Randy White - Haunted

I mimicked his technique. The silence of an autumn night in Florida is a riot of competing sounds, but on this night the silence was reassuring. Frogs, insects, and night birds were all I heard. No distant rumble of an engine, no crash of trees. I said, “They could have made up a lot of distance while I was rowing. And we’ve only come about half a mile. Take the flashlight and see what you can find-a container of some type would be better than a can. Oh, and you’ll need bug spray.”

I ran the light and mosquito repellent up to him, then returned to the boat and opened my bag. I knew what I’d packed, but I also knew we’d have to travel on foot if I couldn’t get the boat fixed. That might mean walking all night over rough country. I didn’t want to carry anything we didn’t need, so I laid it all out in an orderly fashion. Captain Ben Summerlin’s journal, which I knew I couldn’t bear to leave behind, came out first. There was mosquito netting, clean shorts and a blouse, sunscreen, first-aid supplies, Calumet glow sticks, a little orange strobe light, fishing pliers, toilet paper and my personal items in a Ziploc, matches in a waterproof case, a tube of fire starter gel, a spool of thread plus a needle, fishing line, several hooks, and a tiny bottle of iodine tablets.

The iodine tablets reminded me that it had been hours since my last sip of iced tea and I was thirsty. Drop two tablets in a liter of rank water and the water would soon be safe to drink. Trouble was, I hadn’t packed anything to drink from. I hadn’t brought wire or an extra cotter pin either, but my failure to pack a simple drinking cup nearly pushed me over the edge. I drew my foot back as if to kick the boat, then looked at clouds streaming past the moon.

Hannah Smith-can’t you do anything right? No wonder you’re always in trouble and live alone.

I didn’t say those things, but I thought them and came as close to crying as I had since my meltdown after Carmelo’s hands had strayed down my blouse.

Carmelo- just thinking that name hardened my attitude. The man’s face, his leer, his rude fumbling touch. Then Theo, pompous and delusional, came into my mind. I once read in a magazine about something called malignant narcissism. Theo’s indifference about the horrible way Krissie had died proved the term fit. One little mistake, he had said of her murder, as if the girl’s life was no more valuable than the life of an insect.

My self-pity vanished. It was displaced by the same coldness that had enveloped me when facing down the Land Rover.

“Fix the boat or start walking. You’re not going to let them get away with this.” This time I did speak aloud, said it as a vow that refused to tolerate more personal concessions to fear.

I repacked the bag, then turned to look for Belton. No sign of him or my flashlight. I started up the bank, backtracked to get the pistol, then went up the bank again. He appeared from the trees, calling, “You’ve got to see this.”

I replied, “The only thing I want to see is a bailing can. Where’ve you been? I need that light to fix the propeller.” I wasn’t angry but knew I sounded angry. The truth was, I wasn’t in the mood to fret over social niceties.

“Oh…” he said. “I got distracted-sorry. But come have a look.”

I accepted the light from him and saw that his hands were empty. “Not even a bottle ?” I said, then took a breath to calm myself. “Thing is, Belton, that boat’s going to keep leaking if we don’t find a bailing can. Might even sink. We can’t waste time sightseeing.”

“Sink?”

“If water leaks in faster than it goes out, that’s what a boat does.”

“You didn’t say anything about sinking, dear.” He stopped and faced me. “You’ve had a terrible night, you’re upset, and god only knows what kind of drug that woman stuck in you. But we’re safe now. Look”-he spread his arms to indicate a clearing in the trees-“I think this would be a good place to sleep for an hour or so. At the very least, rest and maybe drink some water.” He motioned for me to follow. “Come see what I found.”

I said, “We can’t drink until we have something to drink from . Which brings us back to finding a container. Along the river is the place to look, not inland-unless there’s been a hurricane I didn’t read about.” A gust of wind rattled trees to the south, another plowed streaks on the water. I reevaluated the clouds. “If that squall hits, we’ll need more than just a bailing can. We should also think about how to hide the boat if I can’t get it going. For all we know, they’ve used the trolling motor to follow us. Or canoes. Lord knows, we’ve given them plenty of time, the way we’re fooling around here.” I used my shoe to kick at a pile of leaves and wood. I walked farther, did it again, and knelt.

“What did you find?”

I tossed a crushed beer can aside, then held up what might have been a plastic milk jug. But the light showed it had contained water. I removed the top and sniffed. “This is exactly what we need. I’ve got iodine tablets on the boat. I doubt if they get rid of fertilizer and stuff like that, but we’ve got to drink something. I feel shaky, dry as sand. What about you?”

Another blast of wind tumbled through the trees. Belton slipped his arm around my shoulder. “That’s what I want to show you. I found an artesian well, I think. Come look.”

“A well?” There was nothing we needed more than drinking water, so I felt badly after accusing the man of wasting time. The urge to cry came over me again.

“You can’t carry all the weight, dear. I want you to sit and rest for a minute. I’ll get the iodine tablets after you’re situated. They’re in your bag?”

In a circle of oak trees, the earth was spongy with leaves too thick for weeds to grow. Where an old-fashioned pump might have once been, water bubbled from a rusty pipe and created a basin of sand. To the east was a silver plain of palmettos and an empty horizon beyond. Swamp possibly, but more likely I had been right about cattle pasture. That meant a ranch house might be within walking distance. But no sparkle of window lights to guarantee it.

There was something else Belton wanted to show me. “I probably wouldn’t have noticed if the sun was up. The flashlight found it, happened to catch the edge of a brick-you’ll see. The difference in color jumps out at you.”

We were approaching a strangler fig, a tree that attaches itself to objects or other trees with a constrictor’s grip and over decades gradually consumes them or appears to. It was a spiraling umbrella of branches that parachuted air roots to the ground. Even when Belton pointed at the trunk and used the light, I didn’t understand until he dug the leaves away. “A gravestone,” he said. “Underneath could be a little crypt made of bricks, although I’m guessing. But the shape-doesn’t it look familiar? These bricks were part of the arch, I think.”

There was no shape, only roots and leaves, but I knew what he wanted me to see. “Similar to the water cistern,” I said. “Could be the same brick mason.”

“Can you read the inscription on the stone? Even with my glasses, I couldn’t make it out.” He handed me the light.

I knelt by a marker made of rough cement and shells that was no bigger than a writing tablet. It lay half buried, covered with moss and lichens. I cleaned the surface, but only the top line was visible. It had been written in an elegant, feminine hand with a stylus or a stick before the cement had hardened. A name I read aloud:

Irene Jameson Cadence

Surprised, I got down on my knees. “But why… why was she buried here?” I began to dig at the base of the stone, eager to see if there was more writing underneath.