Maybe it was the hour, but the terrain felt jarring this time. Even as I respected the marshland. Even as I knew it well and braved what lurked.
As my shoes crunched over the thick moss, it no longer transported me back to my youth. No, in my mind, I could only see Anya’s face.
Those memories of what had happened before all those years ago, fading. What had once held a visceral revulsion with this stank smell that had made me gag now held no power over me.
Though I still had to fight against the foliage to get to the location I’d agreed to meet her in the text she’d sent:
“Cassius, I need to see you. Where’s the gold?”
“I hid it in the swamp,” I’d answered.
“Meet me there.”
“Where we met before? At the edge where Stephen once took me. The place I showed you?”
“I remember.”
Anya had changed the way I felt about this place.
Now I could see the beauty of the marshland. In turn, I’d hoped to change her mind about it, too. Maybe even lift some of the fear off this place.
She wasn’t here, however. My body didn’t need her here to remember how she’d made me feel.
How she’d comforted me.
How she’d helped me.
She changed me completely that night.
A night much like this—with all the familiarity of a Louisiana aura. The landscape was draping the trees in endless moss. I knew this marshland well because I had played here as a boy. Over there, I’d fished for largemouth bass. Harkening back to the days a teenager had once found adventure here—but all that had been snatched away.
The squawk of a bird drew me back to why I was here. The call of a heron, maybe?
Retracing my steps, I headed toward the boat we’d left that day. The same one we’d promised to come back to soon.
The same place Stephen had brought me all those years ago. I found the small motorboat where we’d tethered it to a cypress tree. The clearing up ahead was a good place to wait.
Unzipping the duffel bag, I revealed what lay within the fabric, then flung it unceremoniously into the base of the boat. It creaked against the weight of the bars.
Checking my watch for the millionth time.
Scanning the swampland with that glare of my torchlight. Over the bracken, over the dark, murky waters, the shine of Spanish moss reflecting. The glint of silver eyes, the sound of scurrying, of hiding away.
Anya, it’s going to be okay.
I needed her to listen while I explained how I had changed. How I would give up this bloodlust for her. I would do anything for Anya.
Time slowed.
The soft melody of the swamp my only company. Insects buzzing and the water rippling, the creaking of the boat. An insect bite on my forearm was easy enough to ignore.
We could live a new life. One in which the past no longer haunted us. It would be an opportunity to carve out a fresh beginning.
Lost in my own thoughts, I was eager for this to be over.
The familiar crunch of the wet grassland breaking beneath steps sounded, emanating from the movement of heavy soles.
His steps.
I turned quickly, and as expected, Stephen stepped out into the opening with his gun drawn. His flashlight in his other hand. I raised my arm to shield my eyes from the glare. Both of us lowering our flashlights in a temporary showdown.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, his voice breaking above the marsh song. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Back there!” He pointed toward where I’d parked. “You were meant to meet her back there.”
“You should have been clearer when you pretended to be her texting.”
A slow, steady smile rose on his smug face.
I had made peace with dying long ago. When surrounded by so much death, it’s easy to familiarize yourself with it. It’s grooves and fissures, its easy nature, the way it lulls and seduces. The way it selfishly takes and takes and takes.
This, on the day of my death, all the sweeter for knowing I’d saved Anya. And her brother, too.
“You don’t look surprised to see me,” he sneered.
“Nice night for an evening stroll,” I said casually.
“Well, I’m happy you joined me. Seems we have a lot to discuss.” His eyes scanned the landscape. He looked scared but then again, he preferred the city.
“We have a lot to talk about,” I began.
“Not really. All we have to talk about is you dying.”
“And your gold.”
“Fuck the gold.”
My head shook back and forth as I tsked. “Come now, you wouldn’t even still be talking to me if you didn’t care about the gold, now would you?”
I had him. I could see it from the way his eye twitched and his greedy mouth gaped like one of those crawfish I’d once caught—before placing it back and letting it live.