“You don’t even know me,” I blurted out. “This place is full of people with boats. Why do you want to ride across to what amounts to a deserted island with a man you just met? That’s like some crazy story you read in the paper and wonder how someone could just go off with a stranger.”
To my surprise, Elsie rolled her eyes. “Hill William, I worked with some of the best profilers in the business. I know a lot more about you than you think I do. You could get ornery if crossed bad enough or put in danger yourself, but you’re a straight arrow, son. If I ride over there with you, you’ll bring me back, even if you’re cussing all the way.”
She waved a hand in the direction of the window at the opposite end of the office.
“What other boats? This time of year that lot out there should be packed with pickups, SUV’s, and four wheelers. The fish are running, but the people ain’t.”
Elsie canted her head toward the road outside her window. “The ferry should be running every hour right now. It’s not. It’s doing one run a day when it has enough cars to make a dollar or two. Once out, once back, and that’s not every day. There’s no guarantee it’ll go tomorrow, or the next day, or ever again. You’re the only sure bet I got.”
Knowing what I know now, Elsie would have probably won that argument had it run its course. She has a way of nudging people over to her point of view. Whether her maneuvering or my stubborn nature would have won that particular debate turned out to be a moot point because about the time I opened my mouth, a voice sounded behind me, an angry, snarling voice I’d heard a couple of hours before, standing outside my window telling me that the one thing I had done wrong was drive on its fucking road.
I turned, slow and careful. The Sheriff stood near the cash register. His head barely fit underneath one of the cluster lights hanging from the ceiling. Another inch or two and he would have had to duck. The size didn’t bother me much. The look on his face did.
D. Little had passed the point of simple anger. He towered over the magazine rack near the checkout stand, his fists clenched in rage. Unfortunately, his fury had a target.
Even more distressing, that target happened to be me.
Chapter IV - The Ride
“I told you to get the hell out of my town.”
He spat the words out in a deep, rumbling growl that sounded like an earthquake had rocked its way through his body. Little looked like a mountain and talked like one too. His sunglasses hung from his right shirt pocket, aligned so as to bisect the badge above. He’d taken off the hat, revealing a massive forehead and a low, thick brow ridge. Dark eyes glared out from under heavy eyebrows as thick as my finger.
He looked mean and angry. I felt like David standing before Goliath, only I had neither rock nor sling to defend myself. He shouldn’t have taken off the hat and sunglasses. Without them, even his size couldn’t distract from the fact that D period Little was one damned ugly man.
I gave him a broad smile.
“Actually Sheriff, I believe the correct wording had something to do with me being on your road. As you can see, I have removed myself from it. In fact, I was just sitting here thinking that if Mr. Little dropped by, he would be most pleased to find me not on his road.”
Little’s face turned red, so red that if I’d been living in a cartoon world, steam would have shot out of his ears.
For a long moment, I thought he might say hell with it, pull his gun, and shoot me. About the time that idea had run its course, he did something almost as bad. He reached for the handcuffs at his belt.
“I’ve had it with you, Hillbilly. Turn around, and put your hands behind your back.”
I stared at him.
“You’re arresting me? For what?”
His hand went to his gun.
“I said turn around. Do it NOW!”
You know, when you’re in that spot, it’s not worth opening your mouth again. Everything that comes out of you at that point would go on record as part of the resisting arrest charge he would tack on to the reason he invented for arresting me in the first place. Anything physical, even bumping into him when I turned would evolve into assault charges as well. He had me and he knew it. Even worse, I knew it.
I grasped for something that might ease the situation, not wanting to simply give in and be carted away in the back of his cruiser. I’d insulted the man’s genitals though. No matter which route I pursued in my mind, all of them ended up right back at that one sore spot.
The lawman tugged at the button flap that held the pistol in its holster.
Elsie shot out in front of me.
“Here now, Dwight. What’s all this? Why are you arresting my nephew? What’s he done?”
Little’s face turned even redder. The thought slid through my mind that I might just be missing the million dollar shot. All I needed was a camera. I had the caption. I could see it screaming from the front cover of one of those supermarket tattle-tale rags. Somewhere below the celebrity divorces and just above the little Daily Devotion pamphlets would be my picture and underneath it the bold and shocking line that read: NEANDERTHAL FOUND!
“Your nephew?” He ain’t old enough to be your nephew, Elsie. Why you doin’ this? He’s just a bum running up the coast looking for an easy place to lay low. I’m telling you right now, this ain’t it.”
She put her hands on her hips. “He’s my sister’s grandson, you dolt. He come to take me over to the old home place. His grandma, MY sister, wanted some pictures of the house and the graveyard. She couldn’t come herself. When I found out William was going to do it for her, I decided I’d ride along with him.”
She turned to me. “Isn’t that right, nephew?”
Elsie Morgan was not a tall woman. Standing in front of Dwight Little, she looked like a tiny, gray-haired doll. Her eyes glinted with humor, not the funny kind, the you’re-stuck-with-me-now kind.
I smiled tightly. “That’s right, auntie. We were just talking about that as a matter of fact.”
Little looked at her and then at me.
“You told me you didn’t have any kin folk in Atlantic.”
I’ve never been a good liar. I don’t know why they came so easily with Little.
“Well Sheriff, to be honest, I was trying to protect my aunt here. She’s got some years on her and is getting frail. I didn’t want any trouble for her.”
Little looked like he was about to explode.
Elsie’s voice split the sudden silence.
“Frail?”
I glanced down. She seemed mad enough to smack me. Fortunately, she vented her emotions on the giant behind her. She whirled around and stared up at him.
“Now you go on, Dwight. William here hasn’t done anything to you or broke the law. Besides, we’ll be out of your hair in no time. I was packing up my bag when he come in from unloading the boat.’
“Elsie, damn it,” he began.
“Don’t you go cussing in my store, Dwight Little,” she snapped, rising up on her toes. “You know I don’t put up with that kind of language here. Now go on.”
“But Elsie…”
“Am I going to have to call the Judge? I will if you keep this up. There’s no call for you to be bullying him and no cause for you to be standing in the way of me going across to the island. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You go arresting my nephew and the Judge will put him right back in here before you can get him out of the parking lot. Then you’ll have to deal with Daddy.”
She raised a thin finger and shook it at him.
“Don’t think I won’t.”
I’ve never seen a man deflate so fast. Little’s face turned sullen. He looked over the tiny woman in between us.
“Make one mistake, Hillbilly. I’ll be there. That’s a promise.”
I’d always thought it funny how people walked when their pride was wounded and they needed to preserve at least a little dignity. The Sheriff’s gait couldn’t have been stiffer if someone had rammed a pineapple right up his rear end.
E
lsie waited until the door had swung shut behind him before she turned to me.
“Call me frail again and I’ll whack you with a rolling pin,” she said and then smiled sweetly.
“You ready to go?”
I glanced out the side window. Little’s car still sat in the parking lot.
“I reckon I am.”
She grinned. “I thought so.”
Elsie snatched up the bag she had been holding when I walked into her office. Leaning out she called to the girl up front.
“Tracy, go out back and fetch Daniel. When you get back, I need you to run us all down to the boat dock. Park his truck next to the shed out back after you do that. You can lock up then and take the rest of the day off.”
Tracy’s eyes brightened. “Yes Ma’am. I’ll get Daniel and meet you all out front.”
Elsie held up her hand. “Wait a minute.”
She turned to me. “You got food on that boat?”
I nodded.
“Tell Daniel to grab a couple of sleeping bags while you’re back there. We’re going to need them tonight.”
I stepped between them.
“Whoa, hold it right there. You said I was to bring you back. You didn’t say anything about staying over.”
Elsie glared up at me. “By the time you get us up there, the sun will be going down. I got no intention of riding across that sound in the dark.”
“Where are you planning on sleeping?” I demanded.
“Your boat,” she retorted. “It looked plenty big enough for me and the boy.”
Little’s car slid by the office window behind Elsie. I wanted to curse.
“And where do you expect me to sleep?”
She grinned. “Outside, anywhere you want - on the seats, in dirt, on the beach. You have plenty of choices. Don’t worry. We will take good care of your Angel.”
The woman leaned to look around me.
“Go on, Tracy. Grab a pound or two of that new coffee on the way. I’ll be wanting some of that in the morning.”
The girl’s voice sounded behind me. “I’m on it, Elsie. I’ll throw in a few more things if you don’t mind. I know he doesn’t have anything a woman would want.”
I turned and watched her go.
“Who’s Daniel?” I asked when she had disappeared.
“My great-grandson,” she answered. “I’ve been planning on taking him over. Kids ought to know their history. Today might be the last chance I have. Come on now, let’s get going.”
“You said great-grandson?” I asked as she scurried past me. “I know I’m not supposed to ask, but how old are you anyway?”
She didn’t even look back.
“Old enough, thank you.”
“What about his mother? What’s she going to say about you dragging him off like this? I don’t want Little turning this into a kidnapping case. Lord knows he would.”
She snorted and handed me the bag she had been packing. The weight of it told me she’d packed more than a water bottle.
“I have custody. That should tell you right there about his mama. Now take that out to the truck. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Daniel turned out to be six years old. He seemed tall for his age, but the truth was, I had no idea how tall or short a six-year-old should be. He had chestnut brown hair that reached down to his collar and eyes that carried some of Elsie’s gray. Where hers looked like chipped ice, however, his were darker like rain clouds brewing on the horizon.
He said nothing when she introduced him, but stood close to her side, face pale and expressionless, arms hanging limp at his sides. Something about his stance seemed odd, almost lifeless. I studied him for a moment wondering if he was autistic or perhaps had even suffered some type of brain damage. I hadn’t felt the urge to talk to Becky in over a year. I did then though, wondering if she knew what conditions left someone looking like a zombie.
I offered him a smile. “How you feel about a boat ride?”
The boy stared at me, his gaze both unwavering and unsettling.
I glanced up at Elsie.
“He don’t talk much,” she said, reaching out to pull him closer. The move seemed oddly protective, as if she felt she needed to stand between the two of us. I started to ask her if he was okay, but decided I didn’t want to know. The kid came across as downright weird, like he belonged in a horror movie, something with a title like Spawn of Satan. I’d been roped into carting them across the sound in return for avoiding handcuffs and a free ride to the county jail. Spending a few hours with the kid wouldn’t kill me. On the bright side, it didn’t look like I’d have to deal with him whining or crying.
We piled into the Durango a few minutes later, Elsie and Daniel in the back seat, the checkout girl riding up front next to me. Thoughts of autism disappeared when we pulled up next to Angel. Daniel didn’t abruptly turn into a normal six-year-old, but he did perk up considerably.
He seemed fascinated by the sailboat, his flat eyes suddenly alert and darting from one thing to the next as if trying to take it all in at once. He studied Angel and everything on her, playing with the lines, fingering the tiller and running his hand across the compass dial. He saw me watching him and looked up with those somber eyes, holding my gaze as directly as any adult ever had.
“What do you think about the boat?” I asked him.
He ran his fingers along the gunwale, his face impassive and his gaze unflinching.
“It will keep us safe when we go to the island.”
The words came out soft, yet matter-of-fact as if he hadn’t been judging Angel’s sea-worthiness in general, but speaking specifically to the crossing. Even more, they sounded odd. The tone, the phrasing, the manner in which they were delivered carried too much knowledge to be coming from a body that small. I stared at him, feeling as if I were looking at someone old and frail stuffed inside a boy’s body.
“Is that a fact?”
He grinned suddenly, showing too many teeth in the process. I stepped back, startled by the strange expression.
“Yes, Mr. William. It is.”
Despite the warmth of an afternoon sun blazing overhead, I felt chills rise along my arms. Before I could ask him anything else though, Elsie popped her head up from the cabin.
“Well, Hill William, are we goin’ or not?”
I tore my gaze away from the boy and saw Elsie standing in the open hatch. Her eyes flickered from me to Daniel and back again.
I nodded. “Yes, we are.”
Unhooking the aft line from the cleat on the dock, I headed forward to take in the bow line. On a twenty-three foot boat, that means I walked back up to the point the cabin rose out of the deck and then used a handrail to edge along the tiny space between the cabin and the sheer drop to the water. Angel had lifelines. My father had called them idiot lines. When I’d asked him to explain, he’d retorted that only an idiot would rely on lifelines, that they should be viewed as a last resort rather than a safety net.
Daniel sat next to a recessed handle embedded in the cockpit seat when I returned from taking in the forward line.
. “Open that locker beside you. Grab a life jacket for yourself and one for your grandma,” I told him. “Throw another out there for me.”
Elsie’s voice sounded from inside as I clambered back down in the cockpit.
“Who taught you how to pack, Hill William? This place is a mess down here.”
I ignored her and looked at Daniel.
“And make sure she puts the thing on, okay?”
He said nothing, but rose and started working at the latch that held the hatch cover in place.
Satisfied, I made my way to the stern and settled into the fold down pilot’s chair. Removing the key to the kill switch, I thumbed the start button. The motor fired instantly and settled immediately into a smooth idle. A fifteen horsepower motor on a boat Angel’s size would normally be like putting an electric trolling motor on a barge - which meant in most cases the vessel would be greatly underpowered. Sailboats
were different animals though, where speed wasn’t determined by the size of the motor, but the shape of the hull. A motor half the size Dad had picked could easily push the boat to its maximum.
I hadn’t agued the point. I figured, the boat belonged to him. He could hang a jet engine off the back if he wanted.
When I eased Angel into reverse, a bit of his stance became clearer. The boat slipped away from the dock with the motor at idle. Once she was clear, I shoved the gear shifter into forward, cranked up the throttle a couple of notches, and pushed the tiller hard to port. The bow came about instantly, cutting a deep arc and swinging her nose out towards the open sound. I left the throttle where it was, barely a third of the way to full and kept her swinging while I watched the compass. A couple of course corrections later, Angel pointed north-east.
The moment the bow cut through the water, I forgot about Dwight Little’s fury and Daniel’s odd, knowing eyes. Neither could wash away the sense of freedom that came with pulling away from the dock, of shedding the trappings of society and leaving them behind. The world would keep turning. The people on it would continue to squabble over everything from land to taxes, to what some ate and others smoked. The debates, the blame games, and the finger pointing would still rage. Even a deadly infection threatening to wipe the earth slick couldn’t shelve humanity’s instinctive need to gripe, complain, and hate. Some would undoubtedly die. Some would probably live. The only certainty I carried with me devolved to a simple belief that as long as more than one survived, the infighting would continue.
Along with the freedom, came a heightened sense of responsibility. The same society that offered all the ill will, also offered protections - people like Dwight Little when he was actually doing his job and preserving the peace, like doctors and EMT’s only a phone call away. I knew even as the excitement swelled, that the farther I went, the more responsibility I bore, not only for my life, but of the two hitchhikers aboard.
I kept the needle on the compass centered squarely between north and east. Navigating on water had little in common with driving a car, where the course taken was determined by roads laid out in connections that looked like a giant spider web. Travel on water tended to be much more fickle, with wind, water, and weather conditions not only playing huge roles in laying a course, but often determining whether or not you could go at all. Unlike cars that travel on surfaces graded out for them, boaters also have to take depth into account. Water too deep rarely presents a problem. On the flip side, shallow water often equated to jittery nerves and cautious maneuvers.
The Island - Part 1 Page 7