“I told you I’d take care’a things,” Morris Grafton exhaled and filled the room with cigarette smoke.

“You put’em in that hole by the river?”

“Yup,” Morris answered with satisfaction.  “’Member when we found that hole?”

“I nearly broke my leg in it!” Vernon Dixon laughed.  “We were down lookin’ for snakes to put in old lady Parker’s back yard.”

“Nobody ever guessed we had anything to do with that ol’bat’s death!”

* * *

Chet Morton tried to remember everything he knew about snake bite care.  “Wash the wound and wrap it loose with a clean compress.  Keep pressure above the wound to slow down the flow of venom.”

Chet looked around.  There was no clean water and no clean bandages in their underground prison.  “Joe, I don’t know what to do!”

Joe Hardy could hear the panic in his friend’s voice and guilt once again washed over him.  If only he had stayed calm!  “S’kay, Chet. N-not your f-fault.”

Chet looked over at Joe.  The only light in the deep pit now was the limited moonlight showing through the trees, but he could see Joe’s eyes were closed and his sweaty face was pale.

“Joe, don’t die on me!” Chet cried out suddenly gripping Joe’s uninjured hand.  “Hang on! Our dads and Frank are probably looking for us right now! Just please don’t die!”

* * *

David Neel had fixed himself a plate of beans and cornbread for supper.  He ate in the recliner in front of the television set, watching the evening news.

Two hours later, he sat upright in his chair, bathed in sweat.  

“What a nightmare,” he wearily rubbed his face.  He could still see his dream in the back of his mind: four men carrying a body into the swamp by the Black Warrior River. While he couldn’t see the body clearly in his dream, he knew it was Lydia Morton.

“That’s just craziness,” he muttered as he carried his empty plate to the kitchen.  “That girl died in the river.”  He figured that seeing those men coming out of the swamp had somehow gotten in his head and the Morton girl’s death was still fresh in his mind – together they created the nightmare he’d experienced.

As he readied himself for bed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the men in the swamp were somehow connected to the dead girl. 

* * *

Job Thomas peered out the window towards Vernon Dixon’s trailer.  Four men had gone in earlier, and while three of them had left about an hour ago, one remained.  Vernon and his friend were being annoyingly loud.

Job frowned and moved into the living room where Alice was ironing his work shirt and watching some stupid sitcom on the television.

He watched her as she pushed the iron across the denim fabric.  She laughed at some inane joke made by the smart-mouth wife to her inadequate husband.  Alice had a nice laugh; youthful and fun.

He appraised her figure beneath the thin housecoat she was wearing and the corners of his mouth curved into an appreciative smile.  She was ten years his junior, but at fifty-three, Alice could pass for a woman of thirty.  Her face was full and unlined by time.  They’d never had children so her hips were narrow, her waist trim.  She used grocery money to buy ‘Nice’n’Easy®’ hair coloring, so her naturally wavy hair was still an alluring auburn.

Alice turned off the iron and put Job’s shirt on a clothes hanger.  She hooked the hanger on the doorknob and sat down to finish watching the show that was on the T.V.  She’d heard Job come into the room and tried her best to ignore him.

“What’d you do t’day?” Job asked, drawing her attention away from the program. 

“I cleaned the bathroom and washed clothes,” she replied, not looking at him.

“You have any comp’ny?”

She turned around and glanced at him, but faced the television before replying. “’Course not.  Who’d want to come visit me in this dump?”

He let the remark go and he thought about the earlier visit he’d had from Fenton Hardy. He frowned at the memory.  He took a swig from the brown bottle in his hand and closed his eyes as the fiery liquid washed down his throat.

Now he could hear the drunken laughter coming from the trailer next door.  He knew how Vernon looked at his wife when he thought Job wasn’t watching.  Fenton Hardy; Vernon Dixon! His thoughts became black with anger and hatred.  He looked at his beautiful wife; the wife that Vernon Dixon wanted. 

“Take off that robe.”

Alice turned toward him.  She knew what he wanted and it made her sick in the pit of her stomach. 

It was different when they first married.  Job was a big man, tall and handsome.  She was a nobody, waiting tables at the diner in town.  When he started flirting with her, she couldn’t believe it. They dated and married despite their age difference. 

When Job lost his job as a police officer for drinking, things started going down hill.  They lost their house and had to buy the trailer; they lost their car and now had an old truck that was ready to fall apart.  Age and alcohol had taken their toll on Job as well - he aged overnight and became angry and abusive.

“Please, Job…be nice to me.”

Job stood; he could feel his neck growing hot as he reached out and grabbed the robe, yanking it off of Alice. 

She closed her eyes when he touched her through the thin cotton nightgown.

Job hated it when Alice closed her eyes; like it made her sick to look at him.  He reached up grabbed a handful of thick, deep red hair.

Alice whimpered as Job pulled her closer, within inches of his own face.  “A detective came here today,” he hissed, “and showed me a picture of my lighter.  Know where they found it?”

Alice shook her head, tears coming from her eyes as Job tightened the grip on her hair.

“On the County Line Bridge, Alice.  You have any idea how it got there?”

“I-I don’t know, h-honey.  Maybe you d-dropped it…”

Job yanked her head back sharply and Alice cried out.  “I ain’t been on that bridge in years.  Now you bes’ tell me the truth. Was Dixon over here?  Did that piece of white trash steal my lighter?”