by C.L. Bevill
Camille’s eyebrows almost met in a frown. “Then roses?”
“Much later. Hundreds,” Gabriel reiterated. “Thousands of petals pouring over her. It wasn’t real, but the color was like blood. All in her head like the women hanging in the back of the tractor-trailer. Then she stopped. No, not just stopped. It wasn’t like her wall came down. It was like someone else’s wall came down. All heavy, black stone covered with barbed wire. Like someone with a lot of experience, one of the family.”
“Someone killed Gautier,” whispered Camille. “Le shérif said it was drugs. They found evidence inside his house. You know this. But Anna thought—”
“That Gautier was killed to prevent him from telling her something.” Gabriel finished the thought. “I’ve thought of this before. Gautier risked his neck for criminal ventures. We all knew, and more than a few of us tried to reach out to him, but after Arette went missing in the bayou, he wouldn’t have it. But he came to Anna and warned her. Something about the soil sucking her down. No, it was worse than that.” He hesitated and then repeated it to Camille, not realizing until that moment that he could recall the words almost verbatim. “ ‘You’ll be sucked down, drowned in a place where you can’t escape. It won’t be a giant catfish who wolfs your rotting flesh down, it’ll be stuck in a tomb of sandy soil with all those others who have gone before you.’ ”
Camille shivered. Her skin went icy at the thought of Anna hearing such a warning, something that was clearly intended to frighten her away. But what if—
All the outsiders’ excess thoughts in their heads were jumbling their gifts. It was like this every year. Sometimes it was difficult to hear another member of the family who was standing right next to you. But Gabriel received that thought clearly. He answered her aloud, “But what if he really was murdered by someone who didn’t want Anna to know something important.”
“She’s as curious as a cat,” said Camille.
“And we all know what happens to a curious cat,” Gabriel said quietly.
“But what’s changed in the last weeks? What’s so different about today?”
“It’s like she suddenly realized something and couldn’t live another second without seeing if it were true.”
“The mine,” Camille announced. “She was so caught up in what was in the mine, that the conja woman was down there.”
Gabriel’s face tightened into an angry look. Camille had seen the look before but only when her brother was very angry. The last time had been when he’d seen what Dan Cullen had done to Anna, how she’d been chained in the back with those horrible photographs to torture her. His fury had been so palatable; she had felt the sheer enmity of his feelings like something she could reach out and touch. Gabriel had wanted to throttle the man on the spot using his bare hands, but that wasn’t the family’s way. Instead Sebastien and Gaspard were to take the man and his truck to someplace he would be handcuffed in the back of the truck, and an anonymous phone call would tip off the authorities.
Confusion passed over Camille’s lovely features. It had been in the news lately. It was a wretched business with the missing truck driver who murdered mostly young women and buried their misbegotten corpses in his backyard like some Louisiana version of John Wayne Gacy. Her mouth opened wide. It had been so visible, headline news that made national news. Bodies equaled press. Many bodies of young women equaled national press. She shook her head, even while Gabriel did the same thing.
Gabriel’s frown intensified. He jumped to his feet. The mine. The mine. Anna’s in the mine. Why can’t she hear me?
“Oh children,” said Sebastien, who was standing behind them, “don’t fret so. Aurore’s taking care of Anna, and as for you, you’re not going to say or think anything out of place, are you?”
* * *
Alby started loudly singing a love song in French. He paused and encouraged his helpers to sing along. The couple with their oversized masks both sighed simultaneously. “We don’t speak French,” said Little Red.
“Where in the name of God is that aide tent?” asked Big Bad. He adjusted his grip on Alby’s shoulder and added, “This mask is making me sweat like a pig.”
“Did you know that there’s a giant catfish out in the lake?” asked Alby nonsensically.
“Giant catfish,” repeated Little Red. “I’m never coming to this fest again, Fitch. Flying across the country again with the Jumpmaster, just to see some old guy nearly drown himself and hear big fish stories. Wow. That’s my idea of fun.”
“This was your idea, Teddy,” said Big Bad. “You said,” and his voice went to a poor high-pitched imitation of his companion, “ ‘Let’s get him to one of the aide tents. So he doesn’t fall in and drown himself. I mean, jeez.’ ”
“A giant catfish who protects all of the family,” slurred Alby. “I think mebe he’s really, really pissed off now.” He chortled. “Of course, it’s better than being pissed on.” He laughed at his own poor joke.
“And you can forget going to see your parents next month, Fitch,” added Little Red. “All they want to know is when I’m going to produce five grandchildren. Chop. Chop.”
“What the hell do my parents have to do with helping him?” Big Bad protested. “They just want to hear the pitter-patter of little feet around the house.”
“Hah.” Little Red snorted. “Then let them get a dog. A little dog.”
“Hey,” said Big Bad. He pointed. “There’s one. It’s the only tent that’s mostly empty.”
As they guided Alby to the tent, a tall man with snowy white hair stood talking with another man and a woman. The tall white-haired man wore a simple blue T-shirt with a white Unknown logo that showed him to be one of the concessionaires at the festival. His hands gestured elegantly at the other two, who were both wearing the same T-shirts. In the background, a group of five played cards at a table, blissfully ignorant to everything else.
Little Red heard the tall white-haired man saying, “—children. Don’t fret so. Aurore’s taking care of Anna, and as for you, you’re not going to say or think anything out of place, are you?” Teddy would have said, “Duh?” in utter confusion, but Alby had pulled away from her arms and was teetering forward.
Little Red turned to glance at Big Bad and found that he was attempting to pull the awkward and heavy papier-mâché mask off his head. It seemed to be stuck on something. He grunted and pulled harder. She looked back.
The tall white-haired man was talking to a handsome black-haired man, who said vehemently, “You’re blocking us? How can you do that? Mon Dieu, what kind of tricks have you played on all of us?”
Little Red glanced at Big Bad again and then looked back in time to see the black-haired man leap to his feet. Under the fluorescent lights she could see his gold eyes burning with rage, and Teddy was taken aback.
Alby muttered something to himself.
The other woman who had remained sitting appeared horrified as she watched the tall white-haired man shrug and say, “Do you want your families to die? Do you want to be responsible for them as well?” The black-haired man raised a fist as if to strike the older man and froze at the words.
Little Red was really confused. She occasionally liked to imbibe, but these people around here had clearly been doing more than drinking. Smoking, swallowing, snorting, and apparently anything else their little hearts had fancied. Teddy turned to her husband. “Fitch, why don’t we get back to the band?” she said solemnly. She could still hear the strains of the Zydeco group. Accordions and fiddles battled with a guitar in a bouncing tune that threatened to drown out anything around it.
Fitch finally had his big bad wolf mask off, holding it awkwardly under one arm. He was wiping sweat from his forehead while he looked in the direction of the people in front of them. Suddenly his eyes went wide as he said, “Hey. Hey! Hey, don’t do that!”
The old drunk they had helped had picked up a large red fire extinguisher that was sitting against one of the braces of the tent. Fitch lurched forward as if
to stop him, but Alby had already lifted the extinguisher up, swinging it like Babe Ruth at the bottom of the ninth inning and with the bases loaded.
Little Red said, “Oh my God!” as the extinguisher felled the tall white-haired man like a sack of potatoes.
Chapter 25
Saturday, February 21st
When the superstitious one sees blue flames in a fire, it is a portent of calamity. The agitation of embers only rouses the spirits of the hearth more. When the blue flames are seen, children must whisper three times, “Fire burns blue, spirits in the room, turn away to escape doom.”
A sheriff’s deputy was arresting Alby LaGraisse. Alby took it in stride, saying to Camille and Gabriel, “Sebastien’s been a bad, bad person. It ain’t the family’s way to do that to another member of the family. You can tell him I said that when he wakes up. And I’d do it again.” He lifted his wrists up so that the deputy had better access to fastening the handcuffs. “There ya go, boy. Don’t want me getting away. I’m the scourge of the seven seas.” He laughed jovially to himself. “Hey, do they still have that cook from Terrebonne Parish down to the jail? He knows how to cook, oui.”
“I’ll tell him, Alby,” Gabriel said, his tone grim. “I’ll tell him a few other things too.” He watched as two paramedics carefully lifted Sebastien Benoit onto a stretcher. Riotous thoughts swirled in his head that he tried to comprehend. A crowd had gathered to watch the ambulance thread its way through tents and throngs of people to reach its objective, a person in need of medical attention. It was rare at Mardi Gras to avoid some person in such need, but the manner of Sebastien’s complaint had spread through the means of widespread whispers.
“I’ll call your son, Alby,” Camille yelled over the crowd as the deputy started to haul the older man away, “so he can post your bail.”
Gabriel stared at Sebastien. His face was a wretched color of gray, as he lay motionless on the stretcher. His eyes were closed, and only a little blood from the back of his head had made it to his face. He wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, but he wasn’t dead. His pulse was strong and his breathing was regular. He knew what would happen when Sebastien did return to consciousness. The family would ostracize Sebastien. He knew where Anna was, and he knew that Anna was about to be murdered by Aurore.
“He’s not going to need bail,” Gabriel said to Camille, and she strained to hear it. “I’ll make sure Sebastien doesn’t press charges.” Then he spun away, roughly brushing past the man and woman who had helped Alby over to the tent. Both held papier-mâché masks in their hands and goggled at the turn of events. Behind them the card playing designated drivers and bus drivers stared openly, having left their hotly disputed game on the table.
Camille didn’t need to ask where Gabriel was going. She could hear it in her head, regardless of the slow eruption of fury that was threatening to blow him up, a virtual Mount St. Helens of angry molten rock. Find one of the elders, his thoughts relayed to his sister. Tell them what Aurore and Sebastien did. Make sure Maman and Papa can hear you. They can’t silence all of us, can’t kill us all. Tell them Anna’s in the mine, and Aurore is going to kill her because she’s discovered their secrets. Tell anyone you can. Something is hidden in the mine. Both Gaspard and Meg were murdered to protect it. Dieu, I’m sorry I ever disbelieved Anna.
Camille looked around to see many pairs of gold eyes blazing in the crowd. Family mixed freely with outsiders, looking similar in form but vastly different in temperament. She didn’t need to tell anyone what Gabriel had said. They had heard it. Despite the outsiders’ turbulent thoughts, he was broadcasting like the strongest beacon imaginable. People who received it rocked on their feet with the inconceivable astonishment of the unwelcome awareness. Then the information began to move through the family like a wildfire out of control.
She saw their faces change with knowledge. Anger and horror mingled together as they realized what power had done to one of their own, what the Benoits had been doing with the salt mine for decades. She heard their comprehension in waves of thoughts. Missing people? That girl from Detroit. Her mama said her credit card receipts stopped in Unknown. Remember that couple ten years ago? They said they wanted a look at the salt mine, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Twenty-something years ago that man from New Orleans up and vanished. Outsiders disappeared, and we never even cared…And Gautier Debou. And Meg Theriot. Not only outsiders…in the mine?
As Gabriel shouldered his way through the crowd, not bothering to be polite, his mind on one thing, on one single person, others turned to follow him, not hesitating as they moved. Camille cast a lingering look at the paramedics situating Sebastien in the ambulance and disappeared into the horde of people who were watching the unanticipated show with no little amount of interest.
In a matter of minutes every person with a blue Unknown T-shirt had disappeared. Some who had simply come to the festival and were not concessionaires had gone as well. Not one soul with black hair and gold eyes remained.
* * *
Anna was watching the water rushing by her feet. A little trickle of dark water coursing over pure white salt had become a stream. It bubbled and pushed the pebbles of salt before it, insistent and resolute in its determination. The flashlight was about to be engulfed in it. She absently stuck her foot out and moved the Maglite back so that it wouldn’t be washed down the passage.
Explosives in the ceiling of the mine. What do I know about explosives? Anna considered. Nothing. Nada. Zipola. Engines. I know engines. Explosives were not in my instruction.
The water pushed by her, reaching out black tendrils to toy with the tips of her shoes. These were the same white Reeboks Gabriel had purchased to replace her worn tennies. She looked solemnly at the shoes, trying to divine the meaning of life from her footwear.
Then she looked down at the bottom of the excavation. Many other shoes had trod this path. She thought about what she’d overheard from Aurore and Gaspard. Even those of geology students who wanted to look at sinkholes, had come down one of these passageways. For sure, they hadn’t anticipated being killed for their scientific curiosity. They’d even brought their gear with them, expecting to find an amicable mine owner who didn’t care what they did as long as they didn’t sue him. When he’d refused them entrance they had thought they’d gone on in anyway, had a quick look-see, and found something more interesting and terrible than they’d ever dreamed of discovering. What’s the point in diving a silt-filled hole of water anyway? You can’t see beyond the tip of your nose and…
The vision of a nearly new Dodge truck appeared in Anna’s head. It sat near the ominous black Peterbilt almost hiding a Mazda Miata. Not a particularly out-of-the-ordinary truck to Anna, but its bed was full of scuba equipment. Masks, flippers, and air tanks. Everything a growing geologist and diving enthusiast needs to play in a deep, dark hole of sand and water.
I went scuba diving once. Jane dragged me down to the Sea of Cortez and made me go through a whole day of training called Resort Scuba so I could watch her play with the fishes and outswim hammerheads. I didn’t like being attached to an air tank. It didn’t feel…right.
Anna jumped to her feet. I said I’d die alone. But what if I don’t have to die?
Whatever Aurore needed to do to collapse the ceiling of the graveyard, would have to be done with her safely out of the mine. She wouldn’t want to take the risk of trapping herself. Anna scooped up the flashlight and looked down the passage again. Lost she was, but she could find the graveyard again. She had to find it before Aurore reached what she considered to be a safe location to blow up the explosives.
Anna began to run.
* * *
Gabriel didn’t stop for the gate. It was locked with the same rusting padlock that he’d seen on it before. He knew that Sebastien had deliberately placed an old lock on the gate to make it seem as though no one passed that way frequently. Gabriel shoved the gas pedal down with his foot and let the truck roar through the chain-link fence.
; The truck engine screamed with protest due to the abrupt extra tension that was placed upon it. Cement plugs that had held the supporting poles of the fences were yanked up and thudded against the doors. One thundered down on the hood and broke the windshield open. A thousand spider web cracks appeared in front of him, obscuring his vision. One of his fists lashed out and violently shoved the glass away. It fell forward and then was dragged off the hood by the fence when it was yanked back.
He didn’t look back to see it fall at the side of the narrow dirt track. Nor did he look back to see other vehicles following him, full of the family, all silent, their thoughts wordlessly condemning the actions of Sebastien and Aurore Benoit.
When Gabriel reached the main building of the mine, the huge double doors stood ajar. Aurore hadn’t worried about re-locking these. The Benoit’s ‘70s era Ford sat around the side of the building out of sight of the gate. The engine of Gabriel’s truck blew up with a loud explosion, and he was stepping away from it before it stopped moving. In the single floodlight of the mine, black smoke billowed up, pouring from the engine compartment and out of the vents. After moments, flames started to appear, and the paint on the hood began to bubble and turn black.
A dozen cars stopped behind his. People stepped out of them, ignoring the smoke of the burning truck. Gabriel could see that more lights were following them up the little road that led to the cut-off for the mine. At the edge of the bayou, two flat-bottomed boats were being pushed to shore, disregarding the dilapidated dock. Shapes moved along the edges of the fence.
Gold eyes burned with fury in the darkness, a thousand angry animals intent on retribution.
* * *
Anna wanted to scream with frustration. The last two times she’d found her way to the graveyard it was as if it had pulled it toward her with the tractor beam out of a Star Wars movie. Now it seemed like the tunnels had begun to tangle their Gordian knot into a more twisted version of a ball of yarn well-played with by a horde of hell-bent kittens. She’d run into three dead ends and was panting with exhaustion. Maze designers could learn a thing or two from this mine. She gritted her teeth. Not that they’ll be swimming through it anytime soon.
