Reborn

by Lisa Collicutt

  Another woman stepped forward and dripped hot wax from a black candle onto his skin, creating crude symbols I didn’t know the meanings of. In seconds, the wax marks burned through his skin—burning me as I watched the horror take place.

  As the dying man squirmed on the ground in agony, screaming out his torment, the third woman uncurled a bullwhip and began the torture upon him that he had inflicted upon so many others. Although I felt lash after lash as the leather cut through his skin, I felt no pity for him and wanted the torture to continue.

  Soon after the whipping began, the potion administered by the first woman worked its magic, clouding my vision and my thoughts, as I suspected it did to my evil twin. My heart slowed, and my blood cooled. The infliction became an annoyance in the background somewhere as I died.

  The scene below me filled with smoke as I floated upward, rising above the treetops. A river cut through the forest to the north. A mile beyond the wide part of the river, a small settlement of decrepit dwellings made up the slave quarters. Recognition dawned on me as I realized this was the place I’d fished from—the place I’d felt unseen eyes watching me—the place the wicked Solomon Brandt had lost his life. Down the river, farther south, through the pathless forest was Melba’s future home. Down farther still, through more woods, across cotton fields, then another small wooded area, and a manicured lawn, sat the plantation house in all its eighteen-hundreds’ glory. I could see it all laid out before me as I drifted farther into the sky.

  Then a sharp voice boomed in front of me, startling me out of the vision, or dream within a dream—whatever it was.

  I was back in the den.

  “Those witches, Hoodoo Priestesses they call themselves, took our life.” As his massive hands clenched the gilded arms of the chair, his upper body lifted off the backrest. “And I want it back.”

  I didn’t know what to say, how to react. I flicked my gaze toward the door to my left, remembering the key and the lock.

  “You can’t leave, Solomon, until I allow you to do so.” He spoke as if he knew my mind.

  But I knew he was right. There was no way to overpower this demon with strength.

  With slow steps, I backed against the door.

  “I’ve been watching you, Solomon.”

  His sardonic grin sent chills up my spine.

  “You and that mixed breed stood in this very room today.” He stood, and his voice broke into a yell. “My private room!”

  When he spoke of Desiree in that manner, anger welled inside me, replacing the fear. “Don’t talk about Desiree like that.”

  A guttural laugh escaped his lips. “Why, Solomon, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were smitten with the help.” His grin vanished, and behind his pupils, fire raged. “I won’t allow you to have her.”

  “You can’t stop it,” I said, faking bravery. “You’re stuck in my nightmares. I’m the one who lives and breathes.”

  “Not for long. I’ll find a way to end this purgatory and rejoin the living. Your days of existence are numbered, Solomon.”

  Without taking my gaze from his, I reached behind me and fumbled until I found the key to the door.

  “You can’t escape from me, Solomon.”

  As he spoke, I fit the key into the lock. With my other hand, I already had the wooden knob turned and waiting. The door opened behind me. The last thing I saw as I was sucked out of the room was the evil Solomon’s face. Fire blazed on his skin and flames erupted from between his lips as he broke into an angry roar.

  “I’m coming for you…”

  When I woke, sunlight streamed in through the bedroom window, and I felt as if I’d spent the whole night with my evil twin. As tired as I was, I had to get out of that bed—out of that room. The cool shower delivered me into a semi-awake state.

  With this most recent nightmare, I learned my life was in danger. Solomon Brandt, the infamous plantation owner, slain by his own slaves, wanted my life, wanted to live through me. But I still didn’t know anything about my past—or did I? Was I dismissing clues? Denying truths?

  Melba’s distance from me that day was so noticeable, I could feel the tension in the air around us, like a thick fog. So I was surprised when she called out into the yard for me to join her for lunch. She set a plate of two ham and cheese sandwiches in front of me, with a tall glass of iced tea, and nothing for herself. Watching her fidget with her rings and pendants made me nervous.

  “Please eat,” she said, after I sat there for a few minutes staring at her.

  Gardening hadn’t been my focus that morning, so I hadn’t worked very hard, but hunger still gnawed at my stomach. When I had half a sandwich gone, Melba looked up at me.

  “Desiree is the only kin I have in this part of the country. When her poor mother passed, I took her in like my own daughter. Her deadbeat father never came around or even called to offer his condolences. The last thing he ever sent to her was an empty Christmas card when she was sixteen. So you see; I’m very protective of her.”

  I stopped chewing.

  “And if anything happens to her…”

  Her gaze lowered to the rooster-shaped salt and pepper shakers in the center of the table that she made fists around. When she looked back at me, there was something in her eyes I hadn’t seen there before—fear.

  “I’d never forgive myself. Do you understand?”

  I gulped down the dry bite left in my mouth. “I would never hurt Desiree.”

  “No. I know you wouldn’t—not intentionally. But he would, through you.”

  Her fear passed into me, and I felt she was right.

  “Do you understand?”

  I nodded, suddenly unable to taste the mustard that lingered in my mouth. But this conversation brought up questions, and I needed answers.

  “Several times, I saw you talking to someone. Who was it? Who were you talking to in the hallway of the mansion the other day, in that other language—Haitian?”

  She gave me a curious look. “You recognized it?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’ve been gifted with the ability to converse with my ancestors. They were once Solomon’s slaves—”

  “The three Hoodoo Priestesses who killed him?”

  Her eyebrows pulled together, creating a crease between them. “You seem to have all the answers.”

  “I watched him die in a dream last night, is all.”

  She nodded. “This is something I don’t speak of out loud, and I will never speak of it again, so listen closely. Yes, with the help of his other slaves, the Priestesses took his vile life from him, then they buried him face down under the mud, up the river. A most dishonorable death. The spirits of the slaves and their ancestors have watched over that site ever since.”

  I remembered the eerie feeling I’d had while fishing—the spirits had been there, watching me. I shuddered.

  “Did you dream anything else?”

  My mind raced through the nightmare, skipping Solomon’s threats to Desiree. “I think Solomon wants to be reborn—through me.”

  The fear-filled look she gave me wasn’t comforting. “Well, now we know why you are here.”

  “It still doesn’t explain who I am, and where I come from,” I said, desperate for her to tell me.

  She didn’t seem to hear me. Her eyes closed and her head flew back. She mumbled something I couldn’t understand.

  “Melba?”

  Nothing.

  When her body started trembling, I grabbed her hands and held them, across the table, between us.

  “Melba!” I shouted.

  Her head snapped up, and her eyelids flew open to a blank stare.

  My heart pounded in my eardrums.

  “What is it?” I squeezed her hands, trying to bring her back from wherever the spirits had taken her.

  When she spoke, a different voice came from her mouth. In fact, there were several women speaking at once. “We want you to leave. Forget Melba and Desiree. If you don’t leave on your own, we will f
orce you out. Heed our warning, Solomon. We will not issue it again.”

  “Wait!” I said when it looked as if Melba was coming back to herself.

  “The Priestesses don’t want you here.” Melba’s voice and eyes had returned to normal. “And if they have a problem with you, then so do I.” With a look of regret fallen on her face, she pulled her hands out of the loosened grip I had on them. “You must leave. I’ll make the arraignments.”

  elba knew more than she let on, I was certain of it. But there was no reasoning with her. So I stayed outside with Excalibur until bedtime. That night I spent dreamless, but also sleepless. And the next few days were hell, of a different kind. I worked at the gardens and the yard. Melba cooked my meals, but didn’t eat with me. Desiree hadn’t come back. And why would she? I had nothing to offer her, not even a given name. She was pretty—no, beautiful, and smart. Smart enough to know when to stay away. Life became meaningless.

  On the third day since the nightmare and the Priestesses’ warning, a nagging feeling I’d been having won over. With Excalibur in tow, I headed upstream. Not until I passed my bathing spot did I feel the pull become so prominent. I couldn’t turn back if I wanted to. Something invisible lured me through the dense bush, in the direction of the fishing spot, the place I’d felt unseen eyes watching me. Maybe it was the Priestesses, or maybe it was the ghost of Rasmus Smith watching over his property, or maybe the evil spirit of Solomon himself; whichever, I was hell-bound to the fishing hole and beyond.

  When we reached our destination, Excalibur refused to go farther. With his head hung low, bobbing, he snorted and pawed at the mossy ground, clearly agitated. Behind him, a gray mist lay on the river, adding to the eerie feeling surrounding the area. I turned from him and looked into the dark woods beyond. Something Melba said during one of our mealtime conversations a while back surfaced in my mind. “Animals have psychic abilities. They can sense danger where we can’t.” A sixth sense, she’d called it. I took a step away from the river, toward the wide tree trunks, and then looked back at the horse.

  “You stay here. I won’t go far.”

  He stilled his swishing tail, one big eye fixed on me.

  As I stepped out of the morning light at the riverside and into the dank gloom of the thick forest, my nerves came alive, prickling against my skin, warning me to turn back.

  The T-shirt I wore was of little defense against the chill that fell over me under the canopy of thick tree branches, blocking out all but a shaft of light here and there. After I was about ten minutes inside the network of thick tree trunks, I noticed an uncomfortable calmness around me. The sounds of the flowing river and the chirping birds had stopped. My heavy footfalls shuffling against the forest floor debris were the only thing I heard now. The odor of the composting leaves lifted as my feet churned them, making me wonder if anyone else had ever taken this invisible path. Now that I was deeper in, I felt as if I wasn’t alone. Somewhere, someone, or something, followed me, waited for me. I glanced over my shoulder, regretting leaving the yard work. Behind me looked the same as in front. The forest had swallowed me completely.

  I walked onward, until up ahead, a spot slightly brighter than the rest of the forest came into view. My breath grew louder as I rushed to it, hoping that I’d gotten turned around and now headed back to the riverside. But the tree branches here supported heavy gobs of moss. The only other place I’d seen this was at the plantation, and according to the view in my nightmare, this place was far from the plantation house, and very close to where the slave quarters had been.

  I parted the moss in places, and ducked under in others, until I came to the source of the light. Sunbeams filtered through the branches, creating a wide circular curtain around the darkest part of the forest, as if on purpose and not by nature.

  Cautiously, I stepped through the veil of light, stopping cold at the fringes of the dark area, when I saw a line of red dust along the ground inside the circle; in this instance, a barrier to keep evil in. Melba’s teachings, over her delicious meals, had taught me what the crushed brick was used for. This line was bright and fresh. It must have been topped off recently, but by who? And why? .Although the treetops barely covered the area here, darkness prevailed over what I knew were the remains of the true Solomon Brandt.

  Followed by a quick wave of nausea, the vision of his torturous death came into view, but this time, unlike in the nightmare, I had a front row seat as part of the crowd. I felt the fire blaze behind me, burning my back. I had to keep moving, along with the other slaves, chanting, throwing handfuls of mud on the naked body writhing on the ground in front of me. When I reached Solomon’s left side, his head fell toward me. His squinted eyes burst open. The blue turned to flames. He reached a clawed hand out to me, hooking a fingernail on the bottom of my jeans. I stumbled, and fell onto the red powder.

  Like a fast awakening, the scene changed again. Just me now, I pushed myself up off the ground. Everything looked as it did when I’d first entered the circle, all except for one thing.

  The red line was broken.

  My heart pounded against my ribs as I shuffled to fix the gaps my fallen body had made, but when a dark shadow crept from the center of the clearing toward me, I abandoned the task and ran. I didn’t know what direction I took, but I yelled for Excalibur as I made my way through the forest, slamming against tree trunks, stumbling over massive roots that lay along the ground in places. I only looked back once, to see the shadow still following, swallowing everything in its path.

  Just when I thought I would never see the light of day again, the white stallion burst from behind a tree. He came straight toward me, but galloped past me. Despite the shadow not far behind, I stopped in my tracks, confused and nervous, wondering why the horse kept going. Then he circled the next tree and doubled back. I caught on to his actions. When he reached me, I ran beside him, grabbed his mane, and hauled myself up. It was the first time I’d ridden him since the day he’d brought me to Melba’s, but it felt like just yesterday. I lay low across his back and neck to avoid the tree branches, and let the stallion carry me away.

  A few minutes later, we burst into the light and a newer part of the forest, where the trees where spindly and fallen sticks and branches littered the ground. Was this a shortcut back to the river? Excalibur dropped into a fast trot, and I straightened, in some instances becoming taller than the stunted trees. Soon after, a settlement of shabby dwellings came into view.

  We broke out of the woods and into a backyard. Behind us, the shadow ceased its pursuit, and then retreated.

  Excalibur wove his way through the area, littered with broken-down cars, stacks of tires, and car parts. Crossed sticks, woven together with colored threads, hung from everything: clotheslines, tree branches, corners of buildings. Some had small skull shapes fastened to their centers; tiny bones hung from others. Melba had something like this hanging in an apple tree in her yard. When I’d asked her about it, she’d said it was a ward against evil, but wouldn’t elaborate further.

  Two young men with skin as dark as the people in my nightmare lifted their heads from under the hood of a car and flashed me silent glares of foreboding. I watched with unease as their gazes followed me until I was too far past to see them anymore.

  The horse led me between two rundown dwellings and into the front yard of one. A woman burst out of the front door. Tight black curls stuck out beneath a multicolored scarf she wore around her head. Grabbing something tied around her neck, she looked at me with horror-filled eyes. I’d never felt more out of place and unwanted in my life.

  Excalibur ignored the people gathering in the yards, holding back their children from whatever they played with before our intrusion, and walked slowly toward the dirt road ahead. A bad vibe hung in the air around this settlement, or maybe I was the bad vibe. There were seven houses in all, and above each front door hung a bundle of herbs.

  We were almost out of the settlement when a gray-haired man came up behind us holding a shotgun.
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  “Keep going, boy, and don’t come back to these here parts, or you mightn’t be so lucky next time.”

  Determination gleamed in his black eyes.

  Sweat trickled down my face and into my eyes, stinging them. I blinked the perspiration out, but was careful not to make another move. I had no doubt this man would pull the trigger. Once we passed the last house, I risked a glance back. The man with the gun hadn’t moved an inch. Taking a chance, I dug my heels into Excalibur’s sides. He broke into a fast gallop, churning up road dirt behind him. The strange scene behind me vanished in the dust cloud.

  A half hour later, we reached broken pavement, and a level of sanity, once I had Melba’s house in my sight. The feeling of someone reaching out, ready to grab my back, had diminished.

  Excalibur walked almost lazily to the backyard, where I slid off into the grass. Instinct told me I was safe, for the moment. Melba came bursting out of the back door.

  “Solomon!”

  The frantic tone of her voice brought Desiree to mind. “Is Desiree all right?”

  My question caught her in a moment of confusion. “Yes, she’s fine.”

  “Have you heard from her?”

  “Y—no. Not since the last time you asked. No. That’s not why I’m upset.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her look was stern. “You should never have gone to the guardians.”

  “Guardians? And I didn’t go there to visit. I was chased there.”

  “Mae just called…”

  “Who’s Mae?”

  “My second cousin once removed on my father’s side. She said the devil himself, sitting arrogantly on top of a white horse, rode through her property, and now she will be cursed forever.”

  “What? It was just me, and I didn’t go there on purpose… I told you I was chased.”

  “By who?”

  By the devil you spoke of. I decided to be frank with Melba, since she seemed to know more than she let on, anyway, but clouded the truth with a small lie. “I went fishing, and—”