The Whispering Room

Her head throbbed, too, and she thought of her mother, lying helpless on her own living room floor. She thought of J.D., missing from his crib, and an image of his little face materialized behind her closed eyelids. His sweet, innocent smile. The eyes that looked so much like Johnny’s. How could she ever have doubted her love for that baby? Her need to find him and protect him was like a raging wildfire inside her chest.

She had to find a way out. She couldn’t allow herself to remain frozen by terror. Her son needed her. She was all he had left.

And he was all she had left.

Hold on, J.D. I’m coming, baby.

Evangeline lay very still and tried to work out a plan. Would it be better to spring quickly to her feet or take the slow approach?

She had no idea. She wasn’t even sure she could move quickly, given her injury and the numbness in her arms and legs. She flexed her muscles to try and warm them up.

Bracing herself, she counted to three, then leaped to her feet, jumped over the sheriff’s body and let panic hurl her up the steps.

Too terrified to think about what might wait for her beyond the door, she seized the knob and twisted, then threw her shoulder against it. When that didn’t work, she tried to kick it open, but the lock held and she turned to frantically scan her surroundings as she stood shivering at the top of the steps.

She was trapped.

The only other way out was the window, and even if she could wade through the water without getting bit, the opening was too high for her to reach.

Her gaze lit on the body at the bottom of the steps. She needed to search through Thibodaux’s pockets, see if she could find something with which she could jimmy the door.

But that meant going back into the water.

That meant wading through all those sinewy bodies.

Slowly, she went down the stairs, put one foot into the foul-smelling water and then the other, telling herself the snakes were as afraid of her as she was them. Not moccasins, though. They were very territorial. How many times had she heard stories of how they would turn and come at you if they felt threatened?

She first checked for his weapon, but he wasn’t wearing a holster. Made sense, since he wasn’t in uniform. Evangeline searched through the pocket nearest her, then reached across his body and slipped her hand into the water. Something cold touched her wrist and she waited a beat, then slid her hand in farther.

Nothing.

Fighting off another wave of terror and frustration, Evangeline started to turn back to the stairs. Then a memory came floating up through that black fog of fear. What was it Thibodaux had told her that first day in his office when she’d noticed the ankle holster on his desk? “Even off duty, I don’t ever go out into the swamp unarmed.”

Carefully, easing herself through the water, she reached under his pant leg, terrified that a snake might come slithering out. Instead, she felt the soft nylon of his holster, and a moment later, she had the small .38 special in her hand.

Eyeing the water around her, she turned and sprinted toward the steps. At the top, she stood back from the door and fired three shots into the lock, splintering the wood enough so that she could kick open the door. It took her several tries, but finally she was through.

Gripping the gun, she walked through the cabin and out the front door. The sheriff’s SUV and her car had been brought here from the Lemay house.

Evangeline ran down the steps and checked inside each vehicle, praying the keys would be inside.

They weren’t.

Helplessly, she surveyed her surroundings. There was nothing but woods and swamp all around her. She had no idea where she was, and for a moment, succumbed to the panic and terror clawing at her lungs. Where was she? Where was J.D.?

She couldn’t bear to think about what might have already happened. What she had let happen.

But it was important not to dwell on that. She had to blot out the images racing through her head. Her baby at the mercy of a madwoman…

Please, please let me find him. Please let him be okay.

A path at the edge of the yard led back into the woods. Into a trap for all Evangeline knew, but what other choice did she have?

As she hurried through the trees, mosquitoes swarmed her face and nettles tore at her skin. By the time the path ended, the flesh on her arms was raw and bleeding and she was hopelessly lost.

She bent down, hands on knees, gulping air as her breath came in sobs.

Then, through the maddening drone of the mosquitoes came the distant tinkle of a wind chime.

A wind chime!

She’d heard it the day before through the broken upstairs window of the Lemay house.

She was close.

No more than a hundred yards away, if that.

All she had to do was follow the sound.

Ten minutes later, she was back in the clearing. Another two minutes had her crossing the yard toward the house.