by G A Chase
“Of the two of us, you’re the intellectual. I’m the skeptic. Me being on your side doesn’t change. Ever. All I’m saying is, convince me.”
“Did I ever ask you to prove you saw that airplane? Or question your story about Serephine’s suicide?”
She had a point, and it made his heart hurt. All she’d ever done was try to help him find proof of his ability. Never once had she questioned what even he wondered about himself. “I’m sorry. You’re just always so good at providing the facts to back up any idea.”
One of the characteristics he admired most about her was her ability to listen to reason even while being emotional. Most women he’d known needed a considerable period of time to cool off after they’d been provoked. “I suppose until we find a true witch or voodoo priestess, we won’t know anything about curses for certain. But you did say you felt something strange about the pipe tool beyond Serephine’s suicide. I know there were plenty of people who witnessed Marilyn’s death, but we never bothered to have you read the tool. Having you see a recent death might prove useful. So far, every event you’ve experienced has been far in the past.”
He hadn’t given the idea of reading the woman’s energy much thought. The events were well enough known. “I suppose it couldn’t do any harm. At the very least, I’ll be able to get some feeling of a recent death compared to one that happened long ago. Since it’s the same object, me reading it like before could be a scientifically useful experiment.”
She took his hand. Her soft voice made him think she was resigning herself to the obviously valid procedure. “We should do it exactly like last time.”
“But you want to try something different?”
She kept her head down and looked up through her long eyelashes. “You’re getting to know me a little too well. I was wondering if you could read me and the tool at the same time, kind of like how Professor Yates conducted his test.”
“That’s not going to tell us much about how Marilyn died.”
“Fuck Marilyn. You asked me to prove the curse is real.”
Her vulgarity made him smile. “We’ll need a place where we can lie down next to each other.”
“My bed’s big enough. Unless that would make you too comfortable and you’d fall asleep.”
He looked over at Cheesecake, who appeared less interested in the conversation than in finding the perfect position for lounging in the sun. “She won’t mind?”
“Don’t be silly. You came to her rescue. A girl doesn’t forget things like that. She trusts you every bit as much as I do.”
He wasn’t sure being considered safe was completely a good thing. Gaining a woman’s trust while steering clear of the dreaded friend zone was a complex game. “I’ve never tried to access this level of awareness while touching someone. The most likely outcome is I won’t get anything from the tool.”
Kendell kicked off her shoes and crawled onto the bed. “I know. I just want to see what might happen. You should lie opposite me with your feet near my head. That way we can hold left hands. It might feel more natural to you than trying to flip your hand over to hold mine or have my wrist across yours.”
He reached down and yanked off his tennis shoes. “Why left hands?”
“That’s not your dominant hand. I thought you might find it less distracting.”
Lying on the large bed in the awkward position made him feel like a little kid. He let his hands fall naturally to his sides. “I should warn you: the first time I read an object’s energy, I was a little kid, but I still remember the experience. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to find my way back to my mind and body.”
She placed the pipe tool in his palm then put her hand in his. “So it’s like an out-of-body experience?”
“I’d say it was more than that. ‘Out of body’ implies you’re still in touch with your thoughts. What I experience would be closer to being someone else. Have you ever woken from a dream that was so intense you had to take a moment to remember who you were? It’s kind of like that.”
She squeezed his hand, pressing the pipe tool into his palm. “But you’re not asleep.”
“No, and that makes it more terrifying. I leave little mental clues as I’m getting further into the experience. Like leaving a mental trail of popcorn so I can find my way home. I associate small memories with each level of consciousness. As I relax and nearly fall asleep, I remember the bed I slept on the first time I tried to read energy. It was a small twin bed with a cowboy blanket. I mentally feel the fuzzy fabric, hear the springs when I move, stuff like that. It’s just a quick impression to help me remember who I am.”
She wiggled her toes next to his head. The movement reminded him of how she often moved her fingers while she considered some idea. “Do you think I should have similar road markers?”
“In all likelihood, nothing’s going to happen. But if you get scared, remember holding Cheesecake in your arms the first time you met. That memory should work as a mental rope to get you back to your life. Now if you’re ready, just lie still, and try not to fall all the way asleep.”
Myles began the familiar mantra that helped separate his mind from his body. I am who I am. Though he acknowledged the odd phrase sounded more like grounding himself in his life, the way he interpreted the words helped him let go of anything that wasn’t him. By the time he’d let go of his body and even his name, he could turn his attention to the object he touched.
But he wasn’t just touching a thing this time.
* * *
Kendell struggled to keep her excitement in check. There was no one she trusted more than Myles. He’d done so much, but even more important was his belief in her. And now he was allowing her to share in his most intimate journey. They’d talked enough for her to know he seldom mentioned the ability with anyone, including girlfriends. For him to even attempt a shared connection made her heart flutter.
His touch calmed her thoughts like snuggling up in a warm blanket against the cool air of reality. She remembered a sensory-depravation experience a past boyfriend had talked her into once. As with that experience, she allowed her thoughts to float free. With one last thought about Cheesecake basking in the warmth of the afternoon light in the living room, she let go of her grasp on all that she knew.
She was a young boy lying on his bed. The light from his window was interrupted by the shadows of a peach tree whose limbs swayed in a light breeze. The smell of freshly mown grass hung heavily in the air. It was his naptime, but he wasn’t tired. His hands closed around the wool blanket. He was who he was, and that included not just the little body that he barely understood. She was also a part of him.
Then, like a plastic bag filled with water and floating in the ocean, she and the boy, who were one and the same, emptied into the vast human experience.
In spite of feeling like she was a being made of water submerged in the ocean, Kendell struggled to breathe. Her body shook as she tried to surface for air. Cheesecake! She felt the soft puppy fur against her face. The small dog squirmed around in her arms to lick her chin. The little girl of long ago quickly gave way to the woman.
Kendell let go of Myles’s hand and sat up on the bed. Sweat covered her forehead. Lazily, Myles opened his eyes. “You’re okay. Focus on your breathing for a moment. Don’t try to fight your thoughts.”
“What the hell happened?”
He sat up to face her. “You had a little freak-out. Nothing to worry about. I used to get them all the time as a kid. Letting go of yourself is a little like staring into a spinning vortex. It makes you a dizzy and confused. The natural instinct is to fight your way back to what you know.”
As she stared into his eyes, she saw the little boy she remembered. “How old were you?”
“When I first started this journey? I don’t know, maybe five or six. I was young enough that school hadn’t driven out the idea of magic. Before they’re taught about reality, kids know a lot more than we give them credit for. Ever watch a child the first time they’r
e given a balloon? It’s like their whole life—which is only a couple of years—they’ve known that things fall when they’re dropped. Then there’s this ball that somehow is able to fly away. Magic. I think because I hadn’t yet been filled up with grounding education as my known reality, it was easier for me to float away. I did warn you it could be frightening the first few times.”
She pulled her knees to her chin. “How did you not lose your mind? I’m twenty-four, and that fucking freaked me out. I was pure consciousness without borders immersed in every other human soul. At least I’m old enough to have the words to describe it.”
He lifted the pipe tool. “That’s why we have something to focus on. To read its energy, I first have to let go of everything that’s me. But we don’t exist in a void. People are all around us. They just don’t realize that they too are little more than pure energy.”
“I think you’re onto something a lot bigger than psychometry.”
He lay back on the bed. “We all have our specialties. Ready to try again?”
As she resumed her position, she wondered if she should have told him about being a part of him as a young boy. She could still feel his fear from so long ago. It would be so easy to love that kid and even more so the man he’d become.
* * *
Myles once again held Kendell’s hand. “It’s okay to bail out anytime you want. I’ll be right here beside you even when we are only pure energy.”
She squeezed his hand as if she were giving him a hug. “I know. You’re always there.”
He did what he could to remain aware of her as they descended the levels of consciousness. Her presence was like a little pink ball of excited, innocent energy. As he rounded the road marker of himself as a young boy, his being merged with hers. The pipe tool that was to be their shared connection so closely matched her energy that he had trouble identifying which impressions were from the tool and which were from Kendell. His feeling of emotional upheaval wasn’t unusual, but this was like being flung into a hurricane. Their hands squeezed. He couldn’t tell which of them was performing the action.
Their connection was strong. Like battling quicksand by struggling, fighting the forces that surrounded them would only drag them further into the chaos. He forced calm into their union. The goal was to hear what the pipe tool had to say.
An intense hatred filled its soul. The blackness that infected it was even darker and grungier than the tobacco tar that it scraped off the pipe walls. It was like some slave meant only to clean the remains of other’s vices. It couldn’t take the energy any longer, but there was nothing it could do, no movement it could claim as its own. The experience of slavery was complete.
A strong jolt pulled it from the ugly wooden cylinder. This was its one shot. With its blade still extended, it aimed its weapon into the pulsing neck artery. The gushing blood bathed it in relief. It was at peace once again, fulfilling its true destiny.
Time had a very different meaning for the object than it would for a human. Like the hands of a clock spun backward, a force was driving it into hidden depths. Though the dichotomy of male and female didn’t apply, the force was more directed than any previous attempt at the experience. And that force was like being led by the hand of a sweet, innocent child. The twister of emotions spun down to a calm day. But it wasn’t the pipe tool he’d entered.
The sound of a woman’s much-loved voice rang out across the field of wildflowers. “Delly, it’s time for lunch.”
“Coming, Grammy.” The girl’s small hands tucked the figure she’d made of sticks under a blanket of leaves. A dandelion served as a pillow. “Just rest here. I’ll be back after I eat.”
The grass felt wonderful on her bare feet as she ran toward the picnic table under the live oak. Her family was already seated. Grammy had made sure there was a spot next to her for her favorite granddaughter.
She knelt on the wooden bench so she could reach her plate of fried catfish and grits. Her grammy always knew exactly what to make.
On the other side of the table, the old men were conducting their endless argument about the family’s history. Who cares? But she’d been taught not to interrupt when the grownups were talking.
Grandpapa Alfred’s frail body made her wonder how he managed such a booming voice. “You heard the story straight from Antoine just like I did. I just don’t understand how you can be so dense.”
Grandpapa Milton, though not her real great-grandfather, had a more genteel way of expressing himself. “He was an old man. Anyone would be pretty rattled in the head after serving in the War Between the States. Even the well educated believed in superstition back then. Just because he said all of his progeny would be cursed because of his father’s evil doesn’t make such nonsense real.”
“And what of our father? You expect me to believe he just fell out of the pecan tree after spending his life in the orchards?”
Grandpapa Milton hadn’t taken a bite out of the fried chicken he waved like a stick to make his point. “You know as well as I we’re not descended from Antoine.”
“We come from the baron Malveaux. He’s the one who was cursed. Had Serephine lived, she would have been every bit as at risk as her brother. Antoine was clear on that point. If those two were heirs to the curse, why wouldn’t any of the baron’s illegitimate children suffer the same fate?”
She liked Grandpapa Milton more than her real great-grandfather. He didn’t yell as much. “Lilianna wasn’t just another in his stable of whores.”
Grammy put her hands over Kendell’s young ears. Not that it mattered. She could still hear the conversation. It was just muffled. But she guessed it made Grammy feel better. “What have I told you two? Don’t use words like that in front of Delly.”
“Sorry. Of course you’re right.”
Grammy took her hands away and smiled down as Kendell took a big bite of the fried fish. No one could cook like Grammy.
Grandpapa Alfred smiled at his brother in the sickening way he did when he’d just beaten Kendell at checkers. “So you admit to the curse at last.”
“I didn’t say that. But purely for the sake of argument, if it were true, none of us around this table would be at risk. We both know who commissioned Madam Laveau, even if Antoine wasn’t aware of our history.”
She seldom saw Grandpapa Alfred go quiet. But when he answered, it was in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “And that makes us guilty of any future misadventures that might befall anyone from the Laurette family? Am I really my brother’s—or in this case, distant cousin’s—keeper?”
“If we were only of Broussard blood uncontaminated by the evil Malveaux lineage, encountering one of the baron’s personal possessions might bring forth the curse. But as we share the history of both the damned and the cursed, our people are the only ones who can stop the evil. At least that’s what I got out of our conversation. It’s been seventy years since our afternoon with that old coot. I’ve asked myself over and over why he bothered looking up all of his illegitimate half siblings if they, and us, weren’t in danger. I think he was either hoping to find someone who could end the curse or recruit people to keep his descendants safe. It was like some grand obligation he’d committed his life to fulfilling. Now, if we could get our hands on the voodoo queen’s diaries, we might finally know something.”
The scene grew hazy. Quickly, the little girl took a bite of a butter roll to savor the last taste of her grammy’s cooking from so long ago.
The whirlwind of emotional confusion returned. They were still joined together, but instead of returning to the surface of their lives, they sank deeper.
As the scene coalesced into a crisp vision of the pipe tool, he wondered if they’d returned to Kendell’s bedroom. The tool, however, was not grasped between hands but nestled in the fine fabric of a silk pocket. Being an inanimate object didn’t come naturally. An action in one form or another gave meaning to the experience. Simply rocking back and forth in the dark pocket aroused a fear that they might have to figure
a way out without the benefit of some intensely emotional event.
Being a cylinder made of gold and steel did have a certain Zen-like quality. A feeling of belonging filled their consciousness. The tool had a purpose. It was a valued possession.
An energy wave overrode the experience of being useful. It was the beginning of the familiar black cloud that darkened every aspect of the tool. A hand reached into the pocket and threw it into a silver tray on a large oak desk.
Time had no reference without actions. How long the tool sat on the desk had as much meaning as how long a rock had lain by the ocean. A day or a thousand years—there truly was no difference.
A young girl’s hand lifted the tool from its rest. From the first touch, the tool’s blade yearned to taste the child’s blood. The desire, any desire, was a new experience. There were still no thoughts that could be identified, but an overwhelming need to plunge its knife into the girl’s soft flesh consumed every atom.
As the girl drew the sharp edge along her wrist, the dark energy separated the cells of her skin. Like a wheel spinning in sand, the thin blade sank deep into the warm vein, bathing it in the blood of fulfillment.
Myles felt his arm pulled nearly out of its socket by Kendell as she sat up. “I killed her. I killed them both. I felt my blade sink into both of them. I’ve never wanted to harm someone before, but that black hate overpowered me. There was nothing I could do to stop it. I didn’t want to stop it. I’ve never wanted anything more than to feel their blood all over me.”
He took the pipe tool from their shared grasp and tossed it to the end table beside the bed. “Focus on your breathing. Let you, Kendell Summer, flow back into you. You are not a knife that just killed a woman and a little girl. The girl died long ago. Neither death was your fault. You are a woman living in New Orleans. Cheesecake is in the next room.”
Kendell turned to him, panting. “Okay. I’m coming around. I am not a knife. I am not a knife.”
