“I think this is the best place,” he said, dropping the bag to the soft ground.
As I started to clear the earth in order to draw the pentagram, Lorin lighting the area with a flashlight above me, I felt my hand shaking and my heart thumping in my chest.
I felt a little out of my depth and the atmosphere felt strange and creepy. I knew deep down that we shouldn’t be messing about with this stuff.
I finished clearing the ground and then placed the voodoo doll facing the ground in the centre of the pentagram and then placed a lighted candle at each point of the pentagram.
“Are you ready?” I asked Lorin.
He nodded.
We both held hands and dropped to our knees. I started whispering the dark prayers I’d learnt from grandmas book, as Lorin placed the first pin in the back of the doll.
One by one, Lorin stuck the pins through the doll’s body and he handed the last one to me, which I placed straight through the doll’s head.
“That’s it. We have done it,” I said to Lorin, as a chill raced up my spine.
We both stood and Lorin pulled out a can of diesel oil from the bag he’d brought and poured it over the doll, before setting it alight.
The entire clearing went up with a whoosh and the flames danced momentarily, before dying down, illuminating the forest clearing around us. The shadows from the trees looked like the fingers of some huge monster, reaching out to grab us both. “Come on, I don’t like it here. Let’s go,” I whispered to Lorin, as we both stared at the spot, mesmerized by the flames.
When we finally got back home it was past midnight. Everywhere was in total darkness and the house silent. We both crept around the back of the house and quietly went inside and went straight to bed.
CHAPTER 33
Till Death Do Us Part
TWO WEEKS HAD passed since we’d performed the voodoo ritual in the woods, but nothing unusual had happened. As I sat on the floor by my bed drawing on a sheet of white paper with a lump of charcoal, I wondered if the entire thing was in fact just a load of rubbish. I tossed the scrawled-on sheet to the floor and started on another, when I looked up and saw Lorin standing in my doorway. He’d been watching me for a while.
“You know, people think you’re crazy,” he said, walking in, sitting down by my side and taking the sheet of paper away from me.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, confused but also curious.
“If anyone looked at your drawings, they’d assume you were crazy,” he said, nodding to the sketch depicting dark woods and a pentagram I’d just drawn on the paper.
“I know, but this stuff is all I can draw,” I said, snatching the sheet from him and sliding it under the bed.
“I don’t think the voodoo stuff will work,” he said, standing up and walking over to the window.
“Well, maybe we just didn’t do it properly,” I said, sighing.
“Well, maybe we should try again,” Lorin said, looking out of the window, before turning and heading out of my room quickly.
Curious as to why Lorin had left so quickly, I poked my head out of the window. I nearly peed in my pants when I saw father’s dark angry eyes staring back up at me.
My legs started to shake. Father was acting very oddly and the way he looked at me, with his cold, cruel eyes, made me fear for my own safety. I took in a deep breath to calm myself down and hurried from my room.
Father disappeared again after that on one of his long trips. He was leaving the farm more and more often and we hardly saw him, which was good. I spent my days keeping my head down, working hard on the plantation, coming home when the long day was finally over, washing and retreating to my bedroom to be alone and surrounded by the dark silence.
One evening after a long day out in the fields, I was sitting on the floor in my room, my head between my knees, wondering what the hell father was getting up to. He’d been gone almost two months this time and nobody was talking about him. I thought back to the stupid ritual Lorin and I did in the forest, thinking it would end our troubles, but it had done nothing. As I was about to start crying, a voice startled me.
“You can’t hide away forever Emilia,” mother said, entering my room with a glass of pineapple juice in her hand.
I began to sob at the sight of her. “I don’t feel very well mum,” I admitted.
Mother walked over, sat down by my side, allowing me to rest my head on her lap. Mother started stroking my hair. “Your life is yours and you must enjoy it. It should make you free,” she said.
I felt sad for mother, as she had no idea what we’d done. If she’d known, she’d understand why I was feeling so down.
As mother caressed my head, we heard the sound of a car’s engine, distant at first, but steadily getting louder as it approached the farm along the long dusty road.
We both jumped up and looked out of the window and saw two men in blue uniforms walking towards the front door.
“Hold on,” mother said, as she left the room to see what they wanted.
Mother went to get the two guests a drink of water. When she brought it back for them, I watched from the corridor and could see them both awkwardly looking around the kitchen, as if they were trying to find the best way to start whatever conversation they intended having.
“Erm, we are very sorry to have to tell you this, but your husband, Moises, was…was killed last night.”
I put my hands to my mouth to stifle any sound that was about to come out. Mother fell back onto the nearest kitchen chair, shaking from shock.
“We are very sorry Maria,” the man in uniform repeated, appearing really awkward.
Grandmother appeared from the porch and went over to console mother, while I remained motionless in the corridor, seemingly unable to move from the spot.
“How did it happen?” grandma finally asked.
“It appears he was ambushed,” the man in uniform said. “He was shot seven times in the back. I’m so sorry.
"He had three revolvers with him and a bag full of bullets," the policeman continued, as his partner made notes in a small notebook.
I suddenly felt like I was suffocating and not able to breath properly. I ran back into my bedroom and over to the open window, climbed out and ran into the forest, not stopping until I reached our plantation.
My brothers and sisters were working, as usual and I reached them, doubling over to catch my breath.
"What happened to you? Did you see a ghost or something?" They all laughed as I slumped onto a log on the ground to gather my thoughts. They could see I was shaking. I looked up at them all once I'd steadied my breathing.
"No, our father is dead! He is dead; the police said he is dead! Our father is dead...dead...dead" I kept repeating myself, until Lorin shook me hard, pulling me back from a trance-like state I'd fallen into.
"Calm down, you look creepy, Stop saying that!" Lorin said.
We all hurried back to the farm. The police were still there talking to mother.
"What's going on now?" I asked mother, hugging her in front of the two policemen.
"The police want to search the house darling. They have warrants, we can’t stop them."
I knew that mother and grandmother knew everything and that they would have ensured the police didn't find anything if they searched. There was nothing to find. Father's box under the bed had been long since hidden. The policemen finally gave up after an hour or so, unable to find anything significant.
"Your husband's body will be released soon, so that you can make funeral arrangements." the policemen holding the notebook said, as they left the house. I thought mother might cry, but she didn't. She just nodded and closed the door after them.
When father's funeral finally arrived a week later, I didn't cry either. I thought I might, funerals are of course sad. But, I guess I had no more tears left to shed. I'd cried a lifetime of tears already at the hands of my father. Now, as I watched his funeral, I had none left. The rest of the family were emotionless too. This end,
this funeral, had been what we'd all been expecting deep down for many years anyway.
I did have one thought however, which ran through my head like the ticker of a news headline, which flashed, I killed him. As I glanced over at Lorin, the look on his face told me he felt the same way.
Mother was handed father's death certificate. The cause of death was noted as gunshots, seven times to the body and one fatal shot to the back of the head. That couldn't have been a coincidence, I thought. How could it be? I couldn't stop torturing myself with these thoughts, the night in the forest with the voodoo doll now haunting my every dream.
As soon as Lorin found out about father's cause of death, his first reaction was to hug me. "It worked!" he said.
I pushed him away, not wanting to think about that night in the woods any more that I had to. Not many people attended our father's funeral. That was no surprise, he wasn't a popular man. Most of the people in attendance were just there to make sure he was really dead, I was certain of that.
I watched mother as she stood by father's coffin, to say her farewells. She looked very uncomfortable, my brothers and sisters at her side to lend their support. Not a single person cried.
After the funeral, father was finally laid to rest in the small cemetery in the village. I stood next to father's grave with Lorin, we were the last people to leave.
"I feel so guilty about what we have done Lorin," I said, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Lorin looked at me. "Don't be so stupid," he said. "Father died because of his crimes, not because of what we did. And besides, we haven't finished reading his diary yet!"
I knew Lorin was trying to make me feel better, but he couldn't alleviate the guilt I felt. I was in no mood to read the rest of the diary, but I knew that I had to. I had to know my father's last thoughts, and perhaps find out who might have killed him.
We finally left the grave and headed back to the farm. When I got home, I went straight to my room as I needed to be alone with my thoughts.
Following father's death, life on our farm slowly returned to normal; a new normal, without the fear, the torment, the beatings and the tears. I felt like I’d suddenly matured, like a butterfly leaving its chrysalis. A huge weight had suddenly been lifted from my shoulders, and the rest of the family, I know felt the same way.
I was now 17 years old. I had so far led a very simple life with my family until, surrounded by the Amazon rainforest, and the beautiful animals that lived here, and without electricity or running water. I was now blossoming into a beautiful young woman; I could see the men from the village looking at me, in a very different way than before. I now spent the majority of my time making beautiful things, handcraft, painting and such like. Well, at least I thought they were beautiful.
I was able to spend more time with grandmother, even though she was approaching 90 years old and was almost totally blind. We would sit together for hours, talking about this and that. I still felt incredibly guilty about the whole voodoo business of course. Had father's murder been anything to do with what Lorin and I did that night in the forest? Was it just a coincidence? The truth is, we'd never know. Either way, it didn't stop the feeling of guilt I had.
I decided to spend less time working at the plantation so that I could return to school in the village, but as I was the oldest student in the class, I was constantly bullied by the younger kids, calling me stupid and stuff. It didn't bother me however. After all, dealing with the school kids was easy compared to the torture I’d received at the hands of father. I was still helping mother and my brother and sisters on the farm, in my spare time, but this had become less onerous, as the family decided to sell some part of the farm and the land and divide the rest into plots, meaning the family could care for their own affairs rather than all of us do everything.
I had stopped dressing so neutrally as well. Before I just wanted to hide myself and dressed more like a boy than a girl, but now I had nothing to fear anymore. Now I felt more independent and was enjoying life for the first time ever. Nothing would now steer me away from the path I was on. No matter how difficult it had been for me in the past, the beatings at the hands of my father, I would now never trade in the life I had. Being able to draw and paint whatever and when I wanted, meant everything to me. Just being able to see my mother and grandmother smiling again filled my heart with joy, and they both became an inspiration for my painting.
I no longer felt like a prisoner and I was able to put all my passion and energy into doing something I enjoyed doing. Although the abuse had stopped, it had also made me stronger. I now felt like a human being, capable of feeling and of having feelings. For the first time, life felt like it was meant to be enjoyed.
One month had passed since father's funeral, and the mixed feeling of euphoria and guilt hadn't yet left me. As I sat on my bed, arranging the paintings I'd done, I heard the fall of soft raindrops on the roof of my small bedroom. In the Amazon, the rain fell so hard that it would make my small room shake so hard that it felt like it would collapse at any moment, but the rains always usually finished as quickly as they had come, and today was no exception.
In my new found 'free spirit' feeling I enjoyed, I got off my bed and decided to go for a walk into the forest. I headed to the front door. "I'm going out for a walk!" I yelled to mother.
Just saying that felt good. I no longer needed permission to go anywhere anymore. I wandered down behind the house and entered the forest along a well-trodden path. I had grown to love the forest again and all its animals. It was a peaceful escape for me. I inhaled the fresh air, so clean and full of the scents of the Amazon that it almost hurt my nose has I breathed it in.
As usual, the forest was alive with the singing of the parrots and macaws and the rustling of small animals scuffling around under the bushes. I thought about my family as I wandered through the trees. Mother was much happier, but there had been a small war between my older brothers and sisters when a decision was made to sell parts of the farm over who got what, but I wasn’t interested in that. I just wanted peace and quiet. I’d been lost in my thoughts and hadn’t realised how deep I’d been wandering into the forest. I suddenly felt claustrophobic and afraid, memories of the man who’d jumped out of the trees rushed into my mind, and so I turned and ran back towards home.
As I approached the fringes of the forest, I saw the blue and white? Markings of a police car parked outside our farm. They’d come back to question mother.
I broke into a sprint to get home as fast as I could. When I entered the house, I sneaked along the corridor towards the kitchen, and through the kitchen door, could see mother sitting down with a glass of water, looking relatively calm, talking to the officer, who was again making notes in his little notebook. Mother was discussing Joseph, my father’s old boss, but I wasn’t sure what she’d been discussing.
I remained out of sight, listening to the conversation, but it didn’t last long. The police officer seemed to have gotten what he’d come for, stood up, thanked mother for her assistance, and promptly left.
I entered the kitchen. “Is everything alright mother?” I asked.
Mother looked over at me. She looked tired. "The police just told me there'd been a similar incident in the town earlier this week. They said someone had been murdered by the same man that killed your father," she said.
"Did you tell them what you knew?" I asked.
"Yes, some of it of course. But I have to look after you lot. I don't need the police accusing me of assisting in a murder," she said, a worried tone to her voice.
"I'm sure it will be ok," I said. "Come on, I will help you with the dishes."
Thankfully the police didn't return. The days passed. Although I felt safe now, and able to do whatever I wanted without father around, I still couldn't completely relax. At the end of the day, I would sit in my room, watch the sun vanish below the trees, then watch it rise again, bringing with it a new day, and hope along with it.
A few days had passed now since the p
olice had called at the farm. I was awoken by the warm sun washing over my face, and I crawled out of bed and wandered into the kitchen. Mother and grandmother were already up, chatting and making breakfast as usual. "Hi mum, and bless you grandmother," I said sleepily.
"Blessed be, my child, you look really tired," grandmother said, handing me a glass of warm milk.
"Thank you. Yes, I know I do. I can't seem to sleep properly anymore. Everything in my dreams is creepy and weird," I remarked, sipping my milk.
"What is bothering you?" mother asked, looking up from a plate of tomato's she was chopping.
"I think this place has too many bad memories for me mum. I can still feel father's presence here."
Mother looked at Grandmother, who just continued peeling potatoes. Granny wasn't stupid. She knew what I had been through and how I felt.
"We understand darling, but moving from here won’t really help. The problem is still in your mind," mother said.
"Well I didn't say anything about moving," I said, but, in the back of my mind, I had been thinking about an offer from my older sister to move into the city to live with her.
"Anyway, I don't want to think about it," I said, as I ate my breakfast.
The weeks went by, everything continuing as normal on the farm, the same routine, waking to milk the cows, delivering the milk to the village and then coming back home to wash and go to school. Life was busy and without the worry of getting abused, but still I longed to move on and start a new life.
As I lay on my bed one evening, exhausted from the weeks daily routine, I decided that I had to do something, to change my life. Tomorrow would be the day, I thought. I slipped off my bed and quietly packed a small bag full of clothes and other essential items and hid it under my bed, ready for the morning. Tomorrow I would start a new adventure, I thought.
CHAPTER 34
Daughter of the Forest: Diary of an Assassin Page 19