The Drought (47 page)

Her strong voice crossed the distance arriving before her small frame. “I knew your mother.”

The dark smoldering eyes swiveled away from Jar and came to rest on Narried. The spirit scoffed at her, “I have no mother.”

“No. No I imagine that’s true, but Griffin did. He still in there with you? You wouldn’t bother with dis boy.” Narried let her hand drift down toward Jar. “But Griffin, now that’s different, this boy mean someting to him. He still in control then?”

Narried cast her eyes past the dark shadow of Brunache. Speaking directly to Griffin she said, “You still want to know about your mother, Griffin? You want to know if she called out your name? What her last words were? I was there.” Her voice was softness itself, as if she were coaxing a frightened kitten from beneath a deserted house.

Something in those dark eyes flickered, it was the slightest movement, but Narried was watching for it and she didn’t waste a second.

“Anselina, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” She sighed deeply as if she herself longed for a glimpse of the beautiful gypsy girl.

Inside the burned and damaged body, Griffin Tanner could hear the words of the old woman drifting on the smoke. He looked down at Jared Riley. The boy’s breathing was shallow, indiscernible to the naked eye, but he knew the child was still alive. He could finish the boy right there and kill the woman next. She was too weak and too old to stop him. Brunache, ready to taste the flesh of the child, urged him on.
Finish it, forget the old woman.

All those years he had spent trying to track down his mother, all the unasked questions surfaced. He would kill the boy after he heard the details of his mother’s last days. “Tell me.”

Narried treaded across treacherous ground. No part of her story would pacify Griffin Tanner. The death of his mother had been a drawn out, grisly ordeal, and she had been a participant. The only thing she could hope to accomplish with her tale was a little bit of time. Enough time she hoped for Nute to get the boy and get going.

In the smoke-filled streets of Reserve, with a fire blazing across the town, Narried Savoi recounted the story of Anselina for the second time in one night. She left nothing out, including her role in the dismembering. She could tell how the details affected the man by the grip he held on the machete. During the grisly parts, his hands tightened and the blood left his fingers. It occurred to Narried in the telling she would not survive the encounter and the words she spoke would be her last. But the thought did not trouble her. She was right with the Loa and there was peace in knowing what had been set in motion so many years ago would end soon.

Finishing her story, Narried said, “She’s in there with you, Griffin. He’s hiding her from you but what you want to know is right there with you. Feel for your mother, Griffin. Everyt’ing Brunache ever touched is riding in there wit you. You got to be strong. Take what’s yours. I told you all I know, it’s up to you to get de answers you been searching for all these years.”

When the blow came, Narried wasn’t certain if it came from Griffin Tanner avenging his mother’s horrible death or from Brunache trying to silence her words. She looked down. All that showed was the hilt of the machete. It looked like a trick of the eye, like a child’s prank, a knife without a blade, just the hilt. But it was no prank. The burning was like nothing she had ever known. Trying to maintain her calm, and keep her purpose Narried at last glanced down at the wheel of the truck. The boy was gone.

Narried heard a savage cry and felt her feet leave the ground. The man had lifted her by the hilt of the machete embedded in her. Narried didn’t wait, she used the elevated height to her advantage. Gripping either side of Griffin Tanner’s head she began to chant in the ancient
langay,
invoking a ritual known to only a few mambo or Houngan outside of Haiti. Her palms, powdered with the ashes she had blown earlier, sizzled against his skin, and her words buckled his forehead until his eyes rolled back and he screamed with agony. Skin bubbled and slid away from his brow revealing bone. A fissure appeared in the white expanse of bone allowing a white essence to seep through like steam escaping a boiling pot. The ti-bon-ange stretched upward, dancing away from the writhing figure below.

Narried watched the spectral figure with fear and hope. Once the ti-bon-ange was free of its earthly body, Nute would be able to lure it away and capture it with the Govi. She could feel the guardian of the cross roads waiting for her, his top hat swept low out of respect for the dying. Her own departure from this world was only a matter of time—time enough to finish this last earth bound task.

She squeezed tighter.

*

Brunache felt the woman’s hands tighten like a vice grip and crush his skull with inhuman strength. The Loa were with her in her fight. Unbearable pain emanated from his ruptured head. It felt as if the top of his skull had been peeled back and someone was blithely pulling out the stuffing.

Bellowing with pain, he gripped the machete tighter and lifted the old woman into the air. Her palms peeled away from his cheeks, taking along strips of singed flesh. He held her aloft until the weight of her body wrought its own damage. The blade slid through bone and gristle exiting her breastplate and entering the more delicate flesh of her neck. With nothing left to resist its path of destruction, it slid sideways through her neck. Nearly decapitated, Narried Savoi’s lifeless body fell to the ground.

Nute watched from a distance. He saw a flurry of activity as the Loa surrounded Narried’s body—as a great Mambo, she was highly regarded among the Loa and warranted a personal escort to Guinee. Inside he grieved the loss of his oldest friend but he did not take his eyes from the ti-bon-ange hovering above the man’s head. Whispering secret words into his fist, cajoling pleas meant to woo the spirit, he kissed the creased section of his closed hand, flung it wide and sent the words into the night. They fluttered across the distance, drawn to the aura of the ti-bon-ange like moths to a flame.

It might have been the presence of the Loa, or perhaps Narried had failed to unshackle the ti-bon-ange before her death—either way the spirit reluctantly clung to its human husk, resisting Nute’s promises of a safe haven. For a moment it hovered just above the body of Griffin Tanner, a wavering wisp of spectral smoke. Then, as if spooked, it collapsed back through the skull bone. Reentering with such force it knocked the man to the ground.

Nute returned to the squad car with a heavy heart. He peered inside and saw the boy balled up in the front passenger seat. Nathan, pale and drawn, had managed to bring himself into a seated position in the back. He asked, “Is it over?”

Nute lied. “No worries mon, take the boy home, get him away from Reserve.” He opened the door and helped Nathan into the driver’s seat of the squad car.

During the transition, Nathan turned white but managed to stay conscious. He knew Narried had failed. Nute’s eyes, usually expressionless, revealed his loss. He said, “There must be something we can do.”

Nute shook his head. “Dere’s not’ing you can do. Go while you can.” He firmly shut the door on the squad. Holding the empty Govi, Nute turned and walked into the swirling smoke.

Reserve, Louisiana

The entire town of Reserve was ablaze. The fire, contained on one side by the flowing waters of the Mississippi, moved west along River Road devouring historic plantations as it drew irrevocably closer to the abandoned refineries lining the riverfront.

Nathan drove through the back streets trying to find a clear route to Highway 61. Each time he thought he was free of the fire engulfing the town of Reserve he would come to a road blocked by fallen trees still ablaze. Feeling like a rat in a deadly maze he would turn the squad around, backtrack and find a different route. Although the turns seemed random, the sequence of road blocks began to feel deftly orchestrated as if he were being led in a certain direction. Good or evil, whatever forces were guiding him through the streets of Reserve they did not want him to find a swift exit.

Another tree fell across the road.

“Goddamn it!” He swung the squad around in frustration. The force of the turn jolted his injured leg. Fresh pain radiated out from the wound. A brown haze came down over his vision forcing him to pull to the side of the road. He sucked air through his teeth in quick, short gasps. Tentatively he reached down to touch his bandaged leg. It was wet. He was still bleeding.

Sitting there for a moment he considered the different roads out of Reserve. A dirt lane he hadn’t tried ran through the park. On the other side it hit a feeder road and ran alongside the highway. “Okay then.” He spoke more to himself than the boy as he pulled back onto the road. “Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Several minutes later he drove past the baseball field and came to the dirt lane. The fire had not reached this section of town. The squad car bounced down the rutted road, each jolt sent a fresh wave of pain up Nathan’s leg. Halfway down the road a thick chain stopped him from proceeding. It had been put up to deter motorists from using the road as a shortcut to and from the highway. Nathan didn’t stop. He’d had enough deterrents for one night. He stomped on the gas pedal and broke through the barrier.

He took a deep breath knowing Highway 61 wasn’t but five minutes away. The next town over he’d stop at the hospital. The two of them were going to be okay.

“Go back.”

The two words were a croak, barely audible.

Nathan looked around not sure if he was hearing things. He looked down at the boy. Two eyes peered back at him.

The boy croaked again, “Go back.”

“Kid, we can’t go back. If we stay here, we’ll both die.”

“It’s not over.” The boy’s eyes turned red with suppressed emotion. “He’s just going to follow us. Where ever we go. He’ll hurt the people we love.” Jar was thinking of his mother. He was thinking of Junction. He’d gone all this way. He couldn’t just bring this hell back home. He couldn’t let Suzy die for nothing.

Unfolding from his curled position in the seat, Jar looked at Nathan and said the words that had been repeating in his head since the beginning of this journey. He said, “I don’t like to lose but I’m proud to have played in this game.”

Nathan pulled the cruiser to the side of the road. Staring out the windshield he said, “That was a hell of a game.”

Jar responded. “It sure was.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Nathan said, “How in the hell does a kid from Junction, Texas know anything about the Red Sox?”

Narrow shoulders shrugged up. “I dunno, me and Barry we’re big fans, always have been.”

“Those words Pete Rose said, what do you think he meant?”

This time there was a moment of silence as Jar gave the question some thought. Finally he said, “I think he was saying it’s okay to lose—that just being there was an honor. Every player on that field became a part of baseball history. For one game they were all a part of something bigger than themselves.”

“That’s a hell of an answer.” Nathan reached into his pocket and removed the baseball. “A special lady told me to return this to you when the time was right. If what you’re saying is we’re turning around to be a part of what’s playing out in town. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Then I have a feeling I’m not going to get another chance.”

Jar accepted the ball. It was warm to the touch. A light energy tingled in his fingertips and for a brief moment he saw the woman coming through the smoke, her hips swaying gently to and fro. He got the sense she had come to tell him something important. Concentrating he squeezed the ball and closed his eyes. The image disappeared.

Nathan turned the squad car around.

They drove for a bit, rolled over the broken chain and continued down the dirt lane. The return ride was slower. Nathan was in no hurry to rejoin the skirmish they had so recently escaped. Agador whined in the back seat.

They were passing by the baseball fields when the boy raised his voice in agitation. “Stop.” He pointed at the baseball diamond.

Perplexed, Nathan gave the boy an odd look. “Let me get this right, all hell’s breaking loose and you want to stop and play ball.”

“It’s not me, I just.” Groaning in frustration he held out the ball as if it might speak for itself. “I think we ended up here for a reason.” He looked at Nathan with pleading eyes. Eyes that begged,
don’t laugh, don’t think I’ve gone crazy.

Nathan recalled his earlier feeling, the feeling they were being led through town, blocked and rerouted like rats in a maze. Was it possible they had been routed to the baseball field? He thought of the words Narried had spoken earlier in the evening. “
Dis baseball is intertwined wid de boy.”
“What the hell.” He barked out a sharp laugh. “Why not.” He nosed the squad car up toward the baseball diamond and put it in park.