by Greg Hall
“It’s okay. Just take care of Modeste,” Franklin cut in. He nodded to his new friend and walked away from the platform.
Henri took one last look at Bunkie. One last look at the man who put him behind bars, who was still watching him. One last look at the building that was his prison for almost twelve hours.
He was happy to say goodbye.
29
Modeste watched as the landscape passed her by.
The fast moving scenery brought peace and solace. Their entire journey so far had been frustration, bloodshed, and tears. Her mind was cluttered with thoughts. She thought about Henri and if Franklin was able to get the bag to him. She hoped he was safe but had no way of knowing. He could be dead as she sat there; she couldn’t know . She was left to face a monster on her own. A bloodsucker that she still had no idea how to beat.
She tried to recall the stories Marie used to tell her. She remembered the theory of wood through the heart. Marie said there were other rumored ways of killing a bloodsucker, but the sharp point of wood through the heart was the only way to make sure it was dead. Creating a stake was easy; getting it close enough to pierce the heart of the bloodsucker was not.
“Is this seat taken?” a strong, melodic voice said, interrupting Modeste’s thoughts. Her physical reaction sent searing pain down her leg. She looked up to the stranger who had entered her car so quietly she hadn’t even noticed.
The man who stood before her was dressed in a well-pressed suit, one not common for these parts, and a color purple Modeste had never seen before. His blanched skin was mostly covered as if it protected from the elements. He wore dark-rimmed sunglasses that covered his eyes and most of his temples. Modeste tried to see through to his eyes, but all she caught was reflection of the passing landscape from outside the window. His auburn hair, although covered with a top hat, was straightened halfway down his back.
Everything about his appearance made him stick out like a sore thumb. Modeste was stricken with fear, frozen in her spot. There was no way for this man to enter this train, and she was sure the car was empty when she had entered. He was only a few inches taller than Modeste, and he appeared quite frail.
“Yes, of course,” Modeste said, sitting up straight. “You do know there are other cars for your kind?”
“What is my kind?” the man said as he sat down across from her.
“There are better cars for white people,” Modeste said bluntly.
“They’re not my kind,” he said, as he turned to look out of the window. He seemed to be at ease, just as Modeste was moments ago. Modeste, on the other hand, had lost all sense of calmness. Her heart was racing, and her fight or flight senses were sounding off. Although, for Modeste, the flight wasn’t an option. She kept her eyes locked on the stranger.
She studied him intently. A familiar scent permeated the air. She hadn’t smelled this aroma since leaving New Orleans, and it wasn’t because the flower wasn’t around. Modeste had just avoided the fragrant blossom over the past ten years. The honeysuckle was sweet and brought a rush of memories of her daughter. Tears had begun to form in her eyes. She wiped them away, trying to stave off any sign of weakness. This was the monster they were hunting. After observing his appearance, she wondered how they never spotted him earlier.
“Was it you? Did you take my Tiara?” Modeste said, almost not realizing that she had begun to speak. The words seemed to just flow out of her.
“Excuse me?” the man answered, unphased by the question.
“New Orleans. Ten years ago. You were the one who came into my home and took my baby. You took my baby!”
“I’ve always been intrigued by cripples,” the man said bluntly. His eyes remained locked on the passing landscape. “I wonder if they were born that way, or if they became that way. I wonder because if they’re born that way, why not just end their life?”
“I’m not a damn cripple.”
“Your cane says otherwise,” the man said, then turned toward Modeste. “I would have done it.”
“Done what?”
“Taken the life of my crippled child.” The man flashed an evil smile revealing yellowed teeth.
Modeste tried to see if the man had fangs, but his lips still covered enough of his teeth that she couldn’t quite tell.
“I can change all of that for you. I can make you whole again.” he added. “I’m only kidding. Your kind is nothing to me.”
“Why did you set Henri up?”
“Fun?” the monster said, as if he was guessing himself, “It must be hard, you know. Trying to be a healer when you can’t even heal yourself.”
Modeste’s panic slowly morphed to anger. This man took her daughter. The pain and torment that he must have inflicted on her broken heart. She swore she would always love and protect Tiara, and she could only do one of those things.
“We’re going to kill you,” Modeste said, again; the words sort of just fell out of her mouth. She meant them, of course, but it was meant to be an internal voice.
“Plural? You and who?”
“Henri and me.”
“Right now, Henri is hanging from a tree. His neck is broken. His bowels have most likely been released for everyone to see. If they let his hands free, there would be claw marks around his neck, the result of trying to free himself. His tongue is sticking out or might have even been bitten off by the force of his jaw closing. Either he was suffocated, lost consciousness and suffered a horrible death,” the man said, breathing out a long sigh, “one can only hope.”
Modeste struggled to not let his words impact her, but she was having trouble. Her vision was blurry from the tears welling up. She turned from the monster and stared out into the morning sun. The sun was so bright she had to close her eyes. She took that moment to collect herself. She wouldn’t let the monster get to her. The mojo bag must have worked, and Henri would be right behind her.
“Henri is safe.”
“He killed a young girl. Do you think they will just let him walk?”
“I do. I do think that,” Modeste said, turning back to the monster. There were no more tears in her eyes. Behind her eyes was now filled with burning—anger boiled.
It was a game. If he wanted to kill her, he would have done it already. He thought of her as weak and futile. A play mouse before the slaughter. Besides her decrepit knee, Modeste was more robust than the average person. She had prepared everything to meet face to face with the monster that took her daughter. Even if it meant sacrificing her own life, she would be sure to end his.
“What would happen if I broke your cane?” the monster asked.
Modeste hid the panic. In her periphery, she could see her cane resting against the wooden seat. It was within reach, but if she were to make a move, the monster would surely be quicker. She had to pretend it was of no use to her.
“I’ve made it far in life. One more setback won’t stop me.”
And with that, the monster scooped the cane up and spun it through his fingers. He twirled it around and around and swung the handle within inches of Modeste’s face. She remained calm and unflinching. She never even blinked.
“I chased you that night.”
“You ran with a cane?” the monster asked.
“My leg was better then.”
“Oh, what happened? Did something catch your eye?”
Modeste had thought about that night over and over again. It plagued her dreams. She thought about ways she could have done it differently. Had she composed herself and contacted the conjurer, the night may have ended differently. The final image of every nightmare was the thing that was running beside her, watching her movements. She never saw its face or what it was, but now she knew it was the monster sitting across from her.
“You should have been faster. Maybe she would still be here today,” the monster said with an insidious chuckle. “Or maybe you both would be dead.”
And with that, the monster tossed her cane across the car. It banged into the next set of seats and jamme
d in between the headrest and window. The monster rose to his feet. He took one last look out the window and breathed in the landscape. The swamp was right outside their window. The sunlight glistened off of the water. There were endless cypress trees sporadically placed all along the countryside.
Modeste still focused on her cane. There was nothing she could do. If he wanted to, the monster could end it all right here. All the time spent tracking the monster was gone to waste. Tiara’s life would never be avenged, and the monster would kill and continue to kill again.
“Beautiful out there, isn’t it?” the monster said, his tone changing as if he were an everyday passenger.
Beauty was the farthest thing from her mind. All she could think about was her cane that laid fifteen feet away. She thought about screaming, but no one would come to her rescue. When the train stopped, both of them would be gone, and Modeste Barre would be no more. A legacy she thought she might have one day came to nothing. Her life would be erased from history. Her story untold.
“Do it. Get it over with,” Modeste finally pleaded.
“Do what?” he asked innocently.
“Kill me,” Modeste said, as she closed her eyes and accepted her fate.
“Kill you? That would be no fun. I mean, you’re a cripple and, quite frankly, pathetic. Sitting here whining and crying when I was just trying to have a simple conversation with you,” the monster said, as he knelt in front of her. “I don’t kill the weak. I kill the young and the strong. Killing you would be putting you out of a misery that I thoroughly enjoy watching. Why would I want to end that?”
He let out a laugh that sent Modeste slamming back into her seat. Had there been padding across the back, she wouldn’t have noticed, but the bare, exposed wood sent a jolt of pain down her back.
The monster popped back up. He seemed very pleased with himself. He took one last look at Modeste, who was staring out the window. He appeared to have a little extra pep in his step as he bolted for the car door.
When Modeste heard the car door snap closed, she let out a breath that she swore she had been holding the entire time. The tears came next. A flood of water poured down her face. It was sadness, but a mishmash of emotions all coming out at once. An overwhelming feeling of dread, panic, pain, and remorse all rolled into one.
She slid herself across the bench and lifted herself. Her right hand remained gripped on a rotted iron railing that she wasn’t sure would hold her weight. Her cane was in sight, and all she needed was the strength to step over to the next bench. Once there, she could grab hold of the other table and place herself on the bench. She could then slide across and grab the cane.
It was only two steps, but her worry was having her knee collapse under the pressure. If she fell, she would have no way to get up, and nobody would come back to help her.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. As her thoughts wandered, she thought of Tiara. Her beautiful daughter. If she were here today, she would be eighteen years old. The thought brought great sadness upon her. She wanted nothing more than to see Tiara again.
In that, she found her strength. She needed to do this for Tiara. All of this was for her. Since Tiara went missing, Modeste swore she wouldn’t rest until Tiara’s murderer was put to death.
Modeste let go of the bench and stood free for a moment. She felt stronger than she had felt in over ten years. Most of her weight was resting on her left leg. She gradually shifted her weight to her right leg. There was pain at first, but as she added more weight, the pain began to subside. She placed more importance on it and concentrated on the pulsating throb and breathed with each aching tremble.
Success. She had her full weight on both legs. She opened her eyes and flashed her first smile since first entering the train. The train shook back and forth with each unlevel rail tie. And Modeste shook with it. She felt alive for the moment and only a moment.
Her happiness was cut short by the turn in the tracks. Modeste lost balance and began to fall toward the wooden bench. There was nothing for her to grab onto. She simply fell forward and waited for the impact.
30
The train came to a stop in Cheneyville.
All the passengers stepped off in single file onto the platform. Modeste painfully stepped down from her car and onto the platform. The ache in her leg was worse than ever before. She successfully retrieved the cane after the impact, but it was difficult for her to get to her feet. The impact after her fall had twisted her right leg, and she couldn’t stop it from throbbing.
After her trip and fall chasing after the monster the night Tiara was taken, her kneecap had separated in two. She had made a temporary brace, but it didn’t set properly, which meant it didn’t heal correctly. It seemed that every time she moved too quickly, or worse, fell, her leg would twist and bring back the rush of pain she had felt that night.
It wasn’t what she wanted to think about at this moment. Instead, she was watching all the other passengers who were leaving the train. She scanned the crowd, but none of them was the monster who sat in her car.
The man in black who had stopped her from entering the other car was unloading a passenger’s bag from the undercarriage.
“Excuse me?” Modeste asked.
“Yes?” the man in black responded, but once he turned and saw it was her, he turned back around and continued on his way.
“I just need to know about a passenger on the train,” she called after him, but he was walking too fast, and it was hard to keep up with him. Each step sent fire up her leg. She hid the pain well as she has done for years. She usually carried marshmallow root for the inflammation, but after leaving Morrow so abruptly, she had forgotten to pack any.
“I can’t help you.”
“I just want to know if you saw a man on the train.”
“There were quite a few men on the train,” he remarked snidely..
“But this one stood out. He was wearing a black top hat, thick, black-framed spectacles, and had fire red hair,” Modeste said, continuing after him.
The man in black stopped in his tracks. He appeared to be thinking quite intently about what she had said.
“You know what?”
“What?” Modeste asked, hopeful.
“I don’t have to answer any sort of questions from the likes of you.”
“You don’t, but it would be very kind of you if you did.”
“Life isn’t kind,” the man in black said and disappeared between cars. He jumped over the railroad connector and hastily disappeared from view..
Modeste couldn’t help but agree with him. Life wasn’t kind. She turned back to the passengers who had all fled from the platform. The monster had once again disappeared.
Cheneyville was larger than Bunkie by a few thousand people. There were groups of people everywhere. A daily market located on the main road had stands selling local fruits, veggies, and handmade items. Each booth had a small crowd of people bartering over prices. Modeste wished she could fill her time with these simple things, instead of hunting monsters. She wished she could spend time in a garden, or even learn how to play the fiddle. She scanned the crowd for anyone that resembled the man from the train, but she couldn’t find him. She was probably too late; the monster would already be tracking his new victims. Now that race wasn’t holding the monster back , it would be impossible to find out who might be targeted.
Modeste watched families laugh and children play as they collected their purchases. Most of the market-goers appeared to know each other, and whites mingled with blacks, which was surprising to Modeste. It didn’t change the fact that people were still watching her closely. She clearly stood out from the crowd. She smiled at a few parents, but her kindness was not returned. She wished she knew someone in Cheneyville, but she had never traveled this far east before. She hoped for a Franklin-type of friend, but they were few and far between.
Maybe it was her clothing. She hadn’t changed in the last four days, and her items had indeed started to ha
ve a scent.
With so many eyes on her, panic started to set in. Her heart raced. She just needed one set of friendly eyes to help calm her anxiety. The more she looked through the crowd, the more the faces began to blur and blend into one another. She gripped her cane tighter, hoping it would keep her wavering balance.
Her vision became like a tunnel and her world was quickly turning black, at least the panic was making her think that way. Finally, her eyes landed on a smiling figure. The white child, Modeste guessed her age to be around ten, smiled graciously toward Modeste. The girl raised her right hand and gave an innocent wave.
And just like that, Modeste settled down. She focused on the girl and returned the smile and wave.
“Miss,” a voice said to her right.
The words were spoken by a man dressed in a uniform. A white, pressed button-down shirt, soaked with stains of sweat. A black-tie that was tucked in between a set of buttons. He had brown khakis lifted so that the waistband was situated around his navel, held up with a black leather belt. Half his face was covered with a pair of sunglasses and a fedora that was pulled down, almost covering his entire forehead. A brass star rested over his heart with the word Sheriff across.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked with a long southern drawl.
“I’m fine.”
“You ain’t from around here.”
“No, I ain’t.”
“Is there a reason you came to Cheneyville?”
A few people nearby stopped shopping just to gawk at the outsider. Silence fell amongst those in earshot of the Sheriff. Those close by craned their necks to try and get a better view of their interaction.
“Yes. I came to talk to you,” Modeste said. She realized that might be the only way to get away from this awkward interaction.
“Oh?”
Then Modeste narrowed her gaze at the Sheriff and said, “A murderer has come to your town, and I’m here to stop him.”
31