Sisters of the Mist

by Eric Wilder

  “Tell us about the misfits,” Abba said, ignoring my comment.

  “Three brothers and the person they’d brought with them: a slave.”

  “Slavery is abhorrent,” Abba said. “I don’t understand how people were able to treat other humans the way they did.”

  “That’s the point,” J.P. said. “This particular slave wasn’t quite human.”

  Abba was quick to take offense. “That’s a horrible thing to say. It’s just an excuse so the people enslaving them could justify their cruelty and lack of empathy.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad. This particular slave wasn’t black. More like a creature almost seven feet tall with yellow eyes, big teeth, and brown hair over most of her body. Even on her face.”

  “You mean like a bear?” Abba said.

  “More like a caveman, or in her case, cavewoman.”

  “How did she come to be a slave to these men?”

  “These brothers would have been in prison, and rightfully so if they had stayed in France. France released them from prison to help populate the new colony. They bought this female from someone aboard the ship they arrived in.”

  “And she was a slave to those people?”

  “They’d found her when she was young, living in a cave in southwest France. They raised her as a slave, beating and abusing her, and keeping her chained in a basement when she wasn’t working. They named her Lucy.”

  “How cruel,” Abba said.

  “As bad as they were, the brothers were worse. They not only beat and abused Lucy they also used her as a sex slave.”

  “That is simply detestable,” Abba said.

  “The brothers dealt in human misery. They had acquired a huge black man everyone called Prince that they’d trained as a boxer. When he wasn’t fighting, they kept him caged in the same room as Lucy. She spoke some guttural language no one understood, and Prince was the only person that could communicate with her.

  “Do you know why they called him Prince?” I asked.

  “Because of the tribal tattoos all over his body. He was supposedly from West Africa. People that knew about such things said it was a mark of royalty. Don’t know if he was, but he answered to the name.”

  “How did he get to New Orleans?” Rory asked.

  “Slave traders found him wandering near the coast. He was alone, a broken and grieving man.”

  “Does anyone know why?” Abba asked.

  “Supposedly, a warring tribe had massacred his family and burned his village while he was away. He was still in a state of deep depression when the slavers captured him and took him by slave ship to the West Indies. He eventually arrived in chains in New Orleans.

  “And the brothers bought him?” Abba asked.

  “He was big, very dark-skinned, and evil looking. Gambling was big in the colony, and they saw the potential to box him. They had trouble at first because he didn’t want to fight.”

  “At first?” I said.

  “He finally came around. They started by starving him and then using a bullwhip and the threat of death. In those days, a fight didn’t end until one of the fighters was either dead or else beat to a bloody pulp. The brothers began making lots of money with him. Didn’t matter none because he always ended up pretty beat up himself. Lucy was there to tend his wounds and nurse him back to health. He never lost until . . .”

  “Until what?” Abba asked.

  “He came up against someone he knew from Africa: his own son.” Abba’s hand went to her mouth. “Prince recognized who he was in the ring against. His son did not. The giant African refused to hit him. The crowd was going crazy, demanding that the son, a man as big as Prince, though lots younger, kill him. He came close to doing just that.”

  “But he didn’t?” Abba said.

  “Prince was comatose in the center of the ring, blood all over the place. The crowd thought he was dead. He didn’t move when the referee threw a bucket of water on him.

  “The three brothers lost their asses, and they were pissed. When they realized he was still alive, they thought about killing him themselves. Thoughts of a rematch changed their minds. Lucy was still awake, waiting for them, when they threw him on the dirt floor beside her, not bothering to chain him.”

  “Oh my God!” Abba said. “What did she do?”

  “Her kind couldn’t really cry. She started making a sound that sounded like chirping. It was her way of crying. She had Prince’s big head cradled in her arms. Thinking he was dead, she was rocking him like a baby. Somehow, through his stupor, he heard her, opened his eyes, and smiled. It was then that Lucy snapped.”

  J.P. grew silent as rain continued to fall and thunder rocked the hardwoods around them.

  “Continue with your story, lad,” Rory said.

  “Lucy laid Prince gently on the floor, then reached behind her, and yanked her chains from the wall. The room they lived in was a shed behind the main house. The three brothers were drunk, still angry as hell, and licking their proverbial wounds. They were all fit men in their own right. It didn’t matter because Lucy killed all three of them, beating them to death with the chain still attached to her wrist.

  “Her anger continued to rage, long after the men were dead on the floor. She tore a slat from a chair, stuffed it between her wrist and the manacle, and proceeded to twist the metal until it broke. She tossed the bloody chain on top of the men, ripped a blanket from one of the beds, and then returned to the shed for Prince.

  “They escaped through the darkness, Lucy carrying Prince in her big arms. They didn’t stop until they reached the Honey Island Swamp.”

  “How do you know all this?” Abba asked. “Surely you’re making it up.”

  “My uncle’s best friend was an Indian that had grown up in the swamp. He’d heard the story from his family. The Indians protected Prince and Lucy until the day they died.”

  “Prince survived?” I asked.

  “Not only did he survive, but he and Lucy also had many children before they died. Like their mama, they were big, hairy and had yellow eyes. The legend of the Swamp Monster began when someone spotted one of these creatures.”

  “You think they’re still out there?” Abba asked.

  J.P. nodded. “You can’t hear them over the sounds of the storm. Before we leave the swamp, I promise that you will.”

  Chapter 28

  Following a brief demonstration by J.P., we were all able to get into our hammocks with little trouble. Despite having my doubts, I’d fallen asleep almost immediately. It was still raining when we awoke the following morning.

  “Now what?” Abba asked.

  “We don’t have rain slickers, so we stay here until the storm passes.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” she said.

  “We’ll give it a few hours and then worry about it,” J.P. said.

  “What about breakfast?” Rory said. “I am starving.”

  J.P. grinned and said, “Want me to call room service?” Duly chastised, Rory didn’t answer. “There’s more trail mix in our packs and also packages of beef jerky.”

  Abba yawned and pulled her blanket tightly around her shoulders.

  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she said. “How can I do that without getting drenched?”

  J.P. handed her a sheet of plastic. “Use this to cover yourself the best you can. The fire has gone out, and we got no more dry wood to start another. Get your clothes wet and they might stay that way for awhile.”

  “At this point, I don’t care,” she said.

  “Yes, you do. We’re in a swamp, and staying dry is a basic part of field hygiene. We have to do it or risk infections, fever, and fungal growths.”

  “Surely, we’ll be back home before that becomes a problem,” she said.

  “Don’t bet on it. Everything grows faster in the swamp. Get an infection, and it don’t take long for a fever to get critical.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  “Stay beneath the plastic as best you can, and
don’t get wet,” he said.

  We all managed to stay dry during our trips into the bushes. The dogs were restless, venturing into the rain briefly to do their business, and then shaking themselves dry when they’d returned. J.P. had brought them a small bag of dog food. After eating, they returned to their blanket.

  It was peaceful sitting under the plastic roof, listening to the gentle sound of falling rain. I dozed off for a bit. When I awoke, I saw Abba and Jean Pierre, sitting close and smiling as they chatted. J.P. was the first to notice that I’d awakened.

  “Good day for a nap,” he said. “Rory joined you. He snores louder than Lucky.”

  “I’m not very alert in the morning without at least one cup of java,” I said. “Bertram always has a fresh pot brewing behind his bar. It has spoiled me.”

  He tossed me a jar of instant coffee, a plastic cup, and a spoon.

  “Kind of crappy tasting, but it’ll give you a jolt of caffeine. Abba and I are already on our second cup,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said as I mixed some of the powder with water from my canteen. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Think the rain will ever stop?”

  “Let’s hope it’s sooner rather than later.”

  J.P.’s instant coffee didn’t dissolve well in the tepid water from my canteen. It did give me the jolt he’d promised. Lucky and Slick, like Rory, were asleep on their blanket and not worried about coffee, or the rain.

  “Abba’s been telling me a little about herself,” J.P. said.

  “You must be a good homicide detective,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known anyone as nosy as you.”

  “I’m still curious about something,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I understand why Wyatt is here. You seem to have as much invested in finding Desire as he does. Why is that?”

  “A long story,” Abba said.

  “It’s raining, and I got no place to go.”

  “It’s also complicated.”

  “Is that so, Wyatt?” he asked.

  “Very complicated,” I said, tossing him the jar of instant coffee.

  “Tell me,” he said. “I’ll try to keep up.”

  “I don’t know. It’s sort of private.”

  “Does Wyatt know?”

  “Not because I told him. He figured it out while working on a case.”

  J.P. turned and gave me a glance. “He’ll never tell me,” he said. “He still thinks he’s a lawyer. Please tell me.”

  “My dad’s name is Vincent Gigoux. His real name is Vincent Vallee. Junie Bug’s husband was Gordon Vallee. His real name was Gordon Gigoux.”

  “Good God almighty,” J.P. said. “Your dad is the person that was switched at birth with Gordon Vallee. Why hasn’t he ever come forward? The Vallee fortune is huge.”

  “He’s a proud man. He didn’t earn it, so he doesn’t feel right claiming it. He’s also a building contractor and has done very well in his own right.”

  Abba shook her head when J.P. asked, “Does Junie Bug know who you are?”

  “I went to her house thinking I was going to tell her. She thought I was there to apply for a job as her assistant. I needed a job, and Junie Bug pays very well. I’ve come to like her and realized I could never tell her.”

  “Damn!” he said. “That’s a big cross to bear.”

  A thought crossed Abba’s mind, and she began to smile. “Know what’s funny?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Dad and Junie Bug have so much in common it’s a shame they’ll never meet. They are both exceptionally good-looking; Junie Bug loves the arts; my dad is an amateur artist; Junie Bug’s been in several movies; Dad acts in dinner theater and has had several bit parts in locally filmed movies.”

  “Why not fix them up?” J.P. said.

  Abba laughed aloud. “It would never work.”

  “Because?”

  “Neither of them would consider meeting the other.”

  “Tell Junie Bug you want her to meet your new beau. Tell your dad the same thing. Have them meet you at some atmospheric little bistro that plays soft music beneath muted lights.”

  “It might just work,” Abba said. “What happens when I don’t show up with a new beau?”

  “Don’t do that. I’m an actor unless you’ve forgotten. I’ll play the part.”

  Abba stared at J.P. a moment. “You’d just be acting?”

  J.P. grinned. “Of course I’d be your beau. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve met in many a moon.”

  “You are so full of shit,” she said, turning away and crossing her arms.

  “Stop being so selfish and think of your dad and Junie Bug. Don’t they deserve to meet each other?”

  “Of course, but . . .”

  “But what? You dislike me so much that you’d deny them their happiness?”

  “You never stop, do you?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t care about either my dad or Junie Bug. You just want to get into my pants.”

  “A double date’s not a lifelong commitment,” he said. “Is it?”

  “I might consider going on a double date with you, but only because you’re an actor, and because except for Wyatt and Rafael, you’re the only other person in the world that knows about Dad and Junie Bug.”

  “You could ask Wyatt to take you on the double date.”

  I tossed my hands in the air. “Don’t get me involved in this. I’m not playing.”

  J.P. put his hand on top of Abba’s, and she didn’t move it away.

  “Sounds to me like this ol’ Cajun boy is your only choice. What do you say?”

  Rory snorted and rolled over before Abba could answer. J.P. and I laughed, and despite herself so did Abba.

  “Okay,” she said. “Sounds like a plan, if we ever make it out alive from this God-forsaken swamp.”

  “Good,” I know just the place to take them.”

  She wrenched her hand away from him and pointed her finger at his nose.

  “It damn sure doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you. Is that understood?”

  She almost slapped him when he said, “Hell, girl, I don’t see how I’d ever get much sleep anyway if I was in bed with you.”

  ***

  It was early afternoon when the storm passed, and we broke camp. When we started walking, my legs were sore, and I realized how long we’d been on our feet the past two days.

  Light sweaters for everyone were just a few of the things we’d purchased at the little settlement. Now, it was considerably colder than when we’d entered the swamp, and I was glad for the one I was wearing. The sky darkened, and ground fog became ever more prevalent the farther we hiked. Soon, the swamp around us took on a surreal atmosphere. When some creature howled in the distance, J.P. called us to a halt.

  “What’s the dagger doing?” he asked me.

  “Hasn’t moved since we left camp.”

  “Let’s take a break,” he said. “We need to make sure that thing is working before we traipse around here like chickens with our heads cut off.”

  None of us had a watch. We all had a surprise coming when Abba checked her cell phone.

  “I’m not getting a signal,” she said.

  We reached for our phones. “Nor am I,” Rory said.

  “Me either,” J.P. said. “Wyatt?”

  “Nope. What now?”

  “Hope that the dogs know the way back to the boat,” he said.

  “And if they don’t?” Abba asked.

  “Wait until the clouds clear and then traverse our way out using the sun and stars,” I said.

  “You have to be kidding?” she said.

  “I’ve got a backup,” J.P. said. From his daypack, he pulled an old-fashioned compass and showed it to us.

  “I never go hunting or fishing without it.”

  “You know how to use that thing?” Abba asked.

  “I was an infantry officer in the army. You can bet I know how to use it,” he said.

 
; “Good,” she said. “I was starting to get scared.”

  “Then stay scared,” he said. “It’ll keep you on your toes.” He waved off the flask of Southern Comfort when Rory offered it to him. “No more whiskey until we camp for the night. We’re deep in the swamp, and there’s no telling what we may encounter. We need to be on top of whatever comes our way.”

  An eerie blue glow and dampening of sound are what came our way. They accompanied the misty haze that seemed to engulf us. The mental sensation it produced was surreal and made me feel as though I was in a waking dream. Unknown creatures suddenly began howling in the forest around us, jolting me back to reality. Once again, J.P. signaled us to halt.

  “Take a look at this,” he said.

  We gathered around him, staring at the compass in his palm. The dial was spinning out of control.

  “That can’t be good,” I said.

  “The dagger,” Abba said.

  Exethelon was aglow, pulsating from a light gold aura to an angry red.

  “We must be nearing the house of the sorceress,” Rory said.

  Abba was clutching J.P.’s arm, frightened by the strange howls that had only grown louder.

  “This is insane,” she said.

  “Just a hallucination,” J.P. said. “I never heard anything like that in my life. Those howls aren’t real.”

  “Then why are we all hearing them?” she asked.

  “Maybe it’s a dream,” I said. “Though I’m not sure whose dream it is.”

  “What creatures are making that noise?” Rory asked. “I have never heard anything like it. Not even in the haunted Scottish moors.”

  “Whatever they are, they’re making my skin crawl,” Abba said. “Is it the Swamp Monster, and is it possible there’s more than one?”

  The two dogs were also spooked. They’d returned from the trail and stood near, growling as they scanned the forest around us.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” J.P. said. “Wyatt put the dagger on the ground and let’s see what it does.”

  Exethelon continued to glow and pulsate as I placed it on the damp earth. It sat there a second and then began to rotate, slowly at first. When it finally came to a stop, it pointed at a cobblestone pathway that had suddenly appeared in front of us.

  “Oh my God!” Abba said. “Was that here a second ago?”