"What is it? What's the matter?"
Olivia reached his side at once, but he motioned her away.
"It's nothing. Really."
Her eyes made a quick sweep of his body. Near the middle of his chest, a small red stain was oozing through his shirt.
"You're bleeding." Her voice dropped, and she
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started to touch him. He caught her hand gently in his and held her at arm's length.
"Just a scratch." His lips moved in a faint smile. "I was working, and I had an accident. That's all it is."
"Are you sure?" She looked again at the stain on his shirtfront, and as Jesse gazed back at her, his smile grew reassuring.
"Positive. I fell. It's just in an inconvenient spot, is all. It'll be much better by tomorrow."
Olivia nodded slowly, though she still felt troubled. She stared hard into his face. She couldn't tell if he was really pale or if it was just an uncertain trick of the light. Jesse seemed almost embarrassed by her scrutiny. He lowered his head and turned away.
A sudden gust of wind sighed, filling the church with an empty moan.
Olivia let herself out into the clearing, and the first warm raindrops trickled down on her face.
little while in the dining room, Olivia hurried quickly to the kitchen behind the house.
The one-room cabin was small and filthy. A huge fireplace took up most of one wall, complete with a crane and iron pots, and there was also a brick oven stained with years of smoke. Rotting wooden shelves were built in at one end, and the floor showed gaping holes between its mixture of wood and stone. A long wooden table took up the center of the room. Crude benches stood at either side, and the tabletop was littered with vegetable peelings, flour, piles of raw fat, moldy crumbs, and swarms of flies. The surface was stained dark in several places. A huge cleaver lay on its side, the blade clotted with dried blood. Bunches of herbs hung from the ceiling and also from pegs on another wall. And from one heavy cauldron on the fire, something bubbled and simmered itself into a thick gray scum, giving off an incredibly noxious smell.
Holding her breath, Olivia came farther inside, her eyes going apprehensively around the room. At some time through the years, a black wood stove had been brought in, its top covered now with tarnished copper pots and pans. A gigantic mortar and pestle stood near the hearth, filled with some kind of white powdery substance. As Olivia knelt down to examine it, a roach crawled out, and with a cry of disgust she turned away.
Behind her the cauldron began to bubble over. Spying a long-handled wooden spoon on one of the shelves, Olivia plunged it down into the foul liquid and felt the soft spongy resistance of something near the bottom of the pot.
She paused, the spoon poised in her hand.
Slimy gray scum oozed out onto the coals, giving off a malevolent hiss.
Olivia worked the spoon in under the liquid and began to lift it up.
"Get away from that!"
The vicious whisper came without warning from the doorway. Olivia spun around with a gasp, and the spoon clattered down onto the floor, greasy liquid spraying everywhere.
Mathilde's face was livid with fury. Just above her shoulder, Skyler's green eyes gleamed inquisitively.
"If you're so hungry"—Mathilde's voice was deep and slow and dangerous—"then by all means . . . you should eat."
She reached the cauldron in an instant and snatched the spoon from the floor. Before Olivia could even move, Mathilde had her tightly around the neck, scooping the spoon deep into the pot with her other hand, forcing it into Olivia's face.
"No, Mathilde! Stop it!"
Olivia could hear Skyler shouting and the smug sound of Mathilde's laughter. Fumes washed over her, making her gag, making her helplessly dizzy, and as she struck out at her captor, she felt scalding liquid dribble down the side of her neck and over her blouse, making her scream.
"Stop it!" Skyler shouted again.
The kitchen spun around her as Olivia struggled, as she felt the other two struggling against her. Her fingers tore uselessly at Mathilde's hands, and in desperation she flung out her arms toward the table, groping along the edge.
Thick fluid ran into her mouth. She spat it at Mathilde's face and felt her fingers close around the cleaver on the table.
Again the spoon came dangerously close; again it was all Olivia could do to keep from swooning.
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Mathilde was cursing furiously, and there was a resounding crash as Skyler finally yanked her away, falling with her into the shelves. Crockery and dishes scattered over the floor, and as Olivia slammed back against the table, gasping for breath, she saw Mathilde's snake inching its way sluggishly along the hearth.
"Damn you!" Mathilde screeched. "Let me go!"
Through a dim haze, Olivia could see Mathilde pinned to the floor with Skyler astride her chest. The two of them wrestled for only a second—then Skyler twisted the spoon from her hand and threw it across the room. Mathilde's eyes were wild and frenzied, and as she thrashed beneath him, Skyler looked up at Olivia with a slow grin.
"You owe me another one," he said.
Olivia's hand closed tightly around the meat cleaver. She moved purposefully across the room to the fireplace.
The snake began to coil, hissing warningly.
With all her strength, Olivia brought the blade of the cleaver down on its back, jumping away as it writhed and twisted in jagged loops across the floor.
From some remote corner of her brain she could hear Mathilde shrieking.
She saw the stunned disbelief on Skyler's face.
"I don't owe you anything," Olivia said.
She scarcely remembered getting back to her room. As she shut herself in and leaned against the door, her body began to shake uncontrollably, though she felt strangely calm. She closed her eyes and pictured the snake dying on the kitchen floor and Mathilde screaming under Skyler, and she realized that her lips were drawn into a tight, smile and that they had been fixed that way for quite some time.
Richie Tankeisley Cusick
As she opened her eyes again, she was just in time to see something step out from behind the bed. She tensed to run but then she recognized Helen, motioning to a tray on the table, nodding at Olivia to eat.
"Oh, Helen . . ." Olivia's breath came out in a rush. "Did I scare you as much as you just scared me?"
She made it to the bed and collapsed. Helen stood over her, watching. Then she took the cloth from the supper tray and gently began drying Olivia's wet hair.
"Thank you, Helen," Olivia murmured. "That's so nice . . ."
She glanced around at the long, uncurtained windows. She felt wooden and numb. The darkness flickered eerily as lightning spurted through the night and rain drummed upon the gallery beyond. Helen patted her hair gently, massaging her head and neck, and Olivia reached up and squeezed the girl's hand.
"You always bring something up for me, don't you? So I don't have to sit with the others."
Helen nodded, but her eyes seemed worried. She laid one hand upon Olivia's cheek.
"The scratches hardly hurt at all. I'm fine. Really." Olivia patted Helen's hand reassuringly. She started to tell her about Mathilde's snake, then decided against it. Helen would probably get upset and worry about Mathilde's retaliation.
Retaliation . . .
/ told you, Mathilde. I warned you.
Helen put down the cloth and motioned again toward the tray of food. Olivia nodded and began to eat, staring down at the same greasy stew she was beginning to expect every day. Tonight she didn't pick at her food. Tonight she ate every bite.
As she was standing up, she didn't notice Helen starting to reach over her, and she accidentally
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knocked the girl's arm against the table. Helen jumped away, wincing in pain.
"What's wrong?" Olivia asked worriedly. "Did I hurt you?"
It was the same arm Olivia had looked at once before, and as she took hold of Helen's wri
st, the girl cringed again.
"Helen, what is it?"
Olivia watched the confusion flitting across Helen's face, and with it, something else— fear? pain? She began to unfasten the buttons of Helen's cuff, and she could feel the tiny birdlike arm stiffening in her grasp, as if the girl would pull away at any second.
"It's all right," Olivia soothed her. "I won't hurt you—I just want to see."
Helen's eyes were wide and worried, and as Olivia worked the sleeve up a little, she stared at the underside of Helen's arm.
Helen's wrist was swollen, the soft, pale flesh punctuated by tiny marks. Along the delicate ridge of vein that traced up her arm, the skin was flecked with purple and yellow bruises.
"My God, Helen," Olivia gasped. "What on earth has been biting you?"
The girl did pull away then, almost violently, jerking her sleeve back into place, ducking her head so that Olivia couldn't see her face. Without another look in Olivia's direction, Helen grabbed up the tray and hurried toward the door.
"Helen, wait! I didn't mean—" Olivia jumped up to stop her, but the door slammed, letting in a spray of wind and rain.
Olivia stood there, thoughts whirling. She could still see those horrible marks on Helen's skin . . . the strange look on Helen's face ... the painful bruises.
They were almost identical to the marks she'd noticed before on the inside of Helen's elbow, only these were more pronounced, more distinct. Troubled, Olivia sank down in a chair, one thought pushing out all the rest.
What is going on in this house?
She stretched out across the bed and cradled her head on her arms. In her mind she kept seeing the bayou again . . . and the boat. . . and the little church with the shimmering altar. And she could see Jesse's face again, the kindness in his eyes, the gentle movement of his body within the shadows, and she could hear Jesse's voice again, the soft, sweet sound of it, "Please don 9 t go around inventing things to be afraid of..."
She saw his eyes, strange and lifeless by the door, the dark red stain on his white shirt, and his lips were against her fingers, whispering, kissing her almost shyly . . .
She must have drifted then—for a time she floated, suspended in darkness, no troubles, no fears, but from some great distance she sensed something pulling her back again, insistently, into consciousness . ..
Olivia opened her eyes and saw the figure beside the bed. As she started to scream, a hand clamped over her mouth and she saw Helen leaning over her, her face distorted in candlelight.
"Helen—"
Olivia tried to speak, but Helen's hand pressed tighter and she shook her head, frowning. Olivia nodded to show that she understood, and then, as Helen pulled her hand away, Olivia struggled to sit up.
"What's wrong?" Olivia whispered. "Has something happened? Is there—"
Again Helen's hand pressed Olivia's mouth. After a
second she drew back and glanced nervously behind her, as though afraid someone might be watching. Olivia swung her feet over the side of the bed, her gaze sweeping the shadows. Helen moved to the doorway and motioned with her arm.
"What?" Olivia whispered. "You want me to come with you?"
Helen nodded and touched the latch. Olivia got out of bed and waited as Helen checked the gallery both ways, then slipped noiselessly outside.
They moved like ghosts through the downpour in the dark, trying to blend with the shadows. Helen led the way back behind the house and past the outbuildings until the old, abandoned slave quarters finally came into view. She slowed down and cast Olivia an anxious look over her shoulder. Olivia stared back, bewildered, then saw Helen pointing to one of the cabins. The door was closed, but a sliver of yellowish light crawled out beneath a cracked shutter. Helen tiptoed over and tried to work part of the rotten boards away from one corner of the window. As a small gap finally appeared, she moved quickly aside and motioned Olivia to look.
Olivia didn't want to. As her heart started racing, she was filled with a terrible sense of dread. She hung back and shook her head no. Helen nudged her firmly from behind. Olivia took a deep breath, then pressed her eyes to the narrow crack.
The tiny room was lit by oil lamps—on the floor, on a table, on overturned wooden crates. What was left of a mantel held three guttering stubs of candles, and there was an old iron bed in one corner, its covers filthy and torn. Something that looked like a metal trough stood in the center of the rotted floor. Macabre patterns danced in the air, slyly skirting deep corners,
Richie Tankeisley Cusick
skulking back and forth across the floorboards. As alternate tongues of light and shadow licked up the walls, Olivia could barely make out a series of small objects that hung there. She squinted her eyes and realized there were chains and manacles and metal rings like collars.
Bewildered, she stared back at Helen. Even in the darkness she could feel the desperation in Helen's eyes, could see the fearful glances Helen kept casting into the rainy darkness. Again Olivia squinted close to the crack, and she realized with a start that someone was inside the cabin.
There were three of them.
Three shadowy figures.
As one of them moved into the sickly light, Olivia realized it was Skyler. The second figure seemed liquid and ghostlike, slipping in and out of darkness along the far wall. The third lay so still, so deep in one black corner, that Olivia could scarcely detect any sort of movement at all. She pressed her head closer and tried to hear.
"I put her out," Skyler was saying. "She'll sleep for a while . . . but I'm afraid she's going to cause trouble—"
"I don't want any trouble," the second figure replied, and with a shock, Olivia recognized Jesse's voice. "We don't need any more trouble."
"I agree with you, but what can I do about it?"
"I don't doubt for a minute Mathilde got exactly what she deserved. I just want you to keep her away from Olivia."
"Do you think I'm a miracle worker?"
"I don't want Olivia hurt, do you hear me? She's frightened enough as it is."
238
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"Fear makes passion." Skyler chuckled. "You should know that by now."
Jesse turned and began to pace back and forth along the wall. "I don't want you hurting Olivia, and I don't want you touching Olivia."
Skyler shrugged. He turned his face into the lamp glow, and his eyes glittered with a wicked light.
"I can't do it," Jesse said quietly, and Skyler gave a low groan.
"What do you mean, you can't do it?"
"I ... I just can't. Knowing what I know. She's so . . . beautiful—"
"All the more reason to do it." Skyler stared at the manacles on the wall, ran his fingers slowly down one length of chain, glanced back at Jesse over his shoulder. "I've done it," he whispered. "And believe me . . . she's good—"
"Stop it." Jesse whirled on him, and Skyler straightened with a slow, taunting smile.
"Remember Antoinette. Sleep with her... eat with her."
"Stop it!"
Skyler blew out a long-suffering sigh. "Look, Jesse, that was the whole purpose for her being here, remember? Her job. It's the whole reason Miss Rose let her stay."
"I can't help it if I care. You should know that by now—"
"And I don't care?" Skyler sounded indignant. "I kept Mathilde from killing her, didn't I? More than once."
"But not because of Olivia. Because of you." Jesse's voice was angry but calm. "There's a difference."
A long silence fell. Skyler leaned back against the
wall and rubbed his hands over his face as if he were bone weary.
"What is it about this one?" he whispered. "What is it that makes this one so different?"
Jesse said nothing. His shadow stirred slightly, as though he might have shaken his head.
"You have to eat," Skyler murmured. "Look what's happening to you. You're starting to look just like you did before. I don't understand it. Maybe if you ate more—"
"Eating has noth
ing to do with it." Jesse sighed. He crossed the room and stood for a moment, looking straight into Skyler's eyes. "Don't you ever get tired of it? Tired of this? Don't you ever want it to finally— finally—end?"
Skyler didn't answer.
There was a low moan from the corner, where the third figure stirred restlessly and tried to sit up. Olivia watched apprehensively as the familiar face struggled to pull into the light. Mathilde looked dazed, as oblivious to her surroundings as to her present company.
"Skyler," she whimpered. "Skyler . . ."
He hesitated. Beside him, Jesse seemed to stiffen as he glanced in Mathilde's direction.
"Take care of her," Jesse mumbled.
Again Skyler hesitated . . . nodded.
"I'm coming," he said softly. "I'm here."
He started to move toward her, but without warning Jesse grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to listen.
"Don't you?" Jesse whispered.
Skyler stared back. When he spoke at last his voice was coldly, coldly amused.
"As if we had a choice. As if any of us did."
He pulled from Jesse's grasp and walked slowly to the corner. He lowered himself far beyond reach of the lamplight, where shadows lay deep and unmoving.
There was the soft squelching of something wet... a peculiar gurgling sound . . .
And then sucking . . .
Moans . . .
Fading into silence.
a long, agonizing wait, she finally convinced herself that it was safe to come out.
Helen . . .
Olivia could still see the look of trapped fear on the girl's face. Worried to death, she started back to the house, wondering where Helen had gone. Maybe she got away before they realized — she could have outrun them — and hid — so they never knew she was there listening . . .
She tried to save me.
Olivia stumbled up to her room, praying that Helen would be waiting for her there. When she realized the room was empty, a curious disbelief settled over her—that she could have seen what she did—heard what she did—that the whole bizarre incident had even happened at all.
She didn't know where to begin to look for Helen— she knew she couldn't wander around the house at this hour, not without risking an accidental encounter with Skyler or Mathilde in the dark. She didn't even know where Helen's room was, although she suspected it might be somewhere on the third floor.
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