Johnny Gator (5 page)

“I
don’t think so.
 
Did you fall on your
back? Maybe it’s bruised or something.”

“No,
no, let me go wash.”

A
desperate note crept into his voice and she fired off a series of questions.
“Why were you sleeping on the ground without any clothes? What’ve you been
doing the last few days? And why in the name of the good Lord are you so
filthy?”

“Nola.”

The
way he said her name sounded like a prayer or plea. “I’m waiting for answers,”
she said.
 
After all the worrying the
past few days, her nerves and patience were both shot.
 
She liked this man, maybe even starting to
love him. She wanted to get intimate with him, but if there were issues now was
the time to discover them.

“
Cher,
I can’t give you any, none you
could understand.”

His
green eyes met hers, bright with emotion.
 
The expression he wore was sad but Nola steeled herself to ignore it.
“I’m not stupid,” she said. Her throat tightened with emotion and an urge to
cry. “I’m sure I could comprehend.”

A
flash of amusement lightened his features for a few seconds,
then
vanished. “Oh, woman, this is beyond anything you’ve ever known, believe
me.
 
It’s probably better if you go.”

Here we go again.
Resisting an urge to roll her
eyes, Nola said, “No, it’s not happening.
 
I won’t go unless I have a good reason and so far I don’t.
 
What’s going on, Johnny?”

“You
wouldn’t believe me if I tried to tell you.”

Johnny
moved forward to the side of his house where an outdoor faucet connected to a
long, green hose.
 
He turned on the water
and started washing off.
 
Nola stood back
a few paces, arms folded across her chest, and watched.
 
As the caked mud and dirt sluiced away, his bronze
skin emerged.
 
He stood facing her so she
could see his flat belly appeared normal, the skin soft and supple.
 
Unable to bear the suspense, she stalked
over, snatched the hose from his hand, and said, “Turn around.
 
I want to see what your back looks like
clean.”

He
threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender and pivoted.
 
Nola aimed the hose at his back where the
skin had appeared thick and rough.
 
As
the water washed off the grime, she stared in amazement.
 
His back appeared absolutely normal.
 
She touched it and found it smooth beneath
her fingers.
 
“What in the hell happened?
A few minutes ago, this was messed up big time.”

After
a shrug, he said, “I don’t know.
 
I can’t
tell you.”

Doubting
what she knew she’d seen
,
Nola shook her head back and
forth. “I know I didn’t imagine it.”

“What
it is?”

A
burst of anger cut through her confusion and concern. “You know what! This skin
was rough and bumpy in patches, more like hide than skin…”

Nola
went silent.
 
What she’d seen and touched
had been more like alligator skin than anything human.
 
But she knew that would be impossible.
 
Remembering how his left foot had appeared
odd, she glanced down.
 
It seemed normal
now, just a big, bare foot.
 
A vague
uneasiness crept over her.
 
I’m not sure how it connects or what I’m
trying to think here, but it’s insane, totally and certifiably nuts.
 
His secretive attitude fueled her fantasies,
though.

Washed
clean, Johnny stood stark naked and met her gaze with those unfathomable
eyes.
 
After what seemed like a long
pause, he sighed. “I’m
gonna
go take a bath now,
cher
,
and get cleaned up.
 
Then if you’re still here, we’ll talk.”

It
was what she needed to hear but a chill shot through her body. “Do you
promise?” she asked.

“
Oui
.”

A
sigh expanded from deep in her chest and blew from her mouth. “All right,” Nola
told him.
 
“I’ll wait.”

Inside
his small home, Johnny bolted into the bathroom and shut the door.
 
Nola glanced around at the place, curious
despite her inner turmoil.
 
Everything
had a place, she noticed, and the neatness had an almost military
precision.
 
There were three rooms, a
large main one, with the kitchen tucked along one end and a bedroom.
 
She heard sounds coming from behind one of
the two doors, and guessed the first was the bath
and
 
the
second must be a closet.
 
One more room adjoined it and must have been
added on at a later time than the original construction.
 
She pushed through the half-open door and
found herself in his studio.

Sunlight
streamed through the windows, and there were no curtains to block the view of
the lake.
 
An easel rested against one
wall.
 
Three blank canvases were beside
it, and she spotted the paintings along the opposite side of the room.
 
Unable to resist temptation, she walked over
and turned one around.
 

“Wow,”
she said.
 
It depicted a night scene on
the water, mysterious and almost eerie, yet heartbreakingly beautiful.
 
Spanish moss drifted down from the tall trees
like an old man’s beard above the almost-black waters.
 
Small details included an owl perched on a
branch and a lone gator swimming in the lake.
 
Nola hadn’t known what to expect from Johnny’s artwork but she hadn’t
thought his work would be this exquisite.
 
She looked through them all.
 
Caddo Lake figured prominently in each one, by day and night and in
every season.
 
Some focused on a
particular bird or creature of the wild backwaters.
 
A few were of the old cabins, like his and
her grandparents’.
 
Johnny had painted
fishermen on docks, pirogues gliding across the water, and a couple sharing a
kiss in the moonlight.
 
They were lovely
and captured the scenes so beautifully, though the last one disturbed
Nola.
 
Unlike the rest, the portrait
focused on a single person, an older woman with wild, white hair flowing over
her shoulders.
 
Her dark eyes seemed to
stare from the canvas with living force and dark malevolent power.
 
She turned it back toward the wall and wished
she hadn’t seen it.
 
Now it would haunt
her.

“She’s
some gnarly, huh?” Johnny spoke from the doorway.

Nola
whirled around.
 
He stood, dressed in his
usual faded blue jeans and a Western shirt, wet hair combed back from his
face.
 
His expression combined weariness
with wary tension.

“Yes.
Who is she?”

“Her
name is
Delphina
Davis and she was a mean
ol
’ bitch,” he said. “Witch, too, and some called her the ‘Witch
of Caddo’.”

“You
knew her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oh,
yeah, I knew her and loathed her.
 
I
should’ve feared her, too, but I was stupid.” His tone remained as level as a
parking lot but Nola noted the tense set of his shoulders and his tight
expression.

“How
did you know her?”

He
advanced into the room and sat on a stool.
 
“I had a thirst for knowledge, boo.
 
I wanted to know all I could.
 
I
thought
Delphina
could give me information I needed.”

Repressing
a shudder at the woman’s remembered image, Nola said, “Like what?”

Johnny
glanced down at the floor. “My
grand’mere
, she was a
traiteuse
,
a healer.
 
I dabbled in herbs and such myself, thought
maybe I could fill her shoes after she passed.
 
I got a reputation for a while as a
traiteur
.
 
I made the mistake
thinking that’s what
Delphina
was, too, but she
wasn’t.”

“What
was she, then?”

His
emerald eyes held hers and his expression soured. “A witch,” he said.
“A goddamned, black-hearted, evil witch from hell.
 
Her potions and powers were for bad, never
good—but I learned that the hard way.”

Nola
shivered with a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
 
She rubbed her arms and wrapped them around
her torso.
 
Whatever was coming, it was
bad and she knew it, but she had to ask.
 
“How, Johnny? Tell me.”

Somehow
she knew it had to be the key to everything she didn’t understand. She wanted
to know but she feared the answer.
 

Johnny
sighed and stood up. “I’ll tell you, I will, but I need coffee first, lots of
it.
 
Come to the kitchen with me.
 
I started a pot and it should be ready by
now.”

She
groaned. “Can’t you just say what she did? Then we can talk about it over a cup
of coffee.
 
The suspense is killing me.”

He
shot her a look.
 
“You won’t believe
me.
 
At least I don’t expect you that you
will, and you’ll probably leave.
 
Don’t
blame me for trying to spend a few more minutes with you,
cher
.
 
Maybe you don’t know but I’m
gonna
tell you
true now. I love you, Nola, and if things weren’t the way they are, I’d want to
be with you forever.”

His
declaration, delivered in an anguished tone, struck her heart like an arrow and
hurt.
 

“I
think I love you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what happened, why everything
changed the other evening.
 
I don’t know
what I did or said…”

Tears
choked her throat and threatened to stifle her voice.
 
Johnny crossed the floor and pulled her into
his arms.
“
Moi
,
je t
'aime.
Don’t cry, you, not over this, not over me.
 
I want you happy.”

“I’m
happy with you, Jean Batiste.”

Without
another word, he kissed her hard and fast, his mouth delivering the same
message.
 
His lips were tender but
urgent.
 
Nola leaned against him, caught
fast in his embrace and cried.
 
This had
been what she wanted and needed.
 
She
inhaled his clean scent, the smell of his soap and beneath it,
a
hint of masculine musk.
 
His strong arms cradled her and she thought she’d like it fine if she
never left their circle.
 
With mouths
locked tight, she knew she’d never felt such deep emotions for any other man
and no matter what his flaws, despite what he would tell her, she wanted Johnny
Loutrel
.

“
J’ai
gros
couer
,” he muttered.
 
Then he released her. “Let’s go have coffee then,
cher
,
and talk.”

So
he wanted to cry? Nola wanted to, but she didn’t and wouldn’t.
 
She trailed him to the kitchen area of his
small house and sat down at the scarred old wooden table, waiting with the
heavy heart of a prisoner about to receive an execution sentence.

Chapter Four

Nola
held the cup between both hands and inhaled the rich aroma of the dark roast
blend.
 
Then she stirred a couple of
spoons of sugar into it and drank.
 
Across the table, Johnny sipped his black coffee, his eyes intent.
 
She said nothing and asked no questions until
she finished her first cup.
 
He refilled
their cups and waited.
 
So did Nola as
she committed every small detail to memory because she sensed a pivotal moment
was about to happen.
 
Her five senses
were very aware as she caught the fragrance of Johnny’s soap and
aftershave.
 
She breathed in the outdoor
essence of the lake and late-blooming honeysuckle somewhere close.
 
Beneath her feet, the sturdy old warped
wooden floor slanted at a slight angle, and the graniteware cup she held
retained the heat of the coffee.
 
The
pressure that often preceded a headache increased in her temples and her eyes
ached deep within from lack of sleep.