Amy ran up to him and grabbed his arm, screaming, “You’ve got to stop. The killing must stop. The battle is won. The owners are surrendering.”
“There will be no surrender,” Casey said grimly as he came upon the scene and stepped between Amy and Jesse. He appeared as a massive slave, covered in blood. His face was deeply cut from his right ear to his chin, flesh exposed to the bone. “There will be no surrender,” Casey repeated. “There will be no prisoners.”
Amy collapsed in grief at Jesse’s feet, realizing her plea for compassion would not be heard on this bloodthirsty night.
Dupre and Big Ben appeared as slave warriors, leading four horses they had saved from a barn fire. “No point burning up good animals,” Dupre said.
All members of The Divebomberz, now fellow slaves, gathered around Jesse, awaiting combat directives. They looked stunned from the shock of merciless battle. White women and children were being beheaded, their screams abruptly ending.
Carmen walked out of the shadows, holding a finger to her lips as if to request a silence.
Jesse heard the voice behind him. There was no mistaking that deep rumble. It was the Voodoo voice. It was bringing him out of the dream world and back to New Orleans.
“Death to the slave owners,” it said. “Death to slavery.”
Jesse came back to the so-called real world in Carmen’s office. She was standing in front of him, holding her finger to her lips, as she had in the dreamlike vision. Jesse shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He still smelled blood and black powder. It took some time before he could acclimate to his surroundings. His entire body was shaking.
“My God, woman, what have you done to me?” he heard himself shouting. “You’ve got me killing people in my sleep.”
Carmen told him to settle down as she offered him a cold drink. Jesse looked at the water. He was so thirsty his tongue was barely able to move in his mouth. Even so, he pushed the glass away. “No way I’m drinking that. Last time you gave me something to drink I ended up slaughtering human beings in some jungle I’ve never seen. I’m not a killer. I don’t believe in it. How could you do that to me?”
Carmen’s voice remained soothing. “Here, drink this. It’s only ice water. Look, I’ll take a drink. See. No problems.”
Jesse took the water and drained the entire drink down his throat in one motion.
“How long have I been out?”
“Only about half an hour.”
Drinking the water helped him calm down. “Really. It felt like I was gone for hours.”
Carmen was on her knees, close to his face, peering deeply into his eyes. “Where did you go? What did you see?”
“You don’t know? You didn’t send me there?”
“No, you only go where your mind will take you.”
That remark made intuitive sense to Jesse. “So I can’t blame you for turning me into a merciless killing machine?”
“No. You can’t blame me for anything. You can only thank me. Now tell me everything. Where were you? Who was with you? What happened?”
Jesse told her the story in great detail. It took him longer to tell the story than it had taken to live it in his dream.
“What kind of pistol did you have?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It was a black powder pistol. That’s all I know. But I knew how to use it really well.”
“How do you know it was a black powder pistol?”
“Because I had to load it several times,” Jesse said, trembling at the memory. “I was killing people, shooting them at point blank range.”
Carmen comforted him with a hand to his forehead. “You killed no one. You were with me the entire time. Look around. You will see no blood.”
She got off her knees and took a seat at her desk. “From everything you say. It sounds like you were at the ceremony of Bois Caiman. The date was August of 1791 and the name of the priestess was Cecile Fatiman. This is the most famous of all Voodoo uprisings. You say the pig was black?”
“Yes, the pig was definitely black.”
“That is the Bois Caiman. That black pig sacrifice is legend in all of Voodoo. How did you ever end up there?”
“You tell me.”
Carmen stood up and turned around to pull two books off her shelf. “It happened in Haiti. Hundreds of plantation owners were killed. They had created a cruel world. Their slaves outnumbered them, ten to one. The slaves took over. The rebellion led to a free Haiti for generations. Then, the Americans took them over again and ruined everything.
“This is where Voodoo got its bad reputation for black magic and evil. White people had to say Voodoo was bad because it beat them at their own game. That’s when white people tried to reduce Voodoo into evil images of sticking pins into dolls. Voodoo is not black magic. Voodoo is a pathway for the soul.”
Jesse listened intently but his throat was getting drier by the minute. “I need some more water. This killing people really makes you thirsty.”
He was trying to be funny but he was still mainly recoiling in horror from what he had seen and done.
Carmen got him a pitcher of ice water and took a wet cloth to his face. “Look at you, you’re a sweaty mess. Come on and stand up. You need to stretch.”
“Do I have blood on me?”
Carmen handed him the wet cloth. “No. There’s no blood on you. Now, tell me again about this silver haired plantation owner you killed in the dream. The one you thought you recognized.”
Jesse thought back. Details remained crystal clear. He could still see the man’s face as he was begging for mercy. He could hear his voice as he said he was a man of God. It sounded like it might be Jesse’s father talking. The man’s praying hands looked like Jesse’s own hands. His fingers were long and quite straight for a man his age. Jesse looked at his hands and flashed back to the old man’s hands. Then, he could see the man’s eyes. Something about looking into his eyes felt like looking in the mirror. Gradually, Jesse was able to see through the silver hair and beard and into the identity of the man he had killed. The realization came into focus. It crept up on his mind and then smacked him right between the eyes with a big stick of understanding.
Jesse nearly fell back into the chair. “Good Lord, that was me I killed. That silver haired guy was a middle-aged me. I shot myself in the face. I felt good about it. How can that be?”
Carmen was bouncing on her toes in excitement. “Oh, this dream has been much better than I expected.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She settled down to look closely at Jesse. “Think about what the voice said.”
“It said, ‘Death to the slave owners.’”
“What else did it say?”
Jesse had to think for a minute. Then it came to him. “It said, ‘Death to slavery.’”
“That’s it,” Carmen said, bouncing up and down again.
“What are you talking about?”
Carmen went back to one of the books on her desk and opened it to a page she knew well. “Don’t you see? In the dream, you were both a slave and a slave owner. You killed yourself to escape yourself.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Yes, you do. In this life we are all prisoners of our own self-centeredness. We are both the slave owner and the slave. We give the orders and we take the orders in order to satisfy our selves. It’s a vicious cycle of never getting enough of anything to fill the hole in our soul. We have the key to escape but we don’t know how to use it.”
Jesse was still trying to come to grips with the horrific violence he had so willingly committed. “So how do I end up in the middle of a slave revolt I have never even read about?”
“That, my friend, is the power of Voodoo.”
Jesse couldn’t resolve the violence of his vision with Carmen’s message of escaping self. “So Voodoo will help me kill myself?”
“Don’t say it like that. Voodoo is the power that connects you to the spirit world. You are set free once you realize there is more t
o the world than you at the center of it.”
“Why was I so much older in the dream?”
Carmen had to think about that question as she looked through the book in front of her. “Perhaps you realize, deep down, that it will take years before you can get over your big, fat self.”
Jesse had to laugh at that reference. “So, I have dreams where I kill my self-centeredness. That’s well and good, as long as I keep dreaming. But now I’m awake. And here I am, back at the center of my universe. Can you guess what my selfish mind is thinking?”
“I know what you want. That’s too easy. You don’t need Voodoo to know that what you want right now is a good, stiff drink.”
Jesse stood up. “That is correct. This water is not doing the job.”
Carmen looked up from her books. “Escaping the prison of self is a process, not an event. Believe it or not, you are part of my process as much as I am part of yours. I find myself most at peace when I am helping you. You are helping me learn how to escape my self.”
Jesse was surprised by Carmen’s confession. “I only find moments of peace here and there,” he said. “Most times, life is like a traffic jam, driving me crazy.”
Carmen looked at him over the top of her reading glasses. “Think of it this way. Life is a spiritual obstacle course, designed to see if you can get over your self.”
“I like that.”
She closed her book, stood up from the desk and came around to give Jesse a hug. “Good. Let’s go to Fritzel’s and get that drink. Dutch will be there, running the bar, and he’ll be happy to see us. But first, use my phone and call Amy. She’ll want to join us.”
“How do you know that?”
Carmen looked at him like he was missing a major point. “Think of the dream. She’s the one you need. She’s the one who will help you get your self under control.”
“What about the voice?”
“The voice has been good to you as it has been to me. Our hope to hear the voice has turned into some degree of faith that the voice will guide us. Now, the goal is to evolve the faith into trust.”
“Trust in what?”
Carmen laughed at the exasperation in his tone. “Trust that the universe has it all together and that everything will be all right, no matter how much we try to mess it up with our plans and schemes for greatness and glory.”
“So, trying to be a rock star might not be the purist of motives?”
Carmen smiled as she quoted Dr. John. “The people who make it in the music business are the people who make music for the sake of making music.”
“I like that. It sounds like Johnny too.”
“Johnny from Shreveport?”
Jesse was not surprised Carmen knew about Johnny. “Evidently, he’s somebody I’ve created to teach me what I need to know.”
“Very good,” Carmen said as she led them out the door of her shop. “Now, tell me more about that drum section around the Voodoo fire with Professor Longhair and Dr. John. I need to hear those drums in my dreams.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE BARMUDA TRIANGLE
Jesse booked a four-night stand for the band at The Barmuda Triangle in Minden, Louisiana. The owner was a tough-talking woman named Sheila who shook her blonde hair back over her shoulders as she greeted them.
After a round of introductions, Sheila looked out the long front window of her club. “You boys must have a ton of gear. I see a truck with a U-Haul trailer and a van. You want me and my girls to help with your set up?”
Rene headed out the door to start hauling his drums. “We can handle it on our own.”
Rick tried to be cute. “Unless you really want to help. We love seeing women lifting heavy objects.”
Sheila shouted out to her waitresses. “Oh, girls. We’ve got a hot one here. Thinks maybe we’ve never seen a rock band before.”
“Johnny said you had rooms for us?” Jesse tried to steer the conversation back in a more business-like direction.
“Oh, he did, did he? Do you believe everything Johnny says?” Sheila moved closer to Jesse in an overtly flirtatious manner. She grabbed his left arm in both of hers and escorted him to the nearest table.
“Let’s all of us have a seat and get acquainted,” Sheila said. “Jennifer, why don’t you and the girls take a break and join us for a little sit down.”
Sheila was in her early fifties and still in great shape. Her jeans were tight and her shirt was loose. She was showing all the cleavage she could muster. It was 2 p.m. but she was already in lipstick and lashes. Her staff wore short shorts and bikini tops. They looked more like dancers in a strip club than working waitresses. Jesse wondered if they’d stumbled onto a tribe of Amazon warriors.
Sheila noticed the band slipping into drool factor four. “You boys look like you haven’t seen a woman in months.”
Jennifer flattered the band as she brought a round of Heineken beers in frosted mugs to the table. “Sheila, you didn’t tell us they were going to be so cute.”
Dale turned the tables on Sheila and Jennifer and the other waitresses who joined them. “You are all completely beautiful. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we stumbled onto the Sirens of Titan.”
“Ooh, strap yourself to the mast, big boy.” A lanky, brunette waitress named Sherry sat down on Dale’s lap. “I love a man who knows his mythology.”
Tim was pleased to grab a beer. “Johnny must have told you we like Heineken.”
Sheila helped pass the beer around. “Johnny told us everything. But, help me out here. Which one of you is the gay one?”
The female club owner was wasting no time in checking out the band. She wanted to see who would get offended and who would get defensive. The girls sized up the band and seemed to focus in on Jesse.
Jesse could see he would have to defend himself. “I know. It’s the hair. But it’s not me. Don’t let the big hair fool you. I’m not the gay one. I’ve only got one gay bone in my body.”
Everybody laughed, especially Sheila, who sidled up a little closer to Jesse. “I like sick humor.”
Butch took the fall. “You might as well know. It’s me. I’m the gay one.”
The band laughed so much that the ladies knew it wasn’t true.
Dale eased Sherry off his lap and stood up to take a bow. “Let there be no doubt about it, ladies. I am the chosen one.”
Sherry stomped her feet in mock displeasure. “I always go for the gay guys.”
Rick was still on a roll. “Don’t worry, dahlin’, there’s plenty of me to go around.”
Thus began the sparring between staff and band. It was always a little testy at first. The employees usually wanted to let the band know they’d seen plenty of musicians passing through and they weren’t all that impressed. The band usually wanted to recruit the staff for drinks and food and help with the set up. This encounter was different for The Divebomberz. They’d never encountered a matriarchal society.
Dale broke the ice nicely with his chivalrous, Prince Charming act. “We are truly pleased to make your acquaintance. We will do our best to help you entertain your guests.”
Sheila was impressed. “Perfect. Why can’t all men be like you?”
The musicians and the staff had fun getting to know each other over two rounds of drinks. Sheila finally stood up to get down to business. “Let’s get back to work. I want these floors mopped and the tables cleaned, top and bottom. Here are the keys to the No Tell Motel, Jesse. You’ve got two real nice double rooms. I know you need three, but two was all I could get. Once you get set up, I’m sure you’ll want to check in and freshen up. Showtime is 8 p.m. Do not be late. It’s Wednesday and you know what that means at the Barmuda Triangle.”
“Ladies night,” the waitresses yelled.
Sheila elaborated. “Women get in free. The place will be packed. It would be anyway. People are talking about your band. You’ve got a lot of buzz coming out of Shreveport. But ladies’ night will make it that much crazier.”
“So
about the No Tell Motel,” Tim asked. “That’s not the real name, is it?”
Sheila laughed. “No. That’s just what we call it. It’s the only one around. Turn left out of the driveway and go half a mile and there it is on the right. The actual name is The Dixie Motel.”
Butch couldn’t resist an observation. “Like the Civil War never ended.”
Sheila took no offense. “Everything is Dixie this and Dixie that. I don’t get it. I’m from Ohio.”
“Hey, we’re from Indiana,” Butch said.
Sheila was not surprised. “I know. Johnny gave me the full report. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody that the hottest band in the bayou is actually a bunch of Hoosiers.”
The band set up on the large stage at the back of the club. The waitresses stopped working long enough to listen and dance at the sound check. The band played like they had a full house, eager to impress and hitting it hard from the first note. They hadn’t jammed in several days so it was fun to get back together.
After the sound check, Rick took Sherry aside. “By the way, why do they call this club the Barmuda Triangle?”
Sherry seemed pleased to be singled out. “Because people come in here and get so loaded they disappear, never to be heard from again.”
“Maybe that’ll happen to you and me.” Rick was shameless.
“I don’t think there’s any doubt about it.” Sherry accepted his proposition.
Jesse found himself being cornered by Sheila’s manager, Jennifer, a tall, shapely woman with beautiful brown eyes. Jennifer was Jesse’s age and she clearly wanted to do much more than talk. “Tell me about the fire at the Safari Club. I heard you pretty much saved everybody.”
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