Water Witch (19 page)

He’d pour mud over the boy first . . .
slowly, slowly, heightening his terror . . .

. . . and force the girl to watch . . .

Mud rising up over the boy’s bottom lip . .
.

. . . rising up to his nostrils. . .

Then past his nostrils, just far enough so
even if the boy tilted his head back, he’d find no air.

He’d do the same with the girl next. And
neither child would have the leverage to lift their bodies above
that fraction of an inch that would give them life. . . .

Both would struggle and fight for air . .
.

. . . sludge filling their lungs. The mud—the
merging of water and land that had once been owned by his
people.

Once that part of the ceremony was over and
their spirits had been released, Olm planned to remove the children
from their holes. First the girl, then the boy—he’d lift each
slowly from the mire, lay them on dry ground, then rinse their
bodies with clear water. Then, with the skill of a surgeon, he
would cut open their chests and remove their hearts. Even now, he
could feel them in his hands, each still warm and slick with blood,
so perfect. So ready.

He’d lift his hands up high, revealing the
hearts to the thousand stars above, making all of them a witness.
Then he’d carry the hearts over to the wooden mantle he’d have
waiting and place them side by side atop it. When that was done,
he’d begin the Spirit Dance, offering the hearts to the Morning and
Evening star—to the face of Tirawa, which came by way of Brother
Moon. Soon afterwards, those two powerful sacrifices would be set
ablaze in a sacrificial fire, in the same sacrificial circle where
he’d offered his father’s body. As they burned, he would sing
praises to Tirawa. Yes—oh, yes—all of it done at the apex of
Brother Moon’s fullness.

With sweat running down the sides of this
face, his shoulders, and the small of his back, his chest
glistening, Olm forced his mind to quiet, forced the rush of
adrenaline to calm.

Calm . . . quiet . . .shhhh . . .soon . .
.very soon . . .

Slowly, the weight of his body returned to
him. His feet slowed, slowed, then finally stopped their steady
pounding. He took a long, deep breath, held it, and lifted his chin
and looked in the mirror. He saw the eyes of a great warrior
staring back at him and nodded an acknowledgement. This was to be
his transformation—this the man he would become by the end of
tonight.

Satisfied, Olm released his breath, reached
for a towel and wiped down his chest, his arms, his face.′ Once
dried, he folded the towel and placed it neatly on the side of the
sink, then headed out of the bathroom.

So much left to be done . . .so much . . .
and time was running short.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

We drove along in silence, each lost in
thought. Angelle watching the road, me peering through the side
passenger window not seeing any of the landscape.

It hadn’t taken much to convince my sister to
bring me to the United Kingdom of Christ Church. All we’d had on
our hands that morning was time, anyway. At least until Trevor left
for work and we were able to commander his boat. I figured it was
just as good a time as any to see Woodard. Maybe he’d have some
answers, some spiritual insight into everything that had been going
on around here. Not that I was particularly interested in religious
hoohah.

In truth, I was probably more curious about
him than anything, wanting to meet Sarah’s uncle, see for myself if
the man was just zealous in his faith or nuts, like Poochie
claimed. I truly hoped it was the former. Even in the throes of
fervor, he might still be able to shed some light on things, and
since Angelle had already confided in him about the touching
incidents, he could very well become an ally to some degree. Either
way, I didn’t want to discount the possibility of his help, even if
we had to be cautious about the kind of help he might offer. I
doubted seriously I’d reveal my secret to him the way I’d done with
Poochie, but if Angelle had trusted him enough to tell him her’s,
then I figured he couldn’t be all bad.

A small brick building suddenly loomed in my
line of sight. We were already in the church parking lot, which was
empty save for an old pickup parked under an oak a couple hundred
feet away. Angelle pulled the car up close to the building and cut
the engine.

“It’s bigger inside than it looks out here,”
Angelle said, as though having to excuse the church’s meager
structure.”

We got out of the car, and as I scoped out
the surroundings a wet, warm breeze touched my face. I shivered,
even though it was far from cold. I wasn’t used to the humidity . .
. hell, I wasn’t used to a lot of things around here . . . the
accents, the food, most of all the weirdness.

The church looked a little like a drugstore,
only smaller. Redbrick—glass front doors, and instead of a steeple
it had a high-pitched roof. The sign on the front lawn that read,
THE UNITED KINGDOM OF CHRIST CHURCH, was probably the only thing
that kept visitors from stopping in, thinking they’d find tampons
and nasal spray inside. Behind the church stood a small, brown
clapboard, which I suspected was the preacher’s house.

“Over here,” Angelle said, then led me to a
side door near the back of the building.

We walked into a short nondescript hallway
that smelled of cinnamon, fresh-brewed coffee, and something musty
that made me want to sneeze.

Halfway down the hall, Angelle motioned to a
door on the left. It held a narrow gold placard that read, OFFICE.
“Here,” she whispered, then knocked on the door.

“Come!” someone called out from inside.
Whoever it was made it sound as if they were granting lowly
peasants entrance into a royal chamber.

Royal chamber indeed. The room was only
twelve by fourteen and held a small metal desk, two ladder-back
wooden chairs, and a framed picture of the church on the right
wall. Below the picture was a corkboard with blue letters near the
top that read:
SAINTED SOULS OF UKCC,
and beneath the title
were numerous Polaroids of men and women of various ages. Behind
the desk sat a man I assumed to be the preacher. He looked like the
Pillsbury Doughboy with a bad comb-over. His gray suit was
ill-fitting, and his emerald green tie did nothing to help the
ensemble.

We walked into the office, and the preacher
leaned back in his chair and grinned. Crooked teeth—thin lips—eyes
the color of dirt.

“Sistah Angelle!” he said. “How
good
to see you. Glory to Gawd, you’re lookin’ well today.”

Angelle smiled. “Pastor Woodard, this is my
sister, Dunny. Dunny, Pastor Rusty Woodard, Sarah’s uncle.”

I walked over to the desk and offered him my
hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

He grabbed my hand and held onto it with both
of his. I felt trapped and immediately wanted to yank out of his
grasp. Something about his greasy smile already had me doubting
Angelle’s trust in the man.

“So pleased to meet
you!
Sistah
Angelle has told me so
much
about you. I’m so
glad
you’ve come to visit us in our little town of Bayou Crow. You’ll
find our
congregation
and our
people
some of the best
in this state.” He looked down at the glove on my left hand. “It’s
awfully warm for those gloves, don’t you think, Sistah?”

“Well . . . ” I pulled my hand out from
between his. “I—”

“Oh, I do apologize for using such
familiarity. You see, here at the United Kingdom of Christ, we
believe we are
allll
the brothahs and sistahs of the Lawd,
and I have a tendency to gather in whatever part of the flock comes
to my door. You do
believe
in the Lawd now, don’t ya, Sistah
Dunny? I’m sure being a relative here of Sistah Angelle that you
must be close to the Lawd.”

I glanced over at my sister and arched a
brow. Looking back at Woodard, I said, “Well, yeah, I believe in
God—”

“Halleluiah! Thank ya,
Jeee-
sus! As
usual, the
good
fruit doesn’t fall very far from the tree.
You don’t mind me callin’ ya Sistah Dunny now do ya? Especially
considerin’ that you are indeed in the
family
of Gawd.”

I had to work hard not to snicker. He sounded
like a radio evangelist who was only seconds away from asking some
new church member for their weekly tithe. “Feel free to call me
whatever you’d like.”

“
Thank
ya,
Jeee
-sus.
Thank
ya, Lawd. Now then, tell me, Sistah, what is it with
your gloves?” His grin broadened. “Sistah Angelle doesn’t have you
pullin’ weeds out in her garden while you’re here visitin’, does
she?”

“No,”Angelle said, quickly jumping in. “Dunny
has a condition with her hands. The gloves protect her skin from
the sun.She can’t have them in bright sunlight, things like
that.”

I smiled and nodded to confirm Angelle’s lie.
Such a natural thing to do . . . smile. Nod. Agree. Hide. Anything
but let people know what was hidden in my left glove . . .what was
hidden inside me.

“Ho! Hallelujah, I do understand. You know
Sistah Gloria, don’t ya, Sistah Angelle? The one who comes out here
every Sat’dy night? I’m sure you’ve seen her here. Well, she wears
gloves on her hands, too, but they’re the lacy kind. Poor thing,
bless her heart, she got the dermatitis so severe, that any kind of
sunlight exposure just makes her blister all up. We’re
prayin’
for a healin’. We
believe
the Lawd will bring
about a healin’ that will set her
free
from that terrible
affliction. If ya’d like, Sistah Dunny, while you’re here in town,
come on to one of our prayer meetin’s, and we’ll put you down in a
prayer circle, call the
glory
of Gawd down on ya, ask the
Lawd to heal ya, take your affliction from ya.”

I stood there, blinked, a bit stunned from
his barrage of words. Woodard pressed his palms on the top of his
desk and stared at me, obviously expecting a response to his oh, so
generous offer.

“Um . . . thank you for the invitaton,” I
said. “But I…I don’t think I’m going to be in town for very
long.”

“Of course we’re hoping she changes her mind
and stays much longer,” Angelle chimed in.

I shot her a look. Was she
trying
to
get me stuck in one of Woodard’s prayer meetings? As soon as I saw
the expression on her face I felt ashamed of myself. She looked sad
and lonely, with only the smallest spark of hope still in her eyes.
It felt backwards to me. I thought I was supposed to be the lonely
one, feeding stray dogs apple fritters and beef stew, all that old
spinster shit. It was then I realized the preacher had addressed me
again—twice.

“What?”

“I was sayin’ that I’m sure you’ll agree to
allow your sistah here to sit in proxy for you. You would, wouldn’t
ya, Sistah Angelle? Sit in proxy for your sistah so the Lawd will
heal her condition?”

Angelle frowned slightly. “Of course . . . I
mean, I guess so. I—”

“Halleluiah!
Thank
ya
Jeee
-sus.
Now please, both of you ladies sit down and rest yourselves a spell
. . .“ Woodard pointed to the ladder-back chairs across from
him.

Although I would have preferred getting run
over by a Mack truck, I sat in one of the chairs, then grabbed
Angelle’s arm and pulled her down to the one beside me.

“Can I get ya’ll coffee or juice, sistahs? We
have some wonderful, wonderful cinnamon rolls, too, that Sistah
Betty brought in this morning. In fact, I just gonna heat one up
for myself in the microwave out in the kitchen. Would y’all like
one?”

“No, thank you,” I said. I glanced over at
Angelle; who was shaking her head. When she looked at me, I gave
her a quick eye roll to say,
Does this guy ever shut up?
Her
lips tightened slightly, which in sister-speak meant,
“Chill!”
We both turned to face the preacher.

He jittered in his seat like an engine about
to rocket off a launch pad. “Sistah Angelle, I know it’s been some
time since you and I have had a chance to talk, but tell me, how is
your . . . um . . . er—umm . . .” He glanced at me, then did a slow
rolling glance back to Angelle. “Your,
condition?
If I’m
remembering correctly, the last time we talked things had not been
completely resolved. I know we prayed for ya, prayed for your
deliverance and healin’. Unfortunately, things went bad with my
niece shortly after, and we didn’t have a chance to follow up. Sad
to say, sometimes things like that do come up just to hinder the
Lawd’s work.”

I knew he was referring to the touching
incidents that Angelle had told me about, and I inwardly cringed
for my sister. I felt embarrassment bouncing off of her beside me.
In that moment, any thoughts I’d had about this man possibly
helping us flew out the window. He was too crass and obnoxious to
be worth a shit. The only benefit he could possibly provide was
maybe more information on Sarah.

Angelle cleared her throat. “No, Pastor
Woodard. There haven’t been anymore reoccurrences of that since
Dunny’s been here.”

The man threw his hands up over his head,
fingers spread wide. “
Halleluiah,
praise
Jeee
-sus. We
have a healing to confess! The Lawd sent an
angel
by way of
your sistah. It comes from the presence and power of the blood of
the Lamb that sits in your family, comin’ all the way from your
grandparents, your parents, and the love the two of ya share. That
love broke the spell cast by that evil spirit and sent ‘im back to
the pits of hell where he belongs.”

“So you think what happened to Angelle was
caused by a spirit?”

“Yes, Sistah, I most certainly do, praise
Jeeesus.”

“How can you be sure that’s what it is? I
mean, Angelle didn’t see or hear anything. Has it happened to
anyone else in town that you know of? How can you—””