The Living Blood

by Tananarive Due

  She emptied a drawer of Fana’s clothes, including the new yellow outfit Bea had sent her (pushing away the sudden realization that she would have to tell Bea that Alex was gone, and how could she do that?). She threw in a few clothes from her closet, then moved to her desk. She took her long-neglected clothbound diary and bank statements, real estate records, and receipts from her desk drawer. And the framed picture of Kira from her desktop, of course. Jessica glanced at the photo only for an instant, barely seeing it, before she packed it in the bag, keeping it from David’s eyes. She felt guilty for hoarding their daughter’s memory, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t deal with facing the two of them together, not now.

  In Alex’s room, Jessica stopped dead in her tracks. The mere sight of the familiar Bob Marley poster, still hanging above her sister’s bed, made her feel strangled.

  “Tell me what to bring,” David told her gently. “I’ll do it for you.”

  “That poster,” Jessica whispered hoarsely, pointing. “Roll it up. And her CDs, the African ones. She’s spent a fortune collecting them. She’ll kill me if I leave them.” She’d heard her own words and she felt like a madwoman, but she could not give up.

  She would see her sister again.

  Jessica repeated that thought to herself later as she paced the dreary hotel room with Fana, hoping her thoughts would give her daughter peace. If it was a lie, she was lying to both of them.

  “We’ll try the boy again in the morning. I can use some hypnotic trance work to help his memory,” David said from where he sat on the bed, bleary-eyed. “But we cannot stay here long, Jessica. It’s risky to stay even until morning. Who knows what Moses’s family has already told the authorities about you? They’re looking for you, I’m sure. And they’ll be very interested in knowing why anyone would go to such lengths to steal drugs from your clinic.”

  He did not say the words, but Jessica could almost hear him thinking, I warned you, Jessica, didn’t I? I warned you not to give away your blood.

  Teferi spoke from the bed opposite from David, where he was eating an orange they had brought back from the house. “My heart goes out to you, poor dear,” he said soothingly. “All you tried to do was show the world a kindness, and this is how you have been repaid. I have never had a sister, but please remember I once suffered a vicious heartache that has never healed, and only because I tried to show love and mercy, as you did. It is tragic, and so very unjust.”

  Jessica couldn’t bring herself to answer Teferi. She only found herself wishing that those eloquent words had come from David instead. David had hugged her and told her he was sorry, but Jessica could feel his reticence, something that felt like anger. Oh, yes, he had warned her, after all. She had chosen her clinic above him, and she was sure he had not forgotten that.

  Jessica choked on an escaping sob.

  “He was here, Mommy.”

  Preoccupied and struggling not to lose her composure, Jessica barely heard her daughter’s soft words, spoken so close to her ear. Then she wondered if she’d only imagined Fana’s voice. She glanced into her daughter’s eyes, and for once Fana’s gaze was utterly clear, lucid.

  Jessica’s heart thumped. “Who was here, Fana?”

  “The man with the ra-zor. He was here. But not in this room.”

  Fana slipped slightly as Jessica lost her grip. Jessica had to scoop her upward, balancing her weight until they were once again at eye level. Without being told, David had jumped to his feet to scramble for the shaving kit Jessica had in her purse. They had not shown it to Fana or mentioned it to her. Now, David held it up to Fana so she could see it.

  “This, Fana? The man who owned this was at this hotel?” David said.

  Gazing at the zippered vinyl kit, Fana nodded eagerly.

  “Do you mean Sarah’s brother? Is that the man?” Jessica asked, to prevent false hope.

  This time, very clearly, Fana shook her head no. “The voodoo man. The sad man. He was here.”

  Jessica had no idea what to make of the term voodoo—and she’d never before heard her daughter utter the word—but she certainly remembered how Moses had mentioned that the mysterious doctor was sad. “Was he sad because . . . his son was sick?” Jessica asked, and when her daughter began to resolutely nod her head, as if she’d been trying to think of it herself all along, Jessica’s arms again went weak with joy.

  Jessica put Fana down to sit on the bed, and the three of them stood over her. Now, even more than with Moses, Jessica knew she couldn’t push too hard, too fast. Whatever powers Fana was tapping into, they were the same powers that had killed that Italian soldier, and Kaleb, and she couldn’t let herself forget that. Nothing was worth forgetting that, not even Alex.

  “Fana,” Jessica said, gently holding Fana’s cheeks exactly as she had when she’d finally gotten through to her in the cave, when the bees were coming, “do you know his name?”

  This time, Fana shook her head no. Jessica’s heart sank.

  “The front desk. The register,” David said as he thought of it. “I’ll see if it’s manned.”

  In an instant, David was gone, the door slamming so loudly behind him that it made Jessica jump. Her heartbeat had steadily been quickening since Fana first murmured the words He was here, and now Jessica’s entire body felt weak from hoping. What else did Fana know?

  “Fana . . . the bad men who came . . . do you know who they are?”

  Fana lay down flat on the mattress suddenly, as if she’d been playing a game and had suddenly lost interest. She sighed hard, puffing out her cheeks. “Not-uh, Mommy.”

  Damn. The keen disappointment nearly brought tears to Jessica’s eyes.

  “Fana . . . is Aunt Alex still alive?”

  “You said so, Mommy,” Fana said, looking genuinely surprised that it might not be true. “In your head, you said it. You’re gonna see her.”

  “But Mommy doesn’t know for sure, sweetheart. Mommy is just hoping.”

  “Oh,” Fana said simply, disappointed. She looked stricken suddenly, close to tears.

  Jessica sat beside Fana, trying to keep her voice steady. “Sweetie, please—remember how you told us something bad had happened even though we were far away? Well, you were right. Try to see if you can tell if Alex is alive, even if she’s far away. Just like you knew before.”

  “But I don’ know, Mommy.” This time, the tears came. “I can’t . . . see.”

  Jessica hushed her gently, lying down beside Fana to cradle her. As much as she’d tried to be careful, she’d still pushed too hard. Dammit! “Baby . . . it’s all right. Don’t worry. Mommy isn’t disappointed in you. It’s all right if you can’t see everything. Don’t try anymore.”

  Fana was fast asleep by the time they’d waited two long hours, until seven o’clock, for a hotel manager to return to the front desk. Even then, the bespectacled black manager was hesitant to give out the information. But Jessica’s face, and her words, must have moved him. “Please, sir,” she said. “I think something has happened to him, and I need to know if he was here. I don’t know his name, but he’s an American.”

  At the word American, the manager nodded with recognition. He pulled out his guest registry, and Jessica gazed at it hungrily, searching for a date that would coincide with the doctor’s visit to her clinic. It appeared so magically, she could hardly believe that she was seeing it: One new guest matched their Burgerland receipt, registering exactly five days before.

  LUCAS SHEPARD, U.S.A., said the handwritten entry in neat block letters.

  Dr. Voodoo, Jessica thought breathlessly, making an unconscious connection that surprised even her. Her fingertips tingled. She had no idea what that meant, or where she’d heard it (from Alex? From her job at the newspaper? A magazine, maybe?), but for some reason she seemed to know that Dr. Lucas Shepard had once been called Dr. Voodoo.

  Just as Fana had said.

  37

  Moses was sitting on the stoop in front of her house, waiting for her. He was not wearing a ba
ndage on his arm the way he was in her mommy’s memories, so that was how Fana knew she had brought herself to the not-real place again. She could also tell by the gentle falling of misty lilac-colored rain, because rain never had colors when she was awake, not even the rain she’d made herself. Moses grinned at her. It felt good to see Moses smiling.

  “Look who’s here at last!” Moses said, stretching out his long legs as he stood up. “I’ve missed you, ruri. I thought you wouldn’t bring me to this place again.”

  “I had to. I think maybe I’m going away after this.” No matter how many times she came to the not-real place, Fana still couldn’t believe how much older she sounded, how much easier it was to say what was in her mind. Why did she always have to leave?

  Suddenly, Moses’s face looked grim. “Maybe it’s not good for you to come here.”

  “How do you know?” Fana had never liked it when Moses tried to tell her what to do just because he was older, and it was no different now.

  “The way I know everything in this place. You’ve seen how wagon wheels stick in the mud and refuse to move? That could happen to you, little witch.”

  The rain stopped, and the sky turned gray, dim, and ugly. Fana wished she could spend more time playing in the not-real place—maybe the goats were here, in the kraal in back!—but there was no time for playing. No time for eating cake, this time. Aunt Alex needed her.

  “Mommy is worried about Aunt Alex.”

  Moses bowed his head. “Was I a coward to run?”

  Fana shook her head, holding her hand up for Moses to take it. “Come. You are very brave today, Moses.”

  As soon as he clasped her hand, they were inside her house, just like that. She and Moses were sitting at the table together, and Moses was spooning oatmeal into his mouth. Here was a glass of orange juice! Eagerly, spotting the cool glass on the table, Fana reached for it and began to drink. It was soooo sweet, so good! For a little while, Fana forgot why she had come.

  Suddenly, Moses’s hand froze in front of his face. He stared at the spoon as if it were alive, as if it could strike out at him. His hand began to shake, and his oatmeal spilled to the table. Moses looked up at Fana, blinking, then looked around him. Aunt Sarah was in the kitchen, and she turned to smile at them, waving hello over her shoulder with the dish towel. A mist seemed to be all round her, as if the kitchen were full of steam.

  “The way you talk on, Moses!” Aunt Sarah said, not noticing that Fana was sitting beside him. “You need to stop talking so much and finish your lessons.” As soon as she spoke, Fana knew she had said those very same words to Moses right before . . .

  “Fana, no!” Moses said. His eyes were so wide, she wondered if they might pop out of his head like Kaleb’s. Moses grabbed her wrist hard, so hard that it seemed to hurt, even though they were in the not-real place. But nothing could hurt her here . . . could it?

  “You d-do not belong here, Fana,” Moses said. “This is no place for you.”

  They heard the sound of approaching cars outside: one, two, three? She couldn’t tell, but she would ask Moses to go count the cars. Maybe that could help Mommy find Aunt Alex.

  “They’re here now,” Fana said. “Do you remember, Moses? Remember everything.”

  Aunt Sarah sighed loudly in the kitchen, cursing to herself as she dried her hands on the towel. “It’s so early, and there’s an army out there already this morning. I hoped to rest today.”

  There were knocks on the door. One. Two. Three.

  “I’m coming!” Aunt Sarah called out in Setswana, and she gave Moses a pretty smile as she squeezed past his chair to get out of the kitchen. For a moment, Fana was transfixed by Aunt Sarah’s smile. How could it be true she would never see that smile again? The idea confused her, then it scared her, and in that instant, she was sorry she had brought herself here. What if Moses was right? What if she got stuck in the not-real place and couldn’t leave?

  “Don’t open the door, mistress!” Moses was shouting at Sarah, but she kept walking as if she couldn’t hear him. “Don’t let them in!”

  “Is that the door?” a voice came from the back of the house, and Fana felt her heart leap. It was Aunt Alex! Aunt Alex had been here all along. Of course, you silly thing, Fana reminded herself. This is from Before. Before isn’t the same as Now. She isn’t really here.

  Still, Fana felt confused. She wanted to see Aunt Alex and give her a hug.

  “Fana—” Moses said, grabbing Fana’s shoulders and shaking her hard, until her head bobbed back and forth. “Stop this! You m-must stop this.”

  Fana was frightened by the wild look on her friend’s face, but now she wasn’t sure she could stop it, even if she wanted to. Fana wondered if the Bee Lady was in control now. She was here somewhere—Fana couldn’t see her, but she could smell her all around her. Fana felt dizzy and scared, and she wished she could wake up. She closed her eyes and tried to wake up, but nothing happened. Not what she wanted, anyway.

  But something did happen. Something else.

  There was a loud sound, the sound of wood breaking, and Fana watched as a white man she had never seen flew through the front door. Maybe he wasn’t really flying, she told herself, but it looked as if he were because he moved so fast, as if the door hadn’t even been there.

  The man was dragging someone with him, she realized, a man who could barely walk, whose legs dragged on the ground. The flying man was holding him around his neck, so he could not move away. The smell of the dragging man’s fear was so thick, Fana nearly gagged. The dragging man was close to death, she knew. And he was in so much pain, she felt it floating from him in waves. He had been hurt in many, many places.

  “Do you know this man?” the Flying Man said, and he was holding up a gun. She knew what a gun looked like because the man in the cave called Mah-MOOD had had one, too, and her daddy had been frightened of it. Giancarlo had had one, too. Guns were for killing people. Yes, she knew about guns.

  Aunt Sarah had stopped walking in midstep, frozen where she stood. “Oh, my God—Stephen!” she screamed.

  The man dragging on the ground tried to say something—Give them what they want—but then Fana saw a flash of fire and heard another loud popping sound, and suddenly the dragging man’s face vanished, exploding like a melon. Blood rained down on the floor.

  Aunt Sarah was screaming, and Fana was, too. Suddenly, she understood: The dragging man was gone now, and Aunt Sarah was gone now, and maybe Aunt Alex was, too. They had not gone quietly to sleep. They had been shot with a gun. They had hurt.

  “Cover your eyes,” Moses hissed in her ear, lifting her up. “Do as I say, Fana!”

  And so Fana did. She kept her eyes closed tightly, pressing her palms against them, sobbing the way she had when she was very little, when she could never make herself understood because she hadn’t yet learned spoken language. That was how she felt now, as if she no longer had words to explain what she was feeling, what she had seen. She was crying so hard, she could barely breathe. “Aunt A-Alex . . . ,” she tried to wail, a warning. But she made no sound.

  Voices collided all around her, men and women, shouting, screaming. Some strange voices, and some voices she had known her whole life, all swirled together. She heard the gun again, and the awful spraying sound of blood flying onto the wall and the floor. She felt Moses carrying her, running. Oof. There was a sound like all the air being pushed out of Moses’s lungs, and she felt him fall against the wall, nearly dropping her. But he did not fall. He kept running.

  Yes, she knew, Moses would take her away. Moses would help her.

  She heard men wrestling and cursing. And Aunt Sarah screaming, screaming, until there was more popping from the gun, and then Aunt Sarah was quiet.

  “Go!” Moses said, after she heard him break a window in her mommy’s bedroom. He lifted her up, pushed her through the broken window, and eased her gently to the ground. “You know where, Fana!”

  No, no, no, no, no, Fana was thinking dimly, even as her legs follo
wed Moses’s instructions and ran. This was all wrong. She had brought him here to remember, but it was happening too fast, and they were running away. How could they help Aunt Alex now? Mommy would be so disappointed in her!

  Still, she obeyed Moses. She ran to the rusting old plow that had been left leaning against the back of their house by the People Who Lived Here Before, people she had never met, because she and Moses had learned there was a hole there, in the concrete, just big enough for children to squeeze through, that could take them under the house. They had explored the space beneath the house more than once, because it was nearly large enough for Fana to sit up in, and it was big and dark and dirty, and they could pretend it was whatever they wanted. They had pretended they were moles who never saw the light, and they had pretended they were stowaways on a ship going to China, or even back to the States, where her Gramma Bea lived. When they crawled under here, they could hear the people talking in the house above them, and they had giggled many times at the things they had heard Mommy and Aunt Sarah and Aunt Alex saying when they didn’t know anyone could hear.

  Yes, this had always been one of Fana’s favorite places. Suddenly, she felt safe. Maybe the Bee Lady wasn’t in charge, she thought. Maybe she’d stayed in charge all along.

  Moses had scurried in behind her, and he took her hand and dragged her to a far, dark corner. Even if someone saw the hole and peeked underneath, they would not see them hiding behind the fat concrete beam. Moses was breathing hard. She felt something moist and sticky on his shirt, and she knew the smell right away: blood.

  “Are you hurt?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he whispered, sounding angry. “But be quiet now. You said you wanted me to remember. Then I must hear.”