by Hunt, James
Owen watched Harold walk past, his eyes following him until him until he disappeared into the sheriff’s office. “Who is that?”
“Company lawyer,” Chuck answered.
“You’re protecting that guy?” Owen took a step back, his voice sharp.
“I’m protecting the company,” Mr. Toussaint answered. “And if you need any legal help, I’d be glad to—”
“I don’t need legal help. I need my son!” Owen pointed back toward the cells where the old man was locked up. “He knows something.” He leaned close, catching a whiff of the faint scent of booze on Mr. Toussaint’s shoulder that made him wrinkle his nose.
“Owen, it’s best to let the law handle this. I don’t want you to make anything worse.” Mr. Toussaint reached for Owen’s arm, but Owen knocked it away before it touched him.
“We don’t need any more help from you.” Owen shouldered Mr. Toussaint on his way past and stormed outside.
The harsh wall of damp heat smacked Owen’s face and he violently kicked his van’s tire, his foot jerking back harshly from the recoil of the rubber. He leaned against the door that was already hot from the morning sun, his head aching.
Every second that passed was one more that blurred the memories of last night. Had he seen something? Was it all in his head? From the outside looking in, he would have thought he was crazy too.
But there was more than just the creature that took his son. The house itself felt like it was alive. And Claire had seen things too. Owen shut his eyes, clinging to that knowledge. He just needed proof, a connection to the unexplainable. He turned, his eyes finding the narrow stretch of real estate outside of Queen’s. He grimaced and clenched his fists.
Leaving his van at the sheriff’s station, Owen marched across the street to the voodoo woman’s store. The heat and hurried paced brought a gleaming sheen of sweat over his upper lip.
The windows to Queen’s were darkened, and the contents normally strewn on the sidewalk had been pulled inside. It was still early, and the sign hanging on the door was flipped to close. Owen pressed his face against the glass, warm from the sun. “Hey!” He pounded on the door.
After receiving no answer, Owen stepped back. He reached for the handle and gave it a pull; a bell jingled as it opened. Owen lingered in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the darkness inside. Slowly, he entered.
The door swung shut behind him, cutting off the sunlight that illuminated his entrance. It was quiet, and the musty scent of old wood filled the air. Owen maneuvered past the shelves and tables lined with odd and mysterious items: strange elixirs with names he couldn’t pronounce, drawings of creatures he’d never seen, and jewelry made of bones, twigs, and rocks. There was an alternative beauty to the store, and he walked toward the glass case where a cash register sat on top, his eyes locked onto the painted skulls that rested inside.
“You have seen it.”
Owen spun to his right and saw the old woman squinting at him. Thick cords of black hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. The earthy-brown colored dress she wore hung loosely on her body, and she supported herself with a tall staff that was warped like a crooked and deformed spine, a rock resting at the very top like a crown.
When she shifted her weight, a necklace of bones swayed. It was that same rattling of bones he remembered hearing when Matt was taken. His face twisted into a snarl. “What did you do?”
Madame Crepaux remained silent for a moment, then gave a gentle shake of her head. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Owen’s face was cast in shadows and those hot coals of rage burned in the pit of his stomach, stoking the flames of anger. “Then I guess it doesn’t matter if I get the sheriff and have him take a look around.” Owen spun around and headed for the door before he acted on the impulses racing through his head.
Owen’s fingers grazed the door handle and he managed to pull it open an inch before it slammed shut, the bell at the top jingling violently. Owen turned back to the old woman who stood there in the same stoic manner, her weathered hands still gripping the staff.
“The police cannot help your son,” Madame Crepaux said, the little flecks of yellow in her eyes glowing in the dark. “But you can.”
Owen laughed, the chuckle soft at first, light-hearted and hysterical, and then faded with the shake of his head. “Lady, I don’t know you.” He stepped toward her, a drunken swagger to his movements. “My son is gone.” His eyes teared up, and he gestured back toward the door. “And I think you’re lying to cover up for yourself.” He clenched his fists, but even as he drew closer to the old woman, she remained still. “You tell me where he is, and you tell me now.” Owen came to a stop only inches from her face as his cheeks grew hot. “Because if you don’t there is no amount of law and order that will stop me from hurting you.”
The ground rattled beneath Owen’s feet, vibrations running up through his legs. A jolt of panic rushed through him when he couldn’t lift his feet. Madame Crepaux stepped backwards, her legs motionless behind the cover of her frumpy clothes, giving the illusion that she was floating. Or maybe it wasn’t an illusion.
“You must see now, Owen Cooley,” Madame Crepaux said. “You must understand what you will face, what your son is facing now.” She pounded the end of her staff against the floor, and the rock at the staff’s crown illuminated.
Owen lifted his hands to shield himself from the bright light, his feet still glued to the floor which shook more violently now. A crack split between his feet, the fault line cutting the floor in quick, jagged movements. His eyes widened in terror and he looked back up to the woman still staring at him, those yellow eyes brighter than the stone at the top of her staff.
“Keep your eyes open.” Madame Crepaux lifted the staff and then pounded the floor again, which widened the crack into a dark crevasse between Owen’s legs.
Owen screamed as he fell, flipping over and over, his stomach swirling from the sensation of free fall. His scream suddenly cut out and he jerked to a stop harshly. His feet gently touched solid ground and his knees buckled slightly as the weightlessness disappeared, though the darkness remained.
A soft glow appeared like a cloud in the distance, and Owen stopped dead in his tracks. He squinted, unsure of what it was. It took shape slowly, growing larger.
It looked like the swamp outside his house, but was filtered through a grey haze. Owen squinted, trying to understand what he was seeing, and that was when he saw his son. “Matt!” Owen’s voice echoed throughout the darkness. He sprinted toward his boy, who lay motionless on the ground. “Matt!” But no matter how fast he ran, his son remained far off in the distance, trapped in that cloudy glow.
And then, just before Owen was about to scream again, that creature appeared, stepping from the darkness of the swamp.
“No!” Owen’s legs churned faster, his body a blur in the darkness. The creature bent down, its claws outstretched in preparation for an attack. Tears blurred Owen’s vision, his heart pounding frantically in his chest, shaking his whole body.
The glow faded, and Owen stretched out his arms. “Matt! MATT!” A force tugged at his stomach and he was sucked from the darkness.
Another flash of light, and Owen felt the grain of wood beneath his palms. He blinked rapidly, his body covered in sweat. A black, weathered hand was thrust into the plane of his vision, and he looked up to the stoic expression on Madame Crepaux’s face, the bright glow of her eyes gone. He grabbed hold of her hand, her strength surprising as she helped him to his feet.
“What was that?” Owen asked.
“A glimpse into a world that you must enter to save your son,” Madame Crepaux answered. “And it must be done quickly. Come.” She turned, and Owen followed.
The room was small. In its center was a table with a large, shallow basin resting on it with water as black as the eyes of the creature.
“The creature that took your boy is Bacalou. And it is a cursed thing. Born from the great spirits Damballah, god of snakes and prot
ector of trees and water, and Baron Samedie, the god of death. It controls the dead and the nature of this world.” She circled the basin as she spoke, the tip of her finger running along the edge, then stopped when she reached the opposite side of the table, raising her eyes to him.
Unlike the coldness Owen felt when he saw the monster, a warm sensation bubbled in his chest. It was as if he had known her for a long time, and as she closed the distance between them, he caught the scent of her breath as she spoke. It was hot, but sweet.
“Fathers will risk much for their children. Especially their sons,” Madame Crepaux said. “What are you willing to risk, Owen Cooley?”
Owen stiffened, but his voice cracked. “Whatever it takes.”
Madame Crepaux’s lips curled in a smile, and she patted Owen’s left cheek. She turned to a shelf lined with different-colored elixirs next to the skull of a small gator then returned to the shallow bowl filled with black water.
“How did this even happen?” Owen asked. “Why my son?”
Madame Crepaux began mixing the ingredients together. “Over a century ago, the house where your family now lives belonged to a powerful Voodoo Queen. She was a healer. Stories of her abilities spread throughout the swamp lands, and her name became a whisper of hope. Samba.”
She closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her face. “A father heard of the Queen’s powers and brought his dying son to her to save his life. But the boy was too far gone, and in the Queen’s attempt to save him, the boy died.” The floor groaned as she stepped toward Owen. “The father’s grief drove him mad, and he blamed Queen Samba for his son’s death. He turned the town against her and raided her home, sentencing her to death by fire.” A half-smile curved up the side of the woman’s face. “But the Queen used the father’s rage and grief against him, setting a curse on his family that would last until the last roots of his family tree were dead. She conjured Bacalou to kill every firstborn male of the Toussaint family that was taken by the creature. The Queen’s curse stole son after son from the man’s family until one of the man’s descendants bribed a bokor to try and end the curse. But the Queen’s gris-gris was too powerful to be broken without the destruction of the family’s bloodline, so the bokor channeled the curse into an amulet, keeping the creature tied to the Queen’s former house and grounds. But the creature still required a firstborn son’s soul to be sacrificed every twenty-five years to keep it contained. That is the reason you were brought here, Owen Cooley. Your son was taken so the heir of Charles Toussaint could live.”
Owen stumbled backward, his head spinning, his stomach churning at the fate he’d sentenced his own son. He made the decision to take the job. He moved his family in that house. He refused to believe that there was anything wrong until it was too late. And now it could cost him his son’s life. Chuck may have laid the trap, but Owen took the bait. “How do I stop it?”
“There is an amulet that keeps Bacalou chained to the house and its grounds. It protects the heir of the Toussaints. And it is the key to unlock the door into the creature’s world.” Madame Crepaux guided Owen to the table where the basin sat. “I have tried to retrieve the amulet myself, but the Bokor who forged it ensured that no other follower of Voodoo could set foot on that land.” She pressed her finger into his chest. “I have waited a long time for you, Owen Cooley. Bon Dieu guided your family here so you could end this evil and restore the balance of the spirits. It is time for wrongs to be righted.”
The house. Mr. Toussaint. The move. All of it swirled in Owen’s mind, the connections slowly coming together. He looked to Madame Crepaux, a sense of clarity washing over him. “Chuck sent Billy and Jake to kill us so there wouldn’t be any questions after my son was taken. He was just going to… erase us.”
Madame Crepaux nodded gravely. “It was what his father taught him, and his father before him. He will do whatever he can to keep himself alive. He is dangerous, and he has influence in this town. He will use all of it to keep your son in the creature’s possession and then silence you and your family.”
The lawyer, Owen thought. Chuck came to the sheriff’s station to make sure the old man didn’t talk. He grabbed hold of Madame Crepaux, her arms bone thin under the bulky robes. “My family. I have to get them someplace safe.”
“Your wife will call you soon.” Madame Crepaux gripped the sides of the basin and stared into the blackness. “She will bring your father-in-law, and your daughter.” She lifted her head. “They will be safe here.”
“My father-in-law?” Owen asked.
“He was in contact with the creature and now shares a connection with the beast,” Madame Crepaux answered. “Once you bring me the amulet I will need that connection to help open the portal to the creature’s world.”
Owen glanced down into the bowl that the woman was so intently focused on. He wasn’t sure what she saw, but only his reflection stared back at him. “How is all of this even possible?”
“In Voodoo, the primordial god Bon Dieu works through the spirits and souls of this earth to test us.” Madame Crepaux lifted her eyes to the ceiling with an expression of uncertainty. “Even the most studied and powerful bokors and priestesses cannot fully understand Bon Dieu’s purpose. But I have learned that Bon Dieu values life and balance. And that is what we must restore.” She turned toward Owen. “But we must hurry.”
Madame Crepaux touched the center of the black water in the basin, which sent a ripple to the edges of the bowl. “The creature is draining your son’s soul as we speak. And if we cannot retrieve him by midnight tonight he will be lost forever.”
Owen started to speak, but stopped when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He retrieved it and gave Madame Crepaux a quick look of disbelief as he saw Claire’s number.
“Claire.” Owen closed his eyes as she started to tell him everything that happened. “I know. I-I know, listen. Discharge your father from the hospital and then bring him and Chloe to the voodoo shop on Main Street. It’s called Queen’s.” He opened his eyes and looked at Madame Crepaux. “I know how to get Matthew back.”
5
Billy saw a sliver of Chuck as he entered the sheriff’s office, but it was only a quick glance. The view between the bars of the cell were narrow, and after the door closed, he retreated to the back of his cell, snarling, exposing that silver-capped tooth.
The tooth had been chipped during a fight in high school. Lenny Calhoun called him a pussy and that he came from a whole family of pussies. And without a word, Billy rammed his fist into Lenny’s face and knocked him to the ground flat. But with Lenny on his ass, Billy didn’t stop.
A rage, deep within Billy’s heart, bubbled to the surface. It was a rage born from the dirt floor shack he lived in with his parents. Rage from the stares he received in the hallways at school with his dirty shirt and pants that were hand-me-downs from his older brother, his feet flopping in shoes that were too big with holes in the toes. Rage from the frustration in his studies, and the fact that no matter how much time he put into his homework, he couldn’t muster anything higher than a C-. And with every punch he landed on Lenny’s face, Billy’s smile widened.
“Knock it off, Billy!” Sam Leland had tried to pull him off, and Billy had jabbed him in the ribs. That had made Sam’s older brother shove Billy from behind and sent him sprawling onto the concrete where he chipped that front tooth.
It hurt worse than a bee sting, and he cursed and groaned as he rolled to his side, Lenny’s motionless body right beside him. “Fuck, Johnny! What’d you do that for?” The tooth’s exposed nerve sent a spasm of pain for every breath that passed over it. It was like someone stuck a knife in his mouth.
Lenny Calhoun had to go to the hospital, but he kept his mouth shut about who beat the piss out of him. And that was how Billy learned how fear worked. You hurt someone bad enough, and they’ll do whatever you want. Fear was the tool he could use to get himself out of the piss-poor, dirt-floored, tin roof shack that he had been born into. And he did.
Billy Rouche graduated high school by the skin of his teeth and the very next day, he walked himself down to the auto parts factory dressed in the nicest clothes he could find in his daddy’s drawers, and burst right into Charles Toussaint’s office, interrupting a meeting. He’d told Mr. Toussaint that he’d do any job he’d give him and he’d do it better than anyone as long as there was the promise of a bigger paycheck down the road.
That boldness and determined spirit earned Billy a job, and Mr. Toussaint took an immediate liking to him. And so he worked his way out of that shithole shack and moved into one of the factory-owned housing units. It had power and tiled flooring with carpet in the bedroom. To Billy Rouche, it was a palace.
And so Billy worked for the Toussaints doing whatever the boss asked him to do, knowing that his reward would come Friday when he picked up his paycheck. He developed a rapport with Mr. Toussaint, and in those early years as a young man, he began to look at Mr. Toussaint as a father figure. The man was everything Billy wanted to be: rich and powerful. And he’d do anything to get there.
So when Billy’s adopted father pulled him aside at the end of his shift twenty-five years ago and opened a crystal bottle and poured him a glass of the finest bourbon he’d ever tasted, he didn’t hesitate for the job that Mr. Toussaint had in store for him.
All he had to do was kill some family that just moved into town. Husband, wife, and daughter. And in return, Billy would get a new house, higher salary, and a trip to New Orleans for a few weeks where he’d be set up with cash, liquor, and women.
And so he did it. He killed all three of those people at that house on Cypress Lane and then partied his ass off for three weeks in New Orleans. He screwed women he’d never even dreamed of and thought himself a king.
It was like that for a while, until Mr. Toussaint retired and his pissant son took over the factory. And if it weren’t for everything that Mr. Toussaint had done for him, Billy probably would have quit after that first year. But Mr. Toussaint came to him one night after announcing his retirement and asked Billy for one last job.
