The Tangled Bridge

by Rhodi Hawk

  Madeleine barely breathed. Thunder echoed again, a fresh rumble arriving on the heels of the previous one like the narrowing intervals between birth contractions. The last door opened.

  Sunlight poured around a woman or girl who must have been the one Oyster had called Del. Because the last apartment faced away from the bridge, its windows overlooked the sun-drenched horizon, not the black thunderhead that was mounting from the causeway.

  “We movin on,” Oyster said to the silhouette.

  “Coming back?” the girl asked, and her voice was that of a teenager.

  Oyster didn’t answer, so Madeleine said. “You’d better gather your things.”

  Del opened the door all the way and turned into the apartment with a sigh. A sleeping baby lay against her shoulder. Madeleine stepped toward the doorway and saw the same ragged disrepair as the other apartment with the owls. Unlike that place, though, she saw no furniture here other than a bare mattress, and the predominant odor was chemical. Cans of spray paint littered the floor.

  Del snatched a skirt from the bedding and threw it into a black canvas bag. The baby stirred.

  “Here, let me help you,” Madeleine said stepping through the doorway.

  “Stay out of my room,” Del snapped, and Madeleine halted.

  Then Del said, “Don’t be messin with my stuff,” and shoved the baby into Madeleine’s arms.

  Madeleine accepted the baby in mute surprise and held it against her chest, shoving the flashlight back into her bag and then placing her hand behind the infant’s head. It tightened its face like it might cry. Instead, it clucked twice and settled right back into sleep, a limp, weighty bundle at Madeleine’s shoulder.

  Del shoved the rest of her things into the bag and then turned and strode past Madeleine and into the corridor without looking back.

  Madeleine looked after her for a heartbeat, the baby’s head still resting at her collar. She scanned the room one more time, making sure there were no other signs of people, and then joined the others in the dark hall. Her lips throbbed.

  “Alright, down the stairs,” Ethan was saying to the group, shining his flashlight along the corridor.

  The boys and Del marched forward under Ethan’s direction, and Oyster trailed behind them all, slowing his steps so that he was the last behind Madeleine. She didn’t like having him at her back. Del disappeared down the stairwell ahead without retrieving her baby (son? daughter?); didn’t even look back to see whether Madeleine was following. As she walked carefully through the darkness toward Ethan, Madeleine put her nose to the top of the baby’s head and sniffed. Sweat, grime, and that indefinable baby smell. It was the latter that caused her to take in a second whiff and draw the child more securely into her arms.

  ten

  NEW ORLEANS, NOW

  ZENON STARED AT THE ceiling. He couldn’t tell whether it was morning or noon—or suppertime, for that matter. Curtains were drawn. Supper meant absolutely nothing to him, anyway. Supper didn’t enter through his mouth anymore.

  The only way Zenon could tell what time of day it was, was when the damned sun would send one direct damned ray straight at his face. It colored everything red. Not because of some sweet sentimental sunset bullshit, but because the afternoon sun’s death-ray beam would cause the blood to rush to his eyes. Never bothered him before in his life. But now he couldn’t turn his head away, or close his eyes, or even blink. Oh, his eyes closed alright. And they blinked. Just not when he wanted them to.

  The whole thing was horseshit. He could use the stupid pigeon game on a bunch of worthless drones but not on his own damned body.

  “God, you’re a wallowing, self-pityin sonofabitch,” Josh said.

  “What’s it to you? You river devils don’t have real bodies so you don’t know what it’s like to lose one.”

  Josh let it go for once. “Come on, your body’s worryin your pretty head so bad, why don’t you step on out of it?”

  “Later. I don’t have the energy no more.”

  “You gonna miss out on Miss Chloe again.”

  That got Zenon’s attention. He stopped trying to look at the ceiling through his eyes, and let his consciousness settle backward. Back into his own head. He could almost feel a slight rush of blood along his jaw. Blanked out his mind. And then he rose up, easy like a feather in the night, and took a look around.

  Sure enough, old Chloe was there. So was Oran. He liked Oran.

  eleven

  NEW ORLEANS, NOW

  ZENON LOOKED AT CHLOE and Oran, then back down at his own form lying in the bed. Hardly recognized his own self. It looked like he was shriveling with every tick of the clock.

  He realized then that several other river devils besides Josh had assembled. There were some that were humanlike, and others more lizardly. All different sizes. Weird how they liked to fade in with the background. The animal-type devils changed their colors and blended in with bunched-up sheets, behind plants, a tiny one on the face of a clock. The human-looking ones had seemed like hospital workers at first. They were whispering. He’d never seen so many.

  It occurred to Zenon that they were gathering for Chloe. The old bat was looking at his slack body there in the hospital bed while he watched as a ghost, looking over her shoulder. She’d brought another gris-gris that she was having Oran put under the mattress. She did that a lot. Maybe she thought it would help to resurrect him. Well, then, this ought to give her a thrill.

  “Go on already,” Josh said.

  Zenon turned to Oran. Focused.

  Oran paused as he was reaching for the mattress with the gris-gris.

  Zenon smiled. Like driving a car.

  “What is it?” Chloe said to Oran. “Stop dallying.”

  Zenon dug in until Oran threw the gris-gris on the floor. Some kind of weed fell from the bundle and a feather tufted up and danced in the air-conditioning. Chloe gave Oran a hard look.

  And then Zenon had Oran take hold of Chloe’s wheelchair and turn her toward the foot of Zenon’s bed.

  She sputtered at him. “What are you doing, Oran? Stop that.”

  This was just rich. Oran pushed her all the way around until Chloe was on the other side of Zenon’s physical body, between his bed and the window.

  “Oran! Put me back!”

  “Time to get up now, Chloe,” Oran said.

  She whipped her head around to look at him, but her ancient shoulders didn’t allow her to turn all the way. Zenon would have bet that old Oran had never before acted fresh with her. Not once in thirty years.

  Oran walked around so that he was facing her and then bent over, grabbing her by the ankle and snapping the footrest up. Zenon had to chuckle. Oran’s posture on bended knee looked like that of a servant, his ash-colored skin and white-orange hair washed in the overhead fluorescent light. He folded back the other footrest and returned to his post at the back of Chloe’s chair. She huffed. Oran tilted the chair forward.

  Oran’s voice saying, “No good sitting around on your ass, Chloe, your butt’ll just get harder to heave.”

  It was perfect. Zenon’s words, Oran’s voice. Even Oran’s own accent.

  Wheelchairs were constructed to tilt backward, not forward, but old Oran was stronger than he looked. He had to squat and lift, bearing the brunt of the weight himself with the smaller front wheels making a weak fulcrum. He managed it, though.

  Chloe’s legs splayed straight out and she had to grab the hand rests. Her feet touched the laminate floor as she veered forward.

  She cried out in excitement, “Wait! Wait! Send him around to help me!”

  Zenon thought it over a moment, and decided to indulge her.

  The wheelchair went back down with a thud. Oran walked around to face her, sheened from sweat. He seized her by the wrists and pulled. She pulled back at him and rose out of the wheelchair. She seemed too excited to protest or fuss for her bones. Oran’s expression showed Zenon’s delight mixed with Oran’s fear.

  “Ma p’tite pigeon,” Chloe said. />
  Oran shook his head. “No, he’s actually my pigeon.”

  “Zenon!”

  She searched Oran’s face with fascination. Zenon watched, too, and could see how the real Oran was still struggling against this, weirded out by his own acts. And the implanted thoughts from Zenon reflected in facial expressions that weren’t typical of Oran.

  Chloe cast a glance back toward Zenon’s physical body in the hospital bed. “Zenon, I have waited for you to return. Have you heard me talking to you all these—”

  “Waiting, Chloe? You wouldn’t have had to wait for me if you hadn’t put me in this goddamn bed to begin with!”

  Chloe frowned. “You know I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Ain’t so sure about that. You put Madeleine up to it. Told her to use the pigeon trick against me.”

  “Zenon, you were going to kill her. I only suggested how she might defend herself. She was the one who pigeoned that man into attacking you. She’s the reason you piss into a bag and can’t even speak your own name!”

  Zenon made Oran throw her wrists back and she teetered. For a moment it seemed she was going to fall. Her sluggish body managed to recover balance and she stepped to the handrails at the foot of Zenon’s bed and gripped them.

  She said, “I never wanted this for you! You were the only one who ever embraced the bramble. You never fell to the madness because you kept in step with the river devils.”

  “For what? So I could be a hired gun for you and the damn devils?”

  “It is only the beginning, Zenon. You had to understand the culling so it would not get in the way. You are free now. Free to take the secrets of the briar. With my help.”

  Oran leaned forward to speak in her ear as she stared at Zenon. “Your help, Chloe, is what got me into this shit to begin with. Secrets of the goddamn briar, my ass. Secrets for you, they ain’t for me. I showed you how to talk to the river devils. How to live for fuckin ever. And then you put Madeleine up to taking me out!”

  “Listen to you, sniveling man. Is that what you spend these months thinking? You so stupid blind you see only what you want. Madeleine put you in that hospital bed, not me. Madeleine! You always grovel on your belly for Madeleine!”

  Zenon twisted in on Oran. Oran lifted his hand to strike Chloe. But the river devils reared. All of them. Bearing teeth, scratching. Zenon halted. And Oran halted.

  “Knock it off,” Josh said.

  Zenon looked at him. “What, you too? Why y’all afraid of her?”

  “Not afraid. Just respectful.”

  Zenon waved in disgust at Josh, letting Oran go. He didn’t need this crap. Let Chloe keep her feathers and weeds and her bootlicking bands of river devils.

  Oran took a step backward and folded his arms across his chest. His hand went to his face, his gaze darting from Chloe to Zenon to the door.

  Chloe scowled at him. He turned and leaned into the corner.

  “Zenon. You still here?” Chloe said.

  The river devils were watching her, watching Zenon. He reached forward and dragged a finger along the spine of the one that was wrapped around the clock. It opened its mouth, hissing.

  He regarded the rest of them. The whole sordid lot. And it occurred to him: If Chloe is garnering this much loyalty from the river devils, why couldn’t he? After all, he was the one who could walk the briar, not Chloe. What if Zenon could take control here? Where would that lead?

  He eyed Chloe. Though he had the advantage of dwelling in the briar, she was a powerful manipulator from the outside. She’d spent a long life practicing her so-called river magic. What he needed was a way to tip the balance in his favor. What he needed was an ally.

  Chloe turned and slowly looked around the room. “Listen, Zenon, come back and listen. Can you still hear me?”

  He smiled. It’s what Chloe had been trying to do all along. Recruit an ally. In him. In Madeleine too, probably.

  The small blond nurse with VESSIE printed across her name tag entered through the doorway. She was carrying an empty cardboard box.

  “Get out!” Chloe shouted at her.

  Vessie stopped. “You’ll need to keep your voice down, ma’am.”

  Chloe said, “Get out and leave us alone.”

  Vessie’s expression hardened. “No ma’am. You’re the one who’s going to have to leave. Visiting hours are over. I’m done looking the other way for you people. Now you get on out before I call security.”

  twelve

  NEW ORLEANS, NOW

  THEY STRODE THROUGH BRIDGE City toward the banks where the others were waiting. Madeleine had never been so grateful for daylight and clean wind, though the daylight was quickly funneling away into a thunderhead. The retreating sun shone at their backs and made the white tee-shirts glow against the charcoal sky.

  Oyster, Mako, and the other street boys no longer seemed frightened nor menacing. They kept their kerchiefs in place and probably thought they looked tough, but to Madeleine they seemed like overgrown trick-or-treaters. Del, though only an adolescent like the boys, looked of an age beyond her years. She walked bent forward with her arms flopping at her sides and her tank top clinging a size too small, and the crease between her brows gave her a tough beauty that would one day devolve into plain hardness.

  And the baby lay snug in Madeleine’s arms.

  Though Madeleine was horrified by the casual way Del had relinquished her baby to a stranger, she savored the feeling of holding the infant. It made her think again of Marc’s child, Cooper. As much as Madeleine longed to bridge that gap to her nephew, she couldn’t risk bringing the river devils into his life.

  Ethan was walking next to her, keeping up despite his uneven gait, and was absorbed enough in keeping a wary eye out that Madeleine was able to hide her injured side from him. She hoped she could avoid his notice until the swelling subsided. Thunder was now rolling up from Pontchartrain with the regularity of ocean waves.

  “We thought you’s the doomsday committee,” Oyster said in that strange deep voice as he fell into step with Madeleine and Ethan. “Wouldn’t a hit you if I saw you’s a lady.”

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed on the boy and then rose to Madeleine, but she quickly looked away before he could see her injured side. Lightning flashed all around, followed almost immediately by an explosion of thunder. Madeleine clutched the baby and quickened her pace.

  Mako joined Oyster, his knife now tucked away somewhere out of sight. “They say they’s a voodoo spell in the water. Make people go hara-kiri.”

  “Madeleine.” Ethan was looking hard at her face.

  She tried to keep her head turned but he grabbed her elbow and looked to see her swelling lip.

  A huge raindrop landed on the pavement, then another on her arm. The entire pack of boys broke into a run. Madeleine wanted to run, too.

  Another flash of lightning, this time further off in the distance, and the thunder was slower to follow. Ethan’s injury prevented him from being able to run for the bridge with the others, and she didn’t want to leave him behind. She forced herself to slow down. Rain was splashing freely now, hissing the pavement, collecting into serpents of water that writhed and rushed for the drains. The bridge shelter loomed only a minute away.

  “Go on ahead,” Ethan called above the rush. “Keep the baby dry.”

  She bent her head over the baby and ran for the bridge. It felt good, as though the wind and water were washing through her, rinsing her free. Ethan had seen the injury but he’d let it go for the moment at least. She’d hear about it from him soon enough.

  The baby finally broke into an all-out bawl. Thunder ripped so hard it threatened to burst Madeleine’s eardrums.

  A police car was parked just outside the bridge. She hoped to see Vinny, her friend on the task force, but she didn’t recognize the officer seated inside the car talking into a radio handset. Same with the one standing with the others under the bridge.

  Madeleine jogged out of the rain and under the bridge with the rest of them. T
he concrete structure stretched high above, spackled with mud sparrow nests, graffiti painted in scribble patterns along the massive footings. Traffic sounds swelled and droned amid the pulse of thunder. In addition to the five boys plus Del, about twelve homeless people were already waiting. She knew most by sight if not by name—she saw a woman who used to be a dry cleaner before Katrina, but since had been struggling with addiction. Another younger couple had come to New Orleans after Hurricane Rita to work day labor in the reconstruction. Also addicts. She recognized another young man, couldn’t think of his name, whose brows met in the middle in a single thick line. He used to wait tables but went homeless, then got back on his feet only to go homeless again. He had no chemical addictions as far as Madeleine could tell. Just a painfully shy loner.

  Madeleine scanned the faces of the three other outreach volunteers. She knew them all. They’d held a brief meeting to strategize before setting off this afternoon.

  No sign of the shuttle to St. Jo’s. In the sinking light, everyone looked the same shade of gray. Ethan was still making his way toward the bridge on his crooked leg.

  “Whatchoo got there, Miss Madeleine?”

  She looked and saw Shalmut Halsey sitting near a concrete piling.

  “Hey, there.” Madeleine smiled, relieved to see a kind face, and hoisted the still-weeping baby so he could see.

  Shalmut began to rise to his feet but made it only halfway before sitting down again.

  She took a second look at his face. “You alright, Shal?”

  He shook his head. “Fine, fine, just a little too much medicine.”

  Madeleine detected a sick odor of booze on him. “I thought you were gonna go to the shelter after they questioned you this morning.”

  “I thought you’s gonna go home’n sleep,” he slurred.

  Considering what happened last night, it was no surprise Shalmut would try to drown out the head noise. He did that even when things were fine.

  Maybe I’ll use him next, Alice had said while she still gripped a broken bottle with freshly spilled blood on it. Madeleine’s shoulders tightened.