The First Male (24 page)

“Damn,” Franklin said between rapid breaths. “That was close.”

“Too close. I'm not trying to die on this trip.”

“Me either. I got a big music career ahead of me. I'm sorry. I'll pay more attention, but you can't say some shit like that and not expect me to react; that's a helluva story. You know how I feel about snakes.”

“It's not a story. It's for real.” Franklin eyes were filled with wonder. He searched Simon's face for the punchline to his joke, but none came.

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Remember what I just told you? I need you to believe me. If you can't believe me, then there's no point in you going with me.”

“A'ight. I got ya,” he said as he focused his attention on the roadway ahead. “So, you tellin' me that a real, live snake crawled out of yo' mouth and slithered away? How the fuck does that happen?” By the sound of Franklin's voice, Simon could tell that he was struggling through his incredulity to reach a place where he could accept Simon's word at face value. Simon couldn't blame his doubt. Hell, if the shoe was on the other foot and Franklin told him the same wild story, he'd struggle to believe him, too.

“I don't know. But this trip will explain a lot.”

“This is gonna be wild if what you're telling me is true.”

“There's a lot more I need to tell you, too.” Simon looked at Franklin and, for the first time, saw on his face the seriousness warranted by their situation. Franklin turned up the radio and let the chatter of the morning talk show hosts fill the car, easing the tension that was building between the two friends. The radio hosts spoke of Christmas toy drives for children and offered listeners the opportunity to donate money for families in need of a traditional Christmas dinner. “Before we hit the road, I need to make a pit stop. Take the Basille exit and head past downtown.”

“No problem,” Franklin said as he flicked on his signal light, looked into the mirror, and forced his way from the center lane to the far left one. “At least this gets us out of traffic.”

“I don't know why I didn't think of this before now.”

“Think of what?”

“I'll tell you in a minute.”

“If you want me to start believing you, then you gotta start telling me everything. No secrets.” He looked at Simon. “I'm serious. I wanna know everything you know.”

“Deal.”

Franklin took the exit and ended up on the highway feeder road. Once he reached Basille Street, he took a left, underneath the freeway, and headed toward downtown.

“For real, though,” he began, “you'll tell me if you got another snake in you, right? I just had my car cleaned. I don't need no nasty shit all over my seats.” They looked at each other and started laughing. The laughter broke through the tension, carving a path to an easier conversation. They laughed like they were at a comedy show, with deep, hearty chuckles.

But, even though they smiled politely and made uneasy jokes, both men knew this was no laughing matter.

C
HAPTER
16

S
imon stood on the front porch of Clara's house and took a few seconds to collect himself before he rang the bell. Much had transpired in the hours that had passed since his last visit. After last night, he wasn't thrilled about returning here or even sure that Clara would see him. Yet, he felt calm, almost settled, even as unsettling thoughts jolted his head. What if she had been seriously injured? Maybe she had been hospitalized. Whatever had happened was his fault. Guilt tried to creep into his consciousness, but he forced himself to put it aside; there was no room for it inside him, he carried enough weight.

He had returned. He knew she had answers, answers to questions that, even since last night, had become more troubling. She was more than a simple, part-time psychic or mediocre medium. She had real power, even if she didn't know it. He felt it last night, and it was more intense than he had expected from her. Maybe, just maybe, she would help.

Slowly, the door creaked open and a head of uncombed hair appeared from inside. Then, the door opened fully.

“Simon,” Clara said, her voice deep and serious. “It's very early, dah-ling. I haven't even had time to put on my face.” She was playful in her words, but her tone was something else. Her face was smooth; her beauty, natural.

“I am so sorry to disturb you—”

“It's fine. I knew you'd be back.”

“I really need your help. I'm . . . afraid. Something happened.”

She inhaled. “I know, chile. I know.” Her eyes cut across Franklin, who stood quietly at Simon's side.

“This is my friend—”

“Franklin,” she said, before he could properly introduce them. Franklin cut his eyes back to her and Simon.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, his voice quivering, ever so slightly.

She smiled and rubbed her hands over her red silk robe, straightening out the fabric. She stepped aside and swung open the door.

“Dah-ling, I know a lot of things. Don't stand there. Come on in.” She opened the door and allowed them to pass into her home. Franklin followed Simon and when he stepped into the foyer, he looked around the grand hallway, his face full of the same wonder Simon experienced the day before. “Go on in there,” she said as she pointed to a room on the right, but neither man moved. “I'd take you to the solarium, but we had a little trouble there last night, didn't we, Simon?” She made no attempt to mask her displeasure, which showed across her face. Simon smiled, uneasily. “Shall we?” she said as she moved into the formal living room, her voice trailing behind her. Her walk carried the same saunter Simon saw last night, but the movement of her hips was subdued, lethargic. She entered the room and took a seat in a high-backed chair that more than resembled a throne. The wooden chair was painted black with gold trim and its cushioned bottom looked woven from expensive fabric.

Simon entered the room, his heart filled with trepidation; Franklin trailed behind him. They lingered toward the back, half-waiting for permission to sit on the fine furniture, and half-afraid to move.

“I wouldn't normally let gentlemen into my house without being properly covered, but these are extraordinary times.” She crossed her legs and moved the robe over her legs to cover her exposed thighs.

“Extraordinary times? What do you mean?” Franklin asked.

“Come. Have a seat,” she said and waved her arm toward the sofa, offering them rest. When they sat, she immediately focused her attention on Simon. Meeting her gaze, the attraction to her he remembered from last night entered his mind, but he had to focus.

“What happened last night?” Franklin asked as if he had been left out of a grand secret. His question may have been simple, but its underlying meaning was not lost to Clara.

Her face suddenly went sour. “Many things happened. So many.”

“I don't understand what's happening to me. Can you help me figure it out? Can you read me again?” He reached both his arms out toward her, trying to take her hands, but she rebuffed his efforts.

“Not hardly. Last night was more than I could handle. My back still hurts.”

“Your back?” Franklin asked with a goofy grin on his face; the same grin that took over his face each time Simon told him about a past sexual conquest.

They both ignored him. “What did you see, then? I need to know. Tell me.” Before the question fully left his lips, Simon caught a whiff of her rising fear. It was dour, like old musk, but he immediately recognized the scent. It was the same scent he smelled from the thugs who tried to rob him. The same scent he'd smelled from Brooke last night.

“You already know. You saw what I saw. It was the future. It was the past. It was the present.”

“Stop talking in riddles!” Simon's outburst rattled the room, causing some of the glass figurines to rattle on the shelf. His own fear punched right through the calm he had worn all morning.

“What the hell was that?” Franklin asked as he jumped to his feet. “Earthquake?”

“Sit down, Franklin,” Clara said calmly. His eyes cut back and forth between Simon and Clara. “It was nothing . . . by comparison.” Her eyes fixed on Simon, and his on her.

“Comparison, to what?” Once again, Franklin was ignored.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell.” Simon closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side. “Please help me. What's going on with me?”

“Honestly, I don't know much. Not much more than you do. When I told you last night that there was darkness in you, I meant it. Something is eating you from the inside out. Something evil.” Simon gasped; although he had already accepted that fact, hearing it from her validated his feelings. “Lately, I'm sure you've been having cravings, almost a bloodlust for . . . power—that's the darkness inside you. You've always been ruled by your baser emotions, such as lust,” she said as she pointed at his groin, “but I knew that much about you as soon as you stepped onto my veranda. It was so thick I could almost smell it. That's how we connected so easily. From time to time, I've been ruled by lust, too.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you've got to control your emotions, and not succumb to your base desires. Control them, or they will control you; like what just happened.”

“But,
what
am I?”

“I can't answer that question. I don't know what you are. I know that you are . . . powerful.”

“In what sense?”

“I don't know the answer to that one, either. You're special, Simon. And you have special gifts, but, you already know that. All I know is that your gifts will either be a blessing or a curse to all of us, but it is up to you to decide. They will come for you, and you will be forced to choose. Darkness has a rightful claim to you, but so does light. Always choose the light. In the darkest of times, remember love.”

“Are y'all both high?” Franklin said. “What is this shit y'all are talkin'?” His face contorted with confusion.

“I'll explain later, Franklin. Be quiet.” Simon's agitated voice cut Franklin off before his next sentence.

“That's really all I know.” She stood up, putting a period at the end of the conversation. “I really must get myself together. I have a gentleman caller coming by to take me to breakfast in the French Quarter. You'll have to excuse me.”

As much as Simon wanted to press the issue, he knew that she had closed herself to him. She was afraid; the scent had grown stronger. She was afraid of many things. Of him. For the world. Her prescience of the future overwhelmed him with sadness.

When they reached the door, she opened it and politely smiled. “Simon, death and life are in the power of the tongue. Always remember that, dah-ling.” She reached her arms around the back of her neck and unlatched a necklace with a crescent moon and some odd geometric shapes. “Here, put this on.”

“What is it?”

“It's for protection. My grandmother gave it to me when I was a girl. Never take it off. I think you're gonna need it.” Simon didn't question her and let her latch the necklace around his neck.

“Thank you,” he said as they walked out of the house. Simon heard the door slam shut, and, even through the closed door, he could hear her rapid breathing and pounding heartbeat.

C
HAPTER
17

D
eath and life are in the power of the tongue
. The phrase stayed with Simon all day, even as the miles that separated them from New Orleans grew. They had driven for hours, with no real sense of direction, save for Simon's intuition. Occasionally, mixed in with the sound of the rubber hitting the road and the beat of the music emanating from the radio station that Franklin refused to turn down, Simon heard whispers—whispers that he hoped would guide him to Addie, even though he couldn't altogether be sure of the messages. A few times, he thought he heard directions like “left” or “right” or “forward,” and he followed those commands, but other times, the whispers were much more vague. For most of the trip, Simon relied on his feelings, his gut reaction to guide them. He was trying to learn to
sense
things, willing himself to connect to a world that existed all around them, but remained unseen. If he concentrated hard enough, he knew he could see it and feel it, too. At least that's what he hoped. There were times when he felt in tune with things around him, but the feelings were fleeting. He was too distracted by the loud music, by cars passing by, and by Clara's cryptic words.