Suppressed
Page 3
“I’ll ask one of the servants to prepare a new room for you,” he said, as he gulped down more of the green liquid. “You probably aren’t too keen on staying in your old room. That’s understandable.”
I hid my fury under a mask of serenity. Wasn’t I good enough to say in his room?
He collapsed on the canopied bed which gave me the perfect opening to discover his little secret. His eyelids started to droop as he chugged down more absinthe and I plucked out a piece of his hair.
I quickly pulled out a couple of candles. One red and one black and set them on the heavy reading table next to the bed. As I tied Lucus’ hair around one of the candles I knew I was going to have some fun.
I kept one eye on Lucus while I dressed the candles with Inflammatory Confusion Oil. Inflammatory Confusion Oil was used in cases where simple old Confusion Oil wouldn’t do. What made the oil so wonderful was its strength and ability to create extreme chaos and confusion in the mind of your enemy. Kings and Queens used it all the time when their clients wanted a rival’s business to fail, when a jilted lover wanted revenge, or when a stubborn judge just wouldn’t budge on his verdict. I hummed under my breath and focused on the effect I wanted the oil to create.
As the smell of dried jalapeno pods, black peppercorns, oak ashes, and essential oil filled the air, Lucus started to gasp for breath. His eyes snapped open as I slipped into bed with him.
I silently prayed, hoping that the oil was strong enough. “Lucus,” I whispered. “It’s me, Cecile. I’m here. I never left.”
“Cecile?” He blinked a few times before fixing his eyes on me.
“Oui,” I said, knowing that the Inflammatory Confusion Oil had messed with Lucus’ mind to the point where he thought I was Cecile.
“You’ve come back,” he whispered, as he softly stroked my cheek and covered my face with fervent kisses.
“Oui. Now we can do everything just as we planned.”
“Oui!” Excitement filled his voice at my suggestion.
I softly stroked his cheek and looked deep into his eyes. “Remind me of our plans. I just love when you speak of them.”
He smiled and began recounting in detail what Cecile and he had planned to do.
A fake smile remained fixated on my face as he spoke. I couldn’t risk acting surprised.
“It’s going to be wonderful,” he said when he finally finished.
“Oui,” I said. “I can’t wait. I can’t wait for all of it. Now, go to bed. You’re tired and they’ll be plenty of time to be together in the morning.”
“Oui,” he muttered groggily. “Oui. We have plenty of time for it all.”
I left him in bed and frantically paced the room and thought of how I could use his little secret to my advantage. After a few minutes had passed it struck me. I knew the perfect solution to this whole mess. I had to get back to Cecile’s body and fast.
As I approached the window its lace curtains started to madly flutter and a wicked chill entered the room. Ironically, the harsh wind brought with it the sweet smell of jasmine, rose water, and sun drenched lilies. A terrible unease and despair washed over me and panic gripped my chest. It was almost as if Cecile wasn’t dead at all as if she were right there with me.
The wind became stronger and soon a thin, white frost covered the gilded mirror. I ran to the mirror and tried to claw away at the frost, hoping to erase it, make it vanish. The harder I scrapped the thicker the frost became.
“Where are you? Show yourself!” I demanded, as I swerved from one corner of the room to the other.
“You think you’ve got it all planned out, don’t you, sister?” Cecile’s tormented voice rang through the mirror. The candles I had lit earlier flickered and then all at once their flames were snuffed leaving me in complete darkness.
“I do have it all figured out!” I shouted into the darkness. “Now that I know your little secret, I’ll be waiting for you. We’ll be waiting for you,” I said.
Cecile simply laughed and laughed. Her laughter was high and sweet. And then, she began to sing in a low gravelly voice:
It must-a be that old evil spirit
So deep down in the ground
You may bury my body
Down by the highway side
Baby, I don't care where you bury my
Body when I'm dead and gone
You may bury my body, ooh
Down by the highway side
So my old evil spirit
Can catch a Greyhound bus and ride
“You haven’t got much time, sister. I’m coming and I’m coming for you,” she whispered.
I rushed towards the window and climbed down the vines. I knew my time was limited. If I wanted to carry out his plan I needed to get to Cecile’s dead body before they decided to bury it. I needed that corpse before it was too late.
Chapter Three
Mapou Trees and Tongues
Present Day
Somewhere on the Other Side
My eyes opened and I found myself standing in the middle of a lush green forest under the protection of thick palm leaves. Steep green hills surrounded me, and in the distance I could hear the soothing beat of a waterfall as it blended with the water below it. The damp, earthy smell of green moss mixed with the lush spicy sweet perfume of tiger print tomzanonia orchids, while Caleçon Rouge birds with their adorable red bums busily hummed around me. Almost forgetting the crippling humidity and the fact that I was utterly exhausted, I marvelled in childlike wonder at the dazzling array of colors and smells that surrounded me.
There was only one thing that was annoying me a little. A song that was stuck in my head. It insisted on replaying itself on repeat every three minutes and thirteen seconds of the day.
You may bury my body
Down by the highway side
Baby, I don't care where you bury my
Body when I'm dead and gone
You may bury my body, ooh
Down by the highway side
So my old evil spirit
Can catch a Greyhound bus and ride
I ignored the voices in my head and focused on the positive. “Merci, Ghede Nibo!” I shouted, as I extended my arms and twirled around in dramatic circles. “You really are the most handsome and most charming loa around. I’ll never forget you. I love you! J’adore!” I let out a deep, hearty laugh, looked upwards and gave a little prayer of thanks that I was alive.
The old Arelia would have been horrified at the thought of standing in the middle of some random forest in her dingy, sweat drenched Darkwood uniform. She would have been furious at the dramatics of the loa and how they always chose to do whatever the hell they wanted, but then again I wasn’t the old Arelia.
Even though I still looked like the old Arelia with her tiny frame, unruly hair, and sometimes sickly olive skin, inside, I was the new Arelia who had been to hell and back. The Arelia who remembered every aspect of her life as Cecile, and who now saw herself as a survivor rather than a victim. Like those three guys Grand-mere Bea had once told me about: Shadrach, Meshack and Abednego, I had been thrown in the fire but I hadn’t gotten burned. I had to keep reminding myself of that, I hadn’t gotten burned.
“Thrown in the fire, but-a never get burn!” I sang, as I plucked a banana off of a tree and shoved it into my mouth. One thing that hadn’t changed was my appetite. I was starving.
Remembering that I was Cecile made me well, the word was happy, but at the same time terrified of all the responsibility I had to now shoulder. For so long I had walked around knowing that there was a part of me missing and now that I had found that part, I felt whole. I had remembered my history and now I was ready to face my destiny. I was refreshed and eager to face the many challenges that I knew were bound to come at me, even though I was pretty sure I would face some form of post-traumatic stress along the way.
If I were to say that I was now fearless, indestructible, and brave as those people who jumped off cliffs, ate snakes, or chose to paddle from Devizes to
London it would have been a lie. If I were to say that I would never do an immature thing ever again or had every aspect of my life perfectly planned out, it would have been another lie. One of the most important things I had learned was that life as imperfect, cruel, contradictory, and unjust as it could be was still worth fighting for and as corny as it may have once sounded, love was worth fighting for.
A rush of adrenaline and warmth surged through me as I thought of Lucus and all that we had been through together. “That’s right, Arelia, focus on the positive,” I muttered, as I tried to forget about the fact that I was the one responsible for the curse and more than a century of his misery. I didn’t even want to think about what Louis would do to me once he found out I was the one responsible for his problems.
There were many things that I was still struggling with, such as my responsibility as Queen, how I would face Lucus and Louis and not to mention the little issue of my demented half-sister and my psycho ex-protector. Given my history of constant paranoia and bouts of insecurity, I knew that my life was going to get even more complicated. Yes, these were all issues and concerns that weighted heavily on my mind, but for the moment all I wanted to do was eat more sweet, juicy fruit off of the trees and daydream about how great it was going to be seeing my friends and family again.
After an hour or so of stuffing myself with ripe mangoes, sleep inducing passion fruit, and drinking some coconut water, I decided that it was time to figure out where I was and why Ghede Nibo had decided to send me to this side and what I had to learn. The faster I learned what I was supposed to, the faster I would be able get back to Darkwood.
I stumbled through a maze of thick vines, dangerously sharp thorns, and swatted away gigantic flies and mosquitoes as I planned my next move. As I got further away from the forest, I heard the unmistakable beat of Manman, Segon, and Boula drums as they played together in hypnotic harmony. The rhythm was offset by the clanging of an Ogan bell. I mentally praised myself for my newly remembered knowledge.
These drums weren’t any ordinary drums. They were drums that indicated a Voodoo ceremony was in progress. These were the very drums the slaves had brought with them while being shipped over from Africa and into the colonies. Like the lives of the slaves the beat was terrifying, at times savage, but always hopeful that tomorrow would bring a brighter day.
Curious as to where the drumming was coming from, I started to run towards the sound. I ran and ran until the rhythm of the drums became one with that of my heart and my legs wobbled uncontrollably. Thick beads of sweat dripped from my forehead, upper lip, and my white cotton shirt clung to my skin by the time I reached a clearing.
In the distance, I spotted a glorious Mapou tree. Its majestic reddish green leaves and wavy branches glistened under the strong glow of the afternoon sun giving it an unearthly quality. This tree was sacred in Voodoo because it connected the material world with that of the loa, so practitioners usually gathered around it during ceremonies in order to tempt the loa out of their hiding places. It was also a sign of rebellion. In Haiti, where it grew wild, it had almost been cut down to the point of extinction by furious colonists who had despised Voodoo with an unhealthy passion and fear. Like most things related to Voodoo, the tree had proven to be resilient and rebellious thus had survived the fury of the colonists.
Around the Mapou, a hundred or so Voodoo practitioners were gathered in a celebration of some sorts. Their flowing white cotton robes contrasted starkly with their smooth dark skin. The women were beautiful and proud with their graceful necks, white tignons, and gold hoop earrings while the men were strong and tall with their muscular bodies and well defined jaws. With drums in hand, they jerked and trembled around the tree. Some fell to the ground into hypnotic trances and spasmed wildly as the drumming became more furious.
Against my will, my feet prompted me onwards closer to the tree and the ceremony. The old Arelia would have been terrified at the thought of going anywhere near that scene, but after all I had been through I figured things really couldn’t get any worse, could they?
As I got closer to the tree the drumming picked up its pace and the practitioners spun around at a speed so maddening that they appeared to be no more than swirls of puffy white clouds. I was now close enough to the tree to see that there was something off about it. The sunlight forced me to squint a few times as I focused on the jagged tree branches. I soon realized that the tree was adorned with rows and rows of brightly colored strings with some sort of charm attached to the end of them.
Determined to find out what the charms were made out of I moved closer and closer to the group who still paid me no attention to me. Something deep inside of me urged me to turn around and run far away from the tree, but something even more powerful forced me to move forward. I stood a mere foot or two away from the tree before I was able to make out what was attached to the thin, wiry string.
I covered my mouth and suppressed a scream as my eyes rested on the long, pink pieces of flesh that hung from the strings. It took me a few seconds to realize that those pieces of flesh were tongues. Slippery, slimy, they glistened under the sunlight, moist and still wet. They swayed and jerked with the rhythm of the drums as if they were practicing French kissing in midair. Some were long and thin while others were short and fat. They weren’t animal tongues, they were definitely human.
A knot of anger, revulsion, and confusion built up inside of me and despite my determination to remain calm I vomited up a piece of mango. Who did those tongues belong to? What had these people done? Who had they sacrificed and to what loa? Deep within, I knew Ghede Nibo had wanted me to see these tongues. But why and how were they linked to me, Emilie, and Edmond? What was he trying to teach me?
My masochistic streak forced me to continue staring at the tongues for a few moments longer. Blind rage evaporated all of my fears and like a determined soldier preparing for battle I marched up to the crowd.
“Excuse me!” I shouted.
I went unnoticed by them as they continued to play, dance, and swerve to the music.
“Excuse me!” I shouted even louder. When my pleas fell onto deaf ears, I boldly gripped the arm of a plump woman and dug my nails into her until she stopped dancing. Her sea-green eyes grew wide and she flashed me a blindingly white smile as she motioned to the group to stop drumming. Within a few seconds the drumming died down and all eyes rested on me. I hadn’t thought about what I was going to say to the group once I had their attention. My moment of glory and bravery started to fade as the eager, curious faces which ranged in color from pitch black to snow white stared at me in absolute silence. Their bright eyes were wide and hopeful and for a split second, they didn’t look like a group of tongue cutting psychos.
I moved backwards but the group insisted on moving with me. They formed a circle around me and continued to stare in absolute fascination.
Figuring that beating around the bush wasn’t the way to go in a situation like this, I decided to come out with it and confront them head on. “Who do those tongues belong to?” I asked, as I pointed to the ghastly flesh covered tree.
The crowd remained silent and simply continued staring at me in bewilderment.
I took a deep breath and composed myself before repeating the question.
Silence.
“Hello!” I shouted. I felt the frustration building as the group remained silent, refusing to give me an answer. “Those tongues, how did they get there? Who were they sacrificed to and why?”
After a few moments of more silence, the plump lady moved forward and extended her hand invitingly towards me. Gross. There was no way I was going to touch that hand. Dieu only knows where it had been and what it had done. A vision of her slicing out tongues momentarily popped into my head and a faint shiver crawled up my spine.
“No,” I said.
She nodded as if indicating, “Yes.”
I took a step back and she moved one step closer. Our dance continued until she finally grabbed me by the wrist and dug her fi
ngers into it. I tried to shake her free as I backed away from her, but her grip was too powerful. She shook my arm roughly and waves of pain shot through my veins. I frantically searched the faces around me for one that appeared to be friendly, but I had no luck. The group stood with their arms crossed in a defensive manner unwilling to listen to my pleas of frustration.
“Look, if you let go of my wrist, I’m sure we can talk about this rationally.” I was tempted to flaunt the fact that I was supposed to be the official Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, but decided that bragging probably wasn’t the best way to go. “Please.” I added, remembering I had to start acting a little kinder and a little less obnoxious.
She shook her head and desperately searched my face as she dug her nails deeper and deeper into my wrists.
“Please,” I whispered again. “Whatever, you did, I’m sure you had some sort of explanation. Maybe you acted out of fear? Maybe you acted out of anger?” I cited my own reasons for doing some pretty messed up stuff.
She released her grip and without explanation panic widened her pretty eyes, and I could tell that she was terribly afraid. The faces that surrounded her looked equally as panicked. Then, without warning, she parted her lips and let out a silent scream. Blood gushed from her mouth and a thick stream of the bright red liquid flowed onto her once pristine white gown. I recoiled in horror as I peered into her mouth and realized that there was no tongue only a black vast empty hole with a few teeth here and there.
I glanced at the faces around me and saw that they were all mimicking the plump lady. They were letting out soundless screams while streams of blood gushed from their mouths. Their eyes were wide with agony and I could feel their desperation as they clung to one another for dear life.
It took a few seconds for me to connect the dots. “Those tongues belong to you guys, right?” I asked, as I motioned to the tree and then to the group. Of course, that’s why no one was singing. Voodoo ceremonies usually involved chanting and drumming. Despite my re-discovered powers, I was disheartened to find out that my detective skills hadn’t improved at all.