Southern Comfort: Chandler's Story (The Southern Series Book 1)

by Shelley Stringer

  Chapter Eight

  “Good morning, Sunshine!” Everett exclaimed, leaning over me with a cup of coffee. As the realization dawned I had fallen asleep on the couch, I turned my head, and found I was curled up intimately against Banton, who was lounged back across the couch with one leg propped on the coffee table. He had his arm tucked intimately behind me on the back of the sofa. His eyes were still closed.

  “Oh, my gosh! I must have fallen asleep during the movie.” I sat up suddenly. “What time is it?”

  “Well, it’s about 8:00 am. I have to be downtown by 9:00 to open the shop, so I’m on my way home to shower the funk off. I can’t believe I slept in my clothes!” he exclaimed, shuddering dramatically.

  “Well, I can’t believe I slept with three men in the room with me!” I said, glancing around the room. Everett laughed. John was already gone, and Banton opened his eyes and grinned at me as he gently rubbed my back with his hand.

  “I’m off. I’ll call you later, Bebe!” Everett called as he let himself out the front door.

  “Okay. See ya later,” I called back.

  I stole a sideways glance at Banton.

  “Well, looks like I spent the night in my new place one day earlier than planned. I’d better get a bed over here, or I’ll have a crick in my neck for sure in the morning.” He stood up and continued, “I think I’ll run home and take a shower and change…see what John’s up to. We’ll be back later to start moving our stuff.” He bent over and kissed me on the top of the head again.

  “Oh…all right,” I stammered. I was still trying to process our conversation from last night, and the fact we had spent the night together in close proximity on the sofa. Banton didn’t seem the least bit surprised or bothered about our night together on my couch. Oh, wow, this was getting complicated. I rose when Banton closed the front door, and headed for the bathroom to take a bath. As I pulled my t-shirt over my head, I caught the scent of Banton’s cologne. I paused in the hallway as I considered my shirt. ..I loved that I could smell him on my clothes.

  Throughout the rest of the morning I busied myself with cleaning up the construction mess upstairs and getting ready for my new roommates. I dragged the mops and buckets upstairs, and gave the newly finished floors a good cleaning with oil soap and sealer to make them shine. The finish on the floors had turned out beautifully.

  After I was finished cleaning, I found bedding, picture frames and some small artwork in the box Aunt Sue had left in the dining room. My eyes were misty as I placed the family photos in silver frames around in my bedroom, and made my bed up with my mother’s favorite linens in various shades of white and ivory, her fluffy, white down comforter, and crocheted throws. The finishing touch was a sepia tone photograph of my mother in her wedding dress my father had placed in an antique frame. I carefully hung it on a nail to the right of my bed.

  I stood back and viewed my new bedroom. It was beautiful, as if all my mother’s things had been selected especially for the room. The hair stood up on my arms and the back of my neck. I could suddenly feel her with me, helping me with the room, and my dream the other night had come true. I could almost smell her perfume. Sinking down on the edge of the bed, I picked a corner of the comforter up and buried my nose in it. The scent of Gardenias wrapped around me as memories swirled…

  “What do you want to do with these?” Laurilee held up some of my mother’s photo albums of old black and white family pictures.

  “Just put them with the boxes marked Louisiana,” I replied in a monotone voice.

  “I don’t think you are keeping enough, Chandler. I hope you don’t regret selling some of this later,” she cautioned, as she looked around the room.

  “I won’t. I have to be practical, and I’ve kept all the family heirlooms that I know Aunt Sue will want. And I’ve already packed Mom’s favorite things. That’s all I want,” I sighed as I moved across the room to another pile.

  “Chandler, I wish you would stay in Texas. Come to Lubbock with me and Dan. You would love it! You could go through rush this fall…”

  Laurilee and her high school sweetheart, Dan, were attending college at Texas Tech. Laurilee had been planning her life out since third grade when she’d moved to town with her dad, who had taken a job as a cowboy on a large local ranch. She had known even then she wanted to be a teacher. I still didn’t have a clue.

  “No, that’s not me. You know that, Laurilee. Besides, you and Dan don’t need me hanging around your neck all next year. I’ll be fine.”

  I pulled a drawer open on my mother’s dresser and took a sweater out. The inevitable overwhelming smell of gardenias hit me – her sweet, maternal smell which always enveloped me anytime I encountered anything she had recently worn. I buried my face in the soft knit, taking in her scent and her memory. I began to sob as Laurilee gently put her arms around me.

  It was to be the last memory I had of me and Laurilee in my childhood home.

  I turned suddenly, half-expecting to see my mother there next to me. Nothing but sunlight streaming through the bedroom door to the right of mine was apparent in the landing at the top of the stairs, but I thought I sensed something moving away from the shaft of sunlight back down the staircase. I followed down to the foyer, but found nothing.

  Suddenly, I noticed movement on the front porch through the window, and it made shadows on the wall beside the stairs. That must have been what I saw. I opened the door, and Beau bounded through, whining and licking at my hands.

  “Bon Chance…Beau-boy, you scared me silly!” I scolded him. I closed the door, and he circled the downstairs rooms once, then plopped himself down in his usual spot on the rug in front of the door. He had known all along this would be home – and he was the first to move in. Smart dog.

  John and Banton came down the sidewalk with a flat dolly hauling their mattresses, box springs, dressers and miscellaneous chairs into the house. As I watched them lug the second mattress up the staircase, the phone in the entry hall rang. It rang the third time before I could crawl over the explosion of furniture to answer it, and the machine picked up. I gave up and plopped into a chair in the middle of the mess to listen.

  “Hey, this is Chandler. Talk to me after the beep.” BEEEEEEEEEEP. Constance calling, dear cousin! Number one, charge your cell. I’ve been calling for twelve hours straight! Number two, who are the two gorgeous guys Momma told me this mornin’ are movin’ into your place? Number three – Daddy is beside himself, and he and Momma argued all the way home last night – boy you’ve started World War Three! Number four, are they available, or gay? And number five…BEEEEEEEEP. Thank goodness the machine cut her off.

  I looked up to see Banton’s amused face grinning down at me.

  “I thought I caught a note of disapproval from Mr. Lon last night. Anything I can do to make him relax about our living situation?” he asked.

  I sighed. I didn’t like the fact my aunt and uncle were disagreeing about anything I had done. I glanced back up at him.

  “Well, not unless you want to put a ring on my finger and adopt John as our firstborn.”

  He laughed again, seeming to be really amused by my suggestion. “Maybe you and I could just take a day trip to see them, so he can see I’m not a serial killer or pervert.”

  I loved the way he said you and I.

  I heard a tapping on the front porch, and leaned over the side of the chair to see who it was. I spotted Mr. Jackson on his daily walk outside, pausing to take in the activity. I stepped out the front door onto the porch to visit with him.

  “Hey, Mr. Jackson, how’re you doing?” I asked.

  “Fair to middlin’, for an old man! I wanted to see what de fuss was ‘bout down here,” he smiled back.

  “Would you like to come up and sit? I could fix us some lemonade,” I suggested.

  “Don’t mind if’n I do.” He shuffled up the steps to sit beside me in the lawn chairs Banton had just brought down from their apartment.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” I
slipped back into the house and headed to the kitchen. I poured four glasses of lemonade, and called up the stairs to Banton and John, “Lemonade on the table down here for you.” Stepping back out the door to the porch, I handed Mr. Jackson his glass as I sat down beside him.

  “Thank you kindly, Miss Collins.”

  “Please, call me Chandler,” I replied.

  “Okay, Miss Chandler.” He took a sip of his lemonade, and then set his glass down on the chair arm. “So is ‘dis ol’ house talking to you yet?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked as I took a sip.

  “Dis house, it has a lot o’stories to tell. You listen good, it be good dat them young fellas be down here wid you now. Strange things be a-going on here, wid the night ones a-crawlin’.”

  The hair stood up on the back of my neck a second time today. “What are you talking about, the break-ins in the neighborhood?”

  “Dat, and other things too. De dead, dey come and warn us, warn us good too. You pay attention to dem spirits!” He pointed his finger back to the inside of the house and then back to me “Dey can contact you through the gris-gris. Dey watch over dey generations, de ancestors do.”

  “What spirits?” I asked warily.

  “Yo loved ones – de beloved. Dey watch over us now. You believe in de hoodoo – you do yo searching, Chile. She’ll tell you, de woman from dis house– de ghosts, dey real like dey saints. Dey warn you about de danger – de dead ones wid the wild green and blue eyes, like de ocean.”

  I went cold inside. I whispered “Have you seen the wild eyes around here?”

  “Be careful, Chile. Dey’s comin’ up from the ground, de loogaroo. Dey’s comin’ from yo property. Let dem spirits of de departed keep you safe. And keep dem young mens here at nighttime!”

  “Okay, Mr. Jackson. I worry about you up there in that apartment all alone.”

  “Oh, don’t worry ‘bout de ole man, dey won bother me. Dey don want me. ‘Sides, I gots me ol’ Betsy.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Why do they want me? What are the green-eyed ones?”

  “Dey’s de ones no one believes in no mo’. Dey’s de ones dat walk like de un-dead, the Loogaroo.”

  I shuddered as I looked down, and wrapped my arms around myself. I told myself, He is just superstitious old man. I looked back at him. “Still, I’d feel better if you would write my cell number down, and call us if you need us?”

  “I’ll do it. You be a kind neighbor to an ole man, Miss Chandler.” He rose to take his leave.

  “Stop again real soon.”

  He stepped back down the steps carefully, and shuffled down the sidewalk. I wondered as I watched him go, how did he know so much about my house? Was it coincidental what he said, and what I had witnessed with the glowing orbs, and cloud-like things I was seeing around my house? The noises, like imagining my mother’s voice waking me, and my vivid dreams? The glowing green eyes and dreadlocks came into focus into my mind’s eye. I dropped the lemonade glass I was holding, and it shattered on the porch.

  Chapter Nine

  “Chandler, what’s wrong?” Banton came out the front door with his glass of lemonade. “You’re as white as a sheet again.”

  “I just wasn’t paying attention.” I bent over to carefully pick up the glass pieces and lay them on the table.

  Banton came over and sat in the chair where Mr. Jackson had been. “Did I hear voices down here just now?”

  “Yes. Mr. Jackson, an elderly man from up the street. He takes his walk every afternoon up to the market and back. He was curious about what we were doing, I think. He stops to visit with me occasionally.”

  “Is he the black man with the cane who I have seen go by our apartment?”

  “Yes. I’m sure he’s the same one. He looks too old to be walking that far. I’ve offered to take him in my car when he wants to go, but he says the walk keeps his heart ticking.”

  Banton laughed. “The old guy is probably right. You just make friends with everyone you meet, don’t you, Andie?”

  “Now I think I know where the gris-gris bag came from,” I suggested.

  “Why, did he say something?” questioned Banton.

  “Yes. He said our ancestors, the dead, who watch over us, contact us through the gris-gris. Our loved ones, the beloved, they keep us safe,” I explained.

  “That’s a comforting thought, I guess,” he commented.

  “Yeah. He said some other things, too.”

  “Like what?” He seemed concerned, leaning forward.

  “Well, like danger. He said to be careful and watch out for the dead ones with the wild green eyes.”

  His eyebrows rose slightly, the muscle clenching in his jaw. “What does that mean?” he asked warily.

  “I don’t know. He called them the Loogaroon, or something.” I paused, then asked, “Banton, why were you in that neighborhood yesterday when you found me?”

  “I went down there for the same reason as you, I guess. I’m doing research of my own for my history class, and I thought I might find what I was looking for down there, instead of going to N’awlins. Now I know you are interested too, we have our trip to look forward to.”

  I said, almost in a whisper, “If I tell you something, will you believe me? Do you promise not to laugh at me?”

  “Yes. I promise.” He leaned in toward me, and rubbed his thumb across my forehead, like he was smoothing the worry creases there.

  I hesitated. He prompted, “Andie, you can tell me anything. Talk to me about anything. I promise.” He smiled softly, and his eyes seemed to melt into mine with his words. I really believed his sincerity, so I continued.

  “I had a really bad dream after that first night we met. I dreamed about voodoo, and I figured it was because I was working on my research late on my laptop.”

  “What was in your dream?” he asked softly.

  “I dreamed about a muscular, menacing olive-skinned man, with short, cropped dreadlocks and wild, green eyes. He held a snake up over me, and I realized I was in a grave. Beside my dead mother.”

  “Oh, Andie, that’s horrible!” He reached his hand out to take mine.

  “That’s not all. Yesterday, when I ran into you downtown…”

  “What really happened, Andie?” he questioned, lowering his face so it was directly in front of mine.

  “I saw him. The man from my dream. The man with the green eyes was in the voodoo shop. He smiled at me, as if he knew me. Like he knew why he frightened me…” My heart began to race again, just like yesterday during my panic attack. “And just now, Mr. Jackson described the dead ones like I saw that man. Is it just a coincidence?”

  Banton studied my face, contemplating what else I’d ask.

  “There’s more, I’m afraid,” I continued. “I know you are going to think I’m crazy. Maybe it’s this place – this country is so mystical, with its history and all the trees and Spanish moss. Anyway, I have never believed in ghosts or the supernatural. But since I moved into this house…” I trailed off.

  “Andie, I will believe anything you tell me. I promise.” He seemed genuinely sincere.

  “I think there is a presence in my house. I can feel it, and I can hear it. I have seen mists go up the staircase, but I’m not really afraid of them. It always seems I see them after I’ve had a scare of some kind. I could have sworn I felt my mother’s presence this afternoon when I finished my room.” I studied his face for his reaction.

  He looked straight into my eyes, still holding my hand in his. He began to caress the back of my hand with his thumb, rubbing it in circles. “Andie, I want to share something with you, too. I’m not telling you to frighten you, but to let you know I don’t know what I believe, but I do know there are things in this world we can’t explain, and aren’t supposed to understand. And I believe you when you say you have heard and seen things. You are not crazy,” he said, as he smiled at me.

  Pausing for a minute, Banton searched my eyes, and then continued, “John and I were in the Navy togethe
r. He is six years younger than me, having enlisted at eighteen, straight out of high school. I enlisted at twenty-four as an officer after I graduated from college, in spite of my parents’ strong objections. John and I were assigned to a short-range missile carrier our third year of duty, off the African coast. The two of us had become friends, along with another guy in our unit, Sam. Do you remember the first American yacht targeted by Somali pirates?”

  “Yes, vaguely.”

  “We were the first ones there. We boarded her, and took the remaining pirates hostage, although a couple of them got away. Andie, I have never seen the carnage like I saw on that boat. The bodies, they were…”

  “Go on,” I urged him. He paused and searched my eyes, gauging my reaction.

  “They had been drained of all their blood and body fluids. They were mutilated, large parts of their bodies missing, but there was no blood. We couldn’t explain it. The pirates we fought – a couple of them looked… the way you described the man in your dream.” He added the last part slowly, searching my face for any signs of distress. I remained calm, processing what he told me.

  “We were all pretty shaken up by what we saw. Then the next night, as we were headed home, Sam went out on deck for a smoke. He disappeared, Andie. He never came back in. We searched every inch of the ship. The Navy’s official position was that he was lost at sea, either falling overboard, or swept overboard by a rogue wave.” His eyes seemed to water at the memory. “Chandler, there were no waves that night. I know better.” The muscle in his jaw twitched.