Chapter 24
Showdown
Amanda didn’t answer her cell phone. After a dozen tries, I finally accepted that she didn’t want to talk to me.
It hurt to write her, but I sent a long letter, apologizing for interfering with the path she had chosen for her life. I didn’t tell her I loved her, but I did. I left the letter with Simon, the lawyer. He met me in lobby of his office building and wished me luck in my future endeavors. Mike Owens was pissed as hell when I told him my plans, but there was nothing he could do to stop me, short of kidnapping.
Sheikh Ibrahim called me moments after I left a message with his secretary, letting him know I was going back to Borneo.
“Is this necessary, Sebastian?” he asked.
No greeting. No small talk.
“How else do I know for sure?”
“Is the evidence not sufficient already?”
“Probably, but I’ve been advised that it’s something I have to do.”
“By whom?”
“No one you know,” I said, thinking of the old Indian whose name I did not even know.
I was always bad with names. I wondered what Freud would say about that. I wondered what he would say about being possessed by an evil spirit. He was a practical man; he’d probably tell me to find an exorcist. But I had already come up with that idea myself.
Thanks to all my work for the sheikh, I was able to pay my bills and leave a clean slate behind, just in case.
Jimmy Beam agreed with the old Indian that I had to go back and offered to accompany me. I declined but promised to look him up when this was over so he could add my story to his monograph.
“Not necessary, mate,” he told me. “But give ’em hell for Johnnie’s sake.”
And so, less than two weeks after killing two punks in downtown Denver, I found myself half a world away, back at the clearing that Johnnie, Chik and Sammy had started cutting.
I couldn’t believe the devastation. Not a single tree stood between the river and the village, which was now visible from the river.
Clear-cutting is not done with machetes and axes; loggers use huge machines with whirling blades as wide as a tall man. Everything, every single tree, shrub, vine, and weed is cut down to about a foot off the ground.
Had I caused this? I picked my way through the debris to the village, less than a five-minute walk when the vegetation doesn’t snatch at you. The village was empty of humans but littered with garbage from the cutters. They had chain sawed windows into every hut, and real stairs climbed up to some of the houses. The clearing had been turned into a garbage heap of food containers, greasy engine parts, and other leavings from what some of us called civilization.
I found no sign of the pole that had held my companions’ mutilated heads. I expected to feel a sense of justice. Instead, I felt empty.
At our landing, my two Malay guides had set up a tent for me, with a mosquito net, and unloaded a week’s worth of provisions. They said they would check in by satellite phone every day at noon and shoved off into the muddy river, heading back downriver.
I bombed my camp with a kills-all bug fogger but even when I walked beyond the mosquito-free perimeter, I encountered no insects. The clear-cutting must have destroyed the habitat for absolutely everything.
Maybe my plan would not work. Nothing would surprise me. So I sat down to wait.
*
The old woman showed up the next day as the sunlight finally hit my side of the chocolaty river.
She seemed ageless, timeless. She could have been a hard-used thirty or a sturdy one hundred. She looked exactly as she had the first time I met her months before. She showed no signs that I had throttled her.
I watched her as she zigzagged through tree stumps and roots. Whatever path she might have followed in the past was buried in debris now.
She carried a folded palm leaf, and I wondered if she planned to treat my tattoo. Maybe she could make it disappear.
She placed her package on the ground and took my face in her hands. Her thumbs made gentle circles on my cheeks, and she looked deep into my eyes. I stared into her mirrored gaze and saw the reflection of an exhausted, defeated man.
“Well, it’s just you and me now,” I said. “Your village is gone. Your shaman is dead. I suspect your people are gone, too, moved off deeper into the forest. See what you caused?”
I waved my arm over the naked gash in the forest.
“Did you watch as the machines slashed through your forest? How long did it take? Two, three days?
“Did you see it coming? Can you see the future? I can’t. I can’t see any future at all. For you or for me.
“Is your spider happy now? Is he satisfied? Does he have enough heads?”
My voice rose, and I started shaking. She held my cheeks and showed neither anger nor fear. No emotion at all.
“How did you get involved in this? Was the machete man a relative of yours?”
I pointed to the village in the distance.
“Was he your son or grandson? Or do you just carry the demon spider and let it choose its next victim?
“You give terrible power to someone. Do some even like it? All that power.”
I snapped my fingers, and she started.
“Death. Just like that.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about your machete man. I don’t think he was one of those. I don’t think he liked having the spider spirit. He probably could have struck me down, but he didn’t.
“I would have. I have the anger. You probably know that. Maybe you figured that out in advance. You could tell that I would use it, and maybe Johnnie and Chik and Sammy wouldn’t.
“Is that what happened? Why don’t you say something, dammit?”
I grabbed her shoulders and shook her like a rag doll. She weighed nothing, and her head bobbled under my shaking. She still showed no emotion, and I took my hands off her.
A terrible smile formed on my lips, and I stared hard at her throat. Her hands instinctively flew up, trying to ward off unseen claws.
“How does it feel?” I asked. “How does it feel when your throat tightens and the air stops coming? Do you see the spirit when that happens?”
I taunted her and myself.
“I never see the spirit. Never have. People tell me it’s there. I might agree, but I’ve never seen it when I look in the mirror. I feel it though. It’s there. Something’s there.
“And it’s taking over. I have to destroy it before it destroys me. I’m not sure how to do that, so I’m just going to start trying things. Maybe I should burn the village to the ground. In a few weeks, no one would ever know it existed. The forest would take it over.
“Maybe I should start with you? Just keep squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.”
She coughed and choked, her eyes still on me, filling with fear. Finally, an emotion. She had felt this pain before; I just knew it. Someone had done this to her before. The machete man perhaps. Maybe some other shaman with the power. Maybe this was part of the whole thing. Maybe everyone who inherited the power had to try it against its messenger, just to know for sure that they had it.
I released her and tried to clear my mind, or at least change my thoughts. Sarah in the good times. Mike. Amanda. The Indian. As hard as I tried, I always came back to recent times, but at least I knew I was no longer attacking the old woman.
She flopped to her butt and breathed heavily through her mouth, clearing her throat as if trying to expel some foreign substance. Eventually she moved to her knees and picked up her leaf package. Holding it out to me like an offering, she unwrapped it and revealed a black orchid. It was more beautiful than the first. I lifted it off the leaf and twirled it slowly on its stem, watching it soak up the light. I sniffed its faint perfume and smiled.
I stood and looked down at her wrinkled impassive face.
“An invitation,” I said. “Just like the first one. A temptation. I follow you to another village. Do I ever come back from there? Is that where I d
ie when this spirit, this demon of yours, gets tired of me?
“Is that what happened to machete man? Did the demon get tired of him? Or did he somehow displease the demon?”
I practically hissed the word “displease.”
I had figured some things out over time, some rules of behavior, as it were, for the demon and me.
“I won’t go. I’m not going to give in. I won’t be your demon’s pawn—or anyone’s pawn.”
I slowly shook my head.
“No. Your black orchid demon will stay with me, come with me, go where I go.”
The old woman frowned as if she understood what I was saying. This was the first sign of comprehension she had shown.
If she was the demon’s messenger, did that mean the demon understood? Finally? Was this the beginning of the conversation the old Indian said I had to have?
“The spirit—your demon—is in me.”
I touched my finger to my chest. The old witch followed every move I made.
“I may be a captive of the spirit, but it can’t escape me either.”
I laughed bitterly.
“It will go where I go.”
I gazed out over the murky river, shaken as always by the sight of so much water. Still holding the orchid in my hand, I turned my back on the old woman and put one foot into the dark flowing liquid.
I tossed the flower into the water. It sped away toward the center of the river.
“Tell me, old woman,” I said. “Can your demon swim?”
*
The water flowing around my ankle should have paralyzed me. Instead, I just felt numb as I took another step away from solid ground. I took another step, the current tugging at my knees. A familiar terror urged me back toward the riverbank and safety. This time, this one time, I fought back.
The old woman waded into the water and clutched at me with claw-like hands. I dodged her and moved deeper into the river, almost losing my footing in the mud. The water reached my waist; my heart pounded and my eyes saw white; the current pulled my feet out from under me.
I saw the old woman’s mouth make an “O” shape like a wild scream, but I heard nothing as my head slipped below the surface.
The current yanked me downstream. The suddenness surprised me; I screamed and took in a mouthful of dirty water.
Water stung my eyes, robbing me of the sense I valued most—sight, the power to see and therefore to anticipate and plan and thereby control.
Unable to see or breathe, I thrashed in the water, bumping into tree limbs and other debris.
My head roared, exploding with sounds.
I tasted mud and spit out water.
I held my breath until my lungs burst; I gasped in air and water through my nostrils.
My gut clenched, and I puked out water.
My booted feet dragged me down, dunking my head over and over.
I thrashed and flailed uselessly. I couldn’t keep my head above water. The current tossed me around like a toy. I searched for the shore, but I couldn’t find it. All I saw was water, dirty, brown death.Time raced by in slow motion.
Visions of Dyak faces appeared—old and young, warriors and slaves. Some beckoned; others pushed me away. These, I understood, had come to this place before me, and the river had taken their lives.
A soft voice inside me whispered soothingly, Open your mouth and find peace.
I weighed a ton, my arms bars of lead, but I drifted now, tumbling slowly, down, down, down.
A smile formed on my opened lips. I had won; the spider demon was dead… just like me.
Empaya Iba Speaks
Little Sister, you please me so.
You obey my will.
You suffer abuse in my name.
You will have your reward.
The shaman you bring
Is full of spirit.
He dares to fight even Empaya Iba.
This pleases Iba.
He has wisdom
But no knowledge.
How great he will be with me.
Our greatness together, all will know.
So say I, Empaya Iba, spirit of the Black Orchid People, guardian of the Mother Soil, giver of the Long Sleep, seer of the Many Eyes, mage of the Many Legs.
Chapter 25
Resurrection
Mike Owens slowed his brisk steps to match my pace as I exited the flight from Singapore to LAX. I was sore all over, and my lungs struggled to provide enough air. On top of the physical ailments, I hadn’t slept much during the flight—dreams of death kept waking me.
“Well, Sebastian, that was stupid, even for you.”
“Nice to see you, too, Mike,” I said.
“What did you hope to achieve by drowning yourself?”
“I thought I might unburden myself, Mike. What do you think I was trying to do? Unfortunately, I failed.”
“Look, you’re not alone in this,” the marine said.
I stopped momentarily and looked at him, dressed in khakis and a short-sleeved plaid shirt. His short haircut belied the mufti. He was military, my watchdog. Sometimes I wondered if he could be a friend. Probably not. Friends don’t threaten to kill you.
“I’m not alone, Mike? That’s just it, isn’t it,” I said. “No matter how badly I want to be, I’m not alone.”
“You know what I meant,” he said.
“Ah, you mean I have friends throughout the U.S. military who just want to help me hone my skill at killing people who piss me off.”
“I would argue that some of those people provoked you and needed killing,” Mike said.
“And that makes it okay for you to track my every move, monitor my phones and email? Is that it?”
I moved on.
“Sebastian, I know you don’t like it. I don’t like doing it. But we can’t have you—anyone with the kind of powers you and I know you have—wandering around unsupervised.”
He tried to keep his voice low.
“Mike, I’m way over twenty-one. I don’t think I need a chaperone.”
“We’ve been over this, Sebastian. The U.S. government isn’t the only entity with an interest in you. For that reason alone, we have to keep you safe and out of the hands of people who might be a lot less circumspect than we are.”
“Mike, let’s go back to that justified killing line of thought. Have you asked Amanda how she feels about that? I don’t think she shares your enthusiasm.”
He considered me as I shambled along, dodging the oncoming human traffic.
“You took her off guard. She was surprised, shocked. Anyone would be. Two guys with knives threaten her, and the next thing she knows you’ve got them writhing on the ground. What’d you expect?”
“A little support, a little comfort, a word of thanks for saving her from God knows what. Oh, never mind. It’s done,” I said. “So, Mike, what do you want?”
“To make sure you’re all right.”
“Well, here I am. I think you can see I’m just fine. I’m equally sure the new CIA liaison in Kota Kinabalu also reported on my progress from the hospital. So, you know I’m all right.”
Our voices rose; an airport security guard caught my eye. I stifled the fury building within me.
“Mike, I don’t want to be anyone’s pawn, not this demon’s, not yours. I want to be left alone… by everybody and everything.”
“Don’t we all? It’s a luxury no one can afford. Come on. We’re blocking traffic. I can at least give you a lift to wherever you want to go.”
Just like that, my anger fizzled. From potentially explosive power to pathetic hiss. The moods came and went, leaving me dazed.
“No need,” I said. “I’m getting a rental car. Then—and I tell you this so you won’t have to tail me too closely—I’m driving down to Amanda’s cabin in Colorado. There’s an old Indian medicine man there who wants me to sweat with him.”
“You’re looking for help from an Indian medicine man? That sounds pretty… unusual, Sebastian,” Mike said.
“Mike, I
tried to drown myself. I’m way past using normal means, and I wouldn’t even know what the normal means would be for this kind of situation. Maybe a Catholic priest to do an exorcism? I may have to try that.”
We moved on in silence. He slow marched; I shuffled.
I left the hospital against the doctors’ wishes. I knew I wasn’t fully recovered from my attempted suicide-murder. But I couldn’t stay there another day.
I had dozens of cuts and bruises all over my body, but more important, I struggled for breath. Water had entered my lungs; not a good thing, or so the doctors on Borneo told me. My battle for death, mine and the demon’s, left me weak and easily exhausted. Worst of all, having made up my mind to die, I did not know what to do with the rest of my life.
As Mike and I made our way through the long concourse toward the baggage claim area, he spoke again.
“General Brant died.”
“Who?”
“General Brant, the three-star you sent into premature retirement because he no longer had a voice after you got done with him. He died. Heart attack.”
“Oh.”
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Me? No. Why would I?” I asked.
“Well, you did try to squeeze the life out of him and his wife in Abu Dhabi,” Mike said.
“Look. I was several weeks out of the jungle. I was pissed and hurting and out of control. I had no idea back then what I could do,” I said. “No. I had nothing to do with it. I haven’t given him much of a thought since leaving Abu Dhabi. How is his wife? I liked her.”
“She’s fine. Aside from being a new widow, of course,” he said.
“When did this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
“Ah.”
I stopped to catch my breath.
“So that’s why you’re here,” I said.
“You didn’t put a hex on him or anything? Wish him dead long distance?” Mike said.
“You’re relentless, Mike, and you can’t decide whether to be appalled or disappointed.”
“It would have been interesting if you had…”
“Well, I didn’t. Sorry to disappoint. I had dreams. I was looking at dead bodies, but they had no faces. They scared me,” I said. “All of my dreams seem to be like that these days. Revenge dreams. I hate to think what a shrink would make of it. But Brant wasn’t part of it.”
The Mark of the Spider: A Black Orchid Chronicle Page 15