DESCENT

by Sandy DeLuca

  A young couple speaks softly at a table. The girl’s arms are tattooed. There are scars on her wrists. She slips money from her pocket, slides it across the table, watches the man scoop it up.

  His head is shaved. His fingernails are long. He’s clad in leather. He removes a small packet from his shirt pocket, dangles it in front of her. She begins to cry.

  Why do we hurt each other so badly, take advantage of our frailties and our innocence?

  CHAPTER 48

  The bargain before my eyes is sealed. The man leans over, wipes away the girl’s tears with a twenty dollar bill. He speaks softly to her but she continues to weep. I try not to stare, wonder if they were once lovers and if he still uses her that way.

  The counter man asks if he can help me. His eyes are red and his hands shake as he takes my order: a cranberry muffin and a large coffee. I know he’s got a gun stashed beneath the counter. I see it vividly in my mind and wonder if Sammy will storm in here at any moment, scoop up the gun and kill us all.

  I take a seat at the rear of the restaurant. The floor is linoleum, timeworn and dark in places, shiny and gray in others. The windows are streaked, the tables battered and covered with checkered place mats and tarnished silverware.

  A man wearing a stained pair of jeans and a ripped shirt sits at a nearby booth. He’s been watching me since I arrived.

  What the hell am I doing here?

  Everlasting love. The voice echoes inside my head.

  * * *

  I didn’t understand back then that my parents said and did things without thinking, that my mother wasn’t right and that no one in my family would ever disown me—no matter what I did. It took me years to acquire the wisdom to see that.

  It took a day for Sammy to strip me of any pride or dignity I had left.

  He didn’t bother looking for a new room like he’d promised, and stopped talking about getting help.

  “Can’t find work.” That was his line each time he’d walk through the door stoned, or smelling of stale perfume.

  “I thought Jericho had a job for you.”

  “I stop and see Jericho and Johnny for a while every day and I talked to Jericho about that job but it doesn’t sound right for me—not now. I don’t want to do hard labor, Julia. Fuck that. I’ve got something better. And once I got it all down just right, I won’t need to work.”

  Sammy hadn’t graduated from high school. He’d learned basic carpentry skills from Bob Stanni, and had a bit of construction experience, but mostly he’d worked in a jewelry factory. He claimed he could box, but I never saw him in the ring. The way I saw it, he should have been grateful for the offer Jericho had made, but I didn’t express how I felt. I just kept it all inside. It was much safer that way.

  I tossed and turned in bed when he wasn’t there. When I did sleep the dreams were strange—always the same. Sammy was sitting on the beach. The sand was littered with bones. He’d float away, over the ocean, high above a distant city. Blood would rain upon the buildings and in the streets. And he’d laugh like a murderous banshee.

  On a Friday evening, when thunder and lightning rolled and crackled above, Sammy came home reeking of hash. There was blood on his shirt. There were scratches on his face and arms. His jeans were torn at the knee.

  I wanted to scream when he said, “I’ve got mojo inside me. I’m gaining more power each day. It’s in the book. I’ve seen the Master. I’ve spoken to Him.”

  He removed the book from his pocket. “There’s a beach a couple miles from here. It’s not touristy, just a small spot hidden behind some rotting palm trees. I found it one night when I was walking.” He sucked in his breath and his eyes lit up with excitement. “I’ve been studying this. I’ve read it over and over. Memorized most of it. I’ve got it all perfect now. He comes to me, takes me by the hand, promises me great things—an easy life, so why the hell should I work construction when I have Him?”

  “Sammy, you promised you’d get help. What are you doing? You’re sick, you—”

  “I’ve gotten help, can’t you see that? You’re not listening, and you don’t believe. That’s not my fucking fault.”

  “Sammy, I—”

  “Leave me the fuck alone.” He tucked the book back in his pocket. “I’m meeting the guys. Don’t wait up.”

  It didn’t matter that I hadn’t eaten all day or that my eyes were red from crying, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

  A moment later I heard his laughter, a feminine voice and then another. The rain spattered against the windows.

  Sammy didn’t come back all night.

  * * *

  The counter man pours my coffee, asks if I’d like more butter. The edges of the muffin are hard and the butter smells bad, but the coffee is strong and hot. If my Aunt were here she’d demand a refund. She’d dump everything in the trash and scold me for eating in such a place. She’d sprinkle salt on the storefront threshold and toss holy water on the pavement.

  For a moment I think I see her sitting across from me. But there’s no one there. I’m going mad.

  I run my hand across the clean but aged table.

  The sad man behind the counter looks at me curiously. I sip my coffee and break off pieces of the muffin. He shakes his head as I toss the butter into a nearby garbage can.

  CHAPTER 49

  “Curses from the evil lips are potent, but strong magic can overcome them.”

  The man in stained clothing is babbling, still staring at me. He rises from his booth, swaggers a bit, and then regains his balance. I smell sweat and liquor. I ignore him as he takes a seat across from me.

  “Look, I don’t need this shit,” I tell him. “Not today. You try to touch me and I’ll—

  “You got the mojo in you,” he says, staring at the silver jewelry hanging around my neck. “You got to meet the Devil later?”

  I look into his eyes for the first time. They’re bloodshot and ringed with dark circles.

  I hear my aunt Lil’s voice. There are trials we all must endure. There’s shit you gotta face that’s just plain bad. Sometimes messengers come from out of nowhere. Just listen.

  I tell myself to run. But I stay. I wait. I listen for the madness, and it speaks to me.

  * * *

  I peered out the window. Sammy was talking to the Cuban sisters. They were all down by the pool. The women nodded their heads and their colorful hoop earrings dangled and danced. Old men sat by the pool, white-skinned and oblivious to the chatter—to the high-pitched laughter escaping the younger sister’s lips each time Sammy moved a bit closer to her. The older sister, Maria, seemed guarded as always and once or twice glanced up to the window where I stood watching.

  Sammy put his arm around Estrella, slowly guided her around the pool and out of sight.

  Maria took a drag from her cigarette, threw the butt on the cement and ground it out with her foot. She looked up once again, shook her head and walked away, cursing in Spanish.

  Sammy came back two hours later, arms filled with clean towels and sheets.

  “I gave the Cuban bitches extra money and they’ll be doing the laundry from now on. This way we don’t have to go to the Laundromat so much.”

  I held the clean sheets close to me, smelled the fresh scent and looked at our unmade beds—stained with blood, smelling of sex and feeling gritty when I laid down to sleep on them.

  I removed them and unfolded the new sheets and pillowcases. A colorful hoop earring tumbled out of a sheet and I noticed a small dark stain on the border of the flowered pillowcase.

  Sammy smiled. “Damn Cubans must lose their bangles everywhere. I found one down by the pool the other day too.”

  * * *

  “I ain’t what it looks like.” Spit dribbles down the ragged man’s chin. “I see things other people don’t, and I see you got strong stuff inside of you.”

  The counter man is standing a few feet away and sees what’s happening. “Mojo man,” he says, “I filled up a bag of day-old muffins an
d some bread. Don’t bother the lady. Take it and go. I’ll even give you another cup of coffee, all right? Just leave the customers alone.”

  Mojo man flashes a toothless smile. “Earth spun almost twenty-one times since it all was set in motion. Still spinning. Still changing with every breath you take.” He reaches across the table. I don’t flinch or pull away when he grabs my hand. “Karma’s a bitch. The bad shit always comes back if you don’t make things right.” He taps his fingers on the table and looks deep into my eyes.

  “Mojo man,” the counter man says again, this time in an agitated tone as he waves a brown paper bag in the air.

  Mojo man takes the bag and seems to glide out of the restaurant. I can hear him as he makes his way out the door. “Spinning, spinning. Changing. Changing.”

  CHAPTER 50

  Just like us, the world is constantly evolving, the seasons changing, coming and going, delicately balanced between death and rebirth. But sometimes memories of men like Sammy turn the landscape dark and dirty, and I need to hide inside the filth, wrap myself in layers of soiled rags and to submit to the con-sequences of my own fate.

  The counter man apologizes to me, but I ignore him. I need to keep moving now, closer to what’s going down.

  * * *

  There were nights when Sammy brought Jericho and Johnny by. They’d smoke dope and speak in hushed tones by the pool. I’d watched them from the window, wonder what their discussions were about.

  One night Jericho knocked on our door, gazed at me almost longingly and asked, “Julia, you want to join us tonight?”

  Sammy laughed. “Shit, we’ve got to talk man-to-man. No place for her in all that. You stay put, Julia.”

  “Another time then.” Jericho turned, hunched his shoulders and walked slowly away.

  Sometimes, during their rap sessions, the Cortez sisters would walk by on their way to the laundry room, or to collect rent from a guest. Sammy would check the girls out; make an effort to get their attention, and Jericho would gaze toward my window as if he knew I was watching. His gaze would linger for a few seconds and then he’d take a pull from a joint, seemingly lost in thought, far away from the mosquito filled pool and the smell of laundry powder—from Maria’s swaying hips as she passed by.

  I figured Sammy probably had something going on with the women. They were older than he was, but very striking.

  Once Maria tried to warn me, in her own way. “You got a lot to learn about men, about the way—”

  “Be quiet,” her sister cut her off. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, Jericho seems to have eyes for her anyway. He’ll be her angel of mercy. He’s the one you saw in the cards, I just know it.”

  And while I wanted to believe her, an icy sarcasm dripped from Estrella’s voice whenever she mentioned Jericho’s name.

  “I guess I love Sammy,” I told them. “I’m bound to him.” But the truth was that I was scared to death to even attempt leaving him, afraid that he’d hunt me down and kill me.

  “Honey, don’t you ever wonder what he’s doing when he stays out late? When he doesn’t come back for hours at a time?”

  “He’s with Jericho and Johnny, or he’s studying his book.”

  “Oh, the book of love?” Maria’s eyes took on a mischievous glint. “There’s lust potions in it, no?”

  I was too naive to understand the way Maria teased me, or to always know if and when Sammy fooled with other women. Maybe I was too stupid to catch on to what the sisters were talking about, or maybe it was just easier that way.

  Not long after that conversation, I was coming back from the vending machines with some sodas one night when I heard Johnny talking to Sammy about Dagger’s and a card game they’d had the previous night. “I thought the blonde you scored was good-looking, but that Maria’s got quite the rack.”

  They didn’t realize I was close by until they heard me padding across the cement.

  “Look man, don’t joke like that,” Sammy said, still laughing. “My old lady here, she gets jealous.”

  “Yeah, sure, Sammy. Whatever.” Johnny was high. I told myself he didn’t know what he was saying.

  I looked over at Jericho, who was sitting there too, the usual concern in his eyes. “Julia, have you eaten anything today? We’ve been here since before supper and all I’ve seen you do is drink a Coke.”

  “I’m OK. I’m going to sit with Maria and Estrella in a bit. They’ve always got munchies around.”

  “They’re really into star gazing and the Tarot. I passed by there a few times, saw Maria shuffling cards, heard her comment about Mercury going retro. I love that shit too.” Jericho took a deep hit from a joint Johnny had passed to him.

  “That’s Disney Land shit compared to what I know—what I have.” Sammy was preening around, doing mock moves and shadowboxing like a little kid. He slipped his hand inside his pocket and brought out the book. “I’ve got a treasure, above all treasures.” He opened it and fanned the pages.

  For the first time I noticed it was handwritten.

  “This,” Sammy said, tapping the cover, “is the ticket to all the pleasures of the world.”

  Jericho’s face turned white and his hand trembled as he passed the joint back to Johnny, but I could tell he was trying to play it cool. “What the hell you on tonight, Sammy? Get a hold of some bad shit or what?” he chuckled. “What you got there, a diary?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t write it.”

  “Let me see it,” Jericho said.

  Sammy handed the book to Jericho.

  Johnny leaned back in his chair, waited for Jericho to speak, to make a move.

  Jericho glanced at the book, studied the stained leather. A soft whistle escaped his lips as he scanned the pages. “Looks like a magical grimoire of some type. References to the planets and the elements. What’s this shit about blood? This thing gets heavy?”

  Suddenly Sammy was no longer laughing. “Give it back, man, you don’t know shit.” He tore the book from Jericho’s hands.

  Jericho remained calm, looked at Johnny and said, “I guess not.”

  Sammy tucked the book back inside his pocket. “I made sacrifices for this book. You got no idea what it’s all about or how fucking powerful it is.”

  Jericho turned back to him, his expression blank. “Then why don’t you tell me?”

  “It was written by The Devil himself.”

  Silence permeated the area for a moment. Sammy stared at the two men as if weighing their reaction, or lack thereof, then suddenly continued to shadow box, preening every now and then, craning his neck to see if Maria was in the laundry room. “You don’t know nothing about it,” he muttered. “Don’t want to be fucking with me about it, either. I’ve met the Devil.”

  I noticed Salvatore standing on the balcony, looking down at us, and I heard a dog barking in his room.

  Jericho slowly stood up, moved close to my side and spoke to me in a soft voice only I could hear. “I’ve met The Devil too. I just don’t fuck with him.”

  * * *

  No harm in saying a little prayer now, I tell myself. I try to remember the last time I prayed, realize it was years ago with Aunt Lil.

  I begin a Hail Mary but can’t remember all the words. My hands are shaking.

  Hail Mary…

  Lil’s voice is loud and clear in my head, reciting her prayer instead. By the power of water, earth, air and fire I conjure protection and the will to do the right thing.

  I feel the familiar heat rise from my heart; make its way into my belly, down my legs and throughout my entire body.

  The magic is here. Or is it just a mad woman’s imagination?

  I leave the counter man a couple bucks for his trouble then make my way out the door. Mojo Man is huddled against the building. I give him a ten-dollar bill.

  “May the wings of an angel touch you,” he says. “I’m off to the carnival now.” He winks and saunters away humming a ragged tune.

  CHAPTER 51

  I look
at my fingers. These hands have brought me fortune, but also great heartache.

  I sigh. There’s still plenty of time, but I’m frightened. I stand in the restaurant doorway and watch a crow swoop down to the pavement. He pecks at crumbs. His wings flap and he soars away.

  I close my eyes and see Lil’s face guiding me through life; guiding me in the ways of magic.

  It’s the powerful forces inside you, Julia. The crow is a symbol of your soul’s journey, of creation itself. It’s up to you to draw upon that power.

  I wish I could believe it. I wish the voices in my head were real.

  * * *

  The headlines read: THE DEVIL IS LOOSE IN THE EAST.

  It was all over the newspapers.

  They called him The Eastern Seaboard Spree Killer, and mentioned murders in Washington, D.C. And further up north. I thought about Andra and Lucy. Sammy told me they’d spent some time in Washington. The papers said it looked like the work of a few people—possibly a gang or cult. So far the police had a few clues, but nothing solid.

  The manager of the hotel, who’d found Star’s body, stated that a longhaired hippie type had checked into the room. Folks at a gas station, across from the restaurant in Georgia, heard gunshots. They said they saw a man drive away in a black Mustang. It appeared he may have had a hostage with him—a young girl.

  The FBI was involved because the killings had occurred in more than one state.

  Surely Aunt Lil had received my drawings by then. Why hadn’t she contacted the police? They’d know where to find us. The return address was written on the envelope. Was she too scared, afraid that Sammy would harm me further? Or was she too cautious to get the police involved? Was she brewing a potent spell to break Sammy’s hold on me? I imagined Lil fishing though her Nanta bag, spreading stones within a chalk circle, praying to the Mother.