by Greg Hall
The night Tiara was taken, Modeste woke to the sound of breaking glass. Her body was paralyzed. She struggled to move, but the only part of her body that she still had control over was her eyes. Modeste could see broken pieces of the window on the floor. The monster had broken in through their second level apartment. Tiara’s piercing scream from beyond the broken window sent a shiver down her spine. She prayed to the Conjurer to let her free from the monster’s grasp.
When Modeste entered Tiara’s room, her daughter was gone. The curtains blew erratically from the night air being let in by the broken window. Modeste ran to the window and stared out, trying to catch a glimpse of her daughter. She could hear her daughter's cries, but couldn’t tell where they were coming from.
Modeste broke out into a full run on the dirt road. The blue hue from the moonlight overhead was the only thing lighting her way. She didn’t know which direction to run, but her body pulled her east. Her legs carried her faster than she'd ever run before. The scent of honeysuckle lingered in the air, the smell of Tiara. As ther smell grew stronger, Modeste knew she was getting closer to Tiara.
“Mom! ” a voice called out faintly in the distance. It was Tiara, Modeste knew.
Modeste ran faster. She felt a stinging in her right knee. It was an odd feeling, but it didn’t quite feel like pain. Modeste tried to ignore the sensation, but each step sent stabbing pain down her leg. The sweet smell of honeysuckle scent stung her nostrils, and nausea sank in, knowing how close she must be.
Modeste could feel something to her right. She knew there was something watching her run, waiting for its moment to attack. Over the last few days, there were times she felt as though someone had been watching them, but with the recent riots, she assumed it was just some of the racist rioters. Whatever was watching her now was not human.
“Modesssste…” a voice hissed to her right.
Just as Modeste turned to look, her right foot connected with a root and sent her tumbling onto the jagged gravel. Her head connected with a rock, and she lost consciousness.
When she came to, the sweet smell of honeysuckle had vanished. .
Tiara was gone.
She relived that night every time she fell asleep—Tiara’s screams haunted her nightmares. The honeysuckle was no longer a refreshing summer smell, but a saccharine scent of sorrow.
Tonight Modeste didn’t dream of Tiara. She dreamt of a shadow following her and Henri along their route. It watched their every movement, always staying two steps ahead. Modeste dreamt the monster was standing over her, watching her sleep. She felt the cold touch of a bony hand before she woke in a panicked sweat.
Modeste was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Modeste knew she wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep tonight, so she decided to visit the only one who had helped her so far.
A gentle knock on the door stirred her from her bed.
“Who is it?” Modeste called.
“Franklin. You need to get up now.”
“I am up,” Modeste said, unlocking the door for him.
Franklin pushed himself into the room. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, and appeared anxious.
“What are you doing?” Modeste asked.
“You need to get out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“They’re going to hang you and Henri in the morning. You have to leave tonight.”
“Franklin, I’m not leaving Henri,” Modeste stated, sitting back on the bed.
“Why? Just two hours ago, you claimed he was everything you hated. It should be easy for you to leave.”
“He did not kill that girl and does not deserve to die because of it.”
“I’m not going to tell you what to do. You already know the repercussions if they find you,” Franklin said, narrowing her eyes at her, “and I can’t help you if you get caught.”
“We’ve come so far, and we can’t stop now. I can’t let him sit in jail. They will hang him.”
“And they will hang you even quicker. There’s only one reason he’s still alive. You and I both know, neither of us would get the night in a cell.”
“If he’s still alive, then we still have a chance,” Modeste pleaded.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you traveling around with him? It’s not just because of the killer. Why risk your life with this man? For this man?”
“I wasn’t risking my life for this man,” Modeste began, and wondered if she should continue. It hurt her heart to talk openly about Tiara. Saying her name out loud made her realize how devastating it would be to find her body. “I’m doing it because I think this killer is the same one who took my daughter.”
“Modeste…” Franklin began, but he let her name linger in the air.
“I don’t need your pity.”
“It wasn't pity. I’m sympathizing,” Franklin said. “You saved my son. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to him, let alone if a killer took him. I’d probably never stop looking.”
“I’ve never stopped looking. My body has slowed down, but I have dedicated all of my time to finding the bloodsucker who took my daughter.”
“Is that why you found a white knight?” Franklin asked, and appeared to instantly regret it. “I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate what you’ve done for us, Franklin, but I don’t expect any more help,” Modeste said, turning from Franklin. She would not want to drag him further into this mess. He welcomed them both in with open arms. If it weren’t for Franklin, she wouldn’t have had food in her stomach and a couple of hours of rest.
“Just… be careful, Modeste,” Franklin conceded.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” Modeste replied, stepping cautiously.
The gravel crunched underneath the weight of her steps seemed to amplify over the silent night. The tap of each cane strike was even louder. She was trying to be inconspicuous, but was failing miserably. A candle flickered in the window of the barn that contained Henri. It was the only light in the distance. She could make out the bars on the windows, and that was it.
With each step, her angst was depleting. She thought about all the moments Henri and she had shared. How their lives were drastically different in every way, but how much they had in common. She didn’t know if she had feelings for him, and that moment by the fire was not a moment of attraction, but a moment that she forgot about all the pain in the world.
Franklin was wrong. Henri wasn’t her white knight; they were saving each other.
Rocks cried out under the pressure of someone else. Modeste stopped in her tracks. All the time she spent thinking of Henri, she had let her guard down. Her eyes had been so focused on the orange glow burning from Henri’s window that her eyes weren’t able to adjust to the darkness. She held her breath and listened. Her senses slowly came alive. She was listening for anything that sounded out of sorts. She could hear her own heartbeat.
The monster was still here, and there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
“Thirty-four,” a hoarse voice said from just over her right shoulder.
Startled at first, Modeste quickly realized that she recognized the voice. It was someone who she told Henri not to take advice from.. A man she never had any intention of ever having a conversation with.
“Do you know what that number means?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Modeste responded. Her nerves were breaking through, but she was using everything she had to keep them at bay.
“That’s how many of you people I dragged back. Thirty-four fleabags were trying to make a run for it.”
Modeste turned to face the slave hunter. Her face filled with contempt. He was a giant of a man, but it didn’t cause her fright. He was visibly worn and feeble. At one time, he may have been a force to be reckoned with, hunting black folk who had fled the sugar cane plantations.
But that man was no more.
Modeste thought she could probably push him over a flick of her cane.
“You
wanna know a secret?” James said but didn’t wait for an answer. “Most didn’t come back alive.”
“Is that bragging?” she said with disdain.
“Out here, we mandated our own code noir.”
“Yeah?” Modeste asked, and she heard her voice crack. She was trying to keep it together, but this conversation wasn’t going to end well. She couldn’t help but think that there might be more of his type hidden in the darkness and that maybe the slave hunter was just their spokesperson. Perhaps they were just biding their time until it was right to strike.
She peeked back to Henri’s window. The orange flicker seemed to call her to safety. As she checked, all of the remaining distance seemed to double.
“Do you know much about me?” Modeste asked politely.
“I don’t need to know anything more about you. I know what you are,” James snarled. “I’m going to be happy to see you hanging from a tree tomorrow.”
“Ah, so you know I’m a witch,” Modeste said, letting a devilish grin spread across her face. It was most likely impossible for James to see, but she hoped that some of the orange glow from Henri’s window would reach her face.
“No such thing.”
“You heard what my friend in the cell did?”
“Yes. Of course. That’s why he’s going to hang.”
“You hear about all the other stories in the other towns?”
“David said something.”
“Did he tell you about the bodies missing the blood? Sucked dry right out of their skin?”
“No…”
“How’d you think it was done?” Modeste said, flashing another devious grin.
“Bullshit.”
“Yeah? Just try me. Just see what happens when you try to kill a witch.”
Modeste took a breath. She wasn’t ready to back down, nor did she want James to think he could win.
“You’re lucky I don't feel like hanging anyone tonight,” cowered James, as he turned away and shrunk. .
Modeste stayed frozen in her spot until he began to walk away. She kept her eyes on him until he disappeared into the darkness.
Modeste finally took a breath.
26
Henri couldn’t sleep.
He tossed and turned on the straw bedding. Every time he moved, it felt like the fodder was biting his skin. Bruises had formed on his from being dragged through the town. His left eye was swollen shut, and even if he wanted to sleep, there wasn’t a position that wouldn’t cause pain.
Pain seared through his body, as he thought about Modeste. He was worried about what was happening out there. The whole trip had been a constant struggle, and he was surprised they had made it this far. If he had just listened to her, he wouldn’t be behind these bars.
He watched the candle light flicker and bounce. There wasn’t much left of the wick, and soon, he would be left in darkness. He knew the monster was out there somewhere. He thought maybe when that light was gone, the monster would show its face.
“Henri?” a familiar voice called out from outside of the window.
For a moment, the pain subsided. It was as though her voice had momentarily eased the pain. Henri sat upon the straw and placed his back against the wall underneath the window.
“You awake?” Modeste continued.
“Yeah. I’m awake. What are you doing out there?”
“We’re in some trouble here.”
Henri smiled at her comment. He knew she had been in trouble before. She was just pointing it out, stating a fact without emotion.
“You’re right about that. It’s not safe out there, Modeste.”
“And you’re right about that,” Modeste said, and Henri let the words linger.
He didn’t know what the future held for them. But what he knew was that Modeste had to continue without him. They were now as close as they had ever been, and someone needed to stop the bloodsucker.
“You have to go on,” Henri felt his mouth moving as the words left his mouth, but it felt like someone else was speaking.
“I can’t do it without you. No one will talk to me.”
Henri knew she was right. He was beginning to appreciate how easy it was for him to travel, and speak to people. Seeing how Modeste had been treated at every town they visited hammered his privilege home. He wished things were easier. To make matters worse, being behind bars eliminated all of his options.
“I knew of Marie.” Henri said, hoping the change of subject would ease his anxious mind.
“She was well known.”
“A lot of people believed in what she was doing.”
“She had many clients.”
“May I ask what happened to her?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” Modeste said.
“Try me. I’ve seen things over the last few days that I thought I would have never thought possible.”
“I heard what you said earlier. You finally believe it’s a bloodsucker?”
Henri didn’t want to admit that he believed in monsters. He understood some things would never be explained, but he felt like his faith would completely slip through his fingers if he said it outloud. “I’m not sure what it is, but after what I felt, I don’t have a reasonable explanation.”
He could hear Modeste chuckle to herself, but then she said, “She had a strange case, and it involved her having to be in physical places at once. She did a spirit transference, but they say that after you never quite come back whole.”
“Spirit transference?”
“It’s when you transfer your body from one location to another in a matter of moments.”
“Oh…” was all Henri could mutter.
‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Anyway, after she came back, she wasn’t the same, and it just got worse. She slowly wasted away.”
“I’m sorry,” Henri said. He didn’t know what to say. Loss was the one subject that was never easy for him to speak about. He had loss in his life, and when his mother died, he felt like a piece of himself left with her. As a priest, he had to speak of death frequently, but he usually pieced monologues together before the funeral processions.
“Listen, we need to find a way get you out of here.” Modeste said, changing the subject.
“Besides breaking these bars, I don’t think there are any other options.”
There was a silence that lingered between them. Henri wished he could see her face. It was a feeling Henri had never experienced before. He fought with the idea that it might be love, but he was unsure how that felt. Sure, he’d loved people in the past, but this feeling was different. In their short time together, he truly enjoyed her company.
“You gotta get out of there.” Modeste repeated.
“How,” Henri asked, lifting the chains that were holding his wrists. He knew she couldn’t see he was restrained, but the clatter of metal on metal was loud enough for anyone within a fifty-foot radius to hear.
“This isn’t where your journey ends. Think of Betsy. If Betsy were here, she would want you to do everything in your power to escape and finish this.”
Henri thought back to the confrontation on the front steps of his parish. The fire that was burning inside Betsy. He figured that if Betsy were shackled in his position, she’d probably rip the chains from the wall. The thought brought a smile to Henri’s face. He thought back to how Morrow’s simple town had changed him in such a short amount of time. The years leading up to it were a struggle that he filled with alcohol. The community of Morrow helped him, and people like Betsy were what helped him.
Betsy was the reason that brought him here. He wanted to repay his community with everything they provided to him. It was the least he could do. Modeste was right, he thought; Betsy would do everything in her power to escape these chains. She would make it on the train to the next town and, if she needed to, she would fight the monster with her bare hands.
“No matter what happens, Modeste, it’s important that you’re on the train in the morning. Do you under
stand?”
“I said I wasn’t leaving you.”
“And our mission matters more than what happens to me. I’ll make it out of here somehow, but you need to continue. You need to warn the folks of Cheneyville that the monster is coming.”
“Do you believe it’s a monster now?”
“I don’t want to believe that this thing is human. I don’t want to think God could create such an evil,” Henri said. His back was getting sore against the stone wall. It had jagged edges of the stone wall that were subtle at first, but being pressed against them, it left a painful reminder of what he went through. It wouldn’t be much longer before his skin began to break.
“Please, Modeste. You have to go. We’re so close, if we lose it now…” Henri let his voice trail off. He didn’t want to have to think about the carnage that would be left behind, if they stopped their mission.
“Fine. I’ll go. But you best be meeting me there when you get out. You hear me?”
Modeste’s attempt at a threat forced a laugh from Henri. It felt good to laugh. He heard Modeste chuckle along. For a moment, there was no division, no wall, no black, no white. They were just two people sharing a moment.
He listened to the sound of her cane smack the pebbles as she walked away. The sound faded as she hobbled towards the train station. Once the sound stopped, the candle burnt out too.
Henri was alone in the darkness.
27
The most important tool that Modeste used as a healer was a mojo bag. These small satchels contained a collection of roots, herbs, and a few secret ingredients that could be geared toward the client’s needs. She had a particular recipe for Henri. Most of the pieces could be found in town, except cinnamon. It wasn’t common in the small towns across Louisiana, and it was the hardest one to track when she needed it. Modeste was worried that she might be wasting her time. She could build Henri a mojo bag, but the collection of herbs and roots are useless without a working protection spell.