by Tony C. Skye
If God's makeup isn't of these characteristics, then He couldn't have stopped any of it. But if God is these things – Julianna believes He is or He wouldn't be the God – then God is cruel, without mercy, hateful, and downright evil. And there is absolutely no way in this life or any other where Julianna will ever serve a God like this. Not now. Not ever. And not in any hereafter.
She was only seven whenever her mother died. Her father did the best he could by trying to send her to church. But he never came with her. He was for the most part, a drunk. Yet, he still believed this would help her. And in a sense, it kind of did. The whole Jesus-heaven concept was indeed something a seven-year-old could grab a hold of in order to come to grips with this unnatural loss.
But now everything is different. Julianna is now old enough to reason out the truth within religion and death. And the truth is: God is cruel, morbid, and evil. Her mother is dead. Her boyfriend is dead. And to hell with everything else – including God and His rape-child warlock.
“Julia,” a soft womanly voice speaks, “Do you want to go up front?” Martha's red hair drapes over the shoulders of her black dress. The high black neckline is constricting, but her pearls seem to gain an extra glow about them with the black backdrop.
“You don't have to go up there,” the girl's grandmother whispers in her right ear.
Julianna dabs at her eyes. She stands and waits for her grandmother who in turn waits for Frank. The man stands and steps out sideways into the aisle. Martha follows his lead and stops by his left side. The woman smiles grimly while her teary granddaughter nervously looks at the growing line of people in front of them.
They patiently wait in the line of funeral attendees who first look into the casket, move on to give their condolences to Johnathan's immediate family, and then finally make their way out of the church's sanctuary.
I can't do this.
Julianna freezes in place before her turn to view the boy's corpse has come. Her entire being locks to the floor. The black high heels she wears refuses to lift one more step. She looks towards the front of the stage where Johnathan's mother is weeping in someone's arms. Julianna loses the little control she had going and falls to her knees. The teen's eyes no longer fight to hold their water.
“I-I'm so sorry,” Julianna begs Johnathan's sobbing mother.
The woman pulls back from the hug holding her to scan the area where Julianna pleas for her forgiveness. Her teary brown eyes struggle to sort out the line of faces before her. She focuses in on a young girl kneeling and crying upon the floor. The woman's stare hardens as she pushes away the person who had been holding her with comfort.
She points to Julianna.
“You!”, the grieving mother shouts out, “What are you doing here?!” The shaky woman puts both of her hands over her mouth. They form a semi-prayer hand scene.
“God! Why in the name of God's name are you here?!”, her muffled words call out before her heavy arms fall to her side
“You killed him!”, she shouts as loud as her weary voice will allow. A scream of release follows as she marches forward threateningly. Johnathan's older brother steps in front of her. He wraps his arms around her and feels his mother partially collapse within his tight embrace. Her screams become a softening murmur against her son's chest,
“She killed my baby boy. She killed my baby boy.”
The people in the church stand speechless. No one is sure how to proceed. Johnathan's brother turns his head back enough to lock his cold glare with Martha's blue eyes.
“Get her out of here,” the nineteen-year-old quietly commands.
Frank helps his wife lift Johnathan's girlfriend to her feet. The room's atmosphere is filled with the heavy burdens of confrontation. Julianna's muffled sobs can be heard as her face is buried into her grandmother's left side. She can barely lift each weighted foot before it comes back down again. Her knees are bent as though she could drop back to the floor in any second.
Frank flanks to the rear of his wife and granddaughter to prevent any potential unseen harm to his family. As they near the sanctuary's entrance, Johnathan’s mother yells out accusingly.
“God will punish you for what you have done! You cannot hurt a child of God and get away with it!” She breaks back down within her never-ending sobs. Sobs created by the loss of a parent's child.
“Don't listen to her,” Martha coaches quietly, “She is grieving. She doesn't mean any of it.”
The three of them exits the sanctuary, walks through the greeting area, and then makes their way out of the church. The parking lot is filled with people waiting for the funeral's procession to the burial site.
“She does mean it,” Julianna argues between her breaths of hyperventilation.
“Well, if she does she doesn't know what she's talking about,” Martha counters.
They all get into Martha's car with Frank in the driver's seat and the two females in the back.
“I k-killed him, grams,” Julianna cries as her grandmother gently pulls her head down towards her lap. She compliantly lies down in a fetal position while her sobs begin overtaking her once again.
Martha plays with the girl's black hair, “You did no such thing. It was a car accident. That's all.”
“We had a fight and he left mad,” Julianna explains, “It is my fault.”
“No baby. It isn't,” Martha parries.
Julianna turns her face and releases more of her grief into her grandmother's dress.
“That's it, child. Get it all out. Let go of the pain. He would want you to,” Martha directs as her fingers gently moves around within her granddaughter's hair.
Julianna's emotional-state crashes to its lowest point since the car accident first occurred. Her broken heart demands that she would just die. And her mind demands the same.
“There you go,” Martha whispers while her granddaughter releases a second round of intense sobs upon her lap, “That's right. Let it all out.”
The woman continues coaching Julianna until the teen's mental exhaustion consumes her into a restless sleep.
“Frank,” Martha quietly speaks to ensure her granddaughter's slumber stays intact, “We need to make a stop.”
“Lanecia's place?”, her husband asks. He receives the nod of confirmation from his wife within the rear view mirror. He turns right at the next light. The silver Mercedes Benz heads south – bearings set for the Louisianan swampy bayou.
* * *
The hour's drive is scenic and peaceful. Outsiders might view the transition from city to bayou as somewhat creepy and eerie. But true residents of this area swear by its beauty.
The smells are not dank or repulsive as portrayed by many horror writers. On the contrary, the air is wonderfully refreshing. Yes, the humidity in the summer months changes the atmospheric tone. But nowhere on the planet is intense hot humidity ever a recipe for cool comfort. And Louisiana is no different within this regard.
However, the air in the bayou when not masked by intense heat has a clean smell. Air which passes over water and life. Air not filled with the pollutants of big industry, city vehicles, or swarms of people. The kind of fresh air that carries the rich aromas of nature in all of her glory.
Martha gently maneuvers her granddaughter's head to position it softly upon the seat while she gets out of the car. Her husband Frank quietly clicks the door closed as she steps away from the car. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. A slight grin passes over her full lips. Frank smiles. His wife's pleasantness fills his heart with love and joy. Thirty-five years together, and Frank is as much in love with her now as he was on their first night of marriage.
“I never get tired of seeing you do that,” Frank lovingly informs.
Martha slowly opens her eyes. She adores the love of her life.
“And you better never get tired of it either,” the woman teases her threat.
“Oh my. I'd be seein' dat there are two child lovebirds come to bless my house,” the Lady Lanecia declares from her Louis
ianan bayou single-story two-bedroom home. The front screen door creaks open as the dark woman steps out onto her white paint-chipped porch. A red hair-tie ponytails the woman's beautiful wooly black hair off her face. Her white teeth shines brightly with her wide smile.
She walks down the porch's ramp, “My, oh my. Is dat da very handsome Frankie Dermott you have brought with ya, Mrs. Martha?”
Frank's smile widens as he walks to meet the Lady Lanecia. He greets her with a gentle hug, “Thanks for having us on such short notice.”
“Oh no, Frankie Dermott. Thank yurselves for comin' to grace en old lady who be gettin' lonely out here all by herself,” the woman speaks with sincerity.
The taller Frank lowers himself to softly kiss the voodoo priestess on her right cheek.
“We should do better to come out here more often,” Frank apologizes, “There's no excuse for such behavior.”
Lady Lanecia lovingly pats Frank's right cheek with her left hand, “Do not be talkin' this nonsense, Frankie Dermott.” She lowers her hand to rest it on his chest, “You be havin' yur life to be livin' with da Mrs. Martha. Don't ya be forgettin' what is important.”
Frank chuckles and hugs the woman again. “Thanks for having us,” the stubborn man reiterates. As he releases her, Lady Lanecia uses her right hand to pat his chest while she looks over to Martha.
“I see what ya be meanin' with this one. He be tryin' to melt en evil voodoo priestess' heart. And be doin' a good job of it,” the woman teases.
Martha walks over to greet her friend with exchanged kisses on both cheeks, respectively.
“If you are evil, then my husband is a house full of demons and dry bones,” Martha chastises.
“Oh, Mrs. Martha. You be too kind to en old friend,” the priestess answers. Her observant eyes examine the empty car, “I take it by da way yurselves be lookin', da sleep rites did not go so well.”
Martha shakes her head for the woman's benefit, “The mother screamed and yelled at her. She said all kinds of horrible things to her,” Martha sadly confirms while staring at her car.
“I see,” Lady Lanecia utters while in thought. Her off-white ankle-length dress moves slightly with the bayou's breeze. The variant shades of red-floral print helps to decorate her womanly frame.
Lady Lanecia's bare feet steps across the sparse-grassy lawn along the dirt ground. She peers into the silver car's right rear passenger's side window. Her eyes look over the sleeping teen.
“So much be on yur little plate,” the priestess quietly murmurs to herself. Lady Lanecia straightens herself upright, turns to face her house, and walks towards her porch ramp. Without slowing in her steps, the woman gives her directives as she opens her screen door, “Bring her inside.”
* * *
Julianna checks her face in the car's rear view mirror. Her eyes are bloodshot. There are swollen bags underneath them as though she is an eighty-year-old woman. And overall, she looks like an absolute disaster. But she feels even worse.
“You look fine, dear,” Martha talks with a motherly tone.
“You're really not a good liar, grams,” the girl tries a bad stab at despairing comedy.
Martha confirms her granddaughter's suspicions, “I really am trying to sharpen my skills.”
Julianna's short-lived grin shows her first signs of improvement. She scoots across the seat and exits the car. She looks at her grandmother while shutting the car door.
“Do I have to?”, she pleas for an out.
Martha pretends to ponder the question. She lovingly gives her granddaughter her choice, “Well, you can go in now. Or I can invite the Lady Lanecia over for one of your Saturday evening friend overs.”
“Here's fine,” the teen caves. She pouts with a sad face, “I sound like Rudolph.”
“The Santa Clause reindeer?”, Martha attempts to connect the strange reference.
Julianna nods while wiping her nose with tissue. She notices her grams staring at her face when she is done.
“What?”
“It is red and shiny,” Martha confirms.
Julianna musters a single chuckle, “I think I like it better when you are working on your skills.”
Martha laughs. She puts her right arm around her granddaughter's shoulders, “Let's go in and say, 'hi'.”
* * *
Julianna enters the white house which appears to be falling in on itself. But as she steps inside, she quickly realizes the outside is a deception. The front door immediately leads into a living room. The floor is made of wood and looks new. The furniture, also, exhibits that just purchased feeling.
She sees a couch to her left front. The burgundy plush designer couch wraps into an el-shape. It faces the wall which is now to her back and cutely divides up the living room from the kitchen just beyond.
Directly to her left – against the wall – sits a high-end flat screen television. Julianna is rather confident that the television is at least a sixty-inch and is probably plasma. To the right of it – sitting cater-corner – is a rather nice stereo system. It's not something she would have chosen for herself, but the sound system isn't that bad.
The walls are caretakers of all sorts of pictures, paintings, nick-knacks, and other stuff that Julianna isn't quite sure she really wants to know anything about. But the one thing she notices is how they look more decorative than cluttered.
“I believe she's in back with Frank,” Martha explains while glancing around.
Julianna follows her grams through the quaint living room and then into the kitchen. The two ladies enter an entryway set into the right back corner. It leads into a small hallway. To the left is the rear door of the house. Julianna follows her grams to the right and then turns left into the first room. It is void of any furniture except for a weird table set up in the room's center.
Frank stands against the far wall laughing and talking with the Lady Lanecia. She is on the floor drawing with chalk in front of the elongated stainless steel table.
“Oh, hell no,” Julianna objects, “I am so not getting sacrificed.” She turns to leave. Martha laughs.
“No one's going to hurt you, Julia,” Martha explains, “No cutting or sacrificing. Promise.”
The teen, reluctantly, turns and stares at the scary table. “Then what in the hell is it for?”
“First off,” Martha scolds, “You will stop with the dirty mouth.”
When her granddaughter looks at her, Martha continues, “Secondly, that table is to help you. Not harm you. And I'm a little hurt you would think no better of me than to believe I would ever bring you to harm.”
Julianna looks at the floor by her grandmother's feet, “You're right. I'm sorry. I know you would never hurt me.” Tears fill her eyes.
“And that's what the table's for,” Martha hugs her granddaughter, “To help you get rid of all of this sadness.” Julianna nods her limited understanding before stepping back. She glances over towards the voodoo priestess. The dark woman is still writing the strange symbols upon the floor.
Julianna looks at her grandfather. Frank smiles comfortingly. His eyes tell her she is safe no matter how much she may not understand what is going on. She smiles back her thanks with nervous lips. Frank winks.
The teenager watches as the voodoo priestess moves away from the table and begins drawing a circle upon the floor. Her curiosity grows as the dark woman draws a replica of the star and circle she has seen at the library. The woman even writes the words at the top: Gariatu Estidium Merné.
With the finishing touches done, Lady Lanecia stands to face the two ladies by the doorway. The youngest of the two looks really nervous.
Okay. Here's comes da Lady Crazy in all of her glory.
“There be da beautiful Misses Julianna,” the Lady Lanecia decrees with a smile. She walks across the distance and hugs the girl after giving a kiss to both cheeks.
“I still be hearin' yur words in my head, Misses Julianna,” the woman calmly points out.
Busted. Geezus.
The woman grins, “It'd not be dat One who busted yurself.”
Julianna grins uneasily.
“But let us not be speakin' like this. Da Frankie Dermott not be understandin’ like us ladies,” the voodoo priestess bails out the nervous girl. Julianna's young eyes reflect her gratitude towards the Lady Lanecia for keeping her secret. The woman's words, however, also tells her that Martha has heard them. Julianna makes a point to not look at her grams.
Lady Lanecia turns with her left arm extended, “Dat table might be cold, Misses Julianna. But it not be long before yur body warms it.”
Julianna glances to her grandfather who returns a reassuring nod. She walks towards the table making every effort to stay clear of any chalk lines on the floor. She stops at the table's foot-end and stares at a drain.
“Frankie Dermott,” the Lady Lanecia speaks, “Yurself be needin' to find somethin' else to be doin’. It is time for only us women.”
Frank nods, “I do believe this would be a good time to check the oil in Martha's car. I've been putting it off way too long.” The man closes the distance between himself and his wife, kisses her on the cheek, and exits the room. Martha follows him.
“She'd be comin' back,” Lady Lanecia notices the teen's anxiety level steadily rising. The woman points at the drain the girl is having trouble removing her eyes from.
