by Beverly Sims
"Say, boy, you got ants in your pants or what? For Heaven's sake, what is the matter with you?"
He had trouble catching his breath. “A man. There's a man on the bayou beach, Mrs. Ketchum. All covered in muck, moaning. Help, please help.” The only moaning to be heard was moaning Billy expected to hear.
She pulled her car off the road and climbed down the bank behind him. She understood his fear, as she felt it herself. “Come on, boy, we gotta get some help here."
The short trip to town would have made NASCAR drivers jealous. She was honking and yelling before the car even stopped. People came running from every direction. The phones were working again, and within minutes, they could hear a helicopter heading in. This time, the EMTs had a harder time evacuating their passenger, as their gurney was soon sucked into the black mud. They loaded their patient anyway, male or female—they did not know. It did not matter. The IVs went in, and with the help of several townsfolk, they managed to pick up the gurney, kick off most of the mud, and roll it to the waiting aircraft.
They wiped the face of their patient, finding a man beneath the bayou mud ... a man they recognized. The man who had bought them beers at the tavern across from the hospital in Inverness. The man who was so in love with that little blonde they had airlifted from this same location just a few days ago.
His hands and arms showed signs of animal bites, his temperature was low, and his breathing so shallow that it was barely there. His blood pressure and pulse were almost nonexistent. How much blood had he lost? Was there trauma to the head and body that the bayou muck covered? Did he have internal injuries? The question was whether he would live or die with his throat cut the way it was.
* * * *
Ellen pulled up in front of the Black Bayou Plantation house, noting only one vehicle there. It was the one Glenda had left in before the hurricane. Looking at the house now made it even more forlorn and fearsome than the first time she had seen it. She pushed bad memories aside and thought only of good ones, mostly of Mac. The helicopter she heard barely made an impression on her, so eager she was to see him again.
She knocked and waited. No one answered the door, so she opened it and went inside. She heard voices arguing in the parlor. Instead of calling out, she walked in and stood stock still at the scene before her eyes. Eartha was standing above the tiny old Mrs. Atwater, looking down at her in full rage. Neither of them saw her.
"Listen, you old bitch. I want to know what you told Henry to do. He pushed right by me and refused to stop. He ran out to the barn and barred the door against me when I tried to get in. He will not talk to me, so I know you are behind it. What did you tell him to do?"
"Stop yelling at me, you ... you ... black bitch, yourself. I am your grandmother, and you do not talk to me this way. Did no one teach you to respect your elders? I—"
"Teach me? Who would teach me? Certainly not my dearly departed mother, and certainly not you, you old crone.” Eartha's hand moved so quickly, Ellen did not see it until she heard the slap to the old woman's face, not once but several times.
She ran forward. “Eartha, what are you doing? Stop hitting her.” She pushed between Mrs. Atwater and Eartha. If she had seen the look in Mrs. Atwater's eyes, she would have seen victory and smugness. Instead, all she saw was surprise in her friend's face.
"Ellen, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Atlanta, in some kind of coma."
"More to the point, Eartha, what are you doing here? We all thought you had been kidnapped and presumed dead like Marybeth, and maybe Windy."
Mrs. Atwater smiled at Ellen. Her face was red from the slaps Eartha had inflicted on her, but she had a gleeful look in her eyes. “Yes, dear, your friend Windsong was also found murdered. Only this one seemed to have avoided the same end.” She waved in Eartha's direction. “Makes one wonder, doesn't it?"
"Glenda too, you mentioned, dead? How did she die, Eartha? How did you get back here? Why were you hitting this poor old woman? Have you gone mad? Where are Mac and James?"
Eartha's head was spinning. This was spiraling down, out of her control, and she had to get it back again. She raised her head, looked directly into Ellen's eyes, and spoke quietly. “As far as I know, Mac is dead. That is as it should be. He was plotting to kill us all by burning down the house tonight while we slept. He tried to get Henry to help him, but Henry is so loyal to Mrs. Atwater. He came to her crying, afraid of Mac, and told her what Mac had ordered him to do. James went out looking for Mac, who, incidentally, had stolen his Jeep and all the guns in the house."
"Stop lying, Eartha. I do not believe a word of this. Mac would never do anything to hurt his grandmother. He said she was a trial, but he was fond of her. Mrs. Atwater, tell me what happened."
"Not a word of what Eartha just told you is true, dear. Mac did not ask Henry to help him burn the place down, did he, Henry?” Henry, who stood in the doorway, shook his head. “Mac did take James's Jeep and some guns, but he was looking for clues as to who killed your friends."
Eartha turned on the old lady once again. “You are lying, you old bitch. You know Mac is dead, and you are saying that to protect James. James was in on the murders and collected the ransoms. James was a diver, so he was the one to rescue the money from the depths of the waters."
"Now, tell me the truth, if any of you can. What waters? How did you get back here, and where is Mac?"
"Listen to me, you stupid girl.” Eartha's voice was low and cold. “I got back because I was smarter than the man who grabbed me, not like those other two bitches. No, that is not true, the kidnapper never had me at all. I hid at the Woodward place with my brothers to make my disappearance part of the game."
"Game? For God's sake, Eartha, that was no game."
"Sure it was, and they got what they deserved, too. Your precious Mac was killed in a fight at the Mudbug and tossed in the river. Remember those two men you teased there? They were my brothers, Glenda's Woodward boys. Mac confronted them, and they laughed, saying you were doing a striptease for them and invited them to fuck you, both at once. Mac went berserk and started swinging. He was drunk and pulled a knife. During the fight, he lost. Now he's gone, so get over it. Better yet, get in your car and go back to Atlanta before you disappear, too."
"I will do no such thing, Eartha. I have known you for years, well enough to know when you are lying. Why? What happened to make you like this? You were so gentle and sweet ... now I find you hitting an old lady, screaming, and swearing. I don't understand any of this."
"You just don't get it, do you? I was never what you thought. I hated all of you, and I still hate you. If you don't leave voluntarily, I will see that you leave involuntarily. On second thought, I think I will just kill you.” She grabbed Ellen's hair and swung her other hand, curled in a fist, to hit Ellen hard on the jaw, knocking her down. Only her head was up, as Eartha was still pulling her hair, dragging her out of the parlor and down the hall toward the back entrance.
Ellen tried to grab the Eartha's leg, only to be kicked in the face. The kick was vicious and hard enough to make Ellen's mind go blank for several moments. “Eartha, stop. Please stop. What are you doing? Have you gone mad?"
"Well, what we have here, girlfriend, is failure for you to understand. Look, a swimming pool. Would you like a little drinkie-poo before you go swimming? Granny wanted me to empty it, but I forgot.” She was grinning as she pulled a knife from her shorts’ pocket, holding it at Ellen's throat. “I am going to let you stand up now, but you try anything, and you are dead. Understand?"
Ellen nodded and slowly got to her feet, using a chaise for balance. “Now, Miss Georgia Peach, take off your clothes. All of them. Remember how nice it felt when we did it before. Good girl. Now get in the pool."
Ellen looked at the storm-littered, brackish water. She stood naked, shaking her head.
"Yes, you will. And now. Maybe you will drown slowly or die quickly if that cottonmouth is still enjoying a swim. Either way, you are going to die."
Ellen looked at her once-friend. “I am going to die anyway, right? So why not die fighting you?” She dropped to the cement and rolled into Eartha's legs. Eartha lost her balance and fell forward, over Ellen's prone body and into the pool.
"That was some move there, gorgeous. Mac would have been proud of you! Say, I can see now why he could not get enough of you. Big tits, nice ass, and a natural blonde. It was hard to tell in the foyer, but out here in the daylight ... you are one damn good-looking piece. Since you're naked already, want to...? Okay, probably not. I'll bet that ol’ kidnapper would love getting his hands on you.” James was leaning against the roofless pool house, grinning.
Eartha was yelling for him to help her as she climbed out of the pool. Ellen grabbed her clothes and ran into the house and out the front door. She started the Jeep and drove like a maniac until she was far enough from the house that she decided it was safe to stop and dress again. Cotton, she thought, I have to get to Cotton and call for help. Lord, please don't let anything stop me.
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Chapter 43
James laughed at a dripping, dirty Eartha as she dragged herself out of the pool. She screamed at him to catch Ellen, sure Ellen would tell the police everything. James laughed again, telling her it didn't matter a damn bit to him what Ellen would tell or that Eartha could burn in hell.
Eartha's fury now had built into such a rage she lost control for the first time in years. She pulled a knife from her shirt under the back waistband and flew at him. He saw her coming and grabbed both her wrists. “Now, first lesson in knifing someone. Never hold it so that the blade points down, because you will be the one stabbed, like this.” He turned the hand with the knife back on her, pushing it down toward her stomach. “That might be fine if you are going to kill someone in his sleep, but otherwise, hold it with the blade out beside your thumb, fingers around the hilt. Like this.” He wrenched the knife from her and slid it easily into his own, showing her what he meant.
"See how easily I can stick it now between your ribs or into your throat? However, I think it might be best if you use this time to get the hell out of here before the cops arrive. I would recommend you stay close to the roads and clear of the waterways. After a good flood like this one, quicksand pits form all over the place and stay until the water levels drop and they dry up. Sorry I can't give you transportation, but I'm soooooo tired from all that lifting and packing we did."
Eartha's face was a mask of hatred. Every fiber of her body radiated hate, unbelievable hate. She was another creature now, one that gave her a ghoulish, skeletal look, and her eyes burned like beacons of red flame in pools of black oil. James had seen many things in his life, but never a totally madwoman before now. It was as if she were the Devil herself. He still had her knife, but he was afraid nevertheless. She stepped toward him. He turned and ran out of the room. Her cackling laughter followed him.
His grandmother and Henry were in the parlor. He pulled her up out of her chair. “Come on, we have to get out of here, Henry, come on."
"For heaven's sake, James, what is the matter with you? I am not leaving, and you know it.” She sat back down.
"Damn it, Grandmother, listen to me. Eartha is not what she seems. I swear to you she is a Devil.” He picked her up, even as she kicked and demanded he release her. As he headed toward the door, he saw Eartha grinning, a death mask in his eyes. Mrs. Atwater stopped struggling and stared at the woman. Henry covered his eyes and began to moan some kind of voodoo-sounding prayer.
Eartha stepped back, laughing that cackle again. She quickly shut the door behind her. James heard the key turn in the lock, an old skeleton key that locked and unlocked most doors in the old house.
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Chapter 44
Ellen found her way to Cotton and pulled to a screeching stop in front of Effie's Café. She saw Alma beside a table full of down-home folk, so when she went inside, she went straight to the phone. Officer Moffett picked up her call in Inverness. “Officer, this is Ellen Davis. Remember me? Helicopter ride to hospital. My murdered friends..."
"Yes, missy, I sure do remember you. Such a pretty little thing with such big problems. Now, what can I do for you?
"We need help out here, in Cotton and at Black Bayou Plantation. Eartha Black, one of the women who was supposed to be kidnapped, is at the plantation and tried to kill me. Mac ... have you seen Mac? She says he was killed in a fight at the Mudbug and that her brothers did it."
"Hey, hey. Slow down and start over. Someone tried to kill you? And a murder was committed at the tavern? Are you hurt? Do you need medical help?"
"I am not hurt, just scared. If those men killed Mac, they won't hesitate to kill me or old Mrs. Atwater, or even James. Please, send help. I am at Effie's Café and will hide if I have to. Alma will know where I am."
"Okay, we are on the way."
When she turned, she realized that everyone in the café had heard her. Alma had a puzzled look on her face as she spoke. “Honey, are you okay? You look like hell. What are you doing here? We thought you were in Atlanta. And what is this about Mac? He was just fine when I saw him yesterday."
One of the old men sitting at the end of the counter turned to her. “We don't know who it was, but a chopper left a little while ago with somebody they found in the swamp. Could be Mac, you think?"
She immediately called the police in Inverness again, asking if they knew who had been airlifted to the hospital there. Officer Moffett was already gone, but whoever answered the phone said he would call and find out if it was Mac and would call her back. She gave him the number and sat by the phone with a cup of coffee.
While she waited, she told Alma all that had happened. She made no effort to keep her voice down, feeling somehow more secure the more people knew. A couple even tossed her a question or two, and no one left, as everyone waited for the phone to ring.
"Any of you folk see anything lately, make you wonder about it?” Alma asked the group. “Anybody strange or acting funny?
"In this town, Alma, honey, we all act strange and funny,” a voice replied. “Strangest thing I seed in months was old lady Ketchum and little Billy coming inta town, that old Cadillac of hers on two tires. Bunch of guys went back with her, and Billy showed the paramedics where to go. Never saw the guy up close ... hell, not even sure it was a guy, but they were in an all-fired hurry to get in the air."
Ellen closed her eyes. “I think I had better go to Inverness. It is Mac, I am sure."
The phone rang. Ellen held her breath as Alma answered and nodded. When she hung up, she looked at Ellen and said, “They found no ID on him, and he had been in the water for weeks if not longer. Gators must not have been hungry, or he was out of their reach. Anyway, he is dead. It was not Mac.” She put her arms around Ellen, holding her while she cried with relief.
Alma convinced Ellen to stay the night with her. If Black Bayou Plantation exploded, that was fine. If it did not, that was fine, too. Whatever, the police would be here soon, and they could handle it all.
And come they did, five cars worth, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Ellen went out to meet them and to tell her story, as calmly as she could. One car veered away to go to the Mudbug. A second headed to the Woodward Plantation, a third and fourth to Black Bayou, and one stayed in Cotton, interviewing folks there. Ellen tried to follow, but the police said she must stay in town and answer their questions. All cars were in touch via radios, and she would know as soon as they found something.
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Chapter 45
James set his grandmother back on her feet and tried to push the door open, to no avail. Made of solid cypress, set in cypress jams, it was virtually immovable. “Is there another key in here someplace?” he demanded as he started searching the desk and other cabinets.
"Henry,” Mrs. Atwater said. “There is a spare key around here someplace. Stop that warbling and find it. Now.” With that, as usual, she sat down and
picked up her teacup.
Even her commands did not stop Henry from the state of fear he was in. He continued mumbling, eyes closed, fists over his heart, head down.
"Henry, I am not going to tell you again. Find that key and find it now."
Again, he ignored her. She looked at him, finally realizing he was not in any condition mentally to answer or do her bidding. She sighed deeply as she shook her head at him. She arose slowly and wandered around the room, shaking vases, opening boxes, lifting figurines and lace doilies.
In the meantime, James found a letter-opener and tried the old lock, only to find the inside stuffed with something to stop what he was doing. He found a flashlight on the mantle and shined it into the lock. “Steel wool. Damn it, I can't push it out, and I can't budge the tumblers while it's jammed."
For the first time, she showed a brief shadow of dismay. “Well, in that case, we will simply have to find another way out."
"And how do you plan to do that, Grandmother?” James asked sarcastically. “Fly up the chimney, maybe? We can't go out any windows as they are all boarded up from the outside, nailed to hold against the next storm."
At that moment, they heard an explosion from somewhere upstairs, then another farther away, and a third downstairs. “Well, it looks like our guest decided to move demolition up a day,” James said drolly, but not with fear in his voice as well. “This old place was built to last and weather the worst nature could throw at it, and that includes human nature, too. Okay, anyone got any bright ideas?"
Henry was still kneeling, rocking back and forth as he sat on the floor. He would be of no help unless James could bring him back around. He walked over to the sad black man and hit him across the face as hard as he could slap. Henry's head jerked, and his eyes began to focus. “Mas'er James, why you hit Henry?"
James helped the man rise. “You were in some kind of trance, Henry. Sorry if I hurt you, but I need your help. Eartha has locked us in, sealed the lock so we can't pick it, and blew up some of the house. I don't know how or what with, but we have to get out of here fast."