Blood Roots

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  “Helen—”

  Olivia tried to speak, but Helen’s hand pressed tighter and she shook her head, frowning. Olivia nodded to show that she understood, and then, as Helen pulled her hand away, Olivia struggled to sit up.

  “What’s wrong?” Olivia whispered. “Has something happened? Is there—”

  Again Helen’s hand pressed Olivia’s mouth. After a second she drew back and glanced nervously behind her, as though afraid someone might be watching. Olivia swung her feet over the side of the bed, her gaze sweeping the shadows. Helen moved to the doorway and motioned with her arm.

  “What?” Olivia whispered. “You want me to come with you?”

  Helen nodded and touched the latch. Olivia got out of bed and waited as Helen checked the gallery both ways, then slipped noiselessly outside.

  They moved like ghosts through the downpour in the dark, trying to blend with the shadows. Helen led the way back behind the house and past the outbuildings until the old, abandoned slave quarters finally came into view. She slowed down and cast Olivia an anxious look over her shoulder. Olivia stared back, bewildered, then saw Helen pointing to one of the cabins. The door was closed, but a sliver of yellowish light crawled out beneath a cracked shutter. Helen tiptoed over and tried to work part of the rotten boards away from one corner of the window. As a small gap finally appeared, she moved quickly aside and motioned Olivia to look.

  Olivia didn’t want to. As her heart started racing, she was filled with a terrible sense of dread. She hung back and shook her head no. Helen nudged her firmly from behind. Olivia took a deep breath, then pressed her eyes to the narrow crack.

  The tiny room was lit by oil lamps—on the floor, on a table, on overturned wooden crates. What was left of a mantel held three guttering stubs of candles, and there was an old iron bed in one corner, its covers filthy and torn. Something that looked like a metal trough stood in the center of the rotted floor. Macabre patterns danced in the air, slyly skirting deep corners, skulking back and forth across the floorboards. As alternate tongues of light and shadow licked up the walls, Olivia could barely make out a series of small objects that hung there. She squinted her eyes and realized there were chains and manacles and metal rings like collars.

  Bewildered, she stared back at Helen. Even in the darkness she could feel the desperation in Helen’s eyes, could see the fearful glances Helen kept casting into the rainy darkness. Again Olivia squinted close to the crack, and she realized with a start that someone was inside the cabin.

  There were three of them.

  Three shadowy figures.

  As one of them moved into the sickly light, Olivia realized it was Skyler. The second figure seemed liquid and ghostlike, slipping in and out of darkness along the far wall. The third lay so still, so deep in one black corner, that Olivia could scarcely detect any sort of movement at all. She pressed her head closer and tried to hear.

  “I put her out,” Skyler was saying. “She’ll sleep for a while … but I’m afraid she’s going to cause trouble—”

  “I don’t want any trouble,” the second figure replied, and with a shock, Olivia recognized Jesse’s voice. “We don’t need any more trouble.”

  “I agree with you, but what can I do about it?”

  “I don’t doubt for a minute Mathilde got exactly what she deserved. I just want you to keep her away from Olivia.”

  “Do you think I’m a miracle worker?”

  “I don’t want Olivia hurt, do you hear me? She’s frightened enough as it is.”

  “Fear makes passion.” Skyler chuckled. “You should know that by now.”

  Jesse turned and began to pace back and forth along the wall. “I don’t want you hurting Olivia, and I don’t want you touching Olivia.”

  Skyler shrugged. He turned his face into the lamp glow, and his eyes glittered with a wicked light.

  “I can’t do it,” Jesse said quietly, and Skyler gave a low groan.

  “What do you mean, you can’t do it?”

  “I … I just can’t. Knowing what I know. She’s so … beautiful—”

  “All the more reason to do it.” Skyler stared at the manacles on the wall, ran his fingers slowly down one length of chain, glanced back at Jesse over his shoulder. “I’ve done it,” he whispered. “And believe me … she’s good—”

  “Stop it.” Jesse whirled on him, and Skyler straightened with a slow, taunting smile.

  “Remember Antoinette. Sleep with her … eat with her.”

  “Stop it!”

  Skyler blew out a long-suffering sigh. “Look, Jesse, that was the whole purpose for her being here, remember? Her job. It’s the whole reason Miss Rose let her stay.”

  “I can’t help it if I care. You should know that by now—”

  “And I don’t care?” Skyler sounded indignant. “I kept Mathilde from killing her, didn’t I? More than once.”

  “But not because of Olivia. Because of you.” Jesse’s voice was angry but calm. “There’s a difference.”

  A long silence fell. Skyler leaned back against the wall and rubbed his hands over his face as if he were bone weary.

  “What is it about this one?” he whispered. “What is it that makes this one so different?”

  Jesse said nothing. His shadow stirred slightly, as though he might have shaken his head.

  “You have to eat,” Skyler murmured. “Look what’s happening to you. You’re starting to look just like you did before. I don’t understand it. Maybe if you ate more—”

  “Eating has nothing to do with it.” Jesse sighed. He crossed the room and stood for a moment, looking straight into Skyler’s eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of it? Tired of this? Don’t you ever want it to finally—finally—end?”

  Skyler didn’t answer.

  There was a low moan from the corner, where the third figure stirred restlessly and tried to sit up. Olivia watched apprehensively as the familiar face struggled to pull into the light. Mathilde looked dazed, as oblivious to her surroundings as to her present company.

  “Skyler,” she whimpered. “Skyler …”

  He hesitated. Beside him, Jesse seemed to stiffen as he glanced in Mathilde’s direction.

  “Take care of her,” Jesse mumbled.

  Again Skyler hesitated … nodded.

  “I’m coming,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

  He started to move toward her, but without warning Jesse grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to listen.

  “Don’t you?” Jesse whispered.

  Skyler stared back. When he spoke at last his voice was coldly, coldly amused.

  “As if we had a choice. As if any of us did.”

  He pulled from Jesse’s grasp and walked slowly to the corner. He lowered himself far beyond reach of the lamplight, where shadows lay deep and unmoving.

  There was the soft squelching of something wet … a peculiar gurgling sound …

  And then sucking …

  Moans …

  Fading into silence.

  24

  “HELEN!”

  As Olivia whirled around, she saw Helen lose her footing and slip off the muddy step beside her. Arms flailing, Helen thudded against the door, and as Olivia heard the sound of rushing feet inside, Helen shoved Olivia roughly beneath the cabin to hide her. There was a jolt as Olivia’s head hit the brick pilings, and then she saw Helen’s frightened face through a soft explosion of stars before everything went completely black.

  Olivia didn’t know how long she lay there, unconscious, beneath the cabin.

  When she woke again, it was still night and still raining, and in an instant of panic, she looked around, trying to remember where she was. As the whole awful memory rushed back, she froze, listening, too terrified to move. The floorboards above were silent, and after a long, agonizing wait, she finally convinced herself that it was safe to come out.

  Helen …

  Olivia could still see the look of trapped fear on the girl’s face. Worried to death, she started
back to the house, wondering where Helen had gone. Maybe she got away before they realized—she could have outrun them—and hid—so they never knew she was there listening …

  She tried to save me.

  Olivia stumbled up to her room, praying that Helen would be waiting for her there. When she realized the room was empty, a curious disbelief settled over her—that she could have seen what she did—heard what she did—that the whole bizarre incident had even happened at all.

  She didn’t know where to begin to look for Helen—she knew she couldn’t wander around the house at this hour, not without risking an accidental encounter with Skyler or Mathilde in the dark. She didn’t even know where Helen’s room was, although she suspected it might be somewhere on the third floor.

  Olivia was soaked through and shaking violently. She threw off her wet things and used them to clean the mud off, then she slipped into her gown and down between the covers, pulling the netting close in around her. She couldn’t stop trembling, and as she lay in the dark she thought for one moment that she might start to scream.

  Was that really Jesse in the cabin? I didn’t dream it, did I—it was Jesse and Skyler and, my God, Mathilde—and what were they talking about—what did it mean—

  She burrowed deeper under the covers, burning hot yet icy cold. She heard the sounds again … wet … sucking … moans … She couldn’t tell if they were coming from the shadows in her room or only in her mind …

  She clamped her hands over her ears to block the sounds out. Her head throbbed, and her body convulsed with chills. She saw the dawn come up. She saw the slate-gray morning creep in.

  Oh, Helen, Helen, where are you—what happened last night—

  She had hoped that when daylight came, she’d remember that it had all been a nightmare. She had hoped that when daylight came, she’d forget the conversation she’d heard last night.

  But she didn’t quite forget.

  And she couldn’t quite remember.

  And now it played over and over in her brain, distorted by horror and exhaustion, running together, three voices in one, and she couldn’t tell anymore who had said what, she couldn’t recall every single exact word—Olivia—Antoinette—it’s her job—I’ve done it, she’s good—I don’t want her hurt—take care of her—take care of her—take care—pounding in her head, torturing her, until she couldn’t stand it—couldn’t bear it anymore—

  Those sounds … those horrible sucking sounds …

  In the name of God, what is going on?

  There is no God, Olivia, if there was, He would have saved me, but He didn’t save me—

  No, Helen saved me, Jesse saved me, Skyler saved me—

  “Save me!” Olivia screamed, and she bolted up in bed, her heart exploding in her chest.

  The room was empty and still.

  Did I fall asleep? Did I finally fall asleep and I didn’t even know it?

  She stood for a moment, swaying, by the bed, her hand automatically reaching for her thigh. For some reason it felt more sensitive this morning, and she moved her leg out cautiously. Dizzy … I’m so dizzy …

  She reached for her clothes on the chair and then she froze, her hand in midair.

  The clothes were dry. Dry and clean.

  But that can’t be—I was wearing them last night—I had them on when I went to the cabin—when I went with Helen—

  She dressed hurriedly, examining each piece as she put it on. Same skirt. Same blouse. Same flimsy material. Someone must have come in while I slept … only I didn’t sleep … did I?

  She leaned into the mirror and inspected her skin. Traces of dried mud …

  That proved it, then. She had tried to wipe all the mud off last night with her wet clothes. That proved she had been to the cabin.

  But there are always traces of dirt I manage to miss when I clean off at the washstand at night …

  Deeply disturbed, Olivia went straight downstairs to look for Helen. She searched casually through all the rooms off the hallway, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. The dining room was empty when Olivia finally went in. She stared at the fat links of greasy sausage and put her plate back down, feeling nauseated.

  “Now how do you expect to stay nice and healthy if you eat like that?”

  She hadn’t heard Skyler come in, and she jumped as he slipped up behind her. He kicked out a chair with one foot, lightly dropped into it, then folded his hands together on the tablecloth and watched her complacently, his smile lurking just below the surface. That was you I saw last night in the cabin … wasn’t it, Skyler?

  “We have a lot of work ahead of us.” He stretched himself, long and languorous. “And it’s such a perfect day to do it, don’t you agree?”

  Olivia met his eyes steadily. “Have you seen Helen?”

  Skyler looked politely blank. “Well, she’s always lurking around somewhere, isn’t she? Listening through keyholes? Peeking through cracks? Such a bad … bad … habit.”

  Olivia’s heart quickened, but she forced herself to seem unconcerned. “I just wanted to ask her—about washing my clothes.”

  She could feel his eyes going over her, as if there were no clothes at all between the two of them. The wet sounds … sucking sounds …

  “You can give them to me,” Skyler said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant … to see if she had washed them. Already.”

  “Why, Olivia, I do believe you’re blushing. Still so modest,” he scolded gently, “and after all we’ve been through together.”

  “Shouldn’t we just go?” She stood up, confusion, repulsion, fear all coursing through her at once—it was real wasn’t it—I was there, wasn’t I—and you were there, too, Skyler—you and Mathilde and Jesse—only I can’t remember what you said anymore—I don’t understand what you meant—

  She looked into Skyler’s eyes. A curious weakness spread through her. Her pulse raced at twice its normal speed, and he smiled as if he knew.

  He stretched himself to his full height, opened the door, and made a sweeping bow.

  “After you.”

  There wasn’t time now to look for Helen. Distraught, Olivia followed Skyler through the gardens, her thoughts as gloomy as the weather. The air was swollen with dampness, thick with the suffocating scent of flowers, as if the humidity had squeezed out all their perfume, then tainted it with mold. The statues wept, the benches moldered away, and the sundials kept no time. She wrapped her arms around her chest and tried to steel herself for what was coming.

  Even then she wasn’t prepared. The sight of all those dripping graves sinking into the soggy earth depressed her even more. The air had a putrid stench to it. Skyler leaned down and dislodged something from the mud, and to Olivia’s horror she saw him hold up a decomposed bone and pitch it into the weeds. I can’t do this, she thought—I’ll go mad, completely and totally mad, if I have to look at this another minute—

  She saw one of the shovels propped against a tree, its blade wedged into the soft ground.

  She saw Skyler leaning over a tomb, his back to her, his head down.

  Olivia stared at the shovel. At the blade. It had a pointed edge. It looked sharp.

  Slowly she swung her eyes back to Skyler.

  He was looking right at her.

  Smiling.

  “Do it,” he said. “I dare you.”

  Olivia turned away and leaned weakly against a tree. It was steamy hot, and her clothes pulled and clung. Reluctantly she glanced back at Skyler. He was busy working again, bent close to the ground, and his arms were smeared with mud up to his elbows.

  She watched his hands, his quick, strong fingers pulling stubborn weeds from the cracks, hands at home with the earth and the mud and the unpleasant things that had to be done … wet sounds … sucking sounds … “Take care of her” … “I’m coming … I’m here …”

  She walked casually over to the pile of tools beneath the tree. She glanced back at Skyler but he didn’t look up. She pi
cked up the garden shears and stuck them in her waistband. She pulled her blouse out over them.

  Skyler paused. She could see his hands tangled in a clump of weeds. His muscles tensed, and the weeds yielded.

  “What are you standing around for?” Skyler growled. “Find yourself something to do.”

  She felt a twinge of panic. She wondered if he’d seen her pick up the shears.

  “Work on the mausoleum,” he said. “It’s the most important.”

  Olivia stared at it. She remembered the storm … the screams … the cries for help …

  Maybe I dreamed those, too …

  But no—I’m not the one who imagines things … that’s Mama … she’s the one who sees things that aren’t ever there—the demons—the devils—the bad, bad things coming after her—

  “Doesn’t it bother you,” Olivia mumbled, “working here? Working here with all these dead things?”

  There was a long silence. Skyler kept his back to her.

  “Why should it?” he said at last.

  “Because it’s so horrible. Can’t you feel it? The smell that only death can have. The way it looks—only death can look like this.”

  He made a sound deep in his throat. “What about the taste that only death can taste like?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Olivia said coldly.

  She didn’t actually see him move. It was more that she sensed his shoulders stiffening … locking. There was a pause, and then his short, harsh laugh.

  “Then you don’t know too much about death at all, do you?”

  “Maybe you’d be surprised,” Olivia said.

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  He jammed his trowel hard into the ground, then turned around slowly. He held up his hands, each one dangling half of a fat, writhing slug.

  “Oops,” he said softly, that smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “How could I have been so careless?”

  Whirling away from him, Olivia went to the far side of the cemetery and began ripping out weeds with a vengeance. She could hear Skyler at the opposite end, repairing some of the damaged tombs, but she didn’t look at him. The graveyard grew hotter and steamier. Bending over a particularly stubborn vine, she gritted her teeth and pulled, and as it gave without warning, she tumbled onto her back, only to look up into Skyler’s face as he towered over her.