CHAPTER 21

 THE PAIN WAS the first thing Billy felt. Sluggish, with a slight headache, he tried to open his eyes. All he could see were shadows in a dimly lit room made of cinderblock walls. A few rays of light peeked through a tiny barred window in a heavy wooden door.

He blinked to clear his blurry vision and rubbed his forehead, trying to massage away the headache. As it eased, he sat up to inspect his cell. In the corner, a large rectangular box lay perched on a large concrete slab.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed. The realization that he was locked up with a coffin sent him scrambling to the farthest corner. Back pressed tightly against the wall, he slid down to a squatting position and let his hands fall loosely between his knees. His elbows rested on his thighs. Several minutes passed before the uncomfortable position became too much and he slowly pushed himself up to stand.

“Maybe it’s empty,” he muttered to himself, but knew he didn’t have the guts to find out. Deciding to ignore the casket and hoping it would somehow disappear, he walked to the door to inspect it for signs of weakness. Finding it solidly bolted from the other side, he glanced back at the coffin, almost expecting to see a hand pushing up from beneath the lid.

“Hello! Anyone out there?” he yelled through the bars of the window. “I said, is anyone out there?”

When no one answered, Billy shook the bars angrily, trying to vent his frustration and hoping one of them would pop out. Unfortunately, they were solidly installed in the heavy wooden planking.

“Fuckin’ bitch tricked me,” he muttered, thinking about Lucretia. “She’ll pay big-time for this when I get out of here.” The words gave him some comfort. After all, what could she do to him? Keep him for a few days, then tell him they weren’t going to pay him? Well, he’d just tell them it was okay, and once free, he’d make them pay. By the time he was done, they’d double what he was owed.

Looking again at the coffin, he decided to take a closer look. If there was a body in it, he thought, the person would be dead anyway. It was probably just another way to scare him. Swallowing, he shuffled toward the coffin, hesitating occasionally to listen.

It was an old-fashioned wooden box made from pine slats. The boards were held tightly together by vertical strips of lumber and copper brackets. Unlike modern coffins, the top was flat instead of curved. The cover had not been nailed down.

“It’s got to be empty,” he mumbled. “I bet those bastards hid me in it and brought me down here. That’s sick.”

Dragging his hand across the lid, he noticed the varnished finish. Whoever built it had done a good job. Gathering his courage, he hooked his thumbs and palm on the outer edge and pushed up.

“I would not do that, Billee,” a familiar voice said from behind.

“Jesus Christ!” Billy yelped, spinning around. Through the bars, Lucretia stood watching him. “Let me out of here,” he demanded angrily.

“Certainment! I apologize for scaring you. Boudreau, ouvre la porte, s’il-te-plaît.”

The door swung open and Lucretia stepped back.

“About fuckin’ time! How come you kidnapped me... and where’s my money?”

Ignoring his questions, Lucretia motioned for Billy to follow her. His lack of interest in the fate of his girlfriend confirmed her opinion that the young man was self-centered. Lydia was better off serving her than servicing him, she thought.

Billy stepped into a dimly lit hall. Two burly men grabbed him by the arms and pushed him against the wall.

“Hey!” he yelled.

A large hand clamped over his mouth, pressing harshly against his lips.

“Please, Billee... no cursing... no yelling. I do not like thees rude side of you. You weel behave, oui?”

Billy nodded, his eyes moving from the woman to the men holding him captive.

“C’est mieux. Now you weel accompany me like the young gentlemen you are.”

Again he nodded, wanting the men to release his arms. If the opportunity arose, he’d make a break for it. He had no doubt he could outrun his captors. Unfortunately, neither of the men relinquished their grip, and he was marched forcefully down the hall and through a door leading to the outside. The darkness caught him by surprise. Apparently, he had been held captive for several hours. The moon was just peeking over the horizon.

At least I can hide in the darkness if I have to, he thought, examining the area for an escape route. With Lucretia in front, the two men holding him firmly on each side and Boudreau behind, he realized an escape would be difficult.

“Where are you taking me?”

“We weel be turning you loose very soon. Please do not worree,” she said amicably. “You must learn patience, mon juene ami. You young are so impatient, are they not, Boudreau?”

“Oui. C’est vrai.”

Laughing, Lucretia continued down a well-worn path but didn’t say anything more. Billy wasn’t sure how much time passed but soon saw a flicker of light through the trees.

At last, he thought, thinking it a street or house light.

Disappointed, he realized it was moonlight reflecting off the bayou. Uneasy, he slowed his pace, only to be roughly jerked forward by his bodyguards.

“Umm. Hey, look. I really don’t need the money. Let me go and I’ll just forget this,” he pleaded.

Lucretia stopped at the edge of the swamp and turned to look at him. For several minutes, she said nothing, appearing to consider his words. Then as if making a decision, she signaled the men to release him.

Billy sighed in relief and relaxed. Boudreau stepped past him carrying a large bucket filled with raw meat. Throwing several chunks into the water, he stepped back as it boiled with activity. Several large gators lunged greedily at the tidbits. A fight ensued as the largest challenged the others for the meat. Billy realized he would be next when the two servants grabbed his arms again.

“Please! Please! I won’t say anything! I’ll do anything you want,” he begged, pulling unsuccessfully at the hands holding him. “You don’t need to do this!”

“Je me regret, Billee,” was all Lucretia said before walking away, not looking back.

A splashing sound made him look back at the water. As Billy pushed backward with his legs, trying to prolong the inevitable, Boudreau threw more meat into the water then signaled for his two companions to throw Billy in.

Terrified, Billy struggled frantically, throwing his guards off-balance. Whatever hope he had disappeared when he was picked up and heaved into the water, arms and legs flailing.

Sinking beneath the surface, he collided with something hard. He pushed away with his feet and propelled himself away, only to bump into something else before reaching the surface. Gasping for breath, he quickly scanned the area looking for his captors and signs of movement in the water near him.

The three men were walking back in the direction they had come from, apparently confident the alligators had finished him off. A few quick kicks brought him to the bank. Scrambling and clawing at the muddy slope, he managed to pull himself partially out of the water. Billy couldn’t contain the hysterical laughter bubbling up as he lay face down, half in and half out of the lake.

“I did it! I did it!” he gasped, taking deep breaths to fill his oxygen-starved lungs. Unaware of the fourteen-foot monster gliding silently toward him, his exhilaration was short lived.

A deep grunt and a sharp pain in his ankle brought him to his senses. Seized by enormously powerful jaws, he was jerked backward. The alligator shook him vigorously, trying to tear off the leg. Kicking and screaming, Billy clawed at the mud desperate to break free of the iron grip on his foot.

When his heel connected with the monster’s bony eye ridge, it roared a booming hiss of frustration and released its prey. Lunging at the shore, Billy felt a momentary sense of relief.

Seconds later, massive jaws clamped around his right knee, dragging him beneath the lake’s surface. Twisting and spinning, he was pulled to the bottom. Instinctively, he held his breath and fought desperately for his life.

As if playing a game, the alligator released its grip, then just as quickly bit into Billy’s thigh and began spinning around, causing the water to churn and boil. Billy opened his mouth to scream. When the water surged in, he gagged and lost consciousness. He never felt his leg ripping from the hip socket, turning the water crimson. Several smaller gators moved in for their share, tearing ferociously at the sinking carcass and gulping down his remains.

Minutes later, a slight breeze gently brushed the surface of the lake, sending small ripples across the water. An owl hooted from a nearby tree and the night continued as if nothing unusual had happened.

 

*  *  *

The moon was directly overhead when the small gathering of worshippers emerged from the darkness into the clearing. Flames from several bonfires burned brightly, causing shadows to dance eerily back and forth. Dressed in white, the hounsi, a young black woman, walked slowly around the fires, chanting softly to les loas, encouraging their appearance.

Two older black women led a young white female to a stone altar and pushed her to her knees. She appeared dazed and unable to respond to their rough treatment. Others chanted, oblivious to her presence. From the opposite side of the clearing, four men, naked to the waist, entered the circle carrying a long coffin. Carefully placing it by the altar, they removed the lid. The body of a man was lifted out and placed on the altar. His arms and legs were then chained to iron rings. Once secured, they joined the chanters.

The sound of petro drums, the ti-baka and the manman, beat monotonously in the distance. When the chants reached a crescendo, a shrill bloodcurdling scream pierced the air, sending the crowd to their knees. They bowed their heads submissively and trembled in fear.

A small explosion, followed by a large puff of gray smoke appeared by the bonfire near the coffin. Before them stood the bokor, high priestess to the serviteurs who were kneeling in the clearing. A large snake lay draped across her shoulders, its massive head resting between her breasts. One hand held a bowl filled with a dark red fluid. Dipping her fingers into thick liquid, she knelt and drew a veve, the sacred symbol of Bondye, their supreme god.

“Bonne nuit, mes enfants,” Mambo Lucretia greeted. “Ce soir nous honorons les loas.” She motioned to the white woman and the man tied to the altar. Nodding slightly, two serviteurs stood and lifted the woman to her feet. Leading her to the priestess, they again pushed her to her knees. Lucretia lifted the huge boa from her shoulders and handed it carefully to one of her initiates. Turning back to the woman, she grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back, forcing her captive to look at her.

Brown eyes stared vacantly at the priestess. The potion she was forced to drink had done its job. Satisfied, she released the hair and took the cup an initiate was holding. The woman’s face was grabbed by one of her guards and her mouth forced up. Placing the cup against the captive’s lips, the priestess tipped it, allowing the liquid to spill down her throat. Within seconds, she fell to the ground, unconscious.

“Voyez! Elle est morte!” Lucretia cried out. “Y a-t-il quelqu’un parmi vous qui doute de moi?”

No one doubted.

“Très bien.”

Motioning for the body to be removed, she lowered her voice and switched to English, making sure no one else heard her words. “Take her! Watch her! She weel rise in three days.”

Her servants bowed obediently. Once the woman was carried away, Lucretia walked over to an old woman being supported by two young men. Crippled, arthritic, and weak from a bad heart, she gasped painfully for air.

“Ancelin, très chère, j’ai un cadeau qui vous rendra votre jeunesse.”

The worshippers gasped. Mambo Lucretia had promised the old woman her youth again. The high priestess smiled confidently. That night would bring her power and immortality. Moving to stand next to the altar, she leaned down to whisper to the man chained to the slab.

“So, Monsieur Falthama, tonight you fulfeel your destiny and mine, oui?”

“My destiny was written long ago. I’ve grown weary waiting for it to arrive,” he said calmly. Ramus willingly embraced death now but was curious about the priestess’s motives. “Tell me, what will you accomplish by killing me?”

“Immortalité, Monsieur Falthama, like you have enjoyed.”

Ramus chuckled softly. “I fear you will be greatly disappointed. I am not immortal.”

“I know of your kind, monsieur. You are vampire, the undead. Your blood eez powerful. I believe eet weel cure my nephew. He has been indescrete weeth young men and now suffers the seekness. For me, I theenk eet weel give me immortalité.”

Ramus actually laughed at the irony of words, causing Lucretia to frown. “You both will be greatly disappointed.”

“I theenk not. How old are you, monsieur?”

“It’s of no consequence now,” he said in amusement. “As you can see, even immortality has its limits.”

“You evade my question, but eet eez not important.”

Knowing the futility of trying to reason with the woman, Ramus remained silent.

Mistaking it for fear, Lucretia patted his arm. “I weel make thees as painless as possible.”

“And I am to thank you for that? Do what you will.” He sighed, having grown tired of her foolishness. The woman was obviously delusional. “Tonight will bring me peace. I take with me the satisfaction of knowing you will curse the day we met.”

Lucretia wasn’t sure how to respond. Shrugging, she motioned for Boudreau to step forward. Clutched in his hand was an enormous snake, its mouth forced opened to expose massive fangs. Carefully taking it from her servant, she raised the serpent high above her head, displaying it to her followers.

“Behold! Dambala, the serpent spirit.”

The crowd gasped. To hold an evil spirit in her hands was proof that their priestess was a powerful bokor.

“Thees man eez evil. He keels without remorse and feeds on the souls of the helpless. Dambala claims the right to punish him for the evil he has done. Evil must destroy evil, but good weel come from thees. Do you believe?” Lucretia asked.

The crowd mumbled their assent.

“Do... you... believe?” she yelled, holding the serpent higher.

Jumping up, the people screamed their faith.

Nodding at Boudreau, the priestess watched as her servant ripped open the captive’s shirt, exposing a thin, bony chest. Lowering the snake’s head, she pressed the fangs deep into the stomach wall below the ribs and squeezed the glands behind its neck. Ramus flinched slightly but gave no other sign of pain.

Not how I would have chosen my death, he thought, but it will do. He would have the final laugh. The priestess had no idea what demons she was about to unleash upon herself, her friends, and her family. He actually felt an urge to enlighten her but realized she wouldn’t believe him; besides, she didn’t deserve mercy.

“Merci, madame,” he whispered, laughing softly, then he closed his eyes and died.

“You must be mad!” she murmured under her breath.

Shaking her head, she picked up the ceremonial knife and showed it to her followers. Cups were placed beneath his arms. With two quick slices, she opened each wrist, almost severing the bones. Blood flowed into the cups filling them completely. Two more cups replaced the first. Only when the last drop was collected did she turn back to her followers.

Taking one of the cups, she poured it into a bowl, added several herbs from small pouches around her waist, and stirred it with her finger. Licking the blood from her finger, she motioned for Ancelin to be brought forward.

“Ancelin, you have leeved weeth the pain of aging for many years. Your body suffers the mange-moun. Tonight I weel cure you. Drink,” she commanded.

Hesitantly, the old woman looked at the dark red fluid. Already it was beginning to coagulate.

“Hurry, très chère. The potion weel lose eets power. Ogou balanjo came to me promising you weel be healed.”

Taking the cup, the old woman placed it against her lips and swallowed tentatively. The spices and herbs helped to conceal the coppery flavor. Draining the cup, she handed it to the priestess. Immediately, she felt a warmth creeping from her belly to her chest, then flow to her arms and legs.

At first pleasant, it suddenly burned like fire, scorching her insides. Clutching her stomach, she groaned and sank to the ground. Writhing in agony, she moaned pitifully.

“Behold the zanj fight the djab for her soul. Only eef you believe weel the zanj win and Ancelin saved,” the priestess beseeched, tears streaming down her cheeks. Chanting loudly, Lucretia’s followers danced wildly around the fires praying to les loas to help their sister. Satisfied that she had the complete support of her followers, Lucretia signaled for the drums to stop. Exhausted, the dancers calmed down and awaited her instructions.

“Take her home! Tomorrow we weel know eef the djab have won.” Glancing at the dead man, she shivered. Something terrible was going to happen. Les invisibles, the spirits, had failed to appear to her like she had hoped. It was only because of her follower’s faith that she was able to make them believe something special had happened.

“Boudreau, get reed of the body. The gators weel feed well thees night,” she added, remembering Billy’s screams as he was pulled beneath the dark waters of the bayou earlier that evening.