Water Witch (22 page)

Poochie stuck out her chin. “You don’t got no
choice.”

“Oh, I’ve got a big choice.” Angelle combed a
hand through her hair rapidly. “I just don’t have to take you.”

“Yeah you do got to take me. How you—”

“Listen to me, Poochie . . .”

As their argument grew more heated, I
detoured around Angelle and went into the kitchen to get a glass of
water. There was an empty feeling growing in my chest that although
I didn’t get the significance of Sarah’s missing shoes, Poochie was
right about the need to hurry. In fact, we might have already
missed the proverbial boat. So much time had been spent waiting for
the perfect time because I didn’t want anyone to see my extra
finger and what it could do, that those kids could already be
dead.

Having reached the kitchen, I got a glass out
of the cabinet, then went over to the sink and filled it with tap
water. Instead of drinking it, I set the glass on the table, walked
over to the back door, opened it, and looked out at the prayer
tree. It struck me that as ridiculous as it looked with Dockers,
flip-flops, sandals, shrimp boots, and sneakers hanging from its
branches, that tree was doing exactly what it was created to do:
simply be. I studied it, letting my thoughts gather speed.

It didn’t make that tree a bit of difference
how ridiculous or it looked. It didn’t cringe in embarrassment or
hide in fear. Poochie was out there in the living room, wanting to
throw another four pairs onto its branches, and that tree couldn’t
care less. Shoes or Christmas ornaments made no difference. They
could all hang from its long, leafy branches.

That’s because it’s just a goddamn
tree,
my brain argued.
A tree doesn’t know pain, doesn’t
feel it.

It was easy to fall into the logic of that,
but I knew if I did, I’d only be hiding again. Making excuses for
myself. And my excuses had already wasted enough time. Because of
them, those kids probably suffered more than they had to—or
worse.

The weight in my chest dropped to my stomach,
deepening, widening. Shame will do that to a person. That tree, as
simple and insignificant as some people might consider it, didn’t
care whether somebody called it a freak or called it anything at
all. And here I was hiding. Over a stupid finger. While two kids
sat, hopefully, out in the middle of nowhere, crying for their
parents, both of them probably hungry and thirsty. And God only
knew what other horrors they were going through.

“You dumb fuck,’ I muttered.

My voice reverberated in my ear. I
was
a dumb fuck. I couldn’t believe I’d let so much time go by without
doing anything.

Turning on my heels, I marched back into the
living room, a surge ofadrenaline heating up my feet, working its
way up my legs, into my belly, across and through my chest, up to
my face, making it burn. I felt like I was on fire. Burning . . .
burning.

By the time I reached Angelle and Poochie, I
must have looked like a mad woman because they turned to me, eyes
widening.

“Poochie, give me all the shoes you’ve tied
together. We’re going out back and toss them up into the tree.”

She looked stunned. “We are?”

“Yeah, and—”

“What’s gotten into you?” Angelle asked,
frowing deeply.

“Sense. It’s time to stop dicking
around.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’, Gelle. I came to help, and you
let me come here on my own terms, and I appreciate that, but as of
now, those terms have changed. I’ve got to get off my ass.”

Poochie clapped, her face beaming. “Now we
talkin’!”

“Gelle, get a flashlight, some bottled water,
rope, whatever else you think we’ll need out there.”

Angelle nodded hesitantly. “What about a
boat?”

“If Trevor was to bring his back after work,
what time would you expect him to get here?”

“By two thirty at least.”

“What time is it now?”

She glanced at her watch. “One
forty-two.”

“Okay, we’ll give him another half hour,
forty-five minutes tops. If he’d not back by then, we get Vern’s,
just like Poochie said.”

Poochie nodded vigorously. “Dat’s right.”

“We can’t just steal Vern’s boat, Dunny,”
Angelle said. “What if we get caught?”

“Then we get caught.”

“Just like that, huh? What about that whole
grand theft thing you were griping about earlier?”

“I thought about that and figure with Sook
and Vern being Poochie’s relatives and all, we shouldn’t run into a
problem. I mean, do you really think they’d press charges?”

“Does it matter? It’s still—”

“Do you? Seriously, do you think they’d have
us arrested?”

“No . . .but somebody will see your—”

“Stop with the buts already, will ya?” I
stripped off my gloves and threw them on the couch next to Poochie.
“I don’t care whose boat we use or how we get it. And I don’t give
a fuck who sees my hand!” The expletive flew out of my mouth before
I could catch it. “Sorry, Poochie.”

“Don’t be sorry to me,” she said. “I say dat
bad work me too sometimes.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m sure I’ll let loose a few
more before this is all over. And it will be over, got that? Both
of you? It
will
be over.” I held out my left hand and
splayed all six fingers. “However we find them, dead or alive—those
kids are coming home tonight.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Somebody shut the dog up . . .all that
barking, loud barking . . . and the cat, too much meowing . . . way
too much meowing. Call the neighbor. Call them and tell them to
turn off the lawnmower. I have to sleep, have to go to sleep.
School tomorrow . . . school. Don’t they know I have an important
spelling test? If I don’t get a good night’s sleep, I won’t pass
the test. Big test . . . Applesauce, A-p-p-l . . .somebody stop the
cat from meowing, okay? Please! The dog barking . . . barking.
Somebody check on him, see what’s wrong. Barking too loud. The
lawnmower, the buzzing. The barking. The meowing . . .stop all that
noise! I have to sleep . . .sleep! Test tomorrow . . .

“Sarah?”

I’m trying to go to sleep, Uncle Rusty. I
really am. But there’s so much noise. The dog, the lawnmower.I
promise, I’ll be a good girl, though. I’ll get a good night’s sleep
and pass the test tomorrow. I’ll make a hundred, you’ll see.
Applesauce—A-p-p-l—

“Sarah!”

Sarah Woodard opened her eyes only to find
the sky on fire. No . . .not fire.

Painted.

The horizon was swathed in orange, red,
yellow, deep purple, all of it swooshing back and forth, broad
strokes tipping up to the right, up to the heavens, then shooting
off in another direction, like a forked tongue. Like a painter who
had too big a brush and no idea what he wanted to paint. Angry,
angry strokes, so much color. Deep, brilliant color that seemed to
soak into her skin, into her eyes, into her heart. Was God mad? Is
that what her uncle Rusty meant by God’s wrath? Did He burn the sky
before he burned your soul?

“Sarah . . . ”

She blinked at the sound of her name and
turned towards the voice.

Nicky Trahan. He was in a hole.

She was in a hole. Felt mud up to her neck,
nearly to the top of her throat. Then she remembered the man had
come back. He’d been so angry. He kept throwing buckets of mud on
top of them and saying they were going to die. Watching him, she’d
been so afraid. He’d seemed angry and happy all at the same
time.

Sarah remembered seeing fire in the man’s
eyes. The same fire her uncle had when he preached in the church on
Sunday mornings. With his hands raised up in the air, his feet
stomping, yelling at everybody about how they were going to go hell
if they didn’t repent. Repent and be saved. The man with the mud
had had that same fire. But, his god must have been different
because what god would let any man kill two children? Tell him to
smother them? Make them so afraid they wound up peeing in their
pants? So afraid they cried no matter who was watching?

With her eyes still locked on Nicky, Sarah
leaned her head back, felt the mud ease up around her ears, and
considered that the mud man’s god and her uncle Rusty’s god might
not be so different after all.

She re-focused her eyes on the boy just a few
feet away. Nicky was crying openly, not bothering to hide his
tears. His seemed to be trying to look everywhere at once, his eyes
darting here, there, here, there, snot running out of his nose and
over his lips, both of his cheeks wet. Sarah felt a weight on her
own face, like something heavy had been glued to her chin and left
cheek. She couldn’t see if it was dried mud, and there was no way
for her to touch and feel it to make sure.

“I…I thought you were dead,” Nicky cried. “I
thought you were so dead! I kept calling you and calling you, and
you wouldn’t open your eyes. All day. All day I kept calling you. I
thought you had drowned. I thought you had drowned because you’d
put your face in it, and you didn’t pick it back up and . . .and .
. .” His sobs grew louder until he was wailing.

Sarah had heard people cry that hard before,
but only at funerals when her uncle stood at the pulpit and talked
about the dead person. About how good they were, and how much they
were going to be missed. She’d heard that crying in the church. She
wanted to tell Nicky not to cry. She wasn’t dead. She’d only been .
. . what? She couldn’t remember anything between the time the man
had dropped more mud on them and right now. She couldn’t have
fallen asleep, could she? Maybe she’d passed out, although she
didn’t know how she was supposed to tell if she had. She’d never
passed out before. Not that she knew of anyway. Was it like
sleeping?Was it like dying a little bit? How could she just fall
asleep in all this mud, especially being so hungry? So thirsty?
Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s what was happening. She was dying
of starvation. They hadn’t eaten in so long. She couldn’t even
remember the last thing she’d eaten.

She glanced over at the burning sky again and
tried to remember if it was the sunset or the sunrise. What day was
it? How long had they been there?

“…and then there was this snake, and it came
up my leg, right up my leg! And then it was on my belly, and I had
to hold really still ‘cause it’s head was back like it was going to
bite me, so I had to hold really still. Like on television, you
know? How the crocodile man said if you come up on a snake, you’ve
gotta hold really still, and I did. And I closed my eyes, and I
held my breath, and . . . and . . . it came up on my neck. The
snake crawled up by my ear, and then it went out the hole, and you
wouldn’t wake up. I called you and called you, but you wouldn’t
wake up. I was so afraid, Sarah. I was so afraid!” Nicky’s sobs
turned to hiccups and gasps for breath.

She wanted to pat him on the back and tell
him everything would be okay. But that would have been a lie. A big
fat lie. And her uncle Rusty said liars always go to hell. But
wasn’t she and Nicky already there? Wasn’t this hell? Was this the
pit her uncle talked about in his sermons? No . . . no, he’d said
fiery pit. Fiery pit. But the sky—the sky was on fire. And she was
in the pit. Nicky was in the pit, too.

“Then I wished…I wished…then I wished I was
dead,” Nicky wailed.“I was so scared that I wished that. I wanted
the snake to go ahead and bite me and get it over with. I know
we’re gonna die, Sarah. I know it. That man’s gonna come back and
put more mud in here, and I don’t want it to go up my nose! I don’t
that junk in my eyes and my mouth so we can’t breathe and we can’t
get up, and I don’t want that! So when the snake came, I really
wanted it to bite me but I was too scared, and you were there, and
you’d be all by yourself if I died, and . . .and. . . ”

Sarah wanted to tell Nicky thank you for not
leaving her alone, but she was too tired to make her mouth move.
She knew what he meant, though, about wanting to die. She would
have wanted to do the same thing, bring in the darkness on her own
terms instead of having someone force her into it. She studied the
mud streaks on his face, the darker tracks on his cheeks made by
the tears, the mud that made his hair stand up in little peaks on
the top of his head. He’d stayed alive for her. Just for her. No
one had ever done anything like that for her before.

In that moment, she wanted more than anything
. . . more than getting out of the mud, out of the swamp, out of
life . . . to buy Nicky a present. Do something really nice for
him. Something that would give him a warm feeling like she had
right now; the feeling of being hugged by somebody big and strong
who cared about her a lot. But there was no way for her to buy a
gift, no way to get out of this pit. No way to open her mouth and
say thank you.

It took all the energy Sarah had just to
blink, which she did once…twice. Then she watched curiously as
Nicky’s eyes suddenly seemed to grow bigger and bigger, like
something had clamped onto his upper and lower lids and was pulling
them as far apart as possible. His mouth opened and closed like he
was talking, but she couldn’t hear him. Then his mouth opened
really wide . . .

Was he yelling?

Her name maybe?

All Sarah heard was a whining noise. The
lawnmower? Where was that cat?

“Sarah, look out!” That time sound came out
of Nicky’s mouth when he moved it. His eyes were stretched far to
the left, as if he was trying to look behind her. His mouth opened
wide again. “It’s back! Look out!”

Gathering all the willpower she had, Sarah
was able to turn her head ever so slightly. This would be her gift
to him, reacting to his voice. Acknowledging that he’d called her
name. That would be her present.

She turned her head a little more . . . a
fraction of an inch, a mere fraction, then she saw a flash of
movement. Something odd appeared in her line of sight, and it
seemed to freeze there, as if the earth had suddenly quit moving.
Gravity quit working. Time had grown tired and simply stopped.