The Sinner

by Amanda Stevens

  “First time I see him, I say to myself, dat one done sold his soul to the devil.” She rocked back and forth, hands folded in her lap. “Den I start hearing talk. People whispering about bad goings-on in the swamp. Black magic ceremonies and rituals. I never pay mind to gossip so I turn a deef ear. None of my business, I say. But den I see the way dat man look at my Mariama, and her little more dan a chil’. I tell Ezekiel if he bring him around here agin, I fill dem both with buckshot.”

  “Did he stay away?”

  “He did and he didn’t. I never saw him agin, but I could feel him out dere in the woods watching us. Watching her.” Essie shuddered. “Next t’ing I hear, two girls gone missing over in the next town. No older than Mariama. Dey walking home from school on the railroad tracks and somebody nab ’em dayclean. In broad daylight,” she amended so I would know what she meant.

  “Were they ever found?”

  “A fisherman came upon the bodies in the swamp. Police say gators been at ’em so long even dey own mothers couldn’t recognize them.”

  “Did they find out who took them?”

  “Atticus Pope took ’em,” she said grimly. “And he did terrible t’ings to dem babies. Terrible t’ings.”

  She didn’t need to elaborate. It wasn’t hard to imagine the nature of those terrible things.

  Essie said, “I worried myself sick after dat. Couldn’t eat or sleep. Afraid Ezekiel got himself in a mess of trouble. Afraid dat man would come and take my Mariama while I lay sleeping.”

  I drew my legs up and wrapped my arms around my knees. “What did you do?”

  “I tell Darius we need to go to the police, but he say the police already know about Pope. Dey know he’s guilty, but nuthin’ can be done without evidence. He say he hear tell of some people in Chaa’stun. Men with money and power who kin take care of monsters like Pope. Make sure he never hurt nobody else. Con-gee, he called dem.” She pronounced the word with the emphasis on the first syllable.

  “Darius was the one who brought in the Congé?” Now I understood why he couldn’t get involved and why he’d said it was better if no one knew we’d talked. He wouldn’t want his whereabouts known.

  “Darius say, ‘Granny, somet’ing bad about to happen.’ He say, ‘You need to watch Mariama like a hawk and keep Ezekiel home any way you kin.’ But Ezekiel wouldn’t listen. He slipped out his window dat night with me sitting here in dis rocker wide awake.” Essie sighed and kept rocking. “I never saw him agin. Police say he and the others left town, but I reckon dey all dead.”

  “You didn’t tell the police about the Congé?”

  “I didn’t tell no one except Rupert Shaw and now you. And I only tell you because you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need to know.”

  She looked at me expectantly and I nodded. “I found some graves near the cemetery where I’ve been working in Ascension. Twelve of them in a circle with another grave in the center. I’m wondering if that circle is where the Congé buried Pope and...the others.”

  She didn’t answer, but her unblinking regard made me uneasy. “Essie, do you believe it’s possible for a soul or spirit to be transferred from one body to another?”

  “I’ve seen it with my own two eyes,” she said. “A body leave home one night and come back the next day a different person.”

  “Do you think that could have happened with Atticus Pope? Do you think he could have transferred his soul into another body before the Congé found him? Into someone no one would ever suspect? And now he’s come back. Or maybe he’s been here all along, biding his time.”

  “God help us if dat be true.” She opened the cigar box and sorted through the photographs until she found the one she wanted. “I found dis picture in Ezekiel’s room after he gone.” She held out the snapshot to me and I scrambled across the porch to examine it.

  I stared down at all the faces, doing a mental headcount as I studied their features. Twelve men of varying ages and ethnicity all lined up in a row. With a start, I realized the snapshot had been taken in the backyard of the Willoughby house. I could see the roof of the old shed peeking up through the orchard.

  Two children, a boy and a girl, played at the edge of the yard. Annalee Nash looked much the same as she did now even though she couldn’t have been more than nine or ten when the photo was taken. The boy was a few years younger, a scrawny towhead who seemed more interested in digging in the dirt than in the adult goings-on around him. Not so, Annalee. She stared straight into the camera lens, the same sly smile playing at her lips that I’d seen yesterday after her confrontation with Martin Stark.

  My gaze traveled over all those faces again, pausing with another start. One of the men looked a bit like Stark, but I knew it wasn’t him. The man was about Stark’s age now. His father or an older brother, perhaps? Or maybe my mind had fabricated the resemblance now that his meeting with Annalee was once again fresh on my mind.

  I pointed him out to Essie. “Did you know this man?”

  “I only know Ezekiel.” She tapped her finger on the face of a young man with exquisite bone structure.

  “He was very handsome,” I said.

  She sighed without comment.

  “Why isn’t Pope in this picture?” I asked.

  “Look close,” she advised.

  I peered into the shadows, seeing nothing at first and then gasping aloud when I caught sight of a man lurking underneath an oak tree. I couldn’t tell if he’d donned a mask or if he had managed to contort his features, but he had the appearance of something bestial, something primal and inhuman. I thought of George Willoughby’s claim that he’d witnessed Pope change from man to beast right before his eyes. Now I understood.

  I looked up. “Has Rhapsody ever seen this photograph?”

  “Might have. Why?”

  “She told me earlier that Darius had come to her in a dream. He said that I was the only one who could save her from the man with two souls.”

  Essie gave me the strangest look. “Darius come to her in a dream?”

  “That’s what she said. Essie...there’s something I didn’t tell you yet. Something you need to know. The body of a young woman was found in one of those cages. She’d been buried alive.”

  Essie didn’t answer. Her gaze had gone vacant and I wondered if she was even listening to me or if she’d slipped into some sort of trance.

  “Essie?”

  “I hear you, girl.”

  I hesitated before plunging on. “The dead woman hasn’t been identified yet, but she had two tattooed words on the inside of her wrist. Memento mori. It means ‘remember to die’ in Latin. Do you have any idea who she might be? Or why someone would have buried her alive?”

  “She Con-gee,” Essie said, and then muttered something under her breath that I couldn’t understand.

  “What?” I stared at her in shock. “How do you know that?”

  “Some t’ings I know, some t’ings I don’t.” Her dark eyes bore into mine. “If Pope is here, you best watch yourself, girl.”

  “Why?”

  “He likely mean to fill dem cages with anyone who try to stop him.” She took my hand and pressed a charm into my palm. “Keep dis close. In your pocket and under your pillow.”

  “Thank you, but what about Rhapsody? Do you think she could be in danger from Pope?”

  “You protect Rhapsody, I protect you.”

  “But I don’t know how to protect Rhapsody,” I said helplessly. What did the Goodwines expect of me? First Darius and now Essie.

  “You’ll know how when the time come. For now, you keep dat mojo bag close, you hear?”

  I couldn’t help but shiver at her ominous tone. “I will.”

  “You got power. Maybe even more than Pope. If I kin see it, den so kin he. He’ll come for you, girl. Make no mistake about dat. He’ll come
for you when you least expect it.”

  Fifteen

  I arrived back in Ascension just after noon and stopped by the house to collect Angus before heading to the cemetery. I didn’t want to dwell any longer on what I’d learned from Essie and Dr. Shaw. There would be time enough later to obsess over both conversations. For the rest of the day, I just wanted to immerse myself in Seven Gates. Work had always been my salvation and never more so than now with the specter of Atticus Pope hovering in the shadows.

  Two adolescent boys on bicycles milled about the main entrance and the black SUV with the tinted windows was parked on the opposite side of the road, along with another vehicle I didn’t recognize. I suspected the second SUV belonged to James Rushing. I saw no sign of him or Kendrick, but I assumed they were down at the circle.

  I got out of the car and motioned for Angus to follow. He bounded out of the vehicle and then drew up short when he spotted the boys. He didn’t growl or bare his teeth, but his tail shot up and he stood at rigid attention until I coaxed him through the gate.

  It took a couple of trips to get everything inside the fence and Angus stayed right at my heels. I was glad to have his company. It was broad daylight and a police detective was only a shout away. As always, a part of me welcomed the solitude, but having Angus nearby was never a bad thing.

  At some point Kendrick came out of the woods and took the long way around to his vehicle. As he strode near enough to the cemetery fence for me to catch a glimpse of him, I saw that his head was bowed as if he were in deep concentration. I didn’t call out to him and he seemed unaware of my presence. He must have known I was there, though, because my vehicle was parked across the road from his.

  Rushing left a little while later by the same route. When he saw me in the cemetery, he waved and then continued on to his car. Like Kendrick, he seemed preoccupied and I wondered what they might have found in the circle.

  As I watched the dust settle on the road from Rushing’s departure, I couldn’t help but remember Essie’s warning that Pope—in whatever body he now resided—meant to fill the cages with anyone who tried to stop him.

  An icy shiver seized me as I glanced around. I didn’t want to be alone even though daylight lingered. Solitude was no longer a comfort. The silence of the countryside had become deep and weighty and I found myself tensing at the slightest sound.

  I continued to work for another half hour and then gave up. I was too jumpy to get much accomplished. As I gathered my tools, I turned once more toward the north gate. Was Pope out there somewhere? Did the watcher in the woods still lurk? Were they one and the same?

  I canted my head, listening for the snap of a twig or the whiff of an odd scent. From deep within the forest I thought I heard chanting. That elusive one-word mantra that repeated over and over. I could smell a bonfire, too, and it took no effort at all to imagine a scenario straight from Dr. Shaw’s book about witchcraft and black magic.

  Quickly, I scanned my surroundings, assuring myself that I was in no immediate danger. It was a reflexive precaution because Angus would have surely alerted me if anyone had come through the main entrance or any of the side gates. He stood at sharp attention, head cocked, tail up. He seemed alarmed, but not yet frightened. His restrained demeanor should have reassured me, but in that breathless moment as we both stood listening, I could think of nothing beyond those dark rituals, nothing beyond those whispered rumors of mutilation, torture and bondage. And then I thought once more about the woman who had been buried alive less than half a mile from where I stood.

  That first sight of her lumbering form had kept me rooted to the spot, but now the sound of a faraway chant had me rushing toward the entrance without bothering to collect the cooler.

  Angus didn’t follow me. He remained frozen, his attention riveted on the woods. I paused outside the entrance, turning my head to listen once again. Over the chanting, I could have sworn I heard the rasp of labored breathing and the muted thud of heavy footsteps hurrying along the path toward the back gate.

  My heart leaped to my throat. Pope was coming for me!

  Essie had been right. He knew about me, knew that I was a unique threat to him. I was the only one who could end this and now he was coming for me.

  A gust of wind sharpened the scent of smoke and deepened my panic. “Angus, come!” I rasped.

  The edge of hysteria in my voice startled him into action. Whirling, he closed the distance between us and lunged through the entrance. I slammed the gate and then snapped the padlock.

  The smoke followed us. Not in a wispy cloud as I would have expected, but in one serpentine stream that slithered beneath the back fence and undulated over statues and monuments as it crept ever closer.

  The caustic smell grew stronger and I staggered back from the gate, pulling my shirt over my nose and mouth. Angus had no such shield. The only way I could protect him was to get him inside the car.

  The SUV was only a few yards away, just across the ditch, but the distance seemed to stretch as the vapor seeped through the flimsy fabric of my shirt, oozing up my nostrils and down my windpipe, filling my lungs with a fiery pollutant. Angus whimpered at my side, but I had no time to soothe him. I scrambled across the ditch, tripping as I scaled the shallow embankment. By the time we reached the safety of the vehicle, my eyes were inflamed. Tears streamed down my face, but when I tried to palm them away, the contact deepened the burn. I gasped, resisting the urge to claw at my eyeballs so great was the agony.

  Beside me, Angus began to howl as he rubbed his face against the seat in desperation. In the throes of panic, I tried to think what to do. I couldn’t see to drive, and if I called for help, the responders might be too late.

  Water! We needed to flush out the toxins, but I’d left the cooler in the cemetery.

  I braced myself, knowing I would have to leave the safety of the locked vehicle to go back and get it. The smoke was still out there. He was still out there. Like Essie, I could feel him skulking in the trees, watching us. Taunting and toying with us.

  No matter. I had to get to that water. If I waited any longer, the damage to our vision could be permanent.

  Climbing out of the car, I stood for a moment with my hand resting on the door as I tried to get my bearings. The only way I could stand the pain was to keep my eyes squeezed shut, which meant I would have to rely on my other senses to guide me.

  I slid my hand along the car until I reached the front fender and then once again paused as I turned my head toward the cemetery, listening for danger. Leaving the vehicle behind, I inched down the ditch, arms outstretched until I came up on the other side and made contact with the fence.

  Unfastening the lock, I felt my way through the gate and then followed the sound of rippling leaves to the cottonwood grove. The shade was cool upon my burning face. I shuffled in ever-growing circles until I felt the ice chest with my foot. Dropping to my knees, I flung off the top and scooped up handfuls of slush to douse my eyes.

  The cold was an instant balm. I took one of the bottles and poured water directly onto my upturned face. The burning subsided, but my vision remained blurry. I could just make out the silhouettes of the headstones and monuments and the line of the fence. Grabbing the handle of the cooler, I rushed back to the car. If footsteps followed me, I didn’t hear them. If eyes tracked me through the gate, I didn’t feel them.

  I cradled Angus in my arms as I poured water over his face and into his eyes. He didn’t once try to break free. The icy liquid had the same effect on him. His whimpers eased, and after a few moments, he climbed back into the car to curl up on the front seat, snout on paws as he watched me through teary eyes.

  During all this frantic activity, I hadn’t let myself think about the threat that lay beyond the back gate. Now as the pain and panic faded, I turned an ear to the woods but the chanting had stopped. No sound at all came from the trees. Eve
n the breeze had died away.

  I might have convinced myself that the chant had been nothing more than the shouts of children down at the swamp, but I hadn’t imagined that creeping smoke. I only had to look at Angus’s red and swollen eyes to know the danger had been real.

  Hurrying around the vehicle, I climbed behind the wheel and wiped tears from my eyes as I started the engine. Peering through the windshield, I glimpsed a figure at the edge of the woods. I couldn’t see him well. His form wavered like a mirage.

  I blinked several times to clear my vision. When I looked again, I thought he had vanished, but he’d moved into the deeper shadows along the tree line.

  He stood very still now, head slightly bowed, shoulders hunched and hands clenched in front of him as if grasping the hilt of a sword.

  Not a sword, I realized in horror. A machete.

  I remembered then what Dr. Shaw had said that morning about the most desirable muti being made from the limbs and organs of the living. The agonized screams of the victim made the spell more potent.

  From what I could see, the person appeared to be hooded, but he blended so well with the looming trees that he seemed to be weaving in and out of existence. As I sat there watching him, his head came up and I caught a glimpse of his bestial visage.

  The man with two souls.

  The coldest chill went through me as I took in his animalistic features. Even his arms appeared elongated and I could have sworn I saw him bare his teeth. Beside me, Angus rose up on the seat and growled a warning. I heard an answering growl from the woods and then an ear-piercing howl that died away as he turned to lunge back into the trees, leaving me to wonder if I’d really seen him at all.

  I didn’t wait to find out. I tromped the gas and the vehicle shot forward in a shower of gravel. I very nearly lost control and poor Angus had to hunker on the seat to keep his balance.

  Once I had the wheel straightened, we sped down the road toward home. Only when I could no longer see the graveyard in my mirror did I slow the car to a more manageable speed. Angus rose up again to gaze out the rear window.