A Trick of the Light

by Tina Wainscott

  “I don’t think we’re likely to run into a pirate ship.”

  “I didn’t think about the flag. I guess I was thinking an island that looks like a skull from the air. All right, let’s look at the keys. Look how many of them there are. There’s Eagle Key up by the Everglades National Park. Nest Key … that has something to do with birds. There’s Duck Key. And Pigeon Key farther south. Cottrell, is that a bird? There’s Man Key.”

  “And Woman Key.”

  Chloe met his eyes, then shifted away. “Definitely not birds.”

  “No.” He cleared his throat. “All right, we’ll launch the boat here and explore these upper Keys this morning. Let’s not forget Crane Key. Then we’ll head down toward Duck Key.”

  * * *

  It was a breezy morning with lots of sunshine and minimal cloud cover. All the little islands reminded her of the Ten Thousand Islands that stretched south from Lilithdale. Maybe she should have asked Dylan to explore those clusters of mangroves, just in case. But that was her gut feeling about Teddy being nearby, and she’d obviously been wrong. She tried to concentrate on Teddy, but felt nothing.

  Please don’t let that mean something’s wrong.

  They stopped the boats they saw and showed them the poster, but no one had seen him or Anne Dodson. But, as one man explained, “People tend to mind their own business ‘round here long as no one messes with their stuff. Then they shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “Lovely,” she said with a forced smile.

  Neither Nest, Eagle, nor Crane Key showed signs of Teddy’s existence. By mid-afternoon, they pulled the boat back on the trailer and headed to Duck Key. That’s where they started seeing wreckage from the hurricane: debris littering yards and rights-of-way and collecting in coves, crumpled homes and splintered boats.

  It was late afternoon by the time they reached their destination and re-launched the boat. Instead of getting relaxed by the sea breezes, Chloe was getting edgy. She kept running her fingers through her hair, pushing the strands back out of her face. Kept catching Dylan watching her. And those looks shot an awareness through her body. Get your mind way off him, Chloe.

  She started running calculations, this time silently. She walked to the back of the boat, then returned to her seat. A minute later, she was up again.

  “Chloe, what’s the matter? You’re as antsy as a cat.”

  She pulled on pink sweatpants and the matching shirt as the breeze got cooler and the sun got lower. “Something doesn’t feel right. Maybe we’re not on the right track. I don’t know.”

  Miles and miles of open water stretched out, and now only a few boats dotted the horizon. They skirted the coast for a while, covering the west side first, then venturing to the east side. They passed a marina that had been nearly devastated by the hurricane. Parts of boats and piles of broken wood spoke of lost dreams.

  “We’ll head farther south, hit Pigeon Key and then call it a day.”

  She pulled out a bag of chips and threw some to a seagull that floated nearby. Dylan wasn’t saying it, but she could feel the weight of those unspoken words. This had been a wild goose chase. Or duck chase.

  “Just don’t forget that you came willingly,” she said, hating the defensive sound in her voice.

  “What?”

  She threw more chips and more birds came. “Before you say this was a waste of time, that I was crazy to put my faith in visions, and that you were even crazier to go along with me … just remember you insisted on coming.”

  He turned the boat around. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “You were thinking about saying something, though.”

  “Oh, brother–”

  His gaze settled on the horizon, and his expression froze. He cut the engine. She followed his gaze to a small house nestled in a patch of mangroves. Not nestled exactly. It was warped and twisted by the storm, sitting halfway in the water. Abandoned. Sort of a house, sort of a boat. It was two stories with white vinyl siding and a tiny deck in front. The front corner was tilted into the water, and it creaked as it scraped against the shattered dock.

  A pirate’s black skull flag hung off a broken antenna to keep the curious away.

  A chill skirted down her spine. She and Dylan exchanged glances, then looked back at the house. Sitting in shadows with the drooping skull flag, the house looked ominous.

  Dylan angled their boat next to the structure. Several seagulls took flight from the front deck, piercing the air with their indignant cries. Seconds later they returned to perch on the slanted deck railing.

  “Birds,” Chloe whispered.

  “Hello!” Dylan called out.

  No one answered. The house rocked and groaned with the slight wake they created. Then she heard the sound that came to her dreams, of water tapping against the side. And then another sound, a very faint one. She couldn’t tell exactly what it was. Maybe a cat. Maybe not.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked.

  She could tell he had. His head was cocked as he tried to pick out the sound. There it was again, a mewling sound. Another chill raced down her spine.

  “Should we call the Coast Guard?” she asked, searching the horizon. “Remember what that guy said about people shooting first and asking questions second.”

  “Take my boat out of sight and use the radio.” He kicked off his shoes, stripped off his shirt and slipped over the side.

  Her heartbeat pulsed in her throat as she looked into the opaque green water. Another glance over the horizon. Nobody in sight. Please don’t let anyone shoot us, she prayed before tearing off her sweats and boat shoes and dropping into the water.

  He helped her up onto the deck first, then she gave him a hand up. The whole structure dipped lower into the water. Her heart was hammering, sending a crushing sensation through her chest. If they didn’t get shot, they were going to drown — or worse, drown whoever or whatever was inside.

  Newspapers and discarded food containers littered the deck. The newspapers were current which meant the place wasn’t abandoned after all. Four seagulls circled the mess, wary of the intruders. The door was bolted shut, and on it a black sign read, “Keep out! Private Property.”

  They heard the mewling sound again, and it prickled the hair on her neck. “Maybe it’s a cat,” she whispered. But it didn’t feel like a cat.

  “Why would someone lock a cat inside?”

  Dylan tried the windows, but they were nailed shut with pieces of broken wood. He looked for something to pry the door open with while she searched the empty horizon again. Maybe they should have radioed the Coast Guard first.

  He nodded toward a dangling rope where a small boat could be tied off. “Whoever lives here must be out getting groceries or something.” And whoever it was would be back.

  He wedged a piece of wood beneath the bolted latch and pried and twisted it. It came loose after a few minutes of struggling. Something was jammed up behind the door. Apparently whoever lived here didn’t exit through this door. He shoved his whole body against it and finally the door gave in.

  Beer cans littered the floor, and the place smelled like waste. It was dark inside, with the windows in the back covered with plywood. They listened for more sounds, but heard nothing. They searched the small living room area. She headed down the hall, momentarily losing her balance on the tilted floor. He grabbed hold of her arm to steady her.

  The only sounds they could hear were water lapping against the side and the screech of seagulls fighting over the garbage outside. She nodded in answer to his silent question: I’ve got my balance; let’s keep going.

  She followed him down the dark hallway. The front room was filled with piles of junk. The right side was partially flooded. She came to a sudden halt when Dylan stopped, and she didn’t. His body went stiff. The door in back was bolted shut from the outside.

  Chloe swallowed hard. What if they were wrong? What if —

  Dylan slammed into the door shoulder first. Wood splintered as he pushed t
hrough the doorway. He stopped, and she scrambled past him into the tiny bedroom. Her chest was crushed in a grip of hope and fear. In the dim light, all she could see was a lump beneath the blankets on a bed.

  And the lump was crying.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Teddy,” Chloe whispered.

  Small fingers pulled down a corner of the blanket. Wide, haunted eyes peered above the edge. It was a boy. But it wasn’t Teddy.

  This boy had tangled blond hair and blue eyes, terrified eyes, but she could understand that. After all, two strangers had just crashed through his bedroom door.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to him in soothing tones. “We didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Dylan’s body had drooped, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the boy.

  How could anyone could live in that hot, broken place? Why would they? Shouldn’t the boy be in school? He was a little older than Teddy. Something wasn’t right. The door was bolted on the outside. She looked at Dylan, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  Their eyes widened simultaneously. They looked at each other, then at the boy again. He watched them with eyes looking less scared and more hopeful. She knew this boy. She tried to remember the other poster at the pizza joint. He hardly looked like the same kid, but then again, he’d probably been through hell these last three months.

  She walked closer and knelt down beside him. “Is …” She could hardly speak through her tight throat. “Is your name Mac?”

  He hesitated, looking from Dylan to Chloe, before nodding. Tears filled his eyes, and his chin trembled.

  A chill washed over her. “My God. This is the boy.” She turned to Dylan. “It’s him.”

  “We’ve got to get him out of here before whoever took him returns.”

  She knelt down beside the bed. “We’re going to take you home, okay?”

  He nodded.

  She pulled the blanket back. The boy was skinny and had bruises, but he looked all right otherwise. Chloe didn’t want to think about what he’d been through. She held out her hands, and after a hesitation, Mac crawled forward and into her arms, slamming into her chest and clinging to her.

  Dylan watched the scene with an odd expression. She knew he must be disappointed that they hadn’t found Teddy, yet he was obviously glad they’d found another child in need of saving.

  They helped him into the water and to their boat where Dylan radioed for the police while Chloe dried herself and Mac. She put her sweatshirt on him, resisting the urge to hold him tight.

  “Are you all right, Mac? Your parents have missed you so much. Did you know they’ve been looking for you all this time?” He didn’t know, not by the doubtful look in his eyes. He thought his parents had abandoned him. She looked up to find Dylan watching them, his eyes shadowed with pain, the mask gone for a moment. He turned back to his task, piloting the boat away from the house, but keeping it in sight in case the creep returned.

  “They love you, Mac,” she continued. “They’re going to be so happy to …” Her voice choked. “see you again.”

  She started shaking. She didn’t know why; they were safe. Mac was looking at her, and she tried hard not to let him see. “It’s going to be okay. Your mom and dad are going to be here soon.”

  His eyes filled with tears, and he moved into her arms. She stroked his hair and tried not to hold him too tight. Dylan was watching her, but this time she couldn’t read his expression. He wasn’t looking at her or Mac, but both of them together.

  Once he got off the radio, he sat down beside them. “You all right?”

  She sounded unconvincing when she said, “I’m fine. I just can’t believe … we saw him on that old poster, and it was almost covered up, and here he is.”

  Dylan reached out and ran his hand over Mac’s hair. The boy looked up, then buried his face deeper against Chloe. She didn’t want to think about what this boy must have gone through. Once he was safe with his parents, he’d be fine. Dylan grabbed his dry sweater and draped it over Chloe’s shoulders.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she asked.

  He shook his head. He looked tired, more so with the shadow of a beard. She wondered how much sleep he’d gotten since Teddy’s disappearance. She couldn’t look at him without wanting to pull him close the way she did Mac. She looked at the house that had been Mac’s prison.

  “Lena, she was right. Dylan, she was right about a boy being on a boat-type house with a skull flag on it. It wasn’t Teddy, but it was a boy who needs to be home with his family.”

  He nodded, then settled his hand on her shoulder. And together they waited in silence.

  The cavalry rode — or motored — in half an hour later. The police and paramedics rode shotgun on the Coast Guard’s boat. One officer and the paramedic came aboard while the other officers entered the house.

  “That’s the kid.” The officer dialed his cell phone. “We got him, Sam. Go ahead and call his folks.” He hung up and said, “I didn’t want to get their hopes up until I knew for sure. I can’t believe you found him.”

  After they had been questioned, Dylan asked, “Did you … suspect the parents at first? In Mac’s disappearance.”

  “Always have to suspect the people closest to the child. Though I was pretty sure they had nothing to do with it.” He surveyed the open water. “Now we have to find out who did.”

  “My aunt was right,” Chloe whispered to herself. If Lena hadn’t let herself go with the vision, if Chloe hadn’t come down here, this boy wouldn’t have been found tonight. Or maybe ever.

  The two medics cajoled Mac away from her. “It’s okay, hon,” she told him as he reached for her. “I’m right here.”

  She caught Dylan watching, but he quickly turned away. She’d feel the same way when they found Teddy. Even though she’d never seen the boy before, she knew the elation and relief and love she’d feel for him.

  She was in a daze as they followed the Coast Guard back to their home base. The press was waiting, clamoring for statements.

  “How did they know?” she asked one of the officers.

  “They listen to police scanners. Sometimes they’re on the scene before we are. Dammit, we don’t want this guy to know we have the boy.”

  Chloe was sitting in the small waiting area when Mac’s parents came barreling in. The woman was already crying as they were ushered into one of the back rooms. Chloe smiled at the sound of happy sobbing. There was almost nothing better than tears of joy.

  It was a few minutes before she tuned into Dylan’s conversation with the police officer. “Her aunt Lena had this premonition or vision or something. She was right.” He ran his fingers back through his dark hair in disbelief. “She was perfectly right. Only it wasn’t my son.”

  She started to say, “No one’s supposed to know —” when she spotted a reporter jotting down information.

  “What’s your aunt’s last name?” he asked.

  Chloe sprang to her feet. “You have to keep her name out of the papers.”

  “I’ll find out one way or the other,” the wiry man said. “Besides, psychics dig publicity. It’s how they get new business. Or is there more to the story?”

  “I’m not telling you anything.”

  He snapped his notebook closed. “That’s all right. I’ll find out.”

  She started to grab at the notebook. “Please don’t print her name.”

  Dylan approached the man. “If you put her aunt’s name in your article, I’ll make your life very uncomfortable.”

  The man’s eyes bulged. “Hey, officer! Do you hear this man threatening me?”

  “Get out of here, Schwartz!” the officer said. Then to Chloe he said, “I need your statement, and then you’re free to go. We’ll probably be in touch for further information later.”

  “Fine. Here’s my card …” Dylan said, then patted his pants. “I think this is the first time I haven’t had business cards with me.”

  O
nce they’d covered everything from why they’d been down to the Keys to the minute the Coast Guard showed up, she was able to leave.

  “The parents want to thank you,” the officer said. “They’ve gone to the hospital with their son, but they want to talk to you.”

  “Thanks aren’t necessary,” she said. “But I’d like to hear how Mac is doing.”

  Dylan shook his head as he ushered her back out to their boat. “You must have the biggest heart of anyone I know.”

  Oh, no, was she being tender again? She wiped at her eyes. Shoot. He stepped down into the boat, then helped her aboard. She stayed in front of him so he couldn’t see her tears. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It’s not a bad thing.” He swung her around to face him and pushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Wish I could be more like you.”

  “It’s okay to wish that boy had been Teddy.”

  She could see a shadow of a smile on his face. And then he kissed her so tenderly, she thought her heart — however big it was — was going to break. When he finished the kiss, she whispered, “You have a bigger heart than you think.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” he whispered back. “Let’s go.”

  The air was cool, and thousands of stars dotted the dark sky. She stood next to Dylan as he steered back to the dock where they’d launched the boat. She wanted to put her arms around him and snuggle up against his back. Or better yet, have him put his arms around her. But why get her hopes up?

  When they reached the dock, he said, “Hold this rope while I get the car.”

  The black Mercedes was the only car in the small lot. He had only walked halfway there before stopping, reading a sign on the gate, and returning to the boat. “Did you happen to see the sign about the launch area closing at ten o’clock?”