in the paper about criminal activity on America’s waterways, how smuggling and piracy were on the rise and what to do if you saw anything suspicious. In the past year a river patrol boat had been torched and some fishermen had reported being shot at after dark. Tensions were running high in certain parts of the country, but as far as she knew none of these problems had yet come to Traitor Bay. She wondered if the arm she’d found on the beach had been an omen of trouble to come.
Her thoughts kept drifting back to the loading dock where the sheriff had been seen early in the morning by a passerby. If anything, it would be a new place for her to start looking. She checked her .38 again, laid it on the seat next to her under a towel she kept for wiping the windows when they fogged. When she drove away she hoped that her aunt was still sleeping.
Chapter 16
He sensed the cats hiding below the bed, opened mouthed and drawing in sips of stale air from the old woman’s bedroom. She had not awakened and he wasn’t surprised after reading the labels on the bottles of pills that stood on a shelf above the sink, a partial set of dentures resting in the bottom of a glass of water next to them. At first glance he’d thought there was something alive, and it had startled him until he’d realized the teeth and pink gum-flesh distorted by the glass had fooled him into imagining a carnivorous worm staring out at him.
He watched her from the side of the bed and listened deeply to her breathing. We all speak through our sleeping-breath, his mother had taught him at an early age. With enough practice it was the same as listening to someone talking to you while they were awake, and sometimes you’ll even see their dreams as if they’re reading from pages of a book. But don’t take this lightly, his mother had warned. You might be told something you aren’t prepared to hear. A person asleep cannot lie to you, they only report what they see from a place that neither exists nor not exists, where birth and death mean nothing. And although he never saw her again after the day he’d left, he’d listened to his mother’s sleep-breath in his dreams. He watched her lying alone in the same old plankboard house he’d grown up in, and every time he awoke he’d be soaked in tears.
The woman below him wasn’t dreaming—the pills she’d taken before going to bed had killed any chance of it. Instead he listened to her sleep-breath tell him about her heart, of the pain and the bouts of dizziness. She sang of her raggedness of spirit and it reminded him of an old war song being sung by marchers sinking into the distance. Her song told him of how close she’d come to letting whatever wanted to take her to hurry up and do it and get it over with. Is this why I am here now? he asked himself. He decided to come back to her later, after he explored the rest of the house.
He stood in Ann’s room and examined the framed pictures on her dresser. He recognized her face in the pictures he’d been shown once by Duane. Was this child the elk worshiper he’d met earlier? Look how much she’s changed, he thought. As striking now as her mother standing next to her in the older pictures. And yet he could sense a sadness behind her eyes in the most recent picture, an imprint that gave her beauty a sharper edge than that of her mother’s. He picked up the photo of her mother and held it close to his eye, felt memory stir sluggishly like a fish below a frozen pond.
Before he left the house he visited the old woman one last time. Her sleep-breath was troubled, as if she’d become aware of his presence in the room. She needs my help, he thought. He glanced around and found a firm pillow. He picked it up in both hands and moved closer.
Chapter 17
They’d been shoved inside with their wrists cuffed. One of the men cut up pieces of electrical cord and together they set to work tying ankles. Someone had been in the
Her thoughts kept drifting back to the loading dock where the sheriff had been seen early in the morning by a passerby. If anything, it would be a new place for her to start looking. She checked her .38 again, laid it on the seat next to her under a towel she kept for wiping the windows when they fogged. When she drove away she hoped that her aunt was still sleeping.
Chapter 16
He sensed the cats hiding below the bed, opened mouthed and drawing in sips of stale air from the old woman’s bedroom. She had not awakened and he wasn’t surprised after reading the labels on the bottles of pills that stood on a shelf above the sink, a partial set of dentures resting in the bottom of a glass of water next to them. At first glance he’d thought there was something alive, and it had startled him until he’d realized the teeth and pink gum-flesh distorted by the glass had fooled him into imagining a carnivorous worm staring out at him.
He watched her from the side of the bed and listened deeply to her breathing. We all speak through our sleeping-breath, his mother had taught him at an early age. With enough practice it was the same as listening to someone talking to you while they were awake, and sometimes you’ll even see their dreams as if they’re reading from pages of a book. But don’t take this lightly, his mother had warned. You might be told something you aren’t prepared to hear. A person asleep cannot lie to you, they only report what they see from a place that neither exists nor not exists, where birth and death mean nothing. And although he never saw her again after the day he’d left, he’d listened to his mother’s sleep-breath in his dreams. He watched her lying alone in the same old plankboard house he’d grown up in, and every time he awoke he’d be soaked in tears.
The woman below him wasn’t dreaming—the pills she’d taken before going to bed had killed any chance of it. Instead he listened to her sleep-breath tell him about her heart, of the pain and the bouts of dizziness. She sang of her raggedness of spirit and it reminded him of an old war song being sung by marchers sinking into the distance. Her song told him of how close she’d come to letting whatever wanted to take her to hurry up and do it and get it over with. Is this why I am here now? he asked himself. He decided to come back to her later, after he explored the rest of the house.
He stood in Ann’s room and examined the framed pictures on her dresser. He recognized her face in the pictures he’d been shown once by Duane. Was this child the elk worshiper he’d met earlier? Look how much she’s changed, he thought. As striking now as her mother standing next to her in the older pictures. And yet he could sense a sadness behind her eyes in the most recent picture, an imprint that gave her beauty a sharper edge than that of her mother’s. He picked up the photo of her mother and held it close to his eye, felt memory stir sluggishly like a fish below a frozen pond.
Before he left the house he visited the old woman one last time. Her sleep-breath was troubled, as if she’d become aware of his presence in the room. She needs my help, he thought. He glanced around and found a firm pillow. He picked it up in both hands and moved closer.
Chapter 17
They’d been shoved inside with their wrists cuffed. One of the men cut up pieces of electrical cord and together they set to work tying ankles. Someone had been in the
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