Bayou Blue

by Raquel Byrnes

  “You need me to find you a ride back to the Lightning Bug?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Jake leaned down, caught my gaze and smiled reassuringly. “You OK with waiting a bit?” He brought our hands up and brushed his lips lightly across my knuckles. The sweet gesture shot butterflies through my stomach. “This might take a while.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just hang out a bit, or catch a ride with someone back to the Lightning Bug.”

  “Are you sure?” He looked out at me, his face concerned.

  “Sure, I’m sure,” I assured him. “It’s probably a mess out there and you’re the sheriff.”

  He looked at me for a beat, and then nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”

  He let go of my hand and walked down the hallway, glancing back once before pushing through the door.

  An hour later, I was lucky enough, after running into Kale over at the pie tent, to catch a ride back to the Lightning Bug. Not so lucky, though, that it was on the back of his moped. Still, I was already drenched and a bit overwhelmed. The ride in the cold rain did a lot to clear my thoughts.

  Kale wore a leather aviator cap and goggles and shouted constantly over the rain and the sound of his bike. The wind snatched his words away and I didn’t catch much of what he said. I was either invited to some sort of crawfish boil or he needed to change his oil. Either one seemed worrisome.

  He navigated the ruts and puddles of the dirt road by swerving and riding up on the embankment whenever possible. That, coupled with the wind and rain, made holding onto his leather jacket nearly impossible. As a result, I spent a great deal of energy just trying not to topple off the moped. I didn’t bank on Kale noticing if I did.

  We pulled up to the gravel driveway and the sound of Citrine’s glass chimes flailing violently in the wind. He pulled up under the carport to the right of the house and I climbed off the back of the moped. I whipped my sleeves trying to dislodge the caked mud.

  Kale looked at me through his goggles, and I saw that each lens had its own tiny wiper. They slid back and forth as he smiled at me with a muddy face.

  “Well, that should do ya, Red,” he said and wiped his face with his sleeve depositing more mud than was there before. “You need a ride to the boil, you give me a call.”

  “OK, Kale. I appreciate you bringing me out here.”

  “Nah,” He bounced on the seat and nodded his head to the water. “I live a ways down the path so I was comin’ out here, anyways.”

  “Well, I still thought it was nice.”

  He smiled again and gave me a two finger salute before driving off. I watched him leave, wobble a bit in a mud puddle, and then disappear through the sheeting rain.

  I peered up at the house from under the port’s roof and didn’t see any lights. I guessed that Citrine and Michelle either stayed with friends in town, or were on their way. I hadn’t seen them at the festival, but I hadn’t strayed from the dance floor area so I could have missed them.

  Making a run for it, I scaled the porch steps and ran to the back of the house. The kitchen entrance had a mudroom with a place for dirty shoes and coats. If the doors to the house were locked, I could sit in there out of the wind and rain. I pulled back the screen door, tried the light, but the bulb was burned out, so I sat on the wood bench in the dark and pulled off my wet shoes and socks. My toes felt prune-y, like after a long bath.

  Stripping off my saturated coat, I hung it, dripping, from a metal hook on the wall. Then I tried the door. The knob turned and I pushed through. I flipped the switch and frowned. No lights. My heart sank. This storm was wreaking havoc.

  Stepping back out to the porch, I squinted through the rain. Other houses sat in darkness and I remembered the library the other day. Lightning stabbed the ground across the field, the white flash blinded me. I went back inside with goose bumps on my arms. I grabbed the mini-flashlight still in my coat pocket, a shard of guilt slicing through my thoughts as I remembered I’d last used it to break into Faulk’s office. Not wanting anyone to chance finding the lock picking kit I grabbed it from my jacket, also.

  The thin beam of the flashlight didn’t afford much of a view and I made my way through the kitchen, past the parlor furniture, and up the stairs. My wet clothes squished as I walked in the silent house. Almost to the top, a thunder clap rattled the windows, shaking the crystal chandelier overhead, and yanking a gasp from my lips.

  “Just calm down, Red,” I whispered, trying to sound like Jake. “Just rain.”

  I remembered what he’d said, what he’d done tonight, and smiled. His feelings ran deeper and stronger than I imagined and the thought knocked the wind out of me.

  Almost to my room, I fished in my jeans pocket for my key and poked it at the door only to hit nothing. I froze, heart ramming painfully.

  Someone was moving inside my room and I realized too late that I stood framed by the open doorway. I thought I saw my laptop in his arms.

  “Hey!” I said before thinking.

  A blinding beam slashed up, and I staggered back, hand shielding my eyes. I opened my mouth to scream.

  Quick and brutal, the blow to my chest sent me flailing to the ground in a clatter of broken glass and toppled chairs. The air knocked out of me, I gasped, my mouth working like a caught fish as I struggled to pull in air.

  I registered bulk and muscle, and the smell of cigarette smoke as the figure stood over me, pulled his leg back and drove it viciously into my side. I writhed in pain, lights flashing behind my eyes. A weak croaking cry was the only sound I could force out of my burning lungs. Panic tore through me. I rolled on my side, dragging myself through the shards of mirror and something wet. I tried to get away, but a hand closed on my ankle and he dragged me back into the room.

  No, please!

  My arms shot out, and I grabbed at the dark corners of the room searching for anything to use as a weapon. The air came slowly and I sucked at it greedily, trying to stave off the pinpoint flashes from lack of oxygen. Dizzy, my hand brushed against broken flat shards and I wrapped my fingers around a piece of glass. I slashed with it in the dark, unable to see where to aim.

  He gave me a final pull into the room and flipped me onto my back, straddling my hips, and catching my wrists over my head in one hand.

  I struggled under his weight, my mind firing frantic thoughts, and then the breath came. I screamed, the terror ripping out in a ragged, desperate wail.

  I couldn’t make him out from the surrounding shadows and my mind fluttered, un-tethered in panic, as his fist cocked back.

  I whipped my head to the side; my scream was the last thing that rang out before blinding pain vaulted me headlong into blackness.

  20

  Jake

  The water dribbled off the brim of Jake’s hat as he motioned with his flashlight for cars to move forward. Rain highlighted by headlights fell fast and plenty, flooding gutters and mucking up the effort to get everyone off of the field.

  Traffic took on the stuff of nightmares with three fender-benders and a stuck bus full of rowdy musicians, so far.

  Riley’s face flitted behind his eyes, and he smiled, eager to get back to her.

  Jake shrugged in his slicker and eyed the swinging traffic light overhead. If the wind picked up any more strength he’d be dealing with downed phone lines and stripped roofs. A horn honked repeatedly a few cars down, and he squinted to see who had lost their patience. A weak honk, like the one on a kid’s toy car, sounded over and over in a frantic sputter.

  He grabbed his radio from under his slicker, and pressed the talk button. “Rick, who is losing their mind along the south line of cars?”

  “Hold on,” Rick’s garbled response came back. “It’s…”

  The rest of the message got lost in static, Jake couldn’t make it out.

  Jake sighed and waved a few more cars by. He heard the horn again and blew his breath out, frustrated. He brought his radio up again.

  “Rick.”

  “Yeah,
uh, Sheriff,” The tension in Rick’s voice sent a flare of worry through Jake. “It’s Kale on his moped.”

  “Well tell him to sit tight. He’s not going to get any wetter if he waits his turn—”

  “No, Jake,” Rick interrupted. “He says it’s an emergency. He said it’s Riley.”

  Five minutes later, landmarks blurred with rain whipped past, as Jake pushed the squad car faster down the dark road. The wipers were going full bore against the storm. His lights slashed the landscape into red and blue snapshots; Grover’s pond, the old Benson place, some cypress bending in the wind.

  All he could think about was Riley and Girard’s tight words over the radio: “She’s unconscious, Jake. She’s bleeding—”

  Jake grabbed the handset from the dash.

  “What happened?” Jake heard himself shouting, heard the panic in his voice. “How bad?”

  “We’re taking her in right now,” Girard yelled over the ambulance’s siren in the background. “We can’t find the wound. Where is all this blood coming from?” Girard yelled to someone.

  “Girard,” Jake shouted. The mention of blood spiked his heart rate and he pushed the accelerator harder over the dirt road. “What’s going on?”

  “She’s in shock; she won’t hold a beat—”

  “Is she—”

  “Get to the hospital, Jake. La Foudre Community, I don’t want to chance the drive to Thibodaux.” Static cracked up the last of Girard’s message, and then he was gone.

  Jake banged his palm on the steering wheel willing the car to go faster. Next to him, Kale held onto the dash with gritted teeth, grunting as they flew over another rut and slammed down into the mud.

  Jake hit a puddle and fish-tailed, wrestled the car under control, and sped back up; his lips set in a grim line.

  “She left her cell in my pocket,” Kale said through grunts. “Her jacket wasn’t waterproof and she asked me to hold it. That’s why I came back.”

  Jake nodded, looking at the gash on Kale’s head.

  “You walked in on him?”

  “He was on her, choking her.” Kale’s face contorted. “I’m so sorry, Jake.”

  Jake’s hands curled on the wheel, squeezing, his throat closing. “Please, no,” he whispered.

  She was so tiny, so small. He shot a look over to Kale, grateful. “I think you saved her life.”

  They hit the dirt portion and Kale grimaced, grabbed onto the dash again, his other hand bouncing around as he tried to cover his forehead with bloody gauze. “Startled him, he came at me with one of those huge flashlights.”

  Jake spied the turn-off, skidded around the bend, and hit the gas on the straightaway.

  “Big guy, medium sized?”

  “Tall guy, not too big though, like a runner.” Kale squinted, trying to think. “Kept yelling.”

  Jake shot a look over at Kale. “What’d he say?”

  “Same thing over and over, ‘What did he tell you? What do you know?’”

  Anger surged up Jake’s spine and his breath hissed out.

  This wasn’t a break in.

  “I’ll need you write all that down; as soon as you can. At the hospital if you can manage.”

  Up ahead, the parking lot lights of the hospital appeared.

  “I will.”

  Jake slid into the La Foudre Community Hospital’s parking lot and ran across the asphalt. He pushed through the swinging doors of the emergency room, his breath ragged.

  Girard met him in the middle of the lobby, hands out ready to stop him.

  Warm air sent Jake into an instant sweat as he looked towards the curtained exam rooms.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s with Ikenson. They’re up in x-ray right now, you can’t—”

  Jake stepped around him and ran to the elevator, punched the button, decided it was taking too long and took the stairs.

  Girard followed him, panting to keep up.

  He spied the x-ray room and strode towards the door, his pulse ramming in his head.

  Please let her be all right, Lord.

  Girard cut in front of him, his hands up.

  “Move,” Jake growled, reaching for the handle.

  “You’ll mess up the pictures, Jake,” Girard panted. “You want ‘em to take longer to help her?”

  Hand around the knob, Jake stopped, his breathing hard. He peered in the window. A small clump of sheets lay on the x-ray table. His chest hurt thinking of her so still and crumpled under there.

  “It’ll just be a few minutes, Jake.”

  Walking away from the door, he paced back and forth, his eyes going to the blood on Girard’s shirt. Alarm pulsed through him. Had she been stabbed? Fear raced his thoughts.

  “You said her h-heart?”

  “She was in shock, her heart was having some trouble, but we got her stabilized en route. She took a blow to the head and has a cut.” Girard pointed to his jaw.

  “But the blood…” the color drained from Jake’s face. Girard’s shirt was covered with deep crimson smudges. “Is she…?”

  Girard looked down at his chest, and then up at Jake, shaking his head. “It’s not all hers.”

  “What?”

  “Not hers.” Girard shrugged. “We didn’t figure that out until we hit the emergency room and had a look. She had a bloody shard of mirror in her hand. She must’ve got him.”

  A whisper of relief snaked through his mind. Not Riley’s blood. Jake nodded sharply, his eyes going to the still form in the x-ray room.

  “That’s my girl.”

  “She had some hair in her fingers, like she ripped it out of his head.” Girard held up his fingers. “Red.”

  “The guy has red hair?”

  “Looks like.” Girard shrugged. “They sent it to the hospital’s lab. It’s no crime lab, but they might find something. Everyone here’s pulling for her, Jake.”

  Jakes gaze snapped to Girard, surprised. Lips pressed together in a thin line, he nodded quickly and turned away. He hadn’t expected that.

  An hour later, Jake sat next to Riley’s bed and watched her even breaths. His gaze ran over her pale face and the angry red cut at her jaw. He felt fear and anger roil in his chest. He knew this would happen, knew it, and should have made her leave.

  She hadn’t woken up. She hadn’t moved. Holding her hand, he stroked the soft skin of her knuckles and kissed her palm.

  “S'il vous plaît, mon amour,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”

  21

  I saw him in flip-book animation, his jerky movements staggered by lightning flashes. Randy, his clothes pouring smoke, pointed to my hands, and I looked down. His sketchbook. The pages flipped open and bugs, thousands of them, poured from the pages. Cockroaches skittered over my feet, their hard bodies clicking and scratching against each other. I screamed and then Randy disintegrated into blue smoke and flew through me. Behind me, I heard the raspy voice of the Chicken Guy.

  The bug knew.

  I reached out, called Randy’s name, desperate to grab onto him before he was gone forever. The darkness around me churned, grayed out, and then a slit of light pulled me towards it. I tried to scream, felt my tongue stick, dry. My arm flailed, reaching…

  “Randy!”

  “Shhh.” Someone took my hand. Rough and calloused, I grasped it, my eyes cracking open.

  My brother, Raymond, stood next to me and I looked up at his worried face.

  “Hey there, Riles,” he murmured. “You’re OK, calm down.”

  The hospital smell hit me first, then the feel of sheets on my body. I blinked, licking my lips. “Raymond?”

  He nodded, tried to smile, his sun-burnt face crinkled at the eyes and mouth. “You want some water?”

  I nodded. “What…”

  “Here.”

  He poured some out of a small plastic pitcher and handed me the matching flesh-colored cup.

  I sipped it and grimaced at the ache in my jaw. My head pounded. “What happened?”

  �
�Somebody attacked you,” he said quietly. “You were almost killed, Riles.”

  It came back to me with crushing fear. The man in my room, fighting with him, the shard of mirror. A shudder tore over me and I handed the cup back to Raymond with trembling hands. I checked my hand. Stitches ran along the center of my palm from the web of my thumb to just under my pinky finger.

  “The nurse will be back in a few minutes to re-wrap that.” Raymond nodded to my hand. “The doctor just checked it.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “Almost a day.”

  “A day?” I jerked up, felt a searing pain in my side, and sank back down slowly. “Hurts.” My words came out in a strangled hiss.

  “They’re bruised.”

  I passed my hand gingerly along the side of my gown and winced. “He bruised my ribs?”

  Raymond held up his fingers in a peace sign. “Two of them.”

  I blew out a breath and tried to quash the fear slithering in my chest.

  “Why was I out so long?” I rubbed my good hand over my eyes. “Did they give me drugs?”

  “They said something about treating you for the shock and cold. You had a bad reaction, but the meds are almost out of your system now. You scared all of us.”

  The door to my room opened, and my father walked in, his arm in a sling.

  I raised my eyebrow at him

  He smiled sheepishly. “Getting too old to take on the water cannons. My shoulder is torn, needs surgery.”

  “Did you win?”

  He nodded, a spark of pride in his eyes. “The pod of whales got through the fishing waters unscathed.”

  He held a bag of food in his good hand and I wondered how many meals my family had taken by my bedside. I felt both elated and nervous to see them here. I wondered who called them and how much they knew.

  I wondered where Jake was.

  My dad and I looked at each other in awkward silence.

  And then my mother walked in, still talking to someone out in the hall. When she saw me, I smiled and gave a little wave.

  “You’re awake,” my mother gushed and the relief on her face gave me pause.

  “Yeah, Raymond told me about the reaction to the medication. Sorry I made all of you worry like that.”