Voodoo Burning

by N. M. Catalano

  He throws me into the bathroom, I slide across the tiled floor and hit the commode and pain shoots through me. There’s a backpack on the floor in the corner, but other than that, everything seems normal in here. He follows me in and locks the door behind him. He strolls to the shower and turns on the water, then proceeds to look through all Hattie’s things while the water heats up, like he lives here.

  He actually hums a tune as he unwraps a new bottle of sugar scrub Hattie had on a shelf and places it in the shower. “I hate he had his hands on you. I’m the rightful Beauchamp. We have the same blood,” he states casually as he steps under the running water and closes the shower curtain.

  Wait.

  What?

  He’s a Beauchamp? Like Bertrand Beauchamp? That can’t be.

  I hear the splashing behind the curtain as my heart pounds and I try to get myself to a standing position against the door. Maybe I can at least get the door open and scoot myself down the hall before he gets out.

  He continues with his insane babbling, “Have you heard of the Beauchamp curse? The one made by the slave whore Bertrand burned to death?” He peeks out of the side of the curtain, a pleased grin on his face.

  My back is plastered against the door. Even though I’m familiar with the story, I shake my head no, my eyes fixed on him watching what he’s doing.

  “You don’t? Come now, everyone knows the Beauchamp legacy, just like they know your legacy. Yours and Hattie’s, and Marie Laveau.” He makes a tsking noise, clicking his tongue. “The story goes that the original Beauchamp, the one who established Beauchamp Plantation, Bertrand, had a slave woman he took as a whore, his little pet. She spelled his family. His wife and children died, all but one son and Bertrand. The old man went mad and dragged her out, beat her, then burned her alive right there on the banks of the river, right near where I sacrificed the last whore. They say her spirit could be heard cursing the entire Beauchamp lineage while her body lay lifeless on the ground.” He peeks his head out again, a mad smile practically splitting his face in half. “Bet you don’t know the truth about that slave,” he cackles, his eyes fixed on me. Disappearing back behind the curtain, I keep trying to push myself up. “That slave whore had already given birth to one of that prick’s children.” Bertrand’s voice sounds more animated, a bit more excited. Almost manic. “Nobody talks about how that child had to be hidden because he was going to burn that baby too.” The water goes silent.

  NO, NO, NO. I need more time!

  He flings the curtain aside, his soft white body dripping wet in Hattie’s shower, a deranged grin on his face.

  “You see, Dominique, I’m the rightful Beauchamp heir. I’m the only living descendant from that sluts union with Bertrand Beauchamp.” What is he talking about? I stare at him as he snatches a folded towel from the shelf and begins to dry himself. Like this is just another day, and he’s got all the time in the world. Like he didn’t just cut up an innocent woman in the other room. He steps from the shower, not bothering to cover himself. I turn my head; I can’t stand to look at him. “I checked the city’s records, and the first Bertrand was recorded a short while after Bertrand Beauchamp died.” He rubs a towel covered hand over the foggy mirror to look at himself. “That was when my lineage was born.”

  This man is completely crazy!

  He bends to reach for the backpack and unzips it. He pulls out fresh clothes and starts to dress. “We have to prepare the final part of the ceremony. The final purification of the sacrifice.” He pauses and looks into my face. “I am so happy you’re here, Dominique. It’s an honor to have you witnessing everything.” The joy that’s emanating from him is sickening, I cannot begin to grasp how to handle what’s happening here. He gets back to quickly dressing. “We have to get going, though. This part must be perfect.”

  When he’s done, he takes me by the hair again and drags me away from the door. “Don’t think I don’t know what you were trying to do. Do not anger me, Dominique, I don’t want to punish you.” He opens the bathroom door. Then his face goes feral as he lowers his head and jerks my face close to his. “But I will punish you, my sweet, especially for being Beauchamp’s whore. I saw you,” his voice turns to a dark hiss. “I saw him fucking you, and I heard you beg for it. He was always going to be dealt with, but he will pay for that. For taunting me. In my home.” He gives my head a vicious jerk, causing tears to spring to my eyes. “I saw it all.”

  He straightens and drags me back the way we came to the back of the house. I can tell he’s in a hurry. My body is screaming in agony when he shoves me in the corner. He opens the back door and gets something from outside.

  A gasoline can.

  He leaves the kitchen and goes to the front of the townhouse. I’m breathing so hard as I watch him go, I’m afraid I might hyperventilate and pass out again. Fear is a living entity inside me, I can’t control it. He’s going to torch this place, along with the woman. I think he’s going to take me with him. My hell is just beginning.

  God please, send someone. Help me! Ignatius, please come! I silently plead as I begin to sob uncontrollably.

  He’s humming that goddamn tune again as he backs into the kitchen, leaving a trail of gas through the house and into the kitchen. I sit paralyzed, I can’t tear my eyes from what he’s doing.

  I can hear the quiet whimpering of the woman as he douses a circle of the gas around her. He comes back for me and drags me to the backdoor and opens it a crack. He places the gas tank on the floor and takes the box of matches he has waiting by the door. He strikes a wooden matchstick on the side of the box and holds it in front of his face. “Thank you for accepting my gift. Praise be,” he mumbles quietly, almost reverently. My heart is pounding so hard, pushing the blood furiously through my body, it’s so loud, I almost didn’t hear him. My eyes are wide and glued on the flame, the smell of the gasoline heavy and thick, mixing with the iron smell of blood.

  “Ignatius will be here soon.” He turns his head to look at me. His eyes are wild and full of hate. “That’s the reason you’re here. To lure him.” He gives me a slow smile. “It’s him I want. It’s always been him.”

  Oh, my God, this is all about Ignatius! He’s waiting for him. It’s been him he’s wanted all along? He brought me as bait. For him.

  I watch as the match leaves his hand when he gently tosses it onto the circle of gas around the woman, softly so it won’t go out.

  That’s when I lean back and kick the gas can with both feet at Bertrand. I watch the clear liquid splash across the front of him and notice the flash of rainbow gasoline sometimes reflects shimmer in the fire. Instantly, the flames reach for him, their long hungry claws grasping at him and claiming what it wants.

  Another sacrifice.

  This time there will be three.

  Nineteen

  Tick Tock

  Hattie came to bail me out.

  I felt like a caged animal locked up in the holding pen with the other inmates, some of them already having spent days in there. Every second felt like an eternity. My mind was playing sick tricks with me, conjuring every possible horror filled scenario it could come up with, each one worse than the one before. When they finally notified me bail had been made, I was going out of my mind worried about Dominique.

  I promised her I wouldn’t leave her alone, but I lost my shit. He needed his head smashed in, and I barely contained myself from doing it. How the hell could another officer say things like that to her after the horror fest at my house?

  After Dominique left her restaurant, Hattie came to the precinct. It was the first time I’ve ever seen her undone.

  “We’ve got to hurry, Ignatius, my bones tell me something bad is coming.” Hattie gripped my arm and practically dragged me from the police station when I came through the door. I know, I felt the same thing the entire time I’d been trapped in there.

  “I’m driving,” I snapped when we got outside. I was going to run every fucking light on the way there.

  Hattie did n
icely for herself. She drove a new BMW 5 and she lived in a three-story townhouse in the French Quarter. I don’t know how I knew where she lived, I just did. The streets are already crowded with the upcoming Mardi Gras when we pull away from the jail. The party goers are out in full force, falling into the roadways and clogging everything up. We have to go around the outskirts. It’s going to take us twice as long to get there. I’m about to explode from the sheer frustration.

  “What did she say to you?” I drill Hattie sitting beside me in her luxury car.

  “She was upset, naturally,” Hattie exclaims in her French Creole accent.

  “I know she was fucking upset. That scumbag cop said some terrible things to her.” My grip tightens around the steering wheel as the earlier rage blows up inside me once again.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Hattie turn to face me. “What exactly did he say?” Her tone is level.

  I glance at her, the fury parting somewhat, leaving suspicion, and a whole lot of questions. “He said that if she were a normal girl, she’d be upset a sicko left a woman’s head at their door. He said she wasn’t a normal girl.”

  Hattie’s eyes are fixed on me, but it’s not me she’s looking at. “Dominique is not a normal girl,” she murmurs. Her vision comes into focus. “And you’re not a normal man, Ignatius Beauchamp.” Her eyes skim over my features, reading me like a blind person would with their touch, I can almost feel it whispering over the plains of my face. “But you knew that already. You feel it inside you.” Her gaze locks on mine. “Don’t you?”

  Yes, goddamn it, I do. Sometimes I become it, the darkness and the danger, and I let it take control. Like when I fucked Dominique in the back of the house by the fire. It was as if I were tripping, drugged on some hedonistic aphrodisiac. I almost wanted to consume her flesh, that was how insane I was with the need to take her.

  But I don’t say any of this to Hattie. Funny thing is, I have a feeling I don’t have to. She probably already knows in that way she has.

  “None of us with the old blood in our veins are normal, Hattie. We’ve all got the ancestors inside us.” I turn and pin her with my glare. “Don’t we?”

  “That we do. Which is why he wasn’t mocking her.” She turns to stare out the front window, her hands curled into tight fists. “He was acknowledging it.”

  “What the hell are you saying?!” I slam my palm on the horn. Fucking move!

  Her eyes get that panic look to them. “What I’m saying is he’s fascinated with her.” She turns to face me once again. “How exactly did you end up in jail?”

  This can’t be fucking happening. Sick dread settles in the pit of my stomach and squeezes the air from my lungs.

  “He said ‘your boyfriend isn’t much of a threat’.” I have to choke the words past the vice grip around my throat. “Oh, Jesus mother fucking Christ!”

  I want to be sick.

  “Don’t blame yourself, I would have reacted as well.” Hattie reaches over and squeezes my arm to comfort me. “At least she’s safe at my house.”

  “Get 911 on the phone!” I bellow. “He knows she’s there!”

  Her head whips around to face me, her eyes wide and full of terror. “How could he know that?!” She’s dialing her cell phone.

  NONONO!

  “Because I yelled to her to wait for me at your place, that’s where I’d meet her when I got out!” I slam a fist into the steering wheel.

  Hattie covers her mouth with a hand. “Oh, my God!”

  I hear, “911 what is your emergency?” from her cell phone.

  Her eyes dart to it clutched in her hand before she brings it to her ear. “I believe the Voodoo Burning killer is at my house at 1012 Royal Street!”

  I press my foot harder onto the accelerator, inching the bumper of the car to kiss the one in front of us. In my mind, I’m driving over everything ahead of us to get to Dominique. In reality, we’re in hell stuck behind cars doing the speed limit and, for once, obeying every goddamn traffic law known to man.

  “Ma’am, are you at the residence?” the dispatcher questions her.

  “No, but my niece is, please hurry!”

  “I’m going to put you on a brief hold. Stay on the line.”

  “We’re on our way there.” Hattie’s in control and keeping it together. I, on the other hand, I want to destroy everything in our way.

  “Stay on the line, please,” the dispatcher repeats.

  There’s a beat of silence as Hattie’s street comes into view. There’s an oppressive weight bearing down on us, keeping us from breathing and squeezing the hope right the fuck out of us. As we turn at the corner, the front of her house comes into view.

  The world stops when we see the glow of fire coming from the back of the house through the front windows.

  “Nononooooo!” Hattie wails next to me.

  I stop the car in the middle of the street in front of her house. I. DON’T. GIVE. A FUCK!!

  I’m out of the car and jumping the black wrought iron fence. Hattie yells, “I’ll get the front door, you get the back!”

  My feet pound on the ground as I barrel through the narrow alleyway between the townhouses to the back patio.

  Dear God, PLEASE let her be safe! Don’t let her be here, anywhere else but here!

  When I turn the corner at the back of the house, I can see the fire is strongest in there.

  My heart explodes inside my chest when I see her inside the house through one of the windows. The fire hasn’t gotten to her yet, thank God, but it’s close.

  “DOMINIQUE!” I yell as a grab the bistro chair sitting at the small table next to the gurgling fountain, the tranquil scene back here a mocking contrast to the horror unfolding on the other side of the wall. Thankfully these houses have windows all the way to the floor. I throw the chair through the window next to the one Dominique is lying in front of. She’s in the corner of the room, I think it’s the kitchen, and from what I can tell she’s unconscious. I run through the fountain making sure to pass under the flowing water to get my shirt wet, then jump through the window. The flames lick my skin when I enter, being wet buys me very little time. It’s enough for me to pass by and kick out the window behind Dominique and carry her through.

  As much as I want to immediately start mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on her, I don’t want us to be back here should the fire get out of control before the fire department arrives. I run through the alleyway with her in my arms back to the front of the house, all the way across the street, before I place her on the ground.

  “Fuck,” I growl when I see the tape across her mouth. There’s no time to be gentle, so I rip it off. I start chest compressions. “Come on, baby, wake the fuck up!” I snarl.

  Hattie’s at my side. “Is she…” Her question trails off, she can’t bring herself to ask if Dominique’s got a heartbeat.

  “She’s alive,” I growl as I lower my head and pinch her nose, then pull her mouth open, close my mouth over hers and fill her lungs with air.

  That’s how she’s going to stay. Alive and well and beautiful and the best thing to happen to me.

  I lift from her face and place my hands on her chest again and start to count as I do the compressions. One, two, three, four, five, I press over and over again on her chest until I get to thirty. Once more, I pinch her nose, and breathe for her. When I get to nineteen on the third round of chest compressions, she moans.

  Dominique fucking moans.

  “Baby,” I almost sob as I scoop her up and hold her to me wrapped in my arms.

  She’s safe, she’s alive, and hopefully this whole horrendous nightmare is over.

  “Oh, praise be.” Hattie does sob.

  “Ignatius,” Dominique whispers.

  “Sshh, baby, don’t talk. I’m sure it hurts.” I stroke her hair and rock her against me. “It’s over now. You’re safe.”

  She clutches my arms. “It was Bertrand.” Her voice is hoarse.

  “We know. We figured it out.”

 
She pulls back. “Is he dead?” She stares at me with her eyes full of terror. I can’t even imagine what she saw in there. Knowing what happened at the other crimes, I can only imagine what he did this time with Dominique as an audience.

  But I have to be honest with her.

  “I’m not sure. If he’s still in there, they’ll find him.” We can hear the emergency vehicles in the distance, the fire trucks and ambulances. A squad car is pulling up to the house now.

  Two officers exit the car and approach us. “Did one of you call 911?” one of them asks.

  “Yes, I did, I’m Hattie Paris.” Hattie starts to brief them.

  I let Hattie handle all of that. The only thing I care about, the only thing that matters is right here.

  Dominique was admitted into the hospital overnight for smoke inhalation and for observation. Fine by me. Thankfully, that was the extent of her injuries aside from the obvious blow to the side of her head, clearly noticeable from the bruising.

  I stood to the side out of the way when she was questioned about the incident. Fury and agony consumed me listening to her retell the events she had to bear witness to while she was tied up with that madman. The fire department and the police department confirmed there were two bodies that were recovered at the scene. No official identifications have been made, but according to Dominique’s testimony, it’s pretty certain they were The Sixth Deadly Sin victim and Bertrand.

  Bertrand.

  I sit by her bed in a chair holding her hand now that everyone has finally left her alone.

  “A Beauchamp,” I repeat.

  “That’s what he said. The only living heir to the slave girl and Bertrand Beauchamp. He led me to believe the surviving baby’s given surname was changed to Bertrand after they got him out and hidden from Bertrand Beauchamp.” She tilts her head back on the hospital bed pillow and closes her eyes. “It was you he wanted, Ignatius. He wanted to use me to lure you.”