“Voice?” Alarm bells sounded in Robert’s head. He remembered Krissy telling him how she heard a voice. Supposedly it was the voice of her special friend, a friend that could be heard but not seen.
“My daughter said she heard a voice, but I thought she was just making it up. I thought it was only a game.”
“Did this voice have a name?”
Robert nodded. “She said his name was Mansa.”
Jimmy’s eyes opened wider, as if the name he heard surprised him. He started to say something, but stopped and shook his head. Instead of speaking, the Indian held out his hand, offering to help Robert stand up. Robert looked at the hand for a moment, then accepted the offer and slowly got to his feet.
“We will go to my cabin,” Jimmy said. “I need to take a look at your ankle, and the light is better there. Can you walk?”
Robert placed his weight gently upon his left leg and nodded. “I can walk.”
“Good. I didn’t want to carry you.” Jimmy Cypress grabbed Robert around the waist, helping him to keep the weight off his injured ankle. “At my cabin we will talk about your daughter, but not here. This place isn’t safe. I will tell you this: the voice your daughter heard is only too real. And what is happening is not a game.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Robert’s left ankle was beginning to swell, and he had to grit his teeth every time he put weight on it. Walking was a nightmare, and he wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest for a few moments, but Jimmy Cypress wouldn’t allow it. The Seminole insisted they had to hurry to his house; time was a key element to saving Krissy, and time was not on their side.
He wasn’t sure he believed the Indian. Wasn’t sure he even trusted him. He still had suspicions that Jimmy was somehow involved in the abduction and strange behavior of his daughter, but he didn’t know how. Maybe he had drugged her, given her a hallucinogen chemical of some kind. He had heard that Indians used peyote and magic mushrooms; maybe Jimmy Cypress had slipped Krissy some Kool-Aid laced with mind-altering drugs.
Robert stepped on his left foot and winced as pain shot up his leg. His ankle was severely bruised, and he was damn glad that it had not been broken. Krissy had grabbed him in a grip tight enough to leave the impressions of her tiny fingers tattooed upon his flesh, exerting far more force than was normal for a child her age. That was another indication she might be on some kind of drug. He had read how junkies and speed freaks were sometimes stronger than normal men, able to snap leather restraints and withstand gunshot wounds that would easily kill an average person.
Casting a sideways glance, Robert looked at the man who was now helping him hobble along. If Jimmy Cypress was guilty of Krissy’s abduction and strange behavior, then why was he helping him now? Could the Indian be doing a bit of playacting, trying to throw suspicion off himself by pretending to help? If so, then why was he taking Robert back to his cabin? Why go through such a charade, unless he had some ulterior motive in mind.
Unless he’s trying to get me alone.
The thought sprang into his mind, causing him to stop suddenly. Did Jimmy Cypress have some kind of sinister plan in mind? Was he trying to get Robert back to his cabin so he could hurt him more than he already hurt? He remembered the threat the Indian had made and wondered if it really was a good idea to go to the cabin.
Jimmy turned and looked at Robert, wondering why he had stopped. He studied the other man’s face for a moment, then smiled. “Don’t worry. I am not going to hurt you. I’m taking you to my home so I can take a look at your ankle. There’s medicine there. The lighting is also better.”
Robert didn’t move, which caused the Indian to laugh. “Trust me. I am not going to kill you. Had I wanted to do so, you would have already been dead.”
“What about the threat?”
“As I said before, that was for your own protection. If I killed every white man I threatened, there wouldn’t be too many of you guys left to bother me.”
Jimmy reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a tiny pocket knife. Opening the blade, he said, “Here. Take this. If I try to kill you, you can stab me.”
Robert looked at the pocket knife. The blade was only about an inch long, far too small to be much of a weapon. “That’s okay. You keep the knife.”
“Suit yourself.” Jimmy closed the knife and put it back into his pocket.
“If you wanted to be really nice, you would let me use that staff to help me walk.”
Jimmy looked at the medicine staff he held, then looked at Robert. “Who said I wanted to be nice?”
Robert frowned. “I thought you were in a hurry to get back to your house. The staff would help me walk faster.”
“I am in a hurry,” Jimmy replied. “but I cannot let you use this staff for support. It’s a medicine staff. You saw what it did at the lagoon.”
Remembering the blue spark that had jumped from the staff’s tip to his daughter’s hand, Robert asked, “How did you do that? Is it electric?”
The Indian shook his head. “Not electrical. Magic. Strong medicine. The staff is a weapon against evil.”
“I don’t believe in magic,” said Robert.
Jimmy grinned. “I bet you also didn’t believe that your daughter could have glowing eyes, or that she could be strong enough to ever hurt you.”
Robert tried to come up with an argument, but couldn’t. “All right. You win. For now anyway.”
“Good. Now let’s get going. We’re wasting time standing here.”
Fortunately for Robert, it wasn’t far to the cabin. Reaching their destination, Jimmy pushed open the door and entered the tiny dwelling. Once inside, he lit one of the candles that was sitting atop a folding card table.
“Are you going to stay out there all night?” Jimmy asked, turning to find Robert still standing in the doorway.
Robert remained in the doorway, astonished by what he saw. Instead of a dirty, dingy squatter’s shack, the cabin was neat and clean. Jimmy Cypress may have been poor, but he obviously took great pride in the few possessions he owned. Inside the cabin was a sofa, a folding table and chair, and numerous bookshelves filled with books. A pair of purple lace curtains hung over the windows, while a wooden orange crate served as a coffee table. A wood-burning stove sat in the corner of the room, providing a source of heat on cold nights, as well as a place to cook simple meals.
Jimmy turned and looked behind him, surveying the contents of the room. “At least they didn’t tear it up too badly this time.”
Entering the room, Robert closed the door behind him. “What do you mean?”
“The cops. They always tear up the place during a search. But this time it looks like they put most of the stuff back, although I’m sure all of my books are now in the wrong place. At least they didn’t cut up my sofa, like they did last time.”
“Last time?”
Jimmy nodded. “The police thought I was a suspect the last time a kid was missing. They tore up my place looking for clues, really made a mess of things. They didn’t find anything of course, because I was not guilty. They trashed my place and then left, without even bothering to say sorry.”
“Why didn’t you complain to someone?”
“Who am I going to complain to? I’m an illegal squatter, at least according to the authorities. I’m not even supposed to be here. The only reason they haven’t torn this place down is because this house was here long before the area was turned into a state park. The last guardian lived here before me.”
“Guardian?”
He nodded. “But we’ll get to that in a minute. Here. Sit down. Get your weight off that ankle. I’ll get my medicine kit.”
Robert hobbled over to the couch and sat down. Jimmy crossed the room and removed a small cedar box from beneath the stove. He carried the box back over to the sofa and sat down beside Robert.
“I’m surprised this is still here.”
“What is it?”
“It’s my first-aid kit. Seminole style. Nothing but natural
ingredients, straight from Mother Earth. Roots. Leaves. Better than anything you can get in a drugstore. I figured the cops would have taken it. The police are bad about taking herbal medicines from Indians. They think everything is a narcotic, and that we run around smoking marijuana in our prayer pipes.”
“What do you smoke in your pipes?”
The Indian gave Robert a dirty look. “When your daughter squeezed your ankle she must have cut off the circulation to your brain. We smoke tobacco in our pipes. The same thing you white guys smoke in yours. We try to avoid using store-bought tobacco whenever possible, and sometimes we mix other things with it: sage, cedar. None of it will get you stoned. We smoke a pipe to pray, not to get high. Most people seem to forget that marijuana was brought to this country by the Europeans.”
Robert rubbed his chin, as if deep in thought. “Gee, I guess you learn something new everyday.”
“Only if you listen,” Jimmy replied. “Now, let’s take a look at that ankle. Take you shoe and sock off.”
Robert removed his shoe and sock and rolled his pants leg up out of the way. His ankle was swollen, but not nearly as bad as he suspected. Krissy had grabbed him just above the anklebone, and there were purple marks where her tiny fingers had sunk into the flesh. There were also claw marks from her fingernails.
“Looks like you got off lucky,” Jimmy said, examining the ankle. “An inch or so lower and she might have broken the bone. We still have to worry about infection. No telling what kind of germs got into those scratches.”
“You sound like a doctor.”
“I’ve done my fair share of doctoring. It’s something you learn in combat.”
“You were in combat?”
Jimmy nodded. “I was in the Army, part of an all American Indian platoon. We spent two years in Nam, but that’s still classified. The official record says we never left Guam.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s because we were assassins, and the government doesn’t like to admit they have such people on the parole. I came back from overseas with a purple heart, a couple of silver stars, and a deep mistrust for authority.”
The Indian stood up and crossed the room, retrieving a jug of water and a face cloth from near the front door. Returning to the sofa, he wet the cloth and applied it to Robert’s ankle. Cleaning the wound, he removed several green leaves from the cedar box. He wet the leaves and applied them to the injured ankle, holding them in place with the face cloth.
“What are those?” Robert asked, watching as Jimmy applied the leaves to his ankle.
“Seminole home cure, taught to me by my grandmother. The leaves will take the swelling down. They will also keep you from getting an infection. While we’re waiting for the swelling to go down we’ll talk. Actually, I’ll talk; you listen.”
“Got any aspirins in that box?” Robert winced as he straightened his leg. “I listen better when I’m not in pain.”
“No aspirins, but I do have something for pain.” Jimmy leaned forward and reached under the sofa, pulling out a half-full bottle of Wild Turkey. He set the bottle on the orange crate in front of them. “If you don’t like drinking out of the bottle, I’ll see if I can’t find a cup.”
“No. No. This is fine.” Robert picked up the bottle and uncapped it, taking a sip of the whiskey. He took another sip, then recapped the bottle and set it on the orange crate before him.
“Feeling better?” Jimmy asked.
“Much.”
“Good. But you might want to keep that bottle handy, because you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“Your daughter is not on drugs, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Robert looked surprised. “How did you know what I was thinking.”
“I know a lot of things.” Jimmy smiled. “And she wasn’t bitten by a rabid animal, nor is she in shock.”
“Then what’s wrong with her? Why did she attack me?”
“She’s possessed.”
Robert’s mouth dropped open. “What? Possessed by what?”
Jimmy leaned forward and grabbed the whiskey bottle off the orange crate. “She’s possessed by an evil spirit.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Robert said, shaking his head. “I don’t believe you.”
“No reason you should believe me.” Jimmy opened the bottle and took a sip. “But you should believe your own eyes. You saw your daughter tonight. Did she look like your little girl, or was she different? What about your ankle? Could your daughter do that?”
“Well, I...”
“I didn’t think so.” Jimmy took another sip, then recapped the bottle and set it back on the table. “Now, let me tell you a little story. It’s sort of a tribal legend. When I’m done maybe you will understand what has happened to your daughter. You will also know what we have to do to help her.”
Jimmy Cypress told the story how long ago, back when the Seminoles still lived in the area, a voodoo sorcerer by the name of Mansa Du Paul established a village on the banks of the Wekiva River, not far from where the fish camp was now located.
“Mansa? Did you say Mansa?” Robert asked, nearly jumping off the couch when he heard the name. “That’s the name of Krissy’s invisible friend.”
Jimmy nodded. “They’re one in the same. Now, may I finish my story?”
The Seminole continued his story, telling how Mansa used black magic to call upon spirits of darkness. He also had a strange fondness for human flesh, especially that of young children.
For years the neighboring Seminole tribe had suspected Mansa Du Paul of committing terrible deeds, but they were never able to catch him in the act. Then one day two of Mansa’s servants kidnapped the children of a tribal chief. An old woman, who had been cleaning at the river, witnessed the kidnapping. A war party of the bravest warriors was quickly formed. They had had enough of Mansa and his evil ways, and were determined to do away with him and his village once and for all.
That night they slipped quietly through the forest, attacking the village of Blackwater before anyone could sound an alarm. As the Seminole warriors attacked the residents of the village, the tribal chief and several of his best men rushed into the cabin Mansa occupied. They caught the sorcerer red-handed with the children. Dragging Mansa Du Paul outside, they tied him to a cypress tree and shot him full of arrows. They then cut his body into little pieces and threw the pieces into the river. The village was also burned, and the residents who were not killed outright fled for their lives into the forest.
What the Seminole chief and the others didn’t know was that Mansa was far too powerful to be killed by conventional methods. They killed his body, but his evil soul remained, trapped in the waters of the lagoon. That evil had been there all these years, watching, waiting for a chance to be free again, hoping someone would come along to help him.
“Krissy,” Robert said.
Jimmy Cypress nodded. “Your daughter is young, and children are more receptive to the ways of spirits. Some children can see spirits. Others can hear them. I think Mansa reached out and touched your daughter, made contact with her. Maybe she heard a voice. Maybe she saw him. He might also have used a disguise, appearing before her as a bird or animal.”
“I thought you said his spirit was trapped in the lagoon?”
“In the lagoon, and the area around it. That is why my staff was at the lagoon. I was trying to use the staff’s medicine to keep Mansa from reaching out any farther. I don’t think Mansa was able to reach very far beyond the lagoon, which is why I think your daughter must have met him there.”
“But we never took Krissy to the lagoon,” Robert argued.
“Never?”
“No. Never,” Robert shook his head, then paused. “Wait. We did go the lagoon once, by accident, but only for a moment. We went canoeing and made a wrong turn. We ended up at the lagoon, but only long enough to turn around.”
“That was more than enough time for the sorcerer to touch your d
aughter’s mind. Once he made contact, he could have lured her back to the lagoon at his leisure.”
“But she didn’t go back to the lagoon.”
“Are you sure? There was no time when your daughter wasn’t with you?”
“We were with her at all times...except when she was napping.” A sick feeling settled in Robert’s stomach. “We left her alone when she was sleeping. The cabin was locked. I thought she would be safe.”
“How long did you leave her alone.”
“Not long.”
“Long enough for her to sneak out and go to the lagoon?”
Robert nodded.
“Did you notice anything unusual about your daughter after you went to the lagoon that first time?”
Again Robert nodded. “She told us that she had a new friend. A special, invisible friend that only she could hear.”
“You daughter told you this? What did you do?”
“Nothing. My wife and I thought she was making it up. Children sometimes have make-believe friends. It’s normal.”
“Make-believe friends might be normal when a child is at home, playing house or having an imaginary tea party, but they are not normal when you’re vacationing in the middle of the wilderness.”
“Krissy has always had a very active imagination,” Robert said. “We just thought it was a stage she was going through. Correction, I thought it was just a stage. My wife wasn’t too happy about Krissy having an imaginary friend, but I said it was okay.”
Jimmy looked at him and nodded. “Your wife must be the smart one in the family.”
“I’m beginning to think so.” Robert reached for the whiskey bottle. “If my daughter is possessed, what can we do about it? Call a priest?”
“You’ll never get a priest to believe you. It’s not like The Exorcist, where you can call up a priest and have them rush over to save your daughter. Those who preach the words of God are usually the least likely to believe in spirits, evil or otherwise.
“Nor do we have time to sit around and wait for a priest to show up. Mansa Du Paul is using your daughter right now. I believe he is using her to gather up his remains.”
Evil Whispers Page 20
