Chapter 11: Jackson

Rachel carefully navigated the narrow road leading to Bellafont. Trees heavy with a fresh rain and the incessant humidity of a warm Louisiana swampland hung over the road from both side creating a tunnel-like feel. It was unnerving. The old man at the gas station made it clear that it wasn't a good idea for Rachel to go to Arcadia. While she first thought he meant her as a woman, alone, she now began to wonder if he meant anyone at all. What had Chase gotten himself into? The old man gave her plenty of warnings, but he also gave her the general direction to Arcadia that she needed. Unfortunately, it meant navigating this narrow passage between towns without GPS, maps, or anything.

She was flying down the road over sixty when she saw a sign dangling from one corner to a post. It was covered in a moss that clung tight covering many of the letters, but it was clear enough to know that she'd just sped past the Bellafont Plantation.

She slammed on her brakes and slowly turned the car around. She'd gone a quarter mile past the home's vegetation-commanded driveway and nearly missed it a second time at a quarter of the speed. But she found it, pulled up the drive and parked under a tree across from the house,

As irritated as she was, she admired the dilapidated home still standing although tilted to the side in age. She could see why Chase fell in love so quickly, although with the warping of weather and age she wondered if it could even be saved. High grass greeted her curtailing her walk, so she stood near her car and just stared at the large white house and its rotting exterior. She took off her sunglasses noting the iron gate that seemed permanently open by the anchoring vines.

She could hear the rumbling of a lawn mower. From what Chase said, the place appeared as if it were abandoned and from what Rachel could see, it’d been years since a gardener had stepped foot on the place. Noting a lawn mower not too far off she wondered if Chase had already bought the place and hired someone to begin fixing it up. More likely was that he decided to start clearing it all out on his own. Soon the churning engine of the mower died out and all she had left was the chorus of crickets and the fortitude of a mosquito buzzing in her ear.

Then she saw the little girl with brown pigtails who’d been watching her at the gas station. The girl stared at her with a welcoming smile and raised her hand in a curt gesture. She stood on the porch of the home near a swaying porch swing.

“Wow, she gets around,” Rachel smiled back at the girl and watched her jump rope on the porch of the house still clad in a long dress too heavy to wear on a hot day like this. Rachel heard a sound behind her and turned. There was nothing. When she looked back toward the front porch of the house and the girl, the girl was again gone; a fond memory of the hide-and-seek she’d seen less than a half an hour ago.

“What the fuck?” Rachel couldn’t help but feel the chill of goose flesh rolling along her sweat-clung spine. She peered at the house, squinting in the mid-day sun. A shape appeared in an upstairs window, and Rachel felt a wave of unease settle over her. A gentle breeze came up from behind the house brushing against the small and damp hairs of Rachel’s body. She’d seen enough backwoods horror flicks to know that now was the time to get the hell back into the car.

She slid in quickly, her eye catching the familiar silver and blue label of the beer Chase was addicted to. It was a few yards off, freshly thrown onto a thicket of tall grass. She knew it had been his. But when did he leave it? She turned on the engine, thought about Chase being in this very spot and then hastily turned the wheel to make a U-turn. However, when she pressed the gas pedal all she heard was the spinning of her tires. Fuck. Not now. Please, not now. She tried again, and again her car went nowhere. She reversed direction and managed to roll the car forward and back until it finally came free. But as she slid back into drive it again rolled forward and down a slippery slope of mud and grass.

Rachel slammed on her wheel, "Fuck, fuck fuck!"

A gentle knock on her passenger window startled her and she let out a squeal of panic. She didn't want to look. She knew it wasn't Chase. But she also knew that she had to look. She was stuck and whomever was knocking on her window was likely the only one who could help her escape. She placed a hand over her chest to calm the racing beat of her heart and then turned. The gaze back at her was unexpected. The man took a step back and raised his hands as if to say, I'm not here to hurt you and from his warm smile and kind eyes, she believed him. He bent slightly to brush off shards of grass on the bottom of his pants and waved at her.

“Trouble Miss?” he asked from the opposite end of her window.

She nodded, now gripping the wheel, and watched him walk to the back of the car. His jeans hugged him just right, and his bulge seemed to call her name. Not to mention, the white V-neck t-shirt he wore made his arms look that much more delicious. She had to force herself to keep her legs closed and remember why she was here. Though she admittedly quietly to herself, if she couldn't find Chase, this man would make a good alternative.

He stepped back from the car and glanced to both ends. “Well, you're stuck in some mud, and I think you've got a flat tire.” He looked at a thin cut halfway up the tire. It was definitely a puncture. But he knew that already and slipped the sharp blade back into the holster strapped to his leg.

“What?” without thinking Rachel shut off the car and got out, grabbing her cell phone out of habit. She took a few steps and almost twisted her ankle on the uneven ground. “Ouch!”

“Not exactly walking shoes,” he commented with a grin and stood up to greet her.

“Is it bad?” she gestured to her car while he not-so-discreetly appraised her body.

“Looks like you hit a rock.” He said admiring the swell of her breasts under her white shirt. “You got a spare?”

Rachel shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Pop the trunk.”

She aimed her keys at the trunk, and it sprang open. Rachel watched the stranger move her suitcases and heard him whistle.

“Nope. It’s flat too.”

“Shit,” she spat.

“I can give you a ride to my place. You can call for help there. Cell reception isn't that good here in Arcadia.”

“Thank you, but I have roadside assistance. I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work.”

“A good man’s work is never done. Besides, I always have time to help a lovely damsel in distress.” He wiped his hand on his left pants leg then stuck it out toward Rachel. “My apologies, I should have introduced myself earlier. My name is Jackson. Jackson Rochon.”

Rachel lifted a coy smile to her lips and stuck out her hand. “Rachel Dain.” She glanced around, suddenly more interested in Bellafont than she was only a few minutes before. “This is a nice place. Is it yours?”

“No, it isn’t. I just take care of it. If you want, I can give you a tour before I take you to my place.”

“Uh, well actually, my fiancé has already looked it over. You didn’t happen to see him, did you?” She held up her phone and quickly found the same photo she showed the man at the gas station.

Jackson lifted up his sunglasses. “Well now that’s a face I don’t know. You sure he came ‘round here?”

She nodded. “A day or two ago, and he absolutely loved this place.”

“Really, so you talked to him?”

“No, he left a voicemail.”

“Well, I got the realtor’s information at home. I can give you a ride to my place and have old Bennie come ‘round and fix up your car.”

“That’s sweet, but I’ll use my roadside service. They shouldn’t take long to get here.”

“Well Rachel, here in Arcadia... Doubt anyone but old Bennie will come to help you. We are a unique town, and not many folks wanna come out this way.”

“So, I’ve heard,” she replied.

“What exactly have you heard about Arcadia?” He tipped his brow into a subtle curiosity.

“That it’s not a place for strangers,” she chuckled playing the comment off like it as nothing.

“Well, you ain’t no stranger no more sugar. You know me.”

Silence hung awkwardly as they as stared at one another. She felt his eyes on her chest, and for a second, she wanted his hands to replace them.

“Can I ask you a question?” He slid his sunglasses back on.

“Yes,” she said all too quickly.

“Your fiancé, he drink?”

“Yes, of course.” She couldn’t help but glance back at the beer bottle laying only a few feet from her. “Maybe too much sometimes.”

“Then, in that case, after you freshen up at the house, I’ll take you to Theroit’s bar. Bridgette might know something, seeing as that’s the only bar in town. Besides, Bennie known to take his time with things, and that’ll give us time to get to know each other better.

“What if I’m not in the mood for a drink?”

“Come on now,” he said. “You’re not thirsty? It’s so damn hot down here that everybody is always thirsty.”

Her mind screamed no, but staring into this man’s eyes and seeing how strong his hands were she couldn’t rip herself away from the temptation. She could feel the warmth between her thighs as he boyishly smiled at her.

“Come on, now. Bridgette isn’t going to keep the bar up all night. Besides, it’s about as good a place as any to find your Beau.”

“Okay, why not?” she said, not ignorant to the thickening bulge in his pants or the faint, yet noticeable, throb promising that he’d be open to anything she was looking for.