Crave

by Karen E. Taylor

  “The cost is great.”

  “The time is now.’

  Chapter 5

  When the police arrived, they found me incoherent and hysterical, babbling on about wasted lives and bloody hands. They assumed I was in shock. In reality, their arrival brought me back to myself, but I continued the act. No one would expect the eyewitness of such an attack to make sense. I needed time to rehearse in my mind the story I would tell; I had, after all, killed two men, in a rather incredible manner. I had no desire to start out a new life in jail.

  It soon became apparent that I wouldn’t be required to tell much of a story at all. The whole event seemed self-evident to them; we’d been attacked and Hyde had killed two of the assailants before he died. I latched on to their theory and reinforced it with nods and sobs. The only other living witness was not likely to come along and set the record straight.

  So, after answering their questions and making my statement, after watching them cover and carry off the bodies of the only two people I’d had in this world, I was finally free to go. It was almost dawn when they loaded me ever so gently into a police car and drove me home.

  One of the men took my keys from my hand and opened the door for me. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked. “I can take you somewhere else, if you like. I still think you should go to the hospital and . . .”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be fine, Officer.” I turned my head away from him so he couldn’t see my unnaturally dry eyes. The last thing I needed now was to be burdened with more of his assistance. “I really have no other place to go. But I will be fine, thank you.” I shut the door, then leaned up against it.

  Drawing in one ragged breath after another, I attempted to hold myself together. I had arrangements to make, I reminded myself; it was important for me to stay in control. And I’d been so used to my guardians dying; this was just one more to add to the list.

  “But,” I said aloud to the now-empty house, my voice quivering, “this was Moon. And Hyde.”

  Walking into the living room, I stopped in front of the shrine of her patron saint. “You had no right,” I told the statue of St. Barbara, “you had no right to take her away, to take them away. They were all I had. I was all Moon had. What will she do without me? And what will I do?” I picked up the statue and thought to throw it on the floor. But just the feel of it was comforting; warm to the touch and familiar, it was part of Moon and breaking it would hurt her. Instead, I sank to my knees and cradled it like a baby, rocking back and forth, staring at the statue’s face until I couldn’t see it anymore. But there were no tears.

  At some point in my misery I must’ve curled up and slept. I dreamed that Moon came and stood over me, taking the statue out of my arms and placing it back on the altar. She bent over and smoothed my hair and whispered again the words she said outside the bar door. “What will happen, will happen, my Lily child. Even you can’t hold it back.”

  “But, Moon,” I said in the dream, “if you knew this was going to happen, why didn’t you try to stop it? You walked right into it.”

  “Hush, child.” She ran the back of her hand along my cheek. “It will all work out. You’ll see. It always does.”

  Because it was a dream and because she was with me, I was comforted and slept on.

  The phone woke me. Bleary-eyed, I peered at the clock; I’d slept for about three hours, just enough to leave me miserable and craving more.

  I got up off the floor and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Lily?” I didn’t recognize the voice. Must be a policeman, I thought.

  “Speaking.”

  There was a pause. The man on the other end of the line cleared his throat. “This is John Shepard. Alfred’s father.”

  “Alfred?” I shook my head. Who the hell is Alfred? Then I remembered. Hyde. “Oh, yes, Alfred.” I took a deep breath. “Oh, Mr. Shepard, I’m so very sorry.”

  “They said you were there? Can we talk about it?”

  “Of course,” I started, “there had been a disturbance earlier, you see . . .”

  “No, not on the phone.” His voice was hoarse. “The boy deserves better than that. Can I come and see you?”

  “Of course.” I gave him the address, asked him to give me about an hour and said good-bye.

  I wandered into my bedroom, aimlessly, with absolutely no idea what to do with myself. Totally unprepared for a life alone, I couldn’t bear to think of all the things I’d longed to do once on my own. And I would have given up every single one of my dreams for the sight of Moon walking in the front door.

  “But it’s not going to happen, Lily.” I looked at myself in the mirror. “Moon is dead. Hyde is dead. Two other people you don’t even know are dead. All because of her. Your mother.” I spat the word and watched my eyes narrow in the mirror. “I hate her, whoever and wherever she is. But I will find her. And I will get my revenge.”

  Stripping off my waitressing clothes, I walked down the hall to the bathroom. I lingered in the shower longer than necessary for cleaning my body; I stood for a long time, my head pressed up against the smooth shower wall, and let the water wash over me, let the hot stream release the tensions and aches. But the water did nothing to loosen the bitter tears I knew were trapped inside, did nothing to release the hard little knot that had tied itself around my heart last night. Was it from seeing Moon and Hyde dead on the sidewalk? Or was it from finding out I could kill? And kill with precision and elation?

  I searched my memories for other occasions when I’d used this sort of force, and found nothing. I had never been in a similar situation before; my caregivers had seen to that. I’d led an incredibly long but sheltered life. And I had been taught from the minute Philomena found me that aggressive physical action against others was wrong. Had she known the extent of my true powers and established this taboo early on for the protection of all? Or for my protection?

  “It doesn’t matter now,” I said, turning off the cooling water. “They’re all gone.”

  I heard the doorbell ring as I was toweling myself off. “Hold on a minute,” I called. “I’ll be right out.”

  I put on some clean underwear, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. For just a second I pulled the shirt up to my nose and sniffed. Moon had always done the laundry and made sure my clothes were clean and sweet-smelling. She’d even taken to putting lavender sachets in with the clothes when she put them away. It was a comforting and soothing smell.

  I stopped by the bathroom and picked up another towel, rubbing my hair with it on the way to the door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see someone other than Mr. Shepard standing there.

  “Hello, Angelo.”

  “Miss Lily.” He doffed his hat to me and gave a sad little smile. “I heard what happened to Moon and that young man, and come to offer my sympathies. May I come in?”

  “Well.” I looked at him, this wrinkled old toad of a man, and I was barely able to control a giggle, remembering how Moon had spoken of him. “For a while, I guess. I’m expecting someone.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, that young man’s father. He was here when I show up, sort of skulkin’ outside the door, afraid to ring the bell, Bible in hand, all sorrowful eyes and hound-dog ears hangin’ down. I can tell, he just want someone to tell him it’s not his fault. So me, I sent him away for a while.”

  “You sent him away?” I opened the door wider and Angelo walked in, hanging his straw hat on the rack as he passed. “What do you mean you sent him away?”

  Angelo winked at me. “You know, I cause him to remember something important he needed to do back home. He get there, he’ll wonder what it was.” He threw back his head and laughed; it had a dry, humorless sound. “Some of them is so easy to turn, it seems a crime not to.”

  “Ah.” I motioned with my arm. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll fix us a cup of tea.”

  “Not got nothing stronger?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “So who’s got sorrowful eyes now? I’ll see what Moon has pu
t aside.”

  He followed me into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “Ain’t Moon’s stuff anymore, child, it’s yours. And I figure you’re plenty old enough to pass out the booze. How old are you now, anyway?”

  I pulled a bottle of sherry out from under the sink and held it out for his approval. “I’m nineteen or so, ’Lo, you know that.”

  Angelo nodded, and I filled a small juice glass and handed it to him. He drank half of it down. “Shit, missy, you been nineteen for a long time now. Ain’t no need to prevaricate for me. I was almost your stepdaddy, after all. I know the score, I do.”

  “I’m sure you do.” I hesitated, then took another juice glass from the cupboard and sat down at the table with him, filling both glasses. “Okay, so I’m almost a century and a half old. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  He shook his head and gave a long, low whistle. “I knew you was different, but I didn’t know how much. One hundred and fifty years old and never been on your own?” He finished his glass and poured himself another, then reached across the table and patted my hand. “Don’t you worry, Miss Lily, I’ll take care of you now. I figure I owe it to Moon.”

  I stood up, leaned over the table and stared him down. “Jesus Christ, Angelo, you act like I was five years old and not very bright. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I don’t want anyone to take care of me.”

  “Independence. I like that. It’s a good thing. But you be needing some help, I think, with the funeral and such?”

  I sighed. “Yes,” I admitted, “before there was always someone else to take care of it. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Then you just leave it to ol’ Bowlegged ’Lo. I’ll see that Moon goes out right. Her mama never thought I was good enough”—he gave a low laugh—“and maybe she was right. But I loved that girl. Ah, she had a smile that could light the world and make a bad man good. No tellin’ what sort I’d have been if she’d had me.” He wiped at his eyes and I had to look away, ashamed that this wizened old reptile could cry and I couldn’t. Where were my tears?

  After a while, he reached over and touched my hand again. “Ah, well, the dead are dead. And we are left behind to live. But I can be a help to you, Miss Lily. Just tell me what you want.”

  “What?”

  “You said you don’t want no one taking care of you. So what do you want?” His eyes were bright with tears, but eager and searching.

  I sat back down at the table again and drained my glass. “I want to find my mother, my real mother.”

  “I can help with that. Already know some stuff, yes, I do. And when you find her? What then?”

  I looked him dead in the eye so that there would be no mistaking my intent. “And when I find her, I will make her pay.”

  Chapter 6

  Since I was an aleyo, not an initiate on any level, I was required to wait outside the mortuary doors while Moon’s ceremony was held. Angelo sat and kept me company, though, and gave me a running commentary on what was happening. I didn’t listen; I didn’t care. Moon was dead and gone; nothing they said or did would bring her back. And after going through similar ceremonies for other mothers I had lost, I knew the routine by now. They would bathe her, purify the body and clothe it in her initiation robes. The spirits that had been with her in her life would be asked if they wished to stay or to go with her. Shells would be cast and read. A black chicken would be killed and they would sprinkle the blood over the funeral gourd filled with bits of food and ashes. Then they would moan and chant and cry, bidding farewell to their sister.

  I knew the ceremony well enough. And it gave no comfort. When I heard the series of three loud knocks on one of the inner walls, I knew that the service was almost over.

  “They goin’ soon,” Angelo said unnecessarily, “and she goin’ with them. Now we take the old used shell to the cemetery.”

  I gave a relieved sigh and stood up, smoothing the skirt of my black dress and picking up my purse. “These things seem longer each time I go to one. And after all these years, one would think they’d let me go in.”

  Angelo looked up at me. “They don’t know nothin’ about all your years, girl.”

  After the procession, I stood at her grave and watched them lower her into the ground. I had no tears to cry; instead I stood tall and pale amidst her weeping friends. One by one they stopped in front of me, some with a kind word, some with just a nod. Two handed me trinkets, a set of red beads and a white plate, souvenirs from the ceremony I’d been barred from. Soon only Angelo and I remained at the grave site. I gestured around me. “All these graves,” I said quietly, but not caring if I was heard. “All this death, all this sadness. And it hasn’t touched me. Will it ever?”

  Angelo sidled up next to me. “A better question, Miss Lily, is why would you want that touch? You’re perfection—ageless, graceful, beautiful.”

  I shook my head. “So are the goddamned statues here, ’Lo.” I gave a bitter laugh. “And they probably know more about life than I do. Hell, even you probably know more about life than I do. What do you want with me?”

  “I told you. I want to help you.”

  “But why? And don’t tell me it’s for Moon.” I pointed to the open grave. “She’s beyond caring or knowing.”

  “That may be, Missy, or it may not be. You want I tell it straight?”

  “Yeah.”

  He pulled himself up to a height I’d not have thought his wizened body capable of. He seemed to stand straighter, prouder, almost defiant. “I one of the best mayomberos alive in the world today. Baptized or unbaptized. I have power, I like power; I am drawn to it like iron shavings to a magnet. And you, Miss Lily”—he shrank back down a bit, as if in deference to me—”you have powers like I never seen. Unskilled, undeveloped, but so strong I can smell them.” He sniffed to emphasize his point. “Oh, yes, they be strong. And I can teach you to use them. To get what you want in life.”

  “And what exactly do you get out of it, Angelo?”

  “I learn about you. Maybe some of that beauty and grace you don’ want will rub off on old Bowlegged ’Lo. Maybe I learn to live a very long time. Maybe I get nothin’ but the thrill of the tryin’.”

  I sighed. “Can we talk about this later? I’m tired, Angelo. And I want to go home.”

  Angelo must have given Mr. Shepard a suggestion to end all suggestions, since he never returned to the house. I finally met him at Hyde’s funeral service two days following Moon’s. He was very much like Angelo described, eaten up with guilt inside and sorrowful as a whipped dog. I half expected him to put his head back and howl while the congregation sang “Amazing Grace.” Trying to stave off an attack of the giggles, I threw myself into the singing of the song. It had always been one of my favorites; so many of my mothers had rocked me to sleep singing it. By the time the hymn ended, though, I had no desire to laugh. All those wasted lives over the years. I had lost too many mothers, I thought angrily, and too many friends. It’s time for a reckoning.

  I stood biting my lip and clenching my fists as they carried the coffin out of the church. The rest of the congregation filed out around me until I was alone. Let them go without me, I thought. I’ve no desire to stand tearless over another open grave.

  But as I left the church, Hyde’s father came up to me. “You can ride with me, Lily. He’d have liked that. Besides,” he said, taking my hand, tucking it into his arm and walking me to the lead car, “we never had that talk.” He shook his head slightly, wondering, I supposed, why we hadn’t. I made a mental note to ask Angelo just exactly how that little trick worked.

  Once we were in the car, Mr. Shepard cleared his throat. “I’ve heard the police tell it, of course, but you were there. How did my son die?”

  “He died well, if such a thing is possible. There had been trouble at the Orchid earlier that evening and these men were waiting for us, or maybe just for Moon. Hyde, er, Alfred died protecting her. And me.”

  “That’s what the police said.”

  “A
nd that’s what happened.”

  “I was afraid”—he looked out the window for a second, then looked back at me—“that he’d maybe started the fight himself. It wasn’t easy trying to raise the boy after his mother died. Alfred was always difficult for me to handle; his mother had a way with him, but he and I never could agree. And when she died, he kind of went weird, that crazy hair, the black clothes, staying out all hours and associating with freaks.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat; I was undoubtedly one of those freaks.

  He cleared his throat again and continued. “It seemed like he and I were constantly fighting about one thing or another, all of it so unimportant now.” Tears began to flow from his eyes and stream down his face, but he didn’t notice or care. “And so, when the police came and told me he’d died in some sort of a scuffle, I thought that he’d done it on purpose. To show me that he was a man, or to prove something. I felt, oh, I don’t know, like maybe if I’d listened more to him or given him more, he’d not have done it.”

  “But it wasn’t like that at all, Mr. Shepard. He was a good person and his death was not your fault. It was just something that happened, that no one could prevent. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  “Then who can I blame?” He turned to me, angry. “His mother gone and now him?” He shook his head. “It makes no sense.”

  I gave him a sad smile. “Nothing makes sense these days.”

  My voice seemed to bring him up from the depths of his thought. “But here I am going on about me and I’ve forgotten that you haven’t just lost one person close to you, but two. I am sorry for both of those losses, Lily.” He reached over and patted my hand. “I heard you singing in church; you have the voice of an angel. Such a voice can only be inspired by faith in God. And the Lord will give us each comfort in our grief.”