4. Last House on the Left
Marie tried to focus on keeping the hatchback in the center of the road, keeping directly between the white lines. The last thing she needed was to be pulled over. Images of the fearful officer’s eyes played in the flash of oncoming vehicle lights. He hadn’t been an upstanding citizen, or a good cop for that matter, but whatever she had witnessed, he didn’t deserve. She wanted to believe that, but the staff resting in the passenger seat said otherwise. It said what had come was justice and served righteously.
Never make a deal with The Devil. The words echoed in her head. The Baron takes advantage of people in desperate situations. Marie yanked the wheel to the right and felt the bump of the guiding lines as she screeched onto her exit. Careful, you can’t help Ray if you’re dead. Ray—How was she going to explain it to Ray? He wasn’t exactly top of his game, but he could always read her like a book.
She turned off the main road and onto a street that ran between clumps of gnarled mangrove trees. Fireflies darted over murky water, creating crisscrossing lines of light in the dark. The few houses she passed were fully shuttered, dead to the outside world. Even on bayou time, people knew nothing good happened after midnight. Marie checked the dashboard clock: 2:30 AM. Nearly The Witching Hour. The hour itself had just been a childhood story to keep kids in bed, but given recent experiences, Marie wondered how much truth it held.
The image of the ghosts waltzing through Congo Square sent a chill up her spine. Over the years, she tried multiple times to glimpse the spirit world with nothing to show for it. Now that she had successfully, Marie felt like she was a few minutes away from checking into a psych ward. The feeling of the dead crawling through her skin clung to her like a heavy veil. All those people. They were all standing around, as they had always been, waiting for someone to peel back the curtain.
“What the hell are you doing, Marie?” Her own voice was a surprise in the otherwise quiet car. She looked sideways at the staff and the empty eye sockets looked back at her. “Saving Ray, that’s what you’re doing.” The reminder was enough to keep her on the road long enough to pull down the dirt track that led out to their modest home. It was more of a shack than anything else, but Marie and Ray owned it. Well, the bank owned most of it, but it was still home.
Marie turned the keys and shut the headlights off. For a minute, she sat in the car, running through the events of the night. The plan had been simple: Raise a corpse, get the items, get out. Now, a man was dead, and she was likely a suspect in the murder. Had anyone seen the woman in dark robes running with a skull-topped staff? She supposed they had, and while drunks were gracious, they were also loose lipped.
With a heavy sigh, Marie opened the car door and stepped out into the still-warm night. She walked up the tired old steps to the porch and listened to the floorboards creak beneath her. The sound echoed through the front yard and out over the swamp where it was drowned in the din of croaking toads. Marie looked out over the dark trees and black water beneath them; they were beautiful.
She walked through the front door. Instinctually, she opened the hall closet and stowed her robe and staff. Ray was asleep in a hospital bed laid out in the main room. The TV was still going, playing some rerun of a sitcom she had seen in her youth. He stirred as she entered, muttering something barely audible. Marie passed to his bedside and grabbed a squirt cup of water for him. She pushed the tube between his chapped lips, and he drank steadily.
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“Late night?” he asked, his voice barely above a rasp.
“You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Well good, someone’s got to keep us in the lifestyle we’re accustomed to.” Ray winked and laughed. The joyous sound quickly turned into a hacking cough that shook his whole body, rattling the metal legs of the bed on the laminate floor.
Marie put a hand on his forehead, running it over the smooth skin. As usual, he was warm, fighting off one infection or another. “And yet somehow your jokes are the same.” She tried for casual, but the sight of him melted her. The humor, the creases at the corner of his smile; Ray was her world.
He rolled over, wincing at the effort. “Till the day I die.”
“I’m going to get tired of it then.”
Ray smiled, but there was a sadness behind it. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re up to, are you?”
Marie thought of the staff and the scene in Congo Square. Standing next to Ray, it was all some faraway nightmare. None of that could have happened, because of the purity she felt in that moment. “Let’s just say I couldn’t find the right books at our local library.”
Ray raised his eyebrows. “Are you still on about all that voodoo?” It was a joking tone, but kind. Ray had never been a big believer in alternative medicine, but he respected Marie enough to let her try.
A shameful twitch crossed Marie’s cheek. Yes, initially she had been working with voodoo, but prayers, herbs, and smoke only went so far. She hadn’t told Ray about her slow slide into necromancy. He was hurting enough without adding worry onto the pile. “Yes, I’m still on about all that voodoo. I found some new remedies we haven’t tried yet, might help.”
“Well, can we start the treatment in the morning? I was having the most wonderful dream about living in New York City and I’d love to finish it.”
“What would you do in New York City?”
“Eat less canned beans.”
Marie paused, waiting for the moment when Ray would bust up laughing, but it never came. “When we finish up with this treatment, you’ll get your ass back to work and we’ll be able to afford something more than canned beans.”
Ray smiled again. “Yeah, I’m sure people are missing their bayou tours right about now. Lord knows no one else is doing them.” Even through the clear strain, his heavy sarcasm came through. Ray maintained a decent popularity, taking tourists out for trips in his airboat and showing the dangers of the swamp from a safe distance. Unfortunately, there were plenty of bumpkins with airboats, and the day he got sick, they stepped in to fill the void. Sure, they had spotty safety records, but tourists didn’t care.
Marie looked down at her husband. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”
“A modern-day voodoo priestess and a retired airboat captain? I’d say we're more than a pair.” Ray closed his eyes.
“You get some rest; I’ll stay up with you for a bit.”
“Burning the candle?”
“While there’s a bit of wax left.” The instructions The Baron left her were sitting heavy in her pocket and Marie wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if she wanted to. The events of the evening buzzed like flies in her head.
“Well, I’ll see you in the morning for that fabled treatment then.”
Marie knelt, fluffed the pillows, and pulled up Ray’s blankets that had fallen to one side. She kissed his clammy forehead. “Get some sleep, and we’ll get through this in the morning.”
“You always say that.”
“There’s always a morning, isn’t there?”
“I suppose there is.”
Marie went to the couch and pulled out the Baron’s note. Deep exhaustion rooted in her brain, begging her to sleep, but she sat up and poured over the instructions, paying close attention. The next few weeks would be long, but they would get through it. Somehow, it was all going to work out.