One Hundred Saints

by Yolanda Olson

  “Then why did you ask which son?” he scoffed. I noticed that the more agitated he got, the heavier his accent became.

  “I just wanted to be sure it was James,” I said softly and lowering my eyes.

  And if it really was James, then I was responsible for finding him, not his father. I looked up at the man who was giving me an odd look. I figured if anyone knew where I needed to be, it would be him.

  “How do you get to the Lower Ninth Ward?” I asked.

  “That’s no place for a princess like you,” he said, shaking his head firmly. The word princess, though not implied in a condescending way, brought a fire out of me. I was angry that my appearance always meant that I should assume myself to be better than everyone else, and it just wasn’t true.

  I had no choice but to give up chasing Grimm now. James was missing and I was pretty sure that he had at least made it into the Lower Ninth Ward. If I ran into Grimm there, he’d have to get over it. Besides, he had company to keep his attention; I had a possibly scared little boy to save.

  The Bad Man

  Sixteen

  I wasn’t exactly scared, but I wasn’t sure of myself either. If James was in a dangerous situation how would I be able to get him out of it? I didn’t have any money on me, and I was pretty sure that a smile and batting my eyelashes wouldn’t get him out of it.

  Fuck. I really should have come up with a plan on the way over here.

  It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, and I knew I was here by the drastic scenery change. There were still broken homes, things strewn about, and a more desolate feeling on this side of New Orleans, but it wasn’t the ghost town I was expecting. Some houses had small started gardens in front and others had pleasant little figures on their lawns.

  It was obvious that the rebuilding would take more time, but I thought they were making excellent progress and I found myself wondering if I could get Daddy to lend some money to the cause.

  Daddy’s a good man. He’ll do it if he comes to see what they’re really going through, I reasoned to myself.

  And that was my plan as I saw it. Find James, then go back to my parents’ house, and convince Daddy to come back with me somehow.

  A small group of children on old bicycles were riding toward me, laughing and shouting at each other. I walked into the middle of the street, hoping they would see me instead of run me over, and at the last second, the oldest of the group did.

  “Be careful!” he shouted at me.

  “Wait, I wanna talk to you,” I said firmly, stepping in front of his now stopped bicycle and placing my hands on the handlebars.

  “We don’t got no time for rich girls,” one of the younger boys said dismissively.

  “You do today,” I snapped at him. “I’m looking for someone; two people really, and I want to know if you’ve seen either of them.”

  “You got names?” the older boy asked.

  I nodded, “James is the first one. His father runs a fresh fruit stall in that little market over in the city. He ... he came this way because I asked him to help me find a friend of mine, but he never went home.”

  The group of children looked at each other silently. It was obvious they knew something, but no one seemed willing to talk.

  “I’ll take you into the city and buy you all new bikes, if you help me out,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Almost immediately they all broke into friendly smiles. They knew that a “rich girl” like me would be able to make good on that promise. But I noticed that the oldest boy had a bothered look on his face.

  “James, you said? I ran into a boy with that name a couple of days ago,” he admitted quietly. “But Miss, I don’t think you gonna like what you find.”

  “That was the one that was looking for the bad man, wasn’t it?” the youngest boy asked thoughtfully.

  “Who’s the bad man?” I asked him wearily.

  The oldest boy hopped off of his bicycle, set it on the kickstand, and took me by the hand. I let him lead me slowly down the street until we reached an intersection where he stopped.

  “Go all the way down that street until you feel the fear. You will feel it the closer you get, Miss. That’s where the bad man is. That’s where James went even though I told him not to go there,” he said shakily.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, putting an arm around his thin shoulders. I did it for no other reason than to calm him down, but I was worried that the way he was shaking, it would take more than that to make him feel safe again.

  “Jeffrey,” he replied quietly.

  “Jeffrey, can you please tell me who the bad man is?” I asked, giving him a squeeze.

  His lower lip trembled and he kept his eyes on the end of the street he had been directing me down. To my surprise, he used the back of his hand to wipe tears away, and then he looked up at me.

  “I don’t know his real name. I told James not to go, but he said he made a promise he wanted to do his best to keep. I tried to stop him; I swear it. I told him all about the bad man, but he didn’t care,” he said, a sob escaping him.

  I hugged him close to me, letting him cry into my chest. I felt terrible for having made him cry, but I wanted to know who the bad man was. In my heart, I had a feeling I knew who he was talking about, but I wanted desperately to be wrong.

  I was beginning to feel like it was useless. There was no way he would stop crying long enough to tell me what I already knew in my heart; what I refused to believe.

  The rest of the children came over to surround us. The youngest one was looking at me as if though he was debating to tell me what Jeffrey couldn’t.

  “Did he tell you yet?” he asked curiously.

  “No,” I replied quietly.

  “He’s scared of him. We all are, so we stay far away. He does voodoo, but he does it all wrong. He kills people is what we hear, kills them dead and tears them up to sell their pieces to that voodoo queen Marie and whoever else does it wrong too. You should stay far away from him. If that boy didn’t come back its cause he can’t,” he warned, holding up a finger.

  I let go of Jeffrey and looked down the desolate street that was supposed to make me feel the fear of getting closer to the bad man; the one that killed people and sold them on some kind of black market for voodoo. I don’t think I had ever felt as angry as I did in that moment because they had to be wrong and if they weren’t then I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  “What’s the bad man’s name?” I asked for what felt like the millionth time.

  “The name he goes by is Grimm,” the young boy said. He reached over and grabbed Jeffrey by the arm as they all ran back toward their bikes, leaving me standing there.

  At the beginning of the empty street of fear where I would find the bad man; the child that had been my best friend in the entire world, had become a monster as a man.

  Seventeen

  Grimm

  The amount of nonsense that was being talked and giggled about as we walked toward my home was enough to make me want to scream. It also solidified that I was doing the right thing by staying to myself until I had wares to sell, and that living in a part of the Ward that I knew people wouldn’t come to unless they were looking to become part of my inventory.

  I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to subdue all five of them, but I only needed three to be part of the ritual. If I wanted to, I could make it easy on myself, kill one, martyr the remaining four and be done, but I still wasn’t sure which ones would be purified and worthy until the flames consumed them.

  I could see my house from where we were and I hoped they would go in willingly. If they didn’t, it wouldn’t be a problem because even though they outnumbered me, I was much stronger than four drunken girls and their sober friend. Reagan would obviously be the first to go, and the others would be too confused by what was happening at first to try and escape. And if they tried to get away or hide from me, there really wouldn’t be a place I wouldn’t be able to find them.

&n
bsp; The closer we got to the broken door, the calmer I felt. And while I was steadying myself for any resistance, I also reveled in the fact that I knew that no matter what, they just couldn’t get away from me.

  “Where’s your house?” Larissa asked, stumbling over her feet.

  “Right there,” I replied with a nod toward the half standing structure.

  “What’s wrong with it?” she asked, with a hiccup.

  “Yeah, it looks like it’s about to fall down,” one of the others, whose name I had not asked, chimed in.

  “It’s fine. Perfect, actually. There’s no safer place in all of the Ward,” I replied as I approached the front door. I gave a glance over my shoulder to make sure they were still behind me and sighed when I saw that Reagan was still standing a few feet away, eyeing my home critically.

  “Um, I think I”ll just wait out here for everyone,” she said nervously.

  “Suit yourself,” I replied as I pushed the door open. “I’m sure the wild dogs won’t bother you.”

  When I heard her footsteps quickly approaching I shook my head and scoffed quietly. The dogs in the neighborhood weren’t a bother to me; I fed them whatever fat wouldn’t I couldn’t sell or get rid of. As for the martyrs who didn’t achieve sainthood, I would toss them their bones.

  “What’s that smell?” she asked, putting a hand to her nose. I stepped back to let her walk in past me before securing the door back in place.

  “We don’t exactly get the garbage men out here, so I burn what I need to get rid of,” I explained simply.

  She nodded, unconvinced of what I had just said to her. I didn’t give a shit at this point; I had the five of them where I wanted them and now I had to get to work. I would have a long afternoon and night ahead of me, and I needed to get back to Emily before she came looking for me.

  “So, where’s the moonshine?” she asked, walking around my living room.

  “One moment,” I replied, leaving the room. I wasn’t worried about her trying to leave because my door was a little tricky to open from the inside out, and the way I had pushed it closed, assured that only I would be able to get it open again.

  I went into the kitchen and pulled my shirt off. I let it fall on the floor next to my old, dirty refrigerator and reached up to grab the mason jar off of the top of it. I twisted the lid off and went over to the only cupboard that still had a door on it and pulled out a small white, ceramic jar. Once the lid was off, I felt around for the spoon in the cupboard, then dipped it into the powder, dropped three heaping spoonfuls in, and mixed it before closing the mason jar up.

  I was never really a fan of poison,because the martyr would have to feel the pain in order for their process to count, but Reagan wasn’t going to be a martyr, so it didn’t matter to me.

  I was actually fascinated to see how quickly this dosage of arsenic would affect her. Once her organs started to shut down and her body turned against her, I would begin.

  But first, I have to convince her to drink it, I thought holding up the jar to make sure that no traces of the poison were floating about.

  I reached down and picked up my shirt, tossing it onto the counter, before I went back into the living room, jar in hand. I found the five of them sitting in a semi-circle chatting away, except for Reagan, who seemed to be meticulously looking over every inch of the room.

  “As promised,” I said, handing her the jar and sitting down next to Larissa. I had to make sure that she didn’t drink the moonshine, or I she would be damaged goods and a waste of salt.

  “You lose your shirt or something?” Larissa asked with a giggle.

  I glanced at her and forced a smile onto my face, “It gets hot in here quickly. I like to be prepared for the heat.”

  I waited while Reagan started to drink from the jar. At first it was a careful sip; probably because it may have been her first time with authentic moonshine. The girls began to chat animatedly as Larissa’s head ended up on my shoulder. It took everything inside me not to shudder at her drunken touch, but I did my best to successfully hold it together.

  And then it happened. Reagan started to moan slightly, before she suddenly jerked back and dropped the mason jar onto the hard, wooden floor. It shattered with a loud cracking sound as the arsenic laced, pure alcohol splashed onto the living room floor.

  I leaned back on my hands and watched Reagan writhe in pain, holding her aching stomach, and smiled at the tears streaming down her face. I wondered when the blood would follow; the ruby colored liquid that would tell me that she was actually dying.

  Larissa and the remaining three girls immediately crowded around her, trying to help, asking what was wrong. I took that moment to slip away and go into my special room where I made my martyrs, where I elevated lost souls to sainthood, and began to prepare.

  I rolled my barrel of salt out because I wasn’t sure how much of it I would need. Some souls were more tainted than others and if purification by fire didn’t work, then I’d have to pack the open wounds with salt and take away what was left with the proper ritual.

  I undid the top of the barrel and tossed the lid to the side. I wouldn’t start making my symbols yet, but I could at least be sure that the space was clean. I went over to the small table that sat against the back wall of the room and lit some incense sticks, then some white candles, and finally grabbed a broom to start sweeping away at what might have been potentially been left over from the boy. It bothered me that I never had a real chance to clean up when I was done separating his skin from his bones and I knew that if their essence’s mixed, it would be dangerous for me. Rot and decay had to be kept apart from the new skin and bone; it was an unspoken rule and I planned to follow it. There was one time I wasn’t careful and found myself in a catatonic state for four days. It scared the shit out of me and I didn’t plan to repeat the mistake.

  “Where did he go? Someone help us!” one of the girls shouted from the living room.

  I wiped the sweat off of my forehead with the back of my hand and put the broom back in the corner. I went over to the barrel, grabbed a handful of salt, and tossed it onto the spot where the boy had been, then left the room. The salt would be able to saturate what I missed, if anything, and then everything would be ready.

  I had plenty of time to let the salt work, because I still had to take them out back to purify them. I was about ninety eight percent sure that I had enough pieces of wood to make as big a fire as I needed. I needed one last thing before I went back to the circle of now terrified girls. The one thing that I would use to begin the process and allow them to realize that they wouldn’t be leaving my home the same way they had come in.

  I let my eyes wander around the room until I saw it; my ritual blade. As I approached, I felt a calm energy pass through me. It was the same feeling I always got before I transitioned martyrs into saints. The magnanimous feeling that told me this would be over soon and I would finally be able to rest.

  Eighteen

  Emmie

  Jeffrey was right.

  The further down the street I walked, the more ominous the feeling was that was starting to come over me. Was I scared? No; I was too angry for that. Was I worried? A little bit because I wasn’t sure exactly what I would find when I saw Grimm.

  The bad man kills people and rips them to pieces, the children had told me. Would he do the same to me? Had he done the same to James?

  I had too many questions that needed answering, and I was hoping that Grimm wouldn’t be in his “wrong place” and understand that I didn’t want to harm him. Hell, I didn’t even want to turn him in; I just wanted to know what happened to James. I had every hope that he might still be alive, that the story the children had told me was all wrong, and that they were probably trying to play some kind of prank on me.

  Hope was all I had to hold on to when it came to Grimm; even when I was a young girl. I would always hope that I would see him at Old Algiers. I would always hope that I could bring him home and play with him in our huge garden. I wo
uld always hope that he would never forget me and that we could go back to being friends like we used to be.

  But if he had changed as much as they said, as much as they wanted me to believe, then that hope was going to die and I knew it. I didn’t know if I would be able to handle the truth about Grimm ... if there was any truth to him anymore at all.

  I wasn’t sure what I would do if he turned out to be what they said he was. Would I be brave enough to try and stop him or would I run away and try to get help? If I did the latter and James was still alive, his blood would be on my hands.

  I started to walk faster. I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going once I reached the end of the street that would take me deeper into the Lower Ninth Ward, but somehow I knew I would find him.

  Once I reached that end that I had been directed too, I stopped and looked around. It was almost like the Ward had been split into night and day. One side was partially rebuilt, I assumed as much as it could be for now, and one side was still in ruins.

  If I were the bad man, would I hide in plain sight, or would I hide where I know no one would look for me?

  After looking back and forth at either spot a few more times, I decided to head toward the ruins. Grimm always had a passion for things that were broken when we were younger. I can’t remember how many times he had fixed his fishing pole or used the same damn line.

  As I walked through the quiet, somber half of the ward, I wrapped my arms around myself. The fear I had felt coming down this way left me and was replaced with a morbid curiosity as I passed abandoned home, after abandoned home. Surely I’d find him one in of these; but I wouldn’t know which one unless I got brave enough to start looking into the windows.

  Most of the houses were empty, others were occupied by homeless people. I could tell they were homeless cause of how they slept so comfortably on the bare wooden floors. Maybe they’re not so homeless after all, I thought to myself with a small smile.