The Drought (37 page)

Nathan waited until Daniel was gone before he stepped off the porch and walked toward his truck. He touched the hood. Morning sun radiated off the surface but it didn’t feel like it had been driven all the way out to New Orleans and back. He scratched his head wondering why he’d lied and how long it would take for the lie to come back and bite him in the ass.

The boy came to the doorway freshly showered and wearing one of Nathan’s white t-shirts. The shirt floated around him like a dress. Nathan glanced down at his watch. “First thing we need to do is go into town and get you some clean clothes.” He hadn’t figured out yet what he was going to do with the boy for the entire day.

In amusement, Nathan watched Agador follow the boy through the house and back out to the truck, pressing close as if he intended to jump inside the cab and ride on the boy’s lap.

“In the back Agador.”

The hound whined and stood his ground next to the boy.

Nathan grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the back of the truck. Agador resisted the entire way and by the time Nathan had the tailgate down, he was out of breath. He huffed, “Smelly bloodhounds ride in the back,” and half lifted, half shoved his stubborn dog into the back of the truck.

In the cab of the truck he faced the same forlorn look on the boy’s face. Exasperated he said, “You two just met, you can’t be that attached!” He threw the truck into reverse and spun the truck around.

Once in town, Nathan stopped at the dollar store and bought Jar two new outfits, several pair of clean underwear and a pair of tennis shoes. Jar emerged from the changing room looking like a boy who might very well have been visiting his uncle for a few days.

After the dollar store they swung by Chick’s diner and grabbed a cup of coffee for Nathan and a couple of donuts for Jared. Had Nathan not been preoccupied with the upcoming search for Angelina Dupier he might have noticed the distressed look on Narried’s face when she came around the counter to pour his coffee. Or the fact her hand shook as she poured the coffee and her eyes never left Jared Riley or the backpack he carried.

*

Oblivious to the attention they had drawn, Jar and Nathan left the diner unaware they were being watched. Narried stood watching from inside the diner, and down the street, Griffin Tanner observed the duo as they exited.

Griffin Tanner couldn’t say how he’d found the boy so easily—from the moment he’d touched the machete he’d felt like he had a internal GPS navigating the way. His arrival in Reserve, Louisiana, the same town where the trail for his missing mother had gone cold, felt right. When he spotted Jared on his way into the dollar store, a calm certainty filled him. He wouldn’t beat him with a belt. His eyes fell to the blade of the machete and a strong desire coursed through him. He’d cut him. The right side of his face, still encrusted with sand, tingled with anticipation. Jared Riley would soon fully understand the consequences of pilfering from a Tanner.

*

Lack of time and options dictated how the boy spent the day. Nathan took Jared with him to meet the search party. He had a sneaking suspicion Agador would have been useless to him out in the marsh if he had tried to leave Jared behind. Even so, he had his concerns about bringing the boy along, he’d seen enough and for once Nathan entered the marsh hoping they didn’t find anything.

Three days earlier the search party represented half the town of Reserve. It had dwindled down to ten men, seven of whom were unemployed and had nothing better to do than stomp through the dried-out marshland on a sweltering day.

Nathan greeted each man by name and tested his lie for the second time that morning by introducing Jared as his nephew. Not a single man raised an eyebrow in question, which made him wonder if he had projected his own suspicions onto Daniel.

Daniel arrived and the men waited for him to gear up and spray down with bug repellant before they headed out into the marsh and the surrounding bushes. Daniel led his party to the north while Nathan headed south. They agreed to circle west until they met up again. By dusk the men were overheated, exhausted and done. Angelina Dupier had not been found.

They worked their way back to River Road amidst the sounds of the marsh and the soft blinking lights of fireflies. Nathan had spent many summer nights with his grandfather in the marsh hunting for oyster beds. As a child however, he had never seen the marshlands go dry. He had never waded through the reeds in hip boots. He and his grandfather had always gone out in a small boat.

He looked down at the boy walking by his side. Jared Riley had not made a single complaint the entire day. He had paced Agador each time the dog shot off on a stray scent and had waited for the men, who did not have the advantage of youth. Neither of them spoke of the things they had discussed at breakfast, and now the conversation felt as if it had happened years ago, or even as if it had been a shared dream.

*

Jar’s exhaustion did not show until they reached the truck. Within minutes of climbing into the cab he fell asleep. Had he stayed awake another minute, he may have seen the sand-covered car driving past on River Road, and identified the danger that rode behind the dirt-encrusted glass. Had he been awake to hear Agador’s soulful howl, he may have felt a tingling warning but Jar was tumbling into the depths of sleep, free-falling through darkness that would lead him back to the drainage pipe and his friend, Luke.

Nathan pulled out onto River Road, and headed for the Veterans Memorial Bridge. He looked down at the boy when he called out in his sleep and considered waking him from his nightmare but chose not to as they approached the bridge where the boy had lost his friend. He did not notice the sand-encrusted car parked beneath the ramp as he drove by or its presence behind him as he traveled through town. By the time he hit county road 61 it was getting dark. A single pair of headlights hung back in the distance.

A little more than a mile out from his property something ran across the road. His last encounter with a shadow in the road was still fresh in his memory. He tapped his brakes and brought the truck to a safe stop. Agador let out a howl and defying his age leapt from the bed and disappeared into the woods.

Swearing, Nathan pulled onto the shoulder. He gave the sleeping boy a quick glance, grabbed his revolver and a flashlight from the glove compartment and went in pursuit of his dog.

A few minutes later the sand-encrusted Aston Martin drove within inches of Jared Riley as he slept, unprotected in the truck. A mile down the road, realizing he had lost the truck, Griffin stopped to consider his options and decided to circle back.

Jar dreamt he was falling through the drainage pipe. This time there was no rope to catch him. When he hit the bottom he landed on top of his dead friend, Luke. The smell of rot rushed from Luke’s mouth. Jar rolled away, gagging at the foul stench.

Luke opened his eyes, focusing them on Jar. When he spoke, a cloud of foulness and decay preceded his words:
“There it goes…a long drive, if it stays fair…”

Jar mumbled in his sleep, “
Homerun,”
and awoke to the silence of an empty truck. Disoriented, he sat up. Darkness surrounded the truck. Trees lined the road, arching up and over its width, obscuring the sky. The stars were always visible in the Texas sky. Instinctively he reached into the backpack searching for the object of his dream. His fingers closed around the hard sphere and he withdrew the ball from the bag.

Like it had happened only yesterday, Jar saw Barry throw the ball up and catch it with ease. He heard Barry’s voice as he admired the signature, “I borrowed it from my dad’s collection.” He whispered to the ball, “You sure have caused a lot of trouble.” He shoved it back into the bag.

The thick black night made him feel claustrophobic. He had an urge to shimmy up the nearest tree where he could perch in the highest branches of the canopy. Once there, he would thrust his hands through the top and spread the leaves so he could see the sky.

In Texas the concept of the dark man had been scary, but at least there the space was wide open. Here Jean-Claude could be hiding anywhere, slipping between the shadows until he was standing right beside you. He had the sense Jean-Claude preferred Reserve, considered this his home, his domain; the shadows were his kingdom of fear. He thought about the shadows on the bridge coming together like a giant ink spill. Jean-Claude had taken his true form. The image of Suzy impaled and suspended by the pulsating mass of darkness flashed through his mind.

Why her? Why not him?

More than anything he wished his mother were here; she had a way of looking at things and making them seem simple. She’d ruffle his hair, throw an arm around his shoulder, lean down and whisper,
“Come on kid, let’s get the hell out of here.”

The words were his own, not his mother’s and yet an instinct he couldn’t explain made him push down on the door handle, slide his butt off the seat and reach for the ground with his new tennis shoes. Headlights appeared out of the darkness.

Hastening from the truck, he closed the door. The dome light was on a delay.

The headlights grew brighter. Eyes locked on the little dome light he counted in his head.

12, 13—
please

14, 15, 16—
go out

17, 18, 19, 20—snick. It went out.

The oncoming headlights lit up the truck. Tingling fear surged down his spine, traveling through each limb of his body. It urged him to run. He scurried into the darker shadows of the trees. He didn’t wait to see if the vehicle came to a stop, in his heart he knew it would.

*

For the first time in years, Nathan felt his age. The last few days of searching the marsh had taken its toll and he felt weary to the bone. His muscles were crying out their objection, his lungs burning from the exertion of trying to keep up with Agador. He slowed his pace, cocked his head, and strained to hear the sound of Agador’s passage. Up and to the right, he could hear something large breaking through the bushes. Grimacing, he adjusted his direction. Bloodhounds were good trackers but it was difficult to mask the passage of a hundred and sixty pounds of quivering determination. Picking up his own speed, he continued his pursuit, wondering what scent had caused Agador’s frenzy. A low hanging branch caught Nathan across his right cheekbone. Blood flowed freely from the deep gash.

Agador howled again.

Pressing his injured cheek against his shoulder Nathan advanced toward the sound of Agador’s soul piercing howls and saw him baying at a tree. He had never kicked his dog but as he approached the tree with sweat sliding down his back and blood dripping off his cheek, he felt the urge. He flashed the light on Agador and called out, “Come on Agador, it’s been a long day.”

Agador looked over briefly and let loose another mournful howl followed by low whining. He pawed at the base of the tree in agitation.

Nathan moved closer. “Okay Agador, what you got?” He couldn’t see anything. The canopy of trees did not allow any moonlight to filter through to ground level. His flashlight played along the base of the tree where Agador had pawed. The weak light picked up the outline of a dark lump, indiscernible in the darkness. Crouching down, he shined his light across the glistening mass. Ants and flies crawled over the surface. He waved his hand, disrupting the flies. The flies lifted up, and came back down. It looked like a small animal had been skinned and it smelled god-awful.

Agador stretched his front legs up onto the cypress and whined again.

Nathan ran his light up the tree. At first the darkness refused to give up its secrets to the probing shaft of light. Finally, his eyes adjusted and he saw the shape of a small human foot dangling in the air. He had a hundred different memories of climbing trees as a child. Each one of them filled with the mossy smell of summer near the river and the lighthearted sound of giggling children up to no good. These images allowed room for the thought a child could be sitting on the first branch of the tree with his legs dangling over the side. However, the dark night and the silence, interrupted only by the sound of Agador’s howls, filled him with dread. He stepped back allowing the light to travel from the foot up the thin leg.

Even knowing what he would find did not prepare him for the final illumination offered by the small shaft of light. The beam danced across the small body attached to the dangling pale foot and came to rest on the familiar features of Angelina Dupier.

Angelina’s legs were not dangling playfully over the side of the first branch like he had envisioned. And an innocent game of ghost in the graveyard had not brought her to this place in the woods. One end of a rope snaked around her delicate wrists while the other coiled tightly around the width of the first branch. Thus suspended, her naked body looked as if it had been frozen, midair, in a hanging jump.