The Drought (40 page)

The truth was he didn’t know how to masturbate. He hadn’t quite figured it out yet and he wasn’t about to try it out behind a dumpster with Barry in attendance. That day he was saved from having to make a decision when Chester, the bartender came out carrying a load of trash and chased the boys away from the porn stash.

Now holding onto the Govi he felt the sickening heat coursing through his body. His groin tingled in recognition of the mysterious warmth. Not understanding what was happening to him this time either, he shoved his bare feet into his new shoes and unlocked the door. He left his backpack and the Carlton Fisk ball on the bed as a signal to Nathan he had every intention of coming back.

Outside the heavy air could not compete with the thick heat inside Jar’s body. In the distance, he heard the sound of drums. The blood in his body surged to meet the new rhythm. He followed Suzy through the darkness, a million questions racing through his brain, the first of which was, how the heck did you survive the fall from the bridge?

But as much as the girl in front of him looked like Suzy there was no doubt in his mind the figure walking ahead of him would be unable to answer any of his questions. The changes in Suzy didn’t stop at her milky eyes or the blue tinge of her lips. Her entire body was bloated, squishy like water was riding right beneath the surface. Her skin, once tan from a long hot summer, was now an odd shade of blue.

There was no doubt in his mind Suzy Jobes had drowned in the Mississippi River. He couldn’t explain her presence or why she was beckoning him through the night anymore than he could explain why he was following her. He only knew the journey that had started in Junction when Carlton Fisk’s ball disappeared into the drainage pipe was nearing an end. He could feel it in the heat emanating from the Govi and in the rhythmic drums sounding in the distance.

*

Griffin watched the two figures scurry away through the darkness. He could have ended Jared Riley’s life the moment he stepped outside, he could have chopped him into little pieces and taken the Govi but the sound of drums in the distance stopped him. The jabbering voice quieted and a deep heat radiated from the handle, tunneled into his palm and moved up his arm. Following the rhythm of the drums he walked toward the woods. Everything was clear to him. His entire existence, every decision, every choice had led him to this moment. The heat coming from the machete soothed him, assuring him his long wait would soon be rewarded. Jared Riley, the thieving little shit, would only be an appetizer.

Reserve, Louisiana

The smell of gasoline along with the soft crackle and thick heat of burning fire pulled Nathan out of his nightmare in Atlanta and back into the nightmare of Reserve. It felt like his head was pinned against the floor. When he tried to touch his scalp his hand wouldn’t move.

The crackling sound grew louder.

He opened his eyes. It took his brain a few minutes to comprehend what was happening, but the haze started to fade. He knew he was lying on the floor in Elise’s kitchen. His eyes followed the length of his arm and he saw why he couldn’t move his hand. Someone had handcuffed his wrist to the gas pipe behind the stove. It wouldn’t take a hell of a lot of strength to break free but the significance of being handcuffed to a gas stove while a fire burned through the house wasn’t lost on him. He felt vibrations ripple through the floor and heard the sound of footsteps. Someone was still in the house.

Unable to see the figure through the smoke Nathan yelled out, “Come on you chicken shit, why don’t you just finish the job?” His false bravado cost him and fresh pain pounded in his head.

The footsteps stopped. He heard a deep-throated chuckle. A dark figure emerged from the smoke and squatted into a crouch in front of Nathan. The sound of Jar’s terror stricken voice crying out,
“tonton macoute!”
went through Nathan’s head. As he watched the dark shadow materialize in front of him, he felt certain he was about to come face to face with the apparition that had haunted his childhood.

Nute’s wide, smiling face materialized through the smoke filled kitchen. He clucked at Nathan’s predicament, his tongue slipping into his missing tooth socket and sliding across his lips before he spoke. “Look like you needing Nute’s help, mon.” It wasn’t poised as a question or an offer just an observation.

Nathan stared at Nute as if he
had
materialized from the shadows. It wouldn’t be the first time. He said, “It was
you
, in the woods tonight. Agador was tracking you when we found Angelina.”

Nute’s smile didn’t waver as he assessed Nathan’s cuffed wrist.

Nathan asked, “You some kind of haint, Nute? Always conjuring yourself up at unexpected moments?”

“Maybe I be an angel put down on dis fine eart’ to protect you.”

“Be an angel then and go shut off the gas line.”

“No time for dat now, mon.”

Nathan jiggled the cuff against the pipe. “Nute, if you pull this pipe, we’ll both be looking down on Reserve from the heavens above.”

Nute didn’t respond. Instead he crouched down, took a small round tin from his pocket, opened it and pressed his thumb inside. He smeared soot against Nathan’s forehead, across his brow and down each cheekbone. The thick smoke swirled around them obscuring the kitchen walls as Nute finished and placed the small tin back in his pocket.

Nute’s long arm snaked across the void between himself and the wall, snapped the gas line and before Nathan had enough time to think,
Oh shit,
Nute lifted him and carried him across the kitchen. In the next instant they were through the backdoor. Still carrying Nathan, Nute jumped right as Elise’s kitchen exploded. The blast sent them flying across the backyard. Glass and debris shattered outward, following them down to the ground. When they hit the ground, the impact knocked the air from Nathan’s lungs. He writhed in the dry grass for several minutes trying to catch his breath. When he opened his eyes Nute was staring down at him.

Up and down the street, people dressed in pajamas came out of their homes to investigate the loud explosion. Several people pointed at Nathan and Nute as they came around from the back of the burning house. It looked like they had walked from the fire itself.

A woman shouted to Nathan, “Is Elise in there?”

As much as he owed the people a few words of explanation, he didn’t have anything to give. His head hurt, handcuffs dangled from his wrist and from what he could see, his truck was gone. He pushed his way through the growing crowd suddenly consumed by an urgent need to get back to his house and to Jared Riley.

A collective gasp from behind him made Nathan turn back. Tall flames licked the night sky. Dancing like a dervish they jumped from Elise’s house to the roof of the next. On the other side, dry grass and trees ignited. A few of the neighbors realizing their own houses might be in jeopardy headed back to uncoil garden hoses to saturate their roofs.

Far off in the distance Nathan could hear the sound of sirens. The fire was going to spread before they arrived. He looked down the street and knew the entire row of houses would be an inferno before the night was over. Everything was dry from the long drought and now the wood was just waiting for a single lick of those hot flames to ignite.

Ignoring the occasional call of, “Sheriff,” Nathan walked down Elise’s street, away from the fire set with the intention of taking his life. Right as he was considering how he was going to get home Narried Savoi’s tan Cadillac pulled abreast of them and stopped. The cook from the diner was driving. Celest’s daddy, Narried’s son.

Narried peered out the open window.

Seemingly unaware of the chaos looming behind Nathan she said, “You don’ look too good but you still alive.” She pushed the door open and slid across the seat making room.

Without asking any questions, he slid into the vacated seat and let his tired body sink into the soft leather and closed his eyes. Nute peered into the vehicle and reluctantly joined Narried’s son in the front seat. He looked out of place and stared out the window ignoring the occupants in the back.

As the car started to move Nathan said, “I need to get back to my house.” His voice was weary. It held little conviction. There had been a point in the night when he realized he was not in control of the unfolding events and was merely riding along on an invisible current pushing through Reserve with a tremendous amount of momentum.

She replied, “Well, you in luck, dat’s where we headed.” There was a long pause before she asked, “You going to ask me what’s going on?”

He opened one eye and peered out at her. “I hadn’t planned on it.”

Smiling, she slapped at his arm. “Ah, you tink you goin’ to go home, grab dat little boy and get da hell out of Reserve, and all the weird happenings jus’ goin’ to disappear.”

He didn’t respond.

This time she pinched his arm, giving it a good twist.

Grabbing his injured arm, he sat up and said, “Jesus, Narried.”

She nodded and said, “Dat’s right, you sit up nice an tall. Some time ago, I asked you if you would believe the tale of an ol’ womon. What did you say?”

I said, “I’d try.”

“Okay.” She shook her finger. “No more time for riddles. Lives are at stake—yours, mine and every child in Saint James Parish.” She gave him a hard look and asked. “Did your grandmother ever mention the name Sansericq to you?” At the shake of his head, she lifted her eyes heavenward. “Truly Ninon this is what you’ve left me with, no history, nothing to prepare him for his role in what is still to come?”

The only voice to respond was Nathan’s. In an exhausted monotone he said, “Just tell me Narried.” He gestured out the window to the smoke rising over the trees. “I don’t think we have time to wait for the dead to answer.”

Tugging at her skirt she fussed, “It would have been easier if she had told you someting.” With a deep sigh she said, “Johanne Sansericq, the woman Ninon never mentioned to you was your great, great grandmother. In 1904 she fled Haiti with two other women, Gaille Druin and Christina Villedrouin. They not sisters, these three, but they tied together by blood all the same. They wanted in Haiti for the murder of one of General Nord Alexis’s colonels.” A look of distaste crossed her face. “A man go by the name of Jean-Claude Brunache.”

Nathan snapped into an upright position. “What did you say?”

She heard the recognition in his voice. “Oh sure that’s a name you know.” She waved away the questions forming on his lips. “Let me finish. As a man Brunache was a monster—aided by a powerful sorcerer, a bokor from the cochons gris sect he became nearly immortal. People spoke of his feats in hushed tones—they said he could disappear into the shadows, they said he could manipulate the shadows into taking shape, they said he was indestructible and the machete he carried was honed by the Petra Loa themselves. Above all this he was feared and loathed for his craving of young flesh.” She met Nathan’s eyes to make sure he understood what she was saying. “He fed on the children of the villages.”

She let the information register before continuing. “Voodoo priests from different societies called on the Loa to end Brunache’s reign of terror—each was given a sign and soon rumors circulated throughout the villages. They said Bruanche would be defeated by members from three families.” She held up three fingers. “Sansericq, Druin and Villedrouin.”

She nodded sadly, “Brunache heard the rumors and set out to exterminate the three bloodlines. He burned villages, murdered men women and children and nearly succeeded in wiping out the three bloodlines. Those who survived the deadly raids took shelter in rebel camps in the mountains and bided their time until vengeance could be taken.

As you may have surmised three women succeeded where an army of men failed. Killing Brunache was not enough—his soul belonged to the bokor and left untended could be called to darkness again. Using an ancient voodoo ritual a Houngan trapped Brunache’s soul in a clay box—a govi. After killing Brunache, the three women secured passage to Louisiana and fled Haiti with both the govi and the machete; certain if either fell into the wrong hands the carnage would begin again.”

Nathan murmured, “It happened anyway, didn’t it?”

She responded in a solemn tone. “Yes. It did.”

His eyes flicked over her. “When did you learn about Brunache?”

“I guess my père tell me it when I’m twelve, the same year the gypsies come to town and the heat settle down over Reserve in a long deadly embrace.” She nodded to herself. “He took me out to the field where the gypsies had camped to have a look around, and told me his mère took him to the same field when he was twelve. Tinking back I guess he hope the heat was just a Louisiana summer kickin’ up a fuss, like a spoiled child, too stubborn to let go, but it wasn’t and it didn’t let up—the heat is a curse. It is intended to deter any from moving the sacred govi.