Dark Paradise

by Angie Sandro

  “Mr. Acker?” I shake my head. “Why? We’re blood kin.”

  “Help me, girl!” The quicksand has reached his armpits, but he keeps his arms lifted in the air. He stretches out the barrel of his gun toward me. “Quick. Grab the end. Pull me out.”

  I watch him in sluggish confusion—Dena’s dad. He tried to kill me. He broke into my house and attacked Mama. Dena has four younger brothers. How will they survive if he dies? Who will provide for them? They’ll starve. No. If those other men killed Mama, then the Ackers will inherit my property if I die. Other than Auntie Magnolia, they’re my nearest blood relatives. Everything I own will go to Dena, unless Auntie Magnolia claims it. Hell, they can fight it out in court.

  I stare at the sky through a break in the trees. The stars spin, like fireworks, shooting out sparks. My stomach rolls, and I close my eyes, dizzy. He shot me.

  “The gun…grab the gun, please.” He coughs.

  I squeeze my eyes tighter, wishing I could cover my ears. Concentrate, Mala. Think it through. If he goes to jail, he’ll still be alive. He’ll pay for what he’s done. If I pull him out, he’ll kill me. I can’t stop him.

  “I’m not a witch,” I mumble. “I’m not evil. I won’t be like you, Mr. Acker.”

  I open my eyes and reach for the gun. My fingers graze the barrel sticking out of the quicksand, and I pull. The rifle comes easily into my hands. I hold it, searching the solid-seeming ground. But nothing of Mr. Acker remains visible.

  Chapter 29

  Mala

  Owned

  I let Mr. Acker die.

  It doesn’t matter that he was trying to kill me. I should’ve helped him. I tried to help him, but I’d been too late. Just like I didn’t helped Mama. I had a knife the whole time, and I didn’t use it. Didn’t even think to use it. If I had, maybe I could’ve stopped those men.

  How? What could I have done? There had been three of them and one of me. I shiver. When did it get so cold? The front of my T-shirt feels sticky and wet. The copper scent of my blood stings my nose. If I don’t reach help soon, I’ll bleed to death. Mr. Acker would win. I have to move fast. Get to the road and flag down a car.

  Georgie…help me. I grab onto the stock of the rifle, use it to help me rise, and then push it into the quicksand. I can’t carry it with my injured arm, anyway. A cloud hides the moon, and thick fog blankets the ground. A pulsing rhythm plays in the distance. Drums. The beat taps into my lethargy, and I limp toward the music. My head feels foggy, disconnected, like it’s a helium balloon attached to a string. It floats. The drumming grows louder. Voices sing in a language I don’t understand, and the sound flows through the rustling leaves. The flickering glow of a fire comes from up ahead, and I stumble into the worst place I could be. A fire burns in the center of the clearing. My gaze turns to the stone altar, and I choke back a sob. It drips red with blood.

  I’m hallucinating.

  Chilled fingers circle my arms. I try to jerk away, but I can’t free myself. I’m dragged toward the fire. With each reluctant step, the drumming grows louder. Shadows dance. Ghostly phantoms sway around me, touching my face, my hands. I blink to bring them into focus. They look hazy, but upon making the connection, they become solid. Men dressed in homespun tunics and women in long skirts and colorful scarves. Their bare feet stomp the earth, jingling ankle bracelets crafted from beads and shells.

  I’ve got to get out of here. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be seeing them…these specters from the past. I’ve slipped into the between—the thin space where the spirit world and ours meet. Mama’s dead, and I see ghosts.

  I shove through them. It’s like I’m fighting through molasses. Sticky threads bind my legs. They grab for my arms, but I twist free. The air feels thick with their collective anxiety. They want me to stay with them. They will protect me. But I can’t. I’m not dead.

  At least I don’t think I am.

  That thought breaks through whatever lingering doubts I have, and I run. By the time I reach the top of the hill, I’m panting, ready to collapse. I crouch in the bushes on the edge of the woods, hearing the sound of an engine barreling down the road leading from my house. It barely slows at the crossroad. Screams come from inside the truck, and a figure hunches over the wheel.

  When the truck takes off, I remain frozen until the taillights fade in the distance, afraid to come out of hiding. This is a trick. They’ll come back. They must expect Mr. Acker to return with news of my death. They’d be stupid to let me escape, not after I witnessed what they did to Mama. Stupid to think I won’t find them.

  My legs give out, and I fall to my knees. Pain fills every part of me, but especially my shoulder. I crawl forward. If I stay in the woods, I’ll pass out and nobody will find me. Even the thought of those men finding me frightens me less than having my body decomposing in the forest for critters like Mamalama. I don’t want to be eaten, especially if I’m not dead.

  I inch into the middle of the crossroads before I collapse onto my back and stare at the sky, begging God to help me.

  I must’ve passed out because, when my eyes open again, I’m not alone. “Auntie Magnolia?” I whisper.

  The old woman skips down the lane, whirling her cane around her head like a baton. She wears a top hat and coat, like a man out of the Victorian age. Beneath the hat, her long silver hair hangs down her back like a waterfall touched by moonlight. I’m hallucinating. I blink a few times, but she doesn’t disappear. When she reaches my side, she squints down at me over the rims of black sunglasses. The orange tips of two cigarettes hang from her grinning lips.

  “You don’t look so good,” she drawls. “Looks like them evil men put a hit out on you.”

  Crazy doesn’t even begin to explain how I feel seeing her.

  “They tried to kill me.” I gasp out the words. “They hurt Mama. Maybe killed her.”

  “Of course they killed her.”

  Pain shoots through me at the confirmation of what I felt deep in my soul, and I groan.

  “Why you so surprised? The death vision warned this was coming.” Magnolia smiles again, her open mouth a maw of darkness drinking in what little light the moon shines upon us. She touches me, running trembling hands across my neck, then strokes my shoulder with spidery fingers. She probes at the bullet wound, sticking her pinky in the hole and ignoring my scream. When she pulls it out, she places the finger to her mouth and rolls her long, snakelike tongue around it like she’s licking a lollipop.

  I try to roll from her, but she presses down on my chest with her knee. I convulse, pain flaring through every nerve ending.

  “Stop! Please, Auntie Magnolia. Why are you doing this? Help me!”

  “Not so fast, little one,” she hisses, and the sound sends a chill down my spine. “You cried out for help at the crossroads. You lucky I’m full up with juice from your mama’s passing so I could come for you. Other things out in the world could’ve come. Worse things. Demons haunt the crossroads.” She arches her back, like a cat stretching on a scratch post, then presses her face into my neck, drinking in my scent. “So much power, ah, cher. Been waiting for this moment since the day you were born.”

  “P-p-please, stop.” Oh Holy Mary, please make her stop. “You’re not real. This isn’t real.”

  She leans forward, snaking her tongue into my wound. She laps up the blood, shivering with ecstasy. A pulse of revulsion shoots through my body. She revels in my pain—sucking it up in mouthfuls that overflow to drip down her chin in a crimson waterfall.

  Oh God, the pain. I choke on it. I can’t catch my breath, and my vision blacks out for a minute. When it comes back, everything goes fuzzy and kind of glows.

  “You’ve given me blood, so I own you.”

  “W-what are you?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. She isn’t human. Far from it. Maybe she started off human, but over the years, she delved too deep into the dark arts. This was the reason she fell out with her sister. Grandmère Dahlia foresaw her corruption and tried to
keep our family free. This can’t be happening. “Am I dying?”

  Auntie Magnolia straddles my hips. “You this close to crossing over to the spirit world,” she says, pinching her fingers together. “But you my child now, and you’ll do me no good if you dead. So is being mine a worthy exchange for your life, cher?” She seems impatient and, worse, hungry. Her tongue licks the blood from my cheek and she moans, eyes rolling back in her head. “Mighty tasty, so much power in your blood. Better decide quick, before I decide to make you a meal.” She cackles. “Swear allegiance to me, cher. Here at the crossroads where bonds are forged. I’ll save your life. And more. I’ll give you vengeance.”

  She presses a sharp fingernail to the middle of my forehead. Her touch burns, and I cry out. My eyes roll back. The memory of Mama being burned by those men races through my head. The pain grows and grows until it feels like my liquefied brain will shoot out of my nose in a mucus-filled jet.

  “Ah, I see,” she whispers. “I’ll take your sacrifices.”

  I scream.

  She laughs.

  * * *

  I wake cradled in a man’s arms. Wind cools my face, and I cling to his shoulders as he runs. With each step, pain rushes through my body. I fight to keep breathing. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I hear myself whimpering. We reach a police car, and I tense as he jostles me to open the door then lays me gently in the backseat. He vanishes. I’m not sure for how long, but then he reappears. He messes with my shoulder, and I do cry out this time. He presses something against it, then wraps gauze around my arm. Afterward, he fusses with my head. I want to tell him to stop, or punch him. But my lips and arms won’t work.

  In the distance, a siren wails. The sound becomes piercing the closer it gets to our location. The guy stares at me with tears standing out in his green eyes. The overhead lights reflect off his red-gold hair.

  “Hold on,” he says, pressing harder on my shoulder.

  I look down and see blood. It covers his hands and the dressing he holds. “I’m bleeding,” I whisper.

  “Not bad, you’ll be fine. The ambulance is coming.”

  My eyes dart around the car. Is he talking to me? We’re alone in the car. Just me and the girl in the blue dress huddled in the corner. Nobody else is here. But she doesn’t answer, and he never glances in her direction.

  “Who did this? Tell me who hurt you.”

  “I don’t know…” His face gets fuzzy. My vision fades, but the blare of the siren echoes in my head.

  Chapter 30

  Landry

  An Eye for an Eye

  White-hot pain jerks me awake.

  I scream and hot, sticky liquid runs into my mouth.

  My blood. I’m drinking my own blood.

  My stomach lurches, and I roll onto my side, gagging. The coppery taste lingers on my tongue and mingles with a charcoal, burnt-beef stench that claws at the back of my throat and makes my stomach heave over again and again. Pressure in my head keeps me from curling up into a ball to ease the ache in my gut. The fire burning in my left eye won’t stop. My eye socket feels bloated with fluid that leaks down my cheek. It throbs.

  I can’t see.

  Darkness presses down, a heavy weight on my chest. Each breath wheezes. A cough tickles my throat, and I hold my breath, fighting it back. Maybe if I don’t move, I won’t hurt. What total bullshit. I won’t hurt as much. Why is it so dark?

  The distorted shouts of male voices echo in the distance, broken by the crack of gunshots even farther away, but loud enough to jerk me upright. My head explodes in agony like I sucked on a live grenade. A scream rips its way upward, scratching and clawing at the lining of my throat. It doesn’t stop until I’m gasping for smoke-tainted air. Wheezing. Choking. Suffocating.

  The darkness eats me…

  Rough hands roll me onto my back. I can’t see who kneels at my side. It’s too dark, and I can’t focus my eyes. Whoever it is presses a smoke-tainted cloth against my injured eye, and I shove at a thick chest. The man shoves my hand away and continues to wrap the bandage around my head. He’s not gentle.

  “It hurts. Don’t touch me.” I scream the words.

  Hands slide beneath my armpits and circle around my chest. Another pair of hands grips my legs. I’m lifted. My head thumps against a chest. Stop running? It hurts. Each step stabs a shard of agony into my eye. My throat burns, raw and scratchy. Whimpers come from deep in my chest with each ragged breath. Voices yell over my head, but I don’t recognize them. It takes too much effort to focus. I let their words wash over me.

  An approaching engine jerks me awake. I’m lying on gravel. Rocks dig into my back. A bandage is tied around my head. I want to look around, but I can’t move. I’m scared of the pain. Thick smoke mixed with that acrid, burnt-meat stench fills the air. Orange flames flicker. The fire dances, twisting and weaving. I try to focus on the source of the blaze, but my narrow field of vision contracts, cutting off.

  Darkness swallows me whole.

  My heart races. It pounds in my ears, throbbing.

  The pop of rocks beneath tires grows louder, then stops. A car door opens. Feet run in my direction. I tense.

  “Landry!”

  Relief surges through me, momentarily dulling the pain. When it flares up again, I want to die. Help, Dad…please.

  He skids to a halt right beside me, kicking dirt and pebbles across my chest. It’s so dark. I can’t see. I reach for my father, but he pushes me back down before I do more than twitch.

  I’m lifted into the passenger seat of Dad’s truck. That small bit of movement sends a wave of fire rolling through my eye. My head lolls against the headrest. I smell the pine from his air freshener and the cinnamon spice of his cologne. I’m safe. He’ll know what to do. I want to pass out. Why aren’t I passing out?

  My shirt’s soaked with blood and sweat. The smell of smoke and offal begins to overpower the other smells filling the cab of the truck. The seat shakes when Dad gets in, and I groan. He buckles the seat belt. When the strap touches my shoulder, I cringe. It’s like every nerve is on fire.

  “It’ll be okay, son.” Tears thicken his voice.

  He hits the gas. I rock sideways when he makes a quick U-turn.

  I black out.

  When I come to, I can see. The interior dashboard lights look blurry. Even the high beams can’t pierce the seeping fog licking the outer edges of the light. Trying to focus brings on a wave of nausea, and I clench my teeth, swallowing acidic vomit.

  Why does my head hurt so bad?

  I should know the answer.

  Dad pulls my hand down when I touch a wet bandage around my eye. In order to see him, I roll my head to the side, panting against the pain. “What happened to me?”

  “An accident…” Dad says, not looking from the road. “Don’t talk. Rest. We’ll be at the hospital soon. They’ll fix your eye.”

  They’ll fix…No, I don’t think so. I don’t know why. It feels permanent. It feels right, like I deserve to suffer. But why? What did I do?

  I stumble through the confusion, searching for answers in the fog filling my mind. No. Smoke. “The house was burning. I ran into a fire.” Flames licked at a couch. The woman screamed as her hair burned.

  Oh God, Mala…

  I ran inside to get Mala. She fought, but I dragged her out. Her mom burned, but I got her out. I gasp. “She stabbed me in the eye.”

  “Landry—”

  “Men in masks. They set fire to her house, Dad.” Mala sat on my chest with the knife held over my heart. She thought I was one of the bad guys. I wouldn’t let her go back to save her mom. They would’ve killed her too.

  The gunshots. Mala got shot before she could stab me. She ran into the woods, but one of the men followed her. He had a gun. He’ll kill her. “Turn around.”

  Dad’s jaw flexes. “No.”

  “We’ve got to go back. He’s after Mala. He’ll kill her!”

  “She’s dead. Acker went after her. There’s no way she escaped him.”<
br />
  A shiver goes through me. “Oh my God. You helped murder Mala’s mom and you…”

  “No, Landry—”

  I lunge sideways, grabbing the wheel. I yank it hard.

  “Landry, stop!” Dad yells, fighting me for control as the truck weaves from side to side. The right front tire skids in the mud. For a second, I think we’ll slide down the embankment, but Dad jerks the wheel and all four tires return to the road.

  “You almost killed us!”

  My heart tries to leap up my throat. I can’t believe I could be so stupid. We could’ve died. I’ve got to figure out a way to make him stop that doesn’t involve crashing.

  I glance up to see him staring, then my attention shifts.

  A shadowed figure stands in the road. Misty tendrils lick her bare feet and curl up her legs, like it’s a living coat. White hair floats around her head. I squeeze my eye shut. Clearly, I’m hallucinating, but when I look again, she’s even closer.

  “Dad, watch out!”

  He jerks, eyes widening. “Do you see…”

  I swear it’s a wraith in a Stargate Atlantis–inspired costume, only instead of leather, she’s wearing a black top hat and coat. She even holds a cane, which she swirls around her head. The spinning gold head reflects the headlights back into our eyes. I’m not sure how, but I can’t see worth a damn. Dad slams on the brakes, but we’re moving too fast to stop. The spinning cane leaves her hands as she flings it. It crashes against the windshield. Cracks spiral through the glass.

  Dad shouts, twisting the wheel. He slams on the breaks, but the truck skids into the turn, weaves, then runs off the road. We’re airborne. Then we hit the raised embankment. My arms rise instinctively to protect my face as my head whips forward then back.

  I’m surprised I don’t black out.

  The truck lands in a ditch filled with runoff from the bayou. Muddy water flows into the cab and soaks into my shoes. The carpet squishes when I unbuckle my seat belt to check on Dad. Blood flows from a gash in his hairline. I find a heartbeat, but he doesn’t wake up when I shake him. The fucking airbags didn’t deploy on either side.