Liz took off running down the beach. She ran until she was out of breath, which wasn't long considering the shape she was in. Gasping for air, she dropped to her knees trying to catch her breath. She looked back in the direction of the cottage, but couldn't see it, and no one was following her. It struck her that the woman she had seen wouldn't be following her. She looked as frightened as I feel right now. And the little boy was no threat.
"Why am I running?" she said out loud. "And, now you're talking to yourself." She sat down to take stock of her situation. What's happened? What explanation could there be for waking up on a remote beach, miles from where she had fallen asleep. She tried to remember if there were parts of the island that were still undeveloped. Someone obviously moved me last night, they're trying to mess with my head. Her mind raced. The name the woman called out still rang in her ears. James Robert Crowson. It has to be somebody connected with the case. But what possible motive could there be for moving her and then abandoning her to find her way back. Kidnapping? Why would someone kidnap me?
She felt a little better so she got up to start walking. This had to be Emerald Isle. The sun had come up due east down the shore. Emerald Isle runs east/west. She was more familiar with the western end of the island so she decided to keep walking in that direction. She only wished she had some water. She felt parched. She had no survival skills to speak of so didn't even begin to know how to get water unless it came out of a bottle. If there are no houses, there won't be stores.
After walking for what seemed like a couple of miles she spotted a fishing boat close to the shoreline. If there is a fishing boat there has to be a dock somewhere up ahead. She picked up the pace. Distances were so deceiving on the beach, especially with no landmarks in sight.
Thoroughly exhausted, hot, and thirstier than she had ever been in her life, she approached the dock. There was an old man unloading his fishing gear onto the dock. He looked up at her with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Could I get a glass of water?" Liz couldn't even think of anything else at this point.
"Sure." He disappeared into a small shack and reappeared a few minutes later with a tin cup filled with water. She drank from it even though it smelled dirty. The old man just stared at her.
"Thank you. I seem to be a little lost. Can you tell me if this is Emerald Isle?"
"Emerald Isle? Never heard of it. This placed is called Bogue Banks."
Liz's draw dropped. She felt faint. The old man grabbed her arm and led her to a bench outside the shack.
"I think you've got too much sun. Just sit here a while 'til you cool down a bit." He took the cup and went back inside for more water.
Liz felt like running but knew her legs wouldn't carry her very far. And where would she go anyway. She had no idea what was happening to her or even in what direction she would go. The old man reappeared and sat next to her handing her more water.
"Look, I don't get visitors here so I'm a little confused."
"That makes two of us."
"Name's Cutty. What's yours?"
"Liz," her voice sounded shaky.
"Look Liz, I don't know who, or what, you're looking for but there's not a whole lot on this island. A few cottages, and me. How did you get here anyway?"
"I drove."
"Drove what?"
"My car."
Cutty stared at her like she was escaped from an insane asylum. He got up from the bench and walked over to his boat. "Lady, there's no way you drove to this island. The only way to get here is by boat."
Liz stared at him trying to sort this out in her head. "I came over the bridge."
"Bridge?"
The way he said it made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. It was then that she noticed a small table near the entrance to his shack. There was a newspaper, the Carteret County News-Times. She got up walked over to it and picked it up. It looked like today's paper, but the date, June 16, 1951. Then everything went black.
