“Bernice, you don’t mean―”
“Drive me to the swamp!” She squeezed her hands into tight fists, her nails digging into her skin. Why wouldn’t the voice stop? Why? She didn’t want this. Couldn’t it see how much she did not want this? Come back to the swamp, come back to the swamp.
“Bernice―”
“Now!”
Kevin gripped the wheel tight and yelled back frantically, “Bernice, we can figure this out! There are other ways―”
“You are not switching places with me, Kevin! No!”
“Not that!” he yelled. “Yesterday I got together a list of mediums and stuff … ya know, like those people who say they do magic stuff. I was gonna call them tomorrow. Most must be fake but maybe someone’s real. Yeah? Bernice,” he said, taking a calming breath and reaching over to put a hand over one of her tightly clenched fists, “we’ll figure this out. We will.”
She began to sob, but she nodded. She could manage one more day. Or maybe he could bring her to the swamp right now and just bring the mediums out there … yes, that might work … but no. Someone would find out that Kevin had again been the last person to see her before she disappeared. Some camera somewhere would catch him driving her to the swamp, and driving from the swamp alone. She would not cause Kevin to be suspected of her murder again. Twice would be a coincidence so huge that no amount of rich whiteness could save him. He’d go to prison for sure. For a long, long time.
So, no, he could not bring her to the swamp tonight. Because she knew―somehow, she was certain―that the next time she went back to the swamp she wouldn’t be able to leave again. Wouldn’t be able to, or wouldn’t want to, or whatever. Maybe by then it would be the same thing. When she went back―if? Please, if, not when―she wouldn’t be leaving again.
If she went back, it would be because she had decided to become the swamp.
CHAPTER TWELVE:
NO WITNESSES
At some point, Bernice fell asleep in the car. As always, she dreamt of the swamp. It was night. The stars were bright, it was gently raining, some bird she couldn’t identify by call was singing.
When Bernice woke, the voice instantly filled her skull, yelling, over and over and over. Louder than ever. The car radio didn’t come close to drowning it out.
COME BACK TO THE SWAMP, COME BACK TO THE SWAMP.
Bernice exhaled a breath and felt cold resignation wash over her at the sound. For a few moments, she just listened to it. Soaked up the sound of it. Noticed for the first time that though it was most certainly a voice saying words, she couldn’t tell what the voice actually sounded like. She was sensing the words. Not hearing the words. It was loud like a voice, but there was no actual voice. On the one hand, very weird. But on the other hand, perhaps it made perfect sense. After all, it was not an actual sound from her surroundings creating sound waves and entering her ear. It was in her head.
Bernice opened her eyes. She was curled up on the passenger seat of Kevin’s car. Kevin was asleep in the driver’s seat, his head resting against the steering wheel. He looked uncomfortable. His neck was going to hurt like crazy when he woke. His neck that still had red scratches from the vine that had nearly strangled him. Poor Kevin.
COME BACK TO THE SWAMP, COME BACK TO THE SWAMP.
Bernice looked out the windows. Kevin had driven them down a dirt road in the middle of a forest. He must have known it from some research project he’d been a part of back when he’d been a student. He must have picked somewhere secluded so that they could keep the radio going and not end up with the cops being called.
She pulled out her phone. She had reception. Great. She had to do a few things before Kevin woke up.
His idea about the mediums was going to fail. There was no such thing as real mediums. She was aware that doubting mediums when she heard a swamp talking in her head and could control plants’ movements with her mind was some kind of hypocrisy or narrow-mindedness or something. But still, she knew the medium idea was Kevin grasping at straws. She knew it would fail. In the unlikely event that there was anyone in the entire world who could help her out, there was no way she could track the person down in time to get help before she lost her mind. And, therefore, she had to get a few things in order before she did what she had to do. She had to act before she went crazy for real, and she had to act before Kevin decided to try to be a hero, which couldn’t be too far off considering what a White Knight type the poor guy was.
First, she sent an email to Professor Zimmer, telling her thanks for allowing Kevin back in the program and letting the professor know that Bernice would be more than happy to be a reference for Kevin if he needed one; but that she’d have to get back to Bernice by that evening if a reference was required.
Then, Bernice tracked down the club Kevin’s band used to play at. They had open mic timeslots every night. Bernice found their number. So as not to wake Kevin, she quietly snuck out of the car to make the call. They had a few open time slots. She signed him up for one. Now, it would just be a matter of getting him to go. It would take a lot of convincing, especially since he knew the state she was in. Well, she’d just have to exert as much effort as she could at pretending that she was doing better. It would be quite an undertaking considering that the voice was screaming in her skull, but it was just one day.
Just one day.
She could do it.
He needed to think she was improving. That way, he wouldn’t suspect. And, that way, he wouldn’t be thinking in terms of going to the swamp to trade places with her.
#
Bernice was parked on Kevin’s couch again watching season three of Space Mantis when she got an email back from Professor Zimmer. She read the email through with confusion. Professor Zimmer had no idea what Bernice was talking about. The professor had not met with Kevin. As much as she would have been interested in talking with Kevin about coming back, he had not met with her.
Kevin had lied to Bernice.
Bernice braced against the voice and listened to Kevin moving around in the kitchen, making lunch. Why had he lied? He’d probably not wanted to admit he’d spent the day running down leads on a bunch of frauds who said they had magical abilities in order to make a quick buck off the gullible. Stupid Kevin. And there she’d been thinking he was getting his life back on track. Well, after today he’d be able to. There’d be nothing standing in his way. Or, not standing per se, but lying on his couch.
He walked into the living room, a happy grin on his face and a tray of food in his hands.
She swallowed her anger. He’d been so happy ever since she’d told him the lie about how she was starting to become accustomed to the voice. The lie where she’d said it had stopped getting louder.
COME BACK TO THE SWAMP, COME BACK TO THE SWAMP.
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he said, setting the tray down on the coffee table with a flourish.
“Thanks, Kevin.” She gave him a smile she hoped looked genuine. Pretending not to be plagued by the screaming voice was a huge strain. Leaning forward, she grabbed a sandwich.
He took a mug of soup and sat down beside her and nodded toward the TV. “Which one’s this?”
“Captain Joe’s chasing after the rogue Central officer who kidnapped his sister,” she filled him in.
“Ah. This is a good one,” Kevin said, settling in and sipping his soup.
“They’re all good ones.”
“Truth.” Sip.
COME BACK TO THE SWAMP, COME BACK TO THE SWAMP.
“Why aren’t you at work?” Bernice asked.
“Day off, B,” he said as he rested his feet on the coffee table.
Bernice doubted it, but didn’t pursue the issue. “Do me a favor.”
“Sure. What?” he asked, then took another sip.
“I got you a gig at that club down by campus. The one you and your band used to play.
Open mic tonight at 9. Do it.”
COME BACK TO THE SWAMP, COME BACK TO THE SWAMP.
He turned to stare at her. “Bernice―” he started.
“Kevin. Please. I need to see you getting back into the stuff you used to do before all this swamp stuff.”
“Bernice, that’s really nice of you and all, but I just don’t know if I can.”
“I need you to. Kevin. Please.” She heard the quaver in her voice.
He heard it, too, and studied her face in silence for a few moments. “Why? What’s up?”
She sighed. “I just feel so bad. You know, I used to think you were so annoying. All laid back and cool, with your guitar and your artsy loner thing and all that. But now all that stuff’s gone and you’re so regular, it just makes me really sad because it’s because of me.”
“Bernice, don’t think like that.”
She took a bite of sandwich and looked away from him. Tears sprung to her eyes. She welcomed their good timing even though they felt a tad manipulative.
“Hey now,” he murmured, concerned, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Bernice, if it really means that much to you then I’ll do it.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat, and said, “Thanks, Kevin.”
“We still gotta call those mediums though and see if any of them can help you out.”
“That can wait,” she said. “Do it tomorrow or something. I really think I’m adapting.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. That’s pretty cool, B. I knew you could do it.”
“Yep.”
COME BACK TO THE SWAMP, COME BACK TO THE SWAMP.
They directed their attention to Space Mantis for a bit even though neither of them were really watching. Kevin kept casting he sidelong glances that she kept ignoring while trying to appear normal and calm. It was worse than running a marathon.
After a while, Kevin said, “I haven’t played in a long time, but I can do some slow stuff or something.”
“Whatever you play will be fine.”
“I should probably practice.” He reclaimed his arm and stood up.
She nodded and watched him walk off. The second he was out of the room, she scrunched her eyes shut and succumbed to the agony of the screaming voice.
Just a few more hours.
#
At last, evening came. 8:00. One hour until Kevin’s time slot at the club. He’d been up in his room practicing for hours. Bernice had stayed downstairs, ostensibly finishing up the DVD of Space Mantis, but really just suffering through the voice yelling at her over and over and over as time ticked by agonizingly slowly.
She was lying on the couch with a blanket over her head when she heard through the yelling, “Hey, B.”
She composed her features into some expression that hopefully didn’t seem tortured, and pushed the blanket down. Kevin was standing behind the couch, looking down at her. “Hiya,” she said, noticing that he hadn’t shaved. It made her happy to see him looking a bit more like scruffy old laid back Kevin. And he was wearing the old blues band T-shirt. The one she’d found in the donation box. Even better. If he was wearing ratty old jeans, then her day was made. She sat up and looked at his legs. Ratty jeans. Score.
“Hey, Bernice,” he said with a smile. “I’m gonna head over. You’re coming to watch, right?”
“Of course I am,” she lied. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Kevin tonight. No security cameras were going to catch them even remotely in the same vicinity that evening. “I’m just gonna try to scrounge up a more club-appropriate outfit. Maybe go track down Kate and see if she’s got anything I can borrow.”
“Cool,” he said. “She called me yesterday asking about you. She’d like to see you.”
“Cool. So I’ll just get some clothes from her and then I’ll head on over in time for your time slot.”
COME BACK TO THE SWAMP, COME BACK TO THE SWAMP.
“I’ll drive you.”
Shoot. Well, she could pretend to walk up to Kate’s door and then dodge away when Kevin drove off. “Thanks,” she said, standing up and heading toward the garage.
“Don’t you need your purse?” Kevin asked from behind her. “Or your phone?”
She’d left them both on the coffee table. The money in her pocket was all she needed. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”
He grabbed them and gave them to her, then they headed out to the car.
Once he’d buckled his guitar into the back seat, they were set to go.
“It’s awesome you’re doing so much better. Like yesterday you is a completely different person from today you,” he said as they drove down the driveway and toward campus. “So it’s just that you’re … like, adapting to the voice?”
“Yep.” It was good to hear she was fooling him. The strain of pretending to be fine was near unbearable, but if it was working then that gave her the strength to keep it up a bit longer. “It’s weird. I woke up this morning and I just sorta decided to embrace it. Just let it be a part of me. Quit fighting it. Quit being mad at it. And it’s still there, but it’s not the same. Like it can be there and be a part of me but not destroy me.” Nice. That sounded good. If only it were true.
“Wow. Cool. Very … spiritual … or something. Way to go, B.”
“Thanks.”
COME BACK TO THE SWAMP, COME BACK TO THE SWAMP.
They listened to the radio in silence. Bernice would have liked to talk. She would have liked to thank him for everything. There was so, so much she’d have liked to say to him. But if she got all sentimental and effusive, it would tip him off that something was up. So she just listened to the music. The most she allowed herself to do was reach over and take his hand that wasn’t on the wheel.
He squeezed her fingers, shot her a smile, and looked back at the road.
They drove into the apartment complex Kate lived at, and Kevin pulled up in front of the right building. “Remember, apartment 5,” he said.
“Gotcha.” Bernice released his hand, opened the door, and got out.
“Hey, Bernice,” he laughed. “You forgot your purse again.”
She winced, then turned. “Oh, thanks!” How was she going to dispose of it where it wouldn’t be found and considered evidence? His fingerprints were one it. Not cool. Well, she could just bring it with her. The swamp would probably take care of it somehow. If it could hide a person, it could hide a purse.
He handed it to her. “See ya soon!”
“See ya soon.” Not. “If I don’t see you before you go on, break a leg,” she said. Aw shoot. She felt tears threatening to spring into her eyes. She needed to get away fast.
“Will do, B,” he replied with a happy grin that hurt her heart.
She turned and walked to the front door of Kate’s building.
Kevin drove off. Once he had turned around the corner at the end of the road, Bernice moved away from the building and walked across the lawn heading toward the campus’s main street, where she could catch a taxi. She’d have to wait until 9 o’clock to actually get the taxi―Kevin’s performance time; the time when a club full of witnesses would be able to give him an alibi for the time she went missing.
So, until 9 o’clock, she’d kill time wandering around town, making sure to stand conspicuously in front of a few security cameras and have a few memorable conversations with storekeepers.
COME BACK TO THE SWAMP, COME BACK TO THE SWAMP.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered. “Hold on.”
EPILOGUE
“Professor James!” yelled one of the undergrads from across the clearing.
Kevin looked in her direction. What the heck was that kid’s name? Emily? Elizabeth? One of those. Some variation of Elizabeth, he was pretty sure. One thing he’d noticed over the decades at the university: name fads came and name fads went, but there was at least one kid with a
variation of Elizabeth every year. Almost three decades on the job, and Elizabeth/Beth/Liz/Eliza remained a constant.
“Yeah?” he called back across the swamp at her, leaving off her name. He wasn’t so sure she was an Elizabeth after all. “What’s up?” Kevin was preoccupied. He was always preoccupied when his work brought him out to Cleary Swamp. The voice had a tendency to whisper at the back of his brain whenever he was there, and he did not like the voice.
He didn’t come out too often, but this swamp had a great sampling of native swamp flowers that was perfect for his botany lab.
“I think I found a rose mallow,” maybe-Elizabeth hollered.
He winced at her holler and began to slog through the mud over to her. Why was she being so loud? He reached her and looked where she was pointing. “Hey, good job. That is, indeed, a rose mallow.” He summoned the lab over, said some relevant stuff about the flower in question, and sent them on their way to hunt for more plants. Kevin remained by the flower, crouching down and inspecting the petals. He smiled. Swamp rose mallow had been one of Bernice’s favorites. Was one of her favorites. And Cleary Swamp had an unexplainable disproportionate amount of swamp rose mallow. Cleary Swamp had an unexplainable disproportionate amount of all sorts of native plants, actually. And an equally disproportionate lack of invasive species.
It was a mystery to the scientists who did their research there. After Professor Zimmer had retired a few years back, Kevin had kept up her yearly inventory of the swamp’s plant life. He pretended to scratch his head along with the scientific community about why there were nearly no invasive species in the swamp, but he knew the reason. It was Bernice. The changes hadn’t started occurring until the year she disappeared. After that, year after year the native plant diversity had grown more and more impressive, while the invasives had dwindled to the point where they were a downright rarity. There were no signs that plants had been cut, or sprayed, or anything. They just simply got less and less plentiful, as though some force was convincing them year after year to disperse their seeds outside the borders of the swamp, and scoot their root structures inch by inch toward the swamp’s perimeter. Almost as though―Kevin thought with a smile―there was some invasive species specialist turned swamp witch with the power to influence the movement of plants.
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