Bad Juju (14 page)

“Let me know when the wake is.  I’d like to go and pay my respects,” Jessica said.

“Yeah, find out, Henry.  We’ll all go pay our respects,” Tom added.

***

Later that night after signing up the family for the church’s Haitian mission, Jessica
read a few chapters from her romance book,
stretched out in bed and
then
fell
into a deep
sleep.  She seemed
transported
into another world.  Not sure if she was dreaming, she ended up
crouched behind a tree, watching somethin
g foreign and undoubtedly evil.
Every hair on her body stood
erect. 
Instinct told to her r
un, yet she sat like concrete. 
The flames from the bonfire tickled her skin, taunting her of what was to come.
 
This is too real to be a dream.

Her fear stemmed from a gathering of tribal Africans dressed in colorful, draped garments and ex
otic jewelry from another era. 
Th
ey appeared to be celebrating. 
As she listened to their banter, she though
t she recognized the language. 
Was it French?
Maybe Spanish?
The unknown accent made her question her guesses.

The fire blazed as they t
alked and drank. 
Three men took their seats at a
collection of handmade drums. 
As they played, all chanted in unison.

Next to the fire was a large wooden table with a primitive-looking
goblet wrapped in animal skin.  The drumming led to dancing.
Still hidden, she watched, dreading the volume of her
heartbeat would give her away.
The rhythm got faster,
taking on its own life force. 
Some of the dancers discarded their sarongs, gyrating naked in sync to the dru
ms while frothing at the mouth.
Others randomly fornicated with
the nearest person available. 
Where am I?

Six men dressed in white linen carried out a white man on a cot mad
e of tree branches and canvas. 
He wore nothing but a bright, long scarf with swirls of red and orange.
Jessica couldn’t see his face.
S
he contemplated if he was dead.
But then his lifeless body began to stir as he closed in on the fire.
 

The cot carriers stopped in front of the table she now believed to be an altar.
The sedated victim was transferred onto the wooden surface.
Drumming, chanting, dancing…Jessica could feel herself getting sleepy, almost hypnotized by the drum beats.
One of the men dressed in white raised his arms, abruptly ending the festivities.
Everyone fiercely dropped to the grass and bowed towards him and the altar.
Jessica presumed he was the leader.
He took a curved dagger and pointed to the sky while reciting a prayer.
 
It’s definitely French. 
Four years in high school and can’t remember one word
, she thought, disgusted.
 

Everyone repeated the leader’s words, and then he delicately sli
ced into the dazed man’s chest.
After each cut, he caught the blood as it seeped
out of the body
with his animal-skinned goblet, occasionally pressing down on the incisi
ons to increase the blood flow.

The white man awoke in panic, sc
reaming like a tortured animal.
The leader inflicted more slashes on his shoulders and carved up chest whil
e the other men held him down. 
The leader then set the knife on the altar, sipped from his goblet, and yelled
something foreign to the sky. 
His guests shared sips from his goblet as if
performing a demonic communion.
The victim sat up and wailed, hacked up and splattered with his own blood.

Against her survival instincts, Jess
ica crawled towards the altar. 
Sh
e had to see the victim’s face.
Closer, and closer, and close
r….It was not a man, but a boy.
Something familiar…she strai
ned her eyes for a better look.
“No!” she screamed.

“Jessica, wake up!  Baby, it’s alright!
You’re home!” Tom yelled as he shook her in bed.
“What kind of dream did you have?
You’re soaked from head to toe!
You were tossing and turning, and then screaming…”

Disorientated, she looked at the clock, 4:00 a.m.

“I can’t seem to remember,” she answered.

Chapter
17

Leah was not surprised to learn T.J. died without a checking or savings account, but his financial status didn’t end at zero.  From the shoebox of bills she found inside of the coat closet, T.J. owed multiple credit card companies.  His rusted old
Camaro
was yet to be paid off.  He died young, alone, and worth a large negative number.  She called Mona to give her details about the wake.

“Didn’t want anything to do with him in life.  Why do you think I’d be interested in death?  Listen Leah, I’ll go to his grave.  But I’ll be wearing my tap shoes,” Mona snapped.

“Go right ahead!  He’ll just haunt your miserable ass for eternity,” Leah snapped back.

The mortician had recommended cremation after learning of the family’s paltry finances, but Leah didn’t care.  If she had to, she would beg, borrow, steal, or whatever it took.  She owed him a proper burial, but the cost was astronomical.  Six thousand dollars got him a plain headstone, tiny gravesite, pine plywood box, and a no frills service.  Her mother sold off some of her father’s coin collection and gold jewelry, and then emptied her savings account.  She could pay for half of the bill.  Leah had a secret stash hidden at her mother’s house. 

Somehow the women covered the funeral fees, even managing to upgrade to a better package.  T.J.’s circumstances required extra attention to makeup.  His head had bandages wrapped around it and there was a big hole in his eye from the bat he was beaten with.   The mortician promised to fix everything so his face wouldn’t look horrific during his wake.

Besides honoring her brother, Leah’s generosity had the added benefit of infuriating Pete.  He didn’t allow her to spend a nickel of her money, let alone thousands of dollars he didn’t know she had.  She claimed her mother had paid the bill, but didn’t sound too convincing.  Pete also knew that her mother was currently without a job and had financial problems.

Pete must have mentioned a dozen times how she and her mother were ‘throwing good money away.’  He also panned T.J. throughout the week as if jealous of the
attention given to a corpse.  Every time Pete opened his fat mouth she hated him a little bit more.  Things between them came to a head days before the wake. 

Leah’s bruises were still visible, but easily hidden with makeup.  She bought a fake tooth to fill in the gap
that
Pete had knocked out
of
her mouth.  By Thursday afternoon she was almost back to her pretty self.  She went back to The Dollhouse to salvage her job.  The next night, Pete demanded her earnings.

“I need the money to pay for T.J.’s funeral.”

“That’s what?  Six thousand?  Seven thousand?  So you made that kind of money last night?  Yeah right.  Kim
Kardashian
couldn’t earn that kind of coin in that pig sty.  Or maybe you’ve been holding out on me all this time.  You got the money stashed somewhere?  T.J. doesn’t deserve a fancy funeral.  He was a freeloading piece of shit.  Everyone knows that,” Pete slurred.

Just like you
, Leah thought.  She ignored his bait.  He was looking to argue.

“You could have saved the money and had the wake here.  Cremations are way cheaper.  I would have burnt the body right over in the fire pit.  Put the ashes right here,” he remarked while picking up a chipped flower vase.

His comments were eating away.  How dare he disrespect her brother, especially after playing such a big part in his death.  One positive thing came out of the tragedy.  She saw with utmost clarity what a monster she had married.  Fear no longer held her back.

“Get out,” she firmly said, looking him square in the eye.

Pete had his meaty hand clenched and raised, ready to strike.  Leah stood like a statue in defiance.  She saw Jake out of the corner of her eye begin to dress
Rhianna
in her winter gear for a quick exit.

“Jake, you’re not going anywhere.  He is.  Go ahead, Pete.  Hit me.  I dare you.  My next stop will be the police.  You’re already up to your ass in trouble.  Photos of your battered wife along with my testimony won’t help your case.  So go ahead and hit me, you son-of-a-bitch.”  Her voice was calm, without nerves getting in the way of her meaning.

Like magic, he lowered his fist and thundered out of the trailer.  For the first time in a long time Leah liked herself.

“Sorry
,
Rhi
.  Sorry
,
Jake.  You both shouldn’t have to live like this.  Get dressed.  I’m taking you out for pizza at Mario’s.  We’ll play arcade games until they close.”

***

Shady Oaks Funeral Home was on the outskirts of town.  It wasn’t the most elegant place, but had plenty of parking and seating.

Lucien promised Jake he and some other neighbors would attend the service.  Mr.
Carillo
volunteered to drive.  Earlier in the week Jake was briefed on a counter spell that would work as an apology to both T.J. and the
loas
for his negligence.  When correctly performed, T.J.’s soul would be released to the Cosmos for final judgment.  He rehearsed during the week and felt prepared.

The wake began with Mr. Patton, the funeral director/licensed pastor, reciting comforting Biblical passages and kind words about T.J.  After the service a tiny line of a dozen people formed in front of the casket to pay their respects.  Jake waited until Lucien arrived.  Once the line cleared, they approached. 

T.J. lay in peace, somewhat recognizable.  The mortician did an impressive job with what he had to work with.  Bandages still peeked out from the wig and his eye was lightly covered with a skin tone cloth that blended in with his complexion.  Only his nose, mouth
,
and jaw could be seen, and they were heavily made up to disguise his disfigured facial structure. 

“Poor man.  Remember Jake, this is because of your hex.  You must be certain you grab the right
taglocks
when making a Voodoo doll.  Seek the
loas
’ absolution first before any one comes,” Lucien demanded.

Jake had previously tied the Voodoo doll’s arms together, cutting off all of its power.  As he stood in front of the casket, he took the doll that was stuffed inside his waistband and pushed it under T.J.’s suit jacket.

“Jake, you can see the doll sticking out.  Fix it,” Lucien ordered.

Jake reached inside the coffin and repositioned the doll under T.J.’s body.  He hoped no one was looking at him fumbling inside of the casket.

“Don’t forget the prayer,” Lucien coached.

Jake recited the memorized prayer in French, unaware of its meaning.

“The gris-gris.  Then you’re done.”

Jake took out the small pouch filled with a mysterious blend of Lucien’s herbs and other ingredients then sprinkled them around and under T.J.’s torso.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a new line form.  It was Henry and his family.  Jake waved, grateful for their attendance.  He and Lucien walked away from the casket.  He could hear Henry’s sis
ter say, “What’s all that dirt
around his neck?”

Jake froze as if he got caught by the beeping alarm of a department store’s exit for stealing.  He looked at Lucien in desperation.

“Keep walking,” Lucien advised.

Chapter 18

Friday night, hours after Brittany
Bonaducci
pleasantly surprised him,
Rio
’
s
best friend Bart came over to pick him up.  Ever since Bart got his driver’s license, they
cruised
around
Hayward
in
Bart’s
new Mustang.  They usually ended the night at one or the other’s house playing video games until the wee hours of the
morning
.  This night was no different.

Their first stop was
a fast food d
rive-through.  Bart had a taste for Wendy’s.  Since he was the driver, he chose the fast-food.  That would change
once Rio turned sixteen.  He had three more months of sitting in the passenger’s seat.  The boys purchased
enough food for a large family
.  As they stuffed their faces, Bart suggested they drive by the homes of classmates they liked to stalk.