Birth of a Dark Nation (27 page)

We worshipped. The names may have been
different, but they were our spirits, our Orishas.

At first, we did not interfere with their
lives. The white presence on the island was growing and we knew
that influencing the enslaved Africans to revolt would be dangerous
for all of us. But by 1804, we knew this was a mistake. Rumblings
of a revolt in Haiti had excited us and much talk was transpiring
about how to control Dominica and expel the whites once and for
all.

We talked to the slaves regularly. They gave
us information. Facts. Rumors. Speculation. Haiti was changing.
Free blacks were moving to a place called Orleans.

Our people were on the move. We had a chance
for new lives, new opportunities beyond the forest. After 75 years,
we were restless.

I came upon Babarinde on the beach one
evening as a trail of ships sailed by, departing from the island
for parts unknown. I sat next to him on the sand. He looked at me,
then back at the ships.

"What's on your mind?" I asked.

"Leaving," he answered. I nodded.

"They say there are opportunities in Orleans.
Space. Commerce. Everything."

"Free blacks, like us. I don't enjoy living
hidden. I really don't."

"I know."

"I want to see more."

"So do I. But we're different."

"We can figure it out. We weren't banished
from our homeland to live in hiding. Maybe, just maybe, all of this
happened for a higher reason."

"And what reason would that be?" I asked.

"I don't know, exactly. We are to be seeds in
the wind, not immobile rocks in the dirt."

And with that, the decision had been made,
more or less. The majority of us were restless enough to make the
move once more.

Over the next couple of months, we amassed
supplies, sneaking into the camps of the white people on the other
side of the island with the assistance of our enslaved brethren. We
knew the journey would be long and rough, but if we could make it
across the Atlantic in the belly of a slave ship, we could
certainly traverse the Caribbean Sea on the deck of a galleon.

Babarinde met little resistance from us. We
viewed the adventure as a welcome diversion from the mundane nature
of our existence to that point. Seventy-five years was far too long
to wait. It was time to go.

In the end, only three stayed on Dominica:
Ogundadegbe, Orimolade, and Efunbolade. They were the only three
still married to native women and they were content to stay with
their families. There were no hard feelings, for we knew each
Razadi had to follow his heart.

The plan to leave the island was simple: take
one of the fishing vessels, load up, and sail off in the night. We
were better armed than we had ever been before, after stealing
dozens of guns and boxes of bullets over the years from various
camps and farms. Our aim was perfect and our reflexes were
sharp.

We also learned how to be excellent swimmers
over the years. The dozen of us on the advance team were swimming
in the night water like twelve brown tadpoles. We scaled the side
of the vessel silently, not so much as a splash hitting the surface
of the water as we emerged.

I held a blade in between my teeth and a
pistol at my side, ready to use either at a moment's notice. We
happened upon a white British man at the helm. He was unarmed.

He opened his mouth to scream and Babarinde
raised his voice to a loud whisper.

"Stop," he ordered. The portly, gray-haired
man froze. We all paused and looked at one another, uncertain of
the man's paralysis.

"We are taking control of this vessel,"
Babarinde said. The man slowly nodded.

"How many are aboard?" Babarinde asked.

"Five," he said.

"Where?"

"Four are below, asleep."

Babarinde nodded toward Eşusanya and me. We
went below and tied up the sleeping men so quickly that they didn't
know what happened by the time they woke up. I found the ship's
maps and brought them to Babarinde on the way back up to the
deck.

"What do we do with the men? Dinner?"
Eşusanya hoped aloud.

"No…" Babarinde said, musing on his newfound
hypnotic power.

"Mama Abeo used to tell us that one day, we
would evolve past the need to use our hands. Brothers, it would
appear as though that day has come."

~

"And that's how we left Dominica," I said,
breaking the memory chain with Justin and Victor.

"Just like that?" he asked. Victor got up and
walked to the picnic shelter.

"Yup. The men on the ship were easily subdued
once we hypnotized them all. Didn't have to kill them. And they
tasted good, too."

"Wow," Justin said.

"It was a simple, uneventful voyage. We
landed in Orleans and used our cunning and our will to establish
ourselves a nice plantation. We grew a lot of things that we had on
the island and back at home. We even branched into textiles. Yes,
we were farmers and fashion mavens, even back then."

Justin laughed.

"But the best part? Free black people. Not
everyone was free, but we could walk around among white people and
not be afraid that they would put a bullet in us. We had the law on
our side. We had the power of hypnosis on our side. And of course,
we knew that we could overcome bullets, too. With time and
patience."

"Let's go back home," Victor said. He zoomed
off.

Justin turned to me.

"Did you have a wife?"

I shook my head vigorously.

"Never had the desire," I said. "I guess I
always knew something greater was out there for me. Someone."

"Maybe there is," Justin said. "If you can
catch him!"

He zipped away from me. I laughed and chased
him back home.

"Welcome back, Justin!"

Cissy ran to me as soon as I got in the door
and hugged me tightly.

"It's so good to see you!" she exclaimed.

The entire staff—including the interns—were
in the office to welcome me back to the job. I was overwhelmed.

I put my briefcase down on the freshly
carpeted floor and looked around.

"It all looks different," I said quietly.
Steve nodded vigorously.

"Well, before you got sick, you told us to
make the place our own. To do what we needed to do to make this
look like a real office. Well…new carpet, new fixtures, fluorescent
lights…we got you, boss!"

"And we can afford it," Cissy added.

"Wow," I said. The whole office had a new
glow about it that it had never had before.

My director of technology, Quinn Turner,
tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention. I had forgotten how
handsome this dude was with his curly brown hair, chiseled face,
and blue eyes.

"Let me show you your office. And the
computer room," he said.

"I'd like that," I said. "We're still having
our staff meeting at 9:15, guys. Status reports from everyone."

"The boss is back!" Steve exclaimed. Everyone
laughed. I smiled.

Quinn took me upstairs and carried my
briefcase for me.

"I can't believe how much got done," I
mused.

"Well, Justin, it's been six weeks," he
replied.

"Wow…I guess that is a long time, huh? Time
just got away from me. I'm glad to be back, though."

Quinn opened the door at the top of the
stairs. When Ernie got arrested and the Foundation took over, I
opted to keep my old office in the attic rather than move to
Ernie's old space. I liked the solitude and I could concentrate
better. Quinn's office was just outside of mine, and I could tell
that he spared no expense in getting us set up with state of the
art machinery. Magdalene was rolling in dough, and I felt no need
to be stingy. To be the best, we needed to have the best, from the
front lines of the work with our clients all the way to the man who
would run our information technology.

"That's a lot of monitors," I said.

"It's exactly to the Foundation's
specifications," he said.

"The Foundation?" I repeated.

"Yes, a few weeks after you got sick, I was
given instructions on how to set everything up. I was told it was
the Foundation standard. I thought you were aware?"

"Oh, well, sure," I lied. "You know me, as
long as it works."

Quinn smiled and opened the door to my
office. It, too, had been given fresh carpeting. It was a funky,
burnt orange color that was soft and thick beneath my hard-soled
shoes. They had gotten rid of my old desk and replaced it with a
black, extra-large desk fit for an executive. It curved outward,
making a built-in conference table for small meetings. They had
given me file cabinets to match. Setting off the whole room was a
large Syracuse banner against the far wall.

"We didn't want to bother you while you were
recuperating, so we took some risks with the orange. We figured if
it had to do with Syracuse, you'd like it."

"It's perfect," I said. Quinn smiled.

"Thanks, Quinn. I'll be down in time for the
meeting."

"Welcome back," he said.

I had a seat in my band new executive office
chair and gave it a spin. I giggled.

I looked down at my slacks. For the first
time—probably ever—they were loose around my thighs when I sat. I
noticed that morning that I had to pull my belt tighter than I
normally did, but seeing just how loose they were, I realized it
was time to go shopping.

I played around with the settings on my chair
and tilted the seat back. The leather was fresh and smelled divine.
I placed my hands behind my head and closed my eyes.

My mind drifted off for a few seconds. Before
me stood a tall, honey-complexioned woman in a gray dress, with her
hair wrapped in a white turban. Her high cheekbones suggested a
joviality that her twisted mouth and fiery eyes betrayed.

She walked toward me, slowly, hands behind
her back, then she stopped. She produced the blade she was hiding
and came for me.

I opened my eyes, startled—scared,
actually—from the dream so vivid that it felt like a memory.

It was already 9:15. I hadn't even turned on
my computer yet. I walked downstairs to see the entire staff
waiting for me in the conference room, which they had also
redesigned. Rather than the plain old conference room with a table
straight from the 80s, we now had a sleek and sophisticated
marble-topped table, state of the art audio/visual equipment, and
framed posters of our various success stories from over the years:
clients who beat the odds, photos from homeless walkathons, and
even a senior staff photo from our open house.

I smiled, sat at the head of the table, and
spoke:

"Let's get started."

As my staff members gave presentations
covering the six weeks I'd been out, I found it incredibly hard to
concentrate on them. As Cissy spoke, the woman from my dream
materialized—knife in hand—and stood menacingly behind her.

I lowered my head and rubbed my eyes,
foolishly hoping that the apparition would disappear. Instead, four
more figures appeared behind my staff, each dressed in shabby
clothing from an era gone by, each with a weapon: a hoe, a machete,
a knife, a hammer. The shine of perspiration gave their faces and
arms a glow.

I ignored them and allowed the staff to
continue. They were oblivious to the visions I was having. As they
concluded, I thanked them all for holding down the fort during my
illness. I left the conference room in a rush and headed up the
stairs.

Steve followed me, cornering me in the copy
room on the second floor. All five apparitions appeared behind him,
crowding us in the room.

"Justin, did you come back too soon?" Steve
asked.

I shook my head.

"It was time," I said. "Been down way too
long. Gotta come support my team."

"Yo, man…you lost hella weight."

"I look bad?" I asked, eyeballing the tall,
dark man hovering behind Steve with the machete.

"No, actually. I gotta say you look really
good. Healthy. Like, did you have the surgery or something?"

"Surgery? Like weight loss surgery?" I
laughed.

"Well, did you?" Steve demanded. I laughed
harder.

"Naw, man. Just a really bad case of the flu
that it took a long time to bounce back from. And I hit the weight
room when I could. You know how it is."

"I guess. Just…you know…if you need more
time, just let me know. We can hold it down."

"Thanks Steve, but I don't need more time
off. Wouldn't want to take away time you could be spending with
your boo Chiyoko," I said, taking his hand into mine and pulling
him into a hug. The visions I was seeing dissipated as quickly as
they had appeared.

"I'll be fine," I reiterated. "I just gotta
get re-acclimated. Speaking of which, I'm sure I have a ton of
emails to catch up on."

"Aight player, go handle that," Steve said. I
slid past him and went back into my office, closing the door behind
me.

In my chair sat the first woman I had dreamed
up. She stood up and walked toward me, blade in hand.

"Remember!" she shouted.

I bared my fangs at her and she
disappeared.

"Jesus!" I said, reaching into my pocket and
calling Dante on my phone with a trembling hand.

"Hey handsome, what's up?"

"I'm seeing ghosts," I whispered.

"What?"

"When I got to work today, I started
daydreaming about these people I've never seen before. And…and
they're dressed like from a hundred years ago. Like, like slaves or
something. But I wasn't daydreaming. They were here. They
are
here. They won't go away. Why won't they go away?"

"Justin, relax."

"Don't tell me to relax! Tell me how to get
rid of these ghosts!"

"They're not ghosts."

My heart stopped.

"Djinn?"

"No, not Djinn either. They're memories. Was
one of them a tall woman with high cheekbones?"