Dark Sacrifice

by Angie Sandro

  But once word spread around the hospital that I saw them, ghosts flocked to my room like a murder of crows, squawking and psychically shitting all over my mind until I thought I really would go crazy. It felt like I walked around with a bubble of static electricity hovering over my skin—repeatedly shocked, my nerves jangling with a tingly, mind-numbing feeling. The more spirits who came around, the sicker I felt.

  That’s when I started taking psych meds. The pills fogged up my brain pretty fierce until I adjusted to them, but they helped me manage the spirits’ connections to a degree. Now I can tune them out if I concentrate hard enough.

  Ms. Anne paces in front of my bed. “Mala, please. Tell my daughter I left my grandmother’s wedding ring for her. It dropped behind my bed. She missed it when she cleaned out my room. Please. I want her to have it.”

  I close my eyes and count backward from a thousand. By the time I reach seven hundred and eighty-five, my body has grown heavy and my thoughts drift. A smile lifts the corners of my lips as I let go. Thank God for meds.

  Since being kicked out of my body, I’m no longer tied to it. I shift out of my skin and will myself to glide past Ms. Anne. Maybe my ability to astral project is a dream, but I think it’s real. Why else would I find myself in the parish jail standing over a sleeping Landry Prince? Again.

  He lies on the bottom bunk in a dinky cell with his back to the wall. Even in sleep he seems alert, like he can’t fully let down his guard. A black curl hides the eye I blinded. Guilt always sours my stomach when I look at his eye. I stabbed him when he’d only been trying to save my life. To be fair, I thought he planned on killing me. If he’d taken the time to explain that night…maybe things would’ve worked out differently. Maybe we would’ve thought up a plan to rescue Mama before she was murdered.

  Or maybe I’d be dead.

  I heave a heavy sigh, thankful I don’t have a sense of smell as a spirit ’cause it probably stinks of feet and butt in the room. His cellmate doesn’t look to have the best hygiene. It creeps me out the way he watches Landry while he sleeps. Hell, we’re watching him together, but my stalking doesn’t have a serial killer vibe to it.

  The shadowed hulk on the top bunk rolls. The faint light bounces off the shiny object in his hand as he jumps lightly to the ground. He lands in a squat and pivots on the balls of his feet to face Landry. I can’t make out the guy’s features clearly, just an oversized, jutting forehead, smooth-shaven head, and lips twisted in a grimace. He quivers, and his clenched fist rises.

  Between one breath and the next, he lunges.

  I throw myself toward the guy, screaming “Landry!”

  Landry’s eye pops open, and he sits up, looking around wildly.

  His cellmate dives through my body. He doesn’t even shudder inside the cold spot and lands on top of Landry. He stabs downward.

  Landry raises his arm, blocking the shank aimed for his heart. The razor-sharp tip slides into Landry’s stomach at an odd angle. The block causes the guy to lose his grip on the shank, and the sharpened toothbrush remains stuck in Landry’s abdomen. The guy punches Landry in the face, once, then again.

  I crouch beside the bed, watching them thrash around, unable to help him. With a shout, Landry grabs the guy by his forearms. They roll off the bed, still fighting. Landry lands on his back, and the guy pins his arms to the ground with his knees. I see a flash of white a second before the guy slams the pillow over Landry’s face and leans his upper body on top of it.

  I run to the bars. The guard runs toward the cell. It looks like he trudges through mud. Each step takes an hour—sixty minutes longer for Landry to suffocate. The boy has enough issues. He doesn’t need brain damage from oxygen deprivation on top of them.

  Landry grabs my shoulder and spins me away from the bars. “Mala, what’s going on?”

  “I came,” I babble like an idiot. “Like every night. Only I caught him…Why is he’s trying to kill you?”

  “Who’s trying to kill me?” He punctuates each word with a shake. “Why can I see you?”

  Half of my brain figures out what’s happening, but it takes the other half a few seconds to catch up, and only because Landry’s cellmate still crouches over his physical body, holding the pillow over his face. Oh, saints, Landry can see me.

  “No!” I cry. “Don’t die. Go back, Landry. Please.”

  “What do you mean die? Mala—” His gaze follows mine. “Shit! That’s me. Caleb’s killing me…”

  I shove him toward his body. He has to get back inside before it’s too late.

  A spinning black hole forms in the air, hovering a foot off the ground. Inky tentacles snake out of the mouth of the vortex and twine around Landry’s waist. He shouts and grabs for my hands, straining to hold on to me as his legs lift in the air. More tendrils shoot out of the mouth and wrap around his ankles, spooling up his body until he’s cocooned in darkness. I jerk on him with all my strength, but I can’t break the suction. He’s dragged from my arms—sucked toward the freaking darkness trying to eat him.

  I awake in my bed, screaming.

  My skin itches like a thousand baby spiders are skittering across my skin. I slap and brush off my arms, rolling off the bed. The bed sheets tangle around my legs, and I fling them off with a shriek. I crawl to the door and kick and pound on the metal surface, yelling for the orderly on duty.

  Kevin rushes into the room. “Mala?”

  “Help me!” I grab for his arm.

  With a deft twist of his body, he locks my arm up behind my back and presses my face against the wall in two seconds flat. “Calm down.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed against the pain in my shoulder and try to relax against the wall. I can’t stop trembling. “He’s dying. Help me.”

  The huge man releases my arm but blocks the door so I can’t shove past him. He studies my face for a long moment. His shoulders relax in response to whatever my body language broadcasts. His lips flicker in the tiniest of smiles, and I want to smack him. His eyebrow rises as if he reads my violent thought. “You chilled enough to explain what’s going on now?”

  I release the breath I’m holding and drawl, “Yeah, like a Popsicle.”

  “So, who’s dying?”

  I fold my hands in front of me, looking a lot like Ms. Anne when she begged for my help. Karma, what a bitch. “Now, this is gonna sound crazy, but I need to call the police.” I talk faster and faster in my attempt to convince him to help me. “It may not be too late. I just need to know if he’s still alive. He has to be, right? He can’t really be dead.”

  “Girl, you right. You really done lost your mind if you think I’m taking you to use the phone. Why don’t you calm down before I have to medicate you.”

  My eyes widen at his tone. He’ll do it. Shoot me up with a knock-out drug and I’ll be dead to the world for my last day, or worse, he’ll blab to Dr. Rhys about my “breakdown,” and I’ll be committed indefinitely.

  I draw in a hiccupping breath. “I’m okay, Kevin.”

  “You sure? Don’t sound okay to me.”

  “I had a horrible nightmare. One of those dreams where someone you know dies, and it feels so realistic that it totally freaks you out and you can’t rest until you hear that person’s voice and know for sure they’re okay.” I give him my best impersonation of a sad puppy. “Please, help me out on this. It’ll take five minutes. Otherwise, I’ll be worried. It might mess up my release. I don’t want Dr. Rhys to have any reason to keep me locked up.”

  Kevin shakes his head and laughs. “Don’t give me that hangdog look. I’ll take you, but I’m only doing this ’cause you remind me of my little sis.”

  “Thanks. I’d hug you if I knew you wouldn’t smash my face into the wall again. I owe you big, and I’ll pay you back someday. I swear.”

  “Just don’t make me regret this,” Kevin says, and leads me out of the room.

  My heart thunders as I stretch my legs to keep up with his longer stride. I focus on Kevin’s back, praying Landry’s ghost
won’t appear. If he had to die, I’d rather he didn’t haunt me for eternity. The memory of that inkblot of a black hole sends a shiver down my spine. The last sight I had before I vanished had been of the darkness settling over Landry’s body like a cloak. It soaked into his skin, burning him. Burning my palms. They still feel raw where I tried to hold on to him. He’d thrown his head back in a scream of agony so piercing I couldn’t help but echo it. I’ve never seen or heard anything like what happened to him.

  Not that I know squat about the supernatural, but the darkness doesn’t seem like a good sign. I’ve always read when a person dies, they see a tunnel of white light. That their loved ones wait for them at the end. Landry should’ve seen Lainey and her baby waiting for him. Has he done so much wrong in his life that his ending won’t be harps and winged cherubs?

  Maybe Landry’s destined for a hotter afterlife.

  I squeeze my hands together, praying it isn’t so. I believe that, as long as a person lives, they have a chance at redemption. I just have to find Landry and keep him alive long enough for him to atone for his sins. That is my task, right? Why I witnessed such horror in the first place.

  “Use my cellphone,” Kevin says.

  I jump at the sound of his voice. We’ve arrived at the personnel office. “Got it,” I say with a thumb up and a watery smile. “And Kevin…thanks. I owe you big.”

  “You got five minutes.” Kevin leaves to finish his rounds. The cramped office contains dusty file cabinets and stacked boxes. I sit behind the desk, debating who to call. Someone with the authority to check on Landry. Someone who will believe me without question, and frankly, being able to explain my fear will stretch most people’s imagination. Bessie’s the best choice since she has the power to get information from the jail quickly, but I don’t want to disturb her in the middle of the night. That leaves only one other person I can trust, but I’m not sure George will be willing to do Landry any favors. Not even to prove his professed love for me.

  With a deep breath, I punch in the numbers before I chicken out. The rings echo in my ear. I twist a strand of hair around my finger, nervously rehearsing what I’ll say when he answers.

  “Hello?” The woman’s sleep-husky voice throws me off. My mind speeds into triple overtime, and a million questions pop up so fast that I can’t form the words to keep up. I open my mouth, but only a squeak comes out.

  “Anyone there?”

  “Who is it, Izzy?” George’s muffled voice asks.

  The image of the two of them in bed flashes before my eyes, and I gag on the vomit creeping up my throat. With a choked scream, I end the call with a shaking finger. “Damn you, George Dubois.”

  Why didn’t I say that when he could hear me? Why did I hang up? Why did I let him kiss me? Izzy…who the fuck…Oh. My. God. That nurse—the smug one who smiled whenever she stuck a needle into me. George hooked up with that skank? How could he sleep with another woman after declaring his love for me?

  I pace across the room, squeezing my hands together so I don’t punch something. Breathe, Mala. Breathe.

  What did I expect? We’re not together. He can date or fuck whoever he wants. We’re not in a committed relationship. Oh, God. What if I’m wrong about when they got together? She didn’t seem to like me while I was in the hospital. He never told me about dating Lainey. What if he and Izzy have been keeping their relationship secret?

  I’m the cheater. I kissed a guy with a girlfriend. How did I sink so low? I jerk hard on the end of my braid. Sharp pain radiates through my scalp, bringing tears to my eyes and clearing the fog of rage swirling in my thoughts. I’ve really gone insane.

  I’m freaking out about the state of my love life while Landry may be dying? I’m such an idiot.

  The phone rings, and I answer it. “Hello?”

  “Hello…Mala, is that you?” George asks.

  I drop the phone and jump away from it like it turned into a striking snake. “Oh, saints!”

  What do I do? I don’t want to talk to him. I stare at the phone, wishing it would vanish, then pick it up. I clutch it like a potato fresh out of the microwave—with only the tips of my fingers—ready to drop it if the conversation gets too hot.

  “Mala, I recognized your voice, and I can hear you breathing.”

  “G-George, yes?”

  “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  Hurt, yes. You squished my heart, you jerk! I shake my head. “No, no, I’m fine, but Landry...ah, Landry needs your help.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He was stabbed by his cellmate tonight. Could you find out”—my voice chokes on the words—“if he’s alive? Please.”

  A long silence falls between us, followed by a heavy sigh. “Who told you?”

  My knees unhinge, and I hit the floor hard. “Then it’s true? He’s dead?”

  “The call came from the station right after you hung up. Tell me how you found out before I did. And why did you hang up?”

  “Because I didn’t want to talk to your girlfriend,” I yell, and hurl the phone at the wall. It hits with an audible thunk and falls to the floor. I bury my face against my knees, shivering. My eyes burn, and I squeeze them closed against the tears that I refuse to let fall.

  “Damn, girl.” Kevin blocks the doorway with his ginormous bulk.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I think I broke your phone.”

  “You think?”

  “I’ll buy you a new one once I get out of here.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m two years past-due for an upgrade anyway.” He bends to pick up the mangled mess on the floor. “You didn’t take a piece to slash your wrists with later?”

  “Slashed wrists aren’t my style, Kev,” I say, dipping into the deep well of sadness I felt upon finding Lainey Prince with her body drained of blood in the bayou. I never want anyone to find me dead like that.

  “Bad news?”

  I press my palms against burning eyes. “The worst if you consider it verifies the fact that not only do I see ghosts, but I’m also psychic. That dream I had about my friend…”

  “Whoa, dead?”

  Tears trickle down my cheeks, and I scrub them away, nodding.

  CHAPTER 3

  LANDRY

  Hotter Afterlife

  I watch myself die.

  Feel the snick as my soul severs from whatever connects it to my body. I can’t stop it from happening. Like Humpty Dumpty, I can’t put myself together again. No matter how much I want to stay or how tightly Mala holds on to my hands, I’m jerked away.

  The last flash of fear in her eyes before she disappears fills me with regret.

  I never got to apologize.

  I’m really dead.

  This is how it feels to be a spirit. It hurts. So bad!

  My mouth opens in a silent scream. Pain eats the edges of my thoughts. Each bite gets bigger and bigger. Soon there won’t be anything left of me. Landry…I’m Landry Prince.

  Shadow soaks into my skin. My flesh burns as if alcohol’s being splashed over thousands of paper cuts all over my body.

  The pain will consume me if I don’t control it. Breathe.

  My lungs ache when I inhale. I cough on the sulfuric stench of the dry, hot air, then draw in another breath, letting my chest expand to its fullest. Beating thuds fill my ears, echoing in the black void surrounding me.

  I hate the dark.

  My fear increased after I lost half of my sight. Now I’m trapped in total darkness, unable to see what waits for me. And something does. I sense it. My skin feels clammy. Why I still have physical sensations when I don’t have a body, I don’t know.

  I don’t want to be here.

  I want out!

  God, help me. This isn’t how I imagined death while sitting in church every Sunday, at least not for me. Where are the angels, the fluffy, white clouds, and the all-you-can-eat cheeseburgers?

  How long do I stand in this spot? For eternity?

  My foot slides ac
ross the ground in a hesitant step. I thrust my hands out, wishing for light. Where’s the door? The white tunnel? Lainey?

  A rustling comes from the ground.

  I freeze, afraid to take a step, listening. I know this sound…it’s the slithering of scales across stone. I force myself to take another step. The sound mirrors mine, gliding closer in the dark. My inner ear tingles as I listen to it glide closer. My mind creates a picture…a vision I don’t want in my head. The snake sounds big. Like an anaconda-eating-a-grown-man big.

  This must really be hell.

  Death’s chock full of my worst nightmares—darkness, snakes, and never-ending pain. I’m being tormented for my sins.

  You’re totally screwed. It’s too late to repent.

  I squeeze my eye shut, but being blind already, this doesn’t help to block the image. It only grows larger and more menacing. I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself. How long before I feel the bite of fangs? Will it strike fast? What will hurt more, the sharp, needlelike jabs into my skin or the venom shooting into my body?

  Cold sweat breaks out on my skin and evaporates immediately in the heat. My nonexistent heart races like I’m tweaking. If I wasn’t already dead, I’d be afraid of having a heart attack. I can’t hear over the sound of my rough breaths. I can’t tell where the snake is. It could be beneath my feet or across the room. Please be across the room.

  My mouth is dry.

  I shuffle forward a few steps, unable to stay still while I’m being stalked. A smooth, rounded body brushes against my foot, and I spin around. My arms pinwheel to keep my balance as the snake coils around my ankles. I kick out. The snake retaliates by tightening its grip, winding around my body by constricting its muscles. My arms and legs are pinned to my sides.

  I yell, trying to frighten it. Okay, lie.

  I panic.

  The sharp scent of musk fills my nose, and I gag on the rank smell. The head slides beneath my chin, the flick of its tongue vibrates across my lips. I don’t close my mouth fast enough. The taste of rotten meat fills my mouth as the snake’s head slides onto my tongue. My jaw stretches and bone cracks as the whole head thrusts itself down my throat.