So, why did he think about him so much? Remembering stupid crap like the games they’d played when they were kids. And the dumb grin he always had on his face after a day of fishing.
Jack could barely look at an airplane anymore, let alone board one. They’d started touring with a new bus. When they gassed up, he had to stand well away from the pump because he couldn’t stand the smell.
It reminded him too much of airplane fuel.
Man, the coke was hitting him hard, making him sweat and his heart pound. Okay, maybe he’d take it easy at the party. When a knock sounded on the door, he answered it, hoping his groupie would make him forget about his brother for a while.
“Hey,” the girl said, her tits swinging in a clingy T-shirt with no bra. “You ready to party?”
“Yeah,” he said woozily as the coke rush battered his stomach. “Just a minute.”
Leaving her standing there, he rushed to the bathroom to be sick.
* * *
A few days later, Dee drove a motorboat down the Pearl River with Rhonda at her side. They both wore sunglasses and hats, but the hot, blood-red sun making them sweat all day was about to set. Dee wished she’d worn a T-shirt and athletic shorts like her friend, but she’d opted for a denim miniskirt and rose-colored blouse in case she found Rodney.
“Girl, we’ve been through every inch of this swamp,” Rhonda complained. “It’s time to go home.”
“Not quite,” Dee said, but her heart sank in her chest.
Not only had she finally gotten fired for taking this time off, they hadn’t found a trace of Rodney. They must have stopped at every town and houseboat. Each dead end made it more and more likely he was dead.
“Oh, come on. I’ve seen too many Confederate flags to count, some redneck actually shot at us, and an alligator almost bit me in the ass!” She swatted another mosquito. “And I have to get back to my clients.”
Dee slowed the motor. “Okay. Okay. I just want to check along this creek, and that’ll be it.” Literally.
They approached a lone houseboat. A heavy black man with gray hair sat on the deck with a fishing line in the water.
“Well, hello, ladies,” he said with a friendly grin. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re looking for someone,” Dee said. They’d already learned the hard way that saying we’re looking for a man led to all sorts of misinterpretations.
“He’s about yay high,” Rhonda pitched in. “Dark eyes, long dirty-blond hair, and a short beard. Built and sexy, too.”
“He may have changed his appearance,” Dee added. “But he’s Southern, gentlemanly, and can sing.”
Even though she must have given his description a hundred times, she never got tired of reciting it. Maybe she was obsessed and needed her head examined when she went home.
“Uh, no, he ain’t here,” the man said. “No ma’am, ain’t seen anybody like that around here.”
Dee squinted. The way his hand trembled on the fishing rod made her wonder if he was lying. More likely, the description of a big, strong white man made him nervous. At the motel they’d stayed in, she and Rhonda had been told ex-cons loved to take cover in deserted swamps like this one.
“Okay, thanks for your time,” Dee said.
While her chest sank into an endless, yawning, pit, she took her post at the motor and drove the boat back toward the town of Pearl River. The trip to the marina where they’d rented it was short.
“Well, that’s that,” Rhonda said as they disembarked. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. I guess he’s really gone.”
Time to hold her own memorial service for him, in her heart.
* * *
Bubba stepped inside the houseboat’s living quarters and leaned his fishing pole against the wall. “Say, Bill, what did you run in here so fast for?”
Rodney couldn’t stop shivering. Dee. Dee had been here. Looking for him even after he’d been declared dead. He dreamed about her so often he couldn’t help wondering if he was dreaming this, too. What he wouldn’t give to feel her legs—long, soft, and golden-brown—around his waist again. Drown in that rosy scent and sweet lip gloss as he stroked her curls and kissed her.
Knowing she loved him enough to come all the way down here to seek him out broke his heart all over again. Why hadn’t she moved on?
Wait a minute! Jack was supposed to be the dead one, not him. It meant she knew the truth. What a relief. She hadn’t fallen for his imposter of a brother. Knowing her, she’d gone to see him after the crash. His brother probably hadn’t been able to hide his racial hatred for her.
But, if she’d figured out what he was pulling, why hadn’t she told the media? Panic gripped his belly. What if Jack realized she knew his true identity? There was no telling what he’d do if she crossed him.
Dammit. I shouldn’t have hidden from her! I could have at least talked to her. Warned her.
Karen stood before him with her arms folded. “That was her, wasn’t it?”
He nodded while Timothy chanted, “Who? Who?”
“Hush, boy. You sound like an owl.” Karen turned back to Rodney. “If she’s so special, why did you run away from her?”
He wished he knew.
* * *
Jack was back in the Louisiana swamp. Mists rose all around him. No, not mist. Smoke. The dark water at his feet smelled like moss and things long buried. His eyes burned, so he squinted at the figure rising up before him.
A man. With flesh white as bone. Dark tendrils of moss hung on him in sheets. His eyes were dark, too. Round, empty sockets where eyes had once been. Even his golden hair looked muted and tangled.
“No!” Jack yelled. “Don’t come any closer.”
But he did. It did. The thing standing before him was no longer human.
“Rodney,” he whispered.
“You’ve been a bad boy, Jack. Time for
