LEELA Ep 12: The Swamp

A story about a woman who, like many of us, knows how to give love to everyone but herself.

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(Content Warning: Before we get started NOW is your chance to get off of the boat - this episode contains mature themes, addiction, grief, emotional distress, and self-harm-related material.)

Steven sits alone in his jon boat.

The stars are scattered above his head.

Breathtaking.

And the full moon hangs like a glowing plate of gold.

He sways like the refuge of aluminum he’s floating in is being hit by a steady barrage of waves, but the water couldn’t be more still.

He shines the light out into the water and counts.

One, two, three, four sets of red eyes glare at him from the depths of the dark.

His weight shifts suddenly, and the sound of empty cans knocking into each other competes for his attention.

He looks down.

His feet are surrounded by broken promises.

***

Two Weeks Prior

10:30 a.m.

Tanvi, Tatum, and Addy search each other’s faces for answers.

The only thing standing between them and panic is years of experience and trust.

Trust that whatever is going on, Leela either has a reason or is capable of handling it.

“Her tracker has been off for over thirty-six hours, BUT, technically, she’s only an hour and a half late.”

Tanvi’s statement does nothing to calm the worry in Tatum’s eyes.

He just nods quietly.

“Okay, well, maybe she overslept...” Addy offers.

Tanvi and Tatum side-eye each other.

“What?” Addy says. “She just told me that she’s overslept before. When I overslept on Saturday.”

Tanvi cuts her off, moving past her to the computer.

“Leela has never overslept a day in her life.”

Addy jumps in, defensive.

“She literally just told me—”

“She lied to you, okay? She lied because she didn’t want you beating yourself up.”

Addy’s eyes dart to Tatum.

His expression tells her that he doesn’t want it to be true.

But it is.

That stings.

Tanvi’s fingers fly across the keys, and the screen comes to life.

“Alright, I’m taking the lead on this operation. We are all going to stay calm. We are going to channel courage, creativity, and curiosity. At this point, we don’t know jack shit. There could be thousands of explanations, from scandal to disaster to just plain boring.”

She faces them, dead serious.

No jokes.

No wisecracks.

Nothing but focus.

And they know not to protest.

“There is a story here, and we have one job: to be thorough, ask the right questions, and make the fucking brilliant guesses necessary to read it as soon as possible.”

She opens a window with nothing but code.

Then turns to Addy.

“Don’t get into your feelings that Leela lied to you. She did it because she loves you. Compartmentalize and focus. Your mission is clear: verify that she isn’t in the Brickell penthouse and check back in.”

She turns to Tatum.

“Clarence, you check Abuela’s house.”

She types gibberish into the prompt.

“Let’s move, people. It’s only been an hour and a half. If we don’t know something we don’t know now in the next hour and a half, we should all be working for Chewy, sending out mail-order packages of treats to self-proclaimed dog moms.”

***

12:08am

Steven has to admit that it isn’t the most romantic scene on earth.

The scent of earth, sulfur, and rotten vegetation fills the air.

They lather up with DEET like it’s Armor All in the parking lot, but that is something they taste more than smell.

He thinks about the time he was lectured by a buddy from up north for spreading it across his face before heading out into the Glades.

He chuckles to himself.

Those who don’t know swamp country don’t know swamp country.

What exactly he is thinking, taking a date here of all places, he has no idea.

The notion just kind of popped into his head, and he went for it.

He studies Leela, trying to gauge how she is handling the experience.

Holding her Streamlight Waypoint 300 out like a state trooper on I-95.

He has to give it to her.

She is one tough cookie.

Not only does she appear completely unbothered, but unless he is imagining it, he can hear genuine excitement in her voice each time she spots a new gator.

She is up to eleven, with the closest only around fifteen feet from the boat.

She’s fascinated.

And he’s fascinated that he can be any more fascinated.

“You know, my Papaw and I used to take this same boat out when I was little.”

She turns to face him.

He has given her one of his long-sleeve camo jackets to protect her arms from the bugs.

“We used to come out here and catch frogs for Memaw to fry up, and we would talk for hours.”

His chest fills thinking of those days.

“In his own way, he was a good man. He was a racist son of a bitch…”

He gives her a rueful laugh.

“He definitely wouldn’t have approved of me being out here with you. He wasn’t a big fan of Cubans.”

Leela takes note of how comfortable he is and the way his accent creeps up to the surface in this environment.

“After the airlifts started in the late sixties, he felt like they changed the city almost overnight. Bringing crime and taking jobs, opening competing businesses.”

Leela’s eyes don’t judge.

She just listens.

“Anyways, he was good to me, and I’m better for it, I guess. Probably got my dance skills from him.”

He winks.

“Strangely enough, he loved to read. The classics, even. The Iliad was his favorite. He used to talk about it all the time.”

Leela leans forward toward him.

“There goes one…”

He points his flashlight into the water.

Leela watches as a gator swims directly under the boat, tapping it lightly with its tail.

Her pulse quickens.

Steven picks up without missing a beat.

“He’d say, ‘Boy, can you imagine a woman so incredible, so beautiful, that the most powerful men in the world, who had tasted just about everything a lady could offer, would go to war over her?’”

Steven processes that for a second, feeling a surplus of nostalgia.

Then he turns to Leela.

“I never knew what that meant until I saw you in that old coat, with those big rubber waders on, holding that flashlight.”

It’s cliché to say that he takes her breath away.

But he does.

He takes her breath away.

She rushes toward him, rocking the boat.

“Careful now,” he calls.

And she kisses him.

Claiming his soul in the heavy, humid air.

Then she strips off her jacket and shimmies out of the rubber waders.

Standing before him in nothing but her bra and panties.

“Damn,” he says out loud.

And without a word, she jumps right over the edge of the boat.

Disappearing into the darkness with a splash.

***

11:30 a.m.

Rosalía’s album Lux plays in the background from beginning to end.

“You fucking bitch, where are you?”

Tanvi is in the zone and rapidly closing in on the hypothesis that Leela disappeared because she wanted to disappear.

She isn’t sure how she feels about that.

It certainly doesn’t mean Leela is safe.

Both the penthouse and Abuela’s house have come up empty.

She chuckles to herself.

Which rules out the possibility that Leela overslept.

It also rules out the possibility of a freak accident at home.

She has combed through the databases of all local hospitals and police stations, eliminating those as possibilities.

No Liliana Santanas or Jane Does have been picked up in the last twenty-four hours.

Leela turned off her tracker at 11 a.m. yesterday.

An intentional gesture that, in Tanvi’s current state of mind, feels like a middle finger.

She tracks Leela’s phone to South Beach, and it hasn’t moved from that location since 2:30 p.m.

That is middle finger number two.

She can’t confirm it yet, but Tatum is on his way, and she strongly suspects he will find Leela’s phone and handbag locked in her 2020 Volkswagen Beetle, parked and abandoned.

In her mind, she can see Leela sticking her tongue out at her.

Anticipating her every move.

“So this is what we’re doing, huh, bitch? Watch me find your ass.”

Her fingers work manically, peeling back layer after layer.

Eliminating explanation after explanation.

“If you’re using again, I swear I’m gonna kick your ass myself.”

***

12:20 a.m.

The moment Leela hits the water, Steven jumps out of his skin.

His hero impulse is to jump in after her, but cooler heads prevail.

The best way to ensure that Leela makes it back into the boat is to stay in the boat.

He grabs the flashlight, one thousand lumens thrown in desperation, covering the place where she disappeared.

Waiting for her to surface with bated breath.

He has only been in that water once, and it was forty-five seconds of pure terror that he still has nightmares about to this day.

He can still taste the rotten eggs and feel the muck on his skin.

After what feels like an eternity, Leela breaks the surface farther from the boat than he hoped.

Her hair is jet black, and her eyes squint in the overwhelming brightness of the light.

She turns her back to him and stares into the darkness.

Outside the ring of sight, several splashes can be heard in two different directions.

Not particularly violent, but more substantial than a jumping fish or turtle.

Steven speaks slowly, in a calm, even tone.

“Leela, I need you to slowly and calmly move toward the boat. Nice and easy.”

She doesn’t move.

Another splash.

Steven shines his light in the direction of the sound, illuminating two pairs of red eyes not twenty-five feet from Leela.

He grabs one of the paddles and starts banging the side of the boat.

“HEY! HEY!” he yells.

He dips the paddle into the water, pulling in Leela’s direction.

Between the light and the noise, the gators hesitate.

He alternates between banging, yelling, and slowly moving toward the motor.

A sudden sound comes from the other direction.

He darts the light that way and finds a massive fourteen-foot gator heading toward her at full charge.

Leela sees it as well.

Steven goes full survival mode.

Stomping and banging.

Screaming at the top of his lungs.

His heart is racing.

“GET THE FUCK BACK!!!”

Its tail only continues to propel it forward.

“GET THE FUCK BACK!!!”

He finally reaches the motor at the end of the boat.

Without looking away, his hand grabs the recoil cord, and he pulls.

The engine sputters without starting.

Leela can see it now and speaks to it under her breath.

Gazing right into its eyes.

“Dale, cabroncito, enséñame lo que tú tienes,” she whispers defiantly.

It advances.

“Dale!” she says louder.

Steven pulls the cord again.

“DALE!” Leela shouts.

Lowering herself eye-level into the water like she is, in fact, the predator.

The engine roars to life.

Jerking the boat forward in the direction of the gator’s open mouth.

It startles, adjusting its path at the last possible moment.

Leela feels its tail hit her body as it passes by.

“Grab this,” Steven shouts.

His voice is laced with adrenaline.

She grabs the oar, and he grabs her under the armpit, pulling her up with everything he’s got.

Leela practically launches out of the water and into the boat.

He grabs her frantically, searching for signs of injury.

His hands are shaking.

Tears stream down his face.

He holds her.

She starts crying too.

The moment stretches until they hear something else.

Laughter.

Who leads and who follows is unclear.

But the night fills with it.

Breathless.

Irrational.

Laughter.

***

12:30pm

Team meeting.

Tanvi is closing in.

“Okay, Tatum found Leela’s phone in Miami Beach just as predicted. That’s a great sign, which means we are on the right track.”

She peers over her glasses.

“But why? Why the fuck would she be in Miami Beach? The place is a tourist trap.”

Addy offers up two solutions.

“I can only think of two—she was either going to the beach or she was meeting someone.”

Tanvi nods.

“Yes! But let’s be honest—no one from the 305 is doing anything beach-related after 10 a.m., especially Leela. She arrived after 2 p.m.”

Tatum speaks.

“So she was meeting someone.”

Tanvi points at him.

“Bingo! But who?”

Addy throws some guesses on the wall, hoping one sticks.

“Taylor? Natalia? Maybe a new client?”

Tanvi starts nodding, the pieces clicking into place.

“Taylor is out—of—town. Natalia is out—same. So we have to lean toward a client. But which client?”

Addy has a moment of inspiration.

“Fuck…has to be Wexler.”

“Why?” Tanvi asks.

Tatum takes a shot.

“Because we only had four clients on the books this round, and three are already closed.”

“AND?” Tanvi presses.

“Leela has been pushing him through from the very beginning. Ignoring protocol. Calling me off the screening…”

Addy is putting it all together, and Tanvi is practically doing backflips.

“YES! So what did your girl Tanvi do?”

They both stare at her, blank.

“I’ll give you a hint…it’s something only a super tech genius could do—”

Addy and Tatum side-eye each other.

“Something virtually impossible unless you either work for a cell phone provider, law enforcement, or a three-letter agency…”

Addy grabs her arm.

“Could you just tell us?”

Tanvi taps the screen, disappointed.

“I pulled up the location of Steven Wexler’s phone at 2:30 p.m. yesterday, and guess where he was?”

Tatum finishes in astonishment.

“Fucking South Beach…”

Tanvi’s eyes are the size of dinner plates as she nods.

“So with Leela at a dead end, I tracked Wexler.”

She gestures to the screen.

“At 4 p.m., he heads over to Little Havana. Now what are the chances? He’s in Little Havana until around 11 p.m…”

Addy leans forward.

“Then where do they go?”

Tanvi opens the next screen.

“At around midnight, they arrived in Everglades National Park.”

Everyone’s heart stops.

Especially Addy’s.

***

12:28am

Leela and Steven lie back in the boat, catching their breath.

Gazing up at the stars.

Leela is exposed to moonlight.

Frogs croak incessantly like a scattered choir.

“How did she die?”

An experience like the one they’ve just had together has a way of erasing social norms.

“Cancer.”

“How long?”

“Three months after diagnosis.”

His answer is solemn.

“And that’s when you started drinking?”

He nods.

Leela turns to him.

“I didn’t always do this, you know…”

She pauses before continuing.

“My father was never really in my life. I met him maybe twice when I was growing up. My mom was a drug addict. I found her overdosed in her bedroom when I was nine years old.”

Steven sits up.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

His voice is tender.

Leela just continues.

“My grandmother, Lucy, raised me. Not just after my mom died, but pretty much my entire life. She was my angel. My song. My everything.”

Leela can feel the back of her eyes starting to burn.

She blinks hard.

“Around four years ago, well after I had left home, I received the news that she was deathly ill. She had stage-four cancer.”

She takes a breath.

“I dropped everything to come take care of her and help take her to all of her doctor’s visits. They said her only chance of survival was an experimental treatment that there was no way we could afford…”

He squeezes her hand, and she turns to him.

“There was no way I was just going to let her die. So I tapped into some connections. And I started working…”

Steven feels himself getting choked up.

“For her final three months, I hardly saw her. I was so busy trying to pay for her treatment that I completely missed out on our final moments together.”

She wipes her eyes clear.

“This can’t be good…”

She gives an awkward laugh through the tears.

“I’m covered in God knows what bacteria…”

He doesn’t laugh.

He just seems concerned.

“I never forgave myself. And once she was gone, that’s when I started using.”

He sits up straight, staring at her.

She bites her lip and turns to him, completely open.

“So I’ve got no reason to judge you, Esteban.”

He pauses and looks away.

Like he’s still hiding a secret.

“Ehhh, maybe you do…” he whispers.

She grabs his hand in both of hers.

“I know you were cheating on her when she died. With a Cuban woman. One you were in love with.”

His heart stops.

He drops her hand like it’s on fire.

He stares at her, shocked, appalled, enraged.

How could she possibly know that?

Wet drops stream down his face.

No one knew that.

Not his friends.

Not Stephanie.

No one.

“Who the fuck are you?”

He positions himself over her.

Wrapping both of his hands around her throat, demanding an answer before he squeezes.

“Who fucking told you that?”

She stares into his soul.

“I could see it in your eyes. I know when a man is looking at me and seeing someone else.”

Pressure builds.

She doesn’t flinch.

Fierce.

Like she knows something that he doesn’t.

Like, despite the fact that he is twice as heavy and twice as strong, she is the one allowing him to breathe.

Her voice is slow and primal.

“Steven, take your fucking hands off of me.”

***

12:45 p.m.

“So where is he now? Please don’t tell me he destroyed his phone!”

Addy paces anxiously.

Tanvi opens another window.

It shows a beacon making its way south on Highway One, across the Florida Keys, toward Key West.

Tatum doesn’t wait for direction.

He grabs his keys and heads for the door.

“Wait!” Addy shouts. “I’ll go with you!”

***

The Present

Steven is still alone in the boat.

Talking to himself.

Trying to work things through.

Working through the memories.

After he took his hands off her, he cried like a baby.

And she comforted him.

They went back to his house and showered together before making love.

He had lived in dread of his secret for so long; the lightness of being without it for the first time in years was intoxicating.

He can feel the softness of her skin as they wake up together.

The pressure of her body pressed against his.

He looks out over the water.

Seven, eight, nine, ten…

He has lost count.

A frown on his face.

The next morning, they drove to the southernmost point in the United States, holding hands while surrounded by roosters.

Eating, swimming, and having sex.

He felt accepted.

Connected.

And he couldn’t put feelings in her heart, but he felt loved.

He remembers the sun shining on him in stark contrast to the moonlight over the swamp.

Like a dream that he wants to hold onto forever.

It was the most incredible week of his life.

But like all dreams, it ended.

And he woke up alone and emptier than he had ever felt before.

He shuffled through the next few days, hoping she would show up on his doorstep or initiate a call.

But there was only silence.

Eventually, he got a call.

Not from Leela, but from the project manager on his primary theme park project.

They were pulling the plug.

Sixty percent of his expected revenue for the year was wrapped up in that project.

He put all of his eggs in one basket.

And the basket was dropped off the side of a forty-five-story building.

That’s when he started drinking again...like really drinking.

That’s when he stopped sleeping.

Steven picks up his phone and throws it into the water.

Red eyes draw closer, coming to inspect the splash.

He doesn’t know how in this world he is going to tell Stephanie.

What will she think of him squandering her mother’s money on an escort?

Of him betraying his dead wife with another woman for a second time?

Not to mention relapsing into oblivion.

If he weren’t so numb, he would be an emotional wreck.

Instead, he feels nothing.

So he came here.

To the swamp.

The one place he always felt alive.

And he feels nothing.

He thinks of Papaw and Helen of Troy.

Of Holly, his wife.

Of Jacqueline, his mistress.

He thinks of his baby girl and how proud he is of her.

He thinks of Leela.

He can almost see her lying in the boat.

Exposed in only her underwear.

Dripping wet and smelling like death.

But here, death doesn’t truly smell so bad.

It smells natural and earthy and strangely lifelike.

It feels like acceptance and restitution.

And so he lies down next to Leela.

His memory of her.

His projection of her.

He grabs his .45 caliber pistol.

Presses it to the side of his head.

And surrenders.

(The End)

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Leela follows a brilliant high-end escort in Miami who treats intimacy like art, therapy, and a little bit of trouble. It’s erotic, funny, emotional, dangerous, and not the story you think it is.