MUD AND RAIN
When Joel Hines finally ran out of patience, he dropped the woman from the end of the pier, feet first, straight into the mud flats exposed by the low tide. She sank into the mud up to her waist.
The second woman who remained on the pier let out a muffled scream. The duct tape had something to do with that. He smiled appreciatively. He had bound her hands and feet tight enough to keep her from doing much more than curling into a fetal position.
Her long dark hair obscured one side of her face, and her ankle-length, sheer white cotton dress was scrunched up around her knees. He’d thought he might duct tape her to the old rusting folding chair on the pier, but decided she didn’t need to be comfortable in any way.
Witch, he thought. Goddamn witch.
His truck and fifth wheel sat at the top of a bluff overlooking the ocean. He liked that he could come and go with it whenever he wanted—squat for a while without anyone giving him a hard time. It was quiet out here. Sometimes, tourists drove by and checked the view. The pier at the bottom of the bluff had been there for years on a foundation of rocks and gravel in the middle of the mudflats. The pier extended past it, so when the tide was out, as it was this morning, nothing but mud lay beyond. He wondered who had taken the time to build the pier, and why.
The woman stuck in the mud tried to scream, but Hines had duct taped her mouth as well, and her whining protests sounded like a wounded animal.
He yelled down at her, brandishing the knife he’d used to carve some symbols into her flesh. Blood ran down her face from several of the cuts. “No one’s going to hear you, Serena darling.” He crouched low and smiled. It was getting dark, and he had a little trouble seeing her down there. “Now don’t you wish your friend had reconsidered? Don’t you wish you’d at least told her what I wanted? Helped out a little bit? I can be a nice guy. You could have handed over the box of Moss, given me a little respect, and I would have killed you quickly.”
He grew more desperate for the Moss—the magicked drugs he’d been given at his weakest—as his power waned.
If he didn’t have his power, the darkness would completely overtake him. The witch understood; she was like him, even if she wouldn’t take Moss unless absolutely necessary. You didn’t just run out and buy Moss from a dealer.
“The tide’s coming in,” Hines said to the woman on the pier, but loud enough so that the other woman in the mud could hear him. “The water’s rising. Serena will have water to her shoulders, neck, chin. Soon she’ll go under. Way under.” He cocked his head to one side, then adjusted his Olympic Rainforest baseball cap, turning it just slightly askew. “What do you think? Do you think you might tell me where the Moss is? What do you say? Do you want to live?”
Hines raised an eyebrow when she mumbled something through the duct tape.
“What?” he asked, putting a hand to an ear. “What?”
The woman nodded at him.
Yes, she knew. She’d tell him where, the witch. She’d tell him, then he’d chain her to one of the pilings. Probably have to chance leaving the fifth wheel on the bluff and take the truck and search. Make sure the Moss was where she said it was. Then, during the next low tide, he’d come back to the pier, unchain her, and toss her into the mud, too, next to the other, who’d already be dead. Neither of the women had given him any respect. None whatsoever. Without Moss, he had no way to gain his own respect, or light the way to redemption and healing. Mother, I’m coming for you.
He bent, pulled her to her knees. She moaned a little, then looked at him with dark brown eyes. A deep bruise had formed on her cheek where he’d hit her earlier to shut her up. Muffled screams continued in the mud below. He wished she’d die already.
He straightened and put his hands on his hips. He looked out over the ocean bay and took a deep breath. The sun, on a collision course with the edge of the world, had turned the sky orange and red. The smell of saltwater invigorated him. He exhaled and smiled. The coming darkness would give him a distinct advantage over her if things got out of hand.
“My God, it’s a beautiful world we live in, Kachina. Too beautiful even for the likes of you.” He looked back at her. “If you lie to me, I will whittle you away with a knife and drop pieces of you into the ocean.” He ripped off the duct tape, and there was a slight redness around her mouth. “Tell me. Now.”
The young woman didn’t answer him. Instead, she sang. It started in the back of her throat, like her earlier moaning, but grew louder, as if someone were turning up the volume on a radio. She was singing something he didn’t recognize. No words. Her voice was dark and rich, the sound seemingly all around him. He didn’t like it. The music made him nervous; the witch’s voice was too damned melodic, too chant-like, a handful of notes rising higher and higher. He’d heard her sing in town. Watched her dance and sway.
“Shut up,” he said, his words growling at the back of his throat. “Goddamn witch, shut up.”
She didn’t.
And the rain began.
“No, no, no,” he said, looking up at the sky. “Stop!”
The rain poured from the sky, battered the wooden slats of the pier, and drenched Hines. He searched the pier for the piece of duct tape he tore off the witch, but couldn’t find it. It must have gone over the edge into the mud. The music hurt his ears. If he’d been at his greatest power, he’d have thrown some wind at her and blown her off the pier. Weak as he was, he should just kill her the old-fashioned way, right now. He could keep looking for the Moss on his own. The box was close by, away from the ocean, but she couldn’t have had time to hide it well. He’d find it. Better to chance it than listen to the witch sing.
He shook his knife at her and walked closer, but she only intensified her singing, scrambling backwards on her knees, away from him. The rain had made the pier slick. He kicked her side, hoping that would shut her up. He couldn’t kill her yet; he needed her. He flicked his knife across her forehead and barely caught the flesh, making a thin red line that curved downward.
She didn’t miss a beat and kept backing up.
“There’s nowhere to go,” he said. “Just forget it.”
Her feet reached the end of the pier and dangled over the edge. She stopped moving but sang loud and confidently as he dropped down on his knees in front of her.
“Last chance,” he said, wincing from the rain slashing across his face, the shrill singing pounding at his ears. He pushed the tip of the knife against her throat. “Stop it. Stop it now.”
She sang louder, the notes rising, rising, rising. The thin cut on her forehead stood out like a frown.
He spat the words at her. “Stop. Now.”
And miraculously, the singing stopped.
The rain stopped too.
Joel Hines sighed. Closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them, the woman stared at him, her wide, dark brown eyes so much like a deer’s, studying him as if he held the key to something enormously important. But he knew better. He knew the rest of the world meant absolutely nothing to her.
Rainwater trickled down her face. An instant later, in front of his eyes, the young woman vanished.