Part 5 (1/2)

The people around her-whoever they had been-were people like her.

Like her.

The phrase echoed in her mind. How could they have been people like her? She'd never met anyone like herself before, never known anyone who shared the lonely inner emptiness that had always pervaded her.

But now, as she looked back at the wilderness, she had a compelling feeling that somewhere, lost in the tangle of growth, she'd found other beings like herself.

Yet there were no clear memories of anything. The fragments in her mind seemed nothing more than remnants of a dream.

She started across the footbridge, but came to a sudden stop as she heard the wail of a siren. She listened, frozen, as the sound grew. Had her parents called the police? They couldn't have-she wasn't that that late. late.

Unconsciously, she held her breath until the sound began to recede. Letting her lungs collapse in a sigh of relief, she ran across the bridge and started back to her grandfather's house, already searching for a story that would cover her lateness.

A few minutes later she opened the back door and stepped inside. From the den she could hear her parents' voices, still talking with her grandfather. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could slip up to her room and, if anyone came looking for her, claim that she'd been there for nearly an hour. But as she pa.s.sed the open door to the den, her mother called out to her.

”Kelly?”

Kelly went to the door, bracing herself for the tirade. But her mother was only looking at her anxiously. ”Honey? Are you all right? We were starting to get worried.”

Kelly hesitated, then suddenly found herself blurting out the truth. ”I'm sorry. I just lost track of time. All of a sudden it was dark, and I wasn't anywhere near home.”

To her surprise, neither of her parents said anything, neither of them pointed out that she'd broken her promise to be back before nightfall. They simply accepted her words. In the silence that followed, Kelly found herself once again speaking with no forethought. ”I like it here,” she said. ”I'm glad we came.”

After Kelly went up to her room above the garage, Ted gazed questioningly at his wife. ”Well, what do you think? Did we do the right thing?”

It was his father rather than his wife who answered him. ”Of course you did,” the older man said. ”Kelly's exactly where she belongs. If you ask me, this is just what the doctor ordered.”

Michael Sheffield's boat slipped silently around a bend in the bayou, gently b.u.mping into the dock at the tour headquarters. He dropped the mooring line over the cleat, but instead of getting out of the boat, remained where he was, staring at the bucket of frogs.

There were half a dozen of them in the bucket.

Half a dozen-all of them dead.

And he'd been gone almost an hour and a half.

It was fully dark now, and Michael gazed around, feeling puzzled. Puzzled, and frightened.

This had happened before.

There had been many times when he'd gone out into the wetlands, intent only on exploring, and lost track of time. Over and over, when he'd come home, his mother had been waiting for him, demanding to know what he'd been doing. ”Just looking around,” he'd invariably told her. ”I wasn't lost or anything.”

”You said you'd only be gone an hour!” his mother would protest. ”For heaven's sake, Michael, you know how dangerous it is out there.”

”But I wasn't in any trouble,” Michael would insist. ”I always knew where I was.”

Which was almost the truth, for often, when the mysteries of the swamp would close around him and time would begin to telescope in upon itself, he would find himself sinking into a world of his own, only to come out of his reverie in a completely different place from where he had begun.

Never a strange place, never an unfamiliar place.

Simply a different place from where he'd started.

He'd never told his parents about that, certain that if they were aware of his unconscious wanderings in the swamp, they would forbid him to go into it again.

Besides, nothing had ever happened to him. He'd always come out of his daydreams, packed up whatever specimens he'd collected, and gone home.

And he'd certainly never killed anything he'd collected.

He got out of the boat, tied off the stern line, then, still uncertain about what had happened to the frogs, emptied the bucket into the water. The dead frogs floated on the surface and slowly began drifting away.

The night was hot and humid, and a full moon flooded the clearing in which the tour headquarters lay. Still wondering about the frogs, and knowing he was already late getting home, he moved quickly through the darkness, checking the animal cages one last time.

The large terrarium containing the water moccasins was locked, and the other snake tanks were securely fastened shut.

In the alligator enclosure the three large reptiles that comprised the exhibit lay half out of the water, their eyes, glittering in the moonlight, fixed on him. As he approached the fence, two of them raised their heads, making tentative motions forward.

Michael shook his head. ”Not tonight, guys. You've had plenty to eat. You don't want to get fat, do you?”

The 'gators bobbed menacingly up and down, but as Michael turned away, they settled back down into the mud. A moment later one of them slithered into the pond, cruising silently just below the surface, only its nostrils and eyes disturbing the stillness of the water.

Michael came to the nutria cages, flicking on his flashlight to check the water and food containers. One of the females, the mother of the pups, whom Michael had named Martha, came over to sniff at him through the wire mesh. Switching the light off and sliding it into his hip pocket, Michael unlocked the cage door and picked the little creature up. She nestled into his hands, and he raised her up to rub her soft fur against his cheek.

”Not so bad, is it, Martha?” he whispered. ”Plenty of food and water, and n.o.body to hurt you. A lot better than being turned into a coat, huh?”

Then, as he held the little rodent close, a new sound drifted out of the night.

A siren, rising in the distance, abruptly silenced the droning of the insects.

Michael froze, listening.

The scream of the siren rose, dropped, then rose again. His pulse quickening, Michael moved away from the nutria cages, closer to the road.

As the wailing grew, he could see the flas.h.i.+ng red and blue lights of a police car coming toward him.

His body went rigid, an icy chill pa.s.sing through him as the car approached.

He realized he was holding his breath, every muscle in his body growing more tense by the second.

The car pa.s.sed.

The sirens began to fade away.

Slowly, the tension drained from Michael's body. For the first time he became aware of the pounding in his chest.

Inexplicably, the approach of the police car had terrified him.

Why? He'd done nothing wrong-he'd never been in any trouble with the police in his life.