By the time I reached him, I noticed he wasn’t going anywhere. He was sleeping against the tree, holding a paper bag. I couldn’t tell what was inside the bag, but I had a few guesses. The man looked frail. The sun still had a few hours before it set, but the shadows gave the man a sickish look. He didn’t look very tall, five four tops, and maybe 120 pounds soaking wet. I leaned down to tap his foot.
“Who are you? What do you want?” The little guy screamed before I could even touch him. He startled me so bad, I fell on my butt. The little man looked crazy, with wild eyes. I was waiting for him to start yelling “My precious!” I was beginning to question my decision to come here. This man looked insane.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m friends with Bob.” I was trying to sit down without attracting too much attention. I didn’t want him to do anything crazy, like stab me or bite me.
He was up on his feet faster than I believed possible. “Liar. Bob has no friends. Are you here to take me?” I guessed he had whiskey in the bag, because I smelled it on his breath.
“No, sir, I’m not here to take you. But some people took Bob this afternoon.”
That hit him hard, and he stopped moving. I took advantage of his confusion and stood up. At least I could look him in the eyes now.
“I told him to stop asking questions, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s just like all the rest.” Was it the alcohol talking, or what? I wasn’t following his conversation.
“Sir, do you know who took Bob?” Please, God, let this crazy drunk guy be semicoherent.
“The witches took him. Like they took all the young and healthy ones. I told him to stop asking questions and stay in his lane. But he just couldn’t do it.” The little man was pacing back and forth with his arms outstretched. My prayer had failed, because that made no sense. He continued his rambling campaign. “They don’t want me ’cause I’m old, but nobody is safe now.”
“I’m sorry, but do you know who else is missing?” I was talking to him as if he were a five-year-old. “Please help me. I need to find Bob.”
“Girl, he is gone. Let him go. Nobody comes back after they take them.” His words chilled me to the core. Those were the first sober words he had said. He delivered them without judgment or fear—just stated a fact.
“Do you know where they took them? Please help me.” My voice was shaky and broken.
“Shhhh. Stay away, girl.” Before I could say or do anything, he took off. How could a drunk man move so fast? That didn’t even make any sense. I had no idea where he was heading, but I knew I was not getting anything else out of him.
I hated feeling helpless. I was overwhelmed, and there was nothing I could do. Bob was missing, and I had no way to find him. The old crazy guy was even less helpful. On top of that, my own clock was ticking. Death needed an answer by tomorrow. My boring and uncomplicated life was destroyed. I needed to pack up and leave this place. By the sound of the crazy old guy, I was never going to find Bob anyways.
I wiped my eyes and brushed off dirt from my clothes. If I stayed here any longer, I could pass for one of the homeless. I was a hot mess. I had smeared dirt all over my face by accident. It was a blessing I didn’t wear makeup, or that sure would have made a worse picture.
I slowly pulled myself into the Whale and headed home. This weekend was ranking in the top three on my list of horrible disasters. I just wanted to crawl into bed and forget this whole mess.
Chapter 8
On Sunday evenings I normally brought my dinner home. It was a good thing I wasn’t hungry, because I’d forgotten to pick up food today. Fixing meals for one person was more trouble than it was worth. The creation process relaxed me, but the cleanup was too much of a pain afterward. My fridge always had the basics: milk, bread, cheese, deli meat, eggs, butter, and some condiments. I could always make a sandwich and not starve.
After the insane day I’d had, I just wanted to disappear. My shoulders were tight, and I could feel the muscles in my lower back knotting up. On warm days I preferred cool showers. Today I wanted a blistering-hot bath. My bathtub was small, but it would do the trick. I filled it up with as much hot water as it could handle. I poured in two cups of Epsom salts and some lavender oil. I climbed into the tub, and the heat from the water boiled my legs. With baths, the worst part was always getting in. After a few moments, the body adjusted. I was relieved to have something else to think about, at least for a few minutes. Tears were rolling down my face, but this time I let them. Maybe that was the only way to empty myself and let go.
An hour later I crawled into bed, wearing a large nightgown, a purple-and-yellow one my godmother had sent me last year. She had an obsession with nightgowns.
