The Reckoning (4 page)

“I need to speak to you,” she said, her voice clipped and professional. She glanced over at the dispatcher, then back at him. “Alone.”

He opened the office door and waved her inside. “Did you learn anything more from Sarah?”

“Yes, but you’re not going to like it.” She recounted Sarah’s story about the doll and the crow.

Holt leaned back in his chair, trying to ignore the overwhelming feeling that he was on shaky ground. Sarah’s fears were outrageous, but what didn’t compute was why Alex had brought them to him.

“You can’t possibly think that a six-year-old managed to find that island, steal a doll and get back home without her mother noticing she was missing.”

“No, but I also don’t think she ordered a thirty-year-old doll off eBay and paid for it with animal crackers, either. What if someone left the doll for her to find? What if someone gave it to her? All I know is what Sarah told me. Everything started happening after Erika brought the doll into the house.”

“You know I don’t believe in that stuff,” he said finally, but even then, that niggle of doubt had already started in the back of his mind. “Maybe when we were kids it seemed plausible, but I thought we’d grown up.”

“We have, and normally, I would try to diminish or redirect someone’s thoughts away from this line of thinking, but Sarah’s child is missing. No amount of logic or scientific explanation or even calling her childish is going to talk her out of this. Either you lock Sarah up to keep her out of the swamp, or someone is going to have to check that island for Erika.”

“Someone?” He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not going out there.”

“You scared?”

Holt bristled and sat upright in the chair. “Hardly. But that island is private property and I have no grounds for a warrant and even less for trespassing.”

“It’s not trespassing if you go to ask questions, is it? You don’t even know if the woman is still there. She wasn’t young when we were kids. Maybe she’s dead. Maybe the island is empty. Regardless, you have every right to walk up there and ask anyone you find if they’ve seen a missing little girl.”

Holt searched his mind for an argument, but he couldn’t latch onto one. Not a legal one, anyway.

“Of course,” Alex continued, “if you’re concerned that your uncle won’t approve, I could always hire a guide and go myself. I’m sure I can find someone at the docks who’s willing to take me out there.”

“No! You’re not traipsing around that swamp with some underemployed fisherman looking to make a quick buck.”

Alex leaned forward in her chair. “You lost the right to have any input in my life a long time ago. Either you do this with me, or I do it with someone else. Rest assured, I’m going into that swamp to look for Erika, if for no other reason than to put Sarah’s mind at ease.”

Holt held in a string of cuss words that would only hack Alex off and wouldn’t make him feel any better about the situation, anyway. He knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Something had happened to Alex and Sarah many years ago in that swamp—something they refused to tell Holt about, but something that scared them so badly it had changed them permanently. If Sarah thought there was any risk of Erika encountering the same thing they had—whatever that was—he knew nothing short of death or arrest would keep her out of the swamp.

“Fine,” he said, “but I’m not going into that swamp at night and neither are you. That’s not up for discussion, regardless of what
rights
I lost.”

She rose from her chair. “I have no problem with waiting until daylight.”

“Six, then. At the dock.”

“I’ll bring coffee.” She gave him a single nod and walked out of the sheriff’s office.

I’ll bring the questions.
If ever Holt was going to get an answer to what had happened in that swamp years ago, it would be now, when it might affect his ability to find Erika. And you could bet he was going to ask.

Through the plate-glass window, Holt watched Alex drive away and for the second time that day felt as if he’d been hit by a truck. Managing an entire day alone with Alex, without wanting her, was going to be impossible. He’d known that as soon as he’d seen her walk into Sarah’s house. And he had no idea what excuse he was going to give his uncle for requisitioning the sheriff department’s airboat and cruising around the swamp all day.

But he was going to have to think of something.

He didn’t think for one minute that a witch on an island in the swamp had taken Erika, but he didn’t quite believe Bobby had, either. That left him in a quandary, and Holt didn’t like unanswered questions. This situation was full of them.

Reaching into the desk drawer, he pulled out his uncle’s whiskey bottle and poured himself a shot. He wasn’t about to admit to Alex that Sarah’s story had unnerved him just a bit. He’d have liked to blame his upbringing—a superstitious, overprotective mother and an absentee father—but it was more than that. During his time overseas with the military, he’d been special ops, and he’d spent some time in places the military wasn’t technically supposed to be.

He’d seen a lot of things he couldn’t explain. So many that he stopped dismissing ideas just because they didn’t compute in a traditional way, the way he had when he’d been a boy in Vodoun. Maybe Erika had found the doll somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be and that was why she lied, but it was far more likely that a stranger had given Erika the doll. Sarah, being a good parent, would have cautioned Erika not to talk to strangers, much less take something from them, which was why the girl would have lied.

None of that explained who had given a thirty-year-old doll to a little girl, where Erika or Bobby were, the mysterious staring crow or the birds falling from the sky. Except coincidence.

And Holt hated coincidence even more than he did unanswered questions.

Chapter Four

Alex pulled up to the dock at five minutes till six, already nervous about the day before it even started. The local weatherman had reported a disturbance in the Gulf of Mexico that was due to hit Vodoun that evening. The sky was already gray and overcast and made everything seem even grimmer.

Holt stood on the dock talking to one of the local fishermen, and Alex couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in ragged jeans, a black T-shirt and steel-toe boots. Time certainly hadn’t erased his sex appeal, and that frightened her.

But not as much as their destination.

Twenty years ago, Alex had promised herself she’d never set foot in the swamp again, and all these years she’d kept that promise. Erika and Sarah were the only reason she was going there now.

Let’s get this over with.

She climbed out of the car and reached back inside for the two coffees in the center console. The fisherman was still talking to Holt, who gave her a nod as she approached. When the fisherman saw her, he wrapped up his conversation and headed to his boat.

“I hope that’s strong and black,” Holt said.

Alex handed him one of the cups. “Is there another kind?”

“Not in my book.” Holt took a sip of the coffee. “You ready?”

She sat her coffee down on the pier. “Yeah. Let me grab my things.”

She hurried to her car and pulled her backpack from the passenger’s seat. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed back to the dock.

Holt looked down the bayou, then back at her feet. “This is going to be rough. I’m glad you wore good boots.”

“Just because I live in the city doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what the bayou’s like,” Alex said.

She placed her backpack on the pier and removed a nine-millimeter from the side pocket. She checked the clip for the third time that morning, then slipped the gun back into the pocket, zipping it tight.

“I don’t remember nines when we were kids,” Holt commented. “Or is that something you picked up in the big city?”

“Actually, it belongs to Ms. Maude. I paid her a visit last night after I got Sarah to sleep.”

“Ms. Maude? The crazy old cat lady on Miller Lane?”

“No. Ms. Maude, who likes cats, whose father was a Precision Military Weapons Specialist and who happens to have a target gallery in her barn.”

“That explains a lot,” Holt said, “especially about her single status.”

“So what you’re saying is that Ms. Maude might have married if all the men in Vodoun weren’t a bunch of wimps?”

“I think it’s safer if I don’t say anything else at all.” He took another drink of his coffee and glanced down at her mug, which was still sitting on the dock.

She placed her backpack in the boat and scooped up her coffee. “Don’t even think about it,” she said. “I’d kill people for less.”

Holt sighed and untied the airboat from the dock. “I don’t know how far I’ll make it on one cup of coffee.”

Alex stepped into the airboat. “There might be a full thermos in my backpack, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Holt pushed the boat from the dock and jumped in with a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He leaned over, preparing to kiss her.

Alex put one hand on his chest to stop him. “Not like that.”

“That used to be the way I earned things.”

“The price has increased. Inflation, you know?”

He raised one eyebrow. “I guess that’s what happens when things age.”

Before Alex could retort, he started the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat. Alex turned around and looked over the bow of the boat as Holt took off from the dock. She waved at a couple of fishermen as they made their way up the channel from the dock. At the end of the channel, where the fisherman turned left to the open waters of the lake, Holt turned right into the narrow bayous and inlets that led deeper into the swamp.

Holt slowed as they progressed through the tiny channels, the edges of the airboat sometimes scraping the bank on both sides. It was denser than Alex remembered. Moss clung to almost every branch of the cypress trees that created a canopy over the bayou. The deeper into the swamp they went, the more dim the light became until it seemed almost as if twilight had come, even though it wasn’t yet seven a.m.

The darkness seemed to set upon her like a wet blanket, weighing her down and making breathing more difficult. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it slowly out. She’d known that coming here again would affect her, but she’d underestimated by how much. She’d spent a lot of years in New Orleans concentrating on her education and then her practice. And even more years trying to put the swamps of Mystere Parish out of her mind. Apparently, it had been wasted time. It seemed that for every hundred yards they moved deeper into the swamp, she could feel her heartbeat kick up just a bit.

Alex glanced back at Holt and the grim look on his face didn’t help calm her at all. For more reasons than one, he probably regretted agreeing to do this. If he hadn’t known how absolutely bull-headed Sarah could be, Alex knew, he wouldn’t have agreed at all. But checking it out himself was preferable to forming a search party to look for Sarah, who would walk on hot coals to save her daughter.

Holt cut off the engine and Alex looked back at him. “Is something wrong?”

He pulled a cane pole from the bottom of the boat and began to push the boat down the channel. “We’re almost there. I didn’t figure I should announce our approach with a turbine, even though the sound has probably carried for miles.”

Alex nodded as the smell of mud and rotting foliage hit her. The blanket of decaying water lilies was the only indication of the water beneath, and the brush from the bank met the water’s edge, giving the appearance of a solid surface of brown and yellow. The sunlight was almost gone completely, leaving them to push farther into the darkness.

As they rounded a corner, Holt pointed to a dilapidated pier, almost hidden behind cattails and marsh grass. Alex gripped her seat with both hands trying to slow her racing heart.

The dolls.

She thought she’d prepared herself for coming to the island again, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. The dolls had always littered the island, attached to every tree branch and post—some of them just resting on the ground. Some said the witch woman placed the dolls there to attract the children she sacrificed. Some said the dolls had been blessed and placed there by the villagers, hoping to imprison the witch in the swamp forever.

Alex didn’t know the truth and doubted anyone else did, either. What she did know is that the dolls scared the hell out of her. Sitting, dangling…in various states of rot and decay. Torn dresses and pants. Some missing parts. But all of them with one thing in common—the eyes were intact.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes, watching them as they drew closer to the bank.

Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes. Each one following their every movement.

Alex drew in a ragged breath and slowly blew it out. She had to focus. Finding Erika was her only priority. All her fears and thoughts of the past could wait until she was locked safely inside her townhome back in New Orleans.

Without a doll in sight.

Holt guided the boat to the side of the pier until it made contact with the bank. At one time, there had been a path from this pier to the old woman’s cabin, but Alex could barely make out a trail now. Clearly, no one passed this way often.

“Are you ready?” Holt asked when the boat rested against the bank.

Alex nodded, unable to trust her voice at the moment. She rose from her seat, lifting her backpack as she went. She walked to the front of the boat, ready to step onto the bank, then stopped cold.

On the lowest branch of a cypress tree directly in front of her sat a blond doll in a blue dress, just like the doll Sarah had found in Erika’s room. Just like the doll she’d never wanted to see again. But unlike the doll Erika had, this doll was old and weathered, the blue dress hanging in tatters on the pale body. The blond hair matted and twisted around the doll’s body.

And this doll’s eyes were closed.

Alex felt her pulse racing in her temples. She took another deep breath and before she could change her mind, stepped onto the bank. The instant her foot made contact with the ground, the doll’s eyes flew open.