Darkness (34 page)

“Or she might do something else,” Mary replied, her voice trembling. “If she believes her father thinks she’s crazy, she might try to kill herself again. But we can’t even find her to tell her that no one’s mad at her.” She shook her head sadly. “And even if we could, I don’t think she’d believe a word any adult said to her.”

Barbara managed a sorrowful, wry smile. “Maybe we sent the wrong people out to look for her,” she said. “Maybe Jenny and I should have gone.”

As her mother and the policemen started toward the front door, Jenny silently darted back into Kelly’s room, quietly closing the door behind her. But instead of getting back into bed, she pulled off the pajama top and began putting on her clothes. She put her underwear on backward in the darkness, but didn’t notice it, then got into her jeans and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Shoving her bare feet into her shoes, she fumbled with the laces, but finally got them tied.

As she carefully opened the outside door and stepped onto the landing, she felt a pang of fear.

What if she got lost, too?

She gazed apprehensively at the swamp in the distance and almost changed her mind. But then she saw the path along the edge of the canal, and the bright pools of light that flooded from the lamps that lined it every hundred feet. If she stayed on the path, nothing bad could happen to her. And she could call out to Kelly from there. And if she actually
found
Kelly—

She felt a surge of excitement. The last of her fear evaporated as she set out on her adventure.

Kelly felt as though she was drowning in a sea of blackness. It was all around her, pressing down on her, constricting her. She had to struggle, had to free herself
from its grip. She tried to move, but it felt as if she was mired in quicksand. But then, far off, there was a faint glimmer of light. If she could reach it—bring it into focus—she’d be all right. But it was so far away, and she was so tired.

She moaned softly, and then felt her arms move.

The light brightened, and she realized her eyes were open.

The moon.

It was the bright crescent of the moon she saw, and, as she came slowly back to consciousness, she began to remember.

Running through the swamp, her terror growing every minute.

The alligator attacking her. The shot exploding only a few yards away from her.

The hands lifting her out of the mud, pulling her into the boat.

The face.

The swamp rat’s face.

Her breath caught in a gasp of sudden fear. Almost involuntarily her eyes shifted from the bright light of the moon to the face of the man who sat at the center of the boat.

Not a man.

A boy.

A boy she’d seen before. And then it came back to her.

“I know you,” she said. “I saw you the first night I was here. You were at the edge of the swamp.”

Jonas nodded. “I was watchin’ out for you.”

Kelly frowned. “But I was looking for you. I couldn’t find you.”

Jonas pulled at the oars, and the boat slid silently into a narrow passage between two islets. “Don’t matter. I was there, and made sure nothin’ happened to you. Like tonight.”

Kelly’s frown deepened. “You mean you were looking for me?”

“Didn’t have to look. I knowed where you was at.”

“But—”

“There’s lots of other folk lookin’ for you, too. But they didn’t know where you was.”

Kelly fell silent, studying the boy in the faint light of the moon. His clothes were little more than rags, and he looked half starved, with his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes.

If she’d seen him in Villejeune, she knew she would have been afraid of him.

And yet now, in the middle of the night, in the swamp, she felt no fear of him at all. Indeed, she felt as if she knew him.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” she asked.

Jonas gazed at her with his strange, empty eyes, but said nothing. Instead he silently kept rowing the boat, guiding it effortlessly through the tangle of waterways.

Lights began to glimmer here and there, the soft, warm glow of oil lanterns. They were passing the strange, stilted houses of the swamp rats now, but although the boy did not say a word, Kelly was certain that wherever they were going, it was not here.

It was somewhere else, somewhere even deeper in the swamp.

They moved on, Jonas handling the oars with such skill that not even the faintest splashing betrayed their presence. When they were gone, only the rippling of the water from the boat’s bow gave evidence that they had been there at all.

And only Amelie Coulton, sitting silently on her porch, saw them pass.

Something stirred inside her as she watched the small boat move slowly through the bayou, and she rose up from her sagging chair, then climbed down from the porch into the worn skiff that was tied up to one of the pilings.

There was just enough moonlight to let her follow the rippling trail of Jonas’s boat.

“Kelly?” Jenny called out, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Kelly, it’s me!” She paused, listening, but heard nothing except the chirping of the insects.

She wasn’t sure how far she’d come, but finally the paved path along the canal came to an end. Ahead of her lay a field, dotted with pines and choked with kudzu, with only a narrow trail edging the drainage channel. She had stopped, wondering if maybe she shouldn’t go back home, when she suddenly realized where she was.

Her own house was on the other side of the field and two blocks farther down. Though she’d never been on this side of the field before, she and her friends often played along the other edge, hiding in the vines, pretending they were in the jungle.

And there was a house right on the canal, halfway across the field, that she used to think was a scary place, where a witch lived. But her father had taken her there one day and told her that it wasn’t a witch’s house at all.

“A policeman lives there,” he’d told her. “And if you’re ever playing out here and see a stranger, or get lost, you go there and he’ll take care of you. There’s nothing in that house to be afraid of.”

She’d looked at the house, with all its paint worn off, and propped up on stilts that looked like they might fall down, and wondered how anyone but a witch could live in anything like it. But then her father had gone right up to the back door and knocked, and a man had opened it.

His name was Mr. Duval, and he wasn’t scary at all. He’d even told her he’d take her out and teach her how to fish sometime, if she wanted.

She still hesitated, searching in the darkness for a light in the house. From where she was, all she could see was the roof, barely visible through the trees.

But if Kelly was lost, maybe she knew to go to that house, too.

Resolutely, she started along the dirt trail, trying not to think about how far away the lights of the subdivision
behind her were getting, or what might be hiding in the kudzu, waiting to jump out at her.

Off to her right she heard something move in the bushes, and she broke into a run.

And then she was there. The house stood at the edge of the canal, its front porch jutting out over the water just like she remembered it. She ran around to the back door and knocked loudly. “Mr. Duval?” she called out. “It’s me! It’s Jenny Sheffield!”

Her heart was still beating fast, and she listened hard, certain that whatever she’d heard in the bushes might be coming after her. But then she heard a sound from inside the house, and a second later the door opened a crack.

“Mr. Duval? It’s me. I’m looking for Kelly. She’s lost and I thought maybe she came here.”

Judd Duval gazed down at the little girl, his mind racing. When he’d first heard the pounding at the door, he’d been certain it was Kitteridge, come looking for him. But when he’d heard the little girl’s voice, an idea had suddenly come to him. He’d struggled to his feet, every joint aching now, and steadied himself with trembling hands for a moment before he’d been able to get to the back door. Now, as he looked down at Jenny, a surge of adrenaline energized him.

“She’s not here,” he said. “But I know where we can find her. Would you like me to take you there?”

Jenny nodded eagerly, and Judd Duval stepped out onto the back porch, pulling the door closed behind him. “We have to go in the car,” he explained.

Jenny frowned. The car? But Kelly was in the swamp. And there was something funny about his voice, too.

Then Judd turned and the light of the moon fell onto his face.

Jenny’s eyes widened as she stared at the wrinkles in his skin, and his deeply sunken eyes. He didn’t look anything like she remembered him at all.

He looked old and sick, and there was something about the way he was staring at her that frightened her.

Instinctively, she backed away, but Judd reached out and grasped her wrist. “Don’t run away, Jenny,” he said, his voice rasping.

Jenny struggled, trying to pull away from him, but Judd’s grip tightened. He picked her up, and carried her into the house. Fumbling in the dark, he found the nylon ties he carried instead of handcuffs, and, twisting Jenny’s arms around behind her back, bound her wrists.

“Stop that!” Jenny screamed. “I want to go home!”

Judd’s hand clamped over the little girl’s mouth, and he reached for a dish towel, tying it around her head as a makeshift gag. Thirty seconds later two more of the nylon ties bound her ankles together, immobilizing her. Picking her up again, ignoring her struggles, he took her out the back door and carried her the ten yards to his squad car, which was parked under one of the pine trees. He opened the trunk, put her inside, then closed the lid again.

Trembling more violently than before, he hurried around to the driver’s door, got in, and started the engine. Putting the car in gear, he made a U-turn and steered quickly up his rutted drive to the main road. He paused there for a moment, his own lights out, searching for any other cars. But the highway was deserted, and finally he turned on his headlights. He wasn’t too worried—his destination was in the opposite direction from the village. With any luck at all, he’d have the road completely to himself.

Warren Phillips switched on the porch light and looked through the window to see Judd Duval standing outside, his sunken eyes glowing maniacally in the light from the globe above the door. Unlocking the bolt, he opened the door and pulled Judd inside. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“My shot,” Judd croaked, his voice rattling in his throat. “I got to have my shot. Look at me! I’m dying.”

Phillips’s voice hardened. “I told you the price. I need children, Judd.”

“I got one,” Judd said, his lips twisting into an ugly grin.

Phillips’s eyes narrowed. “Who? There aren’t any—”

“Not a baby,” Judd interrupted. “But she’s young enough. She’s in the trunk of my car.”

Fury welled up in Phillips. “Are you out of your mind?” he demanded. “What have you done, Judd?”

“I got you what you wanted,” Judd insisted.

“Where?” Phillips spat. “Who is it? How did you get her?”

“Craig Sheffield’s kid,” Judd replied. “And I didn’t do anything. She came right up to my back door.”

“In the middle of the night?” Phillips demanded. “I’m not a fool, Judd.”