BREAKING CURSED BONDS

by Elisabeth Zguta

  Emilie’s father’s guilt weighed on her, and a cold thought crossed her mind. Will Robert go to jail for all he’s done? She looked at Michelle, who was caught up in the drama of it all.

  “Robert had me fooled. I thought he genuinely wanted to help me with the company so he could take over. I believed in him.” Pierre stared absently a moment. “Robert’s failure is my sin, and I will have to do penance for it. I hope you girls will forgive me somehow. I never meant to neglect you.”

  He dropped his chin to his chest. The room stayed quiet until he cleared his throat. “Listen to me, we don’t have much time. I’ve changed my will. The estate is in your hands, both of you. The changes have been made, and the paperwork is already signed and sealed. It is up to you two to protect my legacy. Make no mistake, Robert will be furious that he’s excluded. He’s under the impression everything is his, as a birthright, but I will not allow Tom Bennett to use my son any longer.”

  Pierre stopped pacing, and stood in front of Michelle. “Your brother will fight you for control, no question. After I die, you’ll have a battle on your hands.”

  Emilie hated to hear him talking like this. His anxiety was unsettling. Pierre started pacing again. He walked to his desk, kneading his hands together, his brow wet with perspiration. “Father, you talk as if you want to die,” she said.

  “We all die, Emilie.” He waved a dismissive hand at her and continued, talking faster now. “The accountants have straightened things out as much as possible while Robert’s been occupied. He’s involved in a Trojan project I invented to keep him busy. Officially, he has no control over any funds.

  “If I survive the ceremony today, then I’ll confront him and deal with the whole situation myself. But we all know there’s a chance I won’t survive, and make no mistake, I’m willing to take that chance if it means saving Rachael’s life and my family’s future. It doesn’t matter if you agree or understand, be brave, and let me go through with this to the end. Promise me, girls.”

  They nodded half-heartedly.

  “If I die, you will have to enforce things. I’m leaving the final business decisions to Michelle.” Pierre looked at Emilie. “Do you understand, Emilie? One person needs to be at the helm.”

  She shook her head, terrified at the thought of her father dying today.

  “Promise me.” He dropped his hand on his desk. “Make sure Robert has no access or control, not the slightest. You will have to be strong. Can you do this? Are you up to the challenge?”

  “Yes, of course, I’ll do my best,” Michelle said.

  “Robert will make your life hell,” Pierre continued. He hung his head for a moment, in deep meditation, before he looked at them again. “You still need to promise me one thing, both of you: live with your brother in the house. It’s the only asset left with his name on it. I just can’t take that away, too. The house will be his legacy.”

  “Thank you for trusting Emilie and me,” Michelle said. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of things, and Emilie, too, the same way she always took care of us. Though I have a feeling she won’t be in Memphis long.” Michelle smiled. “You and Jeremy make the perfect couple, and you’re destined for more than Memphis.”

  Pierre nodded his agreement. “Emilie will always watch your back, Michelle, no matter where she is. Never underestimate the help your sister can provide with the business.”

  “You’re right,” Emilie said. “We’ll watch each other’s backs, right, Chelle? Though no more secrets, no more doubts.”

  “There’s just one more thing. Robert has already proved his deceit runs deep. Don’t trust him again until he proves himself, I’m afraid he may have lost his soul already, so pray for his redemption. Father Eddie says it is never too late. I hope he’s right.”

  Emilie still had reservations about all this. If her brother had done such horrible things, then why not go to jail? She knew the answer before she even voiced the question aloud: her father wanted to avoid the scandal of it all. Knowing her father, there wouldn’t be any jail time. She asked the question anyway, already anticipating the answer.

  “What about criminal charges against Robert?” she said.

  “Promise me, both of you. No charges, ever. This will be handled privately, no one is to learn of this. I owe your brother that much.”

  Emilie went back upstairs and read to Rachael for the remainder of the afternoon. Her voice comforted herself as much as it did her ill friend. With everything going on in her family, secret agendas and her brother’s inexcusable behavior, it was almost more than she could bear.

  What I need is time, to sort it all out in my head.

  Unfortunately, time was limited. She looked over at the big bed and considered Rachael’s weakened body. Then, she remembered her mother and the days before she died. Emilie didn’t want that suffering to happen again. This plan had to work, for everyone’s future. Her Father was right, and she’d do her best to support his decision.

  While Emilie read, Michelle sat at the desk in Rachael’s room quietly working on her laptop, reviewing some information Father had given her about the new will. Michelle fidgeted, and Emilie sensed her sister’s anxiety, but she kept reading and thinking. Somehow she had to find a way to make sense of everything happening, while trying to understand what her brother had done. But how does one reconcile the drugging of one’s own father?

  Nina came into the room with lunch, and left sandwiches on folding tray tables. Emilie was in no mood to eat. The room was quiet, but turbulent theories pounded within her brain like a drum. Never had the silence been so loud. She concentrated on the sound of the hallway clock’s ticking, back and forth. The movement helped to keep the emotions in a steady rhythm, instead of pulling her mind apart.

  Late in the afternoon, Emilie’s phone rang. It was Father Eddie informing her that he’d be there soon. Emilie made a quick call to Jeremy; Michelle nodded as she heard the conversation, acknowledging the update. A few minutes later, the front doorbell rang. She heard Father Eddie bustling into the foyer, and he was escorted straight to Pierre’s library.

  “Ready, Michelle?”

  Emilie and Michelle went downstairs and found their father and Father Eddie headed for the kitchen.

  “I just called Jeremy. He’s on his way,” Emilie said.

  “Good, we need him here for support,” Pierre said. ”And to help make the drink and perform the chant in the ceremony.”

  Eddie nodded as they entered the kitchen.

  “Nina, you’re dismissed for the evening. Go to your sister’s house. We need quiet here tonight,” Pierre said.

  She turned and gave him a stern look. “There’s a house full of people and I got dinner to prepare. Now that Miss Rachael is here, everyone will be needing to eat to keep up their spirits.”

  “We don’t need a big dinner. Go, I insist.”

  Nina’s brow pinched in anger. “This time you’ve gone too far, Pierre. If their mother wuz—” she stopped mid-sentence, noticing Father Eddie standing in the kitchen doorway. “Are you going to have one of those Catholic masses for Miss Rachael? Well, fine then, why didn’t you just say so.” Nina turned around, grabbed her stuff, and left in a huff.

  “Let’s get going. We have to make the drink and perform the ceremony before Robert gets back from the office. We don’t have much time left,” Eddie said.

  Michelle popped into the room. “I dismissed the nurse for the day, so now the house is clear of potential witnesses. Rachael had an agonizing day and she’s weak. The effects of the medication the nurse administered before she left should keep her knocked out. Hopefully that will last for a while, but we need to make sure her vitals remain stable until we’re finished.”

  “Of course,” Eddie said.

  Emilie heard the front door open, and immediately the barest sense of calm swept over her. A moment later, Jeremy walked into the room.

  “Good, we’re all here. Let’s get started,” Pierre said.

  The three men took over
the kitchen and prepared the drink, according to the specifications of the Timucua legend. Father Eddie had acquired the cassava plant from Mr. Labue. Emilie hated to think that such a kind man had been pulled into the middle of this mess. She kept her hopes high that it would all be over soon.

  The men used holly leaves to make the white tea, which ironically turned out very dark in color, just as described in the journal. So far all looked well, and they prepared a second drink using some of the white tea as a base, and then added the poisonous cassava. Once brewed, they carefully carried the potions upstairs and placed the pots on the table at the end of Rachael’s bed. Father Eddie acted as the coordinator.

  “Okay, folks, listen up. First, we need to make the altar. Michelle, use this sand mixed with the ashes from the chief and the captain, and please draw this out on the floor here, in front of the hearth.” Father Eddie indicated the area and handed her the paper with the diagram. “Take this diagram we copied from the journal. Have it fill the entire area here, so we have room to move around.”

  “These ashes are dead people? I’m not good with dead people or art,” she said.

  “Do your best,” Father Eddie said.

  She studied the drawing and then started marking it out on the floor.

  “Okay, now,” Father Eddie continued. “Let’s see… We’re using the ashes sent back from the burial sites, those will have to suffice for the idols they used. In essence, the idols of the panther and owl are there in the ashes. Emilie, I heard you have a brooch that was on the captain’s cloak, can you get that? We will use that as our new talisman, just to make sure we have a connection with the captain.” Eddie nodded, checking off a list in his head.

  Emilie returned with the brooch, and placed it in Father Eddie’s sizeable hand. He bent over and placed it with care in the center of the altar that Michelle had drawn on the floor.

  “I wrote out the words of the chant as the author of the journal had understood them. Everyone, take a copy and see if you can make sense of the phonetics.”

  He handed each of them a slip of paper with the sounds written down, broken out like in a dictionary. They all looked over the words, pronouncing them softly to themselves.

  “Now, this is how it will happen. I will act on behalf of Chief Saturiwa, and your father as Captain Dominique.”

  Father Eddie turned to speak to them face to face. “First, your father and I will drink the white tea together to purify our spirits and then, Pierre, you will drink the second potion as we recite our parts. I will use this knife and slice your arm, and drip some blood into the potion in this wooden bowl. When you drink again, hopefully it will bring on the trance.”

  Eddie turned and spoke to his friend in a tender voice. “Pierre, once you enter the correct state of mind and travel to the spirit world, see if you can locate what is holding onto Rachael and then set her free. And friend, please return to me.”

  He turned and finished, speaking to them all. “Your father will then free Rachael and return her to us. Understood? Are we all set?”

  Jeremy cleared his throat and spoke up. “Father Eddie, I want to do this instead of Pierre. No disrespect, but I think I stand a better chance. I’m stronger, younger, and I will have the best chance to survive the potion.”

  Pierre objected. “No, this is for me to do. I’m the only de Gourgues here who is cursed, and it’s my responsibility. Thank you, Jeremy, but it’s not possible your way.”

  Father Eddie placed a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “I’m in agreement with Pierre. He is our best chance. Now let’s do this before it’s too late.”

  Emilie felt a twinge of relief. She had never wanted Jeremy to take the poison, and thankfully, he dropped the subject. The priest lit a fire in the hearth just beyond the altar of ash Michelle had drawn. Then, he placed some of the captain’s and the chief’s ashes into a wooden bowl. He placed the brooch from the captain’s cloak near the bowls. They were ready to begin.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Father Eddie and Pierre drank white tea from a smaller bowl and recited words in the Timucua tongue, fumbling the foreign syllables. After repeating the ceremonial incantation, they took a second sip of the white tea and Emilie watched her father turn pale, sweat dripping from his brow. Strength appeared to drain out of him. Emilie handed him a towel. He took it, gave her a nod, and patted his face dry.

  “Let’s continue,” the priest said. He sounded exhausted, but started the ritual again. Father Eddie then took Pierre’s upper arm while holding a knife in the other. A streak of light cut through the dimness and Emilie flinched. It was a hunting knife, the worn handle made of a warm chestnut-colored wood, honed smooth, and the blade was wide and sharp. It fit snug in Eddie’s hand. He sliced Pierre’s arm and Pierre winced, watching his blood drip into the bowl.

  Emilie felt the echo of hot searing pain as the knife cut into her father’s arm. She was confused. Her body clenched against the pain, as if she had also been cut. She pulled up her sleeve and examined her arm, expecting to see blood. Her skin was unscathed.

  This troubled her. It was bad enough that she experienced her father’s emotions, but now she also felt his physical pain too. This was a new aspect of her clairvoyant gift, revealing itself at the worst of times.

  She swallowed back her fear. Emilie had promised her father she’d be strong, and she meant to keep her word. As if he sensed her distress, Jeremy reached over and touched her arm. Just as before, her balance was restored. She gazed up at him and nodded to show her appreciation, and that she was okay and had pulled herself together.

  The priest mixed Pierre’s blood with some of the ashes, then added some potion from the second pot, the brew with the cassava.

  Emilie glanced over at her sister. Michelle’s eyes were wide as she mumbled the words. Realizing her sister was scared to death, Emilie reached over and held her hand. Michelle looked down at their hands and smiled. She found some spunk, and her chant grew louder.

  Father Eddie recited as Pierre drank from the bowl. Emilie turned her attention to her father, watching him swallow. The bitter taste of cassava and coppery metal lingered on her tongue. Her father grimaced but forced himself to swallow more of the deadly mixture. As he guzzled the brew down and consumed the poison, Emilie shared his agony.

  Pierre choked and dropped the bowl, clutching his throat with both hands. Father Eddie, still chanting, filled the bowl again and handed it to Pierre. He took it, nodded, and drank another swig, forcing it down in a big gulp. His face reddened. Eddie took the bowl, and moved it aside.

  Pierre was shaking as if cold, but still dripping with sweat. He swayed a little, and Emilie felt herself sway in response. Eddie reached out to help Pierre steady himself on his feet and one squeeze from Jeremy’s hand calmed Emilie as well. He joined the priest in the mantra. The two men chanted, louder by this time. Emilie suddenly became woozy herself as their song vibrated in her head, pounding like her worst migraine.

  Then the room transformed. A force hovered above them, and everything became surreal. Things blurred and distorted. The furniture seemed to bend and the bedpost looked crooked. Her father rocked back and forth as if to balance himself against rough seas. Groggy and out of focus, Emilie’s head spun. Then the invocation stopped and there was no sound at all, as if a vacuum had sucked up all the noise.

  Thud! Silence was broken when her father collided with the floor.

  “Ouch!” Emilie felt the beginning of a bruise.

  “Are you all right?” Jeremy’s voice was faint, as if it came from a great distance.

  Emilie heard herself scream. Pierre was on the floor, his eyes bulging and his face fixed in a grimace of pain. She reached out for him, but was constrained. She turned and realized Jeremy held her back. She was vaguely aware that he continued to recite the ritual words. Emilie looked into his eyes, searching for the strength she needed. She rubbed her forehead to massage the spiking headache away. She breathed deep, drew in her resolve, and regained her self-co
ntrol. She joined Jeremy and Michelle in the chant.

  “No onoromota holatamaqui.”

  Her father convulsed, his body jerking painfully. His face burned crimson as the cassava potion overpowered his body. He continued chanting despite his pain. They all recited the verses together, the words sounding more like a song with each zealous refrain. Emilie swore she heard her father howl, like a rabid animal.

  The fear and superstition, the horror, the pain, images and emotions spilled into Emilie’s head with no way for her to control the flow.

  Then she realized that something major had changed. There was an underlying shift in the room. She went with him, as Pierre soared into the spirit world beyond the veil.

  The world around Emilie changed, distorted like in a fever dream. Small things, like the book on the table were larger, while things like the bed shrank. A rotten smell accosted her nostrils, reeking like the decomposition of corpses. The stench leached into the room.

  The lamps blinked on and off, then the room plunged into darkness. Only the flames from the fireplace provided illumination. A flash of light blinded them, as if a star filled the space between them. Emilie covered her eyes, and she heard unnatural, guttural noises streaming from Pierre.

  Pierre was split in two—existing in his comatose body lying on the bedroom floor, and at the same time in another dimension of time, a different space and state of being. Emilie saw his face spark with enlightenment. She understood, he could see everything and everyone. Pierre’s soul possessed an understanding of who he was, and he was content. His spirit attracted the others from his lineage, and they connected with him. In this realm, he experienced his family history, and now possessed the knowledge of all of them within himself. He turned and gazed at Emilie, who was by his side, and smiled. She felt fatherly warmth, which she had never known before. Emilie’s spirit glowed alongside his.

  His mood swung like a clock’s pendulum. Now, on the opposite side of the veil, doom was near. He bravely opened himself up to determine its origin. Emilie knew Rachael’s spirit was close but remained enslaved. Rachael struggled to go back to earth, back into her shell, but was paralyzed by some power stronger than herself. The power was sinister in nature, and held her so tightly in a grip of evil that she couldn’t project an uttered sound from her soul.