by Cynthia Lott
Thomas stood up and looked at Elsie. She shook her head and made her way towards the front door. Nigel blocked her exit.
“Where you going, you witchy little whore? If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have to be doing this.” He grabbed her, ripping her white blouse.
“No! Leave her alone. You have a problem with someone, have it with me. Leave her out of this.” Thomas stood up and walked towards Elsie. Alain caught him at the door, pinning Thomas’s arms behind him.
“What’s got into all of you? You’re mad. You can’t do this.” Thomas struggled with Alain, freeing himself from his stronghold and rushed towards Elsie, pulling her away from Nigel.
“You’re the one that has gone mad, Thomas. Ever since you let her into your life, you’ve abandoned us. And her kind brings on the fever…so many are dead since she arrived. Since all of her kind arrived. Her witchery…her voodoo black magic. And she can’t catch it…none of them do. They’re witches. All of them!” Marcel threw his glass against the wall, prompting the others to close in on Thomas.
“Run, Baby, run!” He was overtaken by his friends, their pushes and blows forcing him to the ground. One in his chest followed by a kick in his head. It went on and on until his ears filled with blood. Thomas fought as hard as he could but it was of little use. At 10:35 pm, he was rendered unconscious and never woke from the beating unleashed on him. The agony turned to silence. Deep, comforting silence.
“Thomas! Thomas!” Elsie opened the front door and ran out of the house, the autumn night hot and sticky.
He knew it was over when he could see her. He was no longer in his body but was outside, near her in the small growth of woods behind Marcel’s home. He spoke to her but she couldn’t hear him. Nor could she feel him when he touched her arm.
She fell to the ground, sobbing, covering her head with her arms. She waited until she saw them carry his body from the house and, hiding behind a tree, watched as they placed one of the carnival bird masks on his face, burying him in a shallow grave. Once they disappeared, she crawled towards his remains, hysterical and unrelenting.
Crying, she clawed at the freshly turned dirt and pulled him up from the ground, holding him close to her chest. He watched all of this while standing near her, unable to provide any comfort. It was agonizing watching her so helpless, afraid, lonely and abandoned. Her voice was like a splinter in his ear, shrill and piercing.
“My beloved…my angel. No…no…no…not this!” She placed his body back into the cool dirt and took out one of her red gris gris bags from inside of her right skirt pocket, her fingers barely able to grasp it, hands shaking from anger. Although she didn’t speak, he could hear her thoughts:
“I will never wake up next to you again. The smell of your skin will disappear from my memory; your voice will cease to echo in my ears, until I won’t be able to recognize it; your touch on my body will leave no trace, and I will never be able to replace it. How can you leave me…not now…not ever.”
Her voodoo had always been meant to bring about positive changes but her heart was beyond broken. As she slid her hand through his hair, she whispered into his ear with a voice full of passion and anger.
“This is a spell…a spell on you and on them. You will come back. You will come back to avenge what has been done to you. Maybe not in this lifetime, but in another. I cannot say when. But you will take from them what they have taken from me: family, love, life, and happiness. Five descendants for five murderers. And then, then you will be with me forever.”
Neither she nor Thomas knew that it would take him one hundred years to return.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
Roy spoke with Stella on his kitchen phone, his voice taking on a serious tone, a demeanor more authoritative than usual. His light facial hair had grown thicker, creating a thin mustache and beard – an unkempt side of him new to me.
“Right. We found the name in one of her journals but we weren’t able to find it in time. Obviously. Yeah, he has one victim still remaining. He takes on the talent of each victim to seduce the next one. We figure that’s all part of the spell put on him by your great-aunt. We haven’t found the last name yet…the fifth descendant, no. It’s simply not in these two journals. Right. Could you? That would be wonderful.”
He hung up the phone and looked at me. “She thinks there may be one more journal in her attic. Jesus, who knows. It’s possible that this fifth person is never going to be revealed to us, Brenda. He commits these goddamn murders in such a short time frame. It never leaves us a chance to catch the next one.”
We both walked into the living room, the large windows displaying an overcast day.
“What about the reversal spell? She claimed she might be able to perform one.” I tied a piece of yellow string around my finger, tightening it till I felt a pinch, releasing it again.
“She’s still working on it. I can’t believe we missed out on Stuart. I feel terrible for Juliet. I’m having Stella meet us here at the apartment. I don’t want her doing some reversal spell at the station. Jesus. The last thing we need is for everyone there to think we’re both insane.” Roy unbuttoned his shirt. “I’m going to take a shower. Why don’t you order something from the Chinese place downstairs and I’ll go pick it up.” He walked towards the bathroom and silence turned into the sound of running water. I sat down on his sofa, leaning my head against a cushion, exhausted. I had been having insomnia again.
For three months after my father’s death, I had trouble sleeping and the exhaustion manifested itself in my pulse. It was in my lips and arms, beating so clearly that I thought it would break through my skin, spurting like a fountain outside of my body. After his death, I found myself in my apartment or the grocery store wondering why I was in a particular room or aisle. I would forget why I wanted the horseradish sauce or why I was standing in my living room holding a candle. I envied people who looked refreshed: How did they do it? Various herbal medications allowed me sleep again but even after trying these concoctions, sleep didn’t come naturally to me. I wasn’t good with lack of sleep. It made me feel like a ghost between worlds.
I ordered the Chinese food and waited for Roy to emerge from the shower. Feeling exhausted after trying to comfort an inconsolable Juliet earlier in the day, I wanted to sleep for weeks on end. I thought about the victims: a pianist, a dancer, an artist and, now, a photographer.
What did that leave?
“A writer.” Roy re-entered the room as if he read my mind. “I think that’s who the next victim will be. It makes sense. Can you think of any other artist? I can’t. If he includes a writer, I think he’s covered all the bases. I know now why he’s honed in on these artists: resentment about his own art taken away from him. His carpentry and mask making. Outside of Elsie, these seemed to be the only two things he lived for. And to add salt to the wound, his killers stole the fucking pieces. Nice.”
“You came up with this just now?”
“Yeah, in the shower. It’s therapeutic. I’ll go pick up the Chinese food. Be back.”
I closed my eyes hoping I would slip in a nap before Roy’s return. And I did.
I fell into a light sleep and saw my father sitting across from me, hovering over his chessboard, a set given to us by my grandfather. On slow summer days at the store, sweat running down the back of our necks, we challenged one another in a game, his queen relentlessly chasing my king and bishops around the board. The elegant, tall wooden pieces were stored away with the rest of my father’s things in my hall closet. But in this short dream, I managed to checkmate him, much to his surprise. He looked up from the board with a wide smile.
“Good job, Bren. I’ve been waiting for you to do that.” He placed the pieces back into the chess case, the velvet lining cradling each figure. I woke up, wishing that I had time to play one more game with him when the phone rang. I crawled off the sofa and walked towards the kitchen. “Hello?”
“Brenda? This is Stella. Did I wake you?”
“I found it. There was one more journal in a box full of my father’s things in the attic. Shall I bring it over? I haven’t read it. I figured you would know what you’re looking for.”
“Absolutely. Can you do so right now?”
“I’m on my way.”
I hung up the phone as Roy entered the apartment with dinner.
“Stella called. She is on her way over. She found the last journal.”
“That’s good news.” Roy set out three plates in case Stella wanted to join us. He poured two glasses of Riesling as we sat down to eat the vegetable lo mein. We ate in silence, our chopsticks clinking against the plates as we shared a large bowl of fried rice. My appetite was waning. We had never eaten dinner in such silence before but the events of the past few days justified our quiet ambiance. When we heard the lobby buzzer announce Stella’s arrival, Roy excused himself. “Hi, Stella. Come up. seventeenth floor,” he instructed into the intercom.
In a few moments, we heard her knock on the door. “Hey, are you hungry? Would you like some dinner?”
“Hi, Detective. No, thanks…I have plans with a friend later on. I would, otherwise. Thank you for the offer, though. I wanted to bring this over as soon as I could. Not sure what you’re looking for but it’s the last one. I can’t find any more. I swear I’ve looked everywhere.” She placed the journal on the coffee table. Her hair was braided in plaits and a black dress hung loosely off of her thin frame. She filled the room with the smell of spicy incense.
“I’m still working on the reversal spell but not sure which one to use…there are several which look promising. I need to buy a few more ingredients that correspond to each one…there are three that require special items. I’ve never performed a spell such as this…you understand.”
“Of course we do, and we also really appreciate all that you’re doing to assist us with this.” I slipped on my heels and walked towards the coffee table, picking up the journal. This one was thick, chocolate brown, leather bound.
“No problem. Call me if you need anything and I’ll keep you posted on the spell. Sorry about this photographer guy. That’s a real shame right there.” She walked out the front door.
“Yeah, we know.” Roy watched her leave, her black flats clicking along the hallway and echoing into the elevator as she returned to the lobby.
He disappeared into the kitchen as I held the journal in my lap, opening its pages. The smell of the paper elicited a familiar scent: reminiscent of my parent’s novels, journals and cookbooks stored away in my closet. Among Elsie’s varied entries were notes regarding her adult children, two sons and a daughter. Her younger son attended medical school while the daughter took on an apprenticeship in interior design with a well-known firm in New Orleans. They both garnered their mother’s respect and encouragement, especially the daughter. It was the older son, Renault, for whom Elsie held the most concern.
Oddly enough, he had been engaging with four friends, all questionable and wanted for theft and petty crimes. I read ten pages further, entries on her husband’s pneumonia, her brother’s successful Creole restaurant, and the myriad of local workshops she gave on the art of voodoo. Roy returned to the living room and sat down next to me as I handed him the book.
“You take a look at it. I’m not seeing anything other than writings on her family.” I took a sip of my wine, watching him peruse through the pages. Jude ran down the hallway, playing with a fuzzy ball.
“Hell, maybe there’s nothing in this one either.”
I inspected my fingernails, at the chipped pink paint and the cuticles that needed trimming. I looked at Roy, his eyes moving over Elsie’s words, his hand reaching for his glass of wine when he stopped, hand raised halfway in the air. He placed the wine glass on the coffee table and looked at one page in particular. His eyes were locked on a paragraph and he looked at the writing with a countenance full of anxiety. I thought he was either going to faint or vomit. He glanced at me, his blue eyes taking on a veneer that I had never seen before: wild, frenetic.
“What is it?” I pulled myself closer to him on the sofa. “Roy? What’s wrong? What did you read?” His staring made me uncomfortable as if he was a stranger sitting next to me. I considered rushing to the kitchen for a paper bag in case he was to hyperventilate.
Roy closed the journal and took both of my hands between his own, squeezing them tightly, painfully.
“How could this be? Of all the people in this fucking city. Seriously. Christ, Brenda, how is this possible?”
“What? What are you talking about? Godammit, Roy. Stop this. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Why? This is just all so…unbelievable.” His grip became tighter as his eyes again took on a look I had never seen: something crazed, bewildered.
“Roy, you’re freaking me out and you’re hurting me. Fucking stop it. What is going on?” I broke free from his grasp and took the journal from his lap. I flipped through the pages, looking for the place where his fingers had rested, somewhere in the middle of the book.
He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word but sat there looking at me as I read the entry for myself.
'I did not raise my children to be disrespectful or dismissive of life. I am so proud of Lizette and Phillipe…it is Renault who will be my bitter end. He cannot understand the ramifications of his actions and has chosen to spend his valuable time with four people who do not deserve his friendship or his energy. I will have to come up with something to alter his mind…to convince him that he is choosing the wrong path with these young men. You will not be the fifth person in this circle of chaos, Renault. I remember well the group of five men who took away so much from me. In another life, in another time. Those five young men, who could have done better; who should have risen above their prejudices and misunderstandings. In my heart I know he shouldn’t have been there…and if you are to be like any of them, Renault, may you resemble the beauty that was Ralph. As disappointing as he was, Ralph Shapira was the least of five evils."
I read the entry a dozen times, my eyes darting over the words, the punctuation, the empty spaces between the letters.
How did I miss this? Did I not want to see it?
“This can’t be right. This can’t be my grandfather. I’m not a writer. I’m not an artist, Roy.” I looked over the entry again, my eyes reading my grandfather’s name over and over as sweat formed across my forehead. I was there but I wasn’t. My heartbeat had grown slow then rapid, a hollow coldness emanating form the core of my body. There was the quiver again in my lips, like I hadn’t slept for days. The room became extremely hot, causing my face to flush…prickles of heat rushed down my neck. Roy walked towards the bathroom, returning with a cold cloth for my head.
“Brenda, honey, look at me. He’s the fifth person. Your grandfather. And you’re the fifth feather. That’s what this comes down to. That’s what she’s telling us right here in this fucking journal. We need to find some way to stop Carpenter. We absolutely have to make Stella create that reversal spell. I’m not going to leave your side and there’s no way I’m going to let him get to you.”
“Roy, it doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? He is here to kill all five of us. It’s something he has to do. It’s a spell over him. How could my grandfather have been involved in this? He probably never told my father, never told anyone. Oh, God, Roy.” I stood up and wrung my hands together. I couldn’t sit still any longer and paced the living room floor, holding the cold cloth against the back of my neck. I felt manic, my heart racing and saw the auras again in the corners of my eyes, little stars shooting off into nowhere.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. He’ll have to take me with him if he wants to get to you.”
“He doesn’t want you, Roy. You’re not who he’s after. Apparently your grandfather didn’t participate in murdering him.” I walked towards the telephone and fumbled for Stella’s number
on the table.
“If you’re his last victim, his powers may be fading by now. You haven’t received a card or any mail yet to warn you of your death. Neither have I, so perhaps a little more time is on our side.” Roy sat at the kitchen table. His eyes were fierce. He cracked open one of the two fortune cookies left over from our meal and pulled out the small white piece of paper.
“Oh, Jesus. Listen to this. Out of three games, one may think five moves ahead…a choice where a queen could potentially keep her head. T.M.C. This is his card? In a fucking fortune cookie?!” Roy stood up and threw the cookie across the room, breaking it into several pieces against the wall. I took the fortune from his hand.
“So I have received it after all. It sounds like he’s trying to give me some hint about how to save my own head. He’s mentioning chess pieces. A chess game. Oh, my God. The chess board that my father and I used to play on. It was my grandfather’s…an antique piece that he gave to my father before he passed away. That must have been what he stole from Thomas. They all took something of his and my grandfather took his chessboard. My grandfather took his fucking chessboard.” I placed the fortune down and gave Stella a call, tapping my fingers on the table until she answered on the fourth ring.
“Hi, Brenda. I just got in…”
“Hi, Stella. How did you know it was me?”
“I just knew. A strong feeling came over me at your boyfriend’s apartment today. You’re the fifth one, aren’t you?”
I paused and looked at Roy. He was pacing in the living room and I didn’t even care to correct her about the nature of our relationship. “Yes. I just found this out. Carpenter sent me something and it may be helpful.”
“Me, too. I found three distinct spells…ones I narrowed down from the list. The only three I can think worth trying at this point. They came from my great aunt’s book, Voodoo in the Real World.”
