Voodoo on Bayou Lafonte

by Susan C. Muller

  No luck.

  The end of the boat brushed a cypress knee as he yanked a third time, nearly knocking him over the side. The boat shot away before the motor had time to become fouled in the debris collecting at the water’s edge.

  When had the wind become so strong?

  Rain beat on his shoulders and stung his face. The sky had taken on a sickly green hue. Trees swayed and dipped closer to the water, like fingers grabbing at his hair and clothes.

  The skiff rocked and bucked over water that had become foamy. He needed to find Adrianne and get out of here.

  A log broke free of the bank and floated toward him. Or was it an alligator? Surely alligators had enough sense to stay in their hole during weather like this.

  Maybe this was the perfect type of weather for them to snap up boaters stupid enough to venture out in water this dangerous.

  Either way, he steered carefully around the obstruction, keeping tight control of the boat.

  Tributaries broke off the main channel and he had no way of knowing if any of them were the one he was looking for. He held the compass in one hand and continued to head northeast. But how far out of Comeaux was this cabin?

  When two branches divided yet wandered in generally the same direction, he became stumped. A flash of lightning showed a broken limb. Maybe someone had traveled that way recently and had drifted too close to the bank.

  He worked his jaw back and forth. Worry or nerves or anxiety must have made him clamp his mouth too tight. Pain traveled from his jaw down to his arm, eclipsing the pain in his back and leg. Even his breathing grew ragged.

  He’d faced down a junkie high on bath salts, gotten caught between two MS-13 gang members arguing over a drug deal, and talked down a bankrupt commodities broker intent on suicide by cop, but he couldn’t get out of this fucking swamp fast enough.

  Yvonne sat in the front of the boat and didn’t say a word. Not that anyone could have heard her over the roar of the motor and the howl of the wind.

  Everything about this night felt off. Sebastian had claimed the pills he’d instructed her to make for Adrienne were just vitamins. If so, they must have contained Miracle-Gro. Despite a looming tropical storm, his insistence the baby come while the moon was in its strongest phase left little doubt what the second batch was intended to do.

  She’d been so excited when she thought the baby was Jean-Paul’s and Sebastian had declared the unborn child had strong powers.

  His suggestion that they take the baby to a couple he knew in Lafayette who had similar powers and would know how to handle him seemed like the perfect solution.

  Jean-Paul and Adrienne could still go to college, and her status as the grandmother would elevate her position in the community. Now, she had her doubts.

  She wasn’t the baby’s grandmother. Probably would never be one if Jean-Paul were telling the truth. The little shit. How could she not have known he was gay?

  And why was Sebastian trying to keep this so secret? The girl would probably have gone along with an arranged adoption.

  But keeping her prisoner was putting them all in danger. Remy would never stop. He might not have been around much over the past few years, but Adrienne was still his daughter and he’d come immediately when she was in trouble.

  Yvonne fought back tears. Her life in Comeaux was over if she didn’t fix this. Sebastian’s powers of persuasion weren’t going to convince Remy to forget what had happened to his daughter.

  Rescuing Adrienne was her only option. What exactly had she said to the girl? Was it too late to convince her she was on her side?

  Yvonne glanced over her shoulder. Sebastian had his head down and the boy was concentrating on driving the boat. She reached out as if testing the wind and casually snapped another mayhaw branch, leaving the broken limb dangling in the wind.

  If she had to find her way here, or back, she had to leave signposts.

  Sebastian kept his head down. The rain and wind, combined with the constant jarring of the boat, had left him numb. How many times had he done this now, and yet he always forgot how weak he became as the event neared.

  He didn’t have the strength to do much more than moan occasionally. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of everything that went on around him.

  What did that woman think she was doing, marking a trail?

  Fat lot of good it would do her. Her deceitful action only reinforced his decision that she wouldn’t be returning with him.

  They reached the cabin just in time. Another fifteen minutes and he wouldn’t have had enough strength to climb the ladder even with help.

  The boy tied off the boat and scurried onto the galerie. The fact that the little pute didn’t come out to see who was there encouraged him. The pill must be working.

  The boat rocked violently and Yvonne steadied him as he made his way forward. Good, the water level had risen considerably since the last time they were here. The boy was able to reach down and lift him onto the wooden flooring with little effort.

  The boards, slick with rainwater, gleamed black in the lantern light. The rickety cabin almost felt as if it were swaying in the wind. Damn the fragilities of old age. He was ready to be rid of them.

  He left the woman to make her own way off the boat and grabbed the boy’s arm for support.

  Inside, the girl lay curled on her cot, her eyes red and puffy while her face held a sickly gray hue. Tracks of tears showed on her cheeks.

  She glanced at him with hatred, but didn’t move.

  Yvonne brushed past him and knelt beside the cot. “Adrienne, dear, what’s happened to you? Are you all right? Is it time for the baby to come?”

  She stroked the girl’s hair and wiped the tears from her face.

  What a fool. Did she think the girl would forgive her for the last days? She had sold her soul to him years before. She couldn’t change the bargain now.

  “How long?” he whispered, each breath rasping from his lungs.

  Yvonne kept her back to him and patted the girl’s arm. “Are you having contractions, dear? How far apart?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have a watch, but only a few. Pretty far apart, I’d say, maybe thirty minutes. And the pain isn’t too bad. We have plenty of time to make it to a hospital.” The girl struggled to sit up.

  Damn. She hadn’t taken all the pills. This could take all night. “Check her to be sure.” Only five words and he felt exhausted. He’d never last at this rate. “Wait, look in the bottle first. See if she took all the pills.” Maybe it wasn’t too late. If she took one now, that might help.

  “They’re all gone,” the girl moaned through clenched teeth.

  “Lay back, dear. Let me check to see how far you’re dilated. We wouldn’t want to start off in the boat and have the baby come. That would be dangerous for both of you.” Yvonne’s voice sounded soothing, but the girl obviously wasn’t buying it.

  “Make them wait outside.” The girl nodded toward him and the boy.

  Hardly. It was raining outside and the wind was picking up speed. Sebastian shuffled toward the rocking chair, still gripping the boy’s arm. He watched as Yvonne lifted the girl’s nightgown and checked. A disgusting sight, but the boy stared like he’d never seen a woman’s treasures before.

  “Six centimeters. That’s much too close to get in a boat and head for town. You could deliver in half an hour or not till morning. There’s no way of telling.”

  The hard wood of the rocking chair dug into Sebastian’s tailbone. He couldn’t sit there for hours. He’d be too weak to do what needed doing by the time she got around to actually pushing the child out.

  His wet clothing stuck to his skin and he shivered.

  “Help me up, boy,” he said, struggling out of the chair.

  The girl cried out and clutched Y
vonne’s arm. He glanced at the boy. “Check your watch, then tell us how long when she has the next one. Until then, she’s going to have to move to the floor. I need the bed.”

  Yvonne swung toward him. “You can’t make her lay on the floor. She’s about to have a baby.”

  “Then she should have taken the pills like I told her to and she’d be ready to deliver by now. It’s her own damn fault.”

  Yvonne could suck up to the little bitch all she wanted, but he was through playing games.

  Remy saw the broken mayhaw branch and knew he was on the right track. Sure, the wind could have snapped it, but the way the dangling limb hung down right at the junction of two tributaries was too big a coincidence.

  And he’d never believed in coincidences.

  He aimed the skiff down the narrow channel. The sides were so close reeds and willows brushed his arms on both sides. Branches reached across the water from one side to the other. He was right to have taken the skiff, even if it was slower. An airboat would never have made it through this tangle of growth.

  The wind had reduced to a low howl as he turned off the main channel. The relief was immediate. He hadn’t realized how all-encompassing the roar had become. The rain still pounded down, but without the wind, it didn’t hit his face like needles.

  He stuffed the compass into the backpack. Without the flashlight, he couldn’t read, and he couldn’t hold the flashlight and steer the boat.

  The walkie-talkie gleamed up at him from in inky darkness of the backpack. He longed to call Gabby just to hear her voice, if he could hear it at all over the wind, the waves, and the trees moaning as they swayed.

  But that would be unfair to her. She would be frightened yet unable to help him in any way.

  He gasped as pain shot down his arm. His jaw clamped shut, causing him to bite his tongue. The salty taste of blood filled his mouth. A vise tightened around his chest and he couldn’t force air into his lungs.

  If he stopped the boat to catch his breath, the motor would die and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to start it again.

  What the fuck just happened? Was he having a heart attack, or had he let fear of the swamp morph into a full-fledged panic attack? Too damn bad. Adrienne was depending on him. He’d have to panic later.

  He let the motor slow to just above stall speed and pointed the skiff down the middle of the stream. Ahead lay empty blackness.

  He’d dated a woman once who was into yoga. To make her happy he’d attended a few classes with her. At the time, he’d considered it a bunch of hogwash. Now, he wondered, could he remember the relaxation techniques she showed him?

  He narrowed his eyes to slits in hopes of avoiding the biggest obstacles and tried to slow his heart rate. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. And again. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. With each breath, more air entered his lungs.

  The pain level slipped from a nine to a seven. Manageable. Were his nerves that fragile? Had worry about Adrienne’s safety eaten into him? Or were his old nightmares about being lost in the swamp coming to life?

  He couldn’t stop now. If necessary, he’d shoot everyone there and get Adrienne to drive the boat back to civilization.

  Chapter 32

  Gabby leaned out the door to the kitchen and motioned to Helen Perkins. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Could you keep an eye on Sherri Lynn and Willow? I’m going out for a few minutes.”

  “Are you crazy? Tropical Storm Addie just made a right turn and is almost on top of us. You can’t go out in this.”

  “I have to check on Remy. He might be in trouble. Don’t tell the girls I left. I don’t want them to worry. Just tell them I’m taking a nap.”

  She grabbed her keys from the peg beside the back door. On the counter sat a brown paper package tied with string.

  Why not? She could use all the help she could get. She stuck the package in her pocket and slipped out the door without a sound.

  Shoot. Why hadn’t she gotten a rain jacket?

  Three feet from the glow of the back porch light she discovered it too dark to see the path. Her toe caught on a paving stone and she windmilled her arms to keep her balance. She gave a sharp cry as the keys flew out of her hand.

  Maybe Mother Nature was sending her a hint that she should stay home.

  Nope. Not going to happen. She wasn’t going to sit, warm and dry, while Remy risked his life. They didn’t know for sure where Adrienne was. She had to check this strange address out.

  She bent and ran her hands through the wet grass until one finger touched cold metal. Gotcha. She snatched up her keys.

  She wasn’t familiar with Sebastian Guidry’s street, but only one area of town used tree names.

  The windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the downpour and even with her lights on bright she had to ease up to each street sign before she could read the name. She had almost given up when she found the short, dead-end street named Magnolia Blossom. Were they kidding? How could they name such an ugly street after something so exquisite?

  She switched off her lights and rolled up to the only house. Not a sign of life showed anywhere.

  Was the place vacant? Did Guidry use this address as a red herring to keep anyone from knowing where he actually lived? She waited and listened to the rain drum on the roof of the car.

  Well, she’d never find the answer sitting here.

  She eased the door open, blessing Remy for shutting off the overhead light. Rain drenched her in seconds. The wind pushed her like a giant hand. Each footstep was an effort as she approached.

  The shack of a house was a square of ebony against a backdrop of charcoal. She circled to the back in case light seeped through a curtained window.

  Was no one home, or had the electricity gone out in the storm? Light spilled from a house on the next block but that wasn’t a guarantee.

  Her hand trembled as her fingers closed around the knob. She twisted, and the door creaked open. The smell of mildew and candle wax greeted her.

  Inside, candles had burned to stubs. Many had already gone out, leaving only enough light to navigate around shabby furniture.

  She needed less than two minutes to check the entire house, even calling out Adrienne’s name. No answer.

  As she turned to head back out the door, an altar caught her eye. The smaller candles had already burned out. The large one in the center flickered, almost to its end.

  On the table sat a hodgepodge of powders, herbs, and plants. She stepped closer. Were those marijuana leaves? And in that baggie, was that crystal meth? Who knew what those pills might be.

  A stack of bills sat on one corner. Poppets made of different materials had hair or scraps of cloth tied to them and were scattered across the table. One had a crude star drawn on its chest.

  One poppet caught her eye. An eagle feather had been tied to its head along with several strands of dark hair. And sticking out of its chest and back were three-inch needles.

  Her breath seized. Oh my God. Remy. No wonder he’d had such aches and pains.

  She grabbed up the poppet but then didn’t know what to do. If she removed the needles, would that be worse? She forced her mind to stop spinning and remember what Grand-mère had taught her.

  First, take away the power.

  With a scream, Gabby swept her arm across the altar table, knocking the contents onto the floor. She stomped on the leaves and pills, kicking the powders around the room. An acrid smell filled the room and she held her T-shirt up over her nose.

  The table stood no more than two feet high, made of intricately carved wood. The candle flickered, making it hard to see, but she recognized a carving of Papa Legba. She lifted the table by one leg and slammed the side into the wall. The leg broke off, sending a jolt of pain up her arm. One glance in the flickering light said she’
d done more damage to her hand than the rest of the table.

  She tried two more times before a crack appeared. With one more blow to deepen the crack, she opened the back door and threw the broken pieces out into the rain, but not before she spit on the remains.

  Her nail broke down to the quick as she worked to get the feather loose from Remy’s poppet. Finally all that was left were the needles. She eased them out as gently as she could, then stabbed them through the star on what she assumed was the sheriff’s poppet. Cradling Remy’s poppet in one hand, she drizzled the last of the holy water from the third vial over the holes in the doll’s chest and back.

  Fearful, she clutched the crucifix around her neck. There was only one more thing she could do to help Remy.

  As she opened the back door, a sharp hissing sound came from the candle on the floor. She noticed the wire attached to the bottom just as bright sparks shot out.

  Remy might have mistaken the pinpoint of light ahead for a star, but the rain fell in a solid sheet, and no star could be strong enough to shine through that much water. He struggled to keep the skiff facing that direction but he had to fight wind and waves while swerving around debris barely visible in darkness solid as a wall. The light continued to grow as he drew nearer.

  A cabin of some kind sat in the middle of the swamp, water on all sides. A boat, tied in front, swung wildly from side-to-side and strained against a rope.

  The owner could be an old swamp rat, living his life, not bothering anyone. Or the place could be a drug shack. Dan Cryer had to hide his stash someplace. Remy’s gut tightened. If so, he’d lost the trail and probably his life and Adrienne’s. But he didn’t think so.

  He didn’t bother to cut the motor as he pulled up to the cabin. The sound couldn’t possibly be heard over the wind. He took a deep breath and let it out.

  The pain level had suddenly dropped to a six.