I cussed in frustration at all the blanks in my mind--there were too many missing gaps to fill in. I gagged suddenly, spitting on the floor between my legs. When I my eyes rolled to the back of my head, I heard one of the prisoners cry out, "Hey. He's seizing."
I am not on the floor of the cell anymore. I am sitting just beyond the riverbank watching her grab flowers, snap branches, and pick fruit, loading her arms with confiscated booty. Like a ghost, I follow.
Forced to leave the Garden, the excommunication doesn't seem to upset her as she walks out of the gates. She follows The River of Life as it runs beyond the Garden and into a divide. Four rivers spring from the divide. She chooses the fourth and follows that into another land.
The Euphrates waters the armload of plants she has forced into the ground, including a seed from the last Gorge she had eaten and kept hidden under her tongue. Lamia watches with pleasure as they take root in her new garden.
An animal has followed her into the new garden and he presents himself, calling out, "Hello, Lamia, daughter of YHWH."
Winding several pieces of her red hair around a stem to hold the yellow flower in place on her head, she replies, "Hello, Serpent. I had to leave Eden and can no longer speak with YHWH. This is my garden now, Africa, and I cannot leave it."
Serpent's clever eyes blaze.
"You don't need YHWH," Serpent says. "You have me."
She re-names him 'Samiel' and because she has named him, she loves him more than all the others. Samiel tells her about Eve, and Lamia and Samiel plot their jealous revenge; he will tempt Eve to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. And when Eve does, then she will laugh in YHWH's face.
With time, lust grows for Samiel.
The serpent's seed sprouts inside her and it is at this moment the Euphrates shrinks to one-tenth its volume; it no longer receives its water from Eden.
Not a day later, Samiel is with Eve in the Garden of Eden, as she bites into the forbidden fruit. YHWH douses his punishment over all the Earth, and Lamia watches in horror as the animals fall upon their hands and feet to roam on paws or hooves. Fur covers the faces of many. Their eyes lose life as they become devoid of knowledge, never to speak again. Some become vicious and disappear into a gloom that had not existed within the forest. Many plants and animals die because the Euphrates isn't large enough to support them. Animals begin to feed off others and she runs to hidden shelter, pregnant and alone.
The pains of childbirth are immense. The cramping forces her to her knees in violent spasms and all Lamia can do is obey her body's command to push, heaving as she bears down, ripping with birth's burning fire. That last push empties her. She loses consciousness.
Drifting in and out and as time moves along, her cognizance arouses. Feeling small and weightless, she hears mewing. Little hands wave in front of her eyes, hands she can't yet control. She is an infant, her own child, possessing all her former knowledge.
Out of a tree much like the one where Lamia had first met her Samiel, coils a scaly, legless, cylindrical body. It drags itself along the branch and its upper half falls, dangling in front of her. A pink flag darts out of its mouth and tickles her infantile cheeks. His eyes are green and he can't speak from his shriveled lips.
Rain falls from the sky and trees bend down, dripping water off their leaves into her mouth. Nature feeds her and the serpent coils around her, keeping the infant warm. Samiel had been her husband, and now, unable to lie with her again, he will forever remain her father.
Samiel. Serpent. Devil. Her name is Lamia--half serpent, half human, with a demon spirit.
I blinked, grasped my head in both hands and began to cry. "Mind games," I said. Wiping away the last of my tears, and said, "I can play those, too."
82--CHARLES
"He's a murder suspect," said the solicitor. He wore a tan suit and carried a leather portfolio in both arms. Jeffrey's file sat on top. The solicitor studied the papers as he and Charles walked down the hall guided by an officer towards the cell. "The best thing I can do is have him released into your custody before the judge orders another warrant. Which he will." The solicitor stuffed the papers into the portfolio as brown as his skin, and said, "They have the sworn statement of the doctor who saw him leaving her room."
"I don't believe he did it," Charles said in a hushed voice. He took one look at his nephew curled up in the corner of the small cell with men hovering around him like he was a freak show, and decided that the best thing to do was to get him out of the country immediately. Nkumbi had told him to leave Jeffrey in jail, but Charles could not leave his nephew in that festering cell.
Charles said, "I want to take him to his house, allow him to clean up."
"Do your best," said the lawyer, shooting Jeffrey a look of pity. "Here," he gave Charles his business card. "Call me when they come for him."
Jeffery kept his distance as Charles led him out of the station towards his car. "Jeffy," he said, reaching a hand towards his nephew's slumped shoulders, "We're on our way home."
Charles left South Africa after his missionary was over, and took the ashes the bishop had given him to use as incense, and a handful of sand from the ocean, both as mementos. He put them together in a jar, and the combination bonded overnight into tiny pellets. After examining the pellets, he tossed them into the rectory's yard to dispose of them. Flames exploded, splashing like molten lava. The fire melted through rocks, leaving a crater. He tried shoveling the red embers as they continued to sparkle and pop, and the shovel disintegrated. The only thing Charles knew of that burnt like that was thermite. Thermite was an explosive made of aluminum powder and rust, not ashes and sand. Charles brought the pellets to Africa.
In England, Charles was barely capable of dragging his filled rubbish cans to the curb. In South Africa, after the bishop's conferment, Charles could lift a rubbish can filled with boulders. The increase in strength had happened gradually. He wasn't aware of the level of his excel until he went home to London, where he weakened. Back in South Africa, the regaining of his strength impressed him, but he'd be happy to give it up and get out of the country with his nephew alive.
Charles' heart broke for the boy, his brother's only child, his only nephew. Charles had intended to claim religious sanctuary when landing in South Africa, and he would do whatever was necessary to get Jeffrey out of the country and away from Eva's clutches. She was lethal.
His brother hadn't said much before he dropped dead on his doorstep, but his eye was bloody and patched, and even though he looked thin, he had weighed a tremendous amount. Eva had set his brother up.
He'd fallen for her and she used him like a dishrag. His legal expertise cleaned up several of her messes, along with the messes of her cohorts. She had introduced him to expensive whores, drug dealers, and gamblers. Not that his brother was innocent. He'd had excessive inclinations--wants--since they were kids. Charles had figured that his brother would either be an incredible success or a drastic failure. Turns out, he was right on both counts.
"Jeffy, I'm taking you home, to England. We're leaving now."
"I want clothes," Jeffrey said as he slipped in the passenger seat. He looked to his uncle, watery eyes rimmed in pink, neck and chest swollen, clothes torn and smelling of urine. "I have all my things at Caroline's house."
"You can shower at the airport," Charles said, offering Jeffrey another option.
"Please," Jeffrey said.
Caroline's house sat amidst the other well-maintained, landscaped homes and he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Jeffrey asked, "Can I have my keys? I'll be right out." Charles handed Jeffrey the manila envelope that the police secretary had given him. Jeffrey shuffled to the front door like an old man and tore open the envelope, shaking out a set of keys. He disappeared inside and Charles got out, thinking he'd better not leave him in there alone.
Charles got as far as the door and heard a loud bang from upstairs--a door slamming. He ran up and stopped at the closed bedroom door. He had never seen the room,
but had listened closely to the details Lindsey provided.
Charles pushed the door open. Furniture lay in pieces all around the floor. Hot air blew in through the shattered window. The walls were slashed with what could have been a knife. A gust of cold air blew up his pant legs. Charles turned to the sound of the bedroom door swinging on its hinge in the hot breeze. There was a large hole in the wall behind the door. He ran up to it in time to see Jeffrey's feet scrambling inside. Charles dashed outside the room, around the corner, but the wall was not open to the other side. In Caroline's room, he took a final look inside the hole to see Jeffrey's legs descending a staircase.
"Jeffrey!" he shouted, his voice sounding dull and flat, like he was screaming against a solid wall. Jeffrey was gone. Charles ran out of Caroline's house and drove as fast as he could to Lindsey's.
83--LINDSEY
Lindsey skipped across the lawn to her driveway.
Father Charles stood on her verandah, shouting, "We can't go there, Lindsey. He's made his choice."
"Suppose he hasn't," she said, hand on her car's door handle. "Suppose someone else made it for him. You know better than I do."
"Precisely," he said, standing his ground.
"I'll go without you," Lindsey warned.
"We should wait until morning."
She hopped in her car and started the engine.
Father Charles ran after her, slipping on the dew-covered grass, catching himself before falling. He jumped in beside her and said, "I'll go with you, just in case." He said those last three words like an epitaph.
She drove with dread into Llandudno.
A gated drive hid behind a group of sinister bushes hanging out into the street. Lindsey pulled over beyond the bushes, and Father Charles jogged over to the gate as Lindsey ran up behind him. He said, "You may not want to see this. Stay in your car."
Oh no, she thought. He wasn't going to drive there with her and tell her to stay put. Father Charles' hand was on her arm.
A heap of flesh lay on the ground right outside Eva's gate. "He's been reduced to a warning," Father Charles said. Tightly curled black hair on the head was probably the only part of him untouched. Lack of blood under what was left suggested it had all happened elsewhere.
The body lay in pieces. Arms and legs were separated from the torso and stacked in a pile beside the head. The skin had been ripped off the body in one clean sheet and lay neatly folded like a blanket on top of the limbs. The lips and eye were missing.
Father Charles said, "The facial features are powerful muti. Witch doctors use the lips and eyes to try to communicate with the dead." He gently squeezed her arm. "Caroline's eyeballs were missing. That's why I burnt the body."
Lindsey crumbled, stifling a cry. "Don't tell me anything else like that about her."
Green and black flies buzzed over all the pieces. Little grey maggots wiggled in piles, feasting on the carcass. Lindsey toddled back, swatting with one hand at the occasional insect as it drew near, covering her nose with the other to avoid the rotting smell.
Charles knelt beside the body.
"A prayer won't do any good," Lindsey said. "I've tried, and so far, this is where it's gotten me."
"It's not rigid," he said, poking at a limb.
"Vicious," she said, referring to Eva. "Who was it?"
"Captain Piedmont," Charles answered. "What made Nkumbi think he stood a chance?"
"Nkumbi? No, he wouldn't." The black curly hair. The dark skin. But, she had to admit to herself that it was him.
"You monster!" she screamed, turning towards the gate. Charles grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back.
"Shhh," Charles said. "It's getting darker. Look at the gate. See where the sun hits it over there? Not a gate, but bones."
"Nkumbi wouldn't have gone onto her property," Lindsey said. "He was smarter than that. He said he was only going to look around."
"She must have tricked him," Charles said.
"He read the book, didn't he?" Lindsey asked. "He was telling me about it in the hospital. He bought the book, opened it, and read it. That's how she got him to go to her. It's the only way he would've crossed that gate." Lindsey pulled free of Charles' hold and began rifling through his pockets. "Your matches or whatever you used to start the fire. Do it now. Burn the house, starting with the bushes. Burn it!" she screamed, pulling on his empty pockets.
"Wait," he said, pushing her aside. "Not the bushes." Charles sprinkled something on Nkumbi's body that he must've had in his hand or up his sleeve, and whispered under his breath. "Back up," he said to her, and with a flick of his wrist, a flame shot from his hand and enveloped what was left of Nkumbi. Lindsey shielded her face with her hand as black smoke hovered over the flames. Tentacles of smoke reached out and then recoiled back into the fire.
84--JEFFREY
Veins thick as two-by-fours held up smooth walls that were as white as her skin. Inside those walls throbbed a heart, and it beat under my palm. Behind me, the windows stared out into the horizon beyond the landscape.
The staircase breathed tepid air; one gust a push, the next one a pull on my shoulders. Inhale, exhale. It breathes. Up the stairs, the hallways curved and twisted, winding through the house like intestines.
I had convinced myself that the wall, its heartbeat, and the voice telling me that I was within her, were only hallucinations. Pills and stress will do that, right? Anyone under the same circumstances could've seen and heard those same things. But . . . "I crawled through the wall," unbelieving it as I said it. I coughed, and the hammer's tip poked into my hip.
"Now we can close it," said Phred.
Phred removed his hat and tossed it on the stairway baluster. "I don't think she's awake yet. You want a drink?"
I chewed on what he asked like a wad of tobacco, waiting for the juices to dry up before spitting out an answer. But nothing came to me. It was as if my mind had been programmed to shut down whenever questioned. Phred could have just as easily asked me why I kept coming back to the house. And I did keep coming back. Actually, there really was only one reason, and it was always the same.
You're here because it's home. Home.
"Where's Edward?" I blurted. This had been his home, too. I figured our fates to be tied together, and if she had lied about Caroline and my father, then she would lie about Edward. He had to be dead. I would be too.
Phred replied, "I haven't seen much of him." A spark twinkled in his eye and his lips twitched, suppressing a smile.
Phred was toying with me. I wasn't in the mood for games. I wanted an end to this bullshit. If Phred wasn't going to give straight answers, then I'd save my breath. I didn't need a middleman fucking around with me.
"Wait here." Phred disappeared into the dining room, and then returned with amber liquid in a glass. "From Guert," he said, handing me the drink, eyeing my shaking hand as I reached for it.
"Welcome back home," he said. "We are your family now."
"You are my fucking driver," I said through clenched teeth. "Mena and Guert are my fucking maids."
"We'll take care of you," he said.
I choked on my drink. "Liars. Eva said the same thing. So did Lindsey, and I didn't believe her, either."
"Did you really think Lindsey would have taken care of you? After what you did to her daughter?"
"Voestak." I threw the drink in Phred's face. The liquid sizzled when it hit, steaming off his skin.
"It's only for drinking," he said. A burn marked his cheek and pock marks splattered his forehead and chin where the liquid had hit. "It's muti. Eva mixes in human eyes for her potion."
I dropped the glass and wiped my forehead, feeling my own heat rise. "I almost drank that stuff."
"You've been drinking it. It's supposed to heal you and make you fall in love with her. It works, doesn't it?"
Clenching my jaw hard, I heard a crack inside my mouth. I probed with my forefinger and thumb to the back of my gum line to find another molar had wiggled loose. A bud had sprung
up underneath the loose molar. A new tooth was already growing.
Phred chuckled, and my patience cracked almost as loud as the tooth.
"Are you laughing at me?" I asked, opening and closing my fists. "You are, aren't you?"
"What are you so uptight about?" Phred asked. "Eva's drink heals. And now that she uses Caroline's eyes, you have her watching over you as well."
"You detestable fuck." A bulging vein throbbed on my forehead, ready to explode. I took a threatening step forwards, poised, ready to charge, but Phred stood unflinching. He wasn't taking me seriously.
Well, time to make him.
I lunged. Startled, Phred reacted too late. He held his hands up to his face, but I pounded with swift force. "Don't. You. Fuck. With. Me."
Phred moaned only once whilst I beat his face, fists blurring past my eyes as I swung over and over. With a crunch, Phred's cheekbones caved, his jaw flopped away from his mouth, and his nose collapsed. I cussed and beat him until I was out of breath. When I finally exhausted my anger, I stopped, puffed my chest, and shook out my sore hands. The swearing continued under my breath and I enjoyed the flavour of my foul words.
Phred sprawled on the floor on his back, face a slab of raw meat, blood spreading like spilt wine across the wood floor. Phred's nose had sprayed my shirt like a hose and it continued to gush down the side of his face, trailing into the pool around his head.
I opened my fist, the webbing between my fingers tacky and my knuckles swollen, but they no longer quivered. The blood stained my hands, sinking into and accentuating the lines. It seeped under my nails and left a crust in the cuticle grooves. I had never seen anything so gory in my life. Yet, I never felt more alive, exuberant. "Voestak," I said, feeling no shame, only vindication.
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