Double Exposure Read Online Free

supposed to be doing it.
    —Supposed? Like there’s some big plan for my life somebody forgot to tell me about?
    —You’re miserable because you’re not taking pictures, she says. It’s what makes you depressed, drink too much, and resent me and our marriage.
    —It’s not our marriage, it’s
me?
he says.
    —You’re unhappy ‘cause you’re not shooting.
    —Guess the only way to test your theory is to separate. If you’re right, I’ll still be miserable.
    —Fine. You can leave tonight.
    M ore screams.
    Animal?
    Doesn’t sound like one, but the Sandersons, a family who lived near the state park when he was growing up here—God, hadn’t thought of them in years—said that the panther that lived in the park often sounded like a woman screaming, especially at night.
    Is it the elusive cat he’s been looking for? Will he finally encounter the infamous feline he keeps being told is a figment of his imagination?
    C older.
    Darker.
    Deeper.
    Remington’s not exactly sure where he is.
    Lost.
    Leaving the tip-up mound in the soft pink glow of sunset, he begins to walk in the direction of his inmost camera trap. Or so he thinks.
    Searching for bearings.
    Nothing looks familiar, yet everything looks the same.
    Someone’s following me.
    He gets the sense that he’s not alone, that someone is—
    He hears a twig snap and spins around.
    Scanning. Searching. Peering.
    No one is there. At least no one he can see. He still feels some unseen person is following him, watching him, waiting for him to move again.
    He wonders if it’s the gray, grizzled man he encountered earlier.
    Eventually, he stops looking.
    Quickening pulse.
    Tense muscles.
    Heightened awareness.
    Pulling out a compass and small penlight from his bag, he locates north and begins to walk east, deeper into the woods, toward the Chipola River. The river is still miles away, but his trap should only be about a half-mile from where he is now.
    Removing a small bottle of water from his pack, he takes a couple of quick sips, then returns the bottle to its compartment. Placing the compass in his pocket, knowing he will need it again, he retains the services of the penlight.
    As he begins to move again, he sees a tall hollowed-out cypress tree several feet away. Through a two-foot long hole on this side, he can see beyond the tree to the other side. Hollowed-out trees, especially cypresses, are not rare. In fact, this far back in the swamp they’re plentiful, but this one is unique because, unlike the others, it’s not just a hollowed-out base, but an entire forty-foot tree with branches and leaves and a large hole clear through its center.
    He stops and studies it a moment—how it’s still standing, he has no idea—the beam of his penlight moving around the opening, until something on the other side catches his eye.
    Stepping past the tree, he shines the light on the unmoving black mass, careful to keep his distance.
    It’s another black bear, this one even bigger than the mother he encountered earlier, a male from the size of it. Most likely the one responsible for the marks on the tree he had seen earlier.
    Blood.
    The beam of light spills over black blood, splattered on leaves, soaked into the soil, matting the fur on the back of the bear’s head.
    Gunshot.
    Poaching.
    The wound on the back of the bear’s head was made by a gunshot. This amazing and endangered animal has been murdered.
    Remington’s mind races back to the shotgun-carrying, gray-grizzled man again. Maybe he is being followed. Maybe since the moment he first encountered the man in the pinewood prairie. No wonder the man asked the questions he did. No wonder he encouraged Remington to leave.
    Son of a bitch.
    Had he been heading in to get tools to skin the bear? Would he return soon?
    Removing his camera and turning on the flash, Remington begins to document the crime scene. He then takes pictures of the area, hoping he can find it again when he returns with wildlife officers tomorrow