Witch Lights

by Michael M. Hughes

  They knew it, too. The rules were what had kept them safe for so long.

  “Please, Mom?”

  Cora stuck her head next to William’s. “Por favor, Señora?”

  Ellen’s eyes burned into Ray’s.

  Ray nodded.

  “Of course you can,” she said. “I think we could all use a little fun tonight.”

  Chapter Two

  “Look at his face,” Ellen whispered. “He’s actually smiling. Look at him.”

  William was laughing. Cora yanked the sleeve of his T-shirt and pulled him toward a cotton candy stand. He looked at his mother, grinned, and rolled his eyes.

  Ray couldn’t help but smile back. It had been a long time since he’d seen the boy this happy.

  “Go ahead,” Ellen said. She had to shout. A nearby band was blaring amplified, distorted narcocorridos—sing-along songs about the glorious lives of drug chieftains and the honorable deaths of gangsters, of beheadings and bullet-ridden corpses, set to cheery melodies. She had grown to hate the style of music, and it seemed to be blaring everywhere, from every cab, car, and cantina doorway. If she never heard another accordion for the rest of her life, she’d told Ray, she could die happy.

  William and Cora ran to the cotton candy vendor, a young, nearly toothless man rolling a cardboard cone inside the webby pink vat. He seemed to be in a trance, his eyes glassy and vacant. Or drunk. The five kids already in line looked irritated and surly as they watched his hand slowly forming the next cloud of pink sugar.

  “I’m sorry about today,” Ellen said.

  “No,” Ray answered. When she started to explain he held up his finger. “Let me say something. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

  “Ray—”

  “Stop. Listen. You got what you needed to say out in the open. I need to get this out, too.”

  Ellen glanced at the kids in line, then back to Ray. She sighed. “Okay.”

  “I hate this. All of it. I hate running and hiding and what it’s doing to us, and especially what it’s doing to William. I’m about an inch away from a nervous breakdown myself.”

  She gave him a look that said Exactly.

  “And it’s my fault. All of it.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “It is my fault. Not that I did any of it on purpose. But it’s my fault we’re living like this. And I’m sick—absolutely sick—of not having any control over my life. Over our lives. So I’ve been thinking….” He drew a deep breath. “I mentioned it a couple of times before but you didn’t want to talk about it. But Mantu said they could get you two set up in Lago de Yojoa. It’s nice there, beautiful, and safe, and with all the gringos you’d blend right in. You’d have people to talk to. And that would only be a few hours away from me. I could see you all the time. Every weekend. Maybe more.”

  She looked up at him. Orange lights from the carousel flashed through her eyes, but they were weary eyes. Tired eyes. “Ray, everywhere else we’ve settled down was supposed to be safe, too. And look at us—too scared to take William to a shitty little carnival in the middle of nowhere. And what happens when Mantu sends another message that it’s time for me and William to bug out of Lago? Or when he eventually says William and I have no choice but to join you in their compound? In a place that’s literally under the ground?”

  “It’s not all underground.”

  “It’s a hole in the ground.”

  He swallowed hard. He had been afraid she wouldn’t like the idea. “Then I don’t know what to do. I’m all out of ideas.” Except the one I don’t want to mention. “We can’t keep this up, right? We can’t keep doing this.”

  She stared past him. He couldn’t read her expression, and that made him feel sick.

  “I can’t put you through this anymore,” he said. “I can’t put him through this. It’s tearing me to pieces. It’s tearing us apart.”

  “Let’s talk about this later,” she said.

  “I love him. So much.” His throat tightened. “As much as I love you. You’re my family now. But I can’t drag you through my nightmare of a life anymore.”

  “Shh,” she whispered. “We can talk later. When we’re alone. Let’s try to have some fun, okay? While we can?”

  Ray saw the weariness in her eyes. They were always underlined with dark circles anymore. “You’re right. Let’s enjoy this. Tonight. Just the three of us having fun.”

  She kissed him. Lightly. It felt forced, but he pulled her head and held his lips against hers. It was still there—the thing that had drawn them together, and held them together through their shared nightmare. It had been pushed way down deep, beaten down, but he knew she still felt it, too. The kiss was their first real moment together in months.

  Cora giggled behind them.

  “Get a room,” William said, his lips ruby red and fingers gloved with wisps of cotton candy. He waved the puffy mess like a conductor. “Oh, wait, you guys already have a room. Never mind.”

  Cora giggled again, even though she probably couldn’t understand his English. The boy was funny in any language.

  Ray laughed. He rubbed William’s head and hoped the boy hadn’t noticed the dampness of his eyes.

  “So,” William asked, pointing with his cotton candy, “who wants to get on the Ferris wheel?”

  —

  The Ferris wheel was next to the bandstand. Another band had come onstage—a shiny, brass horn section, a gold-toothed accordion player, and guitar players in neon-fringed suits. When they launched into another ear-busting narcocorrido, Ellen gave Ray her Please kill me look. “You think they know any Hank Williams, Jr.?”

  “If he sang about drug smuggling they might know it,” Ray answered.

  “He sang about drinking. And cocaine.”

  Ray listened to the lyrics. “This one’s about a man in a Hummer.”

  Ellen shook her head and put her face in her hands. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Cora’s older sister, Rosa, had joined them. She seemed even more shy than her younger sister and would not make eye contact with Ray. “Cora wants to get on with her sister,” William said. “Mom, can you get on with me?”

  Ellen nodded. “Sure.”

  The Ferris wheel looked at least forty years old, maybe even older—like something from a Civil War–era postcard. Ray wondered if this was what happened to carnival rides in the States when they were decommissioned for being out of code. Were they shipped to Guatemala, where oversight and safety inspections were lax, if not nonexistent? The generator powering the ride belched and sputtered as the rickety wheel revolved. “I’m not too sure about that,” Ray whispered. “It doesn’t look very safe.”

  Ellen raised an eyebrow. William and the sisters were already in line. “You’re scared to ride on a Ferris wheel? You’re joking, right?”

  “Okay, okay, fine. But I’m getting on, too, then. We can all die together.”

  The music got louder. Something about white-gold skull rings, diamond-plated SUVs, and automatic weapons.

  The carny pulled a lever and stopped the ride. The seats were like cages, with a metal mesh cover that came down and locked shut. Ray grimaced. Being in one would be like being sealed into a cage, and after his long ride hidden in the ice cream truck in Blackwater he had avoided any sort of tiny spaces.

  Cora and Rosa got inside. The carny closed their cover with a loud clang and a scrape as he slid a bolt to keep it shut.

  Ellen leaned over in line and kissed him. “Nice knowing you,” she said. “If we make it, and if you’re especially nice to me, I might have a little surprise for you later.”

  Her words sent a chill through him. But her change in mood was more than welcome. “In that case, we’d all better make it, mamacita.”

  Ellen winked. William pulled her ahead.

  Ray felt an inexplicable urge to stop them. To jump in front of them and yank the two of them away. But that was silly. He’d been way too overbearing, too rigid, always holding them to the Brotherhood’
s complicated rules, driving them crazy talking about safety and putting them through the drills even when he knew they’d had enough. He could let them relax a bit. A carnival in a town that was barely a dot in a giant green splotch on the map was nothing to worry about.

  The cover slammed shut and the bolt latched them in. Ellen said something, but the music was too loud. He cupped his hand by his ear—I can’t hear you.

  She mouthed Nevermind, then squeezed William tightly as they rose into the air.

  —

  His panic was nearly full blown as he climbed into a seat. He would be riding alone, naturally, as everyone else was getting on in twos. The carny had let two little girls get on before him, so now Ellen and William were two cars above. The padding in the seat had leaked out of an enormous gash in the vinyl so when he sat his ass was almost touching the metal. His legs were jammed up and his knees were pressed tightly against the handhold bars. The ride had obviously been manufactured in an era when everyone was a lot shorter. The carny said something to him, but he couldn’t hear it above the band’s maddening accordion solo. And then the top of the compartment came down. He fought an urge to bang on the cage and demand to be let out.

  Calm down, for God’s sake. It’s just a ride.

  The bolt slid shut. Jesus. His heart was hammering. Like a rabid monkey trying to break out of a cage. And it was a cage he was trapped in now, a cage for chickenshit grown men who couldn’t handle a child’s ride. But what if the ride did collapse? Even if he were to survive the fall, how the hell could he get out, even if he didn’t wind up crushed in a twisted heap of metal?

  Stop it.

  The compartment rose. The cage rocked, and he felt his stomach lurch.

  Two more kids got on.

  He rose again. The cage rocked more this time, and he closed his eyes. Deep breaths. In no time they’d be out again, and that would be it. No more of this foolishness, even if it made the two of them happy. The protocols Mantu had drilled into him on their long journey came back, one after another: Do not separate yourself from your family unnecessarily. Do not allow yourself to be caught in a situation where you cannot run away if needed. Always look for an escape route.

  No. One ride. That’s all it was. A few minutes battling his claustrophobia and it would be over. Another hour and he’d be back in their locked bedroom finding out what Ellen had promised him. Maybe seeing William happy had flicked some rusted lever inside her, and the kiss had made her remember the spark they’d once had. Now that she’d vented, and gotten things out in the open, it would get better.

  As usual, he was being the stick-in-the-mud.

  The Ferris wheel rolled forward, and up he went. It was fast. The cage rocked, and the more he tried to steady it the worse it rocked. Closing his eyes made his queasy stomach worse, so he opened them. Metal screeched and clanged. The carnival below was a blur of colored lights and milling people. Every little town within thirty miles must have shown up for the big event. Like moths to the shiny, whirling lights.

  When he passed the ground the second time he saw the ride’s operator talking to a man in a military uniform holding an assault rifle.

  It was nothing. No need to panic. The whole country was full of cops and soldiers strapped with ugly, heavy guns.

  He rose again. He wished he could see Ellen and William, but all he could see was the back of the cars above and below him. He was quite sure William was rocking his and his mother’s car back and forth like crazy. That’s what boys did. The two of them were probably laughing and screaming.

  On the next go-round, the military man was pointing above him. At one of the cages.

  No. This could not be happening.

  “Ellen!” he screamed. “Ellen!” But he could barely hear himself over the music. He was supposed to be calling her Elizabeth—her real middle name, and the name on her bogus passport and credit card. But he didn’t care. “Ellen!” he screamed again, hoping she could hear him above the music.

  The ride jarred to a stop, pitching the cage forward. He grabbed onto the bar in front of him and tried to slow the rocking. Was the carny letting people off? Or had something broken? Was he stuck up here, forty or fifty feet in the air in this ancient metal rattrap?

  It lurched into motion again. He shouted again, but it was no use. When the music stopped he’d yell as loud as he could. Tell her to wait for him, to be careful.

  The singer’s voice sounded close to breaking. Le gustan mucho las amaaaaaaaas…. Was this some horrible extended version of a song that had already gone on far too long? It seemed like it would never end. Maybe the musicians were as coked up as the man in his Hummer they were singing about and stuck in an endless druggy loop.

  Gunshots. Ray jumped, cracking his head against the steel ceiling.

  Not real gunshots. It was the band. Playing gunshot sound effects, then switching back into a propulsive accordion solo. People at home bitched about violent, misogynistic rap music, but this shit was far worse. The tempo increased, higher and higher, until it seemed it couldn’t get any faster. The musicians had to be on coke.

  Now Ellen’s car was nearing the ground. Again, the ride lurched, and Ray rocked forward to get a better view. Nothing. He pitched backward. Forward again—he still couldn’t tell what was happening below. He rocked back as hard as he could and yelled her name as he rolled forward.

  Something popped. It wasn’t a gunshot sound this time. More like one of the speakers had blown.

  He rocked back. Another pop, this one louder. When he rolled forward again he saw smoke, black and oily, spreading from the generator across the ground. Shit. He rolled backward. Screamed Ellen’s name as he pitched forward. The band ignored the potential fiery disaster, hitting what seemed to be an even bigger crescendo, the accordion and the horns and the guitars locked in a wicked race to the finish. If it got any louder or faster he was sure his heart would explode. Smoke rose, and he could smell and taste it—heavy, greasy, and toxic.

  He clawed at the cage. He was far enough from the ground that he’d break a leg—maybe both legs—if he could somehow get out and jump. He banged his fists against the tarnished steel and screamed Ellen’s name over and over again, rocking the cage in hopes of catching a glimpse of the two people he had sworn he’d never again let out of his sight.

  The song ended. He screamed as loud as he could. The smoke thickened. Would he burn up, cooked like a piece of rotisserie meat? After all they’d gone through, to end up charred beyond recognition on a fucking carnival ride?

  And then the ride shuddered and jerked. It moved a few inches, then a foot. Everyone else on the ride was screaming now, too, with one woman louder than the rest crying out to God: Dios mío. Dios, por favor ayúdame! But the smoke seemed to be clearing. A metal shearing sound drowned out the voices, and then his car lowered another foot. So close now. And still he didn’t see Ellen or William anywhere.

  A man’s hands appeared on the outside, grasping at the metal slats. Then a face. The carny. He was standing on the car below, both of them rocking in tandem. He told Ray to hang on in Spanish and yanked the bolt open. Ray pushed open the cover and the man yelled No! but Ray was not going to be stopped. He grabbed the edge of the compartment and jumped out, knocking the carny loose as the cage swung backward.

  Ray’s legs hit the cage in front of him, which instantly rocked forward, throwing him backward into the air. He landed on his back, and his head thudded into the hard-packed dirt. His vision turned white, and he gasped for breath. The carny lay next to him, cursing and coughing. As his vision returned Ray staggered to his feet, wheezing, and looked around. Cora and Rosa hugged each other, crying. No sign of Ellen and William. Or the soldier. But everyone was staring at him, a sea of wide-eyed faces. The monkey man who had escaped from his cage.

  Ray ran up to the two sisters. “Dónde están William y Ellen?” He was using their real names but the two understood his meaning. Cora choked out words between sobs. The soldiers, she said in Spanish. The so
ldiers took them away. Her older sister averted her eyes. Did she know something? Cora pointed to the center of the carnival, a mass of people now moving toward them to gawk at the smoking, crippled Ferris wheel. A teenage girl in a pink dress with a giant bow on her waist held up her phone. Its camera flashed.

  The ride’s operator started yelling at Ray, but he wasn’t paying any attention. He was scanning the crowd. Nothing. No sign of them. He shoved the carny aside and ran into the sea of people, screaming for Ellen and William, cursing himself as he scrambled past the gaping women, men, and children all staring at the crazy rampaging gringo in their midst. Do not separate yourself from your family unnecessarily. Do not allow yourself to be caught in a situation where you cannot run away if needed. Always look for an escape route.

  He screamed until he was hoarse, until he saw a group of camouflage-wearing soldiers moving in from the edge of the crowd. Then he ran, choking and gasping, away from the colored lights and into the dense, dark jungle.

  —

  Ray hated nothing worse than the thick, unforgiving woodlands in Central America. It took forever to get to the main road back to town, a long, painful walk without a machete that left him cut and scratched all over. It was so much worse than the woods of Blackwater, which had been bad enough but seemed like a manicured country garden in comparison to this place full of grasping vines, poisonous snakes, and biting insects. He followed the road, staying hidden as far as he dared in the jungle. He stifled a scream and flailed his arms wildly when he walked through an enormous spiderweb that seemed to be made of strands as thick as twine. When he finally got the sticky mess off, and convinced himself a giant spider wasn’t crawling along his back and ready to sink its poisonous fangs into the nape of his neck, he closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow down. A trick Mantu had shown him—four counts as he inhaled, seven counts as he held the air in, and eight beats as he exhaled. Eventually he stopped shaking and moved onward.

  He stopped and tried calling Ellen for the hundredth time on his cheap Brotherhood-issued prepaid cellphone. Nothing again, just the generic Spanish voice mail. He knew her phone was probably smashed to bits or in the pocket of whoever had kidnapped them, but he couldn’t resist another try. His battery was almost dead, so he’d have no choice soon.