Later Gator

by Julia Mills

  Giving me a single nod of approval, he explained, “You know your Auntie Freda, my oldest sister, had the gift of Sight.”

  Nodding, I dared not speak as he went on, “When she had just turned seventeen and still learning to use her Gift, she used to come out to his very island in the middle of the night and write down every little detail of her visions.”

  Looking around the circle to be sure he had everyone's attention, he took a long sip of beer before continuing, "On the night of my eighth birthday, which was her eighteenth, she came into my room, got me outta bed, and made me come along. She said she'd seen my future and that of the family I was to have, and it was time she tell me about it."

  "Now, at the time, I had no clue why she thought we had to keep it a secret. She'd been tellin' ma and dad everything else, but I admit to being curious, so, I followed her out here."

  “We climbed out of the water just about right where you’re sittin’, but instead of stopping there, Freda took me all the way to the other end where the knees on the Cypress trees bend in over that little lagoon.”

  Following where he was pointing, I nodded along. Remembering all the times my cousins and I had played in that very lagoon. There was lots of shade if we decided not to Shift and huge rocks that sat in the full sun at the other end for warming up if we did. Not to mention, it was indeed the most beautiful place in the whole damn state.

  Leaving memories of a simpler time where they belonged, I looked back to my Granddad surprised to see a faraway look in his eyes. When he spoke, it was as if he could see the images of what he was retelling playing out before him like an old home movie.

  "Climbing up that hill just beyond the rocks, she reached into the hole in the trunk of that old, knotty Black Willow and pulled out her journal. Opening the leather cover, she started to read as she turned around and sat down. ‘You will have a son Joshua Thomas St. Croix and he will make you proud. He will be a man of the Law. He will Mate a good woman, not a Gator, but a good woman nonetheless, and they will have a son."

  Looking up from her book, I could see her blue eyes shining in the darkness as she scooted over next to me and patted my knee. "But you'll be the one raisin' that boy. Your son and his Mate aren't gonna be long for this world, and…" Her voice cracked as she swiped a tear from her cheek and sniffled. “I’m real sorry to say, you’re never gonna find out who killed them or why they had to die.”

  As it was every time he talked about my mom and dad's murder, it was the same then, too. His voice got deep, his tone grew heavy with the growl of his Gator, and his hands clenched into fists. You could've heard a pin drop as he took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds then slowly let it out.

  Turning his eyes back to mine, he went on, "But, the boy you're gonna be raisin' is very important to all of us. When he finds his Mate, she will be incredibly magical, and together they're gonna ensure the continuation of not only our family but this swamp we're sittin' in right here."

  Shaking my head and holding up my hands, I snickered, “Now, ya’ know that can’t be the truth. Our family is fine, and ain’t nobody or nothin’ can take our swamp.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Granddad got up out of his chair and walked straight over to me. Looking down, just like he had so very many times over the years, he growled, "Get your head outta your ass and pay attention. Something big is acomin'. That's why your Witch is here with her sisters. That's why their itty-bitty Dragons appeared before they were supposed to. That's why you and Faith have to get Mated. "

  Taking a step back and running his fingers through his curly, salt-and-pepper hair, he advised, “You gotta cut your Courting Dance short. Get to the Mating and Marking and accept what the Universe has in store for you. ‘Cause not only does our Congregation need you, but everybody in all of Swamp Water Parrish will soon be lookin’ to you for leadership.”

  Well shit! Talk about blindsided. I think I’ll have another beer.

  Chapter Eight

  "Wait one cotton-pickin' minute." Yes, I was yelling, and yes, my Granddad looked like he was about to rip his belt off and tell me to grab my ankles, but I was too far gone to give a crap. "You've known all this shit since before dad was born and you're just now telling me?"

  “Don’t you question me, Boy.” Up on his feet and stalking towards me, Granddad was already pointing his finger at me and raging, “I do what I think is best for everyone.” Stopping right in front of me, he poked me in the chest. “And you’ll do well to check your tone before I check it for you.”

  “Fuck that,” I spat, closing the distance between, forcing him to drop his finger. “You had no right to keep all this from me. It’s my life. How did you think I was gonna react?” Leaning so close the tip of my nose almost touched his, I growled, “You raised me. What did you think I’d say?”

  As if a switch had been flipped, the rage disappeared from his eyes, and he took a step back. Still standing tall, his chin jutting out to remind me that he was the elder and demanded my respect, Granddad slowly inhaled and exhaled before he acknowledged, "You can be mad if you want to. I can't help that. I did what I thought was right." He scratched at his beard. "Just like I always have. I won't apologize, I'm just gonna say that I'll always be at your back, helpin' out and protectin' you, just like I was with your dad."

  Trying to hold on to my anger, needing to be pissed at someone or something so I didn’t have to think about the earth-shattering, ass-kickin’ revelations that had just been dumped at my feet, I scoffed, “Fat lot of good that does me now?”

  “Hey now, that’s about enough of that shit,” Uncle Jeremiah warned, getting out of his chair and walking towards us. “Mistakes were made.” He held up his hands as both my Granddad and I started to argue. “Shut up and listen. Dammit to hell if you two aren’t the most cantankerous, pigheaded Bulls I’ve ever seen.”

  Stopping to the side of where I was still standing off with my Granddad, Jeremiah shook his head and sighed, “You both screwed up, and ya’ both had the best of intentions. Now, get the hell over it. We’ve got more pressing matters at hand.”

  Still needing to get some stuff off my chest, I opened my mouth to disagree at the precise moment that the cell phone in my pocket rang. Turning away from Granddad and Jeremiah, I pulled the device from my pocket, swiped the screen, and demanded, "What is it, Matt?"

  “Whoa, everything okay, Boss,” my Deputy asked. “I thought you were chillin’ out for a bit.”

  “Yeah, me too. Whatcha need?”

  “Oh yeah, Doc Fischer wants you down at the Morgue as quick as you can get there. He said to tell you that the wound on Cletus’ head is suspicious.”

  “No shit, it’s a damned hole.” Blowing out an exasperated breath, I quickly apologized, “Sorry, Matt. It’s not your fault this day went to hell. Can you call the Doc and tell him I’ll be there in thirty?”

  “You got it, Boss. Want me there, too?”

  “Everything still okay at Southern Fried Sass?”

  “Not a peep since they got some food from Miss Bunny’s about an hour ago.”

  “Good…that’s good. Yeah, why don’t you meet me there?”

  “Roger that.”

  “Oh, and Matt, try to slip away discretely as possible. I doubt it’ll make any difference, but it can’t hurt for Faith to think you’re still watchin’.”

  Chuckling, he assured, “You know it. I’ll take the alley behind Lucy’s.”

  “Thanks, Matt, see you soon.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Disconnecting the call, I shoved the phone into my back pocket and turned back around to face my Granddad and Uncle. “This,” I motioned between us, “Discussion will have to wait for another time. I gotta get back to work.”

  “No, this ‘discussion’ is over. What’s done is done. You know everything you need to know.” Granddad’s expression matched his tone, resolute.

  Walking forward, Jeremiah held out his hand as he appealed, “No one can change the past, but you know we’re alw
ays gonna be family and we’re always gonna have your back.”

  Shaking his hand, I gave a single nod as I begrudgingly agreed, “Yeah, I know.”

  Pulling my hand from his, I waved to the rest of the group. "See Y'all later." Then glancing at Granddad, I said the only thing I could think to say, "I know you did the best you could and I appreciate everything. I just wish you'd see me as the man I am and not the little boy you raised."

  Not waiting for an answer, I spun towards the bank, stalked forward and as soon as my toe hit the very edge of the bank, dove into the water. Calling forth my Gator as my body was enveloped in the cool, dark waters, I shoved all my discontent and anger to the back of my mind and focused on what I already knew of Cletus' murder. What could the Doc have found that made him use the word ‘suspicious'? Everything in Hairy Wart was suspicious. Heck, Doc Fischer knew that better than most, being a Polar Bear Shifter in one of the hottest climates in the US only added to the list of peculiar in our unique little town.

  Moving through the waters, letting my tail propel me through the deepest, darkest waters, lost in thoughts of Faith and life and things I shouldn’t have been pondering the panicked, terrified squeals of all manner of underwater inhabitants. Dropping my tail and using my front paws to make a quick U-turn.

  Rushing across the muddy bottom of the swamp, the horrified shrieks turned into garbled wails for help the closer to the huge boulder created by centuries of fossilized plants I got. Whipping around the side, my senses open as wide as they would go, my Gator pushing to transform into the larger, battle-ready form of our Warrior Bull, I was forced to divide my focus between both the internal and external battles being waged at that moment.

  Big mistake…

  Pulling powerful magic away from my Gator, not ready to be forced into the bi-pedal monstrosity that was my Warrior Bull while underwater, I was a split-second too late in noticing the swirling black vortex hiding on the far side of the reef. Slamming myself into the muck and mud of the swamp bottom, I pushed my claws as deep as they would go, burying my feet in the sludge rising halfway up my legs, all to stop from being sucked into the vacuum created by the churning magical force before me.

  “Granddad! Jeremiah! Rob! Matt!” I mentally called to everyone I could think of, but all I heard was the screams of the swamp-life and the roiling of the waters.

  Harder and harder it sucked me forward, making the bony plates that covered my spine lift and rip away from the muscle. Deeper and deeper I pushed myself into the soggy earth, ignoring the searing pain along with the rocks and debris being driven into my underbelly.

  Pulled past the boulder, torn through a colossal burrow of Crayfish, I fought with all I had to remain on the outside of the vortex. My Gator roared. I battled. My muscles shook, and my joints felt as if they were being pulled from their sockets.

  But nothing I did could stop the combination of black magic, and the sheer force of will of whoever or whatever demanded my presence.

  Ripped from the muck and hurdled tail over snout into the deep dark chasm, I reached out as far as I could, shoving my long talons into the whirling, twirling walls of the vortex. Unearthly shrieks, screeches of utter agony reverberated all around me as a deep, resonant growl shook my what little bit of gray meter I still had against the inside of my skull like a nutri-bullet on steroids. “You will pay for that with the blood of your Mate, Croc.”

  “Eat shit! That’s Mr. Alligator to you, Asshole.”

  Sure, insult the big lousy butthead with all the magic – is what no one in the history of time ever said, but I, Beauregard St. Croix – Gator without a clue did. And, I know you won't be surprised to know that before I could call out for Faith –I was zapped with what felt like Zeus' Lightning and knocked unconscious.

  Now, if you're keeping score, that's bad guys – two, Beau – zero. But, give me time, I've been known to come back with a vengeance.

  Chapter Nine

  Out of the wind tunnel from hell with a bang, boom, and a thwap, my human form was viciously torn to the forefront, and my Gator tossed to the side like a dirty old rug, leaving me feeling like a hot dog without a bun. With my head spinning like a top and my preternatural sight frustratingly on the blink, I scrambled backward like a drunk crab.

  Something cold, slimy, and wiggling like nightcrawlers in a Styrofoam cup at the bait store oozed between my fingers as I grabbed for something, anything, to help me get to my feet. Banging my head on a hard, thin pole, at least that was my best guess, I reached up, wrapped my hand around it and ignored the muck slithering all over my skin.

  No sooner had my feet touched the ground, (Just for reference, I was bare-footed, and shit was squishing between my toes. Ewwwww is the only word that comes to mind.) than a breath of eerie, haunting icy nastiness crawled up my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Whipping my head one way and then the other, I taunted, “Wanna come on out here and call me a fuckin’ Croc again? To my face? Time to man up, Mother Fuc…”

  Bright lights flashed to life damn near blinding me as coral mist and indigo bubbles danced in the air, and sparkling red glitter fell like snow from the ceiling. Powerful sparks of neon green magic skittered along my veins reminding me of the scene when Bruce Banner had just injected himself with the crazy radiation goop that eventually would turn him into the Incredible Hulk. Talk about creeptastic! I was almost excited about the prospects, but…

  Yeah, you guessed it, the cool shit was never gonna happen. A jolt of electricity, something like touching a downed power line while standing in a puddle with lightning striking the umbrella you were stupid enough to keep in your hand, skated down my spine, shaking my innards until I was sure they were little more than mushy gore.

  From one second to the next, the lights went out and my eyesight finally switched to the fluorescent yellow glow of my preternatural night vision. Still looking for my unhospitable host, my head was turning side-to-side so quickly I felt like I was watching an Olympic Ping-Pong Match when I was abruptly confronted with a set of glaring, soulless eyes.

  Throwing its head back and laughing aloud, the undead woman (I now knew from her laugh and the sudden stench of Shalimar. It's not that I don't like the scent, but in this case, it was mixed with the moldy, musty odor of wet wool making it absolutely…well, stinky, for lack of a better word.) clapped her hands twice in quick succession, like the elderly lady on the Clapper commercial, making bright lights once again burst to life all around me. Jerking my hand off the slimy pole, (It had to be snot. I’ve seen a lot of gross in my life. I mean, come on, I live in a swamp and turn into a massive reptile. It was boogers. No doubt about it.) Refusing to show my repulsion, I stepped forward and demanded “Where am I and who are you? And where’s the asshole who called me a Croc?”

  (Now, at this point, you’re asking yourself why I hadn’t asked about Faith, and it makes sense. But, I promise that’s coming. I didn’t want to play all my cards until I knew exactly what I was dealing with. Don’t give up on me people, I promise I’m not letting anyone mess with my girl.)

  With an evil grin that kind of reminded me of Cruella Deville when she thought she’d beaten the Dalmatians, my hostess who was the grossest (I’ll explain in a sec.) cleared her throat and growled, “Never doubt the power of a woman,” in the same bellowing baritone I’d heard before being sucked into the vacuum.

  Hiding my shock, I took another step forward and narrowed my eyes, “Then it’s you I have a beef with. What the hell am I doing here?”

  Raising her hand and giving me her best Vanna-White-here's-your-prize-wave of her air, she giggled and batted her eyes as a dusty, severely faded red velvet curtain slowly opened revealing Faith and her little red dragon bound, gagged and hanging upside down above a bed of nails. (No, really, an old-fashioned bed of nails like they used in Vaudeville magic shows.)

  Racing forward, my feet (Still bare.) sunk into the suddenly gelatinous floor. Unable to get to Faith, or to turn around an
d ring the neck of the bitch making all of this happen, I roared, “Let me go, you bitch.”

  Suddenly in front of me, pinching my face between her alarmingly strong thumb and forefinger, the nasty old beyotch barked, “You are here because I want you here.” She squeezed even harder, making the bones in my jaws crack. “I will call you whatever I want. I will do whatever I want to you and I will most definitely be killing your little sweetie pie over there. Any questions?”

  Unable to speak, I glared, wishing I had darts in my eyes that I could push right into her stinking brain. Letting out the breath I’d been holding through my nose, I gave a slight nod of my head, hoping she read my calm, cool exterior as a sign that I would let her continue with her monologue.

  Apparently, I was right. Letting go of my face with a shove that made my neck crack, the nasty emaciated freak took a step back, opened her arms wide, and smiled so wide I could see damned near every one of her rotten teeth.

  In the blink of an eye, the creeping, crawling chamber of creepolocity and all its crusty, crawly inhabitants disappeared, immediately replaced by an opulent, swinging, nineteen-sixty’s Vegas club, complete with Bobby Darin singing ‘Danke Schoen’ in the spotlight of the center stage. Moving to stand behind me as I tried to see where Faith had gone, my hostess bumped elbows with me and explained, “This has been my home for decades, and quite frankly I'm tired of it, Dearie."

  Snapping my head to the side to tell the nasty piece of work who was holding my Mate hostage and threatening to kill Faith what I thought of her, I was startled to see that the ‘bitch of graves long past’ had become a buxom blonde in a low-cut silver sequined gown with red lipstick and big ole false eyelashes.

  "Whatcha think of the upgrade, Dearie?" Taking a step back, she did a little twirl complete with a swish of her hips. Back to facing me, she tapped my chin with the tip of her nails, painted just as red as her lips, she added, "Oh my, where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself." Stepping so close that the pointed tip of her larger-than-life boobs pushed into my chest, she pursed her lips in an over exaggerated kissy-pout. (That's what Granddad called that look in one of his many lessons on women) In a breathy tone reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe she purred, "My name's Wanda, Wanda Wiggley – pronounced Wig-Lay, don'tcha know - and I'm so thrilled you're here."