The Tangled Bridge (2 page)

“Why're you so quiet?” he asked.

“Shh.”

“Why shh?”

She answered in a whisper. “Because if there are people out here, it's best we find them before they find us.”

“Woman, you gonna put me to an early grave.”

She squeezed his hand. The neighborhood's glow vanished behind the rise. Full darkness, here, and this was good. It forced her to draw from her other senses. Because she wasn't kidding herself—this really was dangerous. Even with pigeonry.

Pigeonry was the word they used for the way Madeleine could place thoughts into other people's minds. It stemmed from what Mémée, Madeleine's grandmother, had called “pigeon games.” Mémée and her siblings used to practice briar skills like pigeonry by working on simple subjects, such as birds. The children of the briar could make pigeons fly, walk, or stack one atop the next by implanting thoughts into the birds' minds.

The sound came. She paused. The sharp clicking. Over to the right. It eclipsed the other bird calls.

Ethan paused, too, and looked at her. She nodded in the direction of the sound. He turned to look. So dark, though. They could see nothing.

Click click click.

Not like any bird or insect she'd heard before and she'd grown up on a bayou. More like something she'd hear in the river devil's bramble. It made her feel stealthy, catlike.

Ethan put his lips to her ear and whispered, “I'll check it out. You stay put.”

She nodded, because she didn't want to go see for herself. She didn't fear the thing she heard. She feared what it brought out in her.

Ethan moved off into the darkness.

Her toes were now wet. She took a step and felt the earth softening beneath her. A bog. A haven for mosquitoes … and leeches, too. She rimmed the soggy part and made for the woods. Didn't like being out in the open like this.

The scent of cold smoke grew stronger. Ethan was probably still close by but she couldn't see nor hear him, and the tick-tocking had stopped, too. Perhaps she could take a quick check of the camp before Ethan got back. She was thinking that, yes, this place was dangerous, but they weren't the ones in danger. Not if they were careful.

She walked with hands outstretched, catching branches and easing between them. Dry wood snapped beneath one foot and she paused, listening.

The birds were very loud now. The predawn cacophony. She could hear nothing else out there. She ventured again, but with the next step came another snap. This was no good—she needed to move in silence. She bit her lip and took another step, sliding carefully without picking up her foot so that she moved without a sound. Much better.

But then she heard a third snap. This one hadn't come from her own footfalls.

*   *   *

THE GROWING DAWN WAS
now illuminating the river. Though dim, she could see a silhouette, a human form much larger than herself. Not Ethan.

Madeleine froze. Her eyes strained, fingers splayed and ready. She zeroed in on that silhouette and seized control.

Put both hands on the nearest tree.

She waited.

The sound of snapping branches near that silhouette: far too close. She moved so that he was backlit by the Mississippi, and she saw that he was obeying the pigeonry—both of his hands were pressed against a tree.

She asked aloud, “What are you doing out here?”

“Just sleepin, lady, I ain't hurtin nobody.”

She stepped closer. She could tell he was a black man, much darker than herself, with short hair that was almost completely gray.

She tightened her mind's grip on him. “Is that really all you're doing out here? Tell me the truth.”

“I ain't lyin. Got up to take a pee. Was just headin back to get my things and clear out.”

She stared, believing him, because the way he was holding that tree indicated that he was fully susceptible to the pigeon exercise. He probably didn't even know why he felt compelled to hang on like that.

She released him. And then, taking a step closer, she realized that she recognized him. He was a busker who played the harmonica. Used to sing on the streets with her father. She'd even fed him herself when her father had brought him home for supper on occasion.

“You're Shalmut Halsey.”

He peered at her, his posture relaxing. “My God. Maddy?”

“Hey!” Ethan's voice, sharp.

Madeleine turned toward him and found his hand. “It's alright, Ethan. Shalmut here's an old friend.”

“I thought you were going to stay put,” Ethan said.

“I meant to. What did you find?”

“Nothing. There was a camp, but no one in it. Looked like whoever was there had just left.”

Madeleine turned back to Shalmut. “You know anything about that?”

Shalmut said, “Sure: the little blind boy, Bo Racer, and his mama.”

Madeleine cast a glance back toward the levee; dawn was growing stronger with every moment that ticked by. She was beginning to feel foolish.

Shalmut asked, “Whatch'all doin out here, Maddy? This ain't no place for you.”

“Tell you the truth, Shalmut, I have no idea.”

He exhaled, and it smelled like booze. He was staring at her with an intensity that made her feel grateful the sun hadn't made its full way to the horizon yet.

Shalmut said, “Yes you do. Some'm wrong. You got the insight, just like your Daddy before you, God rest his soul.”

She said nothing.

He slapped the back of his neck. “Y'all come on, these woods is fulla muskeetas.”

They followed him, and Madeleine spotted the place where the blind boy and mother must have been: a thick quilt and a carved wooden stick—just the right height for a boy to use as a cane. He and his mother must have left in a hurry.

Madeleine, Ethan, and Shalmut continued past it to where the trees opened up before the Mississippi, then walked along the shoreline. The birds were at the peak of their morning frenzy.

“Still enough smoke to keep the bugs away,” Shalmut said, indicating the charred skeleton of a campfire.

He looked from Ethan to Madeleine. “Y'all wanna tell me why you really here? Never know. I may be able to help.”

But before Madeleine could answer, she heard a woman's slow, fractured voice: “Well, look who's here.”

Madeleine spun around.

The woman was heavyset and tall, about six feet, with long frizzy hair. Madeleine stumbled backward in reflex.

“Jesus!” Shalmut turned and retreated a few feet into the woods.

The woman was grinning. Madeleine stepped backward, clamping her thoughts onto the woman's mind.

The tree. Put both hands on that tree.

But the woman didn't respond to the implanted thought. Instead she took a step forward.

“Hunting that little boy same as me, Maddy?” Her voice was deep and cigarette cracked.

Madeleine didn't know her. It felt disorienting the way she spoke her name, but having worked with countless homeless folks around the city, people she didn't know often recognized her.

More disturbing was the fact that she couldn't get a hold on this woman's mind. And that she kept moving closer.

Madeleine said aloud, “Stop right there.”

Ethan stepped between them, his posture tense.

The woman laughed. “Whadjoo bring him along for? Gotta travel light.”

“God, look at her hands,” Shalmut whispered.

They were filthy. Worse than that. In her right hand she clutched a beer bottle with a broken off neck, and from fingertips to elbow: thick black streaks. Even in the growing dawn Madeleine could see that it was blood.

Stop moving, stop, STOP!

That strange grin widened. “Oh no you don't. This here's
my
pigeon.”

Madeleine jerked her head toward the woods, scanning the trees.

“Who you lookin for?” The woman took another step forward.

“Stop right there,” Ethan said, hand blocking her.

Madeleine asked, “Who are you?”

“You ain't recognize me? Gotta look past this old lady crack whore.”

“Y'all, we got to get!” Shalmut whispered.

The homeless woman spoke again. “They's good hunting round here, yeah. You been lookin for the blind boy, like me? He's slippery.”

Madeleine tore her gaze from the sticky bottle and cast an involuntary glance in the direction of the camp where the quilt and the little cane had been.

The woman was looking toward that direction, too. “Yeah, well, I'm done for now.” Her gaze swiveled to Shalmut. “Maybe I'll use him next.”

She blinked once, and then tossed the bottle onto the cooling embers. Her expression slackened. And then she looked up with a furtive glance from Madeleine to Ethan and then beyond to the north, pausing, her face pinched in thought. Maybe even fear.

Madeleine realized that the hold had lifted. She tried again to snag the woman's mind.

Sit down on the banks, hands on your knees.

This time, the pigeon exercise took. The woman knelt down.

Madeleine breathed a sigh of relief. “It's OK. She's alright now.”

She scanned the woods again, her eyes wide and her ears tuned. Nothing. No one else there.

Shalmut was right by her side. “We got to get!”

Madeleine shook her head.

Ethan agreed with Madeleine. “No, we can't leave. Not yet.”

The woman was still kneeling near the blackened camp.

“Who are you?” Ethan asked her.

She answered with a hint of confusion in her voice. “Alice.”

Madeleine said, “How do you know me?”

“Know you?”

“You asked me, did I recognize you?”

Alice said nothing.

Madeleine tried, “Just a moment ago. You called me by name.”

No reply.

And then Madeleine asked, “Did you kill someone last night, Alice?”

Silence, and then, “Yes, ma'am.”

“Jesus, God almighty,” Shalmut whispered.

Alice cast a glance at Madeleine's eyes and then her gaze fell to the shore beneath her knees. “Ain't sure if he's dead, but I tried.”

“How many people did you kill?” Madeleine asked. “One?”

Alice looked back over her shoulder and a lock of frizz fell over her eye. “Yeah, just the one.”

“Why? Why did you?”

“I don't know that, ma'am. Can't say that I recall. I remember I's lookin for a boy, though. He'uz in a car at first, and then he's out in the woods somewhere. Couldn't get'm.”

“Who exactly did you kill?”

“I don't know. Someone got in my way.”

Shalmut was watching with round eyes, his hand curled at his lips as though he was trying to blow warmth into it.

“Tell us where the body is,” Madeleine said.

Alice pointed north. “Just over yonder on the banks.”

Shalmut said, “I'm gonna move along, y'all. This don't involve me.”

“Don't leave, not yet,” Ethan said.

Alice was still kneeling. She closed her eyes and started to pray in that gravelly voice.

Madeleine said to Ethan, “We need to find out if that person's still alive. I need to go check. And then Alice is gonna want to go talk to the police, won't you Alice?”

Alice continued to pray without answering, but Madeleine knew she would obey the directive when the time came.

Ethan said, “You're not going over there alone.”

“Well we can't leave Alice by herself.”

Ethan breathed through his teeth. “Mr. Halsey. Would you please wait here with Miss Alice while we go look for the body?”

Shalmut's eyes were wide and fierce. “With
her
?”

Madeleine said, “Yeah. Just watch her. If she gets up from that spot, you can leave.”

“Good God, good God. I just wanna move along, that's all.” Shalmut turned and stepped into the woods, but then he paused, addressing Madeleine. “Come on, baby. I can't just leave y'all here like this, not with your father lookin down on us from heaven. Let's all move along together and let the police sort it out, yanh?”

“Please wait, Shally,” Madeleine said. An unenforced request.

She knew Alice wasn't going anywhere. She was completely under Madeleine's will. Shalmut, however, she'd leave to decide for himself. He was free to disappear into the woods if he wanted.

She and Ethan followed in the direction Alice had indicated. The rhyme kept cycling through her mind.

See how they run.

Ethan said, “Next time you go sleepwalking, remind me to bring my cell phone.”

The shoreline wound around a bend, and they found him: a reclining male figure about fifty feet away, heavy dress shoes worn down so that the sole had flopped forward on his right foot. She could see his legs and nothing more. From the torso up, he was tangled in a broken green umbrella that looked like it had once been attached to a patio table. Probably served as shelter out here. The foot with the flopping shoe was resting in a burned-out campfire similar to Shalmut's, still emitting a small amount of smoke.

They drew nearer, saw the arm twisted up around the head. His hand was splayed atop his scalp, his mouth open. Blood on his face. A tear at the throat. It looked like he was missing his right eye.

Madeleine wheeled away.

Steady now,
she told herself.
Not a time for cowardice.

“Alice must have gotten him in the eye first, then the neck,” Ethan said.

Madeleine made herself turn back around. “Well. He certainly looks dead.”

“Probably. But just to be sure…”

Ethan was leaning over the body. Madeleine kept her gaze fixed on that flopping shoe while Ethan took the man's pulse.

“Nothing. And the body temperature's already dropped.” He withdrew his hand and it came away wet.

“OK, enough. Police now.”

She turned, fighting a rise of bile and hoping Ethan wouldn't see how unnerved she felt. She walked in the direction of where Shalmut and Alice were waiting somewhere further down the shoreline.