FEVER DREAMS: A Bracken and Bledsoe Paranormal Mystery

by April Campbell Jones

  Mama Grace looked like she was about to throw us off the dock when she spotted Angel behind me. “Miz Robichou!”

  “Afternoon, Mama!”

  The old lady just stared a quiet moment as if taken by surprise, finally sighed, sagging breasts barely moving under tattered shawl, and nodded us inside. “Suppose you’ll be wantin’ a sittin’.”

  “If quite convenient,” Angel said.

  The old crone pulled the door inward and hobbled after us as if wasn’t convenient in the least.

  The big gator skull on the wall smiled at me.

  Here we go again, I thought.

  * * *

  “Sit!” the old lady ordered, gesturing at the small, lopsided table.

  Then she shuffled over to the bulbous black pot simmering in the fireplace, found there dirty-looking wooden cups, spooned something from pot to cups, shuffled back and set them before us, groaning loudly as she settled into her own chair.

  I stared at the cups, raised by eyes to the stringy hair, snaggled teeth and vermin eyes. “You’re not having any?”

  “Sittin’ ain’t for me, Bleedsore.”

  “Bledsoe.”

  “Bled-so. An what’s yer whore’s name again.”

  “Bracken,” Katie told her patiently.

  The old witch nodded a crooked, leathery smile. “Bracken, Bledsoe and Blaine. Sound like a damn lawyer’s den!”

  “How’d you know about Rita?” I asked.

  “She’s fine, by the way. Made it safe back to Tex-ar-cana or where ever ‘tis.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Don’t intend to, Back-sore!” She glared at Angel. “Little early, ain’t it?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Yer late husband. Ain’t even under the soil and yer askin’ after him! Woman oughta be able to live longer than thet without a man’s big trod around! Awright! Let’s take hands, then!”

  “Actually, it’s little Amy I’d like to talk to! I’ve been hearing from her of late.”

  Mama Grace’s bony fingers let go of mine. She squinted one-eyed at Mrs. Robichou. “Why her?”

  “She sent us here.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes. Our coming was foretold.”

  “By who?”

  Angel looked at me helplessly. “Amy, of course.”

  Mama Grace sat back. Scowling. “Huh.” She folded her arms. Held one out. “That’ll be fifty bucks in advance!”

  Angel’s mouth parted a silent fraction.

  I leaned toward the hag face. “Just put it on my credit card, huh?”

  The old lady looked insulted. “What credit card?”

  “Don’t be cute with me, old woman, I got the charges!”

  “Oh. That credit card.”

  “That one.”

  She extended both hands again around the table, quickly drew them back. Folded her arms. “Ain’t had no luck with little Amy of late.”

  Angel looked stricken. “But you’ve always been sympathetic with her!”

  The folded arms tightened truculently. “Wal, I ain’t lately!”

  “Oh, dear…” Tears brimmed in Angel’s eyes.

  “Couldn’t we at least try?” from Katie.

  The old woman snorted. “We! Who’s the field commander around here, me or the dang tourists?”

  “Please!” Angel begged.

  “What’s the matter?” I sneered, “You max out the card already?”

  Mama Grace grunted reproach, adjusted her shawl like ruffled feathers and put out her arms again. We joined hands.

  “Y’all didn’t drink yer brew…”

  “Just get on with it!” I threatened.

  “Hmph! Think it’s easy as callin’ up a gaggle of geese, do ya?”

  “You tell me, you’re the expert.”

  The old lady’s good eye shot me a look, then she took another deep breath and her head drifted slowly back on the turkey neck until the wormy veins pulsed.

  “Oh spirits from the farthest reaches…we your humble servants gathered thus, bow before and ask of thee to send to us one of thy decades-departed innocents…she who in this veil went by the name of Amy Robichou…”

  The old hut was silent.

  I could hear the occasional lap of water at outside pilings.

  “Oh spirits from beyond time…take unto thee thy trust…grant us a visit with this much missed youngin’, she who was left in thy keeping…”

  Silence.

  Mama Grace raised her head, opened her sunken eyes. “Ain’t getting’ through.”

  I gave her a jaded look. “Poor reception?”

  The old lady grunted.

  “Maybe we should try a roof aerial. Or cable.”

  “Elliot!” Katie warned.

  Mama Grace extended her hand across the table to Angel. “Give us the locket.”

  Angel hesitated. Finally took the gold necklace from the purse and held it out.

  “On the table,” the old woman croaked.

  Angel did as she was told.

  The crone closed her eyes again, let her head fall back, bony fingers tightening in my hand. “Spirits we beseech thee! Let this innocent child speak! Grant us this single favor from your regions beyond the beyond!”

  Nothing.

  Then a light creaking sound.

  Then the table beneath began to vibrate hesitantly.

  “Oh spirits, we feel thy presence, do grant us—“

  Then Mama Grace began to vibrate.

  The table was dancing now.

  The old woman’s aged back bowed threateningly. She threw back her head farther, hair-spiked chin poking ceiling-ward and emitted a wail surely not of this Earth.

  The voice that issued from her next was surely not her own yet it seemed, somehow, to emanate from her now violently-shaking body--a bag of carelessly jostled sticks--seemed at the same time to emanate from all around us. Like an acoustically perfected home theater, the voice, at times, seemed to come from deep within my own corpus.

  “Mamma…”

  Angel Robichou gasped, went rigid at the sound. She craned anxiously at the ceiling, watery eyes bright and searching. “Amy--?”

  “Mamma.”

  “Amy, baby, is that you?”

  Silence a moment. Then: “Be at peace, Mama. Yours is the pure heart that beats within all who are blessed…”

  Now the whole fragile-looking wooden shack was trembling, ancient boards groaning like the restless dead…or was all in my mind?

  I felt Katie’s hand squeeze all the blood out of mine.

  “Momma, heed not the doubters. Be at ease. Daddy has been forgiven for his transgressions and is here with me. Justice will prevail over the deaths of Roger and Dianne. But be of stout heart, strong of mind. It is not over yet…”

  The table jumped spider-like under us, throwing cups and crockery and a thin stripe of hot tea that burned my thigh. Things loosened and toppled from cupboards. The big crocodile head opened its grinning mouth wider and dropped from the wall.

  Mama Grace jolted forward suddenly, tucked at the waist, hair cascaded in a waterfall of scraggly grey current, knobby chin poking her thin chest, neck like a broken bird’s.

  The room was black. Something moved outside the crooked door, shuffling, snuffling, low to the ground. I sensed a scream building in Katie’s throat.

  Then the surrounding candles winked on again by themselves, one by one, returning the shack to an amber glow.

  Deathless silence.

  Only the shallow rattle of the old woman’s breathing.

  I sat motionless, pressing back a glorious urge to urinate.

  Finally the wrinkled head lifted slowly, the yellow eyes opened in parting glue. “She’s gone…”

  I heard Angel whimper once.

  Mama Grace broke hands and sat back in exhaustion, rubbing tenderly at her beak of nose, sunken eyes. “Never…felt such…force. Gettin’ too damned old for this…”

  She reached forward for the gold lo
cket on the table.

  My hand got there first.

  The yellow eyes went red, glared at me, crooked teeth hissing. “She wants me to have it!”

  “Maybe that’s what you heard,” I said, handing the locket back to Angel, “I heard she wants Mrs. Robichou to have it more.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  We were silent on the way back to the rental dock.

  It was fruitless trying to converse above the ringing roar of the Evinrude anyway.

  We drove Angel home in a similar, jogging silence.

  I was surprised, when I pulled Dean’s truck into the yard, to find Angel had fallen asleep beside me, that Katie was holding her, a tender arm around her. The Robichou woman’s once-handsome face seemed more drawn and sunken than ever, or so it seemed to me; maybe part of it was just the fading afternoon light.

  Katie stirred her gently, “Angel? Hey…we’re home!”

  We walked her slowly to the front door, one of us on either side. She felt heavy under my arm.

  Angel smiled tiredly that she was fine but Katie insisted on coming in with her, making sure she got something to eat before retiring.

  She fixed us a plate of grits and salad and went with Angel into the bathroom to help draw her tub, staying with her just to be sure. She was there with her when Angel undressed for bed, and there to help tuck her in.

  Katie closed the bedroom door gently, came softly into the living room and looked down at me sitting on the lumpy couch. “Out like a light.”

  “Good,” I nodded, “she needs it.”

  “Elliot--?”

  I looked up at her from surrounding shadows of looming antiques. It was twilight outside, the frogs and crickets had begun their evening songs, the living room seeming to grow longer with stretching fingers of shadow. “What is it?”

  Katie came over, sat on the arm of the couch. “I told her about the ransom. What that lawyer Breedlove informed us about Dean, about putting scraps of paper in the suitcase in lieu of money.”

  I nodded in the softening light.

  “Are you mad?”

  “No.”

  “But you think it was a mistake? Telling her?”

  “I don’t know. How’d she take it?”

  Katie sighed. “I don’t know. At first I thought she’d already drifted off there in bed, then I saw her nod once.”

  “She didn’t say anything?”

  “I asked her if she’d be alright alone tonight, if she was frightened. She lay there with the gold locket clutched tight in her hand and said she’d be fine, that Amy would be with her. I’m glad you gave it back to her, Elliot.”

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t mine to give, it belonged to her.”

  Katie nodded.

  The shadows in the room grew thicker, thick enough for lamp light; but we didn’t turn one on. Maybe we were both waiting for something to happen there in the deepening gloom, I have no idea what.

  The house was still. Even the noisy swamp seemed far away. It was so quiet I could hear Katie breathing.

  In a moment I felt her hand creep into mine.

  “You’re a good man, Elliot Bledsoe. A kind and gentle man. But I already knew that. From the very first. Thank-you for coming here with me. I’m sorry about Rita, but—“

  “Never mind. Never mind that now.”

  She sat there silently on the arm of the chair, her features cloaked entirely in darkness now.

  “Elliot…?”

  “Right here.”

  “Are you going back to Texas?”

  “You already asked me that.”

  “I know.”

  “No, I’m staying here for a while.”

  She was quiet a moment. “Well, I think we should only keep the one room then, yours if you like.”

  “To save money, you mean?”

  “Because I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

  I smiled at her dark profile. “Are you afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  I tightened my fingers in hers. “And what about me? What if I try something funny in the middle of the night? You’ll be helpless.”

  “Yes, I will. Completely. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Elliot--?”

  “Right here in the dark.”

  “We’ve hit a wall.”

  “I know, sweetie.”

  “On this case, I mean.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know what to do next. I feel…lost.”

  “Maybe after you’ve had some sleep--”

  “I mean, I know what to do, but I’m not sure how to do it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We have to...Elliot, I think we have to go back to the beginning.”

  “Start over, you mean? Whew.”

  “We’re getting nowhere. We need to go back to the source.”

  “The source. Okay. What’s that?”

  I felt the couch give as she stood up. Heard her rustling about in the dark.

  Then she was back, putting her hand in mine again, or rather something her hand held, something smooth and round-shaped.

  “You, Elliot. You’re the source.”

  I turned the thing in my hand. It was round and dimly shiny even in the dark. A DVD.

  “What’s this?”

  She didn’t answer because she didn’t have to; I suddenly knew.

  My movie.

  * * *

  After knocking over a few small antiques but managing not to break anything, I found a table lamp in the dark and switched it on: an antique shade glowed softly the way only an antique shade can, through the dust and haze of memories. It cast its light over a wrought iron base: a metal Pan with gamboling goat’s legs and musical pipes, dancing mysteriously beside a metal garden and stream. I had no idea if it was priceless art or worthless junk, or campy, pricey ‘Jhunk” as collectors sometimes refer to such things.

  I held the DVD to the light, turned it this way and that. It looked new. It also looked like a DVD-R, not a commercial disc.

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “The disc? Bought it at Best Buy. Then took your 16 mm print to a small service in Cincinnati and had them burn it to the disc. Amazing what they can do these days. Didn’t cost all that much either.”

  I turned to her from the lamp, her pretty face still half in darkness, lovely, hauntingly chiaroscuro as a Helmut Newton photo; a face that needed kissing. “You were in Cincinnati? When?”

  “A few weeks before I came to Austin to meet with you. I saw your old room. In Cincinnati, I mean.”

  “You went to my mother’s house?”

  Maybe my tone changed slightly. Katie held up a hesitant hand. “Don’t, please. Don’t look that way.”

  “Which way?”

  “Betrayed. I’ve been dreaming about and dreading this moment for a long time. I always imagined look of betrayal on your face. Don’t, Elliot, feel that way.”

  “Should I?”

  “No! But…well, I can see why you might. My…going behind your back or something. I didn’t have much choice. I didn’t know you. I couldn’t exactly drop in on your mother and ask her to please call you and introduce us over the phone.”

  “What did you ask her?”

  “She was very sweet. I told her the truth, that I was doing research on a project. That I’d heard or read about your film somewhere, how struck I was by how it coincided with a real life occurrence some twenty years before.”

  “You told her about the Amy Robichou case?”

  “About the lack of one, that it had been officially suspended years ago. But that how the case had always haunted me.”

  I looked down at the disc again. “And she agreed with you, of course, my mother. Also agreed to show you the film, I’ll bet. Good old mom.”

  “Are you mad?”

  I chuckled. “Stunned! That she’d even remembers the film, much less knew where to find a copy. The only existing copy as far as I know. Where was it?”

  “In her b
edroom, a bureau drawer, tucked neatly away in a plastic baggie. She’s very proud of it, Elliot. Very proud of you. She told me she wishes you’d gone on to make more, gone on into filmmaking as a career, in fact.”

  “Why?”

  Katie shrugged. “She trusted me, I guess.”

  “Why filmmaking, I mean.”

  “She said that’s what you really wanted to do.”

  I looked at the shiny disc. “As opposed to teaching.”

  Katie said nothing.

  I handed her back the DVD. “I’m very proud of my mother as well, Kate, and I love her very much…”

  “I know...”

  “…but she’s a total whack job, I mean you realize that, right? A middle-aged, bead-wearing old hippie obsessed with the occult, Asian mysticism and too many holiday airings of The Twilight Zone.”

  She smiled. “You must have gotten it somewhere.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know. Listen, I like your mom a lot. A lot. Okay, she’s a little eccentric, maybe—“

  “A little?”

  “—but incredibly intuitive! A lovely, remarkable woman!”

  “Who invites total strangers into the house to view her freshman son’s magnum opus.”

  “I never felt like a stranger with her. She thought the film was wonderful and she felt the connection between it and the real life events surrounding Amy terribly important. Felt them as strongly as I did.”

  “Did you go camping together later?”

  “Elliot—“

  “I’m surprised she didn’t suggest I maybe swiped the entire plot from an old newspaper article or TV report.”

  “That’s your father speaking, Elliot, not your mom. It’s his side of the family you get your cynicism from. Your Christian work ethic, your pragmatism.”

  “Believing a man can walk on water—that kind of pragmatism?”

  “No, that’s called faith, the part of religion—any religion—you and your father never got somehow. But you mother did. She’s Jewish, isn’t she?”

  “I don’t know, about a quarter, I think. She never practiced any faith much.”

  “I think more than you know, in her own way.”

  “My, you two got real cozy. Mom try to convert you or something?”

  “Of course not. Beside I’m already Jewish.”

  “Really? You don’t look smart.”