Read Online Hell Rig by J. E. Gurley - Free Book Online Page B

more often lately. Soon, they would not help at all.
    He checked his watch—ten until twelve. Ten minutes until Easton was scheduled to relieve Bale, if the newbie showed up at all. Bale didn’t trust the young punk. He was too macho for his own good and had the look of a slacker. He did not trust McAndrews either. He had seen the big guy stalking the decks like a specter and wondered what his story was. He didn’t act like the usual roustabout. He was too quiet and too inquisitive. He even moved like a ghost, coming upon you before you heard him.
    Waters spooked him even more. The man was insane or close to it. His eyes revealed nothing. It was as if there was no one behind them. Sims wasn’t much better. His eyes missed nothing, following everyone around like a documentary camera. Shaking Sims’ hand the first time they’d met, something passed between them. Sims had smiled as if he learned a great secret and Bale felt suddenly naked and ashamed.
    Of course, he was one to talk. Unlike Gleason and Tolson or even Towns to a degree, he was as far removed from the usual roustabout as they came. The others didn’t know much about him except he worked hard and seldom complained aloud. Almost automatically, he reached to the cross around his neck. He wondered why he still bothered to wear it. If God existed, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about a defrocked priest.
    He thought back ten years earlier, to a small parish church in western Louisiana. It had been his first parish and he had such grand ideas for helping his parishioners, mostly dirt-poor shrimper-folk and oil field workers. Instead, he had succumbed to evil incarnate, a temptress named Jo Beth Slocum, a beautiful Creole girl with coffee-colored skin and dark, sultry eyes. He thought he was helping her, teaching her to read and write, but in his heart he knew he was falling in love, slowly wilting under her almost hypnotic charms. Each touch thrilled him. The scent of her perfume aroused him.
    One night she came to him wearing a simple dress and nothing beneath. Standing in the moonlight, her naked body visible—he had succumbed. They had made love behind his church in a field of grass, him promising to leave the priesthood and marry her and her eagerly accepting his proposal. Later though, she had admitted her misdeeds to her father, claiming Father Bale had raped her. Stunned by her sudden betrayal, he had offered no defense. The Cardinal had been kind. No civil charges had been filed and he had traded his collar for a hard hat. Ten years and it still burned like an unquenchable fire in his heart aching for the cool waters of redemption. One moment of temptation had ruined his life.
    The sound of muffled footsteps caught his attention. Maybe it was Easton come to relieve him early.
    “That you, Easton?” he called out to the dark.
    There was no answer. He got up and stood, looking around. He didn’t like games. He was too tired. Irritated, he called out again. “If that’s you Easton, show yourself.”
    A woman’s laughter, soft and distant, came to him from the shadows, seeming to drift around him. He played his flashlight about seeing nothing but shadows retreating from the light, like a dark mist before a breeze.
    Alert now, he became cautious. “Who’s there?”
    His flashlight flickered once or twice before dimming to a pale glow and then fading out completely. “Damn batteries,” he cursed, hitting the flashlight hard against his leg in a futile attempt to make it work.
    The distant sound of laughter grew louder, closer. The shadows seemed to swell around him, cutting him off from the rest of the rig. The string of lights along the main deck faded one by one. He reached out and felt the cloying stickiness around him like a black, wet fog.
    “I’ve come for you, priest,” the voice said, echoing in the mist.
    “How…how do you know me?” he asked, startled, slowly backing away from the voice. He felt the railing behind him, cold against his