Haunt Water

by Leigh Selfman

  Before I can even try to figure out the answer...the door to the cabin starts to open up and a blonde head peeks in. And I’m pretty sure I know which one killer is, since he’s about to come in to get me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  "What is that you got there?" Phil’s tone is aggressive as he stumbles into the room. His words come out slurred and he has a dazed look in his eyes. His whole demeanor appears angry and drunk and disheveled.

  So I guess his recent rehab stint didn't take too well, after all.

  "I said, whatcha got there?" He comes closer.

  The sharp tone of his voice gets my attention. But what holds my attention is the broken bottle in his hands – the sharp, jagged one that he’s pointing in my direction.

  “Nothing,” I say, trying to sound calming, raising my hands in a placating gesture.

  My mind works furiously as I try to think of something to say to distract him from the photos and the sketchpad that are on the floor next to me. Just then, my phone rings and I jump, startled.

  I look down at the screen and see that it says, 'dentist'. I quickly grab for the phone, trying to answer it and to scream for help. But Phil snatches it from my hands and shoves it into his jeans pocket. Then he kneels down, close to me – the broken bottle in his hand dangerously close to my cheek.

  "Please, Phil," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. "Please. I won't tell anyone. No one will ever have to know who you really are."

  His humid, alcohol-tinged breath wafts over my face. "Ha. Yeah right. You've already been talking to a tabloid reporter. I heard you earlier. I know what was going on."

  I open my eyes and look at him in surprise.

  His eyes are close to mine. "You know you signed a nondisclosure."

  If only that were my biggest worry. But unfortunately the big, jagged bottle near my face is pretty much erasing all other concerns.

  "But then again," Phil stands up and gives me a sloppy smile. "Then again...maybe that tabloid reporter won't survive his injuries. Maybe the story will die with him."

  "Die…?"

  I look at Phil and suddenly realize what he’s getting at. "Oh my gosh. It was you who did that to Tony! You...you followed him to the warehouse and you…”

  "Pfft. I didn't follow him." Phil angrily and waves the jagged bottle in my direction. "We all heard where you were going to meet up with him. I just had to get there early to find out what he knew about me." He rolls his eyes and burps, lowering the bottle at his side. “Man I hate those guys. They're like rats. Snoopy, nosyrats who ratferret out all kinds of secrets." He shakes his head and looks off, dazed.

  At which point, my phone starts ringing again. Phil pulls it from his pocket and looks at it in irritation as the ringing suddenly stops. But then, in the next moment, the text alert starts sounding.

  "Boy someone really wants to reach..." He squints at the phone and sways, dizzily. "To reach you." He rolls his eyes as he drops my new phone – which bothers me more than it should considering the danger that I’m in. But still…those things aren’t cheap.

  I fear he’s going to crush it under his foot but instead, he bends down to pick it up, frowning at the screen, as if he’s having trouble reading it. "Oh look," he finally mumbles. "Your tabloidratferretfriend sent you a text message."

  He squints and slurs his words as he reads aloud, "Arden. You'll never guess who's working on that movie of yours. The writer, Phil, is really the killer son. Evidence attached.” Phil looks me in the eyes and smiles.

  "Phil, please. I won't tell anyone that you're him. That you’re the killer son."

  "But that tabloidrat will tell," he snarls.

  “Yeah," I nod. "I guess he will.” And as I talk, I reach behind my back, my fingers clasping the object I’ve been searching for. I hold up the old flare gun and aim it at Phil. "Now back away or I'll shoot!"

  Phil looks at me as if he doesn't know what's going on. "Shoot? Me?" He looks at me, puzzled as if that’s the last thing he’d expect from me. “You would do that?”

  I aim the flare gun at his head. I have no idea if it's loaded or if it would even still work after all these years. But I guess I'll find out one way or the other. My finger starts to pull back on the trigger.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Before I can pull the trigger, the boat starts swaying and jostling violently.

  Phil falls into me and we both fall into the wall, with Phil hitting his head hard. This causes him drop the jagged bottle. I reach for it and try to avoid sticking myself with it as I toss it far away. Then I get to my feet, grab my purse and my phone and rush out of there with Trevor at my side.

  It's not until I'm back on dry land that I'm able to pause and catch my breath. I look around but I don't see the guard anywhere, so I head across the darkened parking lot to my car. I'm shaking like a leaf as I finally get my key into the ignition - but when I try to start the car...the engine won't turn over.

  "No! No! No!" I scream. Trevor looks at me nervously and I reach over and pet him.

  How can this be happening again? I wonder. My car is old but it’s always been reliable.

  At which point it hits me - Phil probably sabotaged it. Just like he probably sabotaged my car earlier when I was going to meet Tony. So he could meet him first and kill him before he told everyone his secret.

  As I try again to start the car, I wonder just how Tabloid Tony found out that Phil was really Hugh Baker. And how he knew that young Hugh was the killer.

  But I don't have time to figure it out now. I have to get out of here. Fast.

  I jump out of the car and Trevor and I start rushing across the darkened parking lot on foot, not knowing where we’re going. I’m just trying to get out of the area in case Phil comes out after me. Luckily, Trevor’s always up for a run.

  I just have to find a safe place to hide so I can call the police and wait for them to come.

  I'm walking down the darkened, deserted street, turning my phone back on to dial 911...when I see the high beams of a car coming towards me, blinding me.

  I stop, frozen.

  Could Phil have already gotten off the boat and into his car?

  I look around but there’s nowhere to hide.

  The car pulls up next to me and the window rolls down.

  In it, is the last person I expected to see: Buck Ames.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  "Arden? Are you okay? You look a little freaked out."

  "Buck? Oh my gosh. I’m so happy it’s you." And truly, I am. I've never been so happy to see someone in all my life. And the fact that he happens to be a gorgeous, glowing movie star, doesn't hurt. "Can I have a ride? My car is broken and Phil's after me and..."

  "Phil?" Buck interrupts. He looks at me, puzzled, then he shrugs and leans over to open the passenger door of the car. "Sure. Hop in."

  I get inside and almost soon as I do, Trevor jumps on my lap and curls up, blissfully unaware of the dangerous situation we just eluded.

  I, on the other hand, am still shaking like crazy. But I tell myself to calm down, as Buck starts driving slowly down the street.

  "Now what's all this about Phil?" he asks me calmly as he reaches over to turn down the radio. "You say he's after you?"

  "Yeah," I nod, finally catching my breath. "I know it's unbelievable, but Phil is really Hugh Baker, all grown up. He's the one who really killed everyone on the boat that day. It wasn't Duke. It was Hugh. Which is why the ghost of Duke kept saying I want to kill you.”

  Buck looks at me, puzzled.

  “Because what he was really saying was, I want to kill Hugh.”

  “Oh,” Buck nods. Then he looks over at me as if he's not sure I'm really in my right mind.

  "Are you sure about that?"

  "Yes,” I nod. “Absolutely.”

  "But...I mean...that’s nuts. How'd you even know all this? Is this something the ghost told you?"

  "Yeah. Well no. I mean he didn't 'tell' me. He showed me. He led me to the evidence. There was
a photo - a Polaroid that Duke took of Wendy Baker. And if you look really closely, you can see young Hugh in the background, holding the flare-gun. And aiming it right at Wendy."

  “Wow."

  "I know! And there was also a sketchpad that belonged to Hugh. With all sorts of horrible drawings. He must've been fantasizing about killing his sister for a long time. And then...he just did it. He just killed her. He killed all of them.”

  "Wow." Buck says again, looking deep in thought. He takes a left turn onto another surface road and part of me wants to tell him to speed up. But the other part realizes that I’m safe now. Phil can’t get to me now.

  "So is that how Phil knew so much about the story?” Buck asks me. “Because he’s Hugh Baker?"

  “Probably,” I say with a shrug. “It would certainly explain why the story spoke to him so much.”

  “Man,” Buck says, shaking his head.

  My guess is that Buck is probably wondering how this is going to affect the movie. But I don’t see why he should worry. After all - it'll probably only help sales. A movie script about a serial killer? Written by the serial killer himself? Box office gold!

  "Wow," Buck says again. "That's so sick."

  I look at him, unsure if he means sick as in psycho and disgusting. Or sick as in awesome and cool. "So does anyone else know about this?" Buck asks.

  I want to say no, but instead I decide to tell him the truth.

  "Yeah. There's this guy, this tabloid reporter who's been stalking me. Well actually he's been stalking you and trying to get me to give him some dirt on you."

  Buck shoots me a look.

  "Don't worry,” I add quickly. “I didn't give him anything. But Tony, that’s his name, he actually went out on his own and found out the information about the murders, somehow. So there's no way to hide it from the press. This story is getting out. Especially since Phil...er... Hugh also tried to kill him, earlier today."

  "The reporter? Phil tried to kill a reporter too?"

  "Yeah," I nod. "But Tony's going to be okay - as far as I know. In fact, he sent me a text with the information he found out. I still don't know how he figured it out." I frown and pull out my phone and look for the text that Tabloid Tony sent me about Phil.

  I click on it and read it aloud. Arden. You'll never guess who's working on that movie of yours. The writer, Phil, is really the killer’s son. Evidence attached”

  I click on the attached article, but it takes a while to open. As I wait, it dawns on me that there’s something odd about Tony’s text.

  "Huh. That's weird," I say under my breath as I reread the text under my breath: Arden. You'll never guess who's working on that movie of yours. The writer, Phil, is really the killer’s son.

  "What?" Buck glances over. “What’s the problem with it?”

  I frown and shake my head. "Well…this text says that Phil is “the killer's son” meaning the son of the killer. But I think what Tony meant to say was that Phil was the “killer son” as in the son who is the killer.

  “Hmn.” Buck glances over at me and shrugs. "Well, people aren't exactly grammatically correct in texts. Generally speaking."

  "That's true," I say, realizing that Buck is probably right. “Maybe Tony just wrote it wrong. I mean he’s not exactly a reporter for the Times.”

  I look down at the article that Tony attached, which has finally finished loading.

  It turns out to be an old magazine piece, written a year after the Andrea Claire murders, about the mysterious Duke Warren and his family – his young wife and his young son…Phil. But I'm still so wound up and nervous that I can barely take in its meaning.

  "What is it?" Buck asks.

  "I don’t know. This can't be right," I say as I twist my hair up into a bun to get it out of my face. "This seems to imply that Phil actually was the killer’s son. Duke’s son. Which is what Tony said in his text. But that doesn’t make any sense.”

  I look off, frowning, trying to piece it all together. "But Phil can’t be Duke’s son. He has to be the killer himself, Hugh Baker.”

  “Why?” Buck looks over at me.

  “Because I saw it in the photo. Young Hugh was definitely the killer. His old sketch pad proved it too."

  "The one with all the creepy drawings?"

  "Yeah. Young Hugh's sketch pad with all the drawings of mutilated bodies. It had all these littles doodles all over too. Doodles that looked just like the little drawing on that script that you and Phil were making notes on. The one you gave to me."

  Buck glances over at me again. At just that moment my eye falls on the other script in the car. The script that I wrote and gave Buck to read. And right there, on the cover page...I see a little doodle. A familiar little drawing of a hand. Holding a gun.

  Buck watches me as I look at it. Then at him.

  I hear the 'click' of the car doors locking.

  "No..." I say, my entire body frozen in terror. "You can't…you can’t be...him…"

  He looks at me and smiles shyly. The same cute, all-American shy smile that millions of women and tweens the world-over have fallen in love with.

  It can’t be him, I tell myself. It’s just not possible that Buck is Hugh Baker. And I almost believe it too.

  Until Buck reaches into the pocket of his door and pulls out a gun.

  And aims it at my head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  I stare at Buck in shock.

  “You're Hugh Baker? But you can't be...you're... you're..."

  "An international superstar and heartthrob?" He winks. "Yeah – it is kinda funny right?” Again he gives me that mega-high-wattage smile.

  I don’t really think it’s funny at all. But as I’m currently unable to put two words together, I can’t tell him just how unfunny I think it is.

  “Yeah,” Buck continues. “That’s why it was so nuts back then. That my dad was trying to make me go to military academy and all. And my sister treated me like a dumb little kid. I mean...I always knew I was meant for greatness." He raises in eyebrow cockily. "They just couldn't see it. They all underestimated me."

  "But..." I say, but I can’t finish my sentence. I’m honestly at a loss for words. I just can't wrap my mind around the insane idea that Buck Ames, one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, was a child murderer. "But...so you...you just…killed them all?"

  He shrugs and keeps looking ahead. "Yeah. It really wasn't even such a big deal, really. It was sort of just a lark, y'know? I mean the first one. Wendy. She'd just been making fun of me and teasing me all day about the crush I had on Anabella and stuff. And man, that really pissed me off. So when Duke was taking Wendy's picture with that stupid camera of hers ... I just picked up that flare gun that was lying on deck. And...I just aimed it.”

  He nods as though thinking back. “I mean it was surprising how easy it was... to just let go of that flare. I honestly didn’t even know if it would kill her. I didn’t know what it would do. But it went right into the back of her head. And then...after that...well I pretty much had to kill them all, right? I mean, I had no choice at that point."

  "But…your whole family...?"

  "Yeah," he sighs and looks ahead thoughtfully. And I can't help but wonder if he's regretting his actions. But his next words dispel any illusions along those lines.

  "Man, I gotta say, it was…so…freeing. And then, after, when I was rescued...everyone treated me like I was some kind of star. My aunt took me in, changed my name and told me I could be whatever I wanted to be in life. She really believed in me. And the rest...as they say, is history."

  "Wow," I say, unable to believe that he's talking about murdering his whole family in such a horrifyingly cavalier and self-satisfied manner.

  "But you know what the funny thing is?" he says, turning to look at me. "I always thought it would make it a great movie. I mean...not the real story, of course. But the story I told everyone back when I was a kid. And then, to my surprise, last year I found out through the grapevine that they were making a
movie about it. And, well, I knew I had to get in on that. Especially when I found out they were shooting on the actual boat where it happened. So I let it be known that I was interested, and of course they fired the other actor and gave me the role."

  "But why? Did you want to visit the boat for like, old times’ sake?"

  I’m in complete disbelief at the surreal situation I’m in.

  "Ha! No.” He shoots me a look and rolls his eyes. “No. The problem was, I didn't know what happened to any of my old stuff - my sketch pad. The flare gun with my prints on it. I looked everywhere for that stuff before I got on the dinghy and got out of there, but they were nowhere to be found. I was pretty sure that Duke found it all and hid it somewhere on the boat. And man, that guy knew all about boats - trust me. He knew all about the Andrea Claire's history. More than any of us. He knew all the secret spots."

  Buck shrugs as he turns the wheel of the car and we take another left. "So I did what I could to try to sink the boat, then I took off in a lifeboat."

  "But it didn't sink," I say. "Just like in the legend. The Andrea Claire remained unsinkable."

  "Exactly! Which is why I had to do all this crap. This movie. Keeping my eye on everything. I tried to come on as producer, so I could control everything but it was too late for that. Which is why I have to do what I have to do now."

  He gives me a deadly serious look as he pulls the car into a darkened parking lot at the marina. And I realize at that point that we're right back where we started. Right back at the dock. We must have been driving in a big circle the entire time and I was too distracted to notice.

  "But this time," Buck says, keeping his gun aimed at me. "I'm gonna get rid of all that evidence for good. That boat and everything and everyone on it, are going down."

  He motions with his gun for me to get out of the car. And I get the sinking feeling that I'm going to be one of those things on the boat that is definitely going down.