by Angie Sandro
I want out of this place. If I’m here for a reason, I need to find it. Or at least find a quick way back into my body. I’m in a cross section of the hallway. It stretches in four directions. In front and behind me, the walls shine from reflected light. White sheets cover abandoned hospital equipment. Trash litters the floor. Doors, painted red, stand out from the grimy, grayish white paint of the walls. The last door to the right at the end of the hallway stands open.
Welcoming.
The hallways stretching to my right and left are the complete opposite. Pitch black, thicker than road tar—the complete absence of light—forms a visible barrier I don’t want to step across. It reminds me of the black hole that swallowed Landry.
A sound from the darkness freezes me. I stretch out my senses, listening.
Heavy breathing…
…turns into malevolent laughter, like one of those creepy clowns. High-pitched giggles that make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
“Mala,” the voice cracks, hoarse with age. I recognize her, but don’t.
Don’t want to.
Can’t.
A raspy sound. A shush. A single flame lights the darkness, then twin glowing orange circles. The pungent scent of tobacco burns my nostrils. Footsteps move in my direction. I back up. If she touches me, I’ll burn.
No. It’s a sensory memory. This isn’t real. None of it.
Sizzling agony pierces the wound in my shoulder as a forked tongue thrusts inside me, sucking out my blood. My soul. Drinking me down. Binding me to her.
I press my hand against my shoulder. Warm, sticky liquid covers my palm. “Aunt Magnolia,” I whisper, “don’t.”
“You swore at the crossroads, where all bonds are formed. Come to me.”
It’s obvious which direction I should go in. Even though I’m scared.
I take a step.
Darkness wraps me tight, smothering my senses. No sight, sound, taste. I float…at peace.
* * *
Bessie’s late. I’ve been sitting in the dayroom, plucking at piano keys for half an hour, having already finished with the checkout procedure. The duffel bag with my psych medication and personal belongings sits at my feet. All I need is her. When Bessie finally enters the room, all the air rushes from my body. Part of me didn’t believe I’d really get to leave. I thought for sure something had gone wrong.
I sprint to throw myself into her muscular arms and bury my face in her shoulder.
She pats me on the back for a long minute then pushes me away. “Are you this happy to see me, or is something else wrong?”
I sniff. “I’m so happy I can’t stop crying tears of joy.”
“And this has nothing to do with Landry getting hurt?”
Hurt? Not dead? I grip her arm. “What do you mean? Landry got hurt?”
Bessie ducks her head. “George said he told you about Landry getting attacked. I’m not springing this news on you, am I?” She rubs my arm.
“No, his roommate shanked him and then smothered him with a pillow—”
“George told you that?” she blurts out.
No, I saw it with my own eyes. Oh God, my head’s gonna explode. I rub my temple hard, trying to stop the veiny knot from throbbing. “Bessie, he’s dead.”
She shakes her head. “Who?”
“Landry’s dead. George said he died.”
“Oh, yes, he did…die…”
I want to pull out my hair. “Bessie!”
“The guard knew CPR. The shank got caught on a rib so it didn’t hit any vital organs. He’ll be sore and laid up here in the hospital for a few days before they ship him back to the jail. Matter of fact, I’ve got to go check—”
My legs give out on me halfway through her explanation, but she doesn’t notice until I’m sitting on the floor. She grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet.
“Can I visit him, please?” I rock from foot to foot. “I’ve got to see him. The last thing I said to him...” I groan. He thinks I hate him. “We can stop off at his room, right?”
Bessie’s been shaking her head the whole time. When I finally shut up, she says, “I’m sorry, but he’s still in protective custody. Plus, you’re not family.”
“Please, Bessie.” I take her hand. “I thought he was dead. I haven’t slept. Won’t be able to…”
“Cher, you’re not a cute little girl who can wrap me around her finger anymore.”
“Fine, let me suffer not knowing if he’s really okay.”
“We’ll walk past his room on the way out of the hospital. Maybe you’ll be able to peek inside the room to verify I’m telling the truth since you don’t believe me.”
Whoa, guess two can play the guilt game.
We’re buzzed through the locked doors leading out of the psych wing, and I follow Bessie onto the elevator. My heart races faster when the doors open on the second floor, and she strides down the hallway. “Are you sure about this?” she asks. “It’s not too late to change your mind. Landry will never know you were here.”
“I have to see him.” My hands shake, and I lift the duffel bag onto my shoulder. Sweat stings my eyes. I can’t get the image of his death out of my head. I have to see Landry, to know for sure he really lives, or I’ll be a scattered mess.
“What about your mama?” Bessie turns to face me, blocking my path.
I stop rather than running over her like I’m tempted to do. Why do we have to talk about this now? Landry almost died. No, he died. Something came out of the vortex and grabbed him. Darkness covered him—tried to eat him. I tried to save him, like he saved me, but I failed. Or maybe I didn’t. Ugh, I’m so confused.
Focus on what you know for sure.
“Bessie, he didn’t kill Mama. His daddy and his friends did that.”
“He’s incarcerated for attacking you.”
“Because I was whacked out of my head and couldn’t remember what really happened that night, but I do now. Landry saved my life. If he hadn’t taken me away, I would’ve watched Mama die and probably would’ve been killed myself. I couldn’t have come back from seeing that. I’ll never testify against him.”
“You mean that, don’t you?”
I spin at the familiar voice. Assistant District Attorney Mitchell Cready stands in the last doorway to the right at the end of the hallway. During my early ghost-walking days, I spied on this guy while he interviewed Landry about Mama’s murder. Cready seems like a good person, if overly determined to the point of not paying attention to the evidence right in front of his flat face. I get that he wants to use Mama’s death to further his career, but I won’t let him do it at the expense of justice.
Cready walks over to me—or rather struts. “Bessie said you were being released today.” He gives his impersonation of charming. In reality, he looks like a yawning gator—all teeth and no personality. “I thought I’d meet you in person and check on Landry’s status. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
I snort and cross my arms. “Not sure how you can justify keeping him in custody with no evidence. Now he’s been assaulted. What do you think the press will say once the news leaks?”
Cready holds up his hands, palms forward. “Hold on, don’t attack me.”
“If you’re this defensive over a simple question, how are you ever going to placate the press? They’ll be all over you like flies on cow pies,” I say, trying to sound mature by not cussing him out. With arms crossed, I stalk toward him until we’re nose to nose. “What are you doing to keep Landry safe? Why did his cellmate stab him in the first place? It’s a bold move—murder—a potential death sentence. He has to have more of a motive than Landry snores in his sleep.”
Cready doesn’t back down. “What do you know that I don’t?”
My eyes widen, and I stumble back. Crap! I almost spilled too much. I’d seen how Carl watched him before the attack, like he was waiting to receive the order to take him out. Don’t ask me why I know this, but I believe it with all of my heart. Maybe part of my g
ifts also leads to mind reading, except I bet reading that guy’s mind would be like gazing into a Port-A-Potty.
Cready glares at Bessie. “What did you tell her about the attack?”
“I didn’t have to say anything. Mala’s sharp. She’s the one who figured out Mrs. Prince and Doc Rathbone killed Lainey. Everyone forgot about the girl’s murder after what happened to Jasmine, but I haven’t.”
My head swells. I didn’t think anyone realized I had solved the case, given I’d been possessed and on a rampage at the time. A huge grin stretches my lips.
Bessie’s jaw flexes. “Speaking of girls getting murdered, Cready. We need to talk.”
He nods, then tips his head at me. “I’ll arrange for Landry’s release. I’d already been thinking about dismissing the charges.”
“Huh?” I glance at Bessie. “Seriously, just like that?”
Maybe I should consider law school if I can’t clear my reputation enough to get a job in law enforcement. But that’s a worry I put on hold because Cready’s still talking and what he’s saying gives me hope.
“Bessie’s right. You solved Lainey’s murder. You’re smart enough to know whether Landry participated in your attack. If you’re not willing to testify against him, then I’m wasting taxpayer dollars keeping him in custody.”
I release the breath I’ve been holding. “So he’s free.”
“Why don’t you go give him the good news while I speak with Bessie.”
I glance at her. Sparks are about to fly out of her ears. What pissed her off? She can’t be this upset over Landry being released.
I edge around Cready, nod to the officer standing guard at the door, and enter the room. I don’t breathe for several seconds. I can’t. Landry is lying on the bed. The blanket tucked around his waist reveals his abdomen and the bandage wrapped around his wound. His face is a swollen, bruised mess. My stomach tightens in sympathy. Despite the damage, he appears peaceful—body fully relaxed without the tension that filled him while in jail. Angelic. Yeah, right.
“I know, I know. I’m pretty. You can’t help but stare,” he slurs his words. His good eye cracks, but the lid is swollen. I’m not sure if he can see me.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’ve never thought of you as pretty, Frog Prince.”
His frown turns into a wince. “Oh, Mala.”
“Who did you think you were flirting with?” I hate the jealousy in my voice.
“If I’d known you’d be stopping by, I would’ve made myself presentable. Combed my hair or put on deodorant. I thought I was talking the nurse into an extra Jell-O cup.” His hand inches across the bed, palm upward. I cross the room and thread my fingers through his.
His hand trembles slightly in mine. He’s weak. But warm and alive. My chest tightens with the emotions threatening to erupt from within me, but I hold them back, afraid I’ll freak him out. “How are you feeling? Are you in a lot of pain?”
He shakes his head.
“Did you hear Cready? He’s dropping your charges.”
“So I can go home. Not that I have a family to go back to anymore.” He pauses. “Guess you don’t either. I’m being…insensitive.”
The words sting with bitterness. Is he thinking about what happened to Mama? Or his parents? I sit on the edge of the bed and lay our clasped hands on my lap. “Yeah, you are a little. At least your parents are still alive.”
“True…” The distance widens between us. He’s lying right next to me, but our emotional connection has been severed, like he’s built a wall blocking me from getting too close. I don’t like it. I won’t let him cut me off.
I squeeze his hand. “Actually, this once-upon-a-time orphan has gotten more offers than she can use.”
Curiosity reestablishes our connection. “What does that mean?”
I lower my voice so it doesn’t carry into the hallway. “I’ll tell you the whole story later, but mostly it means I’m gonna be selfish. I had about enough of being ordered around while in the mental ward. Mama never paid too much attention to me, and I’m used to taking care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Then you’re going home?” His hand tightens.
“Yeah.” I ignore the obvious question. How will I handle living in the house where Mama was murdered? Well, seeing as how the spirits of Mama and Uncle Gaston are waiting for me to return, I’ll do just fine. My family’s untraditional but still intact. “I’ll stay with Bessie for a day or two. I need to go to the college to talk about my financial aid. Oh, no. With your parents out of the picture, how will you pay for school?”
“I think I’ll skip out on this semester. I won’t be welcomed on campus after what happened. People will blame me like they did in jail. Besides, my football scholarship’s gone with my depth perception.”
My stomach clenches as my gaze immediately goes to his damaged eye. I’ve avoided looking at it, but without the eye patch, the damage is clearly visible. I stomp hard on the guilt. Sympathy won’t do him any good. “Poor baby, welcome to Mala’s world. I’ve dealt with people spreading rumors about me my whole life. I’m sure there will be even more now. I’ve survived. So will you.”
“I a-a-almost didn’t. I would’ve died if not for you.” He squeezes my hand.
Is he talking about— “Oh, my God. You remember?”
“Yeah, getting stabbed and smothered leaves a lasting impression.” Sweat breaks out across his forehead, and a moan rips through him. His grip tightens. “I’ll never forget dying and seeing you screaming for me to come back. The burning cloud. The pain…” His body convulses. The hand holding mine jerks upward, and I fall across his chest.
“Landry? Landry, what’s wrong?” I lay my palm across his forehead. “You’re burning with fever.”
“I’m cold.” His teeth chatter. The spasm turns into a full-body shiver.
“Hang on. I’ll call the nurse to come give you some meds.” I push up, but he won’t let me go. He’s panting, unable to slow his breathing. A blood circle encases the dilated pupil of his swollen eye. “Let me go, Landry.” I press my hand against his chest. The flesh beneath my palm ripples like millions of worms are wiggling beneath his skin.
“It won’t stop.”
“What won’t stop, Landry?”
“The snake in the darkness crawled inside me. It’s burrowing deeper.” The handcuff around his right wrist keeps him bound despite his struggle to break free. “Get it out of me, Mala. Please.”
“Calm down. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” He’s totally lost it. Nothing I say stops him from trying to get out of bed. Blood runs down his wrist from where the metal cuts into his skin.
I run to the door and throw it open. “Help!”
A nurse collides with me in the doorway, and I drag her by the arm into the room. “Help him, please. He’s in pain.”
The lights overhead flicker like strobe lights, blinding flashes that force my eyes half shut. Between the slits of my vision, I see flashes of grimy, peeling plastered walls. A rotting fish smell makes my nose wrinkle.
Landry’s screams echo within the room.
“What’s happening?” I yell.
Slime covers my palm. I glance at the hand still on the nurse’s arm. Her skin rots, sloughing off to reveal shiny white bone. I try to pull my hand free, but sticky ooze stretches from my hand to hers, and it won’t shake off. Maggots wriggle in the slime… on my fingers. A scream bubbles in my throat, threatening to break free, but I clench my teeth. I won’t let it out. I won’t let her win.
Evil Poca’s found another way to come at me. She’s playing dress-up. Well, I won’t join her game even though it’s ever so much fun to be scared witless. I drag my gaze from the ghost as I back toward the bed.
“I warned you,” the nurse yells. “Stop ignoring me.”
“Mala!” Landry wraps his free arm around my waist and drags me onto the bed. His moan rips from deep within his chest. He’s not reacting to pain anymore. He’s staring at Evil Poca. “Oh
, God…she’s rotting.”
Shit! He sees ghosts. How much of this is illusion, not delusion?
I cup Landry’s cheeks with both hands and turn his head until he faces me. “Stop screaming, Landry. She’s not real. None of this is real. It’s all in our heads.” His gray eye glitters, wild with a primal fear so deep I’m afraid he’s seconds from a complete mental breakdown. I press my forehead against his. “Close your eye.”
He tries to turn back to the ghost, but I won’t let him. “Don’t look, Landry. She’ll go away if you ignore her.”
I clamp my eyelids shut so hard my ears hum. An orange glow rises in the dark. My eyeballs ache, but it’s good. The pain helps me to concentrate. I begin to count out loud. On ten, I open my eyes and pull back. The room has returned to normal. No more freaky alternate dimension. Unfortunately, Landry and I aren’t the only ones in the room. Bessie stands in the doorway, staring at us as if we’ve lost our ever-lovin’ minds. To her we probably have, since we’re both screaming and carrying on as if someone has died.
“Mala Jean, what’s going on?”
I swallow hard. Not much to say. “We had an emotional reunion.”
“I can see that.” She walks toward us.
I glance at Landry. He’s still breathing heavily. His eye looks a little wild, and his hair stands on end. Seeing ghosts really fucks with your mind, especially when you don’t realize it’s all in your head. They look so real…so corporeal.
My only source for supernatural answers is Auntie Magnolia. I’ve been apprenticed to a hoodoo queen—a black arts practitioner, according to Mama, which is even worse to my way of thinking. But maybe she’s the person I need to speak with since whatever happened to Landry when he died seems to be of the evil persuasion. Magnolia would be real good friends with it.
I lean over to whisper in Landry’s ear. “We’ll talk later.”
“Why do most of our conversations end this way?”
CHAPTER 7
LANDRY
Crawling Out of the Darkness
