Whoa. Wait just a second. Simmer down there, sister girl. I’m gonna call you so we can talk. This is crazy. Why won’t you answer my calls? This would be a lot easier to talk about in person.
I’m too mad to talk.
McKenzie asked me out. I said no. That’s why she said that shit. I broke up with Rylee. She didn’t break up with me. I could have her back if I wanted, but I don’t. I want you. You’re not a rebound or just someone to fuck. And I’ve never given you any reason to think I thought you were. Are you dooming us before we really begin? How about a little trust? You keep telling me you’re not like other girls. Well, guess what? I’m not like other guys. Get over yourself and stop listening to jealous skanks.
Did you get Rylee hooked on pot?
No, it was crack.
I’m being serious.
No you’re not. No, I didn’t get her hooked on anything. We went out nearly a year and in all that time, we smoked two joints that SHE got from her brother. NOT me. And before you ask, no, I never hit her. I’ve never hit anyone. And I’d never hit a girl. NOT EVER. Not even fucking lying loser McKenzie Woodrell.
26
WhoDey is playing at the Moon. Wanna go?
Hells yeah. Not sure I can manage a jailbreak. Warden Taylor is tightening down even more (I know, I know. I didn’t think it was possible either), but I’ll try. Love them. Want to hear them with you. They rock out with their cocks out.
Know how much you like that! :-)
Once and for all. I’M READY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
You sure?
If you ask me again (and I mean this), my first time will be with someone else.
I love you.
Love you more.
Not possible.
You calling me a liar?
My computer’s acting funny. I’m gonna get a new one. I’m so scared of losing our chats and messages that I’m pasting everything into my diary. Texts too. Then making a backup.
Cool.
It is. And it’s random too.
Why random?
I’m cutting and pasting as I open them. It’s like if you took all the words we’ve ever said, put them in a bag, shook them up, then dumped them out.
Any patterns emerge?
Yes. We’re crazy about each other.
We are?
Yeah! You know how reliable random word patterns are.
You’re the cutest most adorable thing EVER!
I wrote a song for you.
You did? You’re the best most sweetest boyfriend EVER!
It’s true.
How?
With a guitar, a pen, and paper.
I wasn’t finished. How did you find the time? You work ALL the time (when you’re not in school) and I know I’m cutting into your music time. And I hate it. I feel so guilty. I want to see you all the time, but I know I’m pulling you away from what you need to be doing.
Need? And no you don’t.
You do need to! And not just because it’s like this amazing pure awesome talent the goddess gave you, but because it makes you happy. I can always tell when you’ve been playing.
You know what I like playing more than my guitar?
I can guess.
Your amazing body. I love the way you feel in my hands.
I love your hands. And the way you play me.
It’s like you were made for me.
I was.
You really believe that?
With all my precious little heart.
:-)
Can’t wait for the next concert. I need to be played right now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! For fuck sake. You’re like a drub.
A drub?
Sorry. Drug.
What is a drub? Spell check didn’t give a red squiggly. Must be a word.
A blow made by a club. Which works too. Same result. I’ve lost my mind. You’re all I think about, the only person I want to be with—ALL the time. I love you so so so so so so much!
You’ve given me the best drubbings of my life.
Thought I was your ONLY drubber!
You take shit too literally!
My mom’s new boyfriend is pretty cool. Seems like a really nice guy. So what the fuck is he doing with her? I want to tell him to RUN! Leave while you still can! But she’s so happy (for her). I haven’t seen her like this since—well, ever. I hope it lasts. It’s nice to have someone to share the crazy with. He’s a pretty good writer too. Haven’t told him I want to be a writer. Not sure why exactly. Know he’d be nothing but supportive and encouraging. Is that a show for mum? Seems legit, like he’s all authentic and shit.
Are you mad at me?
Why?
You are, aren’t you? About what? What’d I do? Listen to me. I take it back. I haven’t done anything. What is it? What’s going on?
Nothing.
No. Don’t do that. Tell me.
I’m not mad at you.
Okay. Then what? Why are you acting all funky.
Don’t want to talk about it.
Not giving you a choice.
Just sick of being so goddamn broke all the goddamn time.
I’ve got money. How much do you need?
I don’t want your goddamn money!!!!!!!!!!!
Don’t be a dick. The phrase you were searching for is, Thank you for your generous offer, but I couldn’t possibly.
That’s the fuckin’ point. I want to take you places and buy you things and I can’t. I don’t even have a car. I don’t take you out. You take me! It’s embarrassing. I’m sick of it.
You want out?
NO! That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just pissed off about it. Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a dick.
Don’t let it happen again! :-)
Yes, ma’am.
27
After swabbing the steering wheel and dashboard of Shelby’s car with a sterile gauze pad, Keisha drops it into a large plastic bag and slides the bag up over the bloodhound’s snout. Breathing it in, the animal reacts immediately, its entire body responding, alerting, pulling against the lead.
Sealing up the bag, she stows it in one of the large pockets of her fatigues, zips it, and they’re off.
—Find, Champ, she says. Find.
From near the car, Champ darts straight for the stairs of the house.
Though on a twenty-foot lead, Keisha has about half of it wrapped around her arm.
—No way she’s in that house, Will says. I searched it myself.
Keith nods.
Built on stilts to a level exceeding the historic high-water mark from previous floods, the small wooden house can only be accessed by a set of weak and weathered wooden steps on the side. With no hesitation, Champ climbs them, straining against the lead, pulling Keisha along with him.
Keith and Will remain outside so Champ and Keisha can work, but they don’t have to wait long.
Within minutes, Champ is descending the steps two at a time.
—She’s not in there, Keisha says. But she has been.
Will and Keith look at each other, quizzical expressions on their faces.
—I’ll get Crime Scene back out here to process the house, Keith says, pulling the cell phone from his belt.
When Champ hits the ground, he cuts to the right. Runs about thirty feet. Stops. Turns. Heads back to the left, passing the house and continuing toward the landing some fifty feet.
Will watches from the house, Keith beside him on the phone with the FDLE.
Stopping abruptly, Champ turns and heads back in the direction of the house, Keisha, giving him more lead now, about fifteen feet behind, then he suddenly dashes to his left and darts toward the river.
Will steps under the house and into the backyard to watch, Keith joining him when he finishes his call.
Champ runs all the way to the water’s edge, stops, sniffs, then takes off again, following the bank downriver.
—That mean she went into the water and her scent was carried downstream? Will asks.
28
—Not sure wha
t any of this means yet, she says. Never seen anything like it.
—Anything? Taylor asks.
—Nothing direct so far, but I’m just getting started. There’s a lot here. Sounds like to me her relationship with Julian is pretty solid. They seem good together.
—Well, look closer. We have a way of attracting assholes.
—Thanks.
—Don’t be so sensitive. You know I didn’t mean . . . You’re the exception that proves the rule.
—I didn’t know. I never know with you.
—Now’s not the time, Marc. Okay? Save your hostility for when we’re not in a crisis.
There are no such times, he thinks, but has the wisdom and restraint not to say.
—Sorry, she says. I’m just upset. Do you want me to take over?
—No. I got it. You were right to let me do it. And I’m trying not to read too much. It’s just hard to know what might be useful.
—Better to read it all than miss something that could help us find her.
He nods.
—Diving back in now.
—That your sweet way of telling me to shut the fuck up? she asks.
—’Tis, he says with a smile.
29
The wolf waits. The wolf watches.
Some wolves are solitary, sure, but most are not.
He had thought he was, but knows now he is not.
The basic social structure is of course the wolf pack. But the pack is actually, usually, made up of a mated pair and their adult offspring.
That’s what the wolf wants. That’s what the wolf will have again. A family.
So for now the wolf waits and watches.
30
I feel like somebody’s watching me. It’s creeping the fuck out of me. I’m sure it’s just my imagination. I’m told I have an overactive one. Is that even possible? Can you be too imaginative? If it is my imagination, why? What’s making me make it up? If it’s not, who’s stalking me? Is it even me? Could be Mom? More likely her. Should tell her. I will if I keep sensing it.
I miss Mother Earth so bad!!!!!!!!!
She taught me so much. Did so much. Did more for the river and swamp than all other environmentalists, government agencies, and groups combined. I’ll never be able to do even a fraction of what she did, but if I don’t do more, who will? Nobody seems to give much of a damn about anything but themselves and money. Sure as hell don’t care about protecting the environment.
I can’t do it. Can’t do what she did. Not even close.
As much as she taught me, I’ve got so much to learn. So much I don’t know. So much I can’t do.
I know. I know. I can hear her voice saying, Just do what you can, honey. All any of us can do. It’ll be fine. I promise. You just trust Mother, okay?
I will. I promise. But, God, I miss you so much!
Why does everything have to be so hard? I mean really. I know how lame this sounds, but why can’t we do the Rodney and all just get along? Life would be so much better if we’d all just chill the fuck out. And don’t get me started on people who are supposed to be in love. How can we be so cruel? How can we let ourselves be treated that way? Why is love so hard to find? So hard to hold? It’s like we can be alone and miserable or with someone and a little less miserable. Maybe. Sometimes it’s far more miserable. I love Julian. I’m IN love with him (whatever that means) and I’ve never been so happy and so miserable in my whole life.
Reading this entry by Shelby reminds Marc of a conversation they had a while back, and he wonders if it was around the same time as when she wrote this.
—You mind if I ask you something? Shelby had said.
—Not at all.
Taylor had just had one of her episodes and stormed out of the room, leaving the two of them sitting in the psychic turbulence of her wake.
—How do you do it?
He knows she means his relationship with her mom, but doesn’t assume.
—Do what?
—Deal with that? I mean, for fuck sake. She’s my mom and I love her, but . . . how can you stay with her? Did you like roller coasters as a kid?
—Still do.
—Obviously.
—Your mom is not without challenge.
She laughs.
—That same understatement is in your writing, she says. I love it.
—Thanks. She’s had an extremely traumatic life. Her scars are part of who she is. And I love who she is—all of her. Every aspect. Don’t get me wrong. I’m sensitive and too often get my heart clobbered, but most of the time I’m able to see it for what it is. She’s hurt, angry, traumatized. She’s acting out. What she’s been through is unimaginable.
—But . . . Seeing it for what it is is truly amazing, but it doesn’t explain why you put up with it. How you can.
—There’re no easy answers there, he says. I think who we’re attracted to and why, who we’re willing to invest in, give ourselves to, are mysteries beyond our comprehension.
—But—
—When things are good between us they are really, really good. Best I’ve ever experienced.
She nods.
—That said, he continues, I wouldn’t stay in an abusive relationship. And you shouldn’t. Nobody should. A lot of people mistake drama for passion, insanity for intensity. I’m a grown-ass man who’s pretty together and I know what I want, what I can handle, and it’s still not easy. I hope you’ll be very, very careful, and not let anyone treat you badly in any way.
—Thanks. I won’t.
—How does Julian treat you?
—Good. Really, she says. He’s one of the good ones.
—It’s not my place to and even if it were I wouldn’t tell you what you should do, but I will say if you want a rewarding, fulfilling, and healthy relationship, you’re gonna have to work at it, gonna have to address some of the, ah, challenges your mom and circumstances have passed on to you.
—It is your place, she says. Thank you. Thanks for giving a damn. I’d really like for Julian to spend some time with you. I think it’d help him. Like me, he really doesn’t have a dad, but unlike me, he doesn’t have a you.
Marc’s eyes sting and he blinks several times.
—I’d be happy to hang out with him some. Maybe we could play basketball together or something. Bring him over more.
—You know how Mom is. Don’t want to subject him to that.
—I’ll help with that. How serious are you two?
—As serious as I know how to be, she says. I’d die for him.
31
—Whatta you think? Will asks.
Keisha is following Champ back to the truck, now parked on the far side of the house in the shade, having just returned from running a few hundred yards down the riverbank before losing the scent.
—Not sure yet. She was here for a while. Went into the house, around the yard, down to the water—maybe in.
Keith having returned to the station, it’s just the two of them now.
Dropping the tailgate, she grabs a stainless steel bowl and a plastic jug of water. Placing the bowl on the ground, she pours the water in, the panting Champ sitting nearby watching.
—Champ. Drink.
He does.
—Good boy.
She pats him as he drinks, continuing to praise him in the kind of sweet, high-pitched, singsong voice people use for small children, animals, and the mentally challenged, and Will is surprised at the genuine affection and softness the tough, take-no-prisoners Keisha is capable of.
—’Course it may not even be her scent. If somebody else drove it here—or even got in and touched the wheel after she got out—I could be tracking them all over the place.
—So whatta you—
—I’ma start over.
She removes the lead from Champ’s collar, then opens the door to his cage.
—Champ. Load.
He does.
She then places the water bowl inside the cage with him and closes the door.
�
�Start over? Will says.
—Do it all over again with Duke.
She opens another cage door.
—Duke. Out.
A bloodhound that looks nearly identical to the first one leaps out and onto the ground.
—Duke. Sit. Stay.
Duke does as he is told, and she attaches the lead to his collar. She then steps up to the cab, withdraws a large plastic Ziploc bag with a white silk pillowcase in it.
—I’ma use a scent article from her house this time. Compare. If Duke tracks the same trail as Champ, we know it’s her. If not . . .
Will nods.
With the lead wrapped around her arm, she opens the plastic bag and places it over Duke’s nose. He reacts immediately and she removes the bag, zips it back up, and tucks it into one of her pockets.
—Duke. Find.
Over the next few minutes, Duke follows nearly the identical route Champ did. As he does, Will steps back and takes in the late afternoon sky.
Beyond the tops of pines and cypress trees, the pale blue sky is dappled with pink-streaked clouds, the vivid pastel vista breathtakingly beautiful.
How the hell can Shelby be missing beneath such a sky?
—Think we can say for sure it’s her scent we’re tracking, Keisha says when she returns with Duke.
Her breaths are fast gasps, and her face and shirt looks as if she’s just been in the light mist of an afternoon shower.
—But it stops a few hundred yards downriver? he says.
—Means she probably went into the water at some point and the current carried her scent downstream.
Will shakes his head.
—You sayin’ we’ve got to drag the river?
—I’m sayin’ I need a boat.
—For what?
—See where she came out.
—If she came out.
—If she came out we should be able to pick up her scent. If we can’t, then we call in the divers.
—Goddamn I hope you find her scent.
—Be dark soon. Best hurry.
The Remington James Box Set Page 47
