Dark Paradise (29 page)

He rubs his fingers together and sweeps the flashlight in my direction. I duck back behind the tree and creep backward.

“I know you're there,” he says with a slight lilt to his voice, as if trying not to laugh. The hunt excites him in a deep, primal way that sends shivers down my spine. “I hear you breathin'. Why not make it easy? Come on out?”

Footsteps move toward me. I try not to panic. I can't dash off into the undergrowth. Not here. Not now. It's too dangerous. I edge back, placing each step with careful deliberation, despite knowing that at this speed, I'll be visible once he rounds the wide tree trunk.

My heart hammers. The sound fills my ears. I wonder if he can hear it. I press my closed fist against my chest, imagining I'm clutching my growing panic.
Hold it together.
I force myself to place my foot down, and when it sinks into the shifting earth, I lift it and move it to the right. The ground remains firm. I take another step.

Light strikes me in the eyes.

Blind, I throw myself backward. I hit the ground and roll. A gunshot and the stench of gunpowder fill the air. Rocks pepper my body as the bullet ricochets off the earth only inches from where my head lands. I scream, throwing my hands over my face, and continue to roll, coming to rest against the rough bark of a tree.

I whimper at the clicks of the rifle being reloaded. Footsteps race toward me.

The flashlight swings upward, highlighting the masked face. The whites of his eyes glow in the light. “I found you,” he sings out, taunting.

“No,” I scream. “No.
No!
”

“
Yessss.
” He smiles, showing broken teeth through the mouth hole in the ski mask. “My whole life I've wondered what it'd feel like to kill someone. The Lord says, ‘Thou shalt not kill.' But you ain't even a person. Not a real human being. You're a creature of evil, sent by the devil.”

“No.” I shake my head, pressing my back into the tree.

“Your ma drained Lainey's blood as a sacrifice to Satan. I say ‘An eye for an eye.' You and your ma killed the reverend's daughter so I'm gonna kill you.” He raises the rifle, cocks it, and fires.

I roll around to the other side of the tree. Bark explodes from the trunk. My ears ring, and pain blossoms in my shoulder. I cry out and press my right hand over the wound, trying to staunch the blood. My left arm dangles, numb. I try to stand but my legs won't hold my weight.

“Please, stop.” I crawl, a slow inch forward. Dirt sticks to the bloody hand that still clutches the switchblade. My arm trembles. Exhausted, I roll onto my back, hiding the knife in the folds of my T-shirt. I doubt he'll get close enough for me to use it. “I didn't kill Lainey.”

“I'm enjoying this,” he says with another of his scary, not-quite-sane laughs. “Beg…beg me for your life. Come on. I'll kill you quick. A bullet between the eyes. No pain, if you beg for it.”

“Please.” I'm not sure what I beg for.
A quick death? An end to his taunting?

He lowers the gun. A gust of frigid air blows across our path. He jerks and shines the flashlight into the shadows. A flicker of blue cloth flutters across the light. A delicate face grins at me over his shoulder.

“Lainey,” I choke. “Help me.”

She brushes a hand across the base of the man's neck where his bare skin shows beneath the robe. He screams, whirling around. The flashlight flies out of his hand and floats in the air.

“Demon spawn,” he cries, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the light.

Lainey lunges forward and shoves him. He staggers. Flailing his arms, he tries to keep his balance, but he slips into the quicksand and sinks. Fast. And the more he struggles, the faster he sinks.

My vision has adjusted to the night. The pain and the adrenaline pumping through my veins makes the world around me appear crystal clear. The guy rips off his mask, gasping for breath.

“Mr. Acker?” I shake my head. “Why? We're blood kin.”

“Help me, girl!” The quicksand has reached his armpits, but he keeps his arms lifted in the air. He stretches out the barrel of his gun toward me. “Quick. Grab the end. Pull me out.”

I watch him in sluggish confusion—Dena's dad. He tried to kill me. He broke into my house and attacked Mama. Dena has four younger brothers. How will they survive if he dies? Who will provide for them? They'll starve. No. If those other men killed Mama, then the Ackers will inherit my property if I die. Other than Auntie Magnolia, they're my nearest blood relatives. Everything I own will go to Dena, unless Auntie Magnolia claims it. Hell, they can fight it out in court.

I stare at the sky through a break in the trees. The stars spin, like fireworks, shooting out sparks. My stomach rolls, and I close my eyes, dizzy.
He shot me.

“The gun…grab the gun, please.” He coughs.

I squeeze my eyes tighter, wishing I could cover my ears.
Concentrate, Mala.
Think it through.
If he goes to jail, he'll still be alive. He'll pay for what he's done. If I pull him out, he'll kill me. I can't stop him.

“I'm not a witch,” I mumble. “I'm not evil. I won't be like you, Mr. Acker.”

I open my eyes and reach for the gun. My fingers graze the barrel sticking out of the quicksand, and I pull. The rifle comes easily into my hands. I hold it, searching the solid-seeming ground. But nothing of Mr. Acker remains visible.

I
let Mr. Acker die.

It doesn't matter that he was trying to kill me. I should've helped him. I tried to help him, but I'd been too late. Just like I didn't helped Mama. I had a knife the whole time, and I didn't use it. Didn't even think to use it. If I had, maybe I could've stopped those men.

How? What could I have done?
There had been three of them and one of me. I shiver. When did it get so cold? The front of my T-shirt feels sticky and wet. The copper scent of my blood stings my nose. If I don't reach help soon, I'll bleed to death. Mr. Acker would win. I have to move fast. Get to the road and flag down a car.

Georgie…help me.
I grab onto the stock of the rifle, use it to help me rise, and then push it into the quicksand. I can't carry it with my injured arm, anyway. A cloud hides the moon, and thick fog blankets the ground. A pulsing rhythm plays in the distance. Drums. The beat taps into my lethargy, and I limp toward the music. My head feels foggy, disconnected, like it's a helium balloon attached to a string. It floats. The drumming grows louder. Voices sing in a language I don't understand, and the sound flows through the rustling leaves. The flickering glow of a fire comes from up ahead, and I stumble into the worst place I could be. A fire burns in the center of the clearing. My gaze turns to the stone altar, and I choke back a sob. It drips red with blood.

I'm hallucinating.

Chilled fingers circle my arms. I try to jerk away, but I can't free myself. I'm dragged toward the fire. With each reluctant step, the drumming grows louder. Shadows dance. Ghostly phantoms sway around me, touching my face, my hands. I blink to bring them into focus. They look hazy, but upon making the connection, they become solid. Men dressed in homespun tunics and women in long skirts and colorful scarves. Their bare feet stomp the earth, jingling ankle bracelets crafted from beads and shells.

I've got to get out of here. This isn't right. I shouldn't be seeing them…these specters from the past. I've slipped into the between—the thin space where the spirit world and ours meet. Mama's dead, and I see ghosts.

I shove through them. It's like I'm fighting through molasses. Sticky threads bind my legs. They grab for my arms, but I twist free. The air feels thick with their collective anxiety. They want me to stay with them. They will protect me. But I can't. I'm not dead.

At least I don't think I am.

That thought breaks through whatever lingering doubts I have, and I run. By the time I reach the top of the hill, I'm panting, ready to collapse. I crouch in the bushes on the edge of the woods, hearing the sound of an engine barreling down the road leading from my house. It barely slows at the crossroad. Screams come from inside the truck, and a figure hunches over the wheel.

When the truck takes off, I remain frozen until the taillights fade in the distance, afraid to come out of hiding. This is a trick. They'll come back. They must expect Mr. Acker to return with news of my death. They'd be stupid to let me escape, not after I witnessed what they did to Mama. Stupid to think I won't find them.

My legs give out, and I fall to my knees. Pain fills every part of me, but especially my shoulder. I crawl forward. If I stay in the woods, I'll pass out and nobody will find me. Even the thought of those men finding me frightens me less than having my body decomposing in the forest for critters like Mamalama. I don't want to be eaten, especially if I'm not dead.

I inch into the middle of the crossroads before I collapse onto my back and stare at the sky, begging God to help me.

I must've passed out because, when my eyes open again, I'm not alone. “Auntie Magnolia?” I whisper.

The old woman skips down the lane, whirling her cane around her head like a baton. She wears a top hat and coat, like a man out of the Victorian age. Beneath the hat, her long silver hair hangs down her back like a waterfall touched by moonlight.
I'm hallucinating.
I blink a few times, but she doesn't disappear. When she reaches my side, she squints down at me over the rims of black sunglasses. The orange tips of two cigarettes hang from her grinning lips.

“You don't look so good,” she drawls. “Looks like them evil men put a hit out on you.”

Crazy doesn't even begin to explain how I feel seeing her.

“They tried to kill me.” I gasp out the words. “They hurt Mama. Maybe killed her.”

“Of course they killed her.”

Pain shoots through me at the confirmation of what I felt deep in my soul, and I groan.

“Why you so surprised? The death vision warned this was coming.” Magnolia smiles again, her open mouth a maw of darkness drinking in what little light the moon shines upon us. She touches me, running trembling hands across my neck, then strokes my shoulder with spidery fingers. She probes at the bullet wound, sticking her pinky in the hole and ignoring my scream. When she pulls it out, she places the finger to her mouth and rolls her long, snakelike tongue around it like she's licking a lollipop.

I try to roll from her, but she presses down on my chest with her knee. I convulse, pain flaring through every nerve ending.

“Stop! Please, Auntie Magnolia. Why are you doing this? Help me!”

“Not so fast, little one,” she hisses, and the sound sends a chill down my spine. “You cried out for help at the crossroads. You lucky I'm full up with juice from your mama's passing so I could come for you. Other things out in the world could've come. Worse things. Demons haunt the crossroads.” She arches her back, like a cat stretching on a scratch post, then presses her face into my neck, drinking in my scent. “So much power, ah,
cher
. Been waiting for this moment since the day you were born.”

“P-p-please, stop.”
Oh Holy Mary, please make her stop.
“You're not real. This isn't real.”

She leans forward, snaking her tongue into my wound. She laps up the blood, shivering with ecstasy. A pulse of revulsion shoots through my body. She revels in my pain—sucking it up in mouthfuls that overflow to drip down her chin in a crimson waterfall.

Oh God, the pain.
I choke on it. I can't catch my breath, and my vision blacks out for a minute. When it comes back, everything goes fuzzy and kind of glows.

“You've given me blood, so I own you.”

“W-what are you?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. She isn't human. Far from it. Maybe she started off human, but over the years, she delved too deep into the dark arts. This was the reason she fell out with her sister. Grandmère Dahlia foresaw her corruption and tried to keep our family free.
This can't be happening.
“Am I dying?”

Auntie Magnolia straddles my hips. “You this close to crossing over to the spirit world,” she says, pinching her fingers together. “But you my child now, and you'll do me no good if you dead. So is being mine a worthy exchange for your life,
cher
?” She seems impatient and, worse, hungry. Her tongue licks the blood from my cheek and she moans, eyes rolling back in her head. “Mighty tasty, so much power in your blood. Better decide quick, before I decide to make you a meal.” She cackles. “Swear allegiance to me,
cher
. Here at the crossroads where bonds are forged. I'll save your life. And more. I'll give you vengeance.”

She presses a sharp fingernail to the middle of my forehead. Her touch burns, and I cry out. My eyes roll back. The memory of Mama being burned by those men races through my head. The pain grows and grows until it feels like my liquefied brain will shoot out of my nose in a mucus-filled jet.

“Ah, I see,” she whispers. “I'll take your sacrifices.”

I scream.

She laughs.

I wake cradled in a man's arms. Wind cools my face, and I cling to his shoulders as he runs. With each step, pain rushes through my body. I fight to keep breathing. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I hear myself whimpering. We reach a police car, and I tense as he jostles me to open the door then lays me gently in the backseat. He vanishes. I'm not sure for how long, but then he reappears. He messes with my shoulder, and I do cry out this time. He presses something against it, then wraps gauze around my arm. Afterward, he fusses with my head. I want to tell him to stop, or punch him. But my lips and arms won't work.

In the distance, a siren wails. The sound becomes piercing the closer it gets to our location. The guy stares at me with tears standing out in his green eyes. The overhead lights reflect off his red-gold hair.

“Hold on,” he says, pressing harder on my shoulder.

I look down and see blood. It covers his hands and the dressing he holds. “I'm bleeding,” I whisper.

“Not bad, you'll be fine. The ambulance is coming.”

My eyes dart around the car. Is he talking to me? We're alone in the car. Just me and the girl in the blue dress huddled in the corner. Nobody else is here. But she doesn't answer, and he never glances in her direction.

“Who did this? Tell me who hurt you.”

“I don't know…” His face gets fuzzy. My vision fades, but the blare of the siren echoes in my head.