The little boy Billy was playing by himself as usual, skipping rocks on the water of the bayou. The big kids only let him play when they needed someone to shag balls. He knew it, and it hurt his feelings. In his imagination, his mother used to hug him and tell him someday he would grow and they would beg him to let them play with him, but he really didn't believe it. He did not remember his mother at all but made her part of his lonely world. So, as on most days after school, he would find his own entertainment.
A couple of small alligators were sunning themselves on an island in the bayou, so he decided it would be more fun to see if he could hit them with rocks instead of skipping them. It was a far distance, but he hit one on his fifth or sixth try. He waded out a few feet and threw a couple more before they moved into the water and swam in his direction.
He laughed and ran upstream to another small beach where he knew more would be sunning themselves. As he rounded the curve of the bayou, he spied a black lump on the beach among the gators, yearlings and two and three-year-olds. He approached it carefully and then ran when it made a sound. He realized it was a moan, maybe a cry for help, so he moved closer.
The gators hissed at him. He found a long tree branch and began to pelt them with it. Soon, the beach was clear but for the black lump. As he approached, he realized it was a man, so covered with muck that Billy could make out no features or even if he was black or white. He ran as fast as his little legs would move, faster than ever in his life. He headed straight for the road, rather than town. Old Mrs. Ketchum in her 1976 Cadillac was heading his way and slowed as he waved and jumped up and down.
"Say, boy, you got ants in your pants or what? For Heaven's sake, what is the matter with you?"
He had trouble catching his breath. “A man. There's a man on the bayou beach, Mrs. Ketchum. All covered in muck, moaning. Help, please help.” The only moaning to be heard was moaning Billy expected to hear.
She pulled her car off the road and climbed down the bank behind him. She understood his fear, as she felt it herself. “Come on, boy, we gotta get some help here."
The short trip to town would have made NASCAR drivers jealous. She was honking and yelling before the car even stopped. People came running from every direction. The phones were working again, and within minutes, they could hear a helicopter heading in. This time, the EMTs had a harder time evacuating their passenger, as their gurney was soon sucked into the black mud. They loaded their patient anyway, male or female—they did not know. It did not matter. The IVs went in, and with the help of several townsfolk, they managed to pick up the gurney, kick off most of the mud, and roll it to the waiting aircraft.
They wiped the face of their patient, finding a man beneath the bayou mud ... a man they recognized. The man who had bought them beers at the tavern across from the hospital in Inverness. The man who was so in love with that little blonde they had airlifted from this same location just a few days ago.
His hands and arms showed signs of animal bites, his temperature was low, and his breathing so shallow that it was barely there. His blood pressure and pulse were almost nonexistent. How much blood had he lost? Was there trauma to the head and body that the bayou muck covered? Did he have internal injuries? The question was whether he would live or die with his throat cut the way it was.
Ellen pulled up in front of the Black Bayou Plantation house, noting only one vehicle there. It was the one Glenda had left in before the hurricane. Looking at the house now made it even more forlorn and fearsome than the first time she had seen it. She pushed bad memories aside and thought only of good ones, mostly of Mac. The helicopter she heard barely made an impression on her, so eager she was to see him again.
She knocked and waited. No one answered the door, so she opened it and went inside. She heard voices arguing in the parlor. Instead of calling out, she walked in and stood stock still at the scene before her eyes. Eartha was standing above the tiny old Mrs. Atwater, looking down at her in full rage. Neither of them saw her.
"Listen, you old bitch. I want to know what you told Henry to do. He pushed right by me and refused to stop. He ran out to the barn and barred the door against me when I tried to get in. He will not talk to me, so I know you are behind it. What did you tell him to do?"
"Stop yelling at me, you ... you ... black bitch, yourself. I am your grandmother, and you do not talk to me this way. Did no one teach you to respect your elders? I—"
"Teach me? Who would teach me? Certainly not my dearly departed mother, and certainly not you, you old crone.” Eartha's hand moved so quickly, Ellen did not see it until she heard the slap to the old woman's face, not once but several times.
She ran forward. “Eartha, what are you doing? Stop hitting her.” She pushed between Mrs. Atwater and Eartha. If she had seen the look in Mrs. Atwater's eyes, she would have seen victory and smugness. Instead, all she saw was surprise in her friend's face.
"Ellen, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Atlanta, in some kind of coma."
"More to the point, Eartha, what are you doing here? We all thought you had been kidnapped and presumed dead like Marybeth, and maybe Windy."
Mrs. Atwater smiled at Ellen. Her face was red from the slaps Eartha had inflicted on her, but she had a gleeful look in her eyes. “Yes, dear, your friend Windsong was also found murdered. Only this one seemed to have avoided the same end.” She waved in Eartha's direction. “Makes one wonder, doesn't it?"
"Glenda too, you mentioned, dead? How did she die, Eartha? How did you get back here? Why were you hitting this poor old woman? Have you gone mad? Where are Mac and James?"
Eartha's head was spinning. This was spiraling down, out of her control, and she had to get it back again. She raised her head, looked directly into Ellen's eyes, and spoke quietly. “As far as I know, Mac is dead. That is as it should be. He was plotting to kill us all by burning down the house tonight while we slept. He tried to get Henry to help him, but Henry is so loyal to Mrs. Atwater. He came to her crying, afraid of Mac, and told her what Mac had ordered him to do. James went out looking for Mac, who, incidentally, had stolen his Jeep and all the guns in the house."
"Stop lying, Eartha. I do not believe a word of this. Mac would never do anything to hurt his grandmother. He said she was a trial, but he was fond of her. Mrs. Atwater, tell me what happened."
"Not a word of what Eartha just told you is true, dear. Mac did not ask Henry to help him burn the place down, did he, Henry?” Henry, who stood in the doorway, shook his head. “Mac did take James's Jeep and some guns, but he was looking for clues as to who killed your friends."
Eartha turned on the old lady once again. “You are lying, you old bitch. You know Mac is dead, and you are saying that to protect James. James was in on the murders and collected the ransoms. James was a diver, so he was the one to rescue the money from the depths of the waters."
"Now, tell me the truth, if any of you can. What waters? How did you get back here, and where is Mac?"
"Listen to me, you stupid girl.” Eartha's voice was low and cold. “I got back because I was smarter than the man who grabbed me, not like those other two bitches. No, that is not true, the kidnapper never had me at all. I hid at the Woodward place with my brothers to make my disappearance part of the game."
"Game? For God's sake, Eartha, that was no game."
"Sure it was, and they got what they deserved, too. Your precious Mac was killed in a fight at the Mudbug and tossed in the river. Remember those two men you teased there? They were my brothers, Glenda's Woodward boys. Mac confronted them, and they laughed, saying you were doing a striptease for them and invited them to fuck you, both at once. Mac went berserk and started swinging. He was drunk and pulled a knife. During the fight, he lost. Now he's gone, so get over it. Better yet, get in your car and go back to Atlanta before you disappear, too."
"I will do no such thing, Eartha. I have known you for years, well enough to know when you are lying. Why? What happened to make you like this? You were so gentle and sweet ... now I find you hitting an old lady, screaming, and swearing. I don't understand any of this."
"You just don't get it, do you? I was never what you thought. I hated all of you, and I still hate you. If you don't leave voluntarily, I will see that you leave involuntarily. On second thought, I think I will just kill you.” She grabbed Ellen's hair and swung her other hand, curled in a fist, to hit Ellen hard on the jaw, knocking her down. Only her head was up, as Eartha was still pulling her hair, dragging her out of the parlor and down the hall toward the back entrance.
Ellen tried to grab the Eartha's leg, only to be kicked in the face. The kick was vicious and hard enough to make Ellen's mind go blank for several moments. “Eartha, stop. Please stop. What are you doing? Have you gone mad?"
"Well, what we have here, girlfriend, is failure for you to understand. Look, a swimming pool. Would you like a little drinkie-poo before you go swimming? Granny wanted me to empty it, but I forgot.” She was grinning as she pulled a knife from her shorts’ pocket, holding it at Ellen's throat. “I am going to let you stand up now, but you try anything, and you are dead. Understand?"
Ellen nodded and slowly got to her feet, using a chaise for balance. “Now, Miss Georgia Peach, take off your clothes. All of them. Remember how nice it felt when we did it before. Good girl. Now get in the pool."
Ellen looked at the storm-littered, brackish water. She stood naked, shaking her head.
"Yes, you will. And now. Maybe you will drown slowly or die quickly if that cottonmouth is still enjoying a swim. Either way, you are going to die."
Ellen looked at her once-friend. “I am going to die anyway, right? So why not die fighting you?” She dropped to the cement and rolled into Eartha's legs. Eartha lost her balance and fell forward, over Ellen's prone body and into the pool.
"That was some move there, gorgeous. Mac would have been proud of you! Say, I can see now why he could not get enough of you. Big tits, nice ass, and a natural blonde. It was hard to tell in the foyer, but out here in the daylight ... you are one damn good-looking piece. Since you're naked already, want to...? Okay, probably not. I'll bet that ol’ kidnapper would love getting his hands on you.” James was leaning against the roofless pool house, grinning.
Eartha was yelling for him to help her as she climbed out of the pool. Ellen grabbed her clothes and ran into the house and out the front door. She started the Jeep and drove like a maniac until she was far enough from the house that she decided it was safe to stop and dress again. Cotton, she thought, I have to get to Cotton and call for help. Lord, please don't let anything stop me.