Where was Melee? Sally must have gone to church with her parents. Did Melee run away? I went back to the kitchen and switched the light on, and then slowly made my way up the stairs.
The sun had gone down and the attic was quite dark. I switched on the light bulb and then began to rummage through the piles of books, furniture, and boxes, looking for the small metal case where I stored my gun. Minutes passed, and I began to get frustrated, thinking that the Sheriff could have found Gabriel by now. I was about to give up when my foot hit something hard and I heard a metallic clang ring through the rafters. I picked up the box and then cursed. It was locked, of course, and I did not have the key with me.
I ran back downstairs to the kitchen and began frantically pulling out drawers and rifling through the contents. Finally I pulled open the silverware drawer and lifted the tray out. I stuck my hand in and reached all the way to the back. My fingers touched something small and cold. I pulled the key out and sighed in relief. Then I ran back upstairs to open the box.
I had pulled out the gun, loaded three bullets in and put it back together. I stood up and started to stuff the gun into my pants, then thought better of it and placed it back in the box. I hoped that I would not need to use it, and so I thought it would be best to just put the box in my glove compartment and only pull it out just in case.
As I turned to leave, a small noise stopped me. It was the sound of humming softly and it was coming from the spare bedroom. I noticed for the first time that the door was closed. There was no light coming from beneath it, so I assumed that Melee must be there, sitting in the dark. I could not understand why she would be there. It had been months since she had used that room. Sally had practically forbidden it, insisting that Melee stay in the bedroom. I had been using the spare room instead and because of that, Melee did not even come up to the garconniere at all anymore.
I walked over to the door to investigate. I knew that she would most likely not be happy to see me, but I decided that I should at least check to see if she was alright. As I got closer to the door, the humming got louder. It seemed to be some kind of lullaby although it was disjointed and strange. The melody was nothing that I recognized, but perhaps Melee was singing another one the Cajun songs she had been taught as a child.
I put my hand on the door handle and slowly turned it. The door opened with a creak. It was dark outside and it was difficult to see in the room. Melee was seated on the bed with her back to me, humming and rocking gently.
“Melee?” I whispered. “Melee, are you alright?”
She stopped humming for a moment, completely still. I knew she had heard me, but she didn’t turn around. Then a strangely familiar voice spoke.
“Bram, come inside, I have something wonderful to show you.”
It was not Melee. It was Sally. Her voice was soft and low. She did not turn around, but began humming and rocking again.
“Sally?” I whispered again. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you go to church?”
I walked around the bed to the tiny table and turned on the light. What I saw next was something out of a nightmare.
The bed was in disarray. The sheets were tangled up and there was a strange odor in the room. It was an odor that I knew, but I had not smelled in a long time. It was the smell of blood.
The sheets were soaked in it. It was as though someone had been murdered in the bed. My eyes grew wide in horror. I felt a wave of nausea lurch up from my stomach to the back of my throat. I fought back the desire to vomit.
“Sally!” I choked. “What happened here?”
“Something wonderful,” was the whispered reply.
She was seated at the foot of the bed, and for the first time I noticed that she was holding a bundle in her arms.
She turned her head toward me, her face held a vacant expression and her eyes were unfocused. The same expression my mother’s had on that bus ride to Atlanta so long ago. And then I saw it – wrapped up in her arms in a bundle of bloody sheets, a tiny newborn baby. It wasn’t moving. Its little head flopped unnaturally against Sally’s shoulder. I realized that the poor little thing was dead.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Sally cooed, holding the lifeless child out toward me, limp as a ragdoll.
I threw myself backward against the table, covering my mouth. The baby was the color of caramel. Its head was covered by a shock of curly black hair. I knew it could not be mine.
“Oh my God, Sally. Where is Melee?” I tried to quell the panic that was racing through my blood.
“She’s gone, Bram. That Gabriel came and got her,” she murmured, smiling up at me. Then she turned back to the baby in her arms.
“Shh, shh, don’t cry,” she whispered, holding it close, “I’m your momma now, little one. I’m your momma now.”
She started humming that strange tune again, and this time I recognized it:
In the sweet, by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore. . .
I was torn between helping Sally and going after Melee. I could not imagine how far they would have gotten on foot, or on Gabriel’s bike.
“Oh, and Sheriff Boyle was here,” Sally added. “Yes, he came right after left. I think that he was looking for someone.”
With that, I left her. I was running back down the stairs through the kitchen, and out to my car, clutching the metal strong box to my side. I only hoped that I wasn’t too late.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time I got back to my car it was seven o’clock. The rain was coming down even harder. As I fired up the engine again, I saw the windshield was completely fogged up. I took out my handkerchief and wiped down the inside. The quick pace of the wipers made a steady thumping noise that echoed the beating of my heart.
The pounding rain and fog that clouded the windows made it nearly impossible to see more than a few yards in front of the car. I went as fast as I could, the car’s tires splashing through rivers of mud. I did not know which direction to head, so I decided to go back toward town. I wondered how far Melee and Gabriel had made it, and whether or not they had escaped Boyle.
I did a tour of the town square again, peering up and down streets and straining my eyes for any sign of the Sheriff’s cruiser. All was still deserted, the majority of the town’s population still gathered inside the church. I could see the service in my mind: the faithful following the priest as he walked from station to station, singing O Sacred Head Surrounded.
Finally after nearly a half hour of searching, I parked my car in front of Meyer’s store and turned off the ignition. The store was deserted, of course. Ira had closed up hours ago, going home to his wife, most likely to enjoy a quiet evening at home. I admired him. He was honest and genuine. When Ira was your friend, he was simply that – your friend. He was excluded from participating in Techeville’s provincial attempt at high society, and so he did not operate from a desire to move in its circles. I regretted that I had not made an effort to get to know him better.
I sat thinking about the day, months before, when I had driven here after Blanchard and Boyle had taken Melee away. It seemed so long ago now, and yet it had not even been a year. Could all of this have happened in so short a time? I thought about that day – the fear I felt that I would be too late and the panic that Melee would be taken away from me. The way her face appeared when I went inside – so dejected and alone. I thought about leaving the store with her and how I had not known where to go, and had driven around aimlessly, searching for anywhere until I had pointed my car East.
Suddenly, it hit me: the only place where a colored boy and a white girl could blend in together without much notice, the same city I had gone to fresh out of the army, when I wanted to forget who I was and be forgotten. I started up my car again and headed out of town toward the bridge that would take me over Bayou Teche, out into the wild wetlands and straight toward New Orleans.
The road to the bridge was pitch black. Again, I moved along slowly, weaving my way around mu
ddy potholes and sloshing through pools of water. As I neared the bridge, I noticed a light coming from it. It was the beam of headlights from a car parked there. I pulled up behind it. The taillights had an eerie glow in the fog. I thought perhaps someone had had trouble, and was waiting for help. There would not have been anyone driving over that bridge for hours – not with the whole town attending church.
I turned off my car’s ignition, leaving my headlights on, and stepped out of the car. A familiar voice greeted me. The sound of it made my stomach lurch.
“Good evenin’ Palmer,” Boyle hooted, walking around from the side of his cruiser. He was holding a small flask in his hand and he took a long swig as he sat down on the trunk of his car. When he had finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and threw the flask off the bridge into the raging water below.
“Some night to be driving around, eh Palmer?” Boyle chuckled then, folding his arms across his chest and staring menacingly at me.
“Boyle,” I stammered, “I know what you’ve done. The game is up.”
Boyle laughed at me, a low rumbling chuckle that built until it was booming across the bridge.
“Oh, the game is up, is it?” he sneered. “And what kind of game do you think I’m playin’ there, Palmer?” He staggered a little on his feet, and steadied himself against the car. He was obviously drunk.
“I know that you’ve been blackmailing Annie Johnson. I know that you threatened to take Izzy away from her and you’ve been treating her like some kind of, of whore.”
Boyle inspected me out of the corner of his eye and shook his head.
“Mmm, hmm. Well now, don’t that beat all, eh Palmer? And what would you know about whores? Oh wait, I think you know a lot about whores, don’t you, Palmer?”
He took a step toward me, and I backed away, wishing I had taken that damn gun out of the strong box and put it in my pocket.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Come on, now, Palmer. What, you think you’ve got everybody fooled about that coon-ass bitch you been keeping at your house? It’s damn near disgusting what you’ve been doing over at your place!” He laughed again.
I was beginning to feel panicky, my breath quickening, and my heart beating loudly in my ears.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, hoping to call his bluff.
“Oh, come off it Palmer. I’ve been casing your place since last Fall. Blanchard had me watching you. He was pretty pissed off that that bitch got out of stealing that necklace. He was hoping I might see something that would prove otherwise.” He put his hand on his chest and let out a long burp.
“Well, I saw a whole hell of a lot more than that, Palmer!” he hooted, “Lordy, the things I saw at your house! Course, I found the necklace eventually on Annie Johnson, so I wasn’t hunting for that anymore, but I have to tell you Palmer, I started coming over to watch just from the sheer fun of it.”
I shuddered, thinking about what Melee had said about “the devil” watching her, and the black figure I had seen from the window that night. It had been Boyle all along.
“So it was you,” I mumbled.
“Hell, yeah, it was me. What, did you think it was Vernon Johnson? That would be a ghost, now wouldn’t it?”
“I, I don’t, what do you mean?” I stammered.
Boyle laughed again, clearly enjoying himself. “I guess I can tell you Palmer. It don’t make too much difference anymore. Vernon Johnson’s dead. I didn’t just run em out of town, Palmer. When I do a job, I do it all the way, you see.”
He saw my confusion, and snickered at me.
“I killed him, Palmer. I drug that nigger behind my cruiser a few miles and then I threw him over this here bridge! Blanchard didn’t like that too much, though. He nearly cut me off after that.” With that, he spat on the ground, his face growing angry.
“Well he can go straight to hell! I don’t know who that hypocrite thinks he is, anyhow, with his fancy cars and his high fallutin’ ways. That son of a bitch wouldn’t of had any of it if it weren’t for me! You think he’d won nearly as many cases if I weren’t there helping him?”
Boyle’s voice was getting louder and more aggressive. I took another step backwards.
“No! He wouldn’t have. But do you think he ever thanked me? Hell no! Instead he gave me a lecture. Told me I needed to cool it. Said I needed to watch myself. ‘Just can’t have the same kind of justice around here like we used to.’”
He stared off into space, clearly thinking of something for a moment. Then he turned a glare back on me.
“I didn’t tell him about Annie, though. No, I kept that one just for me! Figure she owed it to me anyhow, seeing as how I took care of her husband,” he started chuckling again.
A shock of rage ripped through me as I remembered how Annie had been earlier, lying bloodied and helpless on her kitchen floor.
“Yeah, I’ve seen how you took care of Annie,” I hissed. “You’re no better than Vernon was!”
“Well now, Palmer, that ain’t too gentlemanly of you, now is it?” he sneered. “But then, you wouldn’t know much about being a gentleman. You’re only one rung up above poor white trash as far as I can see. I guess you couldn’t keep up that charade for too long, though. You sure did enjoy that little Cajun hussy for a while, now didn’t you?”
I clenched my fists, anger boiling up behind my eyes.
“Don’t try to deny it, Palmer,” he sneered. “I seen all of it. You ain’t too discreet, I have to say. But I also seen it didn’t last too long. Guess she got tired of you quick.”
I tried to make sense of what he was saying and opened my mouth to speak.
“Shoo eee, Palmer! You look like a damn catfish standing there with your mouth opening and closing,” he snorted. “Guess you didn’t make too fine of a lover, did you? You must have been pretty awful, seeing as how she dropped you and went on to your lawn boy.”
“My . . .Gabriel? What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on, now Palmer, you mean you don’t know?” he waited for a moment, and when he saw my bewilderment, bent over shrieking in laughter.
“Yeah, Gabriel Johnson!” he managed to get out between gasps. “I seen ‘em together one day, in your garage of all places, Palmer! It was so sweet, and all, them two lying together on an old drop cloth in the corner. Must’ve been Gabe’s first time, too.”
“But you, if you knew, why didn’t you. . .”
“Why didn’t I do something about it? No need, Palmer! You see, I figured Gabriel was the last piece of the puzzle. I got awful tired of him interfering with me and Annie, you know, he’d come home and see me there and make a fuss. Well, after I saw him on that Cajun girl, we just came to a little gentlemanly agreement. He would keep his mouth shut about his momma and me and I’d just pretend like I didn’t see nothing either.”
I shook my head, hoping that by doing so I could shake out the words that he was saying to me, but I knew that they were true. I thought again about the little mulatto baby in Sally’s arms.
“It was all fine and good until tonight,” Boyle continued. “Then I guess Gabe forgot our agreement.” He rubbed his jaw and for the first time I saw that his face was swollen and he was getting what looked like a black eye.
“I don’t take too kindly to being hit by stupid colored boys.” He said. “That son of a bitch crossed a line. He knew what he done, too. That’s why he ran away, but it didn’t take me too long to find him. I figured he’d be running back to get his lady love, and when I went to your house and saw that they were both gone, I came after them. They got all the way to the bridge, too. Dumb shit didn’t even have a car. That Cajun girl was riding on the handle bars of his bike.”
With that, Boyle walked over and began pulling a mangled bicycle from beneath the back fender of his cruiser.
“Hey, Palmer, wanna give me a hand here? This bike’s done a number on my car.”
I recoiled
again, in horror. The realization of what had happened was slowly entering my brain.
Boyle glanced up at me and then sighed in disgust, “Oh come on now, you don’t really CARE about those two do you? I mean it’s just a nigger boy and a coon-ass girl. Two pieces of trash that needed to be cleaned off the street as far as I’m concerned.”
“What did you do?” I whispered, unable to find my voice.
“What did I do?” Boyle hooted again, turning toward me. “Well, ain’t it obvious Palmer? I stopped the son of a bitch! He put up a good fight, but he didn’t say too much once he was under my car.” He chuckled again, enjoying the joke he’d made.
“Threw him over the bridge just like his daddy. And good riddance! Last thing we need is another no-good nigger in this world.”
I looked over the side of the bridge, tears beginning to well up in my eyes. I thought about Gabe’s laughing face. All the dreams that he had to make a better life for himself and his mother. How smart and kind he was.
“Wh – what about the girl?” I stammered.
“Oh now, that was sad, that was,” he said, sarcasm lacing his voice. “She was screaming and all, after her lover boy went over the side. Talking that Cajun gibberish they speak. I didn’t want her carrying on like that, so I offered to drive her somewhere. Hell, wherever those swamp rats live, you never can tell. She just stared at me, you know, crying.”
He gazed out into space again, remembering what had happened.
“Well then, she did the damnedest thing, Palmer. She got up on the side of the bridge, and she jumped after him!”
The weight of what he said slammed into me like a freight train. It knocked the breath out of me. I bent over and grabbed my knees, sucking in deep breaths of air, fighting back my urge to vomit.
“Hey, you alright, there Palmer?” Boyle asked. “Ah, what the hell. There’s plenty more cheap Cajun pussy where she came from.”
Boyle shook his head again, then shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his car and started trying to pull the bicycle out from under it again. I started to shake from head to toe with rage. I struggled to pull myself upright, and then stalked back toward my car, pulling open the door and leaning over to the passenger seat. My mind filled with a vision of Melee sitting there the first night I’d brought her home, soaking wet, water pouring off her hair, her tiny hands clasped white and frail in her lap. She turned toward me as if to speak, opened her mouth and black water spilled from it. I cried out in fear and shut my eyes. When I opened them, the vision had vanished. I leaned across the seat and opened the glove compartment, pulling out the metal strong box.
The Devil in Canaan Parish Page 18
