Who is Mackie Spence?

by Lin Kaymer

Brody could have called the Spences’ house number to tell Mackie that he had her cell phone. Mackie told her mother she was going to get her phone, and left on her bike. Though she didn’t like being around Brody, Mackie would meet him to get her phone back. To do that, she must have been with him some time during the day. Brody, the guy who Mackie said was obsessed with her and tried to make her feel like she owed him something. Not good. Not good at all!

  I stand in a rush, and run down the stairs. In the hallway, I grab a flashlight, my jacket, and reflector.

  It is late, so there is no traffic as I start to run the streets leading to the island’s northern point, near Locke’s Pass, and then west to Port Claridon. The port is where the Camerons’ waterfront home is located. I didn’t care about anything but finding Mackie and making sure she’s safe. If I have to go through Brody to do that, then I will.

  CHAPTER 10

  I was at Brody’s house last year, after one of our soccer games. Running the three miles fast, I use the beam of my flashlight and the dim overhead moonlight to follow the streets. A couple of times the uneven asphalt on the road shoulder throws me off balance, and I have to jerk upright to avoid falling.

  Finally, I find the tall columns of mortared rocks that look like guards at the top of the Camerons’ drive. Like most waterfront homes on the island, their house isn’t visible from the road. Before me stretches a long driveway that winds back through the property into blackness.

  I gasp for breath as I step off the road and onto the drive entrance. Woods on either side of me make it feel like I’m looking down a tunnel. The front of their yard is dense with salal and tiers of hemlock and cedar trees. I can’t see much of anything beyond my small flashlight beam as I walk down the drive. Not wanting to tip off Body that I’ve arrived, I palm my light to keep the beam dim, and point it at my feet. I move cautiously forward.

  Ahead are lights, but only outside, at the front porch and outside of the south wing. The house is huge. It has multiple rooflines, elevated decks, and six entrances. A square, two-story guesthouse sits about one hundred feet off the main house. The guesthouse looks completely dark. Ditto for the third building, a three-bay garage.

  I stay close to the main house and slip along to the west entrance facing the water. Light filters around the edges of the kitchen’s window blinds. Otherwise, the place appears to be empty.

  After shuffling in a low crouch to move beyond the house, I peer through a window inside the detached garage. Brody’s red convertible is parked inside with one other vehicle, a sedan that looks like it might belong to his parents.

  I make my way back to the house, knowing that homes like the Cameron’s have security systems. Experience has taught me electronic surveillance is hard to beat. But I need to find out if Brody is inside the house.

  Moving into the main yard with its formal garden and waterfront, I stop behind some low shrubs so I can view the full west face of the house. Because the night is dark, I won’t be seen but can monitor any change of lighting inside. Pulling out my phone, I tap in a message to Mackie’s phone:

  i know where u r

  This should get a reaction out of Brody. If he has Mackie’s phone.

  I wait. There are no changes in the house lights. I move to the east side of the house that faces into the woods. No additional lights have been turned on. Nothing has changed in the house since I sent my text.

  What if Brody isn’t buying my message? Because we run cross-country and play soccer together, he can spot my bluffs. If I really knew where Mackie was, I’d just show up, not send a message.

  I jog around the building to sit on a garden bench off the kitchen entrance. Brody’s car is here, so logically he is on the property somewhere. I can’t get into the house, but nothing suggests that he’s actually in the house. Where else can he be? The guesthouse? No. It’s dark and looks deserted. Same for the garage. That leaves the grounds. Wouldn’t he want to be comfortable inside the house? According to Jilly, Brody’s parents and brother are gone for the weekend. So Brody has the run of the place, the whole property for that matter.

  Brody. He’s a creature of habit. I know that from playing with him. He favors certain repeat moves. But above all, he likes to be the leader. He has to be the guy in control. So, in this house, he’d want to be in rooms where he could see everything around him. All of those rooms have a water view.

  I shiver from sitting in my own sweat. Keep moving. I walk around the house’s corner to the west side and gaze up at the windows. Still no change in the kitchen lights. Turning slowly, I search the lawn and garden. What am I missing?

  Then I see it. A tiny light pops out just beyond the shoreline, in the water, like a low wattage security spot. The light is on the sailboat at the Camerons’ dock! Is Brody on their boat?

  Again cupping my flashlight’s beam, I edge through the flower garden to a stepping-stone walkway. The waterfront is about two hundred feet from the house. The tide is in and it looks like I can walk out on the dock and step into the water. DARK WATER. I shudder at the words Mackie spelled on the Ouija board. Focus.

  I strain to hear voices, any sound at all.

  The tiny light seems to glow from below deck. Brody could be there. But I can’t hear or see him. I need to find out. Moving fast down the stepping stones, it takes only seconds to close in on the gleaming white boat.

  Walking on the wooden dock will be more of a challenge. The dock will creak with each of my footsteps. There is no way to disguise my arrival. I move cautiously, hugging the two-sided railing. At the end of the dock, I stand parallel along the starboard side.

  During the summer of my freshman year, I took sailing classes through the parks department. But this boat is huge compared to the small Sunfishes I sailed. Stepping tentatively on deck, I listen and still hear nothing but a slight shifting of the boat. Am I wrong? Brody isn’t here?

  Ahead, a lighted stairway at the hatch leads to rooms below. This is the light I saw from the yard. I inch to the opening with my flashlight turned off. There is something sticky on the floor, but it’s not slowing me. I focus carefully as I step down the stairs.

  Whoa! A man’s legs, ending in deck shoes, stick out in the aisle from behind a tall cabinet. Someone is within six feet of me! But there is no sound. They look like Brody’s legs. What’s he doing? I’ve made plenty of noise. He should be alert and checking me out.

  Holding my breath, I tense for him to make his move. Then I see Mackie’s phone on a low table to the right of his legs. Maybe she is here! The figure behind the cabinet doesn’t move. Brody?

  “Uh, er . . .” I clear my throat and cough.

  No movement from The Legs.

  Creeping forward, I stay on guard, ready for him to lunge at me. There’s an empty gin bottle on the floor between us. Has he passed out? Great. If so, I’ll have to rouse him to get answers about Mackie. I peer around the cabinet.

  Shit!

  It is Brody! He has three-inch, parallel cuts ending in puncture wounds covering his head, arms, and chest. His T-shirt is ripped all over. His hair is matted with blood from what look like holes capped with coagulated mounds of blood. Dried blood covers his closed eyelids. I stagger closer.

  Alive or dead?

  “Bro,” I whisper. I try again. “Brody, wake up. Come on, wake up, Bro.” I nudge his foot with mine. Still nothing.

  Oh shit, crap, shit! He’s dead?

  I need to find out, but don’t want to touch him. I walk around the cabin looking for matches. In a drawer I find a long, butane lighter, the kind used to light gas grills. Moving back to Brody’s sickening self, I push, click, and light a flame about two inches under his nostrils. The flame flickers. He’s breathing! Yes!

  I slump against a side chair. As much as Brody disgusts me, I don’t want to see him dead. But he is crazy hurt, his skin raked and punctured. Blood is smeared everywhere on him. What happened? The sticky stuff I stepped in must be blood, and it tops the deck and stairs. Is someone else on the boat wi
th me? The person who did this to Brody?

  I push my panic down. I have to call for help. What about Mackie? Is she hurt, too? I call out, “Mackie! Come on Mac. Mackie, where are you?” My voice bounces off the walls.

  Nothing.

  Still calling her name, I make myself concentrate on moving through the cabin. There isn’t any blood beyond the main room. That’s good. Hopefully, it’s all Brody’s.

  The doors to the rooms farthest forward are wide open. I check them out, including the shower and head. Empty. By this time I am shaking, and can hear my teeth chattering, but not from being cold. The whole place is absolutely beyond crazy. Brody. Blood. Who could have done this to him? Fear pushes up against my throat.

  Climbing the stairs to the main deck, I call, “Mackie, come on, Mackie. Answer me. Mackie. Mackie.”

  Silence.

  I put my hand in my pocket to pull out my phone when I see a piece of light blue fabric with tiny white dots, torn in a long strip, hanging from a rigging. I step closer. Mackie has a shirt like this. I’ve seen her wear it lots of times.

  Frantically, I pace around the deck. Has she come and gone, or is she still somewhere on the boat? I want to find her, more than anything. Brody is alive. He can wait.

  Standing mid ship, I rub my eyes and stare out at the water in the bay on the port side. Feeling like a balloon that’s slowly losing air, I make myself move. I want to get away from the dark water.

  As I step off the boat onto the dock, I hear a sound overhead. It’s an eagle’s cry. That shouldn’t happen. Eagles hunt during the day. They have limited night vision. But right now, an eagle is somewhere near me. Oh crap!

  I step back onto the boat, fold my hands across my chest to look non-threatening, and look up. I barely find the shape of the bird. It circles above, something eagles do when they’re marking territory. Or searching below for prey.

  Why is this happening? Is this bird hunting me? I grab a padded cushion from a deck chair and hug it to my chest. The bird spirals just off port. Then it hits me like a lightning bolt, why the puncture wounds on Brody looked so familiar. They’re the same size and pattern that I’ve seen on eagles that have been brought to the shelter after they’ve been attacked. By another eagle! Is this bird circling to attack me?

  Moving along the railing, I peer into the calm, dark water. It’s too dark. I need more light. Pointing my flashlight beam down, I walk along the length of the boat, searching the water for whatever has drawn the eagle’s interest.

  I’m almost at the bow when I see a clump of weeds rolled up against the boat at water level. No, wait. It’s not vegetation, but a cluster of sea otters rafted together, holding each other’s paws. This is often how they sleep. Under my flashlight, pale jowl fur gleams against their darker head fur. Eyes blink up at me, very alert. I almost cover the flashlight, so as to not disturb them, when I recognize what floats in the middle of the group.

  “Mackie!”

  She’s face up, long hair streaming over the otters, her lower body submerged.

  I stare in disbelief. Then I run back to the boat ladder, strip to my undershorts, and am in the water swimming to her. The otters watch quietly, as if waiting for me to join them. I don’t know what will happen when I reach for her, but when I close in, they ease downward and disappear.

  She’s not moving. Her face registers blue-white in the dim light. I put my arm around her, and try to find a pulse on her neck. I get nothing. Maybe it’s too faint and I’m missing the beat. She remains motionless as I tow her back to the ladder.

  Mackie’s slack weight is heavy, and I adjust her body so that I have her across my shoulders before I climb the ladder. Because of saltwater in my eyes, I can’t see well. It takes a long time to get to the boat rail. Then I give a final push and we both fall on the deck.

  She’s sprawled in front of me, dead. Inside, I feel as cold as she looks.

  I make myself examine her face. Mackie’s closed eyes top a calm smile, like she sleeps in the middle of a peaceful dream.

  I stagger to the railing and throw up. When I return to Mackie, I hear nothing. Not the sound of the waves lapping against the boat. Not the ting-a-ling of the neighbor’s wind chime. Not the sound of my own breathing. Everything has gone quiet. Dead quiet.

  CHAPTER 11

  I have to do something. I step away from Mackie and go below. Brody hasn’t moved. In one of the bedrooms, I find a sheet to wrap around Mackie. Shivering in spasms, I pull out a blanket to put around myself.

  Much as I loved Mackie, I don’t want to touch her again. When I pulled her out of the water, her skin felt so cold. But rolling her in the sheet seems like the decent thing to do. She probably would like the fabric color. She looked good in lavender.

  I turn her so that she faces up into the night sky. Then I place the sheet over her, and tuck it in and under. She has the same serene expression as when I first had hauled her on the boat. I hug the blanket around me and, still watching her, reach for my phone.

  As the phone searches for a signal, her eyes open.

  My phone clatters as it hits the deck.

  “Mackie?” I whisper. “Are you alive?”

  She says nothing and doesn’t move.

  I jump up and watch her with a wild spurt of hope. Next, I run down the cabin stairs and grab the butane lighter. I race back up the stairs to her open eyes that stare straight up into the heavy night sky.

  I light the stick and pass it under her nostrils. There’s a faint but definite flicker!

  “Mackie.” I gasp, as I fling the lighter down and touch her face with my hands.

  Scrambling, I pick up my phone and dial 911. She will live and I’ll see to it!

  I put the phone on speaker and tuck my blanket around her as I give information to the emergency dispatcher. The island’s fire station is close, and someone should be with us within minutes.

  I struggle to pull on my pants over my wet shorts, put on my shirt, and then call my dad’s phone. Please, let him be awake. He answers before the call goes to voice mail and says to call again as soon as I know which hospital we’ll be taken to.

  I sit on the deck next to Mackie. Is she unconscious? She recovered from a coma after her family’s summer sailing accident. But how can she still be alive after being in the water and looking so blue?

  How did she end up in the water? And there is the bizarreness of Brody, the eagle, and the otters. How can any of that be explained? It’s unbelievable even to me.

  When the medics arrive, so does a policeman. He and the EMTs bring high beam lanterns projecting light in fifty-yard paths. The Camerons’ property becomes a well-lit stage, and neighbors in pajamas step out of their homes to see what is going on.

  The policeman identifies himself as Captain Evans and asks me some questions as the medics attend Mackie and Brody. Captain Evans looks closely at my hands and clothes. He’s just placed my shoes, with blood on their soles, in a plastic bag, and is speaking with the EMTs when two more police officers arrive. Officers Dade and Kale size me up like coyotes considering a meal.

  When the medics move Mackie and Brody off the boat, I begin to walk with them.

  “Stop right now. You’re coming with us,” Office Kale says.

  An EMT replies, “He’s been in the water, so we need to check him out. He could have hypothermia.”

  “He could be dangerous,” the cop says.

  What? Where is this coming from?

  “He was in cold water and could go into shock. One of you can ride in the back with us,” says the EMT, who seems to be in charge.

  The cop turns to me. “After Harborview, we’re going to the First Hill Station. We want a formal statement, pronto.”

  I have a hard time swallowing.

  “You boys have it from here?” Captain Evans asks the cops. He isn’t smiling.

  “Sure. We’ve got this,” says Officer Kale.

  I’m sorry to see the captain move toward his car as I walk between my police escorts. In fr
ont of us, Mackie and Brody are carried up the stone pathway to the driveway, and secured in the red and white emergency truck. Officer Dade motions for me to get in. He sits next to me on a narrow bench seat between medical equipment, and places a stun gun on his knee.

  I reach in my shirt pocket, show the cop I have my phone, and call my dad.

  “Dad, we’re going to Seattle. Harborview. Harborview Medical Center. They’re getting ready to move us. I’m with Mackie and Brody. Did you call her parents?”

  “Yes, we’ve talked with them. The police are at their place, now. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  “What about Mackie?”

  “She’s still not awake.”

  “Were Brody’s parents home?”

  “I don’t think anyone was in the house.”

  “Mom and I will meet you at the hospital.”

  “Okay. Hey, would you bring me some clothes? Mine are kind of wet. I need shoes, too.”

  “You need to end your call,” a medic says, as he sits down between Mackie and Brody.

  Then the ER truck’s double doors close.

  During the ride, Officer Dade keeps his eyes on me and I keep mine on Mackie. Everyone stays inside the ambulance on the ferry.

  What went down between Mackie and Brody that she ended up in the water? With a ripped shirt? Mackie breathes through tubes hooked to an oxygen tank. Her eyes have closed and her skin is changing from pale blue to a healthy color.

  At 12:47 A.M. Sunday, a Harborview ER tech admits me to be checked out after my cold-water swim. The emergency staff rolls in a wheelchair for me to sit in and asks for my identification information. They’ve already wheeled Mackie and Brody out of sight, so I don’t know anything more about them. Five other people hover in the ER lobby. Two of them look sick and run in and out of the restrooms, another wears a sling on his arm, and the last two just seem sad.

  An orderly rolls me down a hallway and into a curtained cubicle. Another man in hospital scrubs with a hospital badge joins us. He says, “Hi. I’m George. I hear you went for a swim in the Sound tonight. Let’s get your temperature and blood pressure first.” After those tests, he says, “We need to get you warmed up. Take your clothes off and put this gown on.” He gestures to a gown lying on an examination table. “I’m going to give you a blanket to wrap around yourself, too.”