At the Edge of the Water

“Modestus,” Rosita grumbled, “tonto, you’re barely touching your food. How are you supposed to track down Smiley on an empty stomach?”

I sat across from Rosita at a table outside the Lambert Inn, my legs stretched out as I picked at the remains of my dinner. The cicadas were loud, like they had something urgent to say, but I couldn’t find it in myself to give a damn. My mind was on Kevin Smiley.

I glanced up at her and gave a half-hearted shrug. She was lookin’ at me with those dark eyes of hers. Her face was sharp, strong with high cheekbones and a mouth that could turn cruel or kind in a heartbeat. Sturdy with broad shoulders, she’d survived more than her share of hardship. It showed in the way she carried herself, ready for whatever the territory would throw at her.

“Just thinkin’,” I muttered, taking another bite of refritos even though I had no appetite.

“Thinking too much with that brain of yours is going to kill you,” she smirked. Something behind her words made me pause. It wasn’t a joke, not this time. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “With those folks that have gone missing, you know as well as I do that something’s wrong.”

“I’ve got it handled.”

“People are saying that they’re hearing crying outside of their windows at night. It’s almost like Smiley’s luring people outside with wailing, like someone’s being murdered… or crying, maybe? They think someone’s in danger, and then they vanish. Some people say the shrieks are… well… not Smiley’s doing.”

I stiffened but forced out a laugh. “If people stopped believing in shit made up by old women to scare misbehaving toddlers, they’d be fine. Ghost stories won’t keep Smiley from slittin’ our throats in our sleep. You know that as well as I do, Rosita. This needs to be taken seriously.”

Rosita didn’t flinch, just kept starin’ at me with an unmatched intensity. “I know what I’ve heard, and when people get that scared, they don’t lie. Either he’s cruel and enjoys toying with people, or it’s something more.”

I opened my mouth to argue with her when somethin’ moved at the edge of my vision. I glanced past Rosita, toward the shadows just beyond the reach of the light from the inn. For a split second, I saw her—a woman standin’ by the trees, her figure pale and white against the black brush. Her hair hung in damp ropes over her face, and though I couldn’t see her eyes, I felt them on me.

I stood, ready to address whoever it was, and then… I blinked. She was gone.

“Modestus?” Rosita spun in her chair to follow my stare. “What’s wrong?”

My heart pounded in my throat, but I forced myself to chuckle. I hadn’t slept in a week knowin’ that Smiley was this close. Nerves. That’s all it was. Nothin’ but nerves. I’d been so focused on the threat he posed that anything Rosita said spooked me silly for no reason.

Rosita didn’t say anything more at first, just stared at me like she was tryin’ to read what was goin’ on inside my head. Finally, she sighed and looked down at her own plate.

“You better be careful, Modestus,” she said softly. “There’s more out there than just Smiley.”

I snorted, tryin’ to brush off her words as superstition, even though my hands felt clammy against the wood of the table. “You shouldn’t be peddlin’ old wives’ tales, Rosita.”

“I believe there are things in this world that don’t fit nice and neat into your head. And I believe if you keep looking past them like they aren’t real, one day they’ll look right back at you.”

All at once, I heard something. A soft, low wail, carried on the breeze like mournin’. I froze. The sound trailed across the wind crisp and clear.

“Did you hear something?” Rosita’s voice pierced my mind, sharp.

I shook my head, swallowin’ the unease. “No.”

I didn’t believe what I said.

* * *

That night, I stomped my way to the river to see for myself what was really goin’ on. I wouldn’t let Smiley terrorize me like this. Not again. Maurice insisted on comin’ with me, his grip on his cane tight, and I didn’t fight him on it. Truth be told, I didn’t much like the idea of goin’ alone, even if I wouldn’t admit it out loud. Smiley as a person didn’t scare me much, but that didn’t mean we weren’t an even match in a fight. That, and he fought dirty. For all I knew, I could be walking right into a trap, and the last thing I needed was to get gunned down alone. At least Maurice’s massive frame might intimidate some of Smiley’s more lily-livered men.

We walked in silence for the most part, the sound of the Cimarron River growing louder as we got closer. The cool night air kept me alert, and the sky was clear enough to see the stars. The calm didn’t keep me from holdin’ my breath.

“You holdin’ up, mon ami?” Maurice stepped over a patch of overgrown brush, clearing it easily with his long legs. His voice rumbled in his chest with a low, casual, and conversational drawl. “Rosita said you’ve been actin’ strange lately.”

“Strange how?” I snapped, though I had a feelin’ I knew what he was gettin’ at.

Maurice shrugged. “You just seem… on edge. I understand, with Smiley about. Everythin’s been odd in town since he started lurkin’ about again.”

I shot him a sideways glance. “Yeah, she’s been spewin’ nonsense about witches or… boogeymen.”

“Now, don’t be like that,” Maurice chuckled. “Not witches. Spirits. I’ve seen my fare share of strangeness in Baton Rouge that I wouldn’t doubt it for a second. You feel it in your bones, tu sais?”

Sure. Right.

After a moment he pressed, “You still think it’s Smiley?”

I was about to answer when something stopped me in my tracks. Something wailed in the tree line, the sound of a woman screamin’ her heart out like someone had just shot her child. Gooseflesh rippled its way up my arms and Maurice held an arm out to stop me from taking a step forward. He didn’t have to stop me hard. My whole body went rigid as a board as the sound echoed through the trees.

Maurice’s eyes darted around the shadows. He whispered, “Now what in God’s good name was that?”

“A trap.” My throat tightened. It sure as hell wasn’t the wind.

We moved closer to the riverbank, and that’s when I saw her again. The same woman from earlier, standin’ just a few feet away from the water. She didn’t look at us, not this time. She looked downriver, her hands hangin’ limply at her sides. The air chilled from a New Mexican summer heat to freezing in a matter of moments and my breath fogged in the night air.

I wanted to move, to run her way to expose Smiley’s nonsense once and for all, but my feet felt like they were rooted to the ground.

“Smiley, you better come out, you coward!” I shouted instead.

The woman didn’t turn to us, didn’t even acknowledge that we were there. She stood there, her shoulders shakin’ like she was cryin’, though no sound left her lips.

Then, slowly, she began to walk toward the water.

I took a step forward without thinkin’, my body actin’ on instinct. “Wait!” I called out. “Stop right there!”

She did as I asked, stoppin’ at the edge of the river and turning her head just enough for me to see her face. Or… nothing. Here eyes were nothing more than black holes, her mouth larger than any woman’s should be and twisted into something akin to a cry, silent and full of sharp teeth.

“McDoon!” Maurice chased after me and yanked at my arm to prevent me from rushin’ into the water. “Now, back up! Wait!”

I couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t look away from her. The world around me became duller, quieter, and a medley of shadows, leavin’ just she and I standin’ there at the edge of the river separated by only a few feet of cold, dead air. Somethin’ gripped my chest, and my mind flooded with flashes of images I had long desired to forget. My sister’s face the last day I ever saw her. Gettysburg. Smiley’s wild eyes in the dark as he tried to stab me to death in my own tent.

“Modestus!” Maurice grabbed my arm, yankin’ me back, and suddenly the world snapped back into focus. The woman had gone, the air grew warmer, and the river was just a river again.

I stumbled back, my breath hitchin’ in my throat. Maurice looked at me like I had lost my mind.

“Did you see her?” I demanded, my voice hoarse.

Maurice only nodded slowly. “Ouais. I saw her.”

* * *

We didn’t talk much on our way back to town. There wasn’t much to say, really. Whatever I’d seen out there couldn’t be explained away by logic or reason, no matter how hard I tried. Smiley hadn’t hired some woman to scare the residents of Cimarron shitless while he picked us off one by one. I wanted to believe it was just my mind playin’ tricks on me, but deep down I knew better.

When we got back to Rosita’s house, she was waitin’ for us on the porch, her arms crossed over her chest and a frown on her face.

“And where the hell were you two?” she demanded.

I glanced at Maurice, then back at her. “There was a woman by the water.”

Rosita’s frown flickered into a look of discomfort. “I told you, McDoon. I told you this wasn’t something normal. It seemed too clever for Smiley.”

I sat down on the porch steps, rubbin’ my hands over my face. The people of Cimarron, for some ungodly reason I couldn’t explained, relied on me to keep Smiley away from them, but what was I supposed to do against something like that? “What the hell is she, Rosita? What does she want?”

“I don’t know. You look like hell, Modestus,” Rosita said, her voice softer than her usual sharpness. “She’s not of this world, I think.”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Maurice added. “The parishes in Louisiana are full of the dead. Sometimes they rear their ugly heads.”

I didn’t say nothin’, just let his words sink in. Finally, I grumbled, “Ghosts aren’t supposed to be able to make people disappear.”

“Certain spirits are strong,” Rosita continued as Maurice stepped into the house, the tip of his cane clacking on the hard wood. “They battle with things that make them want to stay, and they make people do crazy things.”

Crazy I could understand. I had been battlin’ with my own breed of crazy for years. My past haunted me better than any spirit ever could. I tried to keep my ghosts buried deep enough that they wouldn’t rise up and choke the life outta me.

Maurice came out of the house once more, his presence big and easy, the way it always was. He carried two tin cups of coffee, handin’ one to me and the other to Rosita before leanin’ against the wall beside us. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, too.

“Drink up,” he said. “We all need it.”

I took a long sip of the coffee, feelin’ the warmth spread through my body. Maurice had a knack for makin’ everything feel a little better, even when nothing made a lick of sense.

“What did you see?” Maurice pressed. “You were looking at her like she had a grip on you.”

I glanced at him. I couldn’t even begin to explain. I hadn’t seen anything, not really. I felt like I had suddenly been yanked into a dream—or a nightmare, really. A play of my whole life had flashed before me, and I didn’t like what I saw. I couldn’t tell him. Maurice was one of those people I kept at arm’s length, not knowin’ how to handle what I felt toward him. He was everything I wasn’t—calm, collected, good-hearted—and maybe that’s why I had kept my distance.

“I didn’t see anythin’.”

Maurice didn’t press me for more. Rosita sat there in silence for a while, lookin’ out into the night like she was searchin’ for something beyond the trees. Eventually, she stood up, stretchin’ her arms over her head. “I’ll leave you both to it. I have more work to do come sunrise. Good night, sweetheart.”

She kissed Maurice on the cheek and then gave me a look that felt like a challenge, like she knew I had something to say but wasn’t about to force it out of me. I grimaced at her, she stuck her tongue out at me, and then with a small nod, she turned on her heel. She headed back into the house, leavin’ me and Maurice alone on the porch.

The quiet between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but I felt like a kettle ready to boil. I finished my coffee and set the cup down, starin’ out into the night. Maurice watched me, waitin’ for me to say something.

“I’ve been runnin’ for a long time. You know that,” I said finally. “From a lot of things. Mostly myself.”

Maurice didn’t say anything, just waited for me to continue.

“I felt like she saw me. Everything I’ve ever done wrong.”

Maurice’s expression softened, and for a moment neither of us spoke.

I looked over at him, meetin’ his gaze. “And now… I reckon it’s time I stop runnin’.”

* * *

The path to the river was familiar, but tonight it felt like walking into a cemetery. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the water gurgled softly ahead. The sound of the woman’s weepin’ began long before I reached the bank. She cried low, broken, and full of the same sorrow that haunted me in the night when it was quiet, long before she even came to Cimarron. It called to me, familiar. Grief.

When I stepped out of the trees and into the open, there she was, standin’ at the water’s edge like a sculpture. Her long white dress, soaked in mud from the bank, clung to her form, accentuating how skeletal it was. Her dark hair dripped, soppin’ wet as though she had just come out of the water. She didn’t turn when I approached, but I knew she felt me.

“I came,” I called out, my voice stronger than expected. “What do you want from me?”

She stopped weepin’, her shoulder’s snappin’ straight. Slowly, she turned to face me, her hollow eye sockets fixin’ on mine. They weren’t empty—they were endless, like pits that could swallow me whole if I let them. Any beauty she once had was stripped away by the atrophy in her cheeks and the blue veins that splintered around her lips like spiderwebs. But I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.

“You know me,” I said, takin’ another step forward. My boots crunched on the rocks at the bank. “You came here for a reason.”

She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. Her lips parted, though no sound came out. Her words hit like a blade to my chest. You ran.

I instinctively flicked my hand to the spot near my heart, where Smiley’s scars remained. “I did.” The words fell from my lips like stones. “I ran from Gettysburg. I ran from my friends, from my family. I ran from everything that mattered. I left them to die by Smiley’s hand… and I’ve been runnin’ ever since.”

Her eyes flickered, as though she could see the truth of my words. She took a step closer, her bare feet hoverin’ just above the surface of the water. Cold radiated off her skin, chillin’ me to the bone.

“I can’t fix what I’ve done,” I whispered, my throat suddenly choked by guilt. “But I can’t keep runnin’. I came here to stop it all. End this game.”

Her eyes narrowed. Something sparked in the emptiness—recognition, maybe, or a glimpse of the person she’d been before death took her. Then, with a wail that cut through the night like ice, she lunged at me, her hands outstretched like claws.

I braced myself, but when she hit me, her fingers didn’t rake through my clothes with the sharp pain I expected. Something ice cold plunged into my bones. Her hands wrapped around my shoulders, pullin’ me down toward the water, but I held my ground.

“I’m sorry!” I choked out. “I’m sorry for what I did. But I won’t let you take anyone else just because you’re hungry for people like me.”

She froze, her grip loosening slightly. Her dark eyes bored into mine, our faces inches from each other, and for a moment I thought I saw her soften. Her lips trembled. Her body went limp, her weight saggin’ against me like she didn’t have the strength to keep goin’. She was tired—just like I was. Tired of searchin’, tired of mournin’. Tired of existin’.

Gently, I pushed her back toward the water. She faded as she shrank beneath the surface, her body dissolvin’ into mist and ripples. The night fell silent again, as if nothing had ever happened.

I stood there for a long time, just watchin’ the water. Somehow, I didn’t feel too much better. I had no explanation for what just happened, and Smiley was still out there, campin’ just beyond town. Cimarron would be safe for now, but the quiet wouldn’t last long. I couldn’t change my past, but I sure as hell wouldn’t let my past destroy my future.

Smiley was one ghost I wouldn’t let haunt me anymore.