by Sara Clancy
The words that Richard had whispered in the hospital room came to her now like a long lost memory newly discovered. Do you want murder babies? Perhaps their hands had been forced, but her ancestors had all fallen to the same fate. They had killed others for their own peace. They had taken lives while justifying themselves at each turn. It’s in your genes. No, it was her heritage, a birthright that her father had tried to spare her from. He had failed, in so many ways, but she wasn’t ready to lie down in a grave beside him. Or follow his example. She wasn’t going to be like him.
Do you want murder babies?
It’s in your genes.
Had Delilah had children? Had they already been sacrificed in the name of her freedom? Marigold tore at her limbs as the chains shredded her skin and the wood croaked.
Do you want murder babies?
There was a sudden resounding crack, a hail of splinters, and the chain jerked free. Instantly Marigold lurched up. She gripped the remaining chain with both hands, braced her feet on the wall, and threw herself back. The bolts tore free and she flopped back onto the mattress. The chains rattled from her bloody wrists like metal serpents as she ran across the room to the windows. She was four stories up with a solid road underneath. Would the fall kill her? Her mind still played with the thought that death might be her only way out as she gripped the window frame and wrenched it up. It wouldn’t open. She slammed her hands against the glass and throttled the wood but she couldn’t get it to budge. A shift of movement drew her attention through the glass.
“Louis.”
The name fell from her lips like a prayer. Louis stood only a few measly feet away, directly on the other side of the street. The policeman, Joe, was with him. And Louis’ mother. She pounded against the glass but the three refused to look towards the sound. It was impossible to open the window. They were so close.
Look up - look up - look up!
She balled her fists within the length of the chain and swung the bolt ends against the window. The glass shattered and littered the floor in tiny flicks that dug into her feet as she pressed back against the new hole.
“Louis!” She reached through the gap as if they were close enough to touch. They didn’t turn.
“Louis!” He didn’t look up.
“Help me!” she screamed. Her voice crackled as they continued their conversation undisturbed. “Please, help me!”
“They can’t hear you.” Marigold spun to find Delilah in the doorway, hands neatly clasped in front of her. “They can’t see you. It won’t let them.”
Marigold pulled the chains around her hands again, the solid rings now a comfort.
“I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not,” Delilah said. “It’s stronger here than in other places. It’s stronger now that it has you. It will keep you here.”
“You’re the one keeping me here.”
“I am merely doing what I have to.”
“Is it easier when you tell yourself that?”
She smiled. “Someday you’ll understand. And so will your children.”
Marigold clutched the chains and moved forward. She hadn’t made it more than a few feet before the ends of the chains snapped her to the side. They had begun to drag her before she even hit the ground. The floorboards tore at her back as she struggled against the unrelenting pull. Delilah watched from the doorway, her face a cool mask of indifference. Fear bubbled inside Marigold and burst free into frantic, wordless screams as she heard the tub begin to fill.
“You really should just relax and accept your fate,” Delilah said as she followed Marigold behind the separating wall.
Water already sloshed over the rim in a steady tide. Marigold flinched at each droplet that hit her.
“It would spare you a great deal of pain.”
Delilah crouched down, a small smile in place as she brushed her hand over Marigold’s hair.
“Give us want we want Marigold. Or we’ll just take it.”
“We?” Water falling from the bathtub filled her mouth as she gasped. She choked and spluttered. “I’m your family.”
“You? Oh, child, you’re not a real La Roux. Your father might have been a worthless idiot, but he was still so superior to your mother that one could barely see them as the same species. It was as if he ran off and married a cow. You’re an abomination, not a real La Roux, but close enough to have some measure of usefulness.”
The water flowed over Marigold’s face too swiftly to keep her eyes open. She turned her head and attempted to speak without choking.
“I’m your family.”
Invisible hands yanked the chain and dragged her into the air. She kicked and thrashed, but every attempt to escape only resulted in her sliding deeper into the tub. Then whatever held her suddenly let go. The water swallowed her whole within an instant. The hands that had held her up now pressed her down against the porcelain bottom. Her hands gripped the sides. Her feet kicked across the bottom. Water roared in her ears, her heartbeat pounded against her skull, and the second the hands released her, she rushed to the surface.
She broke through with a rattled gasp, but the hands wouldn’t let her go further than that. Her knuckles turned white with the effort to keep her head above the water.
“I’m the only family you have left,” she gasped.
The woman smiled. The hands upon her tightened their grip. Just before she was dragged back down she heard Delilah’s response.
“For now.”
***
“A demon?” Ma repeated, her voice guarded but undeniably concerned, “That would explain things.”
“I’m not as well-versed as either of you,” Joe cut in. “Why is this such a big deal? You thought it was a Diab before.”
“Diabs and demons are very different things,” Ma said.
“Why?”
“Diabs were once human and can often maintain a trace of mercy,” Louis answered. “Demon’s never were. They’re creatures of pure malevolence and are a lot stronger. And a lot harder to deal with.”
Ma crossed her arms over her chest. “They can latch onto a person or place and feed off the negative energy. And unlike Diabs, once a demon has its claws dug into someone it can and will kill the host if anyone tries to separate them.”
Louis closed his eyes and shook his head as if it could force the images from his skull. “We need to get her out of there.”
“And I agree, but we don’t have any legal reason to search that house.”
“What about the dead body?” Ma asked. “It was found in her family tomb, surely that gives you probable cause.”
“The man’s been dead for thirty-five years and still unidentified. With all the more recent cases to compete with, it’s not making the top of anyone’s priority list.”
Louis clawed at the back of his head with both hands and tried to keep from swearing violently. The possibilities of what they could be doing to her filled him until he thought it would rip him apart. She was right inside. Alone. Being tortured for sick amusement.
“I can’t just stand around anymore. I have to do something.”
“I’ll gather some help.” Ma pulled him into a tight hug and added in a hushed voice, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I understand.” He waited for her to disappear around the corner before he turned to Joe. “How about you go and talk to Delilah again?”
Joe eyed him carefully before he heaved a sigh. “It’s illegal to enter onto someone’s property without permission.”
“I know.”
“And if you did so I’d have to arrest you.”
“Of course.”
“So you wouldn’t be attempting to use me as a distraction so you can slip in the back door?”
Louis paused. “No?”
“Why did that sound like a question?”
Louis shrugged and tried to look as innocent as possible.
Joe glanced around the street, careful not to meet Louis’ eyes. “Of course, if I suspected someone o
f entering the property illegally I would have cause to call for back up.”
“You might want to play up that the suspect has known associations with the occult.”
“Good input,” Joe said as he grabbed the radio that was strapped to his shoulder. Before he hit the button he held Louis’ gaze. “If you tell your mother about this, I’ll shoot you myself.”
Chapter 18
Marigold burst through the surface and gripped the far side of the tub with both hands, fighting to keep herself upright. She sucked in deep breaths, taking in as much air as she could. But no spectral hands reached for her. Her fingers clutched at the rim until her nails splintered. Tremors shook her limbs. Her legs were thick, numb blocks that sat heavily at the bottom of the tub. Water spewed from her mouth in thick gushes as bile burned her throat. Her ribs felt like they would crack as she heaved herself onto the rim. Water rushed from her skin like rain and pooled against the floorboards. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a sobering breath, and threw herself over the edge.
Pain ricocheted along her shoulder as she crashed against the wood. Her head snapped against the floor and her vision turned white. Unable to contain her tears, she writhed against the floor, shook and sobbed and tried to choke down another breath. She didn’t know why they had stopped, where they had gone, and her ruptured mind cringed away from the thought of what they would do once they returned.
Time had blurred and there was no way for her to grasp the concept again. She forced her eyes open and stared at the shadows that lurked under the bathtub. It surprised her when nothing leapt out. Blood rushed through her ears. Her heartbeat resounded like a drum. Marigold lay in the puddle and felt the humidity roll over her like steam. Breathing was becoming easier but thinking was still hard. Her mind wandered without prompting, with no direction or focus. It shifted from one memory to another, piling them on top of each other until they were a tangled mess.
A single flame of anger flickered to life within her. Her parents had never prepared her for this. They had been more than willing to slit her throat but couldn’t bring themselves to warn her of what was coming for her. She had been more of a pet to them than child, and now she would be a breeding sow. It would be her turn to keep her child in sweet ignorance. The thought stoked the flame into a raging inferno and she quaked in the face of it. Her hands curled into fists. Her chest heaved. All she could hear was the rush of air as it passed through her lungs.
She rolled onto her stomach. Each of her limbs shook as she pushed up onto all fours, threatening to drop her, but held long enough for her to get to her feet. The metal chains rattled against the ground as she staggered to the dividing curtain and ripped the thin material from the frame. She shredded the cloth and wrapped the shards around her hands as she crossed the floor. The thin cuts that littered her feet stung and her waterlogged skin shifted with each step. Strength seeped back into her legs as she pulled on her flip flops. With new purpose, she approached the shards from the broken window and selected the largest piece. The edges dug into her palm but the cloth prevented it from cutting into her palm. Weapon in hand she ran to the door and didn’t hesitate to enter the darkness beyond.
***
Louis crouched low as he worked on the door lock. Years of helping people with their paranormal problems had helped him hone a few odd skills, like popping window locks, jimmying filing cabinets, and fixing a car engine in almost complete darkness. Oddly enough, door locks were still a problem for him. The back of the La Roux home was completely shrouded, with no lights or neighbouring windows that overlooked it. And given the status of the occupants, Louis didn’t have any fear that someone would call the cops on him.
His pocket knife and paper clip jiggled in the old lock but refused to work it open. Each click of metal made his heart skip. It was a slight noise but he was sure that it would draw attention. Silence pressed down on him, smothering the sounds of Bourbon Street and the life it brimmed with. Cold sweat broke out across his palms and made his tools flip uselessly between his fingers. He wiped his hands on his shirt and began again.
It was taking too long. Joe couldn’t distract Delilah forever. Terror slithered through his insides like a living beast. His hands trembled and no matter how slowly he forced himself to breathe, he couldn’t slow the rapid pounding of his heart. He squeezed too hard and the tools skidded out of his hand and clattered against the stone steps. Hissing a curse he scrambled to find them.
There was a dull thump followed by a soft but grating groan. He froze. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched as the door creaked open. He swallowed thickly and shifted his gaze. The doorway stood before him as an empty, gaping hole. His muscles twitched and demanded him to run but the point of no return had been crossed long ago. There was no point in trying to prepare himself, so he merely stood and strode into the house.
He couldn’t keep his breathing even. The rushed sound of his own breath accompanied his footsteps as he edged deeper into the kitchen. The shadows were too deep for him to distinguish more than basic shapes, and he couldn’t hear a thing. Had Joe already lost Delilah’s interest? Without the conversation, he had no way to tell where she was. After the thought had passed through his head, it occurred to him that he couldn’t hear anything. Not a single sound beyond his own breathing.
There was a lingering stench of decay that tarnished the air and turned it sickly sweet. Wanting to keep his hands free, Louis took to breathing out of his mouth and forced himself to continue on. He concentrated on everything around him, determined not to consider that he was too late, that Marigold was the source of the ever growing scent of death.
He pressed his palm against his pocket, felt the protective gris-gris within, and took another step into the room. The stench increased until he gagged on it. A floorboard creaked and he spun to the sound. He felt eyes upon him. It wasn’t just the weight of the gaze that caught him, it was the sheer revulsion he felt them express. His watcher followed his movement with a near unbridled desire to hurt him. The demon threw out the emotions until he felt it like a physical presence. It wanted him to know.
With a resounding smash, the door swung shut. The walls rattled with the impact and he whirled around to face it. In the same moment, pain sliced into his temple, hard enough to force him to double over. A vision flashed into his mind, clear and sharp as if he were seeing it with his own eyes. But it wasn’t his sight. He could see himself. The viewpoint was from somewhere down the hallway, near the front door, bracketed by the threshold to the kitchen.
The pain faded and his own sight returned. Blinking rapidly he turned back around and edged through the kitchen until he could look down the hallway. It was too dark to see anything. Pain struck again and he winced as he grabbed his temples. Once again he could see himself. Only this time, this vision was closer and upside down as if the creature was watching him while hanging from the kitchen doorframe. He moved and watched himself shift. It watched him as he tried to use the creature’s own sight to locate it. The vision faded and he was left staring at the empty space over the only way out of the kitchen.
The ceiling plaster scattered and chipped as something unseen raced across the surface. Louis followed it, his eyes wide, but when the damage abruptly stopped, there was no way to keep track of it. The next flash came like a lightning strike. A quick burst, over within a second. The viewpoint was from the kitchen counter. He backed up and was blinded by another flash. It took him a moment to blink past the pain and realize what he was seeing. It was an inch behind him. He watched himself look over his own shoulder. The vision ended and he could see nothing but empty space. A hand latched onto his neck and hurled him into the wall.
Chapter 19
Marigold flinched at the sudden crash. Her feet fumbled over the last steps and her eyes locked onto the bottomless pit that was the staircase to the lower floor. She couldn’t see anything but no longer trusted her eyes. The sharp slice of the glass against her palms was a comfort. She ran as fast as she could, flip
flops gliding over her feet and chains rattling against her thighs.
The first door was locked and she glanced around. The hallway offered her nothing that she could use to break it open. She pressed her back against the far side of the doorjamb and stomped her foot down on the old copper doorknob. Pain snaked up from the ball of her foot but she ignored it, letting it join the now constant ache within her. She struck out again. And again. The wood splintered, the metal twisted, and the aged-door finally cracked open. She staggered in and found a finely decorated sitting room. Growling with frustration, she moved to the next room and repeated the process. She found Delilah’s bedroom, then a library, and a marble plated bathroom. The next door she busted open released a sharp stench of rot and spice. She pressed the back of her hand against her nose and ventured past the threshold.
A few scattered candles cast a weak light over the innards of the room. There were a couple of tables and a chest of drawers, all brimming with scattered objects. Some she recognised from the back of the voodoo store and some from past biology classes. Roots and plants sat amongst bones and what she hoped were animal organs. There was a foul reek of blood and her stomach churned. The walls were streaked with claw marks and flecks of blood. Over the damage, from floor to ceiling, hung thousands of family portraits. They stood as a silence audience, watching her from all sides. She saw them move, turning to face her, but when she set her eyes on them they had returned to their original poses.
The air was thicker, not denser or humid or any other variation that Marigold had experienced before. But she could feel it press against her, grazing over her skin like a physical force. She could feel it trying to burrow into her pores. Every hair on her body rose. She didn’t want to breathe but forced herself to take in short puffs.
