My Dearest Lincoln,
God, I never believed I would be writing a letter like this one. I never believed I would find you and have the opportunity to reach out to you in any way. I’m sure you must be confused by everything happening right now. The only thing I ask is that you read this whole letter before you decide to destroy it. Please.
My name is Juanita Barber and I am your mother. I used to go by Juanita Simmons, but that was a lifetime ago, back when I was married to your father, Walter Simmons.
I know I haven’t been a mother to you and I’m sure you’re asking yourself, why now? Why after all these years am I just now hearing from this woman?
Lincoln, baby, I knew the truth the moment I saw you on my television screen looking at me with my own lips and nose. At first I thought, how is this possible? How am I seeing someone that looks so much like he came from me, yet I don’t even know him? But I knew, Lincoln. I suppose I’ve always known.
Lincoln, I’ve been looking for you your whole life. I lost you shortly after you were born, but I never gave up the hope of one day finding you…
It was too much for Lincoln. He covered his eyes with his hands as the letter drifted to the floor of his cell.
Lincoln had always wondered about his real mother and father. His entire life had been filled with strangers standing in as family. But now he held a letter given to him by a man claiming to be his half-brother, written by a woman claiming to be his biological mother. For some reason the name Simmons kept ringing in his ears, but the only Simmons he knew was…Simmons Park.
Goosebumps erupted all over his body and black stars descended over his vision. He couldn’t breathe. Overcome by foreign emotions, he kicked at the stone walls of his cell, overturned his cot, and knocked his few material possessions off the sink before falling to the floor, gasping for air.
The next day, determined to get to the bottom of things, Lincoln called Moses.
“Hello?” a boyish voice greeted.
“Brandon?” Lincoln asked, a little choked up. He hadn’t spoken to his adopted brother in what seemed like forever. “It’s Lincoln.”
“Hold on.”
A moment later, Moses picked up the line. “Lincoln?”
“Hey. I can’t believe that was Brandon.”
“Yeah, he’s getting bigger every day. I’ll send you a picture.”
Lincoln couldn’t even imagine it. “That would be great. He’s still not talking to me though.”
“Give him time, Lincoln—he’ll come around. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until Sunday. What’s going on?”
Lincoln thought about nixing the whole conversation, but then forged ahead, telling Moses everything Panama X and Amir had said. He was certain Moses would write the whole thing off as fiction.
Instead, Moses said, “So they finally found you.”
Lincoln tried to contain his anger, but it grew more difficult with each breath. “Wait a minute, you knew about all this?”
“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, Son. I just thought…well it doesn’t matter now.”
“So, wait, this is real?”
“I can’t tell you if this Amir is related to you or not, but yes, you are Juanita’s son.”
Lincoln couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “And what does Panama X have to do with this?”
“I don’t know, but Panama X is not to be trusted, you hear me? He only told you all this because he wants something from you.”
“What? What could he possibly want from me?”
“That’s what scares me, Son. Scares me to death. My advice: steer clear of him and this Amir character. I’ll try to track down Juanita and clear this whole thing up. Can you hold on for me?”
“Well, what else am I gonna do? I’ve got nothing but time.”
* * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
Saturday
Lake City, LA
Randy sat at his desk in the Governor’s office. His face contorted as he re-read the passage from The Pirate King:
Overwhelmed with grief over his daughter Melinda’s suicide, Luc Lafitte killed himself at the base of their live oak tree, just three days after her death. There was another prevailing theory as to what had overcome Luc, however. The slaves whispered about a voodoo curse…
He looked up, dazed, and stared at the framed photo of Kristopher and Karen, taken when Kristopher was fifteen and Karen was five. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since Randy’s last contact with Snake, and still no word.
The kidnappers had given Randy plenty to keep himself busy. The Pardon Board had convened earlier that morning in an emergency Saturday session and voted in favor of releasing Lincoln Baker. Not that it had been easy. Randy had been forced to proffer exorbitant favors—the currency of politics. This was after he’d lined their pockets, of course, and promised that Baker would never actually see the light of day.
Randy’s thoughts turned to his wife’s mental state. Coral had been practically catatonic since learning of Karen’s disappearance. Episodes like this hadn’t exactly been rare since Kristopher’s death, but it did demand additional attention on Randy’s part. Attention he did not have to spare.
“You really have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, do you?”
Madame Deveaux’s admonishment continued to torment him after all these years. But it had all been a ruse, hadn’t it?
There is no curse. I was used by the fortune teller. She hired someone to kill my father.
Someone rapped on his office door. It was one of the mail boys.
“Delivery, sir.”
“Bring it on in, Chase.” Randy prided himself on his ability to recall names. Randy signed the release form and tore open the envelope. It contained a single DVD. There was no note.
“Chase, do you mind setting this up in the DVD player for me?” Randy had never been good with technology.
Chase made it happen and left Randy’s office as soon as the video started. At first there was nothing to see, just a pitch-black screen. Then Randy detected a faint bass drum pulsing in a rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum rhythm. Next, the screen filled with an extreme close-up of his daughter’s face.
Randy leaped from his chair in shock.
Karen’s hair was a dirty blond mop atop her head, her eyes half-open and rolled all the way back. Dried blood lay suspended between her nose and the top of her mouth, her lips curled into a lazy smirk as if she were in on a private joke.
A deep voice off camera began chanting.
“Say hey!
Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.
Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.
Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.
Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.
Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.
But the blood is marked for him.
I say hey! I’m going to vomit blood, it’s true.
Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.
Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.
Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.
My blood is flowing, Dantò, I’m going to vomit blood.
My blood is flowing, Ezili, I’m going to vomit blood.
My blood is flowing, Karen, you’re going to vomit blood.”
Each time the speaker said, “I’m going to vomit blood,” a dark, viscous substance that looked a lot like blood was liberally sprinkled over Karen’s head and face. Throughout the dousing, Karen’s facial expression never changed.
The speed and volume of the drums increased, becoming like a frantic tachycardia. Scattered shouts and moans punctuated pauses, creating a cacophony of chaos.
The drums abruptly stopped.
The speaker said, “Kristopher Lafitte, come forth. We welcome you back to the realm of the living.”
Karen’s head, which had been listing to the left, straightened. She started convulsing and frothing at
the mouth, as if in the midst of a powerful seizure. Then, as suddenly as it began, the seizure stopped. Karen’s chin dropped to her chest.
A conch shell rang out from the silence.
Karen raised her head in response. She stretched her neck in a circular motion and then stopped dead center. Her eyes opened.
Randy covered his mouth. Karen’s hazel eyes were gone.
Randy stared into the piercing blue eyes of his long dead son, Kristopher. Any hope he’d reserved was replaced by a cold, murderous rage.
The voice continued, “Kristopher Lafitte, I permit you to leave the door of the spirit world. Look upon my enemy, Randy Lafitte, who deserves just punishment. Torture Randy Lafitte in the following nights with the worst dreams. Make him writhe in pain, fear, and illness. After fulfilling your task, you will return to your world and this door will close. Thank you for your services. Be it so!”
The screen went blank.
After a while, Randy got up and reluctantly replayed the video. But this time he looked for any signs of trickery or tampering. You could do anything with digital technology these days. He probably would have watched it the rest of the day if Snake hadn’t called.
“Snake,” Randy answered, trying to control the tremor in his voice. “For your sake you better have found her.”
“Yup, Boss. I found Jhonnette Deveaux. What’s the plan?”
Randy’s mind returned to the image of those crazed blue eyes screaming out of his daughter’s head.
“Boss? You okay?”
“Yes. Of course. Have Miss Deveaux meet me in New Orleans first thing in the morning. And make sure you have those other things I asked for.”
“Sure thing, Boss. But I tell ya, this little chicky is a tough one. How you gonna get her to talk?”
Randy smiled grimly, seeing Madame Deveaux’s face in his mind’s eye. “That’s not going to be a problem. Just make sure she shows up.”
* * * * *
Chapter Sixteen
Sunday
New Orleans, LA
Jhonnette Deveaux entered the Presidential Suite at the New Orleans Sheraton. A large, burly bodyguard ushered her through the door into an expansive sitting room.
Randy Lafitte stood to greet her. “Glad you could make it on such short notice,” he said, looking her up and down appreciatively. “I’m sure you hear this often, but you look just like your mother. My sincerest condolences for your loss. I imagine it hasn’t been easy for you.”
“Thank you,” she replied demurely, ignoring his outstretched hand. As she took a seat across from him, her eyes were drawn to Lafitte’s bald, freckled head. He used to have a movie star coif, but the brain malignancy had taken care of that. She wondered why he hadn’t grown his hair back like so many other cancer survivors.
Still, he looked a whole lot better than the last time she’d seen him this close…
* * * * *
It was June 1994, and Jhonnette had just passed her six-month anniversary working as a nurse at the Oschner Cancer Center in New Orleans. One afternoon, she and her colleagues learned they would be receiving a VIP—the recently elected Governor of Louisiana. He was coming in for a series of tests to see if his brain cancer was spreading.
Curious, Jhonnette took a peek at the Governor’s chart. It certainly looked like Lafitte’s term was going to be cut drastically short. He had a malignant tumor the size of a plum in the pineal region at the base of his brain—one of the worst regions for a brain tumor. The pineal gland not only controls the body’s hormonal systems, it also regulates the sleep-wake cycle. As the body’s internal clock, its timer was rapidly counting down to zero for Randy Lafitte.
He was receiving a debilitating amount of pain medication for the vicious headaches associated with his condition, as well as meds to help him get some semblance of regular sleep. Jhonnette was covering for a fellow nurse the next evening when her curiosity got the best of her again. After all, Lafitte’s story was famous. He’d lost both his parents as a young man and his only son had been killed the same year Jhonnette had buried her mother. Her heart ached for the suffering he’d endured, and since she knew she could make him more comfortable, she cautiously entered his room.
As a young girl, Jhonnette learned she was an amplifier, blessed with the ability to magnify the unconscious thoughts of others and manifest their deepest, darkest secrets. She could also boost the body’s curative capabilities, a trick that always worked to endear her to whomever was blessed with her healing. Having the Governor as an ally could come in handy down the line.
She stood next to his bed, pretending to check the telemetry monitor. His eyelids twitched in the midst of R.E.M sleep. Gently, she placed her hands on his shaved head, sending energy through her palms to the diseased area. If she could just shrink the tumor a little bit, she might be able to alleviate some of his pain.
Beads of sweat broke out on the Governor’s forehead from the increase in temperature. She was about to remove her hands when he forcefully grabbed her wrists. His eyes opened wide.
As she struggled to get free, she noticed that the white of one of his eyes was completely bloodshot.
“So you’ve come to finish me off, Madame Deveaux,” he slurred.
Jhonnette froze. How does he know my mother?
“Do it. Finish it!”
In her panic to get away from him, Jhonnette felt a tremendous quantity of energy pour out of her.
Lafitte’s hands dropped back to his sides, his tense neck relaxed, and his eyes closed again.
Jhonnette ran out of the room as fast as her feet would take her. Unfortunately, she couldn’t outrun the memories she’d just lifted from Lafitte’s subconscious mind.
One of the side effects of her ability was that she tended to receive trace information from the subjects of her healing. In her mind’s eye, she had seen a much younger Randy Lafitte sitting across a table from her mother.
Her mother had said, “You’re just a boy. Who could have possibly hurt you so deeply you feel the need to hurt them in return?” She heard Lafitte’s reply.
“My father.”
* * * * *
She’d quit her nursing job the next day. Every action she’d taken since had been leading up to this moment—her reunion with Randy Lafitte. Only this time, she felt no sympathy for the man whose life she’d unwittingly saved. If she’d known then what she knew now, she’d have slit his throat.
He doesn’t remember me. But he will.
“The resemblance really is uncanny,” Lafitte repeated.
Jhonnette smiled thinly. “Mother said you would say that.”
“She knew we would meet?”
“Karen had to turn eighteen eventually.”
Lafitte’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know my daughter’s name?”
Jhonnette met his gaze. “Mother kept tabs on you,” she lied.
“What do you mean, ‘Karen had to turn eighteen eventually’?” Lafitte pressed.
“You know exactly what it means.”
Lafitte sighed. “So, I’m guessing it’s no surprise to you then that she’s been kidnapped.” He stared at her intently. “I assume you know about the curse.”
“Why else would I be here.”
Lafitte leaned forward. “How do I save Karen’s life?”
“You already know the answer to that question.”
“I want to hear you say it,” Lafitte demanded.
“You have to sacrifice yourself for your daughter. Or find a substitute that they will accept.”
“What do you mean a substitute? And who’s this ‘they’?”
Jhonnette allowed herself to smile internally. She had him. “They are the spirits you invoked when you resurrected the curse to kill your father. And they demand the blood of a Lafitte, or else they will take you both.”
“Bullshit,” Lafitte spat.
“If you’re so convinced it’s bullshit, then why did you bring me here?” Jhonnette reached for her purse and stood up.
“Alright. Okay. Let’s start over,” Randy backpedaled, motioning for her to sit. “You know I met your mother on my eighteenth birthday, right?”
Jhonnette settled back into her seat. “I know you did your best to ruin her.” After his father’s death, Randy ran every fortune teller out of New Orleans. His own version of the Spanish Inquisition, minus the burning witches.
Lafitte fidgeted. “I regret that. I truly do. I was young and angry.”
Jhonnette stared back at Lafitte and thought of her impoverished childhood. The multitude of men she laid beneath as a teenager to put food on the table after her mother’s paltry fortune telling business dried up, along with her health. “That’s no excuse,” she said, her voice laced with bitterness.
“Well, now I’m in a position to make good,” Randy grinned. “You have information I need and I’m willing to compensate you handsomely. What do you say?”
Jhonnette sighed. “I don’t even know why I agreed to see you today.”
“I’ll tell you why,” Lafitte replied. “Because you don’t want to see an innocent girl die.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Governor,” Jhonnette said. “I don’t give a shit about what happens to your daughter.”
Lafitte flinched.
Jhonnette smiled slightly. “You should’ve thought of this day before you got your wife pregnant. But since you don’t believe in the curse anyway, I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”
Jhonnette locked into Lafitte’s hazel eyes and subtly pushed energy at him. Her palms tingled with the release.
Lafitte’s face shifted. One second, he was a reasonably charismatic politician; the next, he was a man on the brink of collapse. His eyes lost their focus and he started grinding his teeth, only stopping to offer a savage grin. “You have no idea what I’m capable of,” he spoke slowly. “Your mother was a far more reasonable woman. Smarter, too. She knew her place. Am I going to have to teach you yours?”
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