FEVER DREAMS: A Bracken and Bledsoe Paranormal Mystery

by April Campbell Jones

  I grunted at the swamp. “Confidence is overrated. Fear hiding behind bravado. And your young man is growing older, along with his pragmatism, perhaps, which is only as real as a state of mind.”

  “What is real for you, Elliot?”

  I didn’t have to think about it. “The case. The case is real! It happened! That’s the one thing on record, the one reality I can be sure of. I need this, Rita.”

  “You’re staying with her, aren’t you?”

  I wondered who Rita meant by ‘her’ but let it go.

  I turned to my fiancée. “How the hell did you find me, anyway? The police?”

  She snuffed a smile. “Only the ones I watch on TV. Your credit card bills. One of them came this morning from someone with a rural route address somewhere in someplace called Manchac, Louisiana.”

  Mama Grace. I almost smiled. “How much was it for?”

  “Five hundred dollars.”

  I laughed loud and hard on the inside. “And then what? You consulted the local sheriff’s office?”

  “It was closed. And the townspeople weren’t much help. I checked a couple of bars and was about to start checking motels when I got myself lost on some cow path out near the swamp.”

  I chuckled. “Gator path, more likely. It happens. How’d you get un-lost?”

  “I finally got directions back to town from one of the less sequestered locals. I was so glad to be out of the sucking swamp I didn’t ask stop to ask questions.”

  “Didn’t even get his name, huh.”

  “It was a she. A little girl. Out there by herself on the swamp road.”

  I turned to my fiancée very slowly. “What…did she look like?”

  Rita shrugged, swatted a mosquito. “Guy at the store guaranteed this stuff would keep the bugs off. Uh, I don’t know, just a little girl, eight or nine maybe. Cute. Kind of muddy.”

  “What was she wearing?”

  “I don’t know, just a wrinkled little dress. Barefoot.”

  “Was she…wearing anything, any jewelry?”

  Rita stared at me. Until it became uncomfortable. “Elliot, where is this going? She was just a little—“

  And she dropped her folded arms.

  “Oh, God. You’re not suggesting…oh, Elliot. You really need to get help, you’re sick!”

  “Rita—“

  “She wasn’t the least bit transparent, I assure you! She was just a little local girl standing beside the road!”

  “All alone. In the middle of the swamp.”

  “Elliot, she was not your—“

  “Did you offer to give her a ride back to town?”

  “She didn’t ask! She looked perfectly at home where she was!”

  “In the swamp. So, you left a little eight-year-old girl alone in the middle of nowhere, didn’t even think to ask her if she needed a lift?”

  Rita started to answer angrily, then turned away sharply.

  “Rita--?”

  “I…all right, I thought about it as I drove off, even slowed the car down…”

  “And? Rita--?”

  “When I…she wasn’t there anymore when I looked in the rearview.”

  “Where was she?”

  “How should I know? I assume she walked back into the cane break or whatever it is and went home!” She crossed her arms firmly again, stared at the dark water. When I didn’t say anything she turned her head impatiently to me. “What--?”

  “You were afraid.”

  “You’re goddamn right I was afraid! I was lost in the middle of a Louisiana swamp! All I wanted was to get out of there!”

  “Okay. Calm down.”

  “Christ, Elliot! You might have a little sympathy! Is this your way of putting me on the defensive, using your little ghost girl as distraction? She was just a little girl who lived in the swamp!”

  “Okay. Fine. Where are you going--?”

  She was striding past me with a military gait, arms still folded tightly. “Back to my rental car! Back to my motel!”

  “You have a motel?”

  “It’s the Bayou Rest on Route 55! The number’s in the book! I’ll be driving back to Austin tomorrow morning, ten sharp! If you’re there, you’re there!”

  “Rita—“

  She kept marching, giving me her back. “No! Don’t make promises tonight you won’t keep tomorrow or next week, next year! Go back to her! Sleep on it! Sleep on her, I don’t care! But if you show up tomorrow morning at my place it’s forever, Elliot, do you hear? It’s—just this once—forgive and forget and forever! There’s no in-between, I’m sorry!”

  “Rita!”

  She whirled in the saw grass. “I’m sorry for the little girl! And I’m sorry for her family! And I know somewhere down in there your heart may be in the right place—maybe I’m even a little proud of you for that! But no matter how I turn it, Elliot, I see myself sitting there in some Austin café trying to explain this to one of my friends! And it sounds like lunacy!”

  “Why does anyone have to know?” I said lamely.

  She watched me a moment. “Ten sharp, Elliot! Then I’m gone for good! Please make my excuses to the lovely Miss Bracken!”

  And she stomped off.

  Turned one final time. “And if and when you finally solve this…case—solve your life—kindly send back the cat!”

  * * *

  I found Katie in the one motel chair across from the motel bed.

  She had a glass of bourbon in her hand but it looked untouched and the bottle on the nightstand was nearly full.

  I came in and flopped on the bed, grateful for the Motel 6 air-conditioning. “Can you turn that thing up to full blast or did I already do that?”

  Katie bent toward the humming block of machinery below the window. “Already did it.”

  “Afraid of that.”

  She put down her drink, came over and flopped down on the bed beside me. “So. How’s the future Mrs. Bledsoe?”

  “Less than equitable,” I sighed.

  “I’m sorry, Elliot.”

  “Are you?

  She turned her head atop the pillow. “Of course! I didn’t want this any more than you did.”

  After a moment I said: “Want what?”

  She came up on one elbow. “What’s the matter? Are you angry with me?”

  “No.”

  “Because it’s completely understandable if you are. I talked you into this.”

  “I’m not angry and you didn’t talk me into anything.”

  She settled back. “So, did Rita head back?”

  “To her own motel. She’s giving me until ten tomorrow morning to join her, then she’s off.”

  “I see. Well, I’d say that’s very understanding under the circumstances.”

  “Under the circumstances…”

  Up on her elbow again, frowning now. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Just tired.”

  “Tired and wondering what the circumstances really are.”

  “And you’re not?”

  She flopped back down, sighed. “A little, I guess. Something’s sure as hell wrong, I’m certain of that.”

  “Why?”

  “Why am I certain? Because it doesn’t feel right. Because I keep getting the sense that some people in town know more than they’re saying and won’t talk.”

  “Because--?”

  She thought about it. “Don’t know. They’re afraid, maybe?”

  “Like Roger?”

  She thought about that too. “Well, he’s not afraid anymore.”

  “You’re not sure he overdosed?”

  “I’m not sure it was self-inflicted.” She looked over at me again. “Are you?”

  “Rita told me she saw Amy today.”

  Back up on her elbow again, eyes wide. “Rita saw her? Described her to you?”

  “Enough so it could have been Amy. Rita got lost, a little girl gave her directions back to town.”

  “No kidding. Was she wearing—“

  “Rita
didn’t recall seeing a locket. Doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. Why would she appear to Rita?”

  Katie flopped back. “I don’t know. Does Rita know about Amy, why we’re here?”

  “I told her tonight.”

  “Oh. Of course. How else could you protect your engagement?”

  “I think I was more interested in how she’d react.”

  “How did she?”

  “Exactly how I expected her to. I wasn’t surprised.”

  “Maybe you were relieved.”

  Now I turned to her. “Relieved?”

  “I’m sure it must have been consoling to listen to the cool voice of city reason after all the alligators and witchcraft.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Are you going back with her tomorrow?”

  “You didn’t answer me. Why would Amy appear to Rita?”

  She arched a thoughtful brow. “To scare her? Was she scared?”

  “A little. Scare her off, you mean? Why? And if she wanted to get rid of Rita why not give her the wrong directions deeper into the swamp?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “It would call more police into the area, distract us from Amy’s case?”

  “Possible, I guess.”

  “Yes. Better to send Rita to us. Piss her off. Get her to leave.”

  “She sent her to us?”

  “Indirectly. Amy does everything indirectly, haven’t you noticed?”

  “Have you?’

  “I think so.”

  “What else have you noticed?”

  I looked into her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  She searched my face a moment, then vaulted up unexpectedly and pushed off the bed. “I’ve got to get a bath, I stink of swamp and humiliation.” She grabbed her shoulder bag. “See you in the morning. If you’re still here.”

  I sat up. “Hey.”

  She turned at the door. “What?”

  “What is it? You’re pissed about something. Do you think I’m going to quit the case, abandon you?”

  “You don’t belong to me, Elliot. I’d hate to lose you but I’d certainly understand.”

  “You didn’t touch your drink.”

  “No. You touch it.”

  I came across the room to her. “You’re pissed, I can feel it.”

  “No.”

  I took her shoulders gently. “Then what? Jealous?”

  “Of what?”

  My eyes narrowed curiously. “I don’t know…Rita?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? I thought you were going to kiss me back there on the bed.”

  “Well, I wasn’t. And that’s insulting, Elliot.”

  “How? I think it’s kind of sweet.”

  “Seduce you away from your fiancée to get you to stay on the case? That would be pretty small of me.”

  “Maybe you’re attracted to me.” I pulled her a little closer.

  “Even if I were, I wouldn’t stoop to that.”

  I snorted. “No? I’m not married yet. Most woman would stoop…stoop a lot lower than that.”

  “Not me.”

  “Don’t find me attractive at all, huh?”

  “Oh, how could I not? Aren’t all the girls on campus salivating over the handsome Professor Bledsoe?”

  I tried to kiss her, surprising myself. I don’t know what came over me. She pushed away. Hard.

  “Don’t be an asshole, Elliot! You’re not getting a sympathy lay tonight because you happen to feel guilty about Rita!”

  I kept hold of her, looked deep into her eyes. “It isn’t about Rita…is it? You’re jealous about something else…”

  “I am not jealous!” she squirmed.

  A light went on. It made me smile—unfortunately. “It’s Amy, isn’t it? And what the old woman said about me being the key…me being the one Amy’s trying to contact…”

  “God, you’re a fucking egoist! A tight-ass, anal retentive, phobia-ridden egomaniac!”

  “You want me to leave, don’t you? You want Amy’s warm light back on you!”

  “Jesus, you’re pathetic! Why did I ever think you were gifted?” She yanked away hard.

  “The question is, what does the old woman want? What does Amy want?”

  “Let go of me!”

  “I saw her today, you know…”

  “What? Who?”

  “Amy. When the old woman’s dry rotted boat sank. She found me there underwater. Helped me to the top. Saved my life.”

  She looked at me incredulously. “Were you planning on telling me this sometime?”

  “I just did.”

  “I have to go!”

  “Kiss me first—“

  “Get away from me!”

  “Kiss me, goddamnit!” My hand closed over her throat…

  * * *

  Later, long after Katie had run back to her own room—or, perhaps, just run for good—I lay there in the motel bed and managed to lower the level in the nightstand bottle to near empty in less than an hour. I didn’t even take a shower. All I wanted was to sleep. A black sleep, with no dreams.

  Instead I lay there in a stupor, breathing strangely, arm slung across my burning forehead, staring at the dark motel ceiling and reeking of bourbon. Wondering what in the world had gotten into me.

  And if and when it might come back…

  EIGHTEEN

  I didn’t sleep all night. Not a wink.

  I did manage to sleep beautifully most of the next morning, however.

  My gummy eyes blinked open, demanded to be rubbed, and finally focused on the nightstand clock: 11:32.

  I had missed my fiancée’s deadline by a healthy margin. Yeah, I know: define ‘healthy.’

  I stumbled out of bed, found my trousers and called Rita on my cell. If she were still within city and tower limits…

  But she wasn’t. She was gone, baby, gone. Maybe back in Texas by now. Maybe teaching her own students. Maybe already packing her suitcase…or not bothering to unpack it.

  I put the phone back in my chinos, found my shirt, sniffed it and nearly passed out at the smell. ‘Swamp water and humility.’

  I took a long hot shower, letting the spray soak into stiff back muscles, aching joints…letting the roiling steam put my mind in neutral. Yes, I thought about Katie, too, of course I did. Had she split on me as well, should I call her, would she even speak to me?

  I toweled, dressed in fresh clothes, sat in the single motel chair and tuned-in CNN for a few minutes with familiar anchors, the outside world. The world was still there, the anchors still smiling. I switched off the TV, grabbed my phone again to try Katie’s cabin--hung up before it ran and decided a more personal good-morning might be in order.

  I shut the motel door behind me, locked it and was just turning when down the sidewalk and rows of cabins I glimpsed Katie doing the same. She turned from her door, saw me, stopping in her tracks.

  We stood that way staring at each other silently for a while.

  I couldn’t think of a goddamn thing to say.

  She glanced back at her door and--afraid she was about to retreat on me--I opened my mouth to say the first thing that came out when the sound of crunching gravel echoedin the motel lot and a dented red Dodge flatbed truck pulled bouncing toward us in a rooster tail of dust.

  It was Angel Robichou.

  She braked before our cabins, climbed out with a bright smile, and stood uncertainly a moment beside the partly-concave door of her husband’s truck, looking first left at Katie, then right at Professor Bledsoe. She was momentarily uncertain whom to choose. “Good morning!”

  Katie and I both nodded, returned a good-morning in tandem.

  “Forgive me for not calling” (looking left, looking right). “I wanted…well, I thought a more personal visit was in order!”

  Sensing something might be wrong, Angel waited uncomfortably between us in the bright parking lot until Katie and I just had to approach, finally coming together, if only to stop shouting.

&n
bsp; Angel hugged Katie, patted my shoulder. “I just wanted you to know--in light of Roger’s death and all--wanted you to know I’d still like very much for you to stay in town, continue your research on Amy. If it’s convenient, of course.”

  “We’re so sorry about Roger,” Katie said, and reached for the other woman’s hand again.

  Angel nodded, tight-lipped, chin trembling, forcing it back, determined not to start a weeping binge. “Yes. A terrible thing. A useless way to die. And with so much life ahead. But not really a surprise, I suppose.”

  “How’s Dean taking it?” I asked.

  “Oh…worse than he thinks he is. He was always outwardly critical of Roger, you know. It’s hard for him now to discover how much he really loved him. He’ll come to live with it, in time. Life goes on. You’ll think me hard…”

  “No,” Katie assured, squeezing Angel’s hand tighter.

  A little sniff, then: “…I was nearly over Amy. Well, not really over her, never that completely, but, you know…past it. Accepting God’s will. Concentrating on the time we did have with her and how less rich our lives would have been had there been no time at all. That was about the time she began…”

  Katie waited sympathetically, finally filled-in: “Contacting you.”

  Angel nodded quickly, pushing it down again. “Anyway, I do mean what I say about your staying. I don’t want you to think Roger’s death affects that. I mean, of course it affects it, but what I’m trying to say—“

  “We’d like to stay,” Katie told her, and it was nice to hear her include me, nice just to hear her say ‘we.’

  Angel smiled relief at both of us. “Good. Oh, that’s good to know. I apologize again for any rudeness before at dinner, from both Dean and me.”

  “It isn’t necessary,” I said.

  “Yes. Yes, it is. Just having you two in town…it’s been a comfort to me. Dean too, I know, though he’d likely not admit it. The neighbors are all kind, of course, and thoughtful, but I see the doubt and fear behind the sympathy. You two are the closest friends we have right now. Someday Dean will learn that, too.”

  “Thank you,” Katie said warmly, rubbing Angel’s slim forearm.

  “I wanted you there to help me identify my son’s body yesterday, but my husband would have none of it, of course, considered it a private affair.” Another sniff into a tissue. “Lord, but my Roger was a handsome boy! I’d liked it if you could have…met him. Said good-bye there with me. But Dean…”