Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (9 page)

The dangers to a young girl traveling and trying to get
along on her own were unspeakable. But everything had gone her way. At a truck
stop in Arkansas, she'd met another runaway from Detroit who was headed for New
Orleans to become a singer. She was about Liz's age, and she had a warm jacket
she was more than happy to trade for Liz's lighter one. And other than an
overly friendly man who'd offered her a ride to Little Rock that she wisely
refused, she'd encountered none of the perils many runaways faced.

When she'd finally reached St. Louis, only fifteen, and with
no education, she'd found a job as a live-in babysitter and housekeeper. Liz
had realized right away how lucky she'd been to find Mrs. Ashton and wanted
very much to please her, but even that hadn't stopped her from telling the
woman she was from Arkansas.

The rest of that time was mostly a blur to her now. She
remembered the homesickness, the way she'd yearned for her mother's
understanding ear, for her father's big bear hug. And she'd ached so much for
Zach she sometimes cried herself to sleep. But every time she'd tried to write
her folks, every time she'd tried to pick up a phone to speak to Zach, her
stomach rolled so badly she'd nearly lost her supper.

What if they came for her? What if they made her go back? So
crazy, now, but then she'd honestly believed she'd die if she ever returned.
Six months passed before she found her courage to write her parents.

She'd been horrified to learn that the girl she'd traded
jackets with had drowned in the bayou and been identified as her. Despite her
poor recollection of those events, the day she received that telephone call
from home remained etched in her mind. So did the tremors that came to her
hands the instant she heard her mother's teary voice.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry," she'd babbled, then
selfishly pleaded with her folks to keep the news to themselves. Her father
came on the phone, angry, saying the other girl's parents had a right to know
about their daughter. "Please, please, please do it quietly," she
begged. "And don't tell Zach, never Zach."

Later, Mrs. Ashton helped Liz get her GED, taught her proper
grammar and even found a speech coach, who Liz paid from her small earnings. By
the time Liz finished college, majoring in economics, she never, ever said
"y'all" or "ain't," and she sounded as if she'd grown up in
the Northeast. She'd also developed a knack for the financial markets, which
she took to Chicago. After a tearful good-bye to Mrs. Ashton and her children,
she made new friends who accepted her fabricated upbringing. As time passed,
and with no little amount of guilt, she deliberately fell out of touch with the
family that had been so good to her.

For several years after, she still looked over her shoulder
to see if anyone had followed. But no one came after her, which made her
confident that her folks had kept their word. Judging by the shock the Port
Chatre residents exhibited when she'd appeared at her mother's funeral, none
had known she hadn't drowned in the swamp twenty years earlier.

Looking back, she failed to understand what would have been
so bad about returning to the Port. True, she would have never become the
person she now was. But she couldn't imagine thinking in that vein. At fifteen
she'd had no clue to the direction her life would take. Neither did she
remember such intense self-interest being a part of who she'd been.

She tapped the spine on the journal. What could it have
been? What provoked the overwhelming fear that still plagued her whenever she
thought her true background might be exposed? The deception she still
practiced? Even when she'd purchased the Fortier house for her parents, she'd
used a third party to hide her identity. Nothing short of her mother's death
would have ever brought her back.

But the agonized outpourings on the pages of the journal in
Liz's hand brought home the bitter truth of how much pain she'd caused. So many
goodbyes, so much heartache, so much deception, and all because of her.

Why? She had no answer.

But after all that, how had she found herself saying hello
to everything she'd left behind and riding in a boat with the man she'd hurt as
much or more than any other? The man who, above all, could expose the lie she'd
made of her life?

"Can you read that?" Zach asked suddenly.

Glad to have her gloomy thoughts interrupted, she looked up
to see him peering at the journal.

"Of course," she said. "I grew up speaking
French, remember?"

"Sure do. I often envied you that."

This wasn't news to Liz. She knew Zach's parents had been
punished for speaking French like most town Cajuns of their generation and
seldom spoke it for fear Zach and Jed would get the same treatment.

"I'm glad to see you didn't leave that part of your
past behind too." He laughed, but it wasn't a truly amused sound. "I
miss your drawl, and your long hair."

"Give it a rest, will you, Zach? I've changed, okay?
We've all changed." She let her gaze pointedly drop to the flask at his
feet.

"Right." He redirected his eyes forward, then
reached for a cigarette.

Liz returned to the journal. The entries weren't daily. At
times more than a year passed before her mother wrote again, and as Liz got
closer to the end, references to Ankouer appeared ever more frequently. Each time
she saw that name, or its more dramatic alias,
le fantome noir
, she felt
a surge of irritation. As she continued reading, the irritation escalated to
anger.

Finally she couldn't stand it anymore.

"This is ridiculous, Zach! Listen!"

He took a puff from his cigarette before giving her his
attention. "Shoot."

She flipped back a few pages, then began reciting in an
intentionally stagy and sonorous tone. "
'Le fantome noir
, or
Ankouer as he sometimes be called, comes from dark, cold regions. Not of this
world, he covet the light, and seeks to—'" She paused. "I'm not sure
of the idiom, but I suspect it means 'absorb.' Anyway . . . 'he seeks to absorb
all that is good and pure about humanity. Above all, he seek the fire opal and
its power to control the thoughts and deeds of men and bid them do his will.
The guardian protects . . ' " She looked up. "Now really, Zach,
doesn't this read like a fantasy novel? A very bad one at that."

"There are things in this world we don't understand.
I'd be careful about dismissing them too easily."

Liz stared at him a second. "You believe this?"
"Believe? No. But I don't dismiss it out of hand the way you seem
to."

His answer outraged her. She slammed the journal shut and
sprang to her feet. "We're not kids anymore, talking about daughters who
return from the tomb and other zombies. You know things like that don't exist.
How can you even suggest they do?"

Zach patted her seat. "Sit down,
cher
, you're
unbalancing the boat . . . or you might if you were a whole lot heavier."

Liz felt suddenly foolish. Many people believed in spirits,
both evil and good. Zach wasn't so off base in expressing such thoughts, but
his easy acceptance of the possibility sent a strange shiver through her body.

"All right." She reluctantly sat, put the journal
on her lap and stared through the windshield.

"Our parents did believe a lot of hocus-pocus, Liz. I
don't deny that, but keep in mind your ma was a healer. She delivered most of
the babies born out there in that swamp. The herbs she prescribed, well, many
of them are the natural basis for prescription drugs. My ma never confesses to
it, but I know she goes to the voodoo shops and tries to speak to my pa and
Jed." He paused a moment to stub out his cigarette. "You seem angry
about these beliefs, but our parents are who they are. We can't change
that."

The voice of reason, but the impetus for her anger seemed
much more complex than just rejecting her parents' ways.

"I suppose you're right. It's just . . ." She
reopened the book and riffled through the pages until she found the one she'd
been reading from. "There's more. Like this stuff about the guardian
safekeeping the opal. Listen." Feeling another surge of outrage, she again
read aloud. " . . by giving her life, if need be, to assure the fire stone
falls not into Ankouer's evil grasp.' Now get this. 'In the hands of the
guardian, the stone becomes the means of his defeat . . . Blah, blah, blah.
What did I tell you?"

She closed the book again. "The whole Ankouer myth
troubles me. People take it to heart. I've been afraid to say it out loud,
Zach, but there's more that worries me about Papa's behavior than his just
forgetting his medicine. Ever since I arrived, he's gone on and on about being
the defender and having failed Mama. His burden of guilt is so heavy . . . and
so undeserved. Then he became adamant that I take the opal from Port Chatre.
All because of a stupid superstition." She looked away for a second.
"I'm not sure what's going on, but I don't want him out here alone. He
could be delusional."

Liz's admission sent Zach's hand flying for his flask. From
what he'd seen of Frank, he figured the guy was hanging by a string. But
hearing it from Liz's mouth? He preferred not to think in that vein despite the
damning evidence in his pocket that suggested Frank had opportunity to kill
Jed. His strong hands provided the means. And Liz had just given a motive by
suggesting that his beliefs in an evil power had driven him to madness.

"Grief does strange things," he said, forcing
himself to let go of the flask without taking a drink.

"I suppose it does." She lifted her feet, propped
them on the console, and slumped a bit in her chair. "I'll feel better
when we find him."

"We'll find him, Liz, we'll find him."

Liz met his earnest gaze and for a moment got lost in the
crystal-blue eyes she remembered so well. It felt like the old times she wanted
to avoid, going over her worries with Zach. And comfortable .. . something
she'd prefer not to acknowledge.

"Thanks," she said. "Talking about it
helps."

"Does that mean I'm good for something?"

Liz smiled at his self-deprecation. "This doesn't sound
like the Zach I remember."

"Just being humble." He laughed so contagiously
she couldn't resist joining him.

Nothing had changed, but she did feel better, or would, if
the sun weren't beating down on her so intensely. She hadn't been beneath rays
this strong since she'd taken her folks to Florida a few years back, and her
skin was already reddening. "You see any sunscreen in the bin?"

"Think so." He gestured to his left. "Try the
back one."

She replaced the journal in the plastic bag, then slid it
into a pocket of her overalls and buttoned it securely before going to search
the bin.

Sure enough, there it was, and she applied the lotion
lavishly, but still felt hot and sticky. The water looked cool, and she eyed it
with longing, then noticed the ramp gate that folded both in and out as needed.
Walking to it, she pulled out the securing pins and brought it back, still
folded, to lie on the deck. Next, she sat down, took off her shoes and socks,
and dangled her toes in the rippling water.

Instantly, she felt less overheated.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Zach said.
"Gators are all over the place. It's mating season."

Except for the wake caused by their boat and the rush of
water around a floating log a short distance ahead, the river was clear as
glass."When did you become such a worrier? We haven't seen or heard an
alligator since we started out."

He made an annoyed sound, and she noticed he changed course
slightly to avoid the log. Choosing to ignore his warning, she idly splashed
her feet. The pirogue tied in front of the gate created small waves that washed
deliciously over her ankles, and she couldn't resist leaning forward to scoop
up a just given a motive by suggesting that his beliefs in an evil power had
driven him to madness.

"Grief does strange things," he said, forcing
himself to let go of the flask without taking a drink.

"I suppose it does." She lifted her feet, propped
them on the console, and slumped a bit in her chair. "I'll feel better
when we find him."

"We'll find him, Liz, we'll find him."

Liz met his earnest gaze and for a moment got lost in the
crystal-blue eyes she remembered so well. It felt like the old times she wanted
to avoid, going over her worries with Zach. And comfortable . . . something
she'd prefer not to acknowledge.

"Thanks," she said. "Talking about it
helps."

"Does that mean I'm good for something?"

Liz smiled at his self-deprecation. "This doesn't sound
like the Zach I remember."

"Just being humble." He laughed so contagiously
she couldn't resist joining him.

Nothing had changed, but she did feel better, or would, if
the sun weren't beating down on her so intensely. She hadn't been beneath rays
this strong since she'd taken her folks to Florida a few years back, and her
skin was already reddening. "You see any sunscreen in the bin?"

"Think so." He gestured to his left. "Try the
back one."

replaced the journal in the plastic bag, then slid it into a
pocket of her overalls and buttoned it securely before going to search the bin.

Sure enough, there it was, and she applied the lotion
lavishly, but still felt hot and sticky. The water looked cool, and she eyed it
with longing, then noticed the ramp gate that folded both in and out as needed.
Walking to it, she pulled out the securing pins and brought it back, still
folded, to lie on the deck. Next, she sat down, took off her shoes and socks,
and dangled her toes in the rippling water.

Instantly, she felt less overheated.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Zach said.

"Why?"

 
"There're gators
all over the place and it's mating season."