Page 147 of The Reformatory

But Robbie did not move or jump. As if he had been waiting.

“Here, doggie doggie doggie!” a deep, languid voice taunted—a voice she had never heard but knew as well as the song in her head. Then she saw Haddock, abnormally tall, wearing a western-style hat that made him look like every slave catcher from Mama’s history lessons. She might have met him in her nightmares long before this terrible day.

Haddock was limping on the bank, pulled forward by a black-and-brown bloodhound that was squirming with excitement because it had tracked his target. Gloria dug into her pocket to pull out her gun. Haddock was too far to shoot with her little .22—and besides, with Robbie standing in the center of the creek, she might hit him by accident—but Gloria didn’t see a weapon at first and hoped Haddock was not armed. Maybe she wouldn’t have to shoot him. She could surprise Haddock from her hiding place and wrest control away from him.

“I got you now, boy!” Haddock called out. “Quit running before you get hurt!”

Something in Haddock’s right hand gleamed in the golden sunlight. A gun! And much bigger than hers, from the shine. Haddock was hiding the gun from Robert’s view, but Gloria saw it when he turned slightly to the side as he made a careful approach to the edge of the water.

Why didn’t Robbie run? Why didn’t he seem afraid? The water was shallow, but even if he dove down, Haddock would not have a good shot at him and Gloria might get lucky. The other barking dogs seemed much closer, picking up speed, but so far Haddock was alone—

Except he wasn’t. A panting Negro man with a rifle caught up to Haddock and stood a few feet behind him when Haddock raised his gun hand to signal that he should stop. The Negro man eyed Haddock’s gun warily, keeping his rifle pointed at the ground.

“I do believe,” Haddock said to Robbie, his voice almost friendly, “that you broke into my office and took some things that don’t belong to you, son.” Robbie finally moved, turning away from the bank to face Haddock, his back to Gloria just when she’d been ready to try to signal to him that he wasn’t alone. “I don’t know who told you dogs can’t track in water, but it isn’t quite true.”

“I broke your jar,” Robbie said with a confidence that shocked her. “I set those haints free.”

“Did you, now?” Haddock said, taking only one slow step forward despite the bloodhound’s frantic pulling. “Then you must be real proud of yourself. Where’s my envelope?”

“Does he know what’s in it?” Robbie said, pointing to the Negro man.

“I don’t share my private belongings with just anyone,” Haddock said. One more step, until the water reached above both ankles. “I think you know that, Robert. Why would I tell everyone my business? I only told you because you’re special. Boone was right about you.”

“He’s a killer!” Robert shouted to the Negro man behind Haddock. “He killed his baby sister! He takes photos of all the kids he’s hurt. That’s what he wants, so I won’t show them!”

Haddock looked back at the Negro man as if they were sharing a joke. But even at a distance through the spindly plants, Gloria could see the sober concern in the Negro man’s face.

“Quite an imagination you’ve got there,” Haddock said, grinning back at Robbie.

“Robert,” the Negro man said, pleading. “Don’t talk back! Don’t put up a fight. Just give the superintendent what he’s looking for. Settle the rest later.”

Gloria knew his voice: it was Mrs. Hamilton’s brother, the one named Percy who had come to her house! Gloria longed to call out to him. He had a gun too, and if she could think of the right words, she could pull him to her side, the two of them against Haddock. Papa had helped their family! Gloria’s lungs heaved as she tried to decide if it was smarter to act—or to wait for a more perfect moment. If Robbie had stolen something Haddock wanted badly enough, he might not kill Robbie until he had it back. Robbie must have hidden the envelope he’d taken; his hands were empty.

“You hear that, Robert? Mister Crutcher here is talking good sense.” One more step, then two. Haddock was striding into the creek, less than twenty-five feet from Robbie. The dog was within fifteen feet of Robbie at the edge of his leash, trying to swim toward him since he could no longer run. The dog whined, frustrated, almost like he wanted to play. Robbie took a small step away from the dog, his first sign of fear. The water rippled gently around him, the wavy circles reaching the dog and then Haddock, enfolding them all.

“He set the fire in 1920!” Robert yelled to Crutcher. “He’s got photos of all the—” Gloria’s intuition showed her what would happen seconds before life imitated her vision, so she was suppressing a cry before Haddock turned to Crutcher with his gun raised and an explosion ripped through the woods. Crutcher grabbed at his chest with a muffled yell, more of surprise than pain, before he dropped his rifle and curled to the ground on the creek’s bank. He didn’t stir an inch. The distant barking grew frantic. Haddock’s dog yelped, startled, wading in a confused circle back toward Haddock.

“Now you see what you’ve gone and made me do?” Haddock said, voice still languid as he turned back to Robbie.

Robbie was the only one who screamed.

The worst of the worst of the worst, Blue had said about Haddock, but that hadn’t prepared Robert for the rose bloom of blood on Crutcher’s white shirt after Haddock had shot him. Mrs. Hamilton had lost her husband and now her brother too, and it was Blue’s fault. If he hadn’t listened to Blue, he might be at the railroad trestle by now instead of only feet away from Haddock and his gun that stank of killing. Every path he took with Blue meant walking past someone else’s dying.

Robert hated for Haddock to see tears in his eyes, but he couldn’t hold them back. “You’ve got a big mouth, Robert. This is what happens when you say things you shouldn’t,” Haddock said. He almost sounded sad about it. “That’s a good worker lying dead on the ground because you talk too much. That social worker from the state said you got done wrong by the judge, and I’ll confess he had me wondering about it my own self. But it turns out you’re a thief after all, like the rest of these dumb monkeys and swamp trash. And a liar. We had a deal, Robert. We toasted it, and anyone knows a toast is as good as a handshake. I’d say even better. Don’t you remember our deal? You’d catch the haints; I’d let you go.”

Robert sobbed. He still hated himself for toasting with Haddock and agreeing to be his haint catcher to help Haddock cover the wrong he had done.

Haddock went on: “But that isn’t what you did, is it? You and your slick-mouthed friend Redbone made it into a game—”

“Shut up!”

“You had to know I wasn’t going to let that pass,” Haddock said. “You had to know you would pay the piper. So tell me where you put my photo collection and I’ll let you die quick. If you don’t tell me… when those dog boys find us—and you can hear ’em on their way—those leashes are gonna slip loose. Whoops! Have you ever seen somebody who got chewed up by a dog? Not a bite: I mean chewed down to the bone. I do believe Scout’s palate has developed a taste for stupid boys. You’re gonna taste real good to Scout, Robert. There’s no good way to die except maybe in your sleep, but no one since the beginning of time wants to get eaten alive.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Robbie said. After the Reformatory, he doubted he could ever be scared of a new thing again.

“Really?” Haddock said, wading another foot closer. “I think you ought to be, and you know why? You’re plenty smart, I’ll give you that. But you’re not as clever as you think you are. You made a mistake with that Vaseline: it didn’t hold off Colonel here at all.” At the sound of his name, the dog whined and wriggled against his leash, trying to reach Robert again. “You made a mistake with the creek—because here we are: you, me, and Colonel. And you got yourself good and wet, so I can see straight through your shirt. It’s all black skin except for one square spot right across your belly. So I’m gonna guess that’s where you hid my envelope. I’m fairly certain I can see the edges poking against that thin cotton. Ain’t that right?”

Robert didn’t answer, but Haddock had spotted the envelope he’d hidden: Blue had advised him to toss away the satchel and hide the envelope from sight to buy him time, since Haddock had a sickness and would not be satisfied until his photographs were in his hands again.