The Reckoning (5 page)

“Oh!” Alex choked back a cry and stepped back, bumping into Holt who had moved to the front of the boat, just behind her.

Holt caught her by the shoulders, steadying her before she lost her balance in the rocking boat. The doll stared at her, its bright blue eyes seeming to look straight through her and into her soul.

“What’s wrong?” Holt asked, his voice low.

“The doll. It opened its eyes when I stepped on the bank.”

She looked back at him, certain of the incredulous look she’d find on his face, but instead, he stared intently at the doll.

“It was probably just vibration from your step. When I docked the boat the eyes loosened a bit, and your footstep was the final shake it took for them to open.”

His words made complete sense, but Alex got the impression that even Holt wasn’t quite buying his explanation. He just didn’t have a better one.

“Let’s get this over with,” Alex said and stepped onto the bank, deliberately looking past the doll. But as she walked past the cypress tree, she could feel its eyes upon her.

Holt stepped out of the boat, pausing only long enough to pull his pistol from the waistband of his jeans, then stepped in front of her. “Stay close. If you see or hear anything odd, grab the back of my shirt but don’t talk. Okay?”

Alex nodded and fell in step behind him as he pushed deeper into the dense undergrowth. The light diminished gradually until it had all but vanished and a thin mist rose from the mossy ground. Despite the cool fall temperature, a sheen of sweat formed quickly on her brow, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. The humidity was high today because of the approaching storm. Damp leaves from the dense foliage brushed against her bare arms, making her flinch. She pushed spiderwebs out of her way as they passed, but could still feel the remnants tickling her bare skin.

The air seemed thicker, the swamp completely devoid of the noises one would expect to hear. The sound of hers and Holt’s footsteps crunching dead marsh grass echoed in the still air. Alex peered around Holt’s shoulder, trying to make out a path or structure, but all she saw was more swamp.

All of a sudden, Holt stopped short and she bumped into his back. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

He reached up and moved a sheet of moss from his field of vision and scanned the swamp from left to right. Finally, he shook his head. “I thought I saw something move, but I might have been mistaken.”

“There should be something moving out here, right? I mean, should it be this still?”

Holt’s grim expression let her know that he’d also noticed the quiet and didn’t like it any more than she did. “Maybe it’s because of the storm moving in.”

“I thought it wasn’t going to start until this evening.”

“Maybe it’s moving faster than the weathermen reported. The marsh creatures know better than humans what’s going on with the weather. Likely, it’s coming in sooner than they think, which means we need to find the woman and get out of here before the bottom drops out.”

Alex nodded, the thought of being stranded on Doll Island in a raging thunderstorm sending her heart fluttering all over again. “Do you have any idea which way to go?”

“It looks like the brush clears a little about twenty yards just south of us. We’ll go that way then reassess. I have to tell you, if we don’t find a path soon that looks like someone’s used it in the last century, I’m not going to venture much farther in this swamp. It would be foolish.”

“But Erika—”

“I’m sure Sarah doesn’t want or expect you to put yourself in danger, not even for her daughter. We don’t do Sarah or Erika any good dead, and there’s far more dangerous things in this swamp than a bunch of creepy dolls and an old woman.”

“Fine,” Alex said, knowing he was right but hating it at the same time. Granted, odds were against their finding any sign of Erika on the island for so many reasons, but if they returned so quickly with nothing, Sarah would be upset.

Holt pushed the brush to the side and headed south. Alex followed him about twenty yards when he stopped again and pointed to a barely discernable trail that ran back in the direction of the dock and, opposite of that, deeper into the swamp.

“It’s not well traveled,” Holt said.

“Given the growth rate of swamp foliage, how long do you think it’s been since someone used it?”

“I don’t know. A month, maybe two.”

“But there could also be another trail that is being used on a regular basis.”

“Could be. Or it could be that this trail was made by thrill seekers and the old woman is long dead. But we’re not going to figure that out standing here.” He pointed down the trail that led deep into the swamp. “I think you should take out your gun. Just to be safe.”

Alex swallowed and pulled the pistol from the pocket of her backpack. Holt gave her a single nod and strode forward into the darkness.

The sounds of their progress through the swamp seemed to echo in a vacuum of silence. Alex pushed a branch out of her way and collected a spider on the back of her hand for the effort. She shook her hand to fling the spider back out into the swamp, then rubbed her hand on her jeans, certain she could still feel the creature crawling on her hand.

Holt constantly scanned the swamp as they walked, up and down and in every direction. Threats this deep in the bayou were numerous and could come from the ground or from above and all of them deadly. It felt as if they’d been working for hours, but Alex knew it had been only minutes since they’d left the boat.

She knew coming here had been a long shot—a nonshot, really—but she found her spirits waning the deeper they pushed into the swamp. Even if Erika had been here, how could they possibly find a clue in all this?

Just as she was about to call the whole thing off, Holt stopped and turned to her, one finger over his lips. She froze and looked in the direction he pointed to the left of the trail. Just past a thick grouping of cypress trees, she could barely make out the outline of a roof.

Alex nodded, understanding that Holt wanted to make their approach as quiet as possible. He exited the path, cutting straight through the swamp toward the cabin. Slowly and stealthily, they crept closer and closer until they reached the tree line that marked the tiny clearing that the cabin rested in.

Holt lifted his pistol and pointed to hers. Alex removed the safety and clutched the gun with both hands. If she had to shoot, she wanted to make sure it was a steady shot. Holt slipped from behind the wall of cypress trees and hurried over to the wall of the cabin. He pressed his body against the wall, listening for any noise inside, then motioned for her to join him.

Alex edged around the tree and slipped across the open stretch of swamp to join Holt. As soon as she slipped behind him, Holt began moving slowly down the side of the cabin. Fortunately, the cabin contained no windows on this side, so there was no risk of being seen by anyone inside. Unfortunately, Alex was painfully aware of the risk of being heard with every step she made on the dry marsh grass.

When they reached the edge of the cabin, Holt peered around, then slipped around the corner. Alex followed just in time to see him peeking into the front door that already stood wide open. He motioned to her to follow before he stepped inside.

The cabin was one tiny room, no bigger than a basic second bedroom in a house. A cot stood in one corner and a wood-burning stove in the other. A table, made of the bound branches of cypress trees, stood in the center of the room. Shelves covered every square inch of wall space, filled with candles and glass jars. God only knew what was inside of them. On the table sat several ceremonial masks made of leather. Alex had seen replicas in the tourist stores in downtown New Orleans, but she had a feeling these were the real thing.

Alex sucked in a breath and she scanned the room, trying to take it all in. The cabin was dirty, with a layer of dust covering every surface, but clearly someone was still staying here or had stayed here fairly recently. If it had been abandoned, it hadn’t been long enough for the place to get completely run-down.

Alex took a step over to the stove and lifted the lid off a cast-iron pot. She blanched at the putrid smell and quickly replaced the lid.

“Spoiled?” Holt asked.

“I don’t think so. I think that abomination was intentional. What in the world goes on here? Look at the candles, the jars of…something. That witch theory is looking a lot more believable.”

“It’s disconcerting,” Holt agreed, “but you know the old ways, even if we don’t come from families that practiced them. If the woman has been out here all her life, likely she’s deeply set in the old voodoo traditions. That doesn’t make her a witch.”

Alex crossed her arms across her chest as a chill washed over her. “Something’s not right here. More than it just being creepy.”

“Well, there doesn’t appear to be anything to see, so we may as well leave the creepy and whatever else behind.”

Holt took a step toward the open doorway but before he could exit the cabin, a jar from a shelf above the door fell off its perch, exploding on the wooden floor at his feet.

Alex’s hand involuntarily flew up and covered her mouth, stifling a cry. Holt’s eyes widened as he looked up at the shelf and back down at the floor.

“It must have been near the edge.”

Alex scanned the shelves. “None of the other jars are near the edge, we didn’t bump anything and there’s no wind.”

“So what are you saying—that it flew off the shelf by itself?”

“Or maybe something made it. I think we should get out of here, before something more dangerous than a glass jar takes flight.”

Holt stared down at the shattered glass, frowning, then he bent over and picked something pink out of the remains of the jar. He held it up to inspect and Alex saw his jaw clench.

“What is it?” Alex asked, already afraid of the answer.

“It’s a barrette. Just like the one Erika was wearing when she disappeared.”

Alex sucked in a breath. “You’re sure?”

Holt nodded and pulled a matching barrette out of his jean’s pocket. “It was a set of six matching barrettes. Sarah gave me one…just in case.”

Alex took the two barrettes from his hand. “Just in case,” she repeated as she stared at the two strips of pink. Holt was right. They were identical.

“What was it doing in that jar?” The pitch of her voice shot up a notch as all sorts of horrible images raced through her mind.

“I don’t know,” Holt said, his expression grim. “But we’re going to find out.”

Holt stepped out of the cabin and inspected the ground surrounding the front door. “I can barely make out a set of prints that leads away from the door toward the swamp in that direction.” He pointed in the opposite direction of the dock.

The open patch surrounding the cabin suddenly grew darker and they looked up at the sky, beginning to swirl with dark clouds.

“The storm’s moving in early,” Alex said. “Not good.”

“No. This is the last place I want to be trapped in a storm.”

“But we’re not going to leave, are we?”

Holt stared at the sky, frowning. “We can try to follow the footsteps, but when it starts raining, we have to leave and in a hurry. Any footprints that are visible will be lost in the downpour, anyway.”

Alex looked at the swamp, now almost completely dark from the fading sunlight. “Then we’ll hurry.”

Chapter Five

Two hours later, Holt cursed as rain began pouring from the sky. Two long, sweaty, dirty hours of thrashing through the swamp and they had nothing to show for it. The trail had gone cold thirty minutes before and they’d wandered aimlessly since then, looking for any sign of a person passing through.

“We have to get out of here,” Holt said.

“I know,” Alex said, the frustration and disappointment evident in her voice.

“With any luck, we’ll beat the worst of it. I’m going to move fast, so yell if you fall behind.”

He turned toward the dock and started the long walk back through the swamp, stopping only occasionally to ensure they were going the right direction. It took forty-five minutes to reach the cabin and by then, the rain had increased in size and volume and he could hear the sound of thunder in the distance.

He stopped at the cabin long enough to ensure no one had returned, and then gave Alex a once-over. She was a bit winded and had some scratches on her arms, but looked good overall. Too good.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

Alex took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “I’m glad I haven’t scrimped on my treadmill workout.”

“Me, too,” Holt said, trying not to think about how good Alex’s toned body looked in old jeans and a
T-shirt, a sheen of sweat glistening on her bare skin.

Lightning flashed overhead and thunder followed a second later. Alex looked up at the swirling, black clouds and bit her lower lip.

“We’re not going to make it,” she said.

“We’re going to try. Let’s go.”

By the time they reached the boat, the storm hit full force. The wind whipped across the bayou, scattering the lily pads across the water’s surface. Holt jumped in the boat and reached back to offer Alex his hand.

She clutched his hand and placed her first foot into the rocking boat, struggling to maintain her balance. Before she lifted her other leg, a gunshot echoed through the swamp.

The ping of a bullet hitting metal sounded right behind Holt. He yanked Alex into the boat and pushed her to the bottom.

“Stay down!” he yelled and jumped to the back of the boat and started the engine. Alex huddled down in the bottom of the boat and looked up at him, her eyes wide.

A second shot sounded and he felt a burn on his biceps. He threw the boat in reverse and throttled away from the bank so fast that he almost lost his balance. Crouching as low as possible, he threw the boat into Forward and twisted the throttle.

The boat leaped to the top of the water as a third gunshot sounded. A second later, he gave a silent prayer of thanks when he realized the bullet hadn’t hit him. Between the rain pouring down his face and the lack of sunlight, his visibility was almost nothing, but the shooter’s was also. The farther he moved from the dock, the better their chances that the shooter couldn’t land an accurate shot.