Reborn (12 page)

His hair was long, slicked back with natural grease, his features sharp. But it was his eyes that choked the breath out of me. Hot flames of hell burned in their sockets. More flames danced wildly on his hulking shoulders. In a smooth motion, his image came toward me. The fire in his eyes burned out, replaced with depthless black holes, then eyeballs with pupils rimmed in electric blue, then normal—my eyes. I felt my head pressing into the pillow, then a room came into view around the demon Solomon, the same room in the Brandt plantation house that I’d been locked in with Desiree—Solomon’s den. Only now, the den was in bad need of repair. The same furniture I’d seen when I was there earlier now looked even older and darkened with stains. The draperies hung from the windows in tatters, as if sharp, giant claws had raked them to pieces. Over the blazing fireplace, the same portrait of the slave owner hung. I sniffed the air, and for a moment the heavy scent of burning oil brought me back to earlier that day, but not for long.

“Welcome home, Solomon,” the demon said.

The pure evilness of his tone prickled the hair on the back of my neck. The rest of his hulking body materialized. He turned his back to me and walked to the center of the room, stopping at a gilded throne that I hadn’t noticed earlier. He sat down, his back straight, like a king looking over his land. In his hand, he held a bullwhip.

As well as evil, a great power exuded from him. I felt it seep under my skin and mix with my blood. I tried not to let the power take me over, for I knew if it did, I would be the one sitting in that chair holding the whip. He and I would be one and the same.

Thinking of Desiree, I fought the pull and was able to lower my gaze from his.

“Take it.” The evil Solomon stretched out his arm, thrusting the whip at me. “Whip that slave bitch out of your heart. She doesn’t belong there.”

A sharp pain cut through my chest at the thought. Desiree—she
was
in my heart, and I would keep her safe there.

“No!” Rage welled inside me, hardening the muscles in my neck and arms, curling my fingers into fists at my sides. “Who are you and what do you want?”

As I spoke, my tongue tasted the vile fear that consumed me.

An evil laugh echoed throughout the room. Amusement heightened his frightening features. “I am a man scorned—sent to live in this purgatory hell by my own slaves. They struck me down with their sickness. Poisoned me with their mumbo-jumbo. Violated my mind and body with their curses. Rendered me helpless against their black magic.”

As my evil twin ranted, a vision formed between us. My spirit hovered amongst treetops, deep inside a forest. In the gloom of dusk, a gathering of slaves came into view. They circled a man who looked like me. Their voices grew strong and steady as they chanted in a different language. Scented smoke from four fires, one blazing at each corner of a small clearing, wafted through the air, burning my invisible lungs. Directly below me, in the middle of the clearing, the evil Solomon lay on a bed of mud; his wrists and ankles bound by rope to four trees. Handfuls of dirt were thrown on his naked body at intervals; and with every assault, a curse was cast.

The chant ended, and the crowd receded to the fringes of the surrounding forest, creating a circular human wall, all except three women dressed in black tattered clothing, the cloth slightly darker than their skin. Each one wore a thin strand of spun cotton rope around her neck with a red pouch tied to it—a ward against evil.

One woman lifted Solomon’s head from the ground and shoved the rim of a wooden vessel between his lips. Cloudy liquid poured into his mouth and down his throat, forcing him to swallow, choking him with every gulp. I tasted every drop of the pungent, spicy mixture burning its way down our throat. Nausea tore through me, but vomiting wasn’t an option in my spirit form.

Another woman stepped forward and dripped hot wax from a black candle onto his skin, creating crude symbols I didn’t know the meanings of. In seconds, the wax marks burned through his skin—burning me as I watched the horror take place.

As the dying man squirmed on the ground in agony, screaming out his torment, the third woman uncurled a bullwhip and began the torture upon him that he had inflicted upon so many others. Although I felt lash after lash as the leather cut through
his
skin, I felt no pity for him and wanted the torture to continue.

Soon after the whipping began, the potion administered by the first woman worked its magic, clouding my vision and my thoughts, as I suspected it did to my evil twin. My heart slowed, and my blood cooled. The infliction became an annoyance in the background somewhere as I died.

The scene below me filled with smoke as I floated upward, rising above the treetops. A river cut through the forest to the north. A mile beyond the wide part of the river, a small settlement of decrepit dwellings made up the slave quarters. Recognition dawned on me as I realized this was the place I’d fished from—the place I’d felt unseen eyes watching me—the place the wicked Solomon Brandt had lost his life. Down the river, farther south, through the pathless forest was Melba’s future home. Down farther still, through more woods, across cotton fields, then another small wooded area, and a manicured lawn, sat the plantation house in all its eighteen-hundreds’ glory. I could see it all laid out before me as I drifted farther into the sky.

Then a sharp voice boomed in front of me, startling me out of the vision, or dream within a dream—whatever it was.

I was back in the den.

“Those witches, Hoodoo Priestesses they call themselves, took our life.” As his massive hands clenched the gilded arms of the chair, his upper body lifted off the backrest. “And I want it back.”

I didn’t know what to say, how to react. I flicked my gaze toward the door to my left, remembering the key and the lock.

“You can’t leave, Solomon, until I allow you to do so.” He spoke as if he knew my mind.

But I knew he was right. There was no way to overpower this demon with strength.

With slow steps, I backed against the door.

“I’ve been watching you, Solomon.”

His sardonic grin sent chills up my spine.

“You and that mixed breed stood in this very room today.” He stood, and his voice broke into a yell. “
My private room
!”

When he spoke of Desiree in that manner, anger welled inside me, replacing the fear. “Don’t talk about Desiree like that.”

A guttural laugh escaped his lips. “Why, Solomon, if I didn’t know better, I would think you were smitten with the help.” His grin vanished, and behind his pupils, fire raged. “I won’t allow you to have her.”

“You can’t stop it,” I said, faking bravery. “You’re stuck in my nightmares. I’m the one who lives and breathes.”

“Not for long. I’ll find a way to end this purgatory and rejoin the living. Your days of existence are numbered, Solomon.”

Without taking my gaze from his, I reached behind me and fumbled until I found the key to the door.

“You can’t escape from me, Solomon.”

As he spoke, I fit the key into the lock. With my other hand, I already had the wooden knob turned and waiting. The door opened behind me. The last thing I saw as I was sucked out of the room was the evil Solomon’s face. Fire blazed on his skin and flames erupted from between his lips as he broke into an angry roar.

“I’m coming for you…”

When I woke, sunlight streamed in through the bedroom window, and I felt as if I’d spent the whole night with my evil twin. As tired as I was, I had to get out of that bed—out of that room. The cool shower delivered me into a semi-awake state.

With this most recent nightmare, I learned my life was in danger. Solomon Brandt, the infamous plantation owner, slain by his own slaves, wanted my life, wanted to live through me. But I still didn’t know anything about
my
past—or did I? Was I dismissing clues? Denying truths?

Melba’s distance from me that day was so noticeable, I could feel the tension in the air around us, like a thick fog. So I was surprised when she called out into the yard for me to join her for lunch. She set a plate of two ham and cheese sandwiches in front of me, with a tall glass of iced tea, and nothing for herself. Watching her fidget with her rings and pendants made me nervous.

“Please eat,” she said, after I sat there for a few minutes staring at her.

Gardening hadn’t been my focus that morning, so I hadn’t worked very hard, but hunger still gnawed at my stomach. When I had half a sandwich gone, Melba looked up at me.

“Desiree is the only kin I have in this part of the country. When her poor mother passed, I took her in like my own daughter. Her deadbeat father never came around or even called to offer his condolences. The last thing he ever sent to her was an empty Christmas card when she was sixteen. So you see; I’m very protective of her.”

I stopped chewing.

“And if anything happens to her…”

Her gaze lowered to the rooster-shaped salt and pepper shakers in the center of the table that she made fists around. When she looked back at me, there was something in her eyes I hadn’t seen there before—fear.

“I’d never forgive myself. Do you understand?”

I gulped down the dry bite left in my mouth. “I would never hurt Desiree.”

“No. I know you wouldn’t—not intentionally. But
he
would, through you.”

Her fear passed into me, and I felt she was right.

“Do you understand?”

I nodded, suddenly unable to taste the mustard that lingered in my mouth. But this conversation brought up questions, and I needed answers.

“Several times, I saw you talking to someone. Who was it? Who were you talking to in the hallway of the mansion the other day, in that other language—Haitian?”

She gave me a curious look. “You recognized it?”

“I guess.”

“I’ve been gifted with the ability to converse with my ancestors. They were once Solomon’s slaves—”

“The three Hoodoo Priestesses who killed him?”

Her eyebrows pulled together, creating a crease between them. “You seem to have all the answers.”

“I watched him die in a dream last night, is all.”

She nodded. “This is something I don’t speak of out loud, and I will never speak of it again, so listen closely. Yes, with the help of his other slaves, the Priestesses took his vile life from him, then they buried him face down under the mud, up the river. A most dishonorable death. The spirits of the slaves and their ancestors have watched over that site ever since.”

I remembered the eerie feeling I’d had while fishing—the spirits had been there, watching me. I shuddered.

“Did you dream anything else?”

My mind raced through the nightmare, skipping Solomon’s threats to Desiree. “I think Solomon wants to be reborn—through me.”

The fear-filled look she gave me wasn’t comforting. “Well, now we know why you are here.”

“It still doesn’t explain who I am, and where I come from,” I said, desperate for her to tell me.

She didn’t seem to hear me. Her eyes closed and her head flew back. She mumbled something I couldn’t understand.

“Melba?”

Nothing.

When her body started trembling, I grabbed her hands and held them, across the table, between us.

“
Melba
!” I shouted.

Her head snapped up, and her eyelids flew open to a blank stare.

My heart pounded in my eardrums.

“What is it?” I squeezed her hands, trying to bring her back from wherever the spirits had taken her.

When she spoke, a different voice came from her mouth. In fact, there were several women speaking at once. “We want you to leave. Forget Melba and Desiree. If you don’t leave on your own, we will force you out. Heed our warning, Solomon. We will not issue it again.”

“Wait!” I said when it looked as if Melba was coming back to herself.

“The Priestesses don’t want you here.” Melba’s voice and eyes had returned to normal. “And if they have a problem with you, then so do I.” With a look of regret fallen on her face, she pulled her hands out of the loosened grip I had on them. “You must leave. I’ll make the arraignments.”