The Killings (21 page)

“But why did they let her live there? And how could ... how could all those changes of ownership ... how could people who didn’t even
know
her just let her live there like that?”

“Do you practice Yoruba magic?”

Carmen shook her head. “No. Do you?”

Dr. Alexander grinned slightly. “My seeking that book at the library was due to my faith. I am a
houngan
. You are aware of that term?”

Carmen nodded again. “A
houngan
is like a priest. A voodoo holy man.”

“That is correct. I am a
houngan asogwe
- I am the highest member of clergy in my group, which consists of a broad spectrum of people in the city of Atlanta, from all walks of life. It’s my role to preserve rituals and maintain the relationships between the spirits and our community, as well as lead our religious services. There’s more than that though - a
houngan
also acts as a faith healer.
Vodun
is a benign religion. Our people used it to help each other. For protection. You understand?”

Carmen was excited. Dr. Alexander was an expert. If he didn’t have the answers, those answers probably no longer existed. “How long have you been practicing it?”

“Well over thirty years,” Dr. Alexander said. He focused on Carmen from across the desk. “
Vodun,
or Voodoo as it is usually called, is an Afro-Caribbean religion,” Dr. Alexander explained. “Elements of it were brought over by African slaves. It flourished throughout the American south in the eighteenth and nineteenth century, especially among the French Caribbean slaves. That is the branch of voodoo I practice, what is called New Orleans voodoo. It’s more an Americanized version. There is Haitian voodoo, which is similar. There is
Santeria,
which is more rooted within the Afro-Caribbean-Hispanic community. It figures very heavily in Florida, especially Miami, as well as the southern border of Texas and into Mexico. What they all have in common is they share roots with the old Yoruba religion. You read about this in the Weber volume?”

Carmen nodded. “I know it took elements of Christianity - specifically Catholicism - as part of its base.”

“Do you know what a
bokor
is?”

Carmen frowned. “No.”

“A bokor is like a houngan, but they are also sorcerers. This is what sets them apart from houngans. They are often for hire and are said to serve the
loa
with both hands. This means they practice both dark magic and light magic. Both houngans and
mambos
can be bokors.”

“What’s a mambo?”

“A female houngan.”

Carmen saw where this was going. “Sable was a mambo? A bokor?”

Dr. Alexander nodded, his features pensive. “Yes - and no. She wasn’t a bokor in the traditional sense because it can mean different things in different pantheons of voodoo. But for our purpose, yes, she was a bokor. She played both hands, working with
Baron Samedi, Kalfou,
and
Legba
.”

“Who are they?”

Dr. Alexander dismissed Carmen’s question. “Loas. If you want a crash course in voodoo, I suggest you take my course on the subject. Regardless, Sable became the most feared slave throughout Georgia, throughout the South for that matter. She had such power over the loas that even Marie Leaveau was said to be afraid of her.”

Carmen wasn’t interested in hearing about why Grandma Sable had gone completely over to the dark side of this old African religion. The hatred that had been burned into her had no doubt been done courtesy of her White masters. And what happens to one who is constantly and systematically abused for years? What happens to a dog that is abused and tortured? It strikes back and attacks its abusers.

“Dr. Alexander, does the term, the Fury mean anything to you?”

Dr. Alexander’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

Carmen was thinking out loud, trying to connect the dots. “I spoke to the Atlanta Child Murderer Wayne Williams. He said when he was a kid, he knew Sable. All the kids knew her. He said she was a calming presence to them but that she spoke of something she called the Fury. He said she seemed to speak of it with pain and regret. Some of my research into this led me all the way back to 1911, to the Atlanta Ripper case. Are you familiar with that?”

Dr. Alexander nodded. “Of course.”

“I came across some old files in the archives of the
Atlanta Constitution,
where I work. I found what appears to be an old notebook kept by one of the civilian investigators. A man named Robert Jackson. You know about the civilian investigators, right?”

“Sure,” Dr. Alexander said. “Negro detectives. They weren’t formally deputized. The police chief at the time thought they could get more information on a suspect by using African American detectives.”

“Right.” Carmen nodded. “I skimmed through it last night. He talks about the same thing - the Fury.”

“So?”

“Daniel Weber only refers to Sable by the name given to her by her slave owners way back before the Civil War,” Carmen continued. “But after the Civil War, during Emancipation, many African Americans took on the names of their slave masters. Of course those who knew her probably continued to just call her Sable. But I’m willing to bet she was given a last name, a proper American last name, the name of her slave owners. Do you know what it was?”

Dr. Alexander hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “I know. I found out shortly after I learned about her from that book. I knew about her even as a child, you see. I come from a long line of houngans. I was raised within the voodoo religion. My father was a houngan, as was my grandfather. Sable’s name … was spoken with much reverence and fear in our household. But when I became of age and assumed the title of houngan, I learned more.” He regarded her from across his large desk. “Much more.”

“So you know the Fury is her curse?”

Dr. Alexander nodded. “And myself, my father, and my grandfather ... we’ve all tried to stop it. I almost
died
trying to stop it.” He paused briefly, eyes downcast. “Others
have
died trying to stop it.”

“What was her name?”

Dr. Alexander looked at her. “Jackson. She took the last name of Jackson back in 1871. The Jacksons owned a large plantation north of here. She had been sold to them shortly before the war ended. Unlike her former slave owners, they treated her fairly well in comparison.” He shrugged. “No beatings. No rapes. Nothing ...
too
bad.”

“Did she have children?” Carmen asked, already putting two and two together.

“Several,” Dr. Alexander said. “Most were born in the 1820s. They were all sold. But in 1842 she had a son that she was allowed to keep. Twenty years later, after slavery ended, her son and his woman had a child, a girl. Her name was Tonya. After the war, Sable went with her son and his family to work at the Jackson plantation. That’s when they all took the Jackson family name. When Tonya grew up, she went to work for a large plantation in Cobb County run by the Jeremiah family. By then Tonya had become a mother - she had a boy named Robert.”

I knew it,
Carmen thought, feeling everything start to click together.

“Tonya and Robert lived on the plantation. By then Sable was living in a shack at the edge of Cobb County. She didn’t work the plantations anymore, but she was well known to the servants in other ways. You see, she had never given up the old ways. She still made her sacrifices to Baron Samedi, to Orisha, to Legba.”

Carmen nodded at Dr. Alexander to continue.

Dr. Alexander sighed and shook his head. He looked uneasy, almost fearful. Carmen had grown used to seeing that look when Grandma Sable’s name came up. “Most of what I learned was from oral tradition,” he said. “I spent a lot of time talking to a houngan who had been involved in Vodun since 1929. He had been raised in the religion much like myself. His own father spoke very highly of Sable - they still called her that, you know. She never went by her slave name.”

“She was upset with her son and granddaughter for taking on the Jackson name,” Carmen said. “And she was probably forced into taking it on herself.”

“She was
furious
!” Dr. Alexander said, nearly hissing the word. “She was insane with rage, with anger, with hate. She had a great falling out with her family because of it. That’s why she left the plantation and went off to the woods to live in that shack. She had that built - I don’t know who did it for her, but if we take the power she had over people into consideration, I believe she had people in the community build it for her.”

“I have to ask you, Dr. Alexander. Her age. Born in 1799? Really? How is that possible?”

“I spoke of her power,” Dr. Alexander said. His eyes darted around the room as if he were nervous. “There’s something you need to know about bokors. They are usually chosen from birth when it is believed they bear a great ashe, or power. There is no information on Sable’s mother, but it is very likely her mother was a mambo, that she recognized that her daughter had a great ashe when she was just an infant and was thus chosen to be a bokor.”

“And that power was strong enough to give her such a long lifespan?”

“No, but Daniel Weber wrote about her ability to harness the dark side, to reach beyond the pantheons of voodoo.” Dr. Alexander paused for a moment, as if unsure how to continue. “This is only my opinion. I’ve never spoken to anyone of this, and if anybody comes around and asks me about it later, I will deny it and I will deny ever meeting with you. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Carmen’s heart was racing.

“I believe Sable made a pact with
Marinette,
and
Kalfu,
who are
Petwo loa
. These loa originated under the harsh conditions of slavery. Marinette is a cruel and vicious loa. She is believed to be the mambo who sacrificed the black pig at the culmination of the start of the first Haitian Revolution. You are aware of this revolution?”

Carmen nodded. “Just what I learned in college. It was a slave uprising in Haiti around the beginning of the nineteenth century.”

“It culminated in the elimination of slavery in that country, in 1804.” Dr. Alexander leveled a serious gaze at her.

“The year Sable was sold?”

Dr. Alexander nodded. “Marinette was said to be elevated to loa status after her death. She is greatly feared, but she is also seen as one who frees her people from bondage.”

“What about the other one?”

“Kalfu is one of the petwo aspects of Papa Legba, but he is seen as a young man or a demon. His name means
crossroads,
which means he has the power to grant or deny access to all other loa. He also allows the crossing of bad luck from the spirit world, particularly destruction. He is a much feared and respected loa, said to be the grand master of charms and sorceries and is closely associated with black magic. In fact, he is often considered analogous with Satan.”

“So you’re saying she conjured these loas?”

“Sable would have had the power as a bokor to call to them. I believe she called on them and utilized their dark magic to create a separate entity that would serve as a sort of familiar to her grandson - her great-grandson, really. A separate entity that would remain with him, take possession of him, if you will, to work him much like a houngan utilizes a
zombi
for his efforts. I believe she granted them access here in the form of this familiar in exchange for this protection. In return, they granted her the power of a long life, and that it was this dark force, this dark
rage,
that enabled her to live for so long.”

“It’s so hard to believe.” In the few weeks since her last talk with Wayne Williams, she had conducted more intense research on deaths involving the elderly covering the period of 1967 to 1970. None of those elderly who died in the Old Fourth Ward neighborhood matched Grandma Sable’s description. “How can anybody live that long?”

“It’s very rare, but it isn’t entirely unheard of for one to reach an incredibly advanced age. There is a woman from the former Russian territory of Georgia who just last year celebrated her one hundred thirtieth birthday. Other people from that area, as well as some Asian-Pacific people, have reportedly lived to great ages.”

“But a hundred and seventy-plus years?”

Dr. Alexander shrugged. “If she had the genes, and if the magic she worked was involved ... yes ... it’s very possible.”

Carmen thought about this for a moment and then posed a question. “Do you know if she died?”

Dr. Alexander sighed and nodded. “Yes. She did. April 4, 1970. She died in that home you speak of. The spirits informed my father, who was our houngan at the time. He made sure her body was removed and taken care of.”

“What happened to it?”

“Her remains were interred in a special place. Away from prying eyes, from those who might wish to further her evil.”

Carmen nodded. “You indicated she almost died once before. When was that?”

“In 1901. Her great-grandson, Robert, found her in her shack near death and brought the village houngan in to tend to her. Last rites were given, but that only made her mad. It was said that she looked at Robert and told him that she’d given him a gift, something that would never leave him, something that had protected him ever since he was a child. She didn’t tell him what this was, only that she had conjured it in a ritual long ago when he was young. She told him it had been with him ever since, that it had served him well ... but that it was now awake and hungry.”

Carmen shuddered at the thought.

“That little talk seemed to rejuvenate her. Robert dismissed her as crazy. He was a young man then, a rather good-looking one too, so I am told. The folks from the neighborhood began to take care of Sable and for the next several years she got better, seemed to thrive almost.” Dr. Alexander paused. “And young African American women began to be slaughtered.”

“The Ripper killings,” Carmen said.

Dr. Alexander slowly nodded.

“You knew about this?”

“It’s long been a suspicion. I have no solid proof, and neither do you. I’m only relaying the stories handed down from my grandfather to my own father, and the houngan I spoke of earlier.” For the first time, he looked grave. “If what I suspect is true, what Sable unleashed has survived. It has gone through periodic slumbers only to awaken and attach itself to another host, which it influences to kill for it.”