*
The warmth was something he had not felt for a very long time. He had forgotten how comforting it had been. One of the fondest memories he had was going out on a mid-August evening for a walk along the boggy paths of the bayou. The humidity only added to the opulence. Of course he had to go just before the sun set behind the lines of cypress trees and the marsh was filled with mosquitoes as large as airplanes.
The light from the box faded and the boy who would become Famine opened his eyes. He was back on that narrow mud path that snaked its way through the bayou like an angry water moccasin. A male voice called out, bringing him fully into what seemed like the present.
“Tommy! Tommy!”
Standing near was another boy about his age. He had the same light colored shoulder length hair, willowy build, and narrow face which he had seen on himself many times. His clothes were inappropriate for being in the bayou: long trousers made from gray cotton and a long sleeved white silk shirt. The young man smiled and jabbed his shoulder.
“What’s wrong, Tommy? Are you dreaming again?”
Now the memories came flooding back like the waters in the Pearl River. He was Thomas Delacroix and the other young man with him was his brother, Andre. The year was 1851 and they lived in Lafayette, Louisiana.
“No, I’m fine.”
Andre started walking ahead whistling a tune he had never heard. Tommy quickly caught up him, glancing down every now and then to see how muddy his expensive leather shoes were getting. He could hear the crickets begin their nightlong chirping song and it wouldn’t be long before the frogs joined in.
Had the time spent with The Reaper, Ankou, Llorona, and Morrigan been a dream? It all seemed like that now. Hiking down this path was reality. Being dead wasn’t. He was alive and enjoying his regular jaunt with his brother. The good times he had spent with him in the past came flooding back. They had been…or are now…incredibly close. Being the only children allowed them the luxury of not having to compete for the affections of other siblings. There was only a year between them so there wasn’t any huge cognitive or emotional difference, either. Andre was his best friend…his only real friend. They never got along with any of the other rich kids. They had each other and that was all that mattered.
He knew where they were going now. This was the evening outing to look at the ruins of the old Parish mansion on the edge of the bayou. The family had been killed by an unknown sickness and the mansion was burned. There were tales of the last surviving family member going mad and killing herself. They were going to see if they could catch a glimpse of the ghosts that people said inhabited the place now. Tommy knew he didn’t believe in ghosts. It was just something people said to scare each other. But then he thought about Morrigan and Devon…they were ghosts and they had been real…or were they?
Andre had stopped at a fork in the path. He was waiting impatiently. As Tommy caught up, he could see the blackened skeletal remains of the house through the trees. It was a depressing and deeply sorrowful sight. It also filled him with incredible dread and he didn’t know why. “We’re not goin’ to see anything, ya know. We never do.”
“Don’t mean we can’t have fun lookin’. You’re just bein’ a chicken,” Andre teased.
“Oh, hush up.”
Andre patted his brother on the back.
Tommy remembered Andre’s strong hands and arms and the times they fought in the front yard of their home. He remembered how mad he had gotten when Andre had pushed him in the bayou while he was wearing his new clothes...the clothes bought in an expensive shop in New Orleans. Mama and Daddy were mad, too. Mama even threatened to beat Andre with a switch.
A pain suddenly washed over him. The memory of his folks now came rushing back. Mama and Daddy Delacroix were good people. They were still alive…he thought they were anyway. They understood him. They knew who he was and what he was. They didn’t care about his ‘other nature’ as Andre called it. As a matter of fact they even had Phillip, his boyfriend, over for dinner many a night. Tommy wanted to stay here in this world forever. He hated the coldness of The Deadlands. He hated the vile creatures in The Borderlands. None of that compared to life here with Andre, Mama, Daddy, and Phillip.
Andre was looking past the last standing charred pieces of the Parish house. A wall or two still stood, blackened and warped from the heat of the long gone fire. Heaps of twisted and unidentifiable wreckage covered what was left of the floor. Here and there, pieces of shiny glass caught glimpses of the setting sun. As Tommy neared Andre, he could see that the boy was staring at the murky pond behind it. A few round sharp stones were scattered around its perimeter.
Andre called as he neared. “I’m goin’ over there.”
A sick feeling washed over him. The waters brought back the memories of the nightmare of which he just left. It also made his heart beat faster…it was getting harder to breathe. He didn’t want to go near it. “Stay way, ‘Dre. You know people done drowned in there.”
“I don’t care none. I ain’t scared”
Andre ran around the house to the edge of the pond. A cold fear gripped Tommy’s heart and his stomach was turning and knotting. Something seemed familiar about all this. It was like pieces of a dream you have trouble remembering the next morning. Andre had his back turned to the pond as Tommy arrived. He was just about to tell Andre to move away when there was a strong ripple in the water. No. No. He knew what was coming next. The ripple widened and there was a loud splash of water. Tommy ran as fast as he could. His legs felt like mayhaw jelly and his suddenly cold body felt as if it had been encased in ice.
Coming out of the pond was a tall red-haired, full-faced woman in a wet and rotting antebellum dress. Her green eyes glowed eerily in the fading light. Andre whipped around and saw her. His face went pale and he screamed as the woman reached for him. The woman screamed, too, drawing back her puffy fish-white lips and exposing her yellow broken teeth. The air was suddenly laden with the stench of rot; it stung Tommy’s nose. He tried to scream; nothing came out but a hoarse whimper. He had to get Andre out of the way. He knew what the woman wanted. He wasn’t going to let her have it.
Another figure suddenly appeared near the pond. It was extremely tall and thin and dressed in a hooded black cloak. It quickly floated over the pond and tried to grab the water woman’s hair. She turned, ducked from his grasp, and screamed at him.
“Leave me alone! They’re mine!”
“You never should have been doing this, Evangeline!” the hooded figure hissed in a low deep voice that had a haunting familiarity.
Andre tried making a run for it but he was too late. Evangeline moved through the water fast and grabbed his arm with great strength. He was yanked back and into the pond in a split second. Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs. Fear, grief, and horror engulfed him like a sick blanket. He was too slow and too late. She had gotten him and it was his fault. The feeling he had was worse than anything he had ever felt. It was worse than anything The Deadlands ever showed him…it was worse than any monster in the Borderlands. Seeing his brother taken by the familiar red-haired woman of the water was agony made flesh. The hooded figure moved fast, too. It was on Evangeline almost as fast as she had taken Andre. She screamed as she dunked the flailing boy into the dark waters.
“Get off me, Reaper! You’ll never take me!”
She flung her free arm backward and hit her attacker square in the face. His hood fell down to reveal a gleaming face of pure bone. Tommy stopped dead in his tracks. The Reaper looked at him and shook his head ‘no’. With her last bit of effort, Evangeline pushed Andre completely underwater. His screams turned into horrendous gurgling. He didn’t resurface. Both Tommy and the Reaper yelled in unison. As the water settled, Evangeline came for Tommy with an outstretched arm. The ghost looked at him the way he looked at a plate of candied yams at a family dinner. She looked hungry and she was going to have him. He ran at her with fists flying and his face contorted with rage. This woman was goi
ng to pay for taking Andre. He was going to see to it.
“You bitch! I’ll get you!”
Evangeline (or was she Angelique?) was on him in seconds. She was cold and wet and incredibly strong. She fought and clawed and tried pulling him back into the pond but Tommy resisted. The waterlogged whore wasn’t going to get him. She would pay for what she had done to his brother. He pulled her away from her wet sanctuary. He suddenly lost his footing on the soft earth and fell back. An intense sharp pain came at the back of his head. Damned rock…it was one of those damned rocks that had once lined the pond’s edges. He let go of Evangeline but she held on. He was pulling her to the ground with him. The pain in his head was quickly fading and darkness and coldness was coming.
“I’ll take you, too, boy!” Screamed Evangeline.
“No, you won’t!” said the deep voice
The Reaper had come behind her and had put his arms around her waist. She kicked and fought but he was stronger. He opened his mouth, closed it on the side of her face and bit down. The puffy green and rotted flesh came off with ease. Black blood and viscous ichors spewed from the gash. The Reaper spit out the vile mess and whispered to her. What could he possible have said after doing that? No one can call you two-faced anymore? Whatever it was, it didn’t work. Her violent flailing and kicking continued. She wasn’t about to be taken.
“You’re going down, Evangeline. I’m banishing you to a place where you’ll never hurt anyone again.”
She screamed in rage and elbowed the Reaper. It didn’t faze him. He enveloped her in his cloak and the two spun like a glowing tornado. Her last yells of anger disappeared in the evening air as the spinning got faster and the vortex got brighter. Tommy began to lose consciousness fast. He felt his body going numb. The bitch had paid for taking Andre. He didn’t take her out himself but that didn’t matter. His killer was gone.
The glowing twister had stopped and now The Reaper stood over the pond with one hand raised and one clutching a large glass vase. A steady stream of sparkling blue and red light came from the surface and floated noiselessly into the vessel. The sight filled Tommy with an odd feeling of comfort and peace. It was if the heaviness that had been in the air suddenly disappeared. It was easier to breathe. When the torrent had dissipated, The Reaper leaned in on Tommy. His skeletal face regarded him with curiosity and pity.
Now it was the days spent with Andre, Mama, Daddy, and Phillip that were becoming a dream. The memories of love, acceptance, and support were fading; they were becoming as black as the oncoming night. No. No. Please, Tommy called out in his mind, don’t go. I don’t want to let you go. Come back. The days in The Deadlands were becoming more and more real. The sight of the Reaper’s face filled him with the same comfort he had felt with them. It was in these final mortal moments that he realized that he had never really lost love. It had been sort of transferred. It wasn’t the same as what Andre and his folks had given him but it was just as real. A bony hand touched his chest. The darkness was going away, the cold was getting less cold, and the pain and fear was replaced with comfort and ease. The face of Death bent down and stroked his face. A familiar voice spoke in his ear.
“I’m so sorry. I tried…I really did. But don’t be afraid. I’m taking you away.”
The voice became lost in the over washing of darkness and numbness. The mortal world was gone.
Keeping Up with the Deadlanders Page 26
