Something in the Water

by Teresa Mummert

  The prick waved off the teacher. “Just wishing Emery a good day,” he yelled back.

  “The bell already rang.” The teacher hesitated but turned to walk toward the building. My feet moved on their own accord.

  I heard Emery’s deafening scream as I grabbed the asshole and pulled him from his vehicle. I made sure he had his bearings, that he’d looked me in the eye, before I hit him with a right hook. I wailed on him, only stopping when I couldn’t feel my hands any longer. Then I stomped his ribs. Within moments the faculty member had grabbed me, yanking me backward and causing me to stumble and fall on the asphalt.

  Marcus was groaning, rolling from side to side, his arm frozen in an unnatural position. Emery hurried from the vehicle, rushing toward us.

  “Emery,” I huffed through labored breaths.

  “Ford,” she cried as she cradled her hand under Marcus’ head. I let my eyes fall closed as sirens that wailed in the distance grew closer. I didn’t make an effort to move. I’d resigned to the fact that when I found the prick who’d hurt her, I was going to end up in prison.

  Everything happened fast now. Time was making up for the lagging I’d felt over the last few days. I was yanked from the ground only to be slammed back against it, pebbles biting into my cheek. I groaned when a knee was shoved into my back, my arms being bent painfully behind me.

  “I knew if I gave you enough rope, you’d hang yourself, you little bastard,” Sheriff Woodrow whispered, close enough his spittle landed on my face.

  A female officer was frantically tending to Marcus, and I assumed it was his mother. Emery just stared at me in shock, blood coating her hands from the back of Marcus’ head.

  I was pulled on my feet, and I spit out some blood that had pooled in my mouth from my busted lip. “Is he dead?” I asked, my eyes locked on Emery’s. She shook her head, fresh tears springing to her eyes. She didn’t know.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” the sheriff gripped the top of my head, shoving me hard into the back of his car. He continued rattling off my Miranda Rights as I stared out the window, not able to look away from Emery.

  We drove for about fifteen minutes, and it didn’t take long for me to realize this prick wasn’t taking me to the station. We pulled off down an old dirt road. I recognized the dilapidated home that sat at the end between the cattail bushes with what now looked like a baseball field behind it. It looked abandoned and overgrown in the daylight, and I wondered if anyone did live there, even a squatter that would come outside to see what the commotion was. He pulled the nose of the car into the edge of the treeline and put it into park, a smug smile on his face as he watched me through the rearview mirror.

  “We take care of our own in these parts, boy.” He groaned as he pushed open his door. My eyes darted around, taking in my surroundings. We were completely alone.

  My door whined on its hinges as he pulled it open, grabbing me under my elbow and yanking me out and onto the ground. The wind was knocked from my lungs, and I sputtered, struggling to catch my breath.

  “You couldn’t even take care of her.”

  “Who? Emery?” He chuckled before I was yanked to my feet. He kicked at my sneaker from behind me. “Walk,” he ordered.

  I stepped through the trees, struggling to keep my balance on the knobby cypress knees that jutted up from the ground like tiny soldiers trying to protect their massive king.

  “This here is the killing field,” he shoved me forward, finally releasing my arm from his grip. I stumbled, nearly falling on my face with my hands still cuffed behind my back. Lot’s of people enter,” I heard the sound of metal slide against metal, and I knew he’d drawn his weapon. “None ever come out. None but the killers, of course,” he adds, and I knew if I turned around, he’d be smiling. So I didn’t. If he was going to shoot me, he’d have to shoot me in the back, still restrained, like the coward he was.

  “Is that you?” I asked, my breathing labored from the adrenaline spike.

  He chuckled. “Naw. I’m just a small town sheriff trying to clean up my town.”

  “You should start with your son,” I spat, turning around to face him now.

  “Eli is doin’ his best to get clean. It’s not an easy road.”

  “I was talking about Marcus, your real son.”

  His eyes widened as his lip twitched.

  “It’s true, ain’t it? Is that why you never protected Emery from him?” I asked, taking a step forward. “Too busy screwin’ his momma to give a damn about the kids in your own home?”

  “What are you talkin’ about, boy? Marcus never hurt anyone.”

  “Someone did.”

  He shrugged, annoyed. “That girl was broken before she ever stepped foot in my town. Seems you were broken too, Ford Castille.”

  I tried to hide the surprise from my face, but he’d seen it, and his lips curled up in a sneer.

  “That’s right, boy. I know all about you. All about that no good daddy and yo’ momma who took off runnin’. You know, it’s a funny thing about small towns. It’s hard to forget a name when you outsiders show up stirring up trouble.” His foot swept behind mine, and he shoved me hard against my shoulders, causing me to land on my back. I groaned in pain as he stepped over me, his weapon pointed at my forehead. Cold water trickled under my back from a little stream that had been hidden by vines and overgrowth.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the other Ford Castille’s showing up in my parish a few years back, would you?”

  My heart felt like it had stopped in my chest. My father would have only come here for one reason. He knew Daven lived here. He was looking for my mom and me. Daven had protected us. That’s why he didn’t come looking for me when I went to New Orleans. He knew I wasn’t going to find the man that haunted me there.

  “Apple doesn’t fall far,” the sheriff’s eyes narrowed at me.

  “I haven’t seen that asshole since I was a kid. I didn’t come here lookin’ for him either. I came to get a fresh start.”

  “How’s that workin’ out for you, son?”

  I glanced down, considering kicking him between his legs. He saw, standing upright and stepping to the side.

  I now had a clear view of the branches above me, the sun filtering through the cypress leaves. The branches intersected above me like a cross, adorned with gris gris bags. Carved into them, like a makeshift memorial to the lives discarded there, were various phrases and sayings to the killers and the victims. The one that stood out was twice as large as the others. It read God’s watching you, and I didn’t know if that was meant for the perpetrators or the ones about to die. I closed my eyes, swallowing against the lump in my throat. I saw Emery’s face, anger in her eyes, and whiskey on her lips as she told the sheriff that God was watching him, the night that I took her to New Orleans.

  The static of his radio seemed to echo off the trees. Someone was calling for him, wanting to know where he was. I wasn't one to believe in prayer, but at that moment, someone was looking out for me, and for Emery.

  “Sheriff Woodrow, come in. Sutton? Do you copy?”

  “Sutton Woodrow. S. W., not M. S. It was from her point of view.”

  “What’d you say, boy?”

  My eyes snapped to his. “It was you.”

  22

  EMERY

  I paced the floor, wringing my hands together so hard it felt like my skin was gone to rip from the bones. The hospital reeked of bleach, and it turned my stomach.

  Daven was standing just a few feet away, his eyes wild with panic. Officer Salt had been making sure her son was going to be alright, but in the chaos of the moment, the sheriff had taken Ford somewhere, and she was unable to reach him on the radio.

  “He’s going to be fine. A few bruises and a couple cracked ribs. His arm will be in a cast,” Officer Salt informed us, her face wrought with worry. “They think he may have a concussion. I’ll let you know when I hear more. Why don’t you all head to the lobby? I’ll come talk to you after
I speak to the sheriff.” Her eyes danced between us. She turned and walked to the other end of the hall, chatting with another officer.

  “We need to talk, Cher,” Daven grabbed my arm and began to pull me toward the door. When we got outside, he made a beeline to his beat-up maroon Corolla. I stopped short, looking around to determine my options. Daven opened his door before turning back to stare at me. “Something tells me you know why Ford attacked ‘dat boy.”

  The tears breached my lashes like the levees on Lake Pontchartrain. His face softened, and he nodded once. He understood. It was the same look he’d given me at the mailbox. He knew something. He could feel it. This wasn’t a pissing match. Ford was trying to do what he thought was right.

  I got in the passenger side of the car, clicking my seatbelt into place as he hurried out of the parking lot. “Where would he take him, Emery?”

  “How should I know,” my words came out in a rush as I clung to the door. He glanced over at me with piercing eyes, the color of Ford’s.

  “Tell me where he’d take you,” his words were barely audible, but I felt them slice through me, gutting me. My nails dug into the top of my thigh, leaving crescent-shaped wounds that began to spring blood.

  “The killing field.” Saying the words aloud finally dislodged something inside of me that I’d been carrying around.

  We flew across town, my heart stuck in my throat. I couldn’t breathe. When we hit the dusty road, I released my seatbelt, ready to leap from the vehicle the second we stopped.

  “You wait here,” Daven commanded as he grabbed a shotgun from his backseat. Everyone in these parts was a hunter, but today it was a very different type of game.

  I followed after him, unable to wait, the sheer panic enough to swallow me whole. But Daven didn’t slow, determined to find Ford and the sheriff before Officer Salt caught up with us.

  The second he saw them, he cocked his gun, and the sheriff laughed sardonically but didn’t turn around.

  “You okay, T. Ford?” Daven asked, his gun perched by his shoulder, aimed at the back of my stepfather’s head.

  “Been better,” he replied, and I pushed out the breath I’d been holding. He was still alive.

  “Drop ‘da gun, Sutton.”

  “You know I can’t do that, neighbor.”

  The breeze blew the leaves, and sticks cracked behind me as if the forest had come alive.

  “I’m puttin’ an end to this,” Sutton called out.

  “It won’t change what you did to Emery,” Ford yelled, his pain evident in his voice. I felt exposed and vulnerable in the open ocean with a circling shark. It wouldn’t be enough for the sheriff to lay his hands on me. He wasn’t doing it for the sexual gratification. He was doing it for power. But he couldn’t control me if I had someone willing to protect me. No. He’d have to take the one person who’d ever truly seen me.

  “Naw. But I can make sure there aren’t any witnesses. You’re not the first man that tried to come here and take her away. Isn’t that right, Peanut?”

  My blood ran cold. Peanut. My father had come back for me? He’d come to save me from this place like he’d promised? I felt my lip tremble, a sob ripped from my gut.

  “You can’t kill us all,” Daven replied, his voice low as he steadied his aim. “Fils de putain.”

  “I got plenty of bullets, don’t you worry.”

  “Marcus isn’t dead,” I spoke up, the blood pumping so hard through my body that my hearing felt muffled. Everyone fell silent. I tried to block out the images of him as he happened upon us in the woods.

  April 3, 2011

  “She’s safe. I’ve got her. Call off the search,” the sheriff spoke again into his police radio attached to his uniform.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doin’?” His fingers still gripped my bicep, and my muscle burned. “You tore up your pretty little dress,” the sheriff scolded me, but his lips were twisted up in a smile. His hand glided over my knee, up to my thigh.

  “Sheriff?” His head snapped to the right, landing on the boy who had been riding rides with my brother earlier. In his hand was a crawdad he’d just caught. His gaze dipped from the Sheriff to my leg, and he blinked a few times.

  “Get the hell out of here, Marcus, before I tell your momma you’re out here catching crawdads to scare the girls.”

  Without a second thought, he scrambled back the way he’d come, leaving me to fend for myself.

  But I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. I was paralyzed with fear, my body tense like a spring under pressure.

  “You’re all wet,” he groaned, and I longed to throw myself back into the water, wishing I could sink to the bottom and let it steal all of the oxygen from my lungs.

  The Sheriff blew out a heavy breath at the sound of a vehicle flying down the old dirt road. He’d run out of time.

  “Drop your weapon,” Officer Salt commanded as she edged closer. Daven held his weapon to the side before slowly lowering it to the ground. She moved forward, grabbing his gun and tossing it further away. “Now you, Sheriff.”

  “He tried to kill Marcus. That’s attempted murder,” Sutton countered, caught off guard at her presence.

  “No bodies out here today, Sheriff. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “He kidnapped my daughter.”

  “I am not your daughter,” I bit out, my entire body vibrating with fear and anticipation.

  “This isn’t how we handle things down here.”

  Sutten laughed, shaking his head as he carefully placed his weapon on the ground. “We protect our own here, Salt. Don’t you forget that.”

  Her eyes darted around frantically, unsure of what to do. “I want you out of here by sundown,” she yelled, her gaze dropping to Ford.

  “I won’t leave without her.”

  The sheriff’s eyes danced over my body, and my stomach rolled. I wrapped my arms around my waist as several painful seconds ticked by. “Take her,” he spat. “I’m done with her.”

  I gasped, running to Ford. He pushed himself up to sit but was still restrained. Officer Salt tossed me the keys, and I took off Ford’s cuffs.

  “What are you doing?” Ford asked Salt as he grabbed me around the waist, putting me between my stepfather’s body and myself.

  “Protecting my own.”

  “Him or us?” Daven snapped as he closed the gap between us, grabbing my arm and helping to guide me from the woods. We didn’t stick around for her answer.

  23

  FORD

  The unanswered questions still hung heavy in the air around us, more suffocating than the humidity. We’d survived the killing field, but we weren’t out of the woods yet.

  I pulled Emery against my chest, clinging to her and desperately begging her to forgive me for sending her back to that monster.

  She said she didn’t blame me, but it didn’t matter, because I blamed myself and I would carry that crippling guilt with me for the rest of my life.

  “I can take you somewhere to wait for me if you don’t want to go home.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere you want.” I tried not to think about her begging me to do that very thing while we were in New Orleans, and I had written the idea off as naive.

  Emery shook her head as she cleared her throat. “I need to speak to my momma.”

  “Then I’ll be there too, across the street,” I promised her. “I just have to get my car, so we can get the hell out of this place.” I pressed my lips to hers. “It’ll be over soon.”

  She flinched as if those words had meaning to her before nodding once.

  No one spoke on the rest of the ride back to our subdivision. I stepped out of Daven’s car into the oppressive heat. Emery’s mother was on her porch. She gave me one last reassuring look before heading across the street. I wished I could go with her, but we both had unfinished business.

  I jumped back into the passenger seat, not wanting to waste any time. Daven threw the car in reverse, and we headed off toward the high
school.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my eyes taking in everything outside of my window and making sure no one was following us.

  “I knew something wasn’t right over there, but I didn’t know he hurt her –”

  “Not about Emery. Why didn’t you tell me my father had been here? He came looking for us.”

  “You were young –”

  “Not then. Now. Why didn’t you tell me when I showed up on your doorstep?”

  “I promised yo’ mom.”

  “She knew? That’s why she wanted me to come here. She knew he was gone.” I clenched my jaw, flexing my hands. The wounds from earlier that had crusted over with blood tore back open, causing fresh blood to seep from the cracks. “Where is he?”

  “I think we’ve had enough bloodshed for one day.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as we pulled up next to my car, still where I’d left it earlier with the door ajar. “Let’s talk about ‘dis later, ya?”

  I got out of the car and went to mine, slipping inside and cranking the key in the ignition. She sputtered for a moment before roaring to life. Daven walked to my side of the car and reached for me, but I pulled back.

  “No. I want to know where he is.” My voice was louder than intended.

  “Now’s not the time,” he warned.

  “Now,” I clenched my jaw, the anger coursing through my veins made me feel like I was vibrating.

  He sighed, his head tipped to the sky. When his eyes met mine again, they were glossy. He swallowed hard before sinking down on his haunches.

  “I lied to you.”

  I waited, knowing whatever he was about to say was killing him, but I had to have answers.

  “My wife...” he inhaled sharply. “My wife had just left the bank and was walking to her car. Someone walked up behind her and told her to get in the vehicle. She didn’t have a choice. He drove her out in the middle of nowhere.”

  My chest felt like it was on fire. “It was him?”

  “After they found her,” another sob ripped through him. He grabbed at a chain that hung from his neck, on it hung a simple wedding band. I glanced to his hand, where he still wore his. “I found this. I knew it wasn’t a random act. I kept his wife and son from him...” his voice trailed off.