“Okay,” Rachel said, and, still chewing on the cane, skipped away.
“What do you mean?” Mangela said when Rachel was gone.
“Two marines came to our house looking for cacos. I hesitated to tell them, but Felicia must’ve heard us talking and she spoke up. I had to tell the marines the truth after that.”
Mangela looked worried. Her normally beautiful face was crowded with lines.
“I thought you’d be happy,” I said. “That animal is gone. You’ll never have to see him again.”
“I know,” Mangela said. “But what will we tell those other men?”
I sighed. “Hopefully they won’t come back,” I said. “Hopefully they’re dead, or in jail.”
“That would be a blessing,” Mangela said. “But what if they do come back, Jacques? What will we tell them?”
I took a hold of Mangela and kissed her. “Don’t you worry about it. Marcel is gone, that’s the main thing. You and Felicia and Rachel are safe, now. I’ll deal with them when they come. If they come. But I’m sure everything will be fine.”
“Okay,” Mangela said. She smiled, but it had lost all happiness.
And standing there holding Mangela, I honestly thought everything would be okay...”
Mr. Joseph sipped the last of the tea. “My throat’s a little sore,” he said. “I haven’t talked this much in a long time. Mind if we stop for today?”
Toby shook his head. “Sure, that’s fine. But listen, if you don’t want to tell me, if it’s too hard for you...”
“No, I want to. I think about my past nearly every moment of every day, but understand, I haven’t spoken about it to anyone. The only person who knew was Jean-Philippe, and he’s dead.”
Toby frowned. “Jean-Philippe? Who’s he?”
“An old friend. We’ll get to him later.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I’d better get going.” Toby got to his feet.
There was still so much Toby wanted to know about Mr. Joseph, but he knew he just had to be patient, and hopefully, in time, he would get his answers. “See you later,” Toby said and started for the back door.
“Toby, wait.”
Toby turned back. Mr. Joseph was looking up at him, face serious. “There’s something I should tell you. It’s only fair. If I’m to tell you my story truthfully, then you’ll learn about it eventually. That old friend I just mentioned, Jean-Philippe, he was that stranger who came to town. The one who killed himself last month.”
Toby’s ears started ringing. “Oh my god,” he breathed. “You knew him? But... but everyone thinks he’s the one who attacked me and Frankie.”
“I know that, but it’s not true. Please, sit down. I can explain.”
This was all too much. First finding out about Mr. Joseph, and now learning that he knew the main suspect in the attack? “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Do the cops know?”
“No. Please, Toby, sit down and hear me out. I know for a fact that Jean-Philippe didn’t attack you and Monsieur Wilmont. You have to trust me.”
Trust him? How can he expect me to trust him? I hardly know him!
Toby remained standing. “How do you know he had nothing to do with the attack?”
Mr. Joseph paused, then answered, “Because he was already dead when it happened.”
“But the newspapers said he died a few days after the attack; that the cops found him a week later, and said he had been dead only a few days. They said he had a motive...”
“You believe everything you read in the papers? Jean-Philippe wasn’t some vagrant who happened to wander into town; he came to Belford to find me. And when he found me, and told me what he came to tell me, he left. That was the Saturday of your campout. It was a shock when I opened the door to see him standing there that morning. Apparently he had followed me from Barb’s. I was shocked not only by his appearance, like he had been in a fight, but also because it had been so long and seeing him brought back a flood of memories. But I wasn’t surprised by his arrival; I had a feeling I would be seeing him soon.”
“But he was a pervert. He spied on some kids making out. You heard what happened at Jinks Field?”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “Again, all lies. He didn’t spy into that car. He wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t that sort of person, and besides, he wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself like that. No, I’m afraid the truth was, he saw the car pull up at Jinks Field, and figuring it might not be such a good place to hideout—he worried that more cars, more people would come—he started to leave. Well, I guess either the girl or the boy saw him walking nearby, and thought he was coming to spy on them, or had spied on them and was leaving—either way, the guy jumped out of his car and, calling Jean-Philippe names, started beating him when Jean-Philippe tried to run away. And soon more cars came, with more kids.” Mr. Joseph shook his head. “And even after all that, he still stayed, until he found me.”
“But that doesn’t prove he wasn’t the attacker,” Toby said. “And how can you know he was already dead at the time of the attack? He might’ve left town, attacked us a few days later, and then killed himself.”
“Jean-Philippe and I go a long way back together, all the way back to Haiti. We had a kind of connection. I hadn’t seen him in over ninety years, yet, like I said, I knew he was coming even before he arrived, and I know he died that night. I felt his presence vanish from this earth, I felt his pain lift. He was able to do it right the first time, unlike me.” Mr. Joseph cast his gaze downwards; his chin started to tremble.
Toby thought back to what he had read about the stranger. The newspaper hadn’t said much, other than he seemed to be an immigrant drifter, whose worldly belongings included a bag full of clothes, a bottle of rum, a bunch of old, crinkled maps and a...
A gun! He killed himself using a...
“Holy shit,” Toby breathed. “He was a zombi too, wasn’t he?”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “He ended his pain that Saturday night. I know he did.”
“And you’re sure about that?”
“Yes,” Mr. Joseph answered, voice barely a whisper.
“Well if he didn’t attack me and Frankie, then why did he kill himself?”
“Because his job was done. His mission in life was over; he had found me and delivered his message. There was nothing left for him to do.”
“What message?”
“Please, have a seat, Toby.”
Though he felt numb, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, Toby found himself walking back to the table and taking a seat.
“Toby, you need to understand something. Being a zombi is a curse. It’s not simply a corpse who has risen from the dead. It’s when a bocor—that’s a vodou priest who works with both hands, one who works in black magic—captures a person’s soul, thus controlling his body. He can do this by either waiting until a person has died, and then capturing the soul, or by placing his lips against the crack of the person’s door and sucking out their soul. The person becomes ill and soon dies. Once the zombi has risen, he’s under the command of the bocor, or the master, if the bocor hands over that power. What I’m trying to say is, a zombi is an empty vessel, just a body without its essence. It can’t die, not unless the brain is destroyed. You understand what I’m saying?”
Toby swallowed. “I think so. You’re saying that a zombi lives forever? Unless...?”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “That’s a mighty horrible curse, Toby. To live forever, not really being alive, while all those you care about die. That’s why I’ve had to move from place to place. Every twenty years or so I move. I have to, or else people would get suspicious that I haven’t aged or died. But anyway, that’s getting ahead of myself. What I’m trying to say, Toby, is that being a zombi is like being a slave, a slave to the curse, and the idea of living forever is too terrifying to contemplate. There’s only one way out, and most zombis, sooner or later, end up taking that path. So, once Jean-Philippe’s job was over, he had nothing else to live for. He wanted his pain to be over. You understand?�
�
Toby nodded. “But what was his job? Why did he come to Belford to see you?”
Mr. Joseph closed his eyes. He didn’t speak for a long time.
“When I left Haiti all those years ago, Jean-Philippe made a promise to me. He didn’t have any family of his own, so he promised to look out for Mangela and Felicia and Rachel. He wasn’t to interact with them, just be near them, make sure no harm came to them.” Mr. Joseph paused. “You see Toby, being a zombi means great shame in my country, the ultimate shame. My family thought I was dead, so when I became a savane, and escaped from my master, I knew I couldn’t go back to them. So I left Haiti, but Jean-Philippe promised me two things before I left. One was to look out for my family. The other was to come and get me when they were all dead. Only then would I return to Haiti.”
“Is that why Jean-Philippe came to Belford?”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “I knew Mangela and Felicia would be dead by now, and I suspected Rachel, but there was no way of knowing for sure. It took Jean-Philippe almost five years to find me. But he eventually did.”
“So you’re going back to Haiti now?”
“No,” Mr. Joseph said. “Jean-Philippe came to me with other news. Yes, both my wife, child and grandchild were dead, but Rachel got married a long time ago, and had children of her own. And they in turn had children. I never thought...well, I had always thought that when my three girls were gone, then it would be over. That I could go back to Haiti and be with my family again. But now I find I have more family. I have great-grand-children, and great-great-grand-children. So I can’t go back, not now, not ever.”
Mr. Joseph paused before continuing.
“So that’s why I did what I did the other night. Or at least, attempted to. And why Jean-Philippe came to Belford. He wasn’t a violent person. He was just the opposite. He spent the last five years tracking me all over this country, and had spent the last eighty-five before that looking out for my family back in Haiti. You have to trust me, Toby. He wasn’t the one who attacked you and Frankie.”
Toby took a deep breath. “If you’re so sure, why didn’t you go to the cops?”
“And tell them what? That I know Jean-Philippe wasn’t the attacker because he was a zombi and he killed himself a few days before the attack because his job was over and he wanted his pain to be over?”
“But then whoever attacked me and Frankie is still out there. If the cops knew Jean-Philippe wasn’t the one, they would be looking harder for the real murderer.”
“Toby, Toby, Toby,” Mr. Joseph sighed. “One day you’ll come to learn that not everything in this world is fair or just. Jean-Philippe was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the right colored skin. He was a policeman’s dream suspect—a dead black drifter who couldn’t plead his innocence.”
“But... but that’s unfair.”
“Oh sure, it’s not on record that he was the person responsible for the attack. There’s no hard evidence linking him to the crime. But he’s guilty in the eyes of the law, and he’s guilty in the eyes of the town. To them, him killing himself was just further proof of his guilt. If only people knew the real reason.”
“This is all too much,” Toby said. “I mean, I was never one hundred percent certain Jean-Philippe was guilty, but at the same time...”
“You hoped he was? That’s understandable. I’m sorry Toby, I wish I could tell you it was him. But I can’t give you that closure. You do believe me though, don’t you?”
Reluctantly, Toby nodded.
“And you understand why I couldn’t go the police?”
Again, he nodded.
“Even if I neglected to mention Jean-Philippe was a zombi and told them that he was simply a friend and was with me at the time of the attack, they would have no choice but to investigate, which means investigating me, which means they might discover my secrets. Besides, it wouldn’t make one bit of difference. Whoever attacked you would still be free, and the police would still be working as hard, or should I say not as hard, as before in finding the real person responsible. In their eyes, that person is already dead.”
“But they’re not. Whoever attacked me and Frankie is still out there. I even told the cops it could’ve been more than one attacker —my memory of that night is a little fuzzy—but they just nodded, said thanks for my help, and that was it.”
“So who do you think it was?”
Toby shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know of anyone that violent living in town. Dwayne Marcos has crossed my mind, but then he and his gang have alibis, so it can’t have been them. So I really don’t know.”
“You want to know what I think? Honestly, I think whoever attacked you and Frankie left town a long time ago.”
“But why attack us? We were just kids. We didn’t have any money.”
“That, I cannot tell you.”
Toby nodded. Then he frowned. “You said secrets just before. What else is there?”
“Sorry?”
“Just before, you said the police might find out about your secrets, plural, if they investigated any link between you and Jean-Philippe. What else, besides finding out that you’re a zombi, could they uncover?”
“Well...” Mr. Joseph said.
“I know about you being a zombi, and I didn’t tell anyone. You can trust me.”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “You’re right. But please, keep this to yourself.”
“Okay.”
“I’m an illegal immigrant. Like Jean-Philippe, I have fake papers. I came over on a cargo ship—paid my way, which was easy to do back then. I shouldn’t be in your country, Toby, and if anyone ever found this out, I’d be thrown in jail or deported. Either way, once they found out I was an illegal alien, they would surely find out my other secret.”
“It’s okay,” Toby said, “your secrets are safe with me.”
“Thank you.”
Toby got to his feet once again. “I really should get going. I’m tired.”
“Yes, you’ve spent far too long with an old fart like me.”
Toby’s face dropped. Mr. Joseph frowned and said, “What’s wrong Monsieur Fairchild?”
Toby shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just... well, that’s something Suzie used to say.”
“Frankie’s mom?”
“Yeah. We used to get along great, but since Frankie’s death, she’s changed. Hearing you say that brought back memories. I miss the old Suzie.”
Toby left Mr. Joseph’s and sauntered home, head down.
Later that night, seeing that his dad was alone in the kitchen, stacking dishes in the dishwasher (his mom was relaxing in the family room, watching re-runs of Everybody Loves Raymond), Toby asked, “Dad, do you believe that the stranger attacked me and Frankie?”
His dad stopped what he was doing, straightened and looked at Toby. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious. I mean, there was no evidence, right? The man wasn’t found with a bloody baseball bat or anything.”
“That we know of.”
“Huh?”
“We don’t know everything about the case, Toby. The police probably know more than they’re allowed to tell. They seem pretty sure it was that stranger, so they must have good reason to suspect him.”
“So you do think it was him?”
His dad swallowed, ruffling the prominent veins that had only recently popped up along his neck. “He’s the most likely suspect, yeah.”
“But why? I mean, the police only suspect that stranger of attacking me and Frankie because he was black.”
His dad frowned. “What on earth gave you that idea?”
“There’s no proof that man attacked us. So why does everyone seem to think it was him?”
“It has nothing to do with race, Toby. It’s just simple logic. Nothing like it had ever happened in Belford, then, a few days before you and Frankie were attacked, this strange man drifts into town, is himself attacked by youths—at Jinks Field—the attack happens, and then, a week later, he’s found dead and
nothing like it has happened in the month since. And you have to remember, this man isn’t the only suspect, he’s just the main suspect. The police are still investigating.”
“Are they?”
His dad shrugged and when he spoke, he didn’t sound too confident. “I guess they still are. Anyway, if it wasn’t that stranger, I’m sure whoever did attack you and Frankie...”
“I know, I know, is probably long gone by now.”
“Right.” His dad reached out and placed a hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Toby, is there anything you want to tell me? You look... distracted. Like there’s something else on your mind.”
Toby shrugged. “Well, I guess I was wondering, what would happen if the police discovered that the stranger couldn’t have done it? You know, like he had an alibi for that night... or that he was already dead when the attack occurred.”
His dad’s arm fell away. He continued stacking the dishes. “Why do you ask?”
“Like I said, just wondering.”
“Well, he’d simply be ruled out as a suspect, and the police would continue to look for the guilty party. Like they’re doing now,” his father added. “But you don’t have to worry about this, Toby. The man who attacked you and Frankie is dead. The police wouldn’t be so sure he was their man if they didn’t have good reason to suspect him.”
Toby watched his dad rinse some plates before carefully stacking them in the appropriate racks. “Yeah, I’m sure they have good reason,” he said, and then walked out of the kitchen.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Two days later, Toby headed back over to Mr. Joseph’s.
He had spent the past few days mostly sitting in front of the TV, thinking about Mr. Joseph and what he had told him so far about his past. And though Toby was still coming to grips with the truth of Mr. Joseph, that zombis were real and did in fact exist, his fear was slowly easing. He also had thought a lot about Jean-Philippe. It seemed unbelievable to Toby that an innocent man could be judged guilty in the eyes of the law and the town—especially considering there was no evidence. But what could he do about it? He was sure there was something about the night of the attack that would help clear Jean-Philippe—if only he could remember.
The Awakening Page 27