone, probably taunted the poor guy. Then you showed up. If anyone’s to blame, it’s you and that stupid little redneck twat.”
“Don’t call her that. Krissie—she has a name.”
I thought Theo was going to slap me as he loomed over me, six inches taller. “You threatened to kill Oliver, didn’t you? I heard you. Screamed you’d shoot him. So it’s no wonder he did what he did. Scared the hell out of the poor guy—Carmelo was there and he heard you, too. Ollie’s sensitive, him and Savvy both. And intelligent—they’ll know it was you. If you keep lying, I’ll stick you in one of the cages for a night to prove it.” He looked across the room to another door, a door that had outer bars and what looked like a mail slot. “Maybe I will. Then you’d understand.”
I should have grasped the
significance of the bars on the door but was stunned by what I’d just heard. Two chimpanzees—Oliver and Savvy—and at least one was a killer. I dipped my head toward the floor. Theo waited, expecting me to apologize, but I couldn’t force such a sickening lie. I had seen what one of those animals had done to a frightened, innocent girl. All I could manage was, “I don’t know much about chimps. Sorry if you took it the wrong way.”
He found my stubbornness infuriating. “Well, now! Lucia won’t put up with your bullshit. I warn you right now.”
I wasn’t surprised the woman was on the property, but his deference to Lucia took me aback.
Again, he waited. “Is that all you have to say?”
It should’ve been, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “Where’s Belton? I want to see him.” The old man had been lying on the floor, Carmelo as guard, when Theo had dragged me from the RV.
“If he’s smart,” Theo said, “he’s telling the truth about why he came here.”
“That’s not what I meant. Belton has a heart condition. I don’t know how much alcohol or drugs you poured down him, but letting him die is a mistake. When the police get here, the more Belton and I can say in your favor, the better off you’ll be.” Then the anger boiling in me had to add, “Pretending to be smart isn’t going to save you this time, Theo.”
He called me the foulest of names while I winced, expecting to be slapped again. He didn’t, but banged me against a stack of terrariums, then forced me to the floor. Behind my ears, a sizzling hum of rattles warned that only glass separated me from the snakes within. I didn’t turn to look. Nor could I stomach the craziness in Theo’s eyes. So I continued staring at the floor until he finished his rant.
It took a while. He raged about the chimps, alternating between anger and his eagerness to dodge blame. Oliver was thirty years old, Savvy was a younger female, but both could outsmart the electric collars they always wore. It wasn’t Theo’s fault. “Accidents” happened.
“People underestimate their intelligence. Not me. Oliver helped me with math homework up to about third grade—oh, he’s brilliant in many ways. Do the research: a Bondo’s short-term memory is off the charts compared to humans. Same with chimps. Their analytical skill, in some areas, is far superior. And their eyesight, their sense of smell—my god, Oliver’s nose is as good as any bloodhound’s.” Theo squatted in front of me to ask, “Do you know what the real difference is between them and us?”
Haunted Page 18
