by Greg Hall
Henri was about halfway to Cheneyville just as the sun began to set.
He was even slower than usual. He was still sore from being knocked out and dragged through Bunkie. He was determined to push through, knowing that Modeste needed him, but he worried that he wouldn’t be able to make it before Modeste found the monster.
The pink sky was beautiful in this part of Louisiana. When he was back at home, he usually watched the sunset from the comfort of the parish steps. On the days he felt a little more energetic, he would make his way to Laque Lake. In his opinion, there was nothing more beautiful than watching the sunset in the reflection of still water.
He kept his eyes on each step he took, making sure not to trip over any rail tie. He looked up every few minutes in hopes of seeing the lights of Cheneyville in the distance. His disappointment deepened with every glance.
He had already rationed his food, just in case, the trip ended up being longer than Franklin had said. Or, God forbid, he got lost.
This additional time in isolation gave him the ability to further reflect on his brotherhood. Jealousy still lingered that his God above chose to use Betsy as a vessel when he thought himself an appropriate specimen for the Lord’s word. Maybe their relationship had been hindered over the last few years, because Henri questioned his faith. He could never get over the idea that God allowed bad things to happen to good people. And why God allowed the poor boy to be drowned. Why would God allow these atrocities? Eli was just one example; Henri knew children died all the time. This particular instance upset him the most because he knew he could have prevented it.
Not only was Henri questioning God, but he questioned his own character.
Henri took issue not with how God’s will was done, but why it would happen with such brutality and evil.
Faith was no longer a good enough answer for Henri, and the Lord he was wavering. He answered his parish when asked why bad things happened to good people. Have faith in the Lord and that everything happens for a reason. The Lord works in mysterious ways. And the worst of them all: Now they’re in a better place. The Lord called them home.
Then there was the horror that happened to Betsy’s family. That was when Henri stopped trying to explain how the Lord worked. When he laid eyes on their bloodless bodies, he knew there was no way a good and just God would let something like that happen. It was unexplainable, indefensible. God wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, allow beings that could create so much pain and tragedy to live.
Monsters should never exist.
A rustling to Henri’s right snapped him from his blasphemous thoughts. Henri’s instincts pushed him faster. If this was a small animal, it was most likely moving away from him. He worried that it could be a black bear, but it sounded smaller. Maybe a snake or fox. Henri had never seen either, and he didn’t want to meet them now. It wasn’t that he was afraid of a fox anyway, he just knew he had a bag of food, and if the animal had the scent, even the most docile creature might turn on him.
The rustling grew louder. Henri quickened his pace. He had to closely watch his steps, as some of the rail ties were uneven from years of heavy use. As he pushed himself faster, the rustling became louder. Whatever it was, it was catching up to Henri. His heart was racing. He knew he wasn’t fast enough to outrun any animal. Heck, he couldn’t even outrun a snake.
“Where ya headed?” a young voice inquired to his right. The boy stepped out from the bushes, startling Henri.
Henri’s panic pushed him into the tracks. His eyes were no longer on the ties but focused straight ahead. There was still no sign of Cheneyville. Suddenly, Henri tripped. His momentum pushed him forward and he tumbled along the gravel and came to a stop against the left rail. The cold metal track sent a chill down his spine, and aggravated his injuries sustained by David.
In all the commotion, the mojo bag had fallen from Henri’s bag .He had placed it into the bag Franklin had given him for safe keeping. Now, the mojo bag laid on the tracks, unnoticed by Henri or the strange boy who stood with him.
The boy stood over and looked at the downed man with a half-smile. He appeared surprised that Henri had tried to run. He offered Henri his hand for help, but Henri just stared back at the boy. His clothing was dirtied, and his shirt had a small hole just above the navel. Henri marveled at the fact the boy could run along the tracks so well without shoes. The blackberry brambles along the side of the track would have been sharp, and the gravel wouldn’t have provided much comfort.
Henri felt a sense of familiarity with the boy, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on why.
“You okay?”
“What are you doing out here?” Henri stammered as he lifted himself to his feet. He stretched his back, and the pain radiated along his spine.
“Headin’ to Cheneyville. You?”
“Same,” Henri responded and couldn’t help staring at the boy’s feet. “Where are your shoes?”
“Ma said I could only wear them for chores. Nothin’ else.”
“And you live around here?”
“Not really, but we can walk together, though.”
Henri looked at the boy with confusion. He didn’t necessarily want another travel companion, but it didn’t make sense for them to walk separately.
Henri tried to rack his brain. Why was there something so familiar about this boy? He recognized the boy’s walk and talk, but still couldn’t place him.
“You come out this way often?”
“Not really,” the boy said evasively. “I take it you’re not from around here?”
“How could you tell?”
“Not too many folks out here at night.”
“Do you make this trip often?”
“Sometimes,” the boy responded. “My name’s Eli.”
It couldn’t be, Henri thought. He never forgot the boy who floated down the bayou. An epiphany jolted his mind. He remembered his nightmare riding on the skiff down the river, following the light at the end. He remembered Eli on the skiff next to him, telling him it wasn’t Henri’s time. But the boy who stood before him now, was not the same. They had similarities for sure, and they shared the name, but poor children usually wore tattered clothing and many didn’t have shoes at all, like this boy. This wasn’t the boy who entered their parish seeking out help. Asking the brotherhood for protection.
“I’m Henri,” he said faintly. His mind was still racing with a thousand questions, as the pair continued on.
“Whatcha doing here, Henri?” Eli asked.
“Trying to get back to a friend,” Henri said, then added, “Have we met before?”
“Friends are nice.”
“They are. Do you have many friends, Eli?”
Henri watched the boy and waited for his response. He didn’t really believe Eli happened to be wandering down the tracks. It didn’t seem like a safe place to walk in the best of times, let alone after dark and by himself. Henri thought maybe God was playing a cruel joke on him. Giving him an opportunity to speak to the boy he failed.
It was almost entirely black now, and the crisp night air had settled in. Henri felt a sense of calm wash over him, and for a moment, he felt safe.
“Not really. It’s hard to make friends.”
“I agree. But once you have one, it’s a great thing,” Henri said, reflecting on his new friendship. He was still hoping to see the lights of Cheneyville. He couldn’t see a hint of glow. “How much farther to Cheneyville?”
“Not too much farther,” Eli said, but his words were muffled by the wet gurgle of bubbles coming from his chest.
“Are you okay?” Henri asked, turning toward Eli.
“It hurts,” Eli said, rubbing his chest with his right hand.
Henri watched the boy with empathy. He wished he could offer him something. He remembered his care package from Franklin. He opened the strap and and ruffled through, and grabbed onto a water sack.
“Here, drink,” Henri offered and handed him the water.
Eli looked at it and beg
an to panic. He raised his hands to block the sack. He let out a blood curdling scream. The piercing pitch caused Henri to drop the water sack. Henri covered his ears. The sound was subhuman, and Henri couldn’t believe it was coming from the boy.
In a matter of seconds, Eli’s lips had turned blue. Henri watched as Eli’s eyes turned white. The poor boy gripped his neck and began to claw at it as if tearing through the skin was the only way he could breath. Henri wanted to reach out. He wanted to grab the child and help, but he stood frozen in his spot. He was letting Eli die, and he was helpless to stop it.
Eli muffled Henri’s name, snapping Henri back into action. He grabbed the child and held him close, just before they both collapsed to the tracks. Eli stopped breathing and his hands fell to the side. Henri cried out and held Eli tighter. Henri cried into the boy’s chest. None of it made sense. The boy was happy and living a moment ago, and now he was dead in Henri’s arms.
The boy laid lifeless in his arms. He wailed out into the night sky, damning the world, the God he thought he knew. Unable to help again, Henri collapsed beside Eli. Henri’s chest ached unbearably. He was heartbroken.
When Henri finally managed to gather himself, he looked over towards Eli’s body, but it was gone.
Eli was gone.
32
Modeste sat on the edge of the bed. It was more comfortable than she was expecting, considering it was about six inches shorter than usual.
After her encounter with Sheriff Brady, he decided to put her up in a room to prevent any additional public discussion about monsters. Sheriff Brady clearly didn’t want to cause panic with the locals. Luckily, he had been notified by messenger by Randy that a strange pair had been traveling through Louisiana. Sheriff Brady didn’t hide his disdain for the traveling team, and he hadn’t hidden his antipathy towards Modeste. She knew people like this before. People who would hide their hatred with non-partisan bull crap in public, but once they were out of the public eye, their true colors would come crawling out.
Modeste was told under no uncertain terms to stay in the room until Sheriff Brady came to collect more information. She thought about resting, but she knew she would never be able to sleep. Not without knowing if Henri was dead or alive, and not with a bloodsucker on the loose.
The room was barren. There were no paintings on the wall, no curtains on the windows. There was the small stuffed bed and a single matching pillow. Modeste wondered if it was intentionally small to make whoever stayed there uncomfortable. An oil lamp cast an orange glow throughout the room. Shadows bounced throughout the room. Sometimes the shadows appeared to reach out to her, trying to pull her close.
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the image.
A hammering on the door caused her to straighten up. Her heart caught in her throat. She placed her feet on the ground and focused on breathing.
“Modeste? You awake?” Sheriff Brady called out from the other side of the door.
His voice offered her relief, although she wasn’t quite sure why. She knew he had a disdain for her, and it seemed like it killed him to have to give her a room. She reached out for her cane and staggered to the door.
“How are the accommodations?” Sheriff Brady asked smugly, as if the room was some sort of high-class establishment. As he entered the room, a deputy followed close behind, leaving the door open to the hallway.
Modeste hadn’t noticed when first shown to the room, but she now saw two deadbolts on the exterior side of the door. One at the top and one at the bottom.
“It’s fine. Not much to it.”
“Believe it or not, we keep this room available for any unruly people or anyone we might want to charge with a crime.”
“Are you charging me with a crime?”
“Not yet,” Sheriff Brady said, narrowing his eyes at her. “But we surely don’t need strangers coming here shooting their mouths off about monsters and other nonsense.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“I checked in about these murders you were talking about.”
“And?”
“No one knows anything,” Sheriff Brady said, walking through the room.
Sheriff Brady walked over toward the window that overlooked the center square. The deputy office was diagonally across from this building. When Modeste was first brought here, she wondered what it was used for, now she realized it was basically a prison. Albeit, a more comfortable prison than she expected.
Sheriff Brady scanned the ground below. Folks were gathering in the square. He stood in silence and Modeste found him difficult to read.
“Tell me more,” he finally said.
“About the monster?”
“Sure. Tell me what you know.”
“He’s here. He’s going to kill again.”
“And how do you know he, or whatever you said it was, is here?”
“Because he confronted me on the train.”
Sheriff Brady spun on his heels. His eyes were wide, and his jaw was almost touching the ground. Even his deputy, who hadn’t made a single sound yet, cleared his throat and appeared to have become quite nervous. He had loosened his tie to relieve the pressure from his throat.
“You’ve seen him? On the train?”
“Yes.”
“And how did you know it was him?”
“I just knew.”
“And what good is your word? How can we trust that you just knew?” Sheriff Brady asked, and Modeste understood why. He didn’t know her from dirt, so there was no reason either of them should trust her word.
“Because I have a past with him.”
“And that is?”
Modeste didn’t want to get into the details. She didn’t want to share such personal information with men who so obviously didn’t respect her. She only had so many words to use about Tiara, and the more she spoke of her, the more she worried the memories would disappear. She wanted to keep every precious moment of Tiara in her mind.
On the other hand, she had to start building their trust. If the Sheriff and Deputy didn’t believe her, they might try to make this her permanent home.
“Because he took my daughter.”
“I’m sorry,” Sheriff Brady said, with sincerity. He lowered his eyes and looked away. “So you can tell us what he looked like?”
“Yes. I can tell you everything,” Modeste said. She could still picture his bizarre outfit quite vividly. “he was wearing what looked like a brand new suit. It was a shade of purple that I’ve never seen in cloth. He had long auburn hair that went halfway down his back. He wore a black top hat and Thick, black-frame dark glasses. I never saw his eyes. The lenses were just too dark”
“Did he have an accent?”
“He was southern, most likely from New Orleans.”
“How long ago did your daughter disappear?” Brady redirected.
“Ten years ago.”
“Ten years... “ the sheriff repeated. His thoughts lingered in the air. “Wasn’t there a child abductor in New Orleans around that time? A bunch of kids went missing.”
Modeste realized the question wasn’t directed toward her, but the deputy who had been silent this entire time. He remained silent, even after the sheriff’s inquiry. The deputy still appeared nervous and carried a stunned expression.
“Yes, there was,” Modeste added.
“Okay, I think we have enough. Hold tight, and we’ll have a look at the train records on every person who came here today.”
“Hold tight? I’m not staying here.”
“Don’t worry, William here will guard the door and make sure the ‘monster’ doesn’t come to get you,” Sheriff Brady said, emphasizing the term monster with an eye roll.
“I’ve come this far. I need to finish this.”
“Let us men do the work.”
“I can help you. I know how to kill it, and it will kill again. He takes them. He takes them to the forest and slowly drains their blood. It might already have its next victim.” Modeste cried.
Sheriff Brady was already at the door. He had lost interest in Modeste’s claims.
“Sit tight.” The deputy stepped out the door first, and Sheriff Brady was close behind. Modeste grabbed her cane and struggled to her feet. She struggled to the door, but it slammed shut, before she could get there. She banged on the door with her cane and her fist, but nothing happened.
“Please. Open the door,” she called out.
Modeste cried one more time, but her fate was sealed when she heard the deadbolts slide across the door. Sheriff Brady and his deputy were gone.
Modeste continued to bang on the door. Her fists were aching from the pounding, but there was no sound from the other side. Modeste knew there was no way the two law men would be able to track the bloodsucker. Neither of them knew what they were looking for, and neither seemed to believe her story. Maybe if she hadn’t continued about the bloodsucker taking its victims and draining the blood, Sheriff Brady wouldn’t have left so quickly. Most people didn’t believe in that sort of thing, and to hear it shouted from a ‘witch’ only pushed them further into disbelief.
It took Modeste a few moments, but she was struck with a horrible realization. She slid herself onto the floor. The sheriff never believed her. She didn’t know what his game was, but he had just been playing with her. He just wanted to get her to this room.
And now, she was trapped.
33
Henri continued to walk alone.
He was still reveling in the fact that a boy died in his arms, and yet was nowhere to be found. He couldn’t explain what had happened, but his suspicions about the boy’s identity were confirmed when he watched him die. The way the boy had laid on the ground was far too similar to Eli so many years ago.
He wondered why his conscience would play such terrible tricks on him. He had nightmares about the boy over the years, but nothing so visceral before. He swore Eli was real. Their conversation was real. Unable to accept the idea of a spirit world, Henri tried to explain away the events. Henri questioned the food he was given, and maybe something might have turned, causing him to hallucinate.
