Sweet Unrest

by Maxwell, Lisa

  But seeing the carvings reminded me too much of Lila, and too much of the rumors I’d heard about how Emaline had died. So I set the finished images to dry and turned to something easier, selecting a couple of shots of T.J. I thought my parents would like. It took me a while to get the exposure time just right, and then I worked a little more on hand-burning some depth into the shots. I focused everything on those images of my brother to keep myself from thinking about that other image—the image that should have held Alex.

  Finally, the picture I wanted emerged from the liquid bath—T.J. on the banks of the shimmering Mississippi holding up a crawfish as proud as any professional angler. Mud streaked his face and hands, and his smile competed with the brightness of the sun as it lit up the entire picture.

  I stretched out, rubbing the kinks that had developed in my neck from bending over the enlarger and chemical-filled trays, satisfied and feeling a little better. I could keep this feeling as long as I didn’t look at that other picture. As long as I didn’t let my thoughts go in that direction.

  “Lucy?” My mom knocked on the door. When I didn’t answer right away, she knocked again. “I’m sorry to bother you, honey, but Chloe’s here to see you.”

  I jolted a bit at hearing Chloe’s name. “Uh … I’ll be right out,” I called through the closed door. I needed a few more seconds to myself. “Can you send her back here?”

  I wiped my clammy hands against my heavy apron as I took down the picture that should have been of Alex and tucked it beneath the notebook where I kept track of the photos I developed.

  “Lucy?” Chloe’s voice replaced my mom’s outside the door, and another knock confirmed her arrival. “Hey, Luce,” she said when I opened the door. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was still something empty in them, something broken that time hadn’t fixed yet.

  “Hey,” I said, accepting her awkward hug. “How’ve you been?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been better.” Her voice was flat, lifeless.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you,” I told her honestly.

  She was looking beyond me, into the darkroom at the pictures hanging from the hooks to dry. “Those are yours?”

  “Yeah.” I was still shaky, still needing time to settle down.

  She turned back to me. “I came to see if maybe you wanted to go into the city and grab dinner with me or something.”

  “Sure. Let me clean up a bit first?”

  “Take your time,” she told me.

  “It should just take me a few minutes to wash up. You can wait here if you want. Or in the living room. Whichever.”

  “I’ll wait here,” she said, looking at the newly developed prints again. “Those are really good.” She pointed to the shots I’d taken of T.J.

  “Thanks. I thought they’d make a good anniversary gift for my parents.”

  Chloe nodded. “They’ll love it.” The words were right, but her voice was all wrong.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told her. “Make yourself at home.”

  I left her there and went to the hall bathroom, locking the door behind me. My dark reddish curls were sticking out all over from the messy bun I’d twisted my hair into earlier. I focused on fixing that. I could fix that. A little cream, a hair pin here and there, and I could tame it into something I’d want people to see. Eventually I looked presentable. A new shirt and I’d be ready to go. On the surface, at least.

  Underneath, I was still thinking about that picture. And shaking like a leaf.

  Nineteen

  I couldn’t get over how much Chloe had changed. As we drove into the city, she was uncharacteristically quiet. Her face was stiff and closed off, like she was on a mission and determined to be successful at it. I’d once thought we had the beginnings of a close friendship going, so if I could help her deal with Emaline’s death by being there for her, even in an uncomfortable silence, I was happy to do it.

  But the evening didn’t go much better once we got to the Quarter. We ate at a little place on the corner of St. Louis and Chartres Street. After we ordered, the silence between us resumed.

  “Soooo,” I said, trying to think of something to talk about. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you much lately.”

  “It’s been busy,” she told me. I waited, but she didn’t elaborate any further.

  Even Chloe’s eyes seemed dimmer. Her skin looked sallow, and she had yet to flash the smile that I’d come to identify as pure Chloe. I tried again, hoping to brighten her mood.

  “Mama Legba came out to Le Ciel the other day to help us with Thisbe’s place,” I said. “She did some sort of cleansing ritual or something. She asked about you.”

  Chloe’s eyes were no longer flat, but instead of brightening, as I’d hoped they would, they flashed with anger. “That so?”

  “Yeah,” I continued, not knowing what it was I’d said to offend her. “I thought maybe since we’re around the corner you might want to stop by and see her. Oh yeah.” I reached into my bag. “She wanted me to give you this.” I set the Gris-Gris on the table between us.

  Chloe made a hissing sound. But then she composed herself, relaxing each muscle of her face one by one. The effect was downright creepy. “I don’t want it,” she told me. “My momma doesn’t think it’s a good idea for me to see her any more.”

  “She doesn’t think that Mama Legba had something to with Emaline’s death, does she?” I asked. After developing those pictures of the Voodoo doll, I’d wondered if Thisbe was connected somehow to Lila’s death—and whether Lila’s death had anything to do with Emaline’s. I’d just developed a picture of one ghost—it didn’t seem too much of a stretch to think there could be another. But I knew for sure Mama Legba was no ghost.

  “She says Mama Legba is trouble, and she’s right,” Chloe said. “I should have listened to my mother to start with and stayed away. Maybe then Emaline would be alive right now.”

  “Chloe.” I reached out to lay my hand over hers, but she pulled it away. “You know it’s not your fault, right? You’re not responsible for her death. You can’t always stop bad things from happening, no matter how safe you try to be.”

  She looked at me with barely veiled contempt. “How would you know? You been snooping around looking for evil, maybe? Trying to stop bad things from happening? Sticking your white Yankee nose where it don’t have no business being?”

  I blinked. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your trying, Lucy. I certainly don’t need your help.”

  “Fine,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “I just thought maybe you needed a friend. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

  “I don’t think I’m very hungry any more. Maybe I should take you back.”

  “Maybe you should,” I said slowly, not understanding the abruptness of her moods.

  We left without eating, and she drove me back to Le Ciel in complete silence. If she had been anything like the old Chloe, I might have tried to tell her about Alex, about the strange pictures and even stranger dreams. But this Chloe had a wall of ice built up around her, so I kept my worries to myself. When we got back to my parents’ cottage she didn’t bother turning off the car. I didn’t offer to have her come in.

  “It was good seeing you again,” I told her. I meant it. Whatever was wrong, I’d missed her.

  “Same goes,” she said, but she didn’t look at me when she said it.

  I went to shut the door, but she called out to me.

  “Yeah?”

  “I just want to say that you should be careful,” she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Emaline’s killer hasn’t been caught yet. She didn’t die easy, you know. Throat cut. Arms and chest all sliced up.”

  I’d heard the rumors, like everyone else, but Chloe sounded so sure. “Did her parents tell you that?” I asked.

  She didn’t really answer my question. “They brought that woman in and questioned her,” she said instead. “Like she was gonna tell them anyth
ing about it.” She snorted her disgust.

  “You talked to Mama Legba?” I pressed, trying to figure out how Chloe had gotten her information.

  “Why would I do that?” She turned away, focusing on the drive ahead of her. “Anyway, you be careful. I’d hate to see you end up like her.”

  Her words sent a chill through me, even though she’d softened her voice. She reached over and pulled the door shut.

  I’d barely backed away before the tires spun and her car shot down the long drive. Mounting the steps to our house, I watched as it passed through the heavy gates and disappeared onto the main road.

  Twenty

  Everywhere I look, I see blood. It’s splattered across the tall grass like some demented Jackson Pollock. It runs into the dark earth like a tiny macabre river. And the smell. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the smell of it, like rust and death. A putrid stench mixed with something sickeningly sweet coats my tongue, makes me gag. It’s the sweetness that seems the more obscene.

  The girl’s body is arranged at an unnatural angle. Arranged is the only word for it, because no one could possibly fall that way. Her neck is twisted to the side, as though she’s trying to look over her shoulder. As though she was trying to escape from death itself and made the mistake of looking back. Across the delicate line of her throat is a deep gash. Across her chest, angular symbols are the only thing keeping her from looking bare. She’s been gone for hours now and the blood has stopped welling, has turned thick and sticky. I think I’m going to be sick when I realize the flies have already found her.

  Someone’s screaming. A high, plaintive, wailing sound. Then I realize it’s me. My throat is sore from it, but I can’t stop.

  Strong arms band around me as I scream and a soft voice whispers into my hair. “Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay.”

  I know that voice, but he was holding the knife. He was standing over Lila’s poor broken body, holding the knife that killed her. The image is burned into my mind. I’ll never be free of it.

  “Shhh. Shhh. You have to stop screaming.”

  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop screaming. But I do. And then I’m only numb. I can’t feel anything. I may never feel anything again.

  Twenty-One

  It was still dark when I woke with the smell of death in my nose. It hung in the air of my bedroom, thick and almost sweet with the scent of rot. I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t breathe. I needed air so desperately that I didn’t think about the danger, just pulled on some rumpled shorts and went outside.

  The night was still warm, and gray clouds hung heavy on the horizon. Heat lightning flickered across the sky, lighting up the tops of the trees and throwing them into sharp relief, like claws reaching up into the momentarily bright sky. The stars were hidden behind the heavy clouds, and the only light came from the porch behind me.

  I took deep breaths, trying to steady myself. I needed to relax. I needed to move. I needed to walk, but I didn’t want to go anywhere near the woods or the pond, so I headed instead toward some of the manicured gardens that wrapped around the big house.

  When I entered the first garden, I realized I wasn’t alone. There, in the shadows, someone sat, hunched against the night. It took me a second to calm down enough to realize it was only Piers. He was sitting on one of the benches that ringed the main fountain. Maybe I should’ve been completely freaked out to run across this huge guy with his dangerous-looking tattoos, but he had his smoothly shaved head in his hands, and he looked about as pitiful as I felt.

  I shuffled my feet in the gravel to let him know I was approaching, and he raised his head and smiled when he realized who it was. “Couldn’t sleep either?” I asked as I plopped down next to him.

  He shook his head. “I’m still not used to sharing a room with four other guys,” he told me. “I thought moving out here would help, so I could be closer to Chloe, but it’s killing me.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates it.”

  “I’m not,” he said, letting out a tired-sounding sigh. “We’re about finished up with Thisbe’s place now, so I might go on back to my place in Nashville. Your dad wants me to take a few of those artifacts we found and get a head start on some research. I’m not doing Chloe any good here, so maybe I can help the team out if I go.”

  “I think she has a lot on her mind right now. She’ll be back to her old self soon.” I hoped this was the case, and I could see from the pain in his eyes that he did too.

  “I understand all of this is hard on her, but still, I’m getting this feeling there’s something else going on. Whatever it is, she won’t let me help her deal with it.”

  “I wouldn’t make any big decisions now,” I told him. “Chloe’ll come around. You’ll see.”

  “I hope so.” Piers let out another long breath and stood up. “Well, I’ve gotta try to get some sleep. Your dad’s relentless in the mornings.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “It was good talking to you, Lucy.” He stretched his muscled arms over his head to work out the kinks. “You take care out here, though. The grounds around the house are safe enough with all the security we have, but it’s not a good idea to go out toward the fields.”

  “Why? Afraid a ghost will get me?” I asked without thinking, then went cold the moment the words were out of my mouth. Thankfully, Piers didn’t seem to notice.

  “Nah, but I’ve seen enough dark places in this world to stick to the well-lit ones myself.” He nodded toward the dim lamps that ringed the garden.

  “Don’t worry. I’m going home in a few minutes. I just needed to get some air.”

  He gave me a little salute and took one of the paths that lead back toward the employees’ dorm. I propped my feet up on the bench where he’d been sitting and watched the water dance in the fountain as I wondered about the “dark places” he’d mentioned.

  I didn’t hear Alex approaching until his voice broke through my thoughts. “You shouldn’t be here, ma chère.”

  I about jumped out of my skin at the sound of it. I’d known all along that this moment would come—that I would have to face him again and really confront what he was—but I wasn’t planning for it to happen in the dead of night.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He came closer, and I could see he was worried. It took me a second to realize he was worried about me. Somehow that helped.

  “The night’s not safe for a woman alone,” he added softly. His held his whole body tense, almost like he was in pain.

  “Why? Because I might run into someone like you?” I struggled to keep my voice even, but I could feel panic rising. I thought of Lila, of Emaline. “Something like you?”

  I didn’t know what I expected from him, but it wasn’t the pained smile he gave me. “I couldn’t hurt you, Lucy.”

  His words—and the truth of them—hung in the night air between. “No. You couldn’t, could you?” I said slowly.

  He shook his head, for once refusing to meet my eyes.

  “I had a bad dream. I needed to get some air,” I told him, an offering between us.

  “It must have been quite awful to drive you out into the night.” Alex glanced up, tentative. He didn’t come any closer, as though he knew things had shifted between us. As though this moment was some kind of a test.

  “It was.”

  “But it was only a dream, yes?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? “I don’t know,” I said, in a voice so small even I could scarcely hear it. I took a deep breath and looked at him, wondering what I was doing—what I could possibly be thinking—sitting there in the dead of night talking to a ghost. “The dreams I’ve been having … ” But I couldn’t make myself tell him.

  “Please,” he urged. “Go on.”

  I felt crazy, absolutely insane, and yet something about the moment—the concern on Alex’s face, how easy it felt to be there with him even though I knew now what he was—something made the moment feel right. Like it was always supposed to h
appen this way.

  Finally I gathered up enough courage to speak. “I think they might be more than dreams. I think they might be about the past.”

  “The past?”

  I swallowed hard and then forced myself to say the words I’d been afraid to say out loud. “About you in the past.”

  When he didn’t immediately respond—when his face remained that blank mask he reverted to when he wanted to hide his emotions from me—I continued. “I didn’t know what to make of it at first. I’m dreaming about you, but they’re more than dreams. My subconscious keeps putting you with people I shouldn’t know, in situations I shouldn’t know about.” I silently willed him to say something.

  “And these dreams—they are so horrible that you find it necessary to escape into the night?” he asked quietly.

  “Some,” I told him honestly. “I’ve been having that kind more lately. Not all of them are like that, though.” I could feel my cheeks heat at the thought of the other dreams I’d had about him.

  “And the others?”

  “I don’t want to talk about them,” I told him.

  “Perhaps you should. You could tell me all about your dreams, and then maybe they would leave you be. Like exorcising a ghost.”

  “No,” I said quickly. His words hit dangerously close to something I’d started to fear. Part of me wanted to know everything I could, but another part of me worried that once I knew, there wouldn’t be any reason for him to stay. His unfinished business, or whatever was holding him here, would be done and he’d disappear for good. And that part of me wasn’t ready for him to be gone.

  “But you said they were about me.” He stepped closer. “I’d very much like to hear about your dreams of me, Lucy.”

  “Yes, and that’s exactly why I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered. With him so close, it was too easy to remember Armantine’s desire. With the soft heat of the night brushing against my skin, it took everything I had to pull myself back from him. To refuse to let myself fall into her feelings for him.

  Because the truth was, even if my dreams were really about the past, I didn’t know him. Or at least, I didn’t know this version of him. Not nearly enough to feel anything close to what Armantine had felt.