Mellow Yellow, Dead Red

by Sylvia Rochester

  When her partner arrived and climbed out of her Mustang, Susan couldn’t help but laugh. She was witnessing the demise of a diva—khaki slacks, a long sleeved shirt, tennis shoes and a floppy, Australian Outback hat.

  “You forgot your whip, Indiana Jones,” Susan said.

  “Like you have room to talk. You look like a misplaced Ninja.”

  “Touché. Let’s hope we don’t run into any customers.”

  They took Susan’s car and headed in the direction of Hammond. After turning off the main highway, she picked up Caney Road where she took another right. “That was two miles.” When the odometer turned four miles, Susan pulled onto the shoulder of the road. “If the map’s right, this is about where we should enter.”

  A. K. stepped out of the car and stared at the woods. When Susan came alongside, A. K. gave her a nudge. “You first.”

  Thick undergrowth and uneven terrain made the going difficult. Blackberry bushes clustered beneath the trees. Hidden by leaves, the plant’s briars grabbed at Susan’s legs. Being so far south, these and other deciduous plants usually held their leaves until the first frost. That probably wouldn’t happen until late December.

  As they continued pushing through the brush, wispy branches brushed against them, depositing no telling what kind of critters. Susan reached down and picked up a long, sturdy stick. “This should help,” she said, beating a path in front of them and swatting away the thorny briars.

  A. K. tugged at her clothes. “Ooo, I bet I’m covered in redbugs.”

  “Just keep walking. We should be there soon.”

  To Susan’s dismay, their target was farther inland than it had appeared on the map. They walked for about fifteen minutes and still no swamp.

  “You ready to give it up?” A. K. asked.

  “Not yet.”

  A few minutes later, the woods thinned, and they came to a clearing. Behind it lay the swamp. As they approached the water, the ground began to sink under their feet.

  “Uh, any farther, and we’ll be going for a swim,” A. K. said.

  “We’d better get back. That green stuff around the bank is Salvenia. It looks like grass, but it’s actually a floating fern.”

  “Well, hello, Dr. Livingston. How do you know that stuff?” A. K. asked.

  “I was born and raised here. Remember?”

  “Tell you what,” A. K. said. “I’ll look around this open area. You search near the swamp.”

  “Deal. Watch out for fire ants, though. They prefer higher ground.”

  “Is there anything these woods don’t have?” A. K. heaved a sigh and trudged off toward the south.

  Susan moved slowly around the swamp, looking for anything out of the ordinary, especially something yellow. Nothing would please her more than to find where someone had dumped garbage that contained scraps of yellow material. That would ease her mind. But the bank held only decaying limbs and leaves, and wads of moss blown from nearby trees. A few feet into the water, floating hyacinth obscured whatever lay beneath the surface.

  She was about to give up on finding anything when she spotted what looked like skid marks. The track could easily represent where the gator had entered the swamp. Several feet before the skid marks, the ground was churned up.

  Susan kept her distance, not wanting to compromise the site, but edged close enough to get a better view. In several places, a reddish-brown color stained the earth, and splotches of red coated the leaves and branches that lay within that area. First, I see a flash of yellow, and now I find what could be blood. Not good, she thought. Not good at all.

  With that thought in mind, an evil presence seemed to weigh upon her. Only then did she notice two big boot prints in the middle of the morass. The deep impressions pointed directly at her as if to say, “I’m here.”

  On unsteady legs, she bent closer for a better look and spotted a light colored stone sticking out of the dirt. She leaned forward and pulled the small object free. Almost immediately, the malevolent feeling left her. After wiping away the grime, she determined the stone to be an arrowhead. Hunters were always finding Indian artifacts around Palmetto, but this was the first time she had ever found a piece of history. A surge of excitement set her heart to racing.

  She examined her find more closely, traced the nicks and scrapes that formed the weapon, and wondered about its origin. Who made it? What was that person like? How did he die? She had little knowledge of the Native Americans who had lived in this area, only that they were the earliest settlers. Finding something that belonged to them, made it personal, and she wanted to know more.

  While crouching closer to the ground, a sudden gust of wind filled her nostrils with the coppery scent of blood. The smell disrupted her thoughts. At the same time, the arrowhead grew warm in her hand, yet the temperature around her dropped. Goose bumps sprinted across her arms. Although she was cold, the surrounding air quivered as if on a hot summer’s day. How can this be? Susan stood and looked for A. K., but beyond ten feet, everything was a blur. Only then did she realize what was happening.

  Chapter 5

  She was seeing what no one else could. A vision was forming, and the world she knew was changing—no chirping of crickets or tweeting of birds. In an uncanny silence, she sensed she was not alone. With great apprehension, she turned to face the unknown.

  Her fear vanished when she gazed upon her phantom visitor—the Indian—the one she had seen standing beside Wesley at the fun run. Like that night, he wore only a loincloth and leggings. He stepped closer, so close she could smell the newly tanned hides that covered his legs, so close she could depict every detail of the intricately painted eagle on his bare chest.

  Neither of them said anything, but his dark, fathomless eyes cried out to her. Sadness gnawed at her bones.

  “You’re not real, or perhaps I should say you’re not of my time. Why are you here?” Susan asked.

  His slightly parted lips remained silent, but his physical statue commanded her attention. He stood straight with his shoulders back. Taut muscles rippled down his torso. High cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and a firm angular jawline added to his Adonis-like figure. Surely, he must have been a leader among his people.

  Turning his head, the Indian raised one arm and pointed south into the woods. As Susan followed his gaze, someone grabbed her shoulder.

  “Hey,” A. K. said, “who are you talking to?”

  At the sound of her friend’s voice, the Indian faded from view. A mocking bird’s melodic sound and the familiar fragrance of A. K.’s perfume brought Susan back to the present.

  “Did you see him?” Susan asked.

  “Who?”

  “The Indian.”

  “Oh, crap, you’re scaring me. And what’s that?” A. K. pointed to the churned up ground and discolored area. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “If you mean blood, I’m guessing it is.” Although the Indian had vanished, Susan couldn’t get him out of her mind. He had looked so alive, but of course he wasn’t. She paused and drew A. K.’s attention. “Of course, you didn’t see him, and that’s explains why Wesley didn’t see him, either.”

  “What are you talking about?” A. K. asked.

  “The Indian—he just appeared to me in a vision.” Susan told her about seeing the Indian the night of the fun run and a few moments ago. “Could he have something to do with this?” She stared at the disturbed area.

  Susan continued talking as much to herself as to A. K. “I also found this,” she said, showing A. K. the arrowhead. “Could the Indian and this artifact be connected?” After slipping the stone in her pocket, she pressed her palms to her temples. “I hate it when I can’t make sense of what I see. Why am I always left with more questions than answers?”

  A. K. shrugged. “Don’t look at me. This place is giving me the creeps. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Not until I have a look in the direction where the Indian was pointing.” Susan indicated the woods to the south. “Come on. We won’t go far. Maybe
there’s something there.”

  A. K. didn’t budge. “I really don’t want to go.”

  “Then wait in the clearing. I won’t be long.”

  The place where the Indian had pointed was thick with oak and pine trees. A scattering of swamp maples, their leaves already a bright red, gave a splash of color to a verdant landscape. Between the trees, saplings struggled for light. Briars and thorny undergrowth wove a dangerous web. Several yards in, Susan stopped. The brush was jungle-like, and she wasn’t equipped to tackle that type of terrain. Unable to go any further, she glanced up. Overhead the trees had begun to lose some of their foliage. Their thinning branches formed a lacy canopy of green. How beautiful, she thought.

  As Susan stared up at the intricate pattern, she heard a crunching sound—footsteps. In the next instant, someone bolted from behind a tree and bowled her over. She fell face first into the ground. She only had time to scream.

  A. K. shouted, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

  Susan pushed up in time to glimpse a man running away. Like a deer in flight, he vanished into the woods. She scrambled to her feet and bolted toward A. K., who was running to meet her.

  “What happened?” A. K. asked, grabbing hold of Susan.

  “A man...he knocked me down.”

  “We gotta’ get out of here.” A. K. turned and ran toward the swamp, pulling Susan with her.

  Susan stopped when she was sure they weren’t being followed. “I think we’re okay now,” she panted. “I’m afraid I didn’t get very far into the woods. “Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she called Wesley. He hardly had time to answer before she unloaded on him. “I found something you need to see. You need to get down here now. I—”

  “Where are you?” he shouted over her.

  Susan cringed at the anger in his voice but knew that she was on to something. “Now’s not the time to argue. There’s no pile of garbage anywhere on the other side of the swamp, but there is a disturbed area, and it’s all discolored. I swear it looks like blood.” Susan grunted her disgust.

  A. K. shook her head and whispered, “Tell him about the man in woods.”

  Susan held up her hand for A. K. to be quiet, and Wesley continued.

  “You’re at the other side of that swamp? What if you stumbled on a murder site? The killer could be watching you.”

  Was that who just knocked me over? Not wanting to add fuel to the fire, she decided to wait to tell him about that. He was mad enough already.

  “Where exactly are you?” Wesley asked.

  “Right now I’m in a clearing just south of the swamp. My car’s parked on the shoulder of Caney Road. It runs down the back side of the woods.”

  “I know that road. I’m less than a mile away. I’ll be there in a few minutes. In the meantime, you two stick together and start slowly walking toward your car.”

  Susan hung up the phone. “Wesley will be here in a minute. He’s fuming. Said we need to get out of here.”

  Color had drained from A. K.’s face. “Uh, I think we know that already.”

  “He said not to make any sudden moves.”

  A. K. grabbed Susan’s arm and pulled her close. “Why didn’t you tell him about the man?”

  “I will when he gets here.” They had taken only a few steps when Susan stopped. “Listen.” A few hundred yards from where she encountered the man, someone or something moved through the undergrowth. Was he circling them?

  “Did you hear that?” Susan asked.

  A. K. tightened her grip. “I wish I hadn’t.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you see anything?”

  Susan looked back and shook her head.

  The two stood perfectly still. Gradually, the sound faded.

  “I knew we had no business messing with this,” A. K. grumbled.

  “Susan?” Wesley bellowed.

  “Here.”

  Wesley and Charlie emerged from the woods. From the scowl on Wesley’s face, he was about to explode. His clinched jaw and thunderous steps warned of a verbal assault, but to Susan’s surprise, he said only one word upon reaching her, “Later!”

  She couldn’t care less that he was upset. He was here, and that was all that mattered. His presence was enough to untie the knots in her stomach. She took his arm and led him to the disturbed area. While he looked over the site, she found the words to tell him about the encounter with the stranger. “There’s something else you should know. I had a run in with a man in the woods.” She told him what happened.

  Wesley mumbled a few curse words under his breath. “That’s why I didn’t want you out here. Did you get a good look at him?”

  “It all happened in a flash. I didn’t see much. He was big, about your height but heavier. I got a glimpse of the side of his face from the back. He was deeply tanned and had the beginnings of a dark beard. Oh, and he wore camouflaged fatigues.”

  “What about you, A. K. Can you add anything?”

  “I was waiting in the clearing. I didn’t see anything.”

  “Well, it’s obvious he got a good look at you, Susan. Where exactly did you two tangle?” Wesley asked.

  Susan pointed to the location. “And we also heard something over there.” She indicated another area.

  “Charlie, check it out. And while you’re at it, gather some sturdy branches. I brought some yellow tape in case it’s necessary to secure the site. Wildlife and Fisheries are always undermanned, but I hope they get out here soon. From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t look good. Depending on what they find, the crime unit will want to test this blood and take a cast of the boot prints.”

  “On it.” Charlie nodded to A. K. as he passed her. “Looking good,” he said.

  A. K. grinned and gave him a wink.

  Wesley stepped forward and grabbed them both in a hug. “I’m sorry for being so angry, but I couldn’t stand it if something happened to either of you. Promise you’ll let me know before you strike out on your own again. You know I’ll do what I can to help you.”

  “I did call earlier. You said you were tied up on another case. We never dreamed we’d run into anyone.”

  “Could be the guy was a weirdo of a hunter, and what we’re looking at is animal blood. We’ll have to wait and see how this plays out.” Wesley bent down to have a better look then circled the area, stopping at the bank where the skid marks entered the water. After a while, he returned to Susan and A. K.

  Charlie rejoined them, holding a handful of thick branches. “I didn’t see anything,” he said, taking a closer look at the churned up area. “Is that—?”

  “It’s blood, okay,” Wesley said. “The question is—is it human or animal?”

  A. K. lowered her voice. “Are you going to tell Wesley about the Indian?”

  “About what?” Wesley asked.

  “Dang, the man has bionic hearing,” A. K. grumbled.

  “As if all this isn’t enough, there’s more,” Susan said. “Seems I got my wish, and my visions have returned.”

  “Well, it’s been long enough. Charlie knows all about your past experiences, so let’s hear it.”

  “Remember I mentioned an Indian standing next to you at the fun run? You said you didn’t see him.”

  Wesley frowned, obviously waiting to hear more.

  “Well, neither did anyone else. At the time, I had no idea he was visible only to me. Against the dark of night, he appeared to be real. But then I saw him here in bright daylight, and I could see right through him.”

  “Whoa, that’s far out,” Charlie said.

  “Did he say anything?” Wesley asked.

  “No, and I have no idea why he’s appearing to me. All he did was point south into the woods then he disappeared.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “Why does that matter? He was an Indian...that’s all.”

  “I’m curious. Humor me.”

  Susan described the Indian’s physical features and dress. “I would have expected to see feathers or beads, but instead, his o
nly adornment was a painting of an eagle over his heart. And just before I saw him, I found this.” She handed Wesley the arrowhead. “I’m going to see if I can find out more about it and the Indians who lived here. I’m curious to see if the Indian I saw will match up with any of the local tribes. Maybe finding out about his people will help me understand why I’m seeing him.”

  “I’d be surprised if the Indian has anything to do with the gator, but I’m sure you’re seeing him for a reason. Of course, I’d be thrilled if he could shed light on my cold case. But that’s not likely.”

  The sound of voices drew everyone’s attention toward the woods. Two men in khaki uniforms hiked toward them. As they crossed the clearing, Susan recognized the Wildlife and Fisheries insignia on their sleeves.

  The older of the two spoke first. “Mind telling me what y’all are doing out here?” Obviously winded, he drew several deep breaths. His ruddy complexion and bulbous red nose suggested a heavy drinker as well as one who lingered too long at the table. Thick, gray hair and deep crow’s feet painted a man somewhere in his fifties.

  Wesley pulled out his I.D. “You must be Captain Reddick. I’m Detective Grissom, the one who called you.”

  The man nodded and extended his hand. “Well, Detective—”

  “Call me Wesley. This is my partner Charlie Morgan. The ladies are Susan Griffin and A. K. Williams.”

  “You can call me Bailey. This is Agent Pete Anderson.”

  Pete had to be in his late twenties, brown hair, slim, and with a fair complexion.

  Captain Reddick studied his audience. “I didn’t expect a crowd.”

  “You and me both,” Wesley said, shooting Susan a disparaging glance, “but these ladies stumbled upon something that warrants further investigation.” He pointed out the blood and skid marks.

  Captain Reddick studied the scene then scratched his head. “We really need to catch that gator, make sure this isn’t a worse-case scenario. Pete, get on the horn. Give headquarters the location and let them know we’re going to need additional agents and equipment.”