Alex stepped into the airboat. “There might be a full thermos in my backpack, but you’re going to have to earn it.”
Holt pushed the boat from the dock and jumped in with a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He leaned over, preparing to kiss her.
Alex put one hand on his chest to stop him. “Not like that.”
“That used to be the way I earned things.”
“The price has increased. Inflation, you know?”
He raised one eyebrow. “I guess that’s what happens when things age.”
Before Alex could retort, he started the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat. Alex turned around and looked over the bow of the boat as Holt took off from the dock. She waved at a couple of fishermen as they made their way up the channel from the dock. At the end of the channel, where the fisherman turned left to the open waters of the lake, Holt turned right into the narrow bayous and inlets that led deeper into the swamp.
Holt slowed as they progressed through the tiny channels, the edges of the airboat sometimes scraping the bank on both sides. It was denser than Alex remembered. Moss clung to almost every branch of the cypress trees that created a canopy over the bayou. The deeper into the swamp they went, the more dim the light became until it seemed almost as if twilight had come, even though it wasn’t yet seven a.m.
The darkness seemed to set upon her like a wet blanket, weighing her down and making breathing more difficult. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it slowly out. She’d known that coming here again would affect her, but she’d underestimated by how much. She’d spent a lot of years in New Orleans concentrating on her education and then her practice. And even more years trying to put the swamps of Mystere Parish out of her mind. Apparently, it had been wasted time. It seemed that for every hundred yards they moved deeper into the swamp, she could feel her heartbeat kick up just a bit.
Alex glanced back at Holt and the grim look on his face didn’t help calm her at all. For more reasons than one, he probably regretted agreeing to do this. If he hadn’t known how absolutely bull-headed Sarah could be, Alex knew, he wouldn’t have agreed at all. But checking it out himself was preferable to forming a search party to look for Sarah, who would walk on hot coals to save her daughter.
Holt cut off the engine and Alex looked back at him. “Is something wrong?”
He pulled a cane pole from the bottom of the boat and began to push the boat down the channel. “We’re almost there. I didn’t figure I should announce our approach with a turbine, even though the sound has probably carried for miles.”
Alex nodded as the smell of mud and rotting foliage hit her. The blanket of decaying water lilies was the only indication of the water beneath, and the brush from the bank met the water’s edge, giving the appearance of a solid surface of brown and yellow. The sunlight was almost gone completely, leaving them to push farther into the darkness.
As they rounded a corner, Holt pointed to a dilapidated pier, almost hidden behind cattails and marsh grass. Alex gripped her seat with both hands trying to slow her racing heart.
The dolls.
She thought she’d prepared herself for coming to the island again, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. The dolls had always littered the island, attached to every tree branch and post—some of them just resting on the ground. Some said the witch woman placed the dolls there to attract the children she sacrificed. Some said the dolls had been blessed and placed there by the villagers, hoping to imprison the witch in the swamp forever.
Alex didn’t know the truth and doubted anyone else did, either. What she did know is that the dolls scared the hell out of her. Sitting, dangling … in various states of rot and decay. Torn dresses and pants. Some missing parts. But all of them with one thing in common—the eyes were intact.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes, watching them as they drew closer to the bank.
Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes. Each one following their every movement.
Alex drew in a ragged breath and slowly blew it out. She had to focus. Finding Erika was her only priority. All her fears and thoughts of the past could wait until she was locked safely inside her townhome back in New Orleans.
Without a doll in sight.
Holt guided the boat to the side of the pier until it made contact with the bank. At one time, there had been a path from this pier to the old woman’s cabin, but Alex could barely make out a trail now. Clearly, no one passed this way often.
“Are you ready?” Holt asked when the boat rested against the bank.
Alex nodded, unable to trust her voice at the moment. She rose from her seat, lifting her backpack as she went. She walked to the front of the boat, ready to step onto the bank, then stopped cold.
On the lowest branch of a cypress tree directly in front of her sat a blond doll in a blue dress, just like the doll Sarah had found in Erika’s room. Just like the doll she’d never wanted to see again. But unlike the doll Erika had, this doll was old and weathered, the blue dress hanging in tatters on the pale body. The blond hair matted and twisted around the doll’s body.
And this doll’s eyes were closed.
Alex felt her pulse racing in her temples. She took another deep breath and before she could change her mind, stepped onto the bank. The instant her foot made contact with the ground, the doll’s eyes flew open.
“Oh!” Alex choked back a cry and stepped back, bumping into Holt who had moved to the front of the boat, just behind her.
Holt caught her by the shoulders, steadying her before she lost her balance in the rocking boat. The doll stared at her, its bright blue eyes seeming to look straight through her and into her soul.
“What’s wrong?” Holt asked, his voice low.
“The doll. It opened its eyes when I stepped on the bank.”
She looked back at him, certain of the incredulous look she’d find on his face, but instead, he stared intently at the doll.
“It was probably just vibration from your step. When I docked the boat the eyes loosened a bit, and your footstep was the final shake it took for them to open.”
His words made complete sense, but Alex got the impression that even Holt wasn’t quite buying his explanation. He just didn’t have a better one.
“Let’s get this over with,” Alex said and stepped onto the bank, deliberately looking past the doll. But as she walked past the cypress tree, she could feel its eyes upon her.
Holt stepped out of the boat, pausing only long enough to pull his pistol from the waistband of his jeans, then stepped in front of her. “Stay close. If you see or hear anything odd, grab the back of my shirt but don’t talk. Okay?”
Alex nodded and fell in step behind him as he pushed deeper into the dense undergrowth. The light diminished gradually until it had all but vanished and a thin mist rose from the mossy ground. Despite the cool fall temperature, a sheen of sweat formed quickly on her brow, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. The humidity was high today because of the approaching storm. Damp leaves from the dense foliage brushed against her bare arms, making her flinch. She pushed spiderwebs out of her way as they passed, but could still feel the remnants tickling her bare skin.
The air seemed thicker, the swamp completely devoid of the noises one would expect to hear. The sound of hers and Holt’s footsteps crunching dead marsh grass echoed in the still air. Alex peered around Holt’s shoulder, trying to make out a path or structure, but all she saw was more swamp.
All of a sudden, Holt stopped short and she bumped into his back. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
He reached up and moved a sheet of moss from his field of vision and scanned the swamp from left to right. Finally, he shook his head. “I thought I saw