Voodoo

Voodoo

Samantha Boyette

© 2012, Samantha Boyette
Self publishing
www.SamanthaBoyette.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

1.

The car was flipping. I felt like the whole thing was in slow motion. I saw the world right side up, and then it seemed to slowly turn until it was upside down. That happened three times. Under all the fear I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the other car. In the background I could hear a girl screaming, but I wasn't sure if it was me or my sister.

Finally, with the world upside down, we came to a stop. Glass rained down around me, sparkling on the roof of the car below my head. I was hanging by my seat belt, dazed and disoriented, hair in my face. My body still felt like we were flipping, my head still throbbed in pain. I put my hand up to it and it came back wet with warm blood. I stared at my fingers, unable to comprehend that it was my blood. Seeing the blood made it all real and panic raged to life.

I glanced at Claire in the driver's seat, only she wasn't there. Her seat belt had failed at some point, and she lay sprawled across the ceiling in a bed of broken glass and scattered CDs. Her hair was matted with blood on one side.

“Claire? Claire?” My voice came out higher than usual. I barely recognized it. My heart fluttered in my chest. She didn’t respond.

That got my mind going. Fumbling with my seat belt, my fingers found the release button. I dropped with no grace to the ceiling. I landed face first, and the world went dark.

I opened my eyes. I knew time had passed, but I had no idea how long. I hoped it had only been minutes. It couldn't have been much longer; someone would have come to help us if it was longer. I lifted my head. When I tried to push myself up to crawl, nausea washed over me. I made it a couple inches toward Claire before I collapsed into darkness again.

“We got two here,” someone yelled. My eyes fluttered open to see a black man in a paramedic’s jacket looking in the other side of the car. A moment of confusion filled me. Where was I? “Neither of them appears to be conscious,” he added. I would have corrected him if I hadn't passed back out.

Next I was in an ambulance. Now a woman with hair as blond as my own was holding a large plastic bubble over my mouth, slowly squeezing. She smiled when she saw my eyes open; she had a nice smile. I saw her turn to say something, but I didn't hear it.

Then lights were flashing by overhead. They were bright fluorescent ones that reminded me of school. I heard strangers speaking over me.

“We got these two, and another two from the other car.”

“Do we have ID on them?” someone asked.

“Yeah,” answered the first voice. “This one’s Alyssa Jacobs. That one is her sister, Claire. The other two . . .” I faded out of consciousness before I heard anything else.

I saw the operating room in jumps and flashes. Bright lights pointed down at me, while men dressed in surgical masks leaned over me. They cut away my shirt, and I felt oddly embarrassed. I welcomed the haze of sleep when it came again, though this time I knew it was artificial, their drugs pumping through me.

Then the world started to get strange.

I was standing on a city street, people walking past me without noticing. I spun in a circle, stumbling in my heels and almost falling. All the women wore pretty calf length dresses while the men were in suits, many with hats on. I looked down to see I was wearing the same sort of dress, black and white striped at the top with a black skirt. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever owned. Pain burned in my temples. I gripped my head, shoving my fingers through blond hair and willing myself not to scream as I teetered sideways. My eyes shut.

“She should be fine,” someone said. The voice sounded far away. “It's Claire we need to worry about.”

“No, please fix my baby.” My mom's voice was more a sob.

The street flickered back into focus, old and cobbled instead of smooth and new. I lay at the edge of the street, just on the sidewalk with my hand on the cobblestones. Bright light filled my vision; I was looking up at the fluorescent lights again. From the corner of my eye I could see mom and dad talking with a doctor.

Then I was on the street again. A woman ran by, long red hair seeming to float behind her. When she looked my way before crossing the street I saw it was Claire. Her smooth pale skin almost glowed. I’d never seen her looking so radiant. Relief flooded me; the doctors had no idea what they were talking about, she was fine. I tried to call out to her, but my voice was little more than a croak. I felt the hospital room tugging at me as I closed my eyes. I forced them open again, digging my fingers into the space between the stones of the street and clinging to it. If Claire was here, I wasn't leaving without her.

*

“Are you okay?”

I opened my eyes. A guy crouched beside me. He was probably in his late teens like me, with a dark complexion and black hair under his wide brimmed hat. Kind, brown eyes peered down at me, filled with concern. Looking past him, I realized I could hear all the noises of this world now. Gulls cried in the distance, and music was coming from somewhere. Someone was playing a horn and really getting into it, then a drum picked up a matching beat and someone whistled their approval.

Closer up, I heard the clatter of a street car’s wheels as it passed, and people talking around me. Only then did I realize the kind boy wasn't the only one looking at me. A few people were slowing their pace and stepping closer.

“I'm okay.” Slowly, I sat up. The guy offered me his hand and helped me to my feet. With his loose, tan suit he looked like he’d just stepped out of some Al Capone movie. Dizziness swept through me and I put a hand to my head, leaning into the guy.

“Whoa there. Come on, let's go,” he muttered. We took two steps forward, my legs shaky beneath me. As they began to collapse, he put an arm around my waist and led me away from the growing crowd.

“Thank you.” I tried to focus on keeping my feet moving forward, but they seemed miles away from my control.

“Never a good idea to draw attention around here.”

“Where is here?” I leaned against him, still feeling shaky and grateful for his support. He felt strong beside me, and I appreciated that more than anything.

“Crescent,” he answered, turning me down an alley. “How did you get here?”

“I, I'm not sure. Did you see a redheaded girl out there?” I craned my neck, trying to look back toward the street. A flutter of fear slipped through me. Was I really letting this guy lead me off into an unfamiliar city?

“Not that I noticed,” he said. We turned onto another street, slightly less busy than the first. My fear ebbed away as we moved past others on the street. “She a friend of yours?”

“My sister,” I said. “I need to find her.”

“Then we have that in common.” He stopped and turned to face me, hands on my arms. He raised an eyebrow as he pulled his hands away. I felt steadier on my feet and was able to stand on my own, but I found I missed the feel of his strong hands. “I've been looking for my sister too. My name's Stephen Miller.” He put out his hand. I shook it. I smiled at the ridiculous formality of it.

“Alyssa Jacobs,” I said. What he had said hit me then. He was looking for his sister too? “Have you been looking for her long?”

“Feels like.” Stephen frowned. “But maybe not.” He looked off up the road, his eyes looking distant for a moment. I had the strange idea that he might fade away. Almost without thinking, I put my hand on his arm, bringing his attention back to me. “I was headed to see a woman who might be able to help,” he finished.
“What like a private detective?” I asked. Stephen gave me a half smile. For the first time it hit me how handsome he was.

“More like a voodoo queen, but I don't think she would call herself that.” He nodded to a man and a woman passing as they glanced at us.

“Voodoo queen?” I asked, skeptically. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. Word is Madam Delia can help you find anything. I've had a couple good leads on Hannah, but nothing has panned out.”

“Is Hannah your sister?” I asked. An old man playing a saxophone headed our way and Stephen pulled me to the side, letting him pass.

“Yeah, only thirteen years old.” Stephen’s face clouded with worry. “Crescent isn't a place for a girl that age to be alone.” He looked back at me. “Or any age for that matter. You should stick with me.”

I hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Fine with me.” I had no better leads and no one else on the street looked half as friendly as Stephen. I was beginning to understand what he meant about drawing attention. Already it seemed like people were looking at us. When Stephen began to walk again, I followed him.

Like the other street, this one was rutted with cobble stones. Cars that looked like they were straight out of an old gangster movie rolled along the street. They moved out of the way when a street car came hurtling down the road, pedestrians moving to avoid being hit. Twilight was falling over the city, bringing a cool breeze that made me wish I had a jacket. I hugged myself tightly as I walked beside Stephen.

Crescent
, I thought. Where the hell am I?

I would have been tempted to write the whole thing off as a dream if it didn't feel so real. I was cold; I could feel the breeze across my face and the brush of my skirt against my legs. The street had felt hard beneath me. This was no dream.

As we walked the streets became less and less populated, and the buildings around us deteriorated from freshly painted to barely standing. Soon we were in a neighborhood that I wouldn't have wanted to walk in alone. The cars were no longer shiny and new, and the few people we passed had a hard look to them. I found myself edging closer to Stephen.

*

A rickety building came into sight as we rounded a corner. It looked like barely more than a one room shack that could collapse at anytime. Once it might have been painted white, but if the condition of the paint was anything to go on, that was a long time ago. As we drew closer, I noticed an old wooden cross hanging above the door. In the pale light of the setting sun it didn't look like anyone in their right mind would be inside the building.

“This should be the place. Looks just like my source said it would,” Stephen said. We had stopped on the walk in front of the house. He seemed as hesitant to enter as I was.

“I don't know about this.” I looked up and down the street. If anything went wrong inside the small building, no one was going to come to our rescue. I could swear the sun was setting faster as we stood on the rapidly darkening street.

“Come on, it's our best chance,” Stephen said.

He took my hand. In any other circumstance I would have wondered what the hell he was doing; we barely knew each other. At that moment I welcomed the comfort. I took some strength from holding his hand as we approached the building. He let go of my hand when he knocked on the door.

There was no answer for a long minute. As Stephen raised his hand to knock again, we heard locks sliding, and the door opened a crack. A boy stared out at us with wide dark eyes set in chestnut brown face. The whites of his eyes seemed to almost glow as he looked up at us from just above the door handle.

“We're here to see Madam Delia,” Stephen said when the child didn't speak.

“You got an appointment?” the boy asked in the high clear voice of a child.

“I got gold.” Stephen hefted a small bag up and down where the boy could see it.

The boy’s eyes widened, and he grinned. “Alright then.” He pulled the door open just wide enough for us to slip through.

Stephen stepped inside, and I slipped in after him. I was barely through the door before the boy shut it and slid four locks back into place. He had to stand on a stool to reach the top lock. I had thought he was maybe ten, based on his height, but I was wrong. In the flickering candlelight I could see he was closer to seven, his cheeks still rounded as a baby’s. He wore pants that buttoned just below his knees and a loose white collared shirt.