by Beverly Sims
He laughed. “How do you intend to make all this happen, all by yourself?"
"Oh, did I forget to mention that I have someone with me? He has hidden a bomb somewhere in the house, and once again, I have no idea where it is. I think you both know him. His name is MacGregor."
They both looked dumbstruck. “How do we know you are telling the truth? All this could just be lies to get us out of here."
"I guess by tomorrow night, you will know. Trust me and leave, or distrust me and watch the old homestead explode. Did you like fireworks when you were a kid? I bet you did, and fires, too. Started more than a few, didn't you? Any recently?"
She walked away.
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Chapter 40
Mac and Daniel arrived in Cotton in time for lunch at Effie's Café. Alma was behind the counter, pouring coffee as they entered. She set the mugs in front of them as they plopped down on stools in front of her. “You two are as unlikely a pair as I have seen in a long time."
"Well, pretty Alma, not as unlikely as you think. Daniel here is Glenda's stepson and those two other fellows are Josh and Jeb—you probably saw them with him."
"The ones who called themselves Joe and Sam? The same two Glenda rescued Ellen from over at Mudbugs? The two who were undressing her and feeling up her body? Mac, it sure is something to find out those two are Glenda's also."
Mac turned slowly to Daniel, fists clenched, face like granite. “Those two are the ones who were assaulting Ellen? I am going to kill them when I get back there.” Without a word, he ran from the café to the Jeep and peeled out, leaving Daniel sitting dumbfounded.
"Hey.” He looked at Alma, whose face was red and furious, almost as mad as Mac's had been. “I don't know nothing about any of that. The boys would not have hurt her, probably just funning with her. They like pretty girls and get rowdy when they drink, but they never hurt anybody."
"That's not the story Ellen tells. She was scared to death and positively sure they intended to rape her.” Alma looked at him. “You know, Daniel, it would be in the best interests of you and your brothers to get yourselves gone ASAP. Mac is not someone to fool with ordinarily, and he is in love with Ellen. Your brothers don't have a chance, and he won't give them one, even to explain, if they had an explanation.” She felt a bit sorry for him. He had no way to get to the old plantation but walk. He left and started on foot as fast as he could down the road, heading to the Woodward place.
* * * *
When Mac turned the last corner, bringing the Woodward house into view, the first thing he noted was that the old van was gone. He pulled up and got out to try to determine which direction it had gone, but there were too many tire tracks, including his own. He climbed back into the Jeep and sat, mulling over possibilities.
Rather than take the regular road, he put the Jeep in gear and drove into the swamp jungle via a rutted, overgrown track that once led to the old Woodward Plantation house nearer the river, the one that burnt to the ground many years before he was born, before the present house was built. As children, he and James and some of the black children had played in the ruins, building ‘forts’ as boys are wont to do. He vaguely remembered the cellar under one of the outbuildings. It was dark and dank, even when they were kids. They convinced each other that it was haunted until they came to believe it was. Many times when they would peek into it, things would have been moved, and sometimes they heard noises that truly frightened them. As they grew to adulthood, they forgot all about it. At least Mac had, until that very moment. He had no idea why, perhaps premonition, ESP, or whatever, but he felt something that spurred him to investigate.
It took the four-wheel drive to get him through the swamps and overgrown jungle, but when he arrived, he noted that some of the grass and brush seemed to be trampled a bit. He was careful to move quietly and slowly, looking around himself for anything else out of the ordinary. At the far back of the clearing, he found a shallow area with branches that were showing signs of dying. They had been carefully placed there—of that, there was no doubt.
Mac removed a few, just enough to see old, crumbing cement steps leading down into a dark puddle of muck. He tried to roll up his jeans, but they were too tight, so he slid out of them, as well as his shoes. He left on his socks to protect his feet. For a brief moment, he thought how Ellen would have laughed at him in only his briefs and socks on the lower half of his body. The thought of her was a pain he could not stand, so he pushed it from his mind.
He used the stairs, careful to find footholds before moving down into the canopy of bushes. As it became narrower, he was forced to stoop until he was bent nearly double. The muck continued, and the passage became darker, so dark he did not notice the ceiling until he bumped his head on it.
Mac waited until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. He realized there was a door in front of him with two steps leading up to it. It would not open as he tried the old knob. Why would someone lock a door in an old cellar? There must be something in there, something valuable or something that must remain hidden.
He returned to the Jeep for a flashlight and a hammer, screwdriver, and tire iron. With the light, he was able to see that the door had an old-fashioned lock that probably would yield to a skeleton key, which he did not have. Above it was a second lock, probably a dead bolt. He put the screwdriver in the lower key slot and hit it several times from different angles with the hammer. He felt the mechanism snap, but that was only lock one.
The door was old, as were the hinges. He used the claws of the hammer to dig into the wood on the hinge side of the door until he had slots large enough for the sharp end of the tire iron. He hammered the iron until he felt the wood giving way. He put all his strength into the iron, twisting and turning it until the old wood cracked. Within minutes, he was inside.
The first thing he noticed was the odor. It was overpowering. He covered his face with the front of his shirt. Using the flashlight, he found a light switch and flipped it on. What he saw sent his mind into overload, making him stagger and catch himself against one wall.
In the center of the room was a hospital bed, complete with straps, stirrups, and side rails. Above it, the harsh light showed stains on the bed, the floor, the walls. What the stains were, Mac could only guess. The smell grew stronger the closer he got to the bed. As he looked around, he was sure there were pieces of flesh and bone everywhere. He gagged and used all his strength to keep the bile down.
Now he knew where the women were killed. Who and why, he didn't know. The only other thing he knew was that he had to get out of here and into town to call the police in Inverness. What he failed to notice was the man who crept up behind him, encircling his neck with a wire. Mac kicked back with one leg, connecting to the other's leg. The strangler released his hold just long enough for Mac to get his fingers between the wire and his neck. The man tightened the wire and held it until Mac stopped struggling. Then he let him drop.
He kicked Mac's inert body several times, not really enjoying it, but to make sure Mac was dead. He knelt down and grabbed Mac's hair, pulling up his head, and then dropped it hard on the old cement floor. “Now, Mackie Boy, what am I goin’ do with you?"
He dragged the body across the cellar floor and up the old stairs, through the muck. He loaded it in the back of the stolen Jeep and drove through the jungle to the bayou, where he pulled it out of the vehicle and into the black swamp. He watched the current take the body until it moved around a bend and out of sight. With blood all over the body, he had no doubts the gators would make short work of it. In the meantime, he would head to Cotton and beyond and dispose of the Jeep in the river beyond. After that, he would return and wipe away any signs of vehicles and crushed foliage into his secret place.
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Chapter 41
In Atlanta, Ellen was home from the hospital. Memories of Black Bayou came and went, and she tried not to dwell on them. The shock and subsequent unconsciousness robbed her of m
uch of what had happened there. Sometimes at night, she would awake from nightmares so vivid she was sure they were reruns of what had happened. After the first couple, she learned to turn on her light and write down what she had seen in them. Soon the pieces began to fit together. The worst night was when she learned that Marybeth was dead. Suddenly it all came rushing back. She lay in the dark, letting the memories take over.
In the morning, she dressed quietly and stole from the house, leaving only a note on her pillow. “Mom and Daddy, I remember everything now. I have to go back. I love Mac, and he needs me. Please understand. I will call when I can. Please do not try to stop me. This is something I have to do. I love you both. Ellen. PS, please tell Stephan the engagement is off."
When the plane landed in New Orleans, she rented a four-wheel-drive Jeep and started out the same way she and her friends had that hot, humid day they began their holiday eons before.
* * * *
Mrs. Atwater sat in her chair in front of the fireplace in her parlor sipping tea, unmindful of Henry, James, or Eartha. James had come to believe that Eartha was crazy and really did intend to destroy Black Bayou Plantation house. Instead of trying to stop it from happening, he decided destruction would solve many problems. He took what he found in the old wall safe, papers from his grandfather's desk, his grandmother's jewelry, and some other items of value displayed around the house. He wrapped them in plastic bags as best he could, hoping to protect them from the humidity and rain, if need be.
He filled wooden boxes with as much as he could, with Henry helping him. Cardboard boxes would get too damp and not withstand the weight of the artifacts and treasures he wanted to save. The wooden boxes Henry toted were heavy, but James was relentless, and as usual, Henry never complained. He made Henry pack them up the hill to the cemetery where they had buried Glenda without fanfare that morning. Only Henry and James stood a moment above her coffin before shoveling the dirt back into the gravesite. Neither Eartha nor Mrs. Atwater bothered to pay any respects to the mother and daughter she had been to them.
James found some old tarps in the barn and instructed Henry how to cover the boxes to protect what was inside. He continued his hunt for things of value. When he entered the parlor, his grandmother said, “Stop all this nonsense and bring me some more hot water for my tea. That strumpet is lying about everything, and you are acting like a ninny for believing her. Enough of this nonsense. Where is Henry? He needs to tend me here."
"For the tenth time, Grandmother, Henry is helping me. And for the tenth time, I am sure Eartha will carry out her threat. Face it, this is your last night in this rundown old place. Instead of denying what you need to face, you should be helping me. I am sure you have caches all over the place, and if you want to see those things again, you have only until tomorrow night to get them out of here. Do you understand, Grandmother? This is not a joke."
"Hogwash. First of all, even if he is a rogue, Mac would never take part in the destruction of his home, and James, you are too intelligent to fall for her plan. I expect by tomorrow, she will demand money not to destroy our house, and then you will feel like the fool you are for letting her get away with this. Now, get my hot water."
He shook his head. “Granny, if you want hot water, get it yourself.” He strode out of the room, heading back upstairs, this time to the third floor. It was dangerous to walk on the rotten floor, but he was positive she had hidden things among the trunks and boxes rotting there.
* * * *
Henry finally finished toting the heavy boxes to the cemetery, covering them carefully as James had instructed. As he entered the parlor, Mrs. Atwater said, “Henry, close the door and lock it. I want to talk to you, and we don't want anyone to overhear what I have to say."
Henry did as he was told, then moved to stand beside her chair. “Sit down, Henry. In that chair and pull it closer. I have a job for you, one I am sure you will not like, but it is necessary. That Eartha girl, you know who I mean?” Henry nodded.
"I want you to kill her. Tonight. I don't care how you do it, just do it. Then dump her body in the bayou for the gators to eat. Do you understand?"
Tears started to run down his black face, which showed confusion and fright. “Mrs. Atwater, Henry dun never kilt a body ‘afore. Please, dun make Henry kill ‘er, please.” He dropped to his knees in front of her.
"Get up, Henry, and stop acting like this. It is no harder than killing a gator or chicken. Just think of it that way. Kill a chicken and feed a gator. Now, when will you do it?"
"Henry canna do it, Mrs. Atwater."
She took a deep breath and said, “Alright, Henry, let's start over. Henry, that mean black Eartha girl is going to blow up our house tomorrow. She will set it on fire, and we will have no place to live. She will steal things that belong to our family. Mr. James is having you help him because he believes she will do what she says. Do you understand, Henry?"
He nodded, and his eyes were tearless now. “Henry gotta kill dat woman to save our home?"
"Yes, Henry, that is what you must do. You can stab her or shoot her or drown her ... whatever you want, just kill her. Can you do it to save our home?"
He nodded slowly and stood. “Henry wanna save our home. Henry wanna kill dat woman. Henry kill ‘er like a chicken ‘n’ feed ‘er to da gators, jist like Mrs. Atwater say. Tanight."
"Perfect, Henry, and when it is done, come to me, and I will give you some rum to celebrate. You will have saved Black Bayou Plantation. You are a good boy, Henry. Now go, and do not tell anyone. Understand?” Henry smiled and nodded as he left the room.
* * * *
Eartha had lied about Mac helping her. She had no idea where he was, nor did she really care. She didn't need any help for what she planned. The old place was a tinderbox, and the gas she found in the barn would do short work of the place. Already she had several boxes of old rags and paper just waiting for the fuel. She would start on the upper floors and work her way down, quickly. She did not care if the old woman was inside or outside when it burned, just as long as she herself was outside.
She took Mrs. Atwater's car and drove to Woodward Plantation. There was no sign of her brothers, as it should be. She returned to the main road and continued into Cotton. Her brothers’ van was parked beside Effie's Café, and she could see all three of them through the window. She moved the car around behind the café and parked where she could see the van. It was only a few minutes before they came out and piled in. She honked once to get their attention, ignoring their waves, and moved the car onto a side street, making sure they saw where she was going. When she got to the river, she pulled off into the parking lot of an old mill, long defunct and rotting. She parked as far away from the road as she could and waited.
Her brothers’ van pulled in next to her. She rolled down the window, and they did the same. “Here is the deal, guys. I told James and the old woman that I was giving them until tomorrow night, and then Mac and I were going to blow up the old homestead. Told them it was punishment for a lifetime of persecutions on me as a black, starting with my life at Woodward and with Glenda. They did not seem to object to my reasons. Oh, yeah, and by the way, the old bitch is dead. Not Atwater, but our mother. Snakebite apparently, and James buried her this morning. No tears, guys. She was not worth it.
"I know, she was better to you than to me, but it does not change anything. Do you have the money?” Daniel picked up an old beat-up suitcase, and they all smiled at it. “When the place is gone tomorrow night, I will follow you to Ohio, as we planned. You take secondary roads, and I will take the interstates. And for Christ's sake, stay sober and don't get a ticket."
With that, she drove away and back to Black Bayou.
When she was gone, the three men sat awhile, beers in hands. “Do you think we should stick around and help her with the explosion? Sister has been so good to us, maybe it is time we do something for her,” Josh asked.
"Maybe we should just do what she told us to do. She is smart, smarter than
we are. But she might have trouble with James and even old Henry, so I say we go help her,” Daniel said. “We will make sure she is okay. Yes, sireeeee, sister girl will be real proud of us!"
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Chapter 42
The little boy Billy was playing by himself as usual, skipping rocks on the water of the bayou. The big kids only let him play when they needed someone to shag balls. He knew it, and it hurt his feelings. In his imagination, his mother used to hug him and tell him someday he would grow and they would beg him to let them play with him, but he really didn't believe it. He did not remember his mother at all but made her part of his lonely world. So, as on most days after school, he would find his own entertainment.
A couple of small alligators were sunning themselves on an island in the bayou, so he decided it would be more fun to see if he could hit them with rocks instead of skipping them. It was a far distance, but he hit one on his fifth or sixth try. He waded out a few feet and threw a couple more before they moved into the water and swam in his direction.
He laughed and ran upstream to another small beach where he knew more would be sunning themselves. As he rounded the curve of the bayou, he spied a black lump on the beach among the gators, yearlings and two and three-year-olds. He approached it carefully and then ran when it made a sound. He realized it was a moan, maybe a cry for help, so he moved closer.
The gators hissed at him. He found a long tree branch and began to pelt them with it. Soon, the beach was clear but for the black lump. As he approached, he realized it was a man, so covered with muck that Billy could make out no features or even if he was black or white. He ran as fast as his little legs would move, faster than ever in his life. He headed straight for the road, rather than town. Old Mrs. Ketchum in her 1976 Cadillac was heading his way and slowed as he waved and jumped up and down.