Dark Sacrifice

by Angie Sandro

  Landry nods.

  “Don’t worry. If everything goes okay, I’ll treat you to an ice cream cone at Munchies for being such a good boy.” I reach up and pinch his cheek. He doesn’t pull away, just stares at me, and I release him.

  Dying stole Landry’s sense of humor.

  “Boring…you’re so boring now,” I tease, hoping for a smile.

  He sighs. “I’m trying not to piss you off.”

  “Well, you’re doing exactly the opposite. Do I need to introduce you to my psychiatrist? He put me on some good drugs. They made me drool like a bulldog, but I’m amazingly carefree given the circumstances.” I bite my lip. “Hmm, maybe that isn’t such a bad idea. If you’re depressed, you should see a doctor.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “What happened to you was very traumatic.”

  “I’ll get through it, Mala.” He tips his chin. “Look, isn’t that Dena?” The red-headed girl standing in line to pay for bags of veggies could be a female clone of her father—only way cuter, like a Raggedy Ann doll, and without the murderous disposition.

  “Hey, cuz,” I yell, waving to my way, way, distant cousin. Not that we care how far back the relationship stretches. Family is family. Too bad Mr. Acker never felt the same. Alive or dead, the man’s still a jerk.

  Dena’s skin pales, making her freckles pop. “Mala, hello.”

  Her body language shouts her reluctance at coming over to us. Is it because of me or Landry? Since she gives him a tight smile but avoids eye contact with me, I’m guessing I’m the one making her uncomfortable.

  Landry looks between us. “I’ll hold our place in line.”

  I walk over to Dena and wait until she finishes paying for her groceries. She tips her head, and we head toward a relatively crowd-free spot behind one of the tents.

  “What’s wrong, Waydene?” I ask. “You’re acting squirmier than usual.”

  Her fiery bangs fall in her face. “Don’t call me that, Malaise,” she hisses, poking my arm. She flushes again. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  She scans my face as if searching for injury. I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Tears brighten her eyes. “Are you sure? I know you got shot. I’m sorry I didn’t come see you in the hospital,” she finishes in a rush.

  So far, it appears nobody knows about the psych ward. My friends all think it took me a month to recover from getting shot. Which it did, but not physically. Seeing Dena brings the guilt I feel about killing her dad bubbling up.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’m kind of glad you didn’t see me like that. I wasn’t at my best after what happened.”

  She leans closer and glances around. “So, Landry, huh?”

  My cheeks heat up. “Yeah, he’s staying at my place. He doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

  “Oh my gosh, you’re living in sin with Sir Hotness?” She practically shouts the question, and I look around to make sure we weren’t overheard. I pull her over to a secluded area, upwind of the Port-A-Potty, and drag her down onto an empty park bench.

  “Shh, damn it. We’re friends, Dee. Not fornicating like rabbits in my empty house beneath the nose of my mother’s ghost.” And certainly not with the rev lurking about. Shudders.

  Dena’s face blanches again, and she groans. “Oh, gosh, I put my foot in my mouth again. How can you stand to be around me?”

  “I swear, if you weren’t family—”

  “Very funny, but I’m serious. I can’t believe he’s living with you. Everyone thinks he helped his dad try to kill you.”

  “But you know better, right?”

  She swallows and meets my gaze. “Guess he told you that I drove him to your house that night.”

  I let out a strangled “What?”

  Dena practically curls inside herself. “Oh. He didn’t tell you.”

  “No, he didn’t,” I say crisply. “Spill it.”

  “Don’t be mad at him. Promise?”

  “You know I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  Her guilt dries up faster than a puddle on a summer’s day. Once ignited, my cousin’s temper flames hotter than a brush fire. She pokes my arm again, only this time she doesn’t apologize. “Dad and I went to his house after the funeral. Landry said he wanted to see you, but he wasn’t in any condition to drive.”

  “I knew your dads were friends, but not that you and Landry hung out or anything.”

  “Yeah, our dads played poker every week at the hunting cabin. Landry occasionally came with him. We’d watch movies, or I’d take him over to spy on you…” Her voice trails off into a guilty whisper. “Oops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

  “Did you say spy on me?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She glances over my shoulder, and I turn. Landry has reached the front counter. My eyes narrow on his back. He must feel my glare because he glances over at me and winces.

  “What exactly do you mean? Spy?”

  “He came over a couple of times a month and snuck over to your house so he could watch you. I swear it’s not as stalker-y as it sounds. I would’ve told you if he got superobsessive.”

  My legs go weak. “For how long?”

  “What do you mean?” She blinks her sea green eyes at me innocently, but I know her. She’s not as ditzy as she seems. If she’s telling me this now, it’s for a reason.

  “How long did he watch me?”

  “Oh. Since our senior year.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I meant how long did he stay at my house watching me. Thank God I never pranced around the yard buck naked. “I’m gonna kill you.”

  “Why? It’s cute. He’s had a mega-crush on you for years, but you never noticed. Shoot, I’m jealous. I’ve hung out with him since grade school, and he never once looked at me the way he watches you. Like now.” She tips her head in his direction. As soon as he sees me staring, he turns away.

  “He doesn’t have a crush on me.” If he did, he wouldn’t keep rejecting me.

  “Whatever. Continue living life like an ostrich with its head in the sand if it makes you feel better. It doesn’t change the truth, only makes the situation more tragic. He’s put himself out there. It’s one thing to break his heart out of ignorance. It’s another to deliberately stomp on his affections while knowing the truth but ignoring it.”

  God, I hate her logic. I prefer flighty Dena to wizened sage. I want to wipe the smug expression off of her face. Her honesty today doesn’t make up for keeping Landry’s obsession a secret for two years. “You’ve distracted me long enough. You said you brought Landry over the night Mama died?”

  “Yeah, he wanted to give you a book, or diary, or something, so I agreed. We didn’t know our dads were there.”

  Her playful tone drops, and she takes a deep, shaky breath. “I saw the fire so I got out of the truck and walked up. Oh my God, I was so scared.”

  “You saw Landry grab me?”

  She shakes her head. “I saw my father shoot you. He chased you into the woods.” She twists her fingers together. “Dad never came home. I waited, afraid he’d know I went there, and I’d get beat, but he never came back. Did something bad happen to him?”

  I don’t want to say. “He chased me into the Black Hole.”

  She doubles over, clutching her stomach. “So, he’s dead?”

  I nod.

  She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Wish I could say good riddance to bad trash, but he’s…he was my father. He wasn’t always bad—just crazy when it came to Reverend Prince. He thought the man walked on water. When Lainey died, I think Dad really believed your mama sacrificed her in a satanic ritual.”

  “Landry said a fourth guy was at the house. Do you know who he is?”

  “No, the men wore masks. I knew Dad by his voice. The curses he screamed at you…”

  I wrap my arms around her. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Still…”

 
She sniffs and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “Still, nothing. You almost died. Don’t ever apologize for surviving. Ever! What my dad and those men did was evil.”

  “It still boggles my mind that four men would be so willing to conspire and commit murder. It takes a special brand of crazy to think of the idea and carry it out.”

  Dena shrugs. “Your mama’s crazy, Dad’s crazy. Reverend Prince is his own special blend of coo-coo-kachu. Gawd, I hope the psycho gene skips a generation so we’ll be safe. I’ll call the Sheriff’s Office and ask if Andy can bring Rex out to sniff around.”

  “I’m not sure the scent—”

  “You said he’s in the Black Hole. That only means one thing.”

  “Quicksand,” we say in unison.

  I glance at my hands. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you sooner. I didn’t remember what happened to him at first. I had amnesia.”

  “Maggie told me.”

  “Oh. Well, my memories came back slowly. Then I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted to tell you in person, not by phone. But the words…I couldn’t figure out how to say—”

  “How to say my father tried to murder you? I get it.” Dena wipes her leaking eyes again. “Do you remember where he died?”

  “It was dark, so I’m not positive. I remember thorns and hiding behind a tree. The only place that comes to mind is by the blackberry patch and lightning-struck oak. If you come over this afternoon, I’ll walk you to the spot. One of the bullets struck the tree…”

  She lets out a low groan but nods. “I’ll do my best to come after work, but…Mala, I’m not sure if I can handle this.”

  “You won’t have to deal with this alone. I promise.” I give her a hug, then watch her walk off, terrified for her. Did this news just destroy her family? Her mama ran off eight years ago. Now her dad’s dead, leaving her with four younger brothers. Her part-time job at Munchies won’t cover their care. At least she’s old enough to apply for guardianship, but I’m afraid the kids will be farmed out to different foster homes.

  She’s had a month to consider what she’ll do if her dad doesn’t come home. She knows better than I do whether she can feed and clothe her family on her own. Hell, who knows whether she even wants to take on such a life-altering responsibility. This could be her only chance at freedom.

  I spend five minutes in line to pay for my collard greens. By the time I’m done, I can’t find Landry. He must’ve headed for the truck. I walk out of the square, inhaling. The warm air carries the fragrance of roses planted along the wall bordering the Vietnam Memorial Garden. Sweat stains the pits of my v-neck T-shirt. I’m sure I smell less than fresh, unlike the girl who walks around the corner.

  Clarice Delahoussaye wears a shimmery scarf over her long chestnut hair. She looks like a bohemian princess. Real pretty, and I’m kind of jealous since the scarf’s my favorite color—periwinkle, shot through with threads of silver. It totally matches her flowing skirt, peasant blouse, and silver earrings.

  When she sees me, she lays a hand flat on her head. Her fingers tremble.

  “Clarice,” I say in greeting, preparing for her scorn.

  Instead she smiles, a sickly twisting of her lips. “Mala, you’re back.”

  “Pretty scarf. Where did you get?”

  She turns an unhealthy color green. “Don’t, please.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Please, I’ll be good. I promise.”

  I back away from her. Here comes another brand of crazy.

  She grabs my arm. “Please, take off the curse. I’ll do anything you ask. I swear.”

  I wrench my arm from her grasp. Her nails dig grooves in my skin. Blood wells up and trickles down my arm. “Damn it, that hurt.”

  Tears fill her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She drops to her knees. I leap back, afraid she’s going to hit me, but she folds up her hands as if in prayer instead. “Take back the curse. I swear I won’t bother you ever again. I don’t even like Landry anymore. He’s the son of murderers. He helped his father kill your mom. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  She’s got such a tight grip on my pant leg that I can’t rip free. I squat down and pry her fingers free of my jeans. “Clarice, firstly, I can’t fix a curse. It’s not in my skill set. I’m not a real witch, just a bitch. Secondly, damn it, there’s no such thing as curses. Whatever you think is wrong with you is only a delusion. Something your screwed-on-backward head tells you is real but isn’t.”

  Listen to your own words, Malaise.

  “A delusion?” Clarice stands and rips off the scarf. Bald, scaly patches decorate her scalp like red polka dots, and I gasp. “If you didn’t fix a curse, then what the hell’s the matter with me? You said my hair would fall out. You bragged you’d get Landry if you wanted him, but I didn’t listen.” She folds her hands. “I’m listening now. Please, I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.”

  If I’m not careful, I’ll be overcome with sympathy for this girl. Clarice made it her mission in life to make me miserable. Unfortunately, even though I can’t stand her raggedy ass, I can’t leave her like this either. Her condition will only get worse. Her belief is too strong.

  “Be at my house at two p.m. By then I’ll have figured out a spell to help you.”

  She nods.

  “And bring fifty bucks,” I yell at her retreating back.

  Landry swings around the corner and watches her jerky stride.

  “How long were you listening?” I ask.

  “Parent murderers, delusion, balding.”

  “So the whole thing?”

  “Why ask questions you already know the answers to? Let’s go home.”

  I wave at Reverend Shane, and the pregnant woman I assume is his wife, Molly, on the way out. Landry travels in his own world. He doesn’t look up to acknowledge them. When did he get this intense?

  CHAPTER 17

  LANDRY

  Hoodoo on the Internet

  The house smells funny.

  “Is that baloney?” Mala asks, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

  I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of baloney are you asking about?”

  “There’s more than one kind?”

  She doesn’t get the innuendo, and I’m kind of glad. When am I going to learn to keep my distance? I gave in once already today with the mind-blowing kiss. I can’t afford to do it again. I can’t scare her off. I can’t protect her if I’m not here.

  God, here I go again. I can’t think of anything else but how to protect Mala. What I’ll do if the fourth guy or a poltergeist tries to hurt her. I draw in a deep breath then lie, “I don’t smell anything weird.”

  “It smells like baloney and cheese.” She runs into the kitchen.

  I’m careful not to rush, but I follow at a quick pace. There aren’t any tracks on the floor, but she’s right. Someone’s been in here. I feel a strange, hair-raising sensation, like someone’s hiding in a closet waiting to jump out with a chain saw to cut me into bite-size chunks.

  Mala points to the greasy skillet on the stove. “I washed that this morning.”

  Dad. Damn it! If he doesn’t learn how to clean up after himself, he’s gonna get busted. “Are you sure? We were rushing to get out of the house this morning.”

  Her nostrils flare. “Are you calling me crazy?”

  “Are you saying we’re in the middle of another Goldilocks situation?” I force a laugh. “Who’s sleeping in your bed, eating your food? A ghost?”

  “Why would a ghost eat a baloney and egg sandwich?” Her voice rises several octaves. She shakes the skillet in my direction, splashing hot grease on her hand, and cries out. She slams it back onto a burner. “Earn your keep and catch the blond bitch living in our house or get out!”

  I’m so screwed. “Do you hear yourself, Mala?”

  After several deep breaths and hard sucks on her burnt fingers, she wipes her eyes.

  “Are you crying over a dirty skillet?” I ask. “I’ll clean it if it makes you
feel better.”

  “It’s not the skillet, Landry. It’s that I never thought to hear you call me crazy. I guess I just expected you to trust me.” She shakes her head. “Why am I wasting my time? Dena’s as delusional as Clarice.”

  “What?”

  “Forget it. I have to prepare for my magic act.”

  I’m more than happy to change the subject. “So what are you gonna do? Wave a magic wand over Clarice’s head and chant poetry or something?”

  “Something like that. If I don’t, she’ll never believe the curse is lifted. She’ll end up spending her life as a stunt double for Humpty Dumpty. I’ll find a spell on the Internet. There has to be one that’s not too hard to copy. If I do it up real spiffy, I know I can pull it off.”

  “Maybe you can, but do you want to? Won’t you feel guilty?”

  “Nah, Clarice is my archnemesis.”

  “Well, go ahead. But be careful. If one of those ghosts possesses you again, it might blow your brain out for good this time.”

  She grimaces, then shrugs. I hear her mumble Dena’s name again and “full of shit.” She wipes leftover grease out of the skillet with a paper towel then proceeds to scrub it as if getting a pig spruced up for the fair.

  I lean my hip against the counter. “What did you and Dena talk about that’s got you so pissed off?”

  Mala leaps back with a squeak, not having heard me walk up behind her. It startles me almost as much, since I wasn’t aware of how close I’d gotten. “Sorry.”

  She waves off my apology. “Dena told me how she brought you over here that night.”

  I swallow hard. “Did she…” Say anything else? I back up until my back hits the edge of the refrigerator.

  She gives me a long, steady look then shakes her head. “She didn’t know the name of the fourth guy. Her father won’t tell me what he knows until I get his body buried. I promised to take Dena to where he died. She’ll be over later.”