What if Ross was completely innocent? What if someone else in the camp had molested his daughter, making her afraid to come home? A couple of the cabins were rented by fishermen. What if one of them had harmed her? Maybe one of the men who had helped search for Krissy had actually been the person who abducted her. It would be a perfect cover story: kidnap a little girl, molest her, tie her up somewhere, and then come back and act like nothing had happened, going so far as to help the parents look for her, all the time making sure not to go anywhere near where she was hidden.
One of the fishermen could have done something to Krissy. It might not even have been one of the men staying in the cabins. The fish camp was a busy place during the day, with lots of people coming in off the road to use the river. Someone might have seen Krissy, might even have befriended her.
Robert frowned. There were times when he had let Krissy out of his sight, allowing her to wander freely around the fish camp. No one had been with her when she took her naps, or when he and Janet cooked up the bass they had caught. Krissy had been on her own then, helpless prey to a sexual stalker.
What about Mary Sanders? If her husband was some kind of sex offender she would know about it. Then again, what if she was actually the guilty one? It would not be the first time a woman had sexually molested a little girl. There were a lot of sick people in the world.
All the nuts roll downhill to Florida.
Robert suddenly remembered how uncomfortable Krissy had been around Mary Sanders the last time they had eaten in the restaurant. She had refused to look at Mary, as if she were terrified of her. Had Mary done something to his daughter? Had she hurt Krissy in some way?
Another thought suddenly popped into his mind. What if Krissy wasn’t alone? What if someone was standing next to her, hidden in the darkness, someone who would not let the little girl return to her parents?
He focused the binoculars on his daughter, she hadn’t moved, then moved them slowly to each side of her. If someone was standing there he, or she, was well hidden. He was still looking at his daughter when she turned her back on him and disappeared into the forest.
“Krissy! No!”
Robert dropped the binoculars and raced for the front door. Luckily, he was already wearing his jeans and a pair of tennis shoes, so he did not have to get dressed. Grabbing his shirt, he opened the door and ran out into the night. He didn’t care that Krissy might not be alone, or that he was unarmed. He was not going to let his daughter get away from him this time.
Chapter Twenty-two
Robert ran through the campgrounds until he reached the road. The patrol car still sat empty in the middle of the narrow lane, its blue lights flashing like ghostly beacons. The driver’s door stood open, and there was still no sign of the officer.
He passed the empty patrol car at a dead run, not even bothering to give it more than a quick glance. The road rounded a sharp curve just beyond where the vehicle sat, so it was doubtful if the patrol car, or its flashing lights, were visible to the patrons of the Blackwater Lounge, or anyone else in the main part of the fish camp.
To Robert’s surprise, it turned out he had seen his daughter disappear into the forest on the same side of the road as the fish camp, just north of the cabins. Without hesitation, he navigated the ditch and plunged into the forest, following a small animal trail that Krissy must have used.
He thought the trail might lead back toward the camp area, perhaps it was a shortcut created by local hikers, but it turned away from the camp running in a northeasterly direction.
It was a clear night, and the moon bright, but the trail was narrow, the moonlight all but blocked by the branches of towering trees. Robert had to slow his pace due to the darkness, fearful of tripping over a vine or running into the pointy end of a hanging branch. Having to slow his pace only added to his growing frustration. Somewhere up ahead was his daughter. Somewhere up ahead was the little girl he loved and had lost, and he was determined not to lose her again.
The path he followed changed directions, now heading due east, parallel to the fish camp. He could not see Krissy and wondered if she was still ahead of him. Was she following the same path as he was, or had she turned and gone a different direction? Several times he thought he saw movement up ahead, but it was probably nothing more than wishful imagination.
Robert wanted to call out his daughter’s name, but was afraid that she might not be alone. If someone was with her, he did not want to alert them that they were being followed. If he called out he might be putting Krissy’s life in even greater danger.
He thought about pausing for a moment to see if he could hear sounds of movement from up ahead. Surely, even the movements of a child would be loud enough to be heard. But if he stopped to listen then Krissy might get further ahead of him, especially is she was running, or being dragged along by someone. No. It was better to keep moving and hope to overtake her.
He reached the Wekiva River, surprised to discover an old, little used footbridge spanning the water. The wooden beams and boards that made up the bridge were weathered and gray and looked in danger of falling down at the slightest touch. Still, it was a bridge and he needed to get across the river if he hoped to keep following his daughter.
Robert held his breath as he stepped onto the bridge. The wooden structure creaked loudly under his weight, but nothing seemed to give. At least the bridge didn’t fall out from under him as he had feared. Hurrying across the bridge, he reached the other side of the river without getting wet.
He was now faced with a dilemma, for the path he followed forked. The left fork followed the Wekiva River north, away from Blackwater Fish Camp. The right fork followed the river south toward the camp.
“Damn it. Which way?” Robert said, frustrated. He was so afraid he might lose his daughter again that his stomach started to cramp, and he was suddenly in dire need of a bathroom.
“No. No. No. I don’t have time for this.” Pressing his palms against his stomach, he doubled over and waited for the pain to pass. Straightening back up, he again studied the paths before him.
He was about to choose the left path, because if someone was with Krissy they wouldn’t want to go in the direction of the camp for fear of being seen, but then he spotted something in the soft earth by his feet. A footprint. Small. Delicate. A child’s footprint.
Robert’s heart thudded madly in his chest. The footprint had to be Krissy’s. The odds of it belonging to another child were a million to one.
It had to be Krissy’s, there were no other children living in the immediate area. Nor were any children staying at the camp. Besides that, the trail was not one that was regularly used. It was an old trail, replaced by the boardwalks further to the south.
Choosing the right fork, he hurried along the trail. Despite the dangers of vines and branches, he felt that speed was necessary and moved as fast as he possibly could. Branches and brush snagged at his clothing and scratched his skin. Twice he nearly tripped and fell but managed to stay on his feet and keep moving.
He thought the trail would take him back to the fish camp, but it veered slightly to the east, away from the camp. It wasn’t long before the narrow trail joined up with a wider path, which Robert recognized as being part of the camp’s nature trail. But it was one of the older sections, because he soon came upon a section of boardwalk that had been burned by fire.
Robert suddenly recognized the trail he followed, and knew that it would lead him to the lagoon. A tingle of fear shot through him, for the last time he was at the lagoon his life had been threatened. A crazy Indian, named Jimmy Cypress, had warned Robert to stay away from the lagoon, otherwise something bad would happen to him.
Something bad had happened to him. His daughter had been taken.
The fear he felt was suddenly replaced by a surge of anger. The Indian had threatened him, then his daughter had disappeared. Krissy’s favorite storybook had been found at Jimmy Cypress’s cabin. Despite his protests of being innocent, the Indian had to b
e involved in the terrible things that had happened.
And now Krissy was found--well, almost found. Robert had seen her watching the fish camp. There was no mistaking who it was. Krissy was alive, and close by, but she was apparently afraid to come back. Or someone was with her, and they wouldn’t let her come back to her family.
Was Jimmy Cypress with her? Robert thought the Indian had been arrested, and the police were holding him as a possible suspect in the case. He had to be a suspect. They had found Krissy’s book in his house, had found a murdered dog in a shallow grave beside his house. And he had threatened Robert. Surely, that made Jimmy Cypress a suspect. The police would keep him in jail. They wouldn’t just let him go. Would they?
A strong wind suddenly sprang up as he approached the lagoon, a wind that seemed to be blowing from the lagoon itself. Moments before the forest had been still; no breeze to be felt. But now the wind had suddenly whipped up, as if a thunderstorm drew near. The night sky, however, was clear, the moon full and bright.
“What the hell?” he said aloud, turning his head to keep dirt from being blown into his eyes. Around him bushes and branches danced and swayed, casting eerie shadows. The wind grew stronger, causing leaves to cascade down upon him liked a feathery rainfall. He ignored the falling foliage and pushed on.
He finally emerged from the forest into the clearing that surrounded the lagoon, leaving behind shadows and darkness for a world cast in silvery moonlight. The moonlight reflected off the surface of the water in fiery brilliance, making the lagoon look like a giant gemstone.
The first thing he noticed upon stepping into the clearing was that the Indian’s staff was gone. The strange staff with the skull and feathers had stood at the water’s edge, directly in front of the place where the path emerged from the forest. That staff was now missing. Perhaps it had been taken by the Indian, or the police. Maybe it had been stolen by a tourist far braver than Robert.
The second thing he noticed was Krissy. She stood at the edge of the lagoon, her back to him, staring down into the water. She was alone and apparently oblivious to everything around her, looking at something only she could see.
Robert looked quickly to the left, then right, searching to see if anyone else was around. He had suspected that his daughter was in the custody of an abductor, but it now looked as if she was alone. If anyone was nearby, watching her, then he was well hidden. Turning his attention back to his daughter, he watched in disbelief as she slowly waded into the lagoon.
“Krissy, no!” Robert yelled and rushed forward. He stopped at the water’s edge, reluctant to wade in for fear of quicksand. He didn’t know if there was such a thing as quicksand in Florida, but he did not want to take the chance. Still, he had to stop his daughter. The water was already up to her waist.
Again he called out Krissy’s name, but she acted as if she did not hear him. Perhaps she was in shock. Frantic, he snatched up several pine cones and threw them at her.
The first two pine comes missed. The third struck Krissy between the shoulder blades. She turned and stared at him, looking right through him. And then she spoke.
“Dad-d-y”
The voice was not his daughter’s. There was no sunshine and warmth in the voice. No happiness. The words were icy cold, like the wind blowing through a graveyard at night. A chill danced up Robert’s spine and touched his heart.
And even from ten feet away he could tell that her eyes were different, even in the dark. They were no longer the soft brown eyes of the little girl he loved so much. On the contrary, her eyes now shone with an unholy bluish-green light, reflecting the glow of the moon like the eyes of a nocturnal animal.
Sweat Jesus, what have they done to you?
Fear suddenly swept over Robert, stealing his voice. The little girl that stood before him was his daughter, there was no doubt about that. He knew every inch of her body, every mole and scar. It was his daughter all right, but there was something terribly alien about her. It was his daughter, and yet it wasn’t.
Images from the old science fiction movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers sprang to mind. His daughter looked the same on the outside, except for her eyes, but this was not the Krissy he knew and loved. She was now a pod person, her spirit taken over by aliens.
Nonsense. She’s your daughter. How can you think otherwise?
But look at her eyes. Damn it, look at her eyes. They’re glowing like an animal’s. And her voice. What about her voice?
It’s just the night air. Maybe she’s thirsty. She’s been out here in the woods for two days, naturally her voice is going to sound funny. Maybe she’s sick, or has a cold.
A thousand arguments danced through his head, a thousand questions. But no answers came to him. He did not know why his daughter sounded different, or why her eyes were shinning like twin candles in the moonlight. The not knowing scared him, scared him half to death.
Confused and frightened, Robert stumbled back from the water’s edge. He had only taken two steps, however, when he slipped on the leaf-covered ground and fell. He scrambled to get back up, but before he could get to his feet something grabbed his left ankle.
A flash of pain shot up Robert’s left leg. He lifted his head to see what had grabbed him, and was shocked to see that it was Krissy. The little girl stood knee deep in the water, grabbing his ankle in the vicelike grip of her right hand. A grin unfolded on her face, a grin that stretched far too wide at the corners of her mouth.
“Let’s play a game, Dad-d-y.”
She squeezed his ankle tighter, bruising his flesh and nearly cracking bone. Robert howled from the pain; his bladder suddenly emptied, causing him to pee in his pants. He tried to sit up and pry the tiny fingers from around his ankle, but she squeezed again and the world swam around him in a hazy fog.
Kick her. Kick her. Kick her.
His mind screamed the command, but he just couldn’t bring himself to kick his daughter. Despite what he saw and felt, he refused to believe that it wasn’t Krissy who stood before him. It had to be her. But why was she trying to hurt him?
She must be in shock. That’s it, she’s in shock.
He had heard about people in shock performing amazing feats of strength, like the story about the woman who had lifted a car off of her son. He had always thought such stories were nothing more than urban myths, but maybe some of them were true. That would explain Krissy’s sudden strength and the reason why she did not recognize her own father.
The grip around his left ankle grew tighter, and then Krissy started moving back, dragging him into the water.
“Krissy, no...!” He clawed at the ground, digging furrows in the layers of dead leaves and soft earth. He was already halfway in the water. Any second he would be pulled all the way in. Desperate, he grabbed a root and held on. Krissy pulled harder, fingernails digging deep into his flesh.
Robert cried out in desperation, hoping someone would come to his aid. “No. No. No. Please, somebody help me!”
There was a sudden rustling from the forest behind him, and the sound of someone running. Robert looked and saw a man racing toward him. He couldn’t tell who it was at first, but then he saw that it was Jimmy Cypress, the same Indian who had threatened his life--the man who was probably responsible for the abduction of his little girl.
Oh, no.
Jimmy was running toward him, probably intent on stopping Robert from rescuing Krissy. The Indian was crazy, deranged; in his hands he carried the same skull-topped staff Robert had seen earlier and mistakenly touched. The Indian was going to attack him with the staff, and there wasn’t a damn thing Robert could do to stop him. He was unarmed, and he couldn’t even stand up because Krissy was still dragging him into the water.
But Jimmy Cypress didn’t hit him with the staff, as Robert feared. Instead he stopped at the water’s edge, and, muttering words of an ancient dialect, touched Krissy’s hand with the tip of the beaded staff.
A blue spark jumped from the staff to the little girl’s hand. Bright blu
e. As bright as lightning on a August night. Krissy released her hold on Robert’s ankle and jumped back. Hissing in rage, she turned to the left and ran along the water’s edge, then turned back toward the shore and raced up the bank to the forest. At the tree line she paused to look back at them, then disappeared into the night.
Robert watched his daughter disappear into the forest, too stunned to even call out her name. The pain in his ankle, and his struggle to keep from being dragged into the lagoon, had taken a lot out of him. He could only lie there and pant, trying desperately to catch his breath. A few moments passed before his heart began to quiet. Rolling over on his back, he saw that Jimmy still stood beside him.
You!” Robert said, sitting up. “This is your fault. What have you done to my daughter?” He tried to stand up, wanting nothing more than to throw himself at the Indian, but his left foot and ankle would not support his weight. He could only sit there and point at Jimmy Cypress.
“I have done nothing,” replied the Indian.
“Liar. This is your fault. You kidnapped my daughter. You did something to her. Did something to her mind. What was it? What did you do?”
Jimmy Cypress frowned. “I did not take you little girl. Nor did I do anything to her.”
“Liar!” Robert shouted. “They found her book in your house.”
Jimmy nodded. “There are many books in my house. I am a collector. I found your daughter’s book here, by the lagoon, and added it to my collection. The police don’t think I kidnapped your daughter, at least they have no proof, which is why they let me come home.”
“What about the threat you made to me? What about that?”
“I told you to stay away from this lagoon for your own safety. There is a great evil buried beneath these waters, and I did not want you coming here. You stayed away, but your daughter did not. She came here, perhaps drawn by the voice of the evil one.”
Evil Whispers Page 19