“Oh, and remember the cameras, cherí. If you don’t do what I tell you, I’ll know, and you won’t like what I’ll do to you.”
Twenty-One looked at him with wide and frantic eyes, defying slave etiquette to keep eyes down. The last time he had seen an expression like that on her face, it had been when she had struck him that very first night. This time, she crawled toward him as quickly as her hands and knees could carry her, bent her head down, and laid a hard, tear-soaked kiss on his studded boot.
Demetrius’ pulse jumpstarted. Twenty-One sobbed, hysterically kissing his boots again and again, resting her forehead against them, crying as if her heart were breaking. And it was. He had seen this time and time again, though not normally this early on in training. Demetrius was not sure if it would last, but at this moment, she had broken down not because of her punishment, but because she had failed her Master.
The next moment was a blur that Demetrius could not remember when he reflected on it later. Suddenly Twenty-One was on her feet and in his arms, one of his hands cradling her face, the other hand on his mask. He had ripped her from the floor, and her honey-brown hair clung to her face, her eyes wide with terror. He stood frozen, fighting as hard as he could not to rip his mask away, to reveal himself and crush his lips against hers and melt into her and become nothing but the searing flame that consumed him every single fucking time she was near him. He fought against a need so strong that it had become its own entity, a demon possessing his body, controlling it. His fingers curled around the edges of the mask.
Reveal himself.
No.
No, no, no.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He released his grip on the mask. Released her face. She crumpled to her knees, shocked, sobbing. He turned on his heel and walked toward the door in a haze.
“Get it done.” He heard his own voice, felt the words leave his mouth, but his mind had retreated into a dark calm, and he was no longer truly there.
The door locked behind him.
Chapter 14
August 26, 2003
Dia shook her head with a laugh, holding heavy wet strands of Demetrius’ hair above his head.
“It’s so long!” she said. “I still can’t believe it takes two bottles to get through your hair.”
“Just don’t stain my scalp,” Demetrius said, trying to look up at her without moving his head.
“Oh, it’s too late for that,” Dia replied. “Your head’s as spotted as my hands.”
Dia slid off the bathroom counter, coiling strands of the long part of Demetrius’ hair and pinning them into tight knots until he could wash out the dye. He caught a flash of her thigh as her cotton sundress settled along her legs. Both her dress and her legs were smudged with dye. Demetrius reached out and grabbed her knee playfully. She gave an adorable little cry and shied away.
“How did you get dye all over your legs?” he asked.
Dia shrugged, “I’m a messy girl.” She looked at Demetrius’ head and grinned. “You look hilarious.”
“You say that every time.” Demetrius rose from the side of the bathtub and stretched. “Forty minutes.”
“You’re higher maintenance than a drag queen.” came Mama Dede’s unmistakable voice from the bathroom doorway. She stood with a hand on her hip, so slender that she couldn’t even fill the door frame. Demetrius had noticed that she had been getting thinner the past few months. Even now her dress gaped in places it shouldn’t have.
“Mama!” Dia squealed, her cry echoing in the tiny bathroom. She threw her arms around Dede, who struggled to hold her at arm’s length.
“Don’t hug me girl, you’re covered in dye.” She looked past Dia to Demetrius, looking at his knotted hair, his eyeliner, his ripped and faded black jeans, “I don’t know why you insist on dressing like the devil. You ought to dress like a man.”
Demetrius smiled and shook his head. He had lost count of how many times Dede had chided him for wearing makeup and dying his hair. Dia took Demetrius’ hand and swung it as if they were skipping down a flower path together.
“Stop it, Mama,” she said with a grin. “He just wouldn’t be Demetrius if he looked like everybody else.”
Mama Dede raised an eyebrow at the girl. Demetrius knew exactly what she was about to say. They had heard it from her lips countless times since the first day Dia had shown up in her parlour.
“What are you doing spending so much time here? You should be spending your mama’s money in the French Quarter-”
“-flirting with rich boys,” Dia chimed in. “I know, I know. I’d rather be here any day, listening to your crazy voodoo stories.”
Mama Dede waved an arm to shush her and headed for the side porch, “Put a shirt on, boy,” she said over her shoulder. “You look like a shark chewed you up.”
Demetrius’ smile withered when Dede’s harsh cough echoed behind her. Dia looked at his arm. She ran her fingers along one of the broad horizontal scars, one of the newer ones that hadn’t faded to white.
“I wish you’d stop doing that to yourself,” she said, her own smile fading at the corners. Demetrius rolled his eyes, put his arm around her delicate shoulders, and hugged her close.
“Don’t you start,” he teased. “I don’t need another Mama. Now come on, I think she’s dipping into the bourbon tonight.”
The house creaked and moaned beneath their feet. Today had been hot and sticky, and the night would be no different. The humid air hung heavy in the old house, seeping into the neglected floors and walls, swelling the worn wood. Hot days like this made it hard for Demetrius to breathe with his normal leather mask on, so he had fashioned a few out of cotton and muslin. Dia had teased him, saying he looked like a surgeon about to operate. She had pestered him about his mask for months when her visits to Dede’s parlour had become daily. A heartfelt discussion and a peek at the left side of his face had sated her curiosity, though she would still tease him from time to time.
Dia looked up at him. Even after a year of constant contact, her large brown eyes still quickened his breath.
“I had that dream again,” she said, circling her arm around his waist as they walked. “Where I’m sleeping with the big white snake curled around me.”
“Oh?” Demetrius reached out and grabbed a bottle of dark rum as they passed the kitchen counter. “Was anything different this time?”
Dia leaned into him, rising on her toes to whisper into his ear. “Well, this time I was naked.” His expression broke her into peals of laughter. “You can’t frown at me when you have no eyebrows!”
Demetrius grinned. “You were not naked.”
“I wasn’t,” said Dia. “But wouldn’t it be funny if I told Mama I was?”
Demetrius pushed open the screen door. “Oh, you won’t, cherí. Because you actually believe her crazy voodoo stories.”
“Oui, Monsieur!” said Dia. “Bien sûr. Seeing is believing.”
Demetrius shook his head. “They’re dreams, Dia.”
Dia shook her head, her long hair tickling Demetrius’ arm. “They feel like more than just dreams. I can feel the snake around me.” She bumped her hip against his. “You’re too cynical.”
A choir of cicadas greeted them as they stepped out onto the porch, singing from the mossy cypress tree in the backyard. Dede was already in her rocker, looking out into the darkness, a bottle of bourbon on the floor beside her. Demetrius settled into the second chair and Dia settled in his lap, leaning against his left side. No matter how hot it was, they always ended up on the porch like this.
“You had another dream then?” asked Dede.
Dia told Dede the same dream she had told Demetrius she’d been having here and there for a couple of years. Dede had heard it many times, and every time she asked the same questions.
“Did you see any railroad tracks?”
Dia shook her head. “No intersecting roads or anything. It was pretty much the same as every other time. I was sleeping in bed with the big white snake around me.”
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Dede nodded. Her face looked more severe to Demetrius than it had in the past, her cheekbones sharper.
“What colour were the bed sheets? White? Blue?”
Dia shrugged. “I never remember, Mama.” A mischievous smile crept onto her face. “But I’m pretty sure I was naked.”
Demetrius chuckled and Dede shook her head, rocking in her chair a little more vigorously.
“Shut your mouth,” she said. “The loa don’t like nudity. It’s disrespectful. Damballah would never come to you naked.”
Dia laughed and nodded, “It was just a joke, Mama.”
Dede took a gulp of bourbon and passed it over to Dia. “This isn’t for joking. Demetrius can say what he wants, but you’re loved by Damballah, girl, and you have to treat him with respect. How did you feel with him wrapped around you?”
Dia quieted, softening in Demetrius’ lap. “Peaceful.” she said. “Like everything was going to be okay.”
Dia took a sip of bourbon and handed it to Demetrius. He set it aside. He rarely drank around Dia because he had to shift his mask to do so. He stroked her hair as they sat listening to the night.
“You should thank him for the dream on Thursday,” said Dede after a moment. “Burn a white candle on your altar.”
Dia slumped almost unnoticeably. She studied the hem of her dress. “Nancy made me take my altar down. She said she didn’t want any crazy satanic shit in her house.”
Demetrius circled his arms around Dia and she rested against him. Dia’s biological mother was rarely sober enough to exercise any parental skills, but when she put her foot down, Dia usually buckled.
Dede waved her hand dismissively. “So build it in the closet. Your mama hardly sees you coming and going, she won’t even remember you had a conversation. You need to thank him. Damballah don’t keep his favour without gratitude.”
Demetrius fought a sigh as the trio settled into a comfortable silence. He held Dia. Dede and Dia’s religious discussions never failed to frustrate him. He brushed it off and the three drank and talked late into the night. Dia never moved from his lap, idly stroking the buzzed sides of his hair as they listened to Dede’s stories of Damballah, the great white snake, father of the loa, who rewarded those he favoured with peace of mind and good fortune. Dia grew quiet and finally drifted to sleep as the night softened into early morning, as she so often did, her breath soft and warm against the curve of his neck. Demetrius shifted, careful not to disturb her, and snuck the mouth of the rum bottle under his mask for a quick sip. The shift let in the sticky floral heat of New Orleans and the sweet fragrance of Dia’s jasmine perfume, a scent that always lingered on his clothes long after she left.
“The two of you act like lovers,” Dede’s voice was less than kind. Demetrius met her gaze with an even stare. He didn’t want to have this conversation again.
“You know we’re not.”
Dede rolled her hazel eyes. Her chair creaked with each sway. “Lovers don’t have to fuck, boy. You read people like billboards. You see the way she looks at you. You know. And you let her sit in your lap anyway. You let her stroke you like a housecat. You let her hang around here and dye your hair and teach you French like you some kind of born and raised Creole.” She leaned against the arm of her chair. “Will you see her face when you feed your demons tonight?”
Demetrius looked away. In the past few months, Dede had been more and more frank with him, bordering on harsh, about how he and Dia interacted. She was right that he could read people. Her change in behaviour, paired with her thinning frame and the cough that rattled her very bones told him what she had, for some reason or another, refused to mention.
“How long do you have, Mama?”
The question hung in the air like the moss on the cypress tree that Dede stubbornly stared at, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Dr. Boukman said I’ve got about six months,” she said finally. Her low voice was fainter than Demetrius had ever heard it. But her resolute attitude returned as quickly as it had gone. “I know I’ve got longer than that. You won’t be rid of me that fast.”
They sat for a long time, sipping liquor as the cicadas filled the silence. Demetrius became very aware of his heartbeat, hard and quick. A stupid fear that it would wake up Dia came and went. He had been living with Dede for the past two years without question or discussion. He’d given no thought to a future of any sort. He had done so little with the identity that Dede had given him. Demetrius Heart was a thief and a nomad. There was no address in his name, no pay stubs, no rap sheet. Despite having a name and a social security number, he was still a ghost. He was nothing. Nothing but those brutal, insatiable urges that consumed him in cheap motel rooms and whore houses. Nothing but a trail of bruised flesh, tears, and threats to keep silent. Dede and Dia were the only proof that he even existed outside of that darkness at all.
He felt it now, that terrible need, growing as he thought on it. He would have to leave soon, to tuck Dia in on the parlour couch and feed his demons, as Dede had said. He despised the accuracy of the phrase. Dia’s face was placid as she slept, her eyelids fluttering. Would he see her face on the woman he found tonight? It had happened a few times. Every time it did, it was unbearable. Every time it did, he drank himself into oblivion, or punished himself with a fresh cut, though he hardly felt them anymore. No, no, he would never hurt his sweet girl. He would destroy himself first.
Dede’s voice cut through his growing unease. “I seen some old faces around recently, Demetrius,” she said. “Faces from before you showed up at my door.”
Demetrius stared at Dede, dread growing in his stomach. Dede gestured for him to hand her the bourbon. She took a long drink before continuing, her eyes closed.
“Those boys still come to town sometimes, looking for you.”
“Those boys?” Demetrius repeated. Dede shot him a look that made his insides cold.
“Don’t play stupid,” she said. “Vision or no vision, you think I would let a stranger into my house knowing nothing about him?” she gestured to his mask. “You dress like the devil, but you’re smart. You don’t look nothing like you did when they knew you, whatever they knew you for. They come down here sometimes, once or twice a year, looking for you. But they don’t recognize you anymore with that hair and those clothes. So they go back to Toledo.”
Demetrius felt the world tilt. He’d had no idea that Dede had known about what had happened to him before he had shown up on her doorstep. He’d thought she had taken him in because of his hallucination in the cemetery, that she had believed it had had some deep meaning, some religious significance. Dede did not react to his shock. She rose slowly out of her rocking chair. Though she had always been a petite woman, as she stood with her dress hanging off her bones, this was the first time she seemed small.
“When I do go,” she said, “you’ll get this house. But you need to go somewhere else. One of these years, they’ll come down and they’ll recognize you.”
Demetrius shook his head. His pulse thundered in his ears. He still remembered their faces, the four of them, distorted in the darkness, deaf to his pleas.
“Stop! Please! I don’t know who you are! I don’t know you…”
“Where did you see them?” he asked, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. “Are they still in town?”
Dede shook her head. “I know that look in your eye, boy. Don’t do anything stupid.” She pointed at the sleeping girl in Demetrius’ arms. “You got family now. You keep her safe from them.” She pulled open the screen door. “And from you.”
Demetrius sat on the porch, cradling Dia in his arms. His mind raced faster than he could keep up with, wracked with conflicting thoughts that threatened to tear him apart. Soon enough, though, the terrible hunger returned, the need that gnawed away everything else. He stroked Dia’s cheek to gently rouse her from her sleep. She opened her bleary eyes and raised a hand to his hair.
“You didn’t wash it out,” she mumbled.
“I hav
e to take you home now, little one,” he said softly. She frowned up at him, perplexed.
“But I can sleep on-”
“No, not the couch,” he whispered. He lifted her into his arms and rose, putting her on her feet. “You need to go home, ma chère. To your own bed.”
Dia stared up at him, studying his face. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.
Demetrius shook his head and stroked her hair. She leaned into his touch, as she always did, which he always tried to ignore. Dede was right. She was always right. He needed to pull back from her…as much as he could bear.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked.
The hurt in her eyes wounded him, but something else stirred at the sight of her pain, that sickening fire within him, the urge to dig deeper, to open a wound, to fan the flame. Oh, yes. Dede was right. He pulled her into him, folding his arms around her, kissing the top of her head through his mask. He wished he could smell her hair.
“Of course not,” he held her tightly as she returned his embrace. “I have some things to do. I’ll be back in a few days. All right?”
He met her eyes, and again he felt he was looking at a girl who was both older and younger than her body’s age, wise and childlike. A calm washed over him, exactly like the peace he had felt when he had first seen her. He would pull back as best he could, to keep her safe. But he couldn’t live without this girl.
“Let’s get you home, ma chère,” he said. “I’ll tuck you into bed and everything.”
Chapter 15
October 25-30, 2011
Twenty-One Page 13
