“My magic raised him. The zombie belongs to me,” Ms. Josephine states, standing firm.
“Perhaps, but it is the proprietary toksins that allow him to rejuvenate, and to be strong and fast. And those belong to my employer. He is very intent on having his property back. Transfer the soul to me, and I shall leave you, your home, and your friend—” His eyes shift to Maisie and then back to Ms. Josephine. “—intact.”
They will hurt Ms. Josephine and Maisie to get to me if I don’t go with them. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them have me, but I don’t know what we can do. We have no hope.
Well, maybe just one hope. The idea pops in and I’m gripped by certainty. It has a kind of poetic justice, really. There is exactly one person who I trust with my soul, and that was my soulmate.
I turn around and grip my wife by her arms, the confrontation behind us fading into the background as I focus on her.
“Listen to me now. This is very important, and we don’t have much time.” I slip my wedding ring off, and she starts to protest as I press it into her palm. “Listen closely. Keep my ring, and when I let go, tell me to attack them. Tell me to kill them, Maisie.”
“Grady, no!”
“Yes. Say it just like that, you have to. And don’t tell me to stop until you know you’re safe. And if I try to hurt you or Ms. Josephine, you tell me to stop. Insist. And then do what we came to do, okay? Understand?”
Her eyes fill with tears and I know she understands exactly what I’m doing, exactly what this means. I touch my forehead to hers, eyes closed. “I love you more than life itself.”
“I love you, too.”
I kiss her tear-dampened lips, her forehead. “Now, Maisie. Do it now.”
And then I step back and relinquish her hand, my ring, and the control of my soul.
***
Maisie
Grady’s eyes go dull and red, and despite the danger all around us, I hesitate. I don’t want to do this, and I don’t want him to do this, and I don’t want to watch, and—
One of the henchmen steps toward me, murder in his eyes, and in a panic, I blurt, “Grady, keep him away from us!”
And with a snarl, he turns and blocks him.
But the other man is at least a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier, and he shoves Grady hard out of the way.
Grady stumbles, but then gets back up and blocks him again.
With a growl, the henchman shoves him again, harder this time, into a shelf of bottles. Grady and everything else to crashes to the ground.
The big guy and I both stare at the mess to see if he’ll get up again. He doesn’t, and I panic more as the killer draws a fat machete from his belt.
“Grady, get up. Please.”
The bottles rattle and I see him struggling to stand. Machete-man turns and crouches down, ready to hack at my husband. Who is just standing there among the bottles.
Oh, right.
“Attack him!” I scream as the henchman lunges toward him, blade at the ready.
Faster than my eyes can follow his movements, Grady attacks the bigger man. The blade arcs down, and I can’t tell if he’s hit Grady or not, but now Grady is hanging on the bigger guy’s back, arms around his throat, snarling.
There are gashes on his arms, oozing blood. So he did get hit. But now the blade is on the floor, the big guy using both hands to try to pry Grady off him. Grady isn’t letting go, and—oh, God—now he’s using his teeth to attack.
Ms. Josephine is holding off the other henchman with her spells and powders, but the one she called bokor with the cane still stands off to the side, watching the fights and whispering to himself.
Grady, even as strong as he is, isn’t having any luck bringing down the attacker, despite the wounds he’s given him. And if he can’t neutralize him, at some point, he’s going to get to me, and Ms. Josephine’s attacker is going to get to her, and it’s all going to be over.
Heart dropping, I give my husband a new command. “Kill him,” I whisper. But he hears me. Somehow, through the link in the ring, he receives the command.
And with a great heave, he twists the head of the attacker in his arms until it cracks. The henchman crumbles, and Grady follows him down to the floor, mouth at the bloody wounds at the shoulder and neck.
My stomach turns itself inside out and I retch.
But inexplicably, head turned at an awkward angle, the other man struggles to rise from the floor again.
Oh. My. God.
“Maisie!” I turn to Ms. Josephine at her yell. I glance where she’s pointing, and the man she called Mr. Lucien is standing there fondling the little dolls hanging from his belt. “They are zombie!”
With a gasp, I understand. They’re reanimated, like to Grady, and the dolls are what their souls are tied to. The bokor is controlling them.
I point to him and command Grady. “Get the dolls off his belt and get them to Ms. Josephine!”
Flesh hanging from his mouth, Grady follows my finger. With a growl, he springs toward Mr. Lucien.
Frantically whispering and fingering the dolls, the man backs toward the doorway. The henchman Grady that attacked is still trying to get up from the floor, almost comically, but the henchman attacking Ms. Josephine turns from her and toward Grady, then snags him just in time to stop him from reaching the bokor.
Ms. Josephine runs to him, struggles with him, trying to reach the belt. But then the bokor has his hands around her neck, and he’s squeezing, and I’m just standing here useless and afraid.
The henchman with the broken neck is up on his feet and looking in circles for his machete, but I see it first, and without taking the time to think about it, I run across the room to Grady, only pausing long enough to pick the knife up off the floor.
The air above me shifts as the henchman swipes for me but I keep running, ring gripped in one hand and knife in the other. As I pass Grady, I hold it out and yell, “Take the knife! Take it and attack them!”
He takes it from my hand and I hear something heavy hit the floor behind me, but I keep moving. I don’t know if this will work, but—
I charge into Mr. Lucien and Ms. Josephine, toppling them both. The two of them wrestle there on the floor, but I grab the loop of rope the little dolls and charms are hanging from and yank, hard. It comes off in my hands, and I scramble backwards away from them.
I have it now, but what on earth do I do with it?
“Stop!” I scream.
I didn’t think it would work, but both henchmen stop moving. Grady stops moving. Even the bokor stops grappling with Ms. Josephine, looking at me with angry surprise that I snagged his belt of little dolls.
But I have no idea what to do with it. I glance at Ms. Josephine in desperation. She holds her hand out as she stand and steps away from the man, straightening her white dress, now torn and dirty.
I step towards her, eyes on the bokor. Why isn’t he moving? Why isn’t he trying to get the belt back?
I place them in her hand and back away, fist gripping the ring held to my chest where my heart thumps painfully fast and hard.
“You did good, Sister,” she says to me with a fierce smile, and holds the rope of charms up between her and the other man. “Run while you still can, Lucien.” Ms. Josephine tells him in English. Then, muttering words in Creole’, Ms. Josephine first rips one, and then the other big doll in half. The henchmen crumple to the floor, unmoving.
The bokor, his face running with sweat, hisses and throws a vial at our feet. It explodes and the air is filled with choking, sulfuric smoke, and I cough my lungs out as my eyes water. We’re all coughing and tearing for several minutes, and when the smoke clears...
The man is gone.
Ms. Josephine looks at the doorway where he must’ve escaped, then stares at the remainder of the charms tied to the rope in her hand.
I walk over to her, glancing at the inert bodies at our feet. “Is it over?”
“This trial is.” She tips her head to look behind me at G
rady.
I hesitantly turn to look at him, too. And he’s staring at me. And the look he’s giving me can only be described as hunger. Empty, insatiable hunger.
“I must do the spell, now.” Ms. Josephine hurries to the center of the room and begins righting and re-lighting the candles with rushed whispers.
He takes a step toward me.“Grady?” My voice cracks. He takes another, lip curling into a snarl.
“Grady, stop.”
He shuffles forward, growling, as if he doesn’t even hear me.
“Grady, stop. Stop walking towards me.”
His steps slow, but he doesn’t quite stop. He reaches out his clawed hands at me, and I just know he wants to rip my throat out.
“Put your hands down.”
He does, grudgingly, but he’s still baring his bloody teeth and snarling, still jerkily inching closer. He’s fighting me, fighting the commands, fighting the ring. The spell that had tied his soul to this ring is fading.
This isn’t going to work.
I kick the blade on the ground as I back up a step, and I kneel slowly and pick it up, eyes never leaving his face.
“Grady. I command you to stop.”
He doesn’t stop. He shuffles closer, cornering me and cutting off my escape from the room.
I didn’t want me and the baby to die at the hands of my husband. Not just for us, but him too. I knew now that there was some kind of awareness after death. Grady would realize what he’d done, and it would hurt him for all eternity.
Of course, self-preservation was definitely part of it. I don’t want to die, to experience the pain of being torn apart by hands and teeth.
But nor did I want to kill him and end it all, end our love, in this way.
“Grady, don’t hurt me.” My voice isn’t more than a strained whisper as I try to press myself between the atoms of the wall to escape him. “Please. I love you. You love me. Please don’t hurt me.”
I press my back against the wall and turn my head away from his gnashing teeth, clenching my eyes shut and squeezing the ring so hard with both hands that it cuts into my palm. Hot tears leak from my eyelids. And...
And nothing.
I swallow and open my eyes and turn my head toward him. His face is close enough to kiss, and he’s no longer snarling at me. He’s standing there, only an inch from me, hands limp at his sides.
I look into his eyes and see nothing. No hunger, no threat. But no Grady either.
Slowly, carefully, I reach down and slide the ring back onto his finger. It’s a big risk, because without it, I can’t stop him.
“Come back to me,” I murmur, holding the ring onto his finger. “Come back to us.” Slowly, I slide my fingers from his.
He blinks a few times, long and slow, and I see his soul reenter his eyes a split-second before he grabs me to his chest in a tight hug.
“Maisie!”
It takes a moment for it to register that he is himself again, and I’m scared, but then I go limp, hugging him back. He’s embracing me, not biting me. He’s himself again.
But with my head turned against his chest, my eyes fall on the corpses of the henchmen.
“What do we do about the bodies?” I ask blankly, unable to look away.
“Nothing.” Ms. Josephine produces a pouch of powder, and sprinkles it on the corpse nearest to her while saying a few words in Creole’.
The corpse and all the blood that had drained out on the floor... All of it turns to dark gray dust.
Then she walks to the other, and does the same thing. Soon there are two piles of dust, small enough to clean up with a broom and a dustpan..
All the horror and carnage of the fight, turned into a ten-minute household chore.
I hadn’t thought about it before now, but that’s probably what she would do with Grady’s body when the time came. But...
“I didn’t bring anything to put him in.”
A surprise sob/laugh bursts out of my mouth, and I cover it with one hand, because I sound hysterical even to my own ears.
Ms. Josephine approaches and wraps both of us in her arms, but another sob bubbles up. And now that they’re coming, I can’t seem to make them stop.
Ms. Josephine rubs her hand back and forth across my back. “It’s okay, you do not worry about that.” Then she looks at Grady. “It’s just the shock and adrenaline wearing off.”
Just the shock? No, it wasn’t. It was just the fact that I watched my husband turn into a zombie and attack two men. They had been zombies, but still, I hadn’t known it at the time. And it was just that he’d almost killed me, too, in his zombie state. And it was just that the worst was still to come—
He was still here to die.
Chapter Twenty
Grady
The suns sets, leaving all the bright colors in the room muted by dusk and candle light.
Before I know it, before I’m really ready, I’m lying on a blanket in the ring of candles, Maisie kneeling beside me, as Ms. Josephine circles us, praying as she lights each one.
I meet Ms. Josephine’s eyes as she nears, and she nods at my panicked look.
Yes, this is it. Was I ready? I thought I was. I thought I could do it for Maisie. But now that the time is here, I’m not really sure.
I remember what dying feels like. The feeling of emptiness it brought to the center of my chest, the heaviness of my thoughts and the weightlessness of my limbs. I remember the way it filled everything with blackness, and I’m afraid. Not as afraid as before, but enough to make my heart pound and my muscles tight. Enough to want to run the hell away.
But I’ve already chosen fight over flight, and the only way to fight this darkness is to end it. In my soul, I know I can’t stay in this state, and I need to move on. This world is no longer my home. Hadn’t been since the lab bruisers had done their work, since Travis had buried me in the dirt. It’s time to go.
To what, I don’t know, but I know there has to be something after this. That part doesn’t scare me. I’m kind of excited to see what the afterlife holds, now that I know there is a God and spirits, and way more to this world than I thought possible before.
I am ready, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. I’m full of regret that it has to be this way, that I won’t meet my child, won’t get to grow old and gray with my wife. Grief is heavy in my chest over the loss of those years and experiences. And I’m angry because I was robbed of them by Biff and Mr. Lucien and the lab. But I’m also thankful for Ms. Josephine, that she gave me a little more time to set things right, to spend with the love of my life.
All the emotions at once are jumbled up inside, and they come in waves.
I look at Maisie, focusing on her face instead of what Ms. Josephine is doing. I’m trying not to let her see all the fear in me—for myself, for her—but I can’t help gripping both her hands in mine. She’s my rock, my anchor. This is to keep her and our baby safe. But I’m worried about her. Will she be okay after I’m gone? I know my family will continue to take care of her if she needs it, but my death had changed her. This experience would inevitably change her again. Would she be okay?
Truthfully, this would hurt her, but Maisie was too full of love and life to remain a widow forever. Some other man would come along and put the smile back on her face that my death took away. He might be the one to raise my baby. My wife and child would belong to someone else. Could I live with that?
No way. No way could I live knowing my family would be someone else’s. But yeah...I could die that way.
Unlike last time, I feel death settling on me like a cool sheet. It doesn’t hurt, it isn’t heavy. I’m floating, drifting, and any minute now, I’ll just float away.
The fear I had leaches away, and instead I’m relaxed and tired.
Vaguely, I know that means the end is near. All the pain and fear is over.
And at least this time, the last thing I will see before I close my eyes is the beautiful face of my wife, her love for me in her eyes. I get to pass
in the comfort of her arms, surrounded by her love.
I really can’t think of a better way to go.
***
Maisie
It’s surreal to think we are here for the specific purpose of Grady dying, and when I leave this room, this house, I will be alone.
Again.
But I get to say goodbye to my husband this time. That’s something, right?
I should be thankful for that, but I can’t summon gratitude right now as I grip his hands in mine. Fear and regret and anger and pain are taking up all my emotional bandwidth.
Besides, I know the truth now. ‘Getting to say goodbye’ is just trying to be okay with someone passing before it happens. It’s trying to make them believe you’re okay with it before they go. Making them believe you’ll be okay without them so they can pass in peace.
But having a goodbye is harder. It’s more painful. It does give one closure, and that means I’ll have one less regret this time around. But damn it, no one tells you how much closure hurts.
Grady and I repeatedly say goodbye, tell each other how much we love the other, while I pretend I won’t be utterly wrecked when he’s gone.
And it’s all a lie.
But a necessary one. After all, I’ll have the rest of my life to find peace about Grady’s death. He only has a short time to do that. So if I have to be strong now to help him, I will. It’s only because I love him so much that I even have it in me to try.
“You’ll tell our child that I was happy? That I wanted to meet them?” His voice chokes off, and he swallows and continues. “That I loved them?”
I nod, even though he wrote that all in a note to them last night. I can’t stop the tears, and I’m not even trying to now. “I’ll tell them. I promise.”
And I will. I will tell our child every wonderful and noble thing about their father. That he had a strong moral compass, and died doing what he believed was right, died trying to protect others. Both times.
A Cursed All Hallows' Eve Page 31