Deadlight Jack

by Mark Onspaugh

  An old dog ambled out to see about them. He wagged his tail at the kid and the captain, and ignored George and Jimmy.

  As they got closer, it was apparent that the shack had once been a sweet little home, white with a red or gray trim, but now all the paint that hadn’t flaked off was as gray as the wood. There were traces of Victorian gingerbread in the railings and balusters, and in the remaining bracket and newel post. Jimmy supposed a leaning post once held a mailbox, and he got the sense of a very young couple, starting their life and their family here in the bayou. He thought they must have been happy, at least at first.

  As they approached the house, the front door opened, and a young black girl looked out at them. She was pretty, and dressed in new jeans and a tee shirt that said SASSY in sparkly letters.

  “She up?” the kid asked, and she nodded.

  “She knew you were coming,” the girl replied.

  The kid looked back at George and Jimmy and cocked a thumb at her. “That’s Glory.”

  They mounted the steps, which seemed in good repair despite their aged appearance.

  Inside, the place was clean and uncluttered. Jimmy saw nothing of the trappings of any witch he had ever known or read about. There were no ancient volumes or scrolls, no apothecary jars full of arcane ingredients. Instead, it had cozy overstuffed chairs and an old portable TV with a pair of rabbit ears. The kitchen was off the living room and featured all the normal things a kitchen does, all of it clean and in good repair.

  There was a dining area with a large round table covered with a gingham cloth and a vase of flowers. Around it were five chairs, with space for a sixth.

  The place was the very opposite of La Recherche.

  The girl brought out a jar with a couple of folded and grimy ten-dollar bills at the bottom, but the kid waved her off and she put it back.

  The kid, his blond hair shimmering in the lanternlight like spun gold, directed George and Jimmy to sit on the far side of the table.

  “We have to get her,” he explained. “She can’t walk so good.”

  They sat, Jimmy trying not to gasp as his legs and arms betrayed him yet again.

  “I wish you would just find a doctor here, Squanto.”

  “I’m fine, old man.”

  “Ha,” George said. “I’m not the one walking like I’ve got arthritis and a corncob up my ass.”

  Jimmy laughed in spite of his suffering. “George, I never met anyone who could be so compassionate and such an ass in one conversation.”

  George was going to reply when they brought the Swamp Witch in.

  They carried her in the sixth dining-room chair, and it was clear she weighed next to nothing because neither the kid nor the captain were having a difficult time of it.

  They set her down gently in the empty spot at the table, and the kid and the captain sat on either side of her.

  The woman was impossibly old, her hair flowing and white, her hands drawn up in what must be agonizing arthritis. Her dress was that of the Choctaw, yellow with blue trim, that same blue as a single line across her white and ruffled apron.

  Her mouth was slack and her eyes were filmed over with cataracts.

  There was silence for a long moment, only the ticking of a clock over the fireplace.

  Glory came into the kitchen with a small CD player, and set it on the counter. She looked at George and Jimmy.

  “She knows why you are here. It is important you do not speak, or she will be disrupted and you won’t get your information. These sessions are hard on her, so there aren’t any ‘do-overs.’ Understand?”

  They both nodded. She looked at Captain Dar and the kid, and they nodded their okay.

  Glory started the CD, then left the room. She turned down the lanterns so that the house was dimly lit.

  Music began, a drumbeat that seemed to herald something. This was followed by a guitar and an accordion, joining in to produce a melancholy zydeco song. A frottoir, a corrugated metal rub-board, joined in, creating a hypnotic counterpoint.

  Jimmy could feel energy building within the tiny house and was not afraid. It was the first time since he came to Louisiana that he felt like his old self, and he wondered excitedly if perhaps Raven or his uncle Will might appear.

  George felt the energies, too, but was far less comfortable with it. He wasn’t sure what to expect, although he thought the old lady might talk in one of those fortune-teller voices, telling him things that they had learned by going into his wallet or some bullshit like that.

  A con, in other words.

  He began to think these people were no better than the smart-ass at La Recherche, just with a bit more showmanship.

  He was about to tell Jimmy they should go when the old woman, the kid, and Captain Dar all threw their heads back simultaneously, their mouths opening unbelievably wide.

  Outside, something unearthly shrieked.

  Wendigo, Jimmy thought, and for a moment he was afraid.

  Though the little house was sealed up tight, an errant gust of wind rushed through, extinguishing all the lamps. The five of them sat in darkness, what little light there was was coming from moonlight through a gap in the curtains.

  A luminous and shimmering green mist began to drift from the mouths of the old woman, the kid, and Captain Dar. It wafted lazily upward, then began to gather speed as the tendrils of vapor joined together, twisting and mingling in intricate patterns.

  The mists formed into the figure of a woman standing above the table, the vase of fresh flowers at her feet. She looked to be a mixed-race woman in her forties, wearing a richly embroidered dress, her hair wrapped up in a turban of silks. Her face was beautiful, but there was a flash in her eyes that hinted at a great and terrible power.

  “I am Faustine Delacroix, the Conjure Woman of Vermilion House.”

  Her voice was rich and powerful, and they could hear notes of both the kid and Captain Dar in it.

  She looked down at Jimmy and George. She lingered on Jimmy for a moment and nodded. Jimmy inclined his head in respect.

  Faustine Delacroix looked at George. “You seek your grandson.”

  “Yes,” said George, his voice a whisper.

  “I cannot give you much aid, George Watters. The thing who has taken him wears the shape of a man, but he is much more powerful than me. It was not always this way. I tried to remove him from my lands and he very nearly crippled me. I have had to separate myself into these three until I can heal. In this way I am safe, but my healing is not done.”

  “Is there anything you can do?” George asked.

  Faustine Delacroix closed her eyes for a moment, and spoke.

  “All fates intersect with you, George Watters.”

  “Me!”

  “You must return to the beginning, and you must remember all of it. If you do not, your grandson will die, you will die…many will die, including your friend.”

  She opened her eyes, and they blazed with a feral anger. “He calls himself many things and has given himself many grand titles, but he is Deadlight Jack, the Salamander Man, and he has stolen the children of my land for far too long. You can defeat him, but, if you join him, all is lost.”

  She wavered, and Captain Dar groaned and the old woman wheezed. Only the kid seemed unaffected.

  “If I can help you, I will, but he is sniffing about, looking for me, and I must hide again.”

  She looked at him kindly. “I wish you well, George Watters, and you, Jimmy Kalmaku. Someday, perhaps, we will meet under sunnier skies and share a cup of tea. Farewell.”

  She dissolved into a shapeless cloud that disappeared down the throats of the old Choctaw woman, the young white boy, and the middle-aged black man.

  The kid yawned as if it was past his bedtime. Captain Dar got to his feet a bit shakily and filled a large tumbler with water that he gulped down.

  The old woman rasped, “Hungry.”

  “Okay,” Glory said, making sweeping gestures, “Miz Pitchlynn needs her soup, shoo!”

&nb
sp; They exited the house as Glory got a jar of homemade soup out of the fridge.

  On the way back to the boat, both Jimmy and George wanted to ask the same question but were unsure how to do so.

  Captain Dar nodded. “I don’t know how it works. If you ask, I can tell you everything that happened to me since I was a tiny boy. Who taught me to fish, where I got this boat, how I got so fat.”

  The kid laughed and Captain Dar made a face at him.

  “I’m an orphan,” the kid said, “ran away from a group home three years ago and have been livin’ on the streets ever since.”

  “And yet,” Captain Dar said in a low voice, as if someone were listening, “someday she’ll call us back, and we won’t be anymore.”

  “I’m gonna enjoy it while I can,” the kid said. “Give the old witch some good memories, you know?”

  “We should go,” Captain Dar said. “She doesn’t like us all in one place too long.”

  They were soon under way, back to Thurman’s Landing.

  They rode in silence, all knowing George had a lot to think about.

  Chapter 22

  PORT ALLEN, LOUISIANA

  It was close to midnight by the time George and Jimmy returned to the motel. They had taken the kid to an abandoned building on Portsmith Street where he said he kept a bedroll and some odds and ends. Both Jimmy and George tried to give him some money, but he refused.

  “Find your grandson,” the kid said, and they could see a tiny bit of the Conjure Woman in his expression.

  They left him there, not knowing his name nor how long he would live his faux life.

  As they exited their rental car, they noticed Richard and Martin talking to two strangers, men dressed in suits.

  Jimmy, receiving a flash of intuition, said in a low voice, “We can’t endanger her.”

  George, far more experienced in being questioned by police in his lifetime than Jimmy was, said in a low voice, “Follow my lead.”

  As they drew closer, Martin saw them and waved them over, saying, “Here they are, Detective.”

  The men turned and looked at them as if taking stock. One was white with rust-colored hair and red cheeks and freckles. Despite these features, there was nothing merry about him. The other was a slightly shorter Asian man with a thin mustache. They approached slowly, easily.

  “Mr. Watters, Mr. Kalmaku, I’m Detective McCarthy of the Iberville Parish Sheriff’s Department. This is my partner, Detective Satsuma.”

  “Can I see some identification?” asked George politely.

  “What is this about?” Jimmy said.

  Martin took a step forward. “Daddy, Aunt Coraline is dead.”

  Detective McCarthy looked annoyed. “Step back, sir,” he said to Martin.

  Martin did so but glared at the backs of the two detectives.

  He wanted to see what our reactions were without any tip-offs, George thought. He said, “What happened?”

  “She was murdered, Mr. Watters.”

  “What? Why?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out. The staff at the Green Water Convalescent Home said she became upset when you two came to visit, is that so?”

  “Yes, but she wasn’t in her right mind. She thought both Jimmy and I were little boys.”

  “How long had you been in contact with her?”

  “Detective, before yesterday I didn’t even know I had an aunt Coraline.”

  “Did you go to see her about her will?” Detective Satsuma asked.

  “Are you serious? I went because she’s part of my family…Was,” he amended.

  “That you didn’t even know about until yesterday.”

  “Is ignorance of family ties a crime now?” George asked, his temper rising.

  “No, sir, it isn’t. May I ask where you two were earlier this evening?”

  “We went out sightseeing some, had a burger at some fast-food joint, and mostly talked.”

  “Until almost midnight?”

  “I’m not sure if you are aware of this, Detective, but there is a lot going on with my family right now. It’s a lot to take in, and I was talking to my best friend about it. I hope that’s still legal.”

  “I have a question,” Jimmy said.

  McCarthy looked at him, annoyed.

  Jimmy went on. “Was she murdered at the convalescent home?”

  “Matter of fact, Mr. Kalmaku, she was.”

  “And I’d guess they have surveillance cameras on the premises.”

  “They do.”

  “Then you should already know whether George and/or I were there tonight.”

  McCarthy glared at him. He turned to George. “You’ll be in town?”

  “That’s a stupid question,” George said.

  Detective McCarthy nodded. He handed George a card with his name, title, and phone on it, along with IBERVILLE PARISH SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT and an embossed image of a gold badge. “If you think of anything that might help us, I’ll appreciate a call.”

  George nodded. “Detective, what…what happened to her?”

  McCarthy looked at him, then nodded. “She was stabbed a number of times, and it looks like someone had a gator with them.”

  “Lord Almighty,” whispered George.

  “We wanted to talk to you because they carved a message in her chest and abdomen.”

  George looked at him, too afraid to ask.

  “It said, ‘Georgie-Porgie, go back to the begin.’ ”

  “Wasn’t enough room for any more,” Detective Sutsuma said.

  George turned and vomited onto the asphalt. Jimmy grabbed him to steady him. He glared at the cops. Were they enjoying this?

  “You should stay in town, too, Mr. Kalmaku.”

  As the detectives passed Richard and Martin, McCarthy said, “Tell your old man I’m sorry for his loss. I mean that.”

  Martin nodded.

  The detectives left, and Martin and Richard went to their father.

  “I’m okay,” George said. He stood up and wiped his mouth on a handkerchief Jimmy gave him. “Thanks, Cochise,” he said.

  “We haven’t told the girls, Pop,” Martin said.

  “I guess it’s sexist,” Richard said, troubled, “but we figured Missy and Trudy had enough on their plates.”

  “And we weren’t sure Del could keep quiet,” Martin admitted.

  George nodded. “I think that’s wise. Hopefully, Donny will be found tomorrow and we can put this damn place in the rearview.”

  Martin and Richard looked at each other.

  “Pop…” Martin began.

  “Do you want to tell us anything?” Richard finished.

  “Like what?” George asked.

  “Well, it is kind of weird that you only met Great-great-aunt Coraline yesterday, and she was murdered today,” Martin said. He shrugged, embarrassed.

  What could he tell them? “Hey, boys, your old man has been in close contact with the supernatural for over a year now. Helped defeat an ice god and now there’s something out in the bayou…” They’d lock him up.

  “Boys, the old lady was out of her mind, thought Jimmy and I had spent the day stealing apples from her tree. Offered to bake us a pie if we were good.”

  George looked at Jimmy, who nodded in confirmation.

  “Sometimes,” George said, “a coincidence is just that. It’s horrible, but I think it’s unrelated.”

  “But…” Richard said, troubled.

  “But what?” George asked, growing more uncomfortable by the minute.

  “They said the murderer…that he left your name.”

  Yeah, that’s a goddamn big elephant in the room, isn’t it? George thought.

  “As awful as it is to think about, perhaps a staff member was involved,” said Jimmy. “Several people knew George was on the guest list for Coraline. Maybe they wanted to use that as misdirection.”

  “Let’s let the sheriffs do their job,” said George. “Right now I need to get some sleep.”

  “Of
course,” Richard said.

  The boys walked them back to their room and said they hoped to see them at breakfast tomorrow.

  Once in the room, George threw his hat on the top of the armoire and shrugged off his coat. “I should get this thing dry-cleaned. Wonder if there’s a place in town?”

  “George, do you want to talk about what happened?”

  “What do you think is going on?”

  “It seems obvious you are a target. I’m beginning to think they took your grandson to get to you. Although I cannot see how they would know you would come down here from Seattle.”

  “He called to me,” George said in a low voice.

  “Who?”

  “Donny. A couple of times, once on the plane on the way down, once while we were here.”

  “Has that ever happened before?”

  George shook his head. “Never. So I was thinking, maybe…maybe whoever is doing this, he put a notion in Richard’s or Martin’s head to call me.”

  “Do you remember anyone who wanted to do you harm in the past?”

  “No, but it must have been in Green Water because that’s where I was born, and my mother moved me away suddenly.”

  Jimmy nodded. “Go back to the begin,” he said, quoting the awful message.

  George nodded, trying not to picture his aunt Coraline’s ravaged body and failing.

  “We have to go back to Green Water tomorrow, George. There must be some clue there, maybe at your old house.”

  George nodded.

  Jimmy also nodded, happy to at least have some kind of plan. He was sure that together they could find Donny.

  They each got ready for bed, both exhausted from the day.

  “Hope you can sleep, George.”

  “I will if Chief Talks-a-Lot closes his yap.”

  “Chief Talks-a-Lot—I kind of like that one.”

  George sighed heavily and turned off the light.

  In the darkness, Jimmy chuckled.

  —

  At 3 A.M., George woke up suddenly. He listened for Jimmy. The man rarely snored, but his breathing was low and even when he was out.

  George heard that now and got up. He dressed quickly, his heart pounding so loud he thought it would wake his friend.