Bad Juju

by Dina Rae

  Chapter 16

  Between her women’s intuition and Virginia Halloway’s fear of Haiti, Jessica opposed going on the church’s summer mission. She hoped her family’s interest would wane, but Tom would not let go. He spoke of the mission several times throughout the week and continued to up his game by talking about the trip in front of Henry.

  Jessica loaded the dinner table with her famous meatloaf and all the fixings. Natalie fast-forwarded through prayer, and then everyone loaded up their plates. Dinners could be silent or full of conversation. Tonight was the latter, even animated. Tom commanded attention by talking the loudest.

  “Jess, did you sign us all up for the mission yet?” She obliquely gave him the dirtiest look she could muster. He was manipulating her through their kids, knowing they were her biggest weakness, especially Henry. “Got lots to prepare for. Maybe we’ll need immunization shots. And then passports. I’ve rearranged my schedule to get all of June and maybe even part of July off,” Tom blabbered. As she fumed, he wouldn’t look her in the eyes and piled more food onto his plate.

  “No, Tom…And you know my feelings about going,” Jessica said. She wanted to smash his face in the mashed potato bowl for bringing the subject up.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I didn’t want to go anyway. Spending my summer working my butt off doesn’t sound too fun. I’d rather spend more time with Allie and Nikki on their boat,” Natalie confessed.

  As Jessica feared, Henry had a much different reaction. “That’s not fair! Dad and I really wanted to go! I even told my friends that I was going!”

  “Right, like you have friends,” Natalie sneered.

  Then World War III erupted at the dinner table. Jessica could no longer contain her composure. “Listen, I never promised anyone I would sign us up for this. As I told your father, my gut is telling me it’s not safe to go there. The violence at the refugee camps, the Voodoo, disease…Let’s skip it!”

  “Jess, their Voodoo is really a combination of their African roots and Catholicism. They’re officially Catholic. The perfect group to evangelize to. This is an opportunity to preach good words after doing good works,” Tom debated.

  Tom could be so controlling. No guilt in using their pastor’s words to influence her decision. He brilliantly reasoned the mission would be no less than a virtuous, righteous, even saintly thing to do, refusing to give her omen any credence.

  “The news doesn’t show you what really goes on inside of the refugee camps,” she mumbled. Her resolve was beginning to falter.

  “Our campsite will be miles away. The Haitian police want us there. They are even giving guns out to those who will be volunteering for the camp’s guard duty. And Keith says the police are promising constant patrol. C’mon. We’ve never left Wisconsin,” he added.

  “Mom, those people need us. Look at the island, the homes, the way they are living. Dad was going to show me how to build things,” Henry tearfully interrupted. He usually didn’t cry unless he was frustrated. He looked so dejected. Even Natalie was warming up to the idea. Jessica could no longer stand the pressure.

  “Alright. I’ll go to church once we’re done eating. Someone should still be there. But all three of you are cleaning up and doing the dishes. Didn’t know it was so important. One week. Maybe two if things go well.” Henry stopped crying and smiled. “No more sad faces. Now Henry, what happened to Jake? I haven’t seen him all week. Did you have a fight?’

  “No. He’s had to watch his step-sister. Some relative named T.J. died,” Henry answered. He grabbed the last piece of meatloaf off of the platter and continued eating.

  “Died? How? Was Jake close to him?’ Jessica asked.

  “His head was bashed in with a baseball bat. And no, Jake wasn’t close to him. He’s not too sad about it.”

  “Let me know when the wake is. I’d like to go and pay my respects,” Jessica said.

  “Yeah, find out, Henry. We’ll all go pay our respects,” Tom added.

  ***

  Later that night after signing up the family for the church’s Haitian mission, Jessica read a few chapters from her romance book, stretched out in bed and then fell into a deep sleep. She seemed transported into another world. Not sure if she was dreaming, she ended up crouched behind a tree, watching something foreign and undoubtedly evil. Every hair on her body stood erect. Instinct told to her run, yet she sat like concrete. The flames from the bonfire tickled her skin, taunting her of what was to come. This is too real to be a dream.

  Her fear stemmed from a gathering of tribal Africans dressed in colorful, draped garments and exotic jewelry from another era. They appeared to be celebrating. As she listened to their banter, she thought she recognized the language. Was it French? Maybe Spanish? The unknown accent made her question her guesses.

  The fire blazed as they talked and drank. Three men took their seats at a collection of handmade drums. As they played, all chanted in unison.

  Next to the fire was a large wooden table with a primitive-looking goblet wrapped in animal skin. The drumming led to dancing. Still hidden, she watched, dreading the volume of her heartbeat would give her away. The rhythm got faster, taking on its own life force. Some of the dancers discarded their sarongs, gyrating naked in sync to the drums while frothing at the mouth. Others randomly fornicated with the nearest person available. Where am I?

  Six men dressed in white linen carried out a white man on a cot made of tree branches and canvas. He wore nothing but a bright, long scarf with swirls of red and orange. Jessica couldn’t see his face. She contemplated if he was dead. But then his lifeless body began to stir as he closed in on the fire.

  The cot carriers stopped in front of the table she now believed to be an altar. The sedated victim was transferred onto the wooden surface. Drumming, chanting, dancing…Jessica could feel herself getting sleepy, almost hypnotized by the drum beats. One of the men dressed in white raised his arms, abruptly ending the festivities. Everyone fiercely dropped to the grass and bowed towards him and the altar. Jessica presumed he was the leader. He took a curved dagger and pointed to the sky while reciting a prayer. It’s definitely French. Four years in high school and can’t remember one word, she thought, disgusted.

  Everyone repeated the leader’s words, and then he delicately sliced into the dazed man’s chest. After each cut, he caught the blood as it seeped out of the body with his animal-skinned goblet, occasionally pressing down on the incisions to increase the blood flow.

  The white man awoke in panic, screaming like a tortured animal. The leader inflicted more slashes on his shoulders and carved up chest while the other men held him down. The leader then set the knife on the altar, sipped from his goblet, and yelled something foreign to the sky. His guests shared sips from his goblet as if performing a demonic communion. The victim sat up and wailed, hacked up and splattered with his own blood.

  Against her survival instincts, Jessica crawled towards the altar. She had to see the victim’s face. Closer, and closer, and closer….It was not a man, but a boy. Something familiar…she strained her eyes for a better look. “No!” she screamed.

  “Jessica, wake up! Baby, it’s alright! You’re home!” Tom yelled as he shook her in bed. “What kind of dream did you have? You’re soaked from head to toe! You were tossing and turning, and then screaming…”

  Disorientated, she looked at the clock, 4:00 a.m.

  “I can’t seem to remember,” she answered.

  Chapter 17

  Leah was not surprised to learn T.J. died without a checking or savings account, but his financial status didn’t end at zero. From the shoebox of bills she found inside of the coat closet, T.J. owed multiple credit card companies. His rusted old Camaro was yet to be paid off. He died young, alone, and worth a large negative number. She called Mona to give her details about the wake.

  “Didn’t want anything to do with him in life. Why do you think I’d be interested in death? Listen Leah, I’ll go to his grave. But I’ll be wearing my tap shoes,” Mona sna
pped.

  “Go right ahead! He’ll just haunt your miserable ass for eternity,” Leah snapped back.

  The mortician had recommended cremation after learning of the family’s paltry finances, but Leah didn’t care. If she had to, she would beg, borrow, steal, or whatever it took. She owed him a proper burial, but the cost was astronomical. Six thousand dollars got him a plain headstone, tiny gravesite, pine plywood box, and a no frills service. Her mother sold off some of her father’s coin collection and gold jewelry, and then emptied her savings account. She could pay for half of the bill. Leah had a secret stash hidden at her mother’s house.

  Somehow the women covered the funeral fees, even managing to upgrade to a better package. T.J.’s circumstances required extra attention to makeup. His head had bandages wrapped around it and there was a big hole in his eye from the bat he was beaten with. The mortician promised to fix everything so his face wouldn’t look horrific during his wake.

  Besides honoring her brother, Leah’s generosity had the added benefit of infuriating Pete. He didn’t allow her to spend a nickel of her money, let alone thousands of dollars he didn’t know she had. She claimed her mother had paid the bill, but didn’t sound too convincing. Pete also knew that her mother was currently without a job and had financial problems.

  Pete must have mentioned a dozen times how she and her mother were ‘throwing good money away.’ He also panned T.J. throughout the week as if jealous of the attention given to a corpse. Every time Pete opened his fat mouth she hated him a little bit more. Things between them came to a head days before the wake.

  Leah’s bruises were still visible, but easily hidden with makeup. She bought a fake tooth to fill in the gap that Pete had knocked out of her mouth. By Thursday afternoon she was almost back to her pretty self. She went back to The Dollhouse to salvage her job. The next night, Pete demanded her earnings.

  “I need the money to pay for T.J.’s funeral.”

  “That’s what? Six thousand? Seven thousand? So you made that kind of money last night? Yeah right. Kim Kardashian couldn’t earn that kind of coin in that pig sty. Or maybe you’ve been holding out on me all this time. You got the money stashed somewhere? T.J. doesn’t deserve a fancy funeral. He was a freeloading piece of shit. Everyone knows that,” Pete slurred.

  Just like you, Leah thought. She ignored his bait. He was looking to argue.

  “You could have saved the money and had the wake here. Cremations are way cheaper. I would have burnt the body right over in the fire pit. Put the ashes right here,” he remarked while picking up a chipped flower vase.

  His comments were eating away. How dare he disrespect her brother, especially after playing such a big part in his death. One positive thing came out of the tragedy. She saw with utmost clarity what a monster she had married. Fear no longer held her back.

  “Get out,” she firmly said, looking him square in the eye.

  Pete had his meaty hand clenched and raised, ready to strike. Leah stood like a statue in defiance. She saw Jake out of the corner of her eye begin to dress Rhianna in her winter gear for a quick exit.

  “Jake, you’re not going anywhere. He is. Go ahead, Pete. Hit me. I dare you. My next stop will be the police. You’re already up to your ass in trouble. Photos of your battered wife along with my testimony won’t help your case. So go ahead and hit me, you son-of-a-bitch.” Her voice was calm, without nerves getting in the way of her meaning.

  Like magic, he lowered his fist and thundered out of the trailer. For the first time in a long time Leah liked herself.

  “Sorry, Rhi. Sorry, Jake. You both shouldn’t have to live like this. Get dressed. I’m taking you out for pizza at Mario’s. We’ll play arcade games until they close.”

  ***

  Shady Oaks Funeral Home was on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t the most elegant place, but had plenty of parking and seating.

  Lucien promised Jake he and some other neighbors would attend the service. Mr. Carillo volunteered to drive. Earlier in the week Jake was briefed on a counter spell that would work as an apology to both T.J. and the loas for his negligence. When correctly performed, T.J.’s soul would be released to the Cosmos for final judgment. He rehearsed during the week and felt prepared.

  The wake began with Mr. Patton, the funeral director/licensed pastor, reciting comforting Biblical passages and kind words about T.J. After the service a tiny line of a dozen people formed in front of the casket to pay their respects. Jake waited until Lucien arrived. Once the line cleared, they approached.

  T.J. lay in peace, somewhat recognizable. The mortician did an impressive job with what he had to work with. Bandages still peeked out from the wig and his eye was lightly covered with a skin tone cloth that blended in with his complexion. Only his nose, mouth, and jaw could be seen, and they were heavily made up to disguise his disfigured facial structure.

  “Poor man. Remember Jake, this is because of your hex. You must be certain you grab the right taglocks when making a Voodoo doll. Seek the loas’ absolution first before any one comes,” Lucien demanded.

  Jake had previously tied the Voodoo doll’s arms together, cutting off all of its power. As he stood in front of the casket, he took the doll that was stuffed inside his waistband and pushed it under T.J.’s suit jacket.

  “Jake, you can see the doll sticking out. Fix it,” Lucien ordered.

  Jake reached inside the coffin and repositioned the doll under T.J.’s body. He hoped no one was looking at him fumbling inside of the casket.

  “Don’t forget the prayer,” Lucien coached.

  Jake recited the memorized prayer in French, unaware of its meaning.

  “The gris-gris. Then you’re done.”

  Jake took out the small pouch filled with a mysterious blend of Lucien’s herbs and other ingredients then sprinkled them around and under T.J.’s torso. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a new line form. It was Henry and his family. Jake waved, grateful for their attendance. He and Lucien walked away from the casket. He could hear Henry’s sister say, “What’s all that dirt around his neck?”

  Jake froze as if he got caught by the beeping alarm of a department store’s exit for stealing. He looked at Lucien in desperation.

  “Keep walking,” Lucien advised.

  Chapter 18

  Friday night, hours after Brittany Bonaducci pleasantly surprised him, Rio’s best friend Bart came over to pick him up. Ever since Bart got his driver’s license, they cruised around Hayward in Bart’s new Mustang. They usually ended the night at one or the other’s house playing video games until the wee hours of the morning. This night was no different.

  Their first stop was a fast food drive-through. Bart had a taste for Wendy’s. Since he was the driver, he chose the fast-food. That would change once Rio turned sixteen. He had three more months of sitting in the passenger’s seat. The boys purchased enough food for a large family. As they stuffed their faces, Bart suggested they drive by the homes of classmates they liked to stalk.

  “I’ve got some weed in the glove box. Roll us up a fatty. What’s up with Brit? Shall we do a drive-by?” Rio nodded as he twisted the rolling papers. “She begged me for your homework today, you lucky bitch. She is smoking hot!”

  Rio torched the joint up and passed it to Bart. “Don’t kiss and tell.” His smile was superior.

  “Bullshit! Let me live vicariously. Give me something, bro!” exclaimed Bart.

  “She’s quite a woman. Too much of a woman for you. We’ve got plans tomorrow. She’s not sixteen yet either, but will be next month. Can you drive? She’ll set you up with her girlfriend, Rachel. She’s also hot.”

  “I know who she is. Not bad! Thanks. I owe you for that one,” Bart said approvingly. “Now quit grinning down on us not so fortunate. Talk.”

  “I didn’t do anything. It was her. She was all over me. Got the best blow job of my manhood. She really knows her way around the kitchen. I’m in love,” Rio said.

  “That’s quite an endorsement. E
specially since you’ve got at least a thousand other blow jobs to compare hers with,” Bart joked. Both boys uncontrollably laughed, feeling the effects of the weed.

  They slowly drove by Brittany’s house as they had done before. She lived a block away from the downtown area with her mother. Her parents were divorced and her father lived in another state. Her house was modest, but pretty. All of the lights were off and the driveway was empty.

  “No one is home. She said she had some family thing to go to. Hey, how about we drive by that fucker Henry’s house. I want to see where he lives,” Rio suggested.

  Rio didn’t have to remind Bart about the address. Anyone who was the talk of the high school was automatically entered into the card index inside of Bart’s brain. He turned the car around and headed for Norway Point.

  “Nikki gave me his address. She’s an aid in the main office. The secretary leaves a binder of everyone’s information on her bookshelf. What do you wanna do with him? He’s got some weird disorder. Maybe you should drop your revenge fantasy. He’s strong. He broke your arm,” Bart said as he turned down both Henry’s and Rio’s street.

  “We’re just cruising around on a Friday night. No harm in that,” Rio answered. Like he presumed, Henry lived only a couple of miles away from him. Rio could see his own house from across the lake.

  “Nice lake house. Very rustic,” Bart commented as he pulled off to the side of the road.

  “Turn off your lights. There’s a car up the road,” Rio warned.

  The car pulled into Henry’s driveway. It was the fuck himself with his mommy and another girl. Was this his Friday routine?