Page 40 of Black Waters

“What about your dad’s—shit—our dad’s debt?”

He actually chuckled. “Link, have some faith in my cre-a-ti-vity, ’cause I’m, uh, kind of tied up at the moment. Don’t really have the time to discuss details with you, dumbass.”

That made me smile and feel optimistic. If Crash could poke fun or make a joke, I figured our situation couldn’t be as bad as I had originally thought.

“Besides,” Crash said with ease, “me and my ’nappers have a deal worked out.”

“Okay. I won’t interfere, but I will be watching over her.”

“That’s what I’m counting on. Make me proud, little brother.”

Again, his mature side peeked through. At that moment I was—and knew I would always be—Crash’s little brother. “I will.”

The phone went dead.

I kissed Constance’s tombstone. “Thank you, beautiful. That was the sign I needed. I’ve got to go and save Crash and Whit.” I took off to do just that.

Mom hugged me. “So they will get what they want and leave my boys alone?”

It’s quite amazing what you’ll hear when that’s what you want to believe. Mom and I danced in denial while writing our own song. “Crash said they have a deal worked out.”

The only one not on board was my dad. “This doesn’t sound right, Reeth.”

My shoulders shrugged. “Any other suggestions?”

Looking frustrated and disappointed, he answered, “No, unfortunately.”

With my dad’s binoculars, my parents and I looked like amateur criminals, lying in our backyard, on our stomachs in the bushes, watching over Whitney’s house from across the lake. “Jesus, she’s just sitting in the dark. I need to go and talk to her.”

My parents didn’t know that Whit and I had had our first kiss and that I had caused this unusual behavior. No lights were on as she sat on the couch, staring at nothing.

“Don’t. You. Move.”

“Mom, please. She looks destroyed.”

“My son’s life is on the line for her. Her depressed state concerns me not at all.”

“Reether,” Dad said, “this is no child’s play. Stay put.”

Off to the side of her property, I saw movement. My father must have seen it too because his binoculars quickly pointed in that direction. “They have him.” He quickly pushed my mother’s binoculars down to obstruct her view.

When, through my binoculars, I saw Crash’s limp body over a shoulder, I understood why. Crash looked like he’d taken some fists to the face. Whit’s mental condition quickly lost precedence. He was bloody and partially unconscious with his tied hands hanging in front of him. I locked eyes with Dad. Mom, who lay between us, watching our silent talking, nodded and set her binoculars on the ground, not wanting to see whatever had her husband and son so spooked.

Along the lake, five men walked the length of Whit’s yard and then to the end of her boat dock, putting them in perfect view for us. With every step they took, my anger built, partly at Crash, now that I knew he’d lied about the severity of the situation, but mostly at myself for believing him and the lie I’d been telling myself.

As Crash’s motionless body was crudely tossed onto the wooden planks of Whit’s dock, Mom tried to rise and go defend her son. Dad and I quickly subdued her. We couldn’t interfere, fearing more repercussions to Crash. It was awful, but Crash was already hurt and unconscious—now the game had to be played out according to his wishes, or his present state would be in vain.

Mom’s forehead hit the ground as she silently prayed into the dirt. You didn’t need binoculars to see how badly Crash had been beaten.

Looking through the binoculars again, I watched inside Whit’s home while my dad watched the men with Crash. Whit was still motionless as her life was being plotted against without her knowledge. I suddenly realized Crash was right. We should have clued her in to her fate. When seeing the situation as a whole, it seemed so unfair to leave her from the decision-making process. Another regret to live with and wonder if it would’ve changed what was to come.

“Making a call,” Dad said about a man with Crash.

Just then, Whit answered her cell, looking annoyed. I inhaled deeply, knowing she probably thought it was me and still unaware of the tragic circumstance I had personally placed her in. After saying something into the phone, her expression changed so significantly that guilt raced through my whole body. Her body began to tremble.

I quietly begged, “Do what they say, baby. Don’t be stubborn Whit tonight.” Her eyes closed as she deeply inhaled then nodded. My exhale was one of pure relief. “Good girl. Good girl.” Whit was going to do whatever they asked of her. That meant I could focus on getting Crash through that night alive.

Whitney suddenly stood, looking terrified in the dark. She stared at her cell in disbelief. The man on the dock’s shoulders bounced as if he were laughing.