"Think Mutt will become violent?"
Gibby nodded.
"But Mutt's never been violent a day in his life."
"I know, Tuck. It's just something I sense. He has this look ... like a cat poised, ready to pounce. And when he does ..." Gibby just shook his head. "It's as if he's been crouched in that position for fifteen years and can't hold back the springs anymore."
"What makes you say this?"
"The further deterioration of his reasoning faculties."
"Meaning?"
"His mind is lying to him now more than ever. He can't differentiate between a crazy thought and a sane thought. Or if he can, he chooses not to. He's been on medication, and lots of it, for a long time. When it wears off, he's going to become confused. Schizophrenia, bipolar disorders, and schizoeffective illnesses are long-term, chronic illnesses. Unfortunately, they only get worse. Not better. When patients stop taking meds, they decompensate, become psychotic, and need hospitalization. I don't know what you expect to find here, but I warn you: it's not as if you dropped him off here seven years ago with a flesh wound that has now healed, leaving only a scar. It's more like you dropped him off with a cancer and it's spread to every corner of his anatomy. If you find him, your best bet is to give him this." Gibby pulled a clear plastic box containing two syringes from his pocket and extended them in his open palm. "Three hundred milligrams of Thorazine each. And if you can't get back here inside of an hour, give him the second." Gibby grabbed my arm and squeezed the meat on the outside of my shoulder. `Just like a flu shot."
I took the box, studied the insides, and zipped it inside the pocket of my fleece jacket. "Gibby, what's best and worst case if I find him?"
"If you find him, we could send him north, to a `safer' hospital, one where the walls are padded and where he'd eventually die of old age."
"What about taking him home?"
"Not advisable, and not really possible."
"Why not?"
"Bluntly?"
I nodded.
"Because you're going to suffer hell if you do."
I looked out the window, my eyes swimming the creek to Clark's. "With all due respect, we were born there and we're a bit used to it."
Chapter 21
THE OWNER OF THE MARINA WAS NOT PLEASED TO SEE Gibby. Nor me for that matter. Word had spread and people up and down the creek were antsy, disliking the idea that a lunatic was on the loose with no capture in sight. Clark's had hired a retired and undercover police officer to mill around the docks, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.
"Morning," the owner said, reluctantly extending his hand. "Steve Baxter."
"Tucker Rain."
"You related to that boy that escaped?"
"He's my brother."
"Well, no offense, but I hope you catch him before he goes off and does something crazy. Word is his elevator don't make it to the top floor."
I shrugged. "Either that or he just prefers to take the stairs."
"Well, I've been telling the city for years that dang nuthouse needed to be moved before somebody got hurt. Maybe they'll listen to me now that one of the cuckoos has flown the nest."
I wasn't in the mood for conversation, so I changed it. "I need to rent a canoe. Maybe a square-stern with a fivehorse. You got anything like that?"
He nodded. "I'll loan you mine. It's an Old Town, fifteenfooter, and I've got a little Honda five-horse that ought to get you up creek and back without any hassle."
I turned to Gibby. "You mind keeping an eye on Katie and Jase for me?"
"Not at all." He put his hand onjase's shoulder. "Me and this cowboy here were just about to do some flyfishing."
"We'll be fine," Katie said, picking up Jase and resting him on her hip. He was half as big as she was and his legs dangled around her shins. He was chewing on the Tootsie Pop stick and looked a lot like a local. Baxter pulled up in his canoe, climbed out, and held her steady while I stepped in. It was clean, stable, and quiet. Perfect for hunting ducks, fish, or people. I looked up on the dock and realized how petite Katie really was. But being petite didn't make her weak. I pushed away from the dock and felt my people place opening up and the two of them sliding in.
I didn't try to stop it.
Chapter 22
THE BLACK WATER FELT WARM FOR THIS TIME OF YEAR. I motored past Clark's and immediately faced a problem. The creek split. It was only eight in the morning, so I decided on the methodical approach. I took the left finger, the smaller of the two, and began the snaking, winding course. The banks were covered in turtles, small alligators, and a few raccoons, and broad, fat lily pads dotted the water's edge like freckles on the arms of a redhead. Luckily, the mosquitoes were tolerable. At ten thirty, I cut the engine and decided to paddle. The creek had narrowed to maybe forty feet across, and I figured if Mutt were back here, I might need the element of surprise. At noon, a manatee surfaced next to the canoe, blew a hole through the top of the water, and scared me half to death. He was all of eight feet, and his wide, massive tail bumped the back of the boat. I paddled alongside, brushed his barnacled back with my hand, and saw the scars of one too many boat propellers. "Hey, buddy," I said, "if you stay back here, you'll keep away from those spinning blades." He kicked once and was forty feet away before he surfaced again. "But if I was you, I'd want to get to that wide open water too. You take care." He blew again and disappeared.
At noon, I was frustrated at finding no trace of another human but found myself enjoying the quiet, methodical paddling and the smooth gliding feel of the canoe. By midafternoon, the creek fanned out with fingers going every which way. It would have been easier to find the proverbial needle. I cut my paddle into the water like a rudder, turned the boat, marveled at the canopy that now covered the creek, and cranked the motor. I grabbed the handle, revved the engine, and the canoe slid out underneath the canopy. By three thirty I was back at Clark's and could see the dock at Spiraling Oaks. Gibby was tirelessly teaching Jase the art of casting while Katie sat on the dock, reading through sunglasses. From a distance she looked peaceful. Maybe the first peace she'd had in some time.
I turned the canoe, waved tojase, who was smiling larger than life, nodded to Katie, who smiled at me from behind her sunglasses, and started up the right finger of the creek. I tried to think like Mutt but decided that was impossible. I wasn't sure his escape was purposeful. He'd just as easily choose one finger over the other without a care in the world. The creek was wider and held more water than the one I traveled this morning, but the beauty was the same. A world unto itself. A great blue heron passed overhead, gliding on one or two wing flaps, then alighting quickly and settling among a section of lily pads where the shiners were stirring up the water.
A mile up creek, I came to an old, now-dead cypress tree where years earlier some fun-loving kids had hung a rope swing from a branch fifty feet in the air. Using a neighboring tree as a platform, the swinger could launch himself off the platform, swing out into the middle of the creek, and plunge into the dark middle where it looked to be about fifteen feet deep. The rope was rotten, covered in green mold, and hadn't seen use in years. Given the look of use on the platform and the number of swinging knots on the rope, I guessed this place had at one time been covered up in screams and laughter. It reminded me of the quarry.
At five, I switched gas tanks and began thinking about dinner. I hadn't eaten all day, and aside from trying to think like Mutt, I was getting hungry. The smell of Clark's wafted up creek and hooked my nose, and I dug in the rudder. I reached the dock thirty minutes after dark and beached the canoe in the ferns. I found Gibby working in his office and Katie and Jase playing ping-pong in an otherwise empty game room. The smell reminded me of Rolling Hills.
Gibby looked up, and when he didn't see Mutt, he asked, "You hungry?"
"Yeah, I think I could eat."
"Good, I think your friends are hungry too. I offered to feed them, but she said she'd wait on you. I think I know just the place."
; Clark's was busy when we arrived, but the wait was only forty minutes, so I dropped a quarter in the turtle-feed machine and entertained Jase with turtle food. He was curious. Tender. A sponge. He didn't miss much. When they called "Rain" over the loudspeaker, he said, "Unca Tuck, that's us."
We walked through the restaurant around all the animal mounts and between the plates. Jase's eyes were big as half-dollars. We sat down inside, next to the window overlooking the creek. Our portion of the restaurant sat directly over the water, giving us a lifeguard's view of the creek.
After the waiter brought our drinks, I looked down at Jase, who was sucking milk through a straw and concentrating all his attention on the water. I sipped the tea and let the sweetness swirl around my mouth. Brown glass Budweiser bottles glistened across the room, adding ambiance.
I told them briefly about my trip while Gibby ordered for all of us: shrimp, catfish, fries, hushpuppies, and grits. The waitress set a small bowl of grits in front of Katie, who turned up her nose and nudged them out of the way with her fork. I reached across and slid them back in front. "It's an insult to the cook if you don't try them." I took a bite of my own and smiled. Jase watched her as she dipped her fork. Covering the end in grits, she closed her lips around the steaming cheese-colored paste. After a second of uncertainty, she lifted her eyebrows in surprise, nodded, and took a second bite, larger this time. After all her time in New York, Katie hadn't fallen that far from the tree. Jase saw her smile, dipped in his spoon, scooped out half the bowl, and shoved it in his mouth.
"The best part," I said, looking at both Katie and Jase, "is squishing them between your teeth." Katie covered her eyes as I squeezed the grits between my teeth like pudding. Jase took another spoonful, followed my lead, and spilled grits all over his lap and the table.
We ate and, due to underage ears, Gibby told us the PG version on Mutt. Despite the subject matter, the food was great. Katie paid the bill through a secret alliance forged with the server during a bathroom run, and Gibby led us out to the end of the dock, where he explained his best understanding of Mutt's disappearance.
Cabin lights across the creek glistened on the glasssmooth water. A cool breeze fluttered up the creek and cooled my face. Somewhere in the dark, a mullet jumped six or eight times and disappeared. Off in the distance, an owl hooted, and west, toward the river, we saw the last remaining light from a sun that was, even then, setting over Texas.
"Where will you stay?" Gibby asked.
I hadn't even thought about it.
Katie spoke up before I had a chance to answer. "We've got a room at the Courtyard Marriot, just up the road." I looked at her blankly. Gibby took it in stride while I wrestled with the possessive pronoun in "We've got a room."
"I suppose you'll be off again first thing in the morning?" Gibby asked.
"First light," I said. I looked across the water and wondered if he was alive, drowned, or even in the state of Florida. I knew this was useless.
We dropped Gibby at Spiraling Oaks and drove north the few miles to the Marriott. Jase spotted a BaskinRobbins just south of 1-295, so I pulled in and acted excited about the ice cream while my mind turned over the "We've got a room."
I opened the door to thirty-one flavors and Katie slipped her elbow under mine. "Don't worry. It's a suite. You can have the pull-out couch in the living area."
I ordered a double scoop of chocolate, Katie a single of coffee, and Jase a triple of raspberry sherbet, bubble gum ice cream, and peanut butter fudge all covered with chocolate syrup and a sliced banana.
By the time we made it to our room, it was nine thirty and Jase was leaning on Katie. I picked him up, carried him into the room, and nodded toward the bedroom. Katie pulled back the sheets, and I took off his hat, slipped off his boots, and laid him softly in the bed. Katie zipped him into his flannel pajamas, hugged him, and kissed his cheek, and without a word, he turned on his side and was out.
I followed Katie out the door and into the sitting area. Behind me, in a tired, gentle, and secure whisper, I heard, "Unca Tuck?"
I stuck my head back through the door. "Yeah, buddy."
"You didn't hug me good night."
I walked back to the bed and knelt down. Jase wrapped his arms around my neck and squeezed. He kissed me on the cheek, said, "Good night, Unca Tuck," and lay back down. By the time I reached the door, he was breathing heavily and dreaming about fly rods and big fish.
I closed the door behind me and said, "I don't know much about your ex-husband, but that is a great kid."
"Yes," she said, digging through her overnight bag for some toothpaste, "he is, despite Trevor."
I stood looking out the sliding glass door when Katie came out of the bathroom. In the reflection of the glass, I saw that she was wearing sweats, both top and bottom, for which I was thankful. She sat Indian style on the couch while I watched two kids jumping in and out of the Jacuzzi.
"Tucker," she said, squeezing her hands nervously, "I haven't been entirely honest. But after today and ..." She looked back toward Jase's door. "Well, there are a few things you ought to know."
I sat down opposite her on the floor and leaned my head against the wall. She looked down at her hands and continued. "I've got legal custody and a restraining order, but those mean little to Trevor. Some of his clients are government employees, FBI, and whatnot. I think he'll use them to find me. And when he does ..." She shook her head. "I wonder if, maybe ... well, I've got a few friends in California who would let me stay a few months without asking a lot of questions. And I can get another bike." She looked up and her eyes were glassy with tears. "Maybe we ought to hop on a bus."
I looked out the window and took a long, deep breath. The kids had left the Jacuzzi and the pool was now quiet.
Tucker?
I figured she'd pipe in here before too long. She couldn't bear to stay away with so much going on. To be honest, I needed a little advice.
Tucker? I dropped my head and listened, knowing that a sermonette was soon to follow. Not even Solomon, in all his glory, was arrayed as one of these. So don't worry about tomorrow. Each day has enough worry of its own.
I looked back at Katie. The weight of my answer was pushing down on her. I could see she was caught; she didn't want to leave, but neither did she want to involve me in something that could turn bad in a hurry. Her eye was still black around the base but looked more like lack of sleep than the product of a strong right hand. "Miss Ella used to tell Mutt and me that each day has enough trouble of its own and that we shouldn't worry about that day until it arrives. So right now, let's just worry about today. Tomorrow, we'll worry about tomorrow."
A tear fell out the corner of her right eye and slid down the inside of her nose. She wiped it with her sleeve and stood up off the couch, trying to smile. She wanted to cry but didn't. "I'm tired. I'll see you in the morning."
I nodded and she slipped into Jase's room, closing the door behind her. I listened but never heard it lock.
I lay in bed a long time, still looking at the clock after midnight. I was tired, but more than anything, I was feeling that ache behind my belly button. Only this time, Miss Ella couldn't pull me through her window.
Chapter 23
SUN BROKE THROUGH THE WINDOW AND WOKE ME AT half past six. I was mad at myself for sleeping so late, but when I opened my eyes, I froze. Pressed up against my cheek was silky black hair. I slowly lifted my head, saw Jase's closed and sleeping eyes, and smelled the clean and sweaty smell of a little boy. His soft pajamas pressed against my arm, and his hand was curled beneath mine. A good fit.
I tried to slide out from underneath the sheets, but he flopped his arm sideways and laid it across my chest. That's when I smelled the coffee. I looked up and saw Katie sitting in a chair at the end of the sofa bed, holding a cup of coffee between her hands.
She pressed her fingers to her lips and whispered, "Shhh. I woke up an hour ago and he was gone. I ran out here to get you and found him right there." She smiled and kind of half-
laughed. "I don't know whether you realize it or not, but I think you've made a friend."
I nodded, gently lifted his arm, slid out from underneath the sheets, and covered him up with the blanket.
I was stepping into the shower when the door cracked just wide enough to slide a cup of coffee through. She set it on the counter and shut the door quietly.
The shower felt good, as did the hot water. I dressed, sipped my coffee, and walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later.
Jase was still asleep, so I slipped on my jacket and walked to the door. "You guys hang out here, and I'll tell Gibby where you are."
"Don't worry," she said, waving me off. "I saw some stores next door. I thought maybe we'd go shopping."
"Figures," I said. "If you want, Gibby can pick you up and take you two fishing or something."
"We'll work it out." She turned and looked at Jase. "If it's okay with you, I think we'll be here when you get back."
I nodded, waved, and closed the door behind me.
The canoe hadn't moved since last night. Dew covered the canvas-strap seats along with the paddles, so I squeegeed them with my hand and cranked the engine. I slipped down the creek back to the fork and turned right again, retracing my steps. By nine, I had cut the engine, paddled, and cut a seam through the black mirror. The sun was warm, so I shed my jacket while the ripe, pungent, and inviting smells of the swamp swirled around me. I coasted beneath the arm of the old rope swing and farther into the creek where it narrowed again.
The water flowed from two directions. The majority of water flowed in from the river, while a smaller current, or stream of water, came down out of the swamp. I paddled into the smaller stream and noticed that the water started getting clearer. Another hundred yards and I realized I had found a spring. The creek ended as abruptly as it had begun, with the spring water bubbling out beneath and around the roots of a cypress. The swamp around me spread out for a hundred yards in every direction.