by Mary Deal
Pickups and four-by-fours parked on the shoulders of the levee and partially blocked the lanes. That was allowed and expected on the narrow roads, even for tourists. They found a place to squeeze in and climbed out.
“Remember these guys?” Pierce gestured toward a shop.
A large sign in the middle of the storefront said:
Rasay Bros.
Bait & Tackle
Breakfast & Boats
“This shop used to belong to….” Sara was about trail off into one of her memories when her cell phone rang.
Esmerelda wanted to know if Sara could take the pups for the evening. She had decided to visit friends not seen for a long time. Sara couldn't say no. They arranged that Sara would pick up the pups around five and return them around eleven since Sara would be going to Sacramento early the next morning. Sara really didn't mind having to make the late trip. The tule fog had vanished with the cool weather. Esmerelda would enjoy an evening out and Choco and Latte would soon have a permanent home.
Inside the store, at a long counter along the side of the room, a row of men and women dressed in fishing gear hurried through breakfasts of linguica and eggs. Two Filipino grandmothers behind the counter kept coffee cups filled. A small room at the back, with a stairs leading down to the ground, contained a refrigerator and looked to be where bait was processed and stored.
Valeriano and Luningning were excited to see them. “You like breakfast?” Val asked.
They had already eaten and passed on breakfast. They decided to rent an outboard boat. Sara insisted on seeing Snodgrass Slough.
“You're still thinking about those perch.” Pierce's smile was infectious.
“You fish?” Val asked.
“Not this time,” Pierce said. “Just explore today.”
The Delta Cross Channel gate was open only during certain hours of the day. Sara had never been on the water and Pierce hadn't been in decades. Neither would know their way around.
“I go with you,” Luni said. Then, “Ay, sus!” He tapped his forehead. “I have to finish one boat.” He was in the middle of someone's boat repair and needed to get it done. Sara was sure they wouldn't need help, but accepted Val's offer to act as guide on their first trip.
Val and Luni rented and sold boats they acquired and repaired. The same with outboard motors. They operated the only bait shop in Walnut Grove, the next closest shop being at Steamboat Slough, across the Steamboat Slough Bridge on Sutter Island. With the insurgence of people seeking a quiet life among the islands and wetlands, both shops stayed busy almost year round.
The Rasay brothers kept their boats at a dock directly below the levee. Val chose a 16-foot aluminum boat with an old fifty horsepower Evinrude outboard motor. They were on the water in a matter of minutes and passing under the big silver gate of the Cross Channel. Sara couldn't help but smile.
She and Pierce sat toward the front to balance the weight in the boat. They wore thin windbreakers against the spring wind, and life vests. Pierce brought his binoculars and kept the glasses to his eyes excitedly calling out the views.
Resorts had sprung up all over the Delta, any place where facilities could be built. Any place accessible by both road and water was prime location. Houseboats had become a leisurely way to experience the waterways.
“Over there,” Pierce said above the sound of the motor. “In that cove.”
When Pierce pointed, Val slowed the boat. Sara remembered reading in the brochures that certain areas contained no wake laws. That meant boaters were not allowed to travel so fast that their boats left wakes that might disturb those at anchor. Another boat sped by towing two skiers, evidently not knowing the rules or simply ignoring them.
Sara accepted the binoculars. “Water campers?” she asked, talking above the sound of the old motor.
“Gunk holing,” Pierce said. “It's called gunk holing. People drop anchor in a quiet cove and spend vacations on their boats. Sometimes the entire summer.” He accepted the binoculars back.
Sara turned to view the shoreline and saw more than an occasional bird pecking at the ground or chasing something through the underbrush. Rats, perhaps. Mallards and Grebes were plentiful, the Grebes being great divers that could stay underwater for a long time. In fact, the birds were numerous; she could look in any direction and see many and varied species.
Val eased the boat close along shore to enable them to better see. He took extra care to avoid sandbars or gravel bars. Winter currents easily filled the bottoms of all channels and many had to be dredged regularly. Just as they floated past a gravel bar, Sara saw something and looked again.
A long bone.
She nudged Pierce for the glasses but he was so taken with bird watching he didn't respond. She couldn't help staring at it as they passed.
Their time on the water proved educational and relaxing. Pierce benefited most. When it was time to turn around and head back, Val allowed Pierce to have a turn at steering the outboard motor. Then she took a turn and loved it. She remembered the gravel bar and watched for it. When she sighted it again, she began to ease toward it. Val placed a hand on top of hers on the steering arm and helped guide the boat. They edged as close as possible. Sara wanted a good look at that bone. Val slowed the motor to idle and slowly floated with the current. They looked over the side at the long bone lying half buried and sticking up out of the gravel.
“Aw!” Val said, waving a hand. “River bones.”
“River bones?” Again, Sara's stomach felt queasy. Was she so impressionable that river bones would make her feel uneasy?
“Sometimes animals drown,” Val said. “People throw rubbish from the boats.” He shrugged, took over the steering. “Part of the river flow.”
After the boating excursion, Sara drove straight to Esmerelda's taking Pierce along. Pierce seemed overjoyed at finding a friend who wasn't ashamed to be seen with him and his disabilities. His demeanor couldn't hide his elation. Being back in the Delta made Sara realize how much she had missed. She smiled at Pierce. Surely he felt similar, enjoying things previously out of reach.
When they pulled in below Esmerelda's house, she was outside talking to Fredrik. As Sara introduced the men, Fredrik offered his hand and stared into Pierce's eyes as if searching for something.
“I'm sorry we've never met,” Fredrik said finally. “I've always wanted to talk to you about your near-death experience.” He relaxed and stood with his hands on his hips. “I've read all your books.”
Fredrik was just too preoccupied with death. Sara began to load the dog carriers while they talked. Two Mexican workers passed nearby. Demetrio must have told them that she spoke Spanish, or that she had not forgotten him at lunchtime when he drove Esmeralda over for a visit. The men greeted her with an enthusiastic “Hola, Senora Mason!”
Sara waved and noticed Tripp standing outside the end of the patient building across the drive. He simply stood, watching, glaring. Then Sara figured it out. Tripp previously made feeble advances to her. He was always around when she came for the dogs. Now he was seeing her with Pierce. That, and her friendliness with the laborers, might be why he fidgeted and pounded the railing lightly as he clenched and unclenched his fist.
Chapter 24
Sara and Pierce stopped for Chinese takeout. They found a wide turnout along the river, sat on the tailgate of her SUV, and ate while birds flew overhead and boats cruised by. She broke open a couple of cans of dog food that Esmerelda supplied and emptied them onto the thick roadside grass. Sara gave the pups water from her Styrofoam cup and when they begged, most of the meat from her chicken chop suey. Before heading home, Sara walked the dogs along a grassy ledge that jutted out along the water.
When she and the dogs returned, Pierce pulled two books out of his backpack. “Here,” he said. “Since you expressed interest, I want you to have these.”
The first book was titled True Light. The cover had a silhouette of a head and shoulders lighted from the inside outward. The other, Journey Beyond, sho
wed an ethereal person rising up into the heavens. An attention grabbing yellow strip across the upper right corner of both books said Translated into 20 Languages.
“Hey, you wrote these,” Sara said after quickly perusing the back cover blurbs. “They describe your death experience, right?
“Yep. I've written two others, the first two, but I don't have extras.”
Between Esmerelda and Daphine, she learned that Pierce lay in the emergency room for some time covered with a sheet. He later revived in the hospital basement morgue, frightened by three sheet-covered corpses laying in a row beside him. The staff was unaware when he revived. An orderly said that when he delivered the last body from a non-related car accident, Pierce was still totally covered. The estimate was that Pierce had been dead at least an hour.
Though slow on the stairs, Pierce received a grand tour of Talbot House and the property. They stood for a time in the upstairs front hall, talking about the changes Sara would make. A magnificent pink-orange sunset illuminated the sky through the branches of the trees and beyond the river.
Conversation with Pierce was enjoyable and humorous. He seemed glad to be active and took interest in anything that came his way. One thing was certain, he had extreme intelligence.
“So, tell me about this recurring dream you once mentioned,” he said.
Could her plans to move back to the Delta have triggered the recurring dream with a man pointing downward? She hesitated, wishing to dismiss discussion of it at the moment. Since the dream began in Puerto Rico before her decision to relocate, and the man in the dream was older, no connection existed to Pierce. Still, she needed to understand what haunted her sleep. Finally, realizing she should talk to someone, and who better than Pierce with his brilliant mind, she gave in. “For years, I've seen this older guy. I see his eyes and his hand, pointing at something. It's not frightening, but I don't know why he comes to me.”
“If the dream is recurring with more frequency,” he said. “Draw him. Can you do that?” Pierce seemed rational and honest. “If he's benign, bring him to life.”
Pierce's energy had waned. He took it slow on the split staircase at the back and they entered the kitchen. By then, it was well after dark. Choco and Latte were free to explore in the empty house. Instead, Latte lay at Pierce's feet as he dropped himself into a chair. Choco went to the kitchen door at the pantry, alert, like he waited for someone.
“You drink?” Sara asked. “I make a seven juice tropical punch. I'm told it's to die for.” She rolled her eyes as she opened the refrigerator and withdrew a plastic pitcher. “One of the workmen left some Vodka—”
“No thanks on the alcohol,” Pierce said. “Gotta be careful what I put into my stomach. Better weaken the acidity in that juice too.” He pulled a small leather pouch from his backpack and dumped out a quantity of pills onto the tabletop. After choosing at least half a dozen in various sizes and colors, he put the rest back into the pouch. He looked up suddenly and smiled. “I'm not a druggie. All these medicines keep me alive. It's been like this ever since that lightning zapped me. Better get them into my stomach before all my dinner's digested.”
A sensitized digestive system was something else he had to contend with. Sara kept large bottles of mineral water handy and pulled out a half-full liter. “We can water it down,” she said with a sly smile. “It is a little late in the day for juice, but you gotta try it anyway, okay?”
Mugs were all she could offer since everything was still in storage. They carried them, the water bottle and juice pitcher into the sitting room and joked about the amount of furniture it would to take to fill the house.
Sara played with Choco. That dog could wear her out. By the time she looked up, Pierce had filled their mugs with the blended juice and water. “A toast to new life and pleasant surprises,” he said, holding his mug high.
Sara toasted. The pups finally lay at their feet and stayed quiet, it seemed, as long as they were near someone. Their personalities were changing.
The night winds howled around the gables. After they visited a while, Sara began to feel exceedingly tired. She glanced at her watch. It wasn't yet ten o'clock and she still had to kill an hour before driving the dogs back to Esmerelda's and take Pierce to Isleton.
She polished off her drink though watering it down gave it a less appealing taste.
Pierce savored his. “Great mix. Strangely bitter, though, maybe salty.”
Chapter 25
Sara woke on her bed feeling the top of her head about to blow. The lights in the house were on. It was still nighttime. After she lay a while thinking she was still in a dream state, from somewhere came the memory of things she had to do. The last thing she remembered was looking at her watch.
The house was totally quiet. Had she done her errands and come home that exhausted? She still wore the same clothing. She lifted her head and promptly passed out. When she came to, the room still spun. She lifted her arm to look at her watch, but the arm dropped back to her chest with a thud. When she swung her legs off the bed and tried to stand, she collapsed to the floor. Her pulse pounded at her temples. Anxiety ran rampant through her nervous system. The acute pain of the headache was like none other. She tried to stand again, pausing in a kneeling position beside the bed, barely able to move and when she did, her muscles screamed out. Something was dreadfully wrong. Her lips were numb and her hands tingled. She tried to stand again and felt drunk, but neither she nor Pierce drank alcohol.
Surely, the juice and water hadn't made her sick. Maybe it was the take-out food. She couldn't remember taking Pierce home. Or the dogs. She clutched the top of her head. Maybe she should call Esmerelda. She glanced at the wristwatch on her arm that lay limp on the bed. She had difficulty focusing but realized it was just after three o'clock in the morning!
Pierce.
She felt hung over. The pain in her head assaulted her senses, worse than the morning after the first and only time she drank Puerto Rican rum.
Pierce.
Pierce mixed and poured the water and juice they drank. She had no previous ill effects from either the pitcher of juice or the bottled water.
Pierce.
Could he have drugged her? Did he have second little pouch of knock-out drugs in his backpack?
Her mind remained groggy, her limbs weak.
Why would Pierce drug her? She remembered being in the sitting room but woke lying on her bed. Had he tried something sexual with her, knowing that if she resisted, he wasn't strong enough to pull it off? So he drugged her?
The lights were still on. Had he simply left afterwards?
“Choco,” she said. “Latte.” How feeble her voice sounded.
She heard nothing and remembered the dogs had eaten some of her take-out. Maybe the food was bad, really bad, and they were affected too.
The first thing she needed to do was determine what had happened.
She was fully clothed and knew how her body would feel if she had been violated and dressed again. She had been married eight years and experienced three miscarriages. She was no stranger to sex. She knew the smell of sex and what her body would feel like afterwards. She had not been molested. She dragged herself up and then collapsed to sit on her bed again and fell backwards as her head banged hard against the wall.
Why would Pierce drug her and then leave? Where were the dogs?
The house was eerily quiet. She tried to stand again and could only do so by holding onto the corner of her desk. Before going anywhere, she had to sit on the floor or risk passing out yet again. After great effort, she cross the hall and then held to the doorjamb at the sitting room entry and peeked in. Pierce was not there but his cane lay on the floor. Their mugs sat on the end table, as did the juice and water containers. The lights were still on in the dining room and kitchen.
Not knowing what might have happened, but feeling great fear, Sara wanted to arm herself. She made it back to her bed and sat again as she looked around for a weapon. The only thing available was a flas
hlight.
In Victorian style houses, the kitchen and pantry are considered nothing more than utility rooms and kept fairly secluded from the rest of the living area. In fact, until she could rebuild it, access to the kitchen was through the pantry. Sara needed to pass through the sitting room, cross the dining room, and then go through the pantry. It seemed miles away. She used the wall for support and was thankful the massive sliding pocket doors between the sitting and dining rooms were open. She wouldn't have had the strength to budge them. She nearly collapsed before reaching the fireplace in the dining room. She clung to the mantle and could barely feel her rubbery legs.
Finally, she made it into the pantry. She peered cautiously into the kitchen and through the legs of the table and chairs and saw Pierce lying on the kitchen floor.
“Pierce!” She clung to the door jam and dropped the flashlight as the noise echoed.
He didn't move.
“Choco! Latte!”
No dogs.
Sara's knees gave out. Goosebumps traipsed over her body. The vertigo intensified. She needed to get to the phone and crawled all the way back to the sitting room before realizing her cell phone was still attached to the waistband of her jeans. She fumbled weakly and finally punched in 911.
“We might have been drugged,” she said, trying to explain to the 911 Dispatcher. She listened to the questioning and then responded. “We ate five hours before I last looked at my watch. If it was food poisoning, we should have been sick long before then.” A few more words and then she closed the phone. She should be near the side entrance when a deputy arrived. Something didn't add up. If they had been drugged, someone had gotten into the house before they returned earlier that evening. Sara clutched the flashlight as she crawled into the vestibule at the side door. It was another New Moon night and pitch black out. She stretched upward using the flashlight against the switch to turn on the outside light and then collapsed into a heap.