“Thanks,” she said, smiling, exposing a tiny sparkling jewel on one tooth.
She threw a handful of coins in the bag and some papers, then grabbed the pole. The keys I handed her dangled from her hand. On a white circle, I saw the words Savannah State University and a picture of a tiger. A smidgeon of hope burst inside my chest. My gaze flicked to hers, but she turned and rushed toward the front where her friend waited for her by the open door. In seconds, she was gone.
“Do you always come to the rescue of damsels in distress?” Justin teased when I got back to my seat.
“You don’t?” I asked.
“Hey, don’t get me wrong”—he held up his hands in front of him—”it’s a great way to pick up chicks.”
I didn’t understand his lingo. “I was just helping.”
His grin widened, “Okay. If you say so.” He ended the conversation with a wink.
By the time I took my last sip of coffee, we reached the city limits and our stop. On my way toward the front exit, I saw a small card on the floor of the aisle and picked it up. The front had a shoe print on it, and under that were the words, The Fox Den. On the back, the word shifts had been handwritten in blue ink. A list of dates and times followed underneath. Beside today’s date was the time, 7:00 p.m. I kept it and got off.
Justin saw me studying the item as we walked across the street. “Oh, hey,” he said, grinning. “She gave you an invitation.”
“No. It fell out of her bag with the other stuff, and she missed it. I picked it up on my way off the bus.”
“Maybe this is a sign. We should check the place out after work. Whadya say?”
“A sign of what?”
“You know… you and blondie.”
“I’m not interested.”
His excitement morphed into disappointment. “But you’ll go tonight, right?”
When I didn’t answer right away, he said. “You gotta eat, and Glyda’s ain’t the best cookin’ in town, if you know what I mean.”
“Maybe.”
In a parking lot across the street, a blue truck waited. Justin crawled into the middle of the front seat and introduced the driver to me as his brother, Dave. The bulk of muscle inside the cab made for a tight fit.
The brothers shared the same blond hair and ice-blue eyes, but Dave looked significantly older than Justin and I did. We drove outside the city limits on a less-busy road that looked familiar. Ten minutes later, a scene came into view that sent chills up my spine.
The truck slowed in front of a hulking mansion, surrounded by giant oaks bearded with moss. The Solomon Brandt Estates sign stuck out at me like a flashing billboard I’d seen in the city.
We pulled into the graveled drive on the north side of the building where Melba had parked. Somehow, the gravel seemed out of place with its Greek revival background—two eras mashed together, crudely. I wanted to ask why we were here, but I had a good idea, once my gaze fell on the scaffolding, that I would be painting the plantation house.
“Here we are,” Dave said pulling the key from the ignition and grabbing his coffee cup off the dash.
Reluctance to get out fastened my fingers to the door handle. I was remembering what had happened the last time my feet hit the gravel. But there was no painful welcome this time, only the memory of it.
“You all right, Shane?” Justin asked as I stood in his way, staring at the kitchen window, afraid the apparition of the slave woman would appear.
I nodded, then stepped aside.
This side of the building had been scraped down since I’d been there last. Dave climbed to the top of the metal framework to paint the fascia board, while Justin slapped white paint on the wood siding. I had window trim and shutter duty. I began at the front corner, removing the long black shutters and placing them on a tarp laid out on the grass. Somewhere in a nearby bush, bees hummed a hypnotic tune as I worked under the shade of a giant column that held up the corner of the receiving balcony. Black speckles accumulated on the backs of my hands as I brushed paint on the shutters, all taller than I was.
The morning wore on uneventfully, except for the work, and by lunchtime, I had the top row of shutters off and one side of each painted glossy black. All morning, I avoided the urge to answer nature’s call. I knew it wouldn’t be appropriate to do so on the grounds, and I didn’t want to set foot inside the house. But I couldn’t hold it any longer, so while Dave and Justin sat back on the grass with their lunch, I walked to the edge of the woods.
When I was just inside the tree line, Justin yelled out, “Hey, don’t piss on Solomon’s grave. The bastard might curse you.”
The two men laughed at the joke, while my heart raced at the possibility. They had no idea how literally I took that statement. Within earshot of the men, I decided I was far enough into the woods to do my business.
As I was about to turn and go back, a slight breeze moved the treetops aside, filtering rays of sunlight through the forest. In the distance, bits of an iron fence appeared between massive tree trunks. Although I wanted to turn back, something compelled me to keep going.
Deep, dark history hung in the air like an oppressive fog, squeezing me from all angles, pulling me forward, until I stood in front of a forgotten cemetery. Creeping vines, still brown from winter, covered the rusted ironwork like long, thin, possessive fingers. A broken gate laid out an invitation I didn’t want, but took. Three gravestones, shaded by a tangle of oak branches laden with a covering of bright green moss, stood in a row, like silent guardians. The first, taller than the other two, was a stone monument set on a granite base, sunk into the ground farther than it was meant to be. I read the name with disdain: Joseph Seymore Brandt. For reasons unknown to me, thoughts of hatred welled inside me, and my breath came in heavy spurts. Why did I hate this man so?
But when my gaze fell to the side, upon the next monument, slightly smaller than the first, I unclenched my fists and allowed a small bit of sadness to push away the loathing. Ruby Eleanor Brandt. I peeled away chunks of moss, exposing a rose carved into the stone above her name. This grave was tilted toward the next—the one I was most reluctant to look at.
But eventually something overpowered my will, and I found myself standing in front of the grave of the second master of this plantation, Solomon Charles Brandt carved into the stone. Although I knew the grave was empty, being here still didn’t sit well with me. A sudden gust of wind turned up a swirl of dead leaves around my feet, carrying with it scents of wisteria from somewhere else on the estate. The familiar odor sparked a vision in my mind.
The scene was of a young boy on his tenth birthday. A man he feared, yet respected, loomed over him. He presented the boy with a white colt. Behind him, the receiving balcony and spiraling lawn bustled with the elite from neighboring plantations. The boy’s joy welled inside me for the gift given to him, as well as his fear of his father as he looked into the man’s cruel eyes and thanked him formally. The colt nudged his muzzle into the boy’s neck in a gesture of acceptance. I felt the boy’s moment of happiness as if it was my own, then the headstone came back into view as a hand grabbed my shoulder. A chill shot through me, leaving a spasm of pain in its wake.
As I spun around, Justin stepped back with his hands in front of him. “Sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to spook you.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t,” I lied, giving a quick laugh.
His eyebrows came together. “Whatcha doin’ here, anyway?” He shuddered visibly. “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Oh, I… I saw the broken gate, and then…” I looked at the graves, then back to Justin.
“Well, you can spend the rest of your lunch in this bone yard if you want, but I’m gettin’ outa here before one of these creeps decides to join us, if you know what I mean.” He gave a nervous laugh, then walked on ahead, waiting a few paces away.
I looked down at the broken gate, part of another half that stood upright on the other side of the opening. I stooped and wrapped my fingers around an outside edg
e and pulled, straining the veins in my neck all the way down my arms, until finally the iron loosened from the ground, bringing up earth and surface roots on one corner. Its hinges expelled an eerie groan as I pushed the gate into place. The two halves, pointed on the tops, fit perfectly together. I lifted the iron latch attached to one half and pushed it into a bracket on the other, closing the opening for the first time in maybe a long time.
“Jesus, where’d you get that muscle anyway, steroids?” Justin said as we put our backs to the cemetery.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You know, pills.”
“I don’t take pills.”
“What line of work were you in before you came here?”
I wished I had a true answer for him. “Construction. Lifting rocks, mostly.” At least there was some truth to the tale I told.
Lunch filled the void that the apple I ate earlier didn’t.
I had one more window to work on—the one I’d been avoiding. After taking down the last two shutters from the kitchen window, I worked away from the others, on my tarp, near the balcony. I wasn’t long into my work when the afternoon grew unbearably hot—even in the shade. The breeze that had blown all morning had come to a sudden halt. At the same time, an unusual hush fell over the yard with such profound abruptness, it took my breath.
I put the paintbrush down and wiped sweat-soaked hair from my forehead. My heart beat a foreboding tune against my chest wall as I stood barely breathing, listening, waiting. Then it came; a muffled scream tore through the house, reaching me outside, freezing the breath in my lungs. Pulling myself together, I peeked around the side of the house. Dave and Justin worked away as if they heard nothing.
Another cry tore through the mansion and into the yard. With measured steps, I made my way up the balcony stairs to the front door, ripping the caution tape and stepping carefully over the broken deck boards. Beads of sweat trickled down my back, absorbed by my T-shirt. The front door squeaked when I opened it, making me cringe.
The air inside was thick with hostility… sweetened with the scent of a freshly baked peach pie. When I came to the hall mirror, I caught sight of the empty hook the whip had hung from last time I was there. My reflection hardly looked like me, with the week’s growth of beard and moustache. Shane, the new me, stared back.
Sounds of a woman whimpering came from the kitchen. Determined to help her, whoever she was, I bolted down the hallway and into the room. A man with his back to me cracked a whip over a woman’s slumped body. By the color of her dark skin and the tattered clothing she wore and her bare feet, I assumed she was the ghost of a slave of the estate. The older woman I’d seen there before, the woman I feared seeing today, looked on in sorrow. Near the hem of her tattered skirt, a pie lay splattered on the floor.
I rushed to the raging man and grabbed for his wrist, catching it as he pulled back to swing. Our right arms collided in a struggle for dominance over the other; the muscles in his bulged identically to mine. A vein on the back of his hand, curving over bone, matched mine exactly. But where black paint speckled mine, blood speckled his.
Although I couldn’t see the attacker’s face, I knew it was he—the darkness that first followed me through the forest behind the estate, and crept along the shed floor on my first night at Melba’s. He was the presence of all evil that assaulted me while I was awake, and in my dreams at night. And I wanted to kill him now with my bare hands, to inflict as much pain and humiliation upon his soulless body as he had done to his slaves, as the priestesses had done to him in his final hours. I wanted to make him suffer more.
Every muscle in my body strained as I fought to bring him down. Eventually, I worked an arm behind his back and administered a tight squeeze to his wrist, forcing him to drop the whip. I used my foot to hook his, hoping to trip him, but limb for limb, his strength matched mine.
As a roar bellowed from him, and he made a move to turn, the kitchen door flew open. The three people from the past vanished in front of me, causing me to fall into the cupboard.
“Whoa, you all right?” Dave asked, rushing to my side too late.
I had a feeling all he saw was me tripping and catching myself.
A grin lightened the worried look on his face. “First day with your new feet?” He laughed at his attempt of a joke.
I followed along, faking a quick laugh.
He stood where the toppled pie had been—probably the reason for the whipping—and glanced around.
“Man, this place has some history, what?”
He lifted a water bottle to the tap and filled it.
“Can’t beat the water here, though. Someone kept the well in good shape all these years.”
“Yeah, that’s what I needed, a drink,” I said, coming up with a quick excuse for being inside.
Dave guzzled a mouthful of water, and then left through the kitchen door.
I wanted to follow him, but I had to see something. Careful not to look into the hallway mirror, I glanced quickly at the wall beside it. The whip, looped three times, hung in its place on the hook. I hurried through the front door, shutting it behind me.
Outside, the chirping birds had returned, and a refreshing breeze mauled the blades of grass. To anyone else, the day might have been gorgeous. I just wanted it to end.
As I painted the last shutter, I imagined the path Excalibur had taken me on, across the plantation, to the river, in our escape from the angry mob. Then my attention stuck on the mob, in particular, me bursting out of the ground. That memory made no sense.
The last thing I wanted to do that evening was leave my room at the motel. The temperature may have been a hundred degrees inside, with broken air conditioning, but my body and mind were both exhausted. I lay back on the pillow, with wet hair from the second shower that day, and waited for Justin’s knock.
As I stared up at a watermark on the ceiling, running over the day’s events in my head, he arrived, and he wasn’t alone. He’d brought a guy named Sean with him. The three of us took a bus downtown. Music played from Sean’s phone. People threw us annoyed glances. At one point, the bus driver asked him to turn the noise down, which only caused him to play it louder. Needless to say, I was relieved when that part of the journey ended.
Crowds of people littered the streets in this part of the city. Some, who Justin called hookers, sold their bodies. On both sides, signs flashed the names of clubs. Justin stopped in front of one place with a lit neon sign shaped like a fox above the open doors. Below the fox, in red lights, flashed The Fox Den.
Inside, the music was ten times louder than out on the street. My temples throbbed as we made our way through the crowd of dancers and into another room, a slightly less noisy area, filled with tables. The food odors made my mouth water, reminding me of how hungry I was.
Sean found us a table and sat, picking up three large plastic cards decorated with pictures of food and handing them to us. As I searched the list on mine, I also scanned the other tables to see what people ate.
I was concentrating on the menu when a soft-spoken girl came to take our order. I recognized the voice and lifted my head. Her face lit up when our gazes met. She pointed the end of her pen at me.
“I saw you on the bus this morning.” The lighting caught the jewel on her tooth when she smiled. “My name’s Nadine.”
“I’m… Shane.” I took something out of my shirt pocket and handed it to her. “You left this behind.”
“Oh, my shifts. Thanks.”
It was impossible to ignore Justin and Sean gawking at her, while she focused all her attention on me.
“I noticed you had a Savannah State University keychain,” I said, anxious to get the information I longed for.
“Oh, yeah.” She shifted from one high-heeled-foot to the other. “I’m taking some courses there.” She threw her gaze across the room. “This place is just a job to pay the student loan, you know?”
I smiled at her, knowingly. “I was wondering; do you know someone named Desire
e McClinton?”
Her grin widened. “Yeah, I know Desi. We take a class together.” She cocked her head to one side, looking slightly confused. “Why?”
“She’s a friend of mine, and I’m looking for her.”
“Oh.” The small word oozed of disappointment. “She works at a coffee shop on College Street, right down past the university.” Giving me a tight-lipped smile, she lowered her gaze to the notepad she held, then turned her attention to the others.
During our short conversation, I grew to feel sorry for Nadine. She looked too young to be dressed the way she was. A pair of skimpy, faded, denim shorts covered little, exposing the round bottoms of her behind, while her nipples pushed against the thin fabric of the tight T-shirt she wore, ripped off under her breasts, exposing her entire stomach. My gaze fell to the dangling jewel pierced through her bellybutton, to the snap on her shorts, which lay open. Justin and Sean looked on like starving animals and she was their prey. I wanted to cover her up, protect her from men like them. It was then I noticed all the girls taking orders and working behind the bar dressed in the same alluring fashion. Was that how Desiree dressed at her job? I wondered.
Nadine asked if we were ready to order. I let the others order first, then copied. She threw me a smile before leaving.
“Earth to Shane.” A huge grin followed Justin’s comment. “Dude, you got a serious eye grope going on.”
“What? No—” Eye grope? What exactly did that mean? “The girl should put some clothing on.”
Justin and Sean laughed through their smirks. I guessed they thought I was joking.
“Or take some off,” Sean said, still laughing.
The meal wasn’t like anything I’d ever eaten. Mouthwatering flavors exploded on my tongue with every bite of the double burger, wrapped in cheese, crisp bacon, and dripping with fragrant onions. The fries, which I smothered in ketchup because the others did, tasted similar to Melba’s fried potatoes, making me long to be sitting at her kitchen table and not in the middle of this mayhem.
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