One Blood

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Saturday

Lake City, LA

Randy sat at his desk in the Governor’s office. His face contorted as he re-read the passage from The Pirate King:

Overwhelmed with grief over his daughter Melinda’s suicide, Luc Lafitte killed himself at the base of their live oak tree, just three days after her death. There was another prevailing theory as to what had overcome Luc, however. The slaves whispered about a voodoo curse…

He looked up, dazed, and stared at the framed photo of Kristopher and Karen, taken when Kristopher was fifteen and Karen was five. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since Randy’s last contact with Snake, and still no word.

The kidnappers had given Randy plenty to keep himself busy. The Pardon Board had convened earlier that morning in an emergency Saturday session and voted in favor of releasing Lincoln Baker. Not that it had been easy. Randy had been forced to proffer exorbitant favors—the currency of politics. This was after he’d lined their pockets, of course, and promised that Baker would never actually see the light of day.

Randy’s thoughts turned to his wife’s mental state. Coral had been practically catatonic since learning of Karen’s disappearance. Episodes like this hadn’t exactly been rare since Kristopher’s death, but it did demand additional attention on Randy’s part. Attention he did not have to spare.

“You really have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, do you?”

Madame Deveaux’s admonishment continued to torment him after all these years. But it had all been a ruse, hadn’t it?

There is no curse. I was used by the fortune teller. She hired someone to kill my father.

Someone rapped on his office door. It was one of the mail boys.

“Delivery, sir.”

“Bring it on in, Chase.” Randy prided himself on his ability to recall names. Randy signed the release form and tore open the envelope. It contained a single DVD. There was no note.

“Chase, do you mind setting this up in the DVD player for me?” Randy had never been good with technology.

 Chase made it happen and left Randy’s office as soon as the video started. At first there was nothing to see, just a pitch-black screen. Then Randy detected a faint bass drum pulsing in a rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum rhythm. Next, the screen filled with an extreme close-up of his daughter’s face.

Randy leaped from his chair in shock.

Karen’s hair was a dirty blond mop atop her head, her eyes half-open and rolled all the way back. Dried blood lay suspended between her nose and the top of her mouth, her lips curled into a lazy smirk as if she were in on a private joke.

A deep voice off camera began chanting.

“Say hey!

Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

But the blood is marked for him.

I say hey! I’m going to vomit blood, it’s true.

Seven stabs of the knife, seven stabs of the sword.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

Hand me that basin, I’m going to vomit blood.

My blood is flowing, Dantò, I’m going to vomit blood.

My blood is flowing, Ezili, I’m going to vomit blood.

My blood is flowing, Karen, you’re going to vomit blood.”

Each time the speaker said, “I’m going to vomit blood,” a dark, viscous substance that looked a lot like blood was liberally sprinkled over Karen’s head and face. Throughout the dousing, Karen’s facial expression never changed.

The speed and volume of the drums increased, becoming like a frantic tachycardia. Scattered shouts and moans punctuated pauses, creating a cacophony of chaos.

The drums abruptly stopped.

The speaker said, “Kristopher Lafitte, come forth. We welcome you back to the realm of the living.”

Karen’s head, which had been listing to the left, straightened. She started convulsing and frothing at the mouth, as if in the midst of a powerful seizure. Then, as suddenly as it began, the seizure stopped. Karen’s chin dropped to her chest.

A conch shell rang out from the silence.

Karen raised her head in response. She stretched her neck in a circular motion and then stopped dead center. Her eyes opened.

Randy covered his mouth. Karen’s hazel eyes were gone.

Randy stared into the piercing blue eyes of his long dead son, Kristopher. Any hope he’d reserved was replaced by a cold, murderous rage.

The voice continued, “Kristopher Lafitte, I permit you to leave the door of the spirit world. Look upon my enemy, Randy Lafitte, who deserves just punishment. Torture Randy Lafitte in the following nights with the worst dreams. Make him writhe in pain, fear, and illness. After fulfilling your task, you will return to your world and this door will close. Thank you for your services. Be it so!” 

The screen went blank.

After a while, Randy got up and reluctantly replayed the video. But this time he looked for any signs of trickery or tampering. You could do anything with digital technology these days. He probably would have watched it the rest of the day if Snake hadn’t called.

“Snake,” Randy answered, trying to control the tremor in his voice. “For your sake you better have found her.”

“Yup, Boss. I found Jhonnette Deveaux. What’s the plan?”

Randy’s mind returned to the image of those crazed blue eyes screaming out of his daughter’s head.

“Boss? You okay?”

“Yes. Of course. Have Miss Deveaux meet me in New Orleans first thing in the morning. And make sure you have those other things I asked for.”

“Sure thing, Boss. But I tell ya, this little chicky is a tough one. How you gonna get her to talk?”

Randy smiled grimly, seeing Madame Deveaux’s face in his mind’s eye. “That’s not going to be a problem. Just make sure she shows up.”