Stella Cameron - A Cold Day In Hell

For CameronRex and Chairman Liao.

Always an inspiration!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

EPILOGUE

Love and thanks to Jill Marie Landis,

friend and fabulous writer.

Your encouragement, input and partially

successful attempts to teach me how to “be”

as well as “do” helped me reach my goals for

A COLD DAY IN HELL!

Pointe Judah, Louisiana

Late November

They never should have been there.

“Stop walking. Now. Stand still, dammit!” Aaron Moggeridge shouted at the retreating back of Sonny DeAngelo.

“Sonny,” Aaron yelled. “I’m out of rope with my mom. If she finds out about this, I’m toast. She’ll kick me out of the house.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sonny said. “I got a lot more worries with my uncle. How would you like to have Angel trying to straighten you out? And Eileen’s too soft to quit on you. Shit, come on, will ya?”

Aaron pulled a foot out of the sucky mud and stomped it down on a white cypress stump. “We’re lost,” he pointed out. At least Sonny had quit walking away. “Do you know which way to the bayou?”

Bayou Nezpique had been behind them when Sonny had insisted on striking out into swampy ground, but who knew where it was now? “You don’t have a clue, do you? I told you fooling around in swamps was a bad idea. Why did you really want to get into this stuff? And don’t give me that ecosystem crap again.”

Sonny turned around and retraced his steps, smacking his sodden sneakers through a thin layer of brown water covered with frothing scum into the bottom sludge. He looked like he was enjoying himself.

“You’re like a stupid kid,” Aaron said. “Jumpin’ in puddles. I’m calling for help. It’s getting dark, Sonny. You want to be out here in the dark? It’ll get colder and it could rain buckets. Where’d you think all this water came from? It’s almost December and we’re getting a helluva lot of rain.” He reached for his cell phone and started punching in numbers. He was scared. Sonny was a city kid, a New Yorker; he didn’t know shit about a Louisiana swamp.

“C’mon,” Sonny said. He poked at Aaron’s cell, messing up the number. “If we call home like a couple of scared girls, we’re done for.”

“Look around,” Aaron said, raising his arms. “We don’t know where we are. It’s gonna get dark. This isn’t Brooklyn, it’s a swamp. Y’know what kind of stuff hangs out in swamps?”

“Pretty much what hangs out in parts of Brooklyn.”

Sonny kept his head shaved and oiled but the shadow of his thick black hair always showed. It came to a point in the middle, in front. His eyes pissed Aaron off. They looked innocent. Big, brown and soft, and they lied. Sonny DeAngelo was the toughest kid he had ever met. Sonny was seventeen and Aaron would be before long, but most of the time Aaron felt like Sonny was years older.

“Okay,” Sonny said, his voice dropping. “I’m an ass, just like you say. But we’re in it now and we gotta get out, so quit panicking and start working with me.”

“Shit!”

“Shit, what now?”

“I know this place. I’ve lived here all my life and I know where I don’t go. This is a big don’t go. But I let you talk me into it. You don’t get to tell me to work with you, because you don’t know jack shit. You work with me, ballhead.”

Sonny grinned. “Sure thing.” He posed like a scarecrow with its head on one side, and his thin black sweater hung from his arms and body. His flat belly showed above the black pants that hung on his hip bones. He pointed one long forefinger. “I do know where we are. I didn’t tell you in case you chickened out, but there’s a guy I want to get a look at.”

What Sonny had just said didn’t compute for Aaron. He shook his head.

“I’m not making this up,” Sonny said. “We got to that busted dock and I knew we had to come this—”

“What guy?” Aaron asked. “What guy, Sonny? You didn’t say anything about looking for a guy.”

“He lives around here. The bartender at Buzzard’s Wet Bar told me about him.”

“Buzz’s? You were at Buzz’s?”

Sonny shrugged. “I just wanted to see what it was like in there.”

“If someone squeals on you, Angel’s going to take you apart. It’s gonna be ugly.” Aaron made a circle, searching for something familiar, anything that would steer them out of there.

“We gotta concentrate,” Sonny said. “That broken dock where I stopped? Back there on the bayou? That was the marker for us to head into the trees. His place is around here and we’re going to stumble right over it any second now.”

“Liar,” Aaron said. “Ecosystems.”

“They said I wouldn’t do it,” Sonny said. “I’m gonna show them. Wait till I prove it to them tomorrow. There’s no such thing as voodoo. Or a root doctor.”

Aaron moaned. “A root doctor? You’re off your head. If one of those guys was around here—and he isn’t—I sure as hell wouldn’t be stopping by for a visit. I’m calling Matt Boudreaux.”

“The police chief?” Sonny’s voice squeaked. “For crissakes, let’s move. All I want to do is see where this guy lives and get me a memento.”

Aaron looked up through the trees. They weren’t dense but they were all he could see in any direction. Cypress, their feet in standing water. Moss hanging like grey-green slime. Broken stumps scattered. “A frickin’minefield,” he muttered. “If there…whatever you’re looking for, how will you prove you saw it?”

“If I take a bit of wood back and say it’s from his house, they’ll have to believe it. Maybe I’ll haul along a dead rat, too.”

“You don’t know a thing about this place,” Aaron said. “Okay, we’ve got to choose. Back the way we came or straight on.”

“Straight on,” Sonny said, frowning now. “We’ll get out to an old logging road eventually. I just want to see his house and—hey, we can ask him how to get out of here.”

“Our bikes,” Aaron said. “We’ve got to find them or we’ll never get home. That’s it.” He gritted his teeth and dialed 911.

“Don’t,” Sonny whispered. “Please don’t do that. You know I’m supposed to behave while I’m here. That’s why I’m here. Uncle Angel’s—”

Aaron held up a palm. “No signal,” he said. His skin felt tight. Just like he’d been expecting, raindrops began tunneling down through the trees.

He heard a sound that didn’t fit. One look at Sonny showed he had heard it, too. With a finger to his mouth he got to Aaron, took his arm and backed him into the nearest cover—three tall stumps crowded together.

The sound came again and again, then turned into a steady splashing and stumbling racket.

“If that’s your root doctor, there’s no use hiding. He already knows where we are.” Aaron spoke softly through barely moving lips.

“And if it’s somebody else?” Sonny said against his ear. “Give me the voodoo man over some others it could be.”