The Witch of Belladonna Bay (24 page)

He took a deep breath, and boy, did I want to shut off my ears when he finally started talking.

“It was those animals that follow her around. Sometimes I'd find them dead and mutilated in the yard. And at first I didn't think it was her, but it was.”

I shook my head. “No.
No.
How can you even be sure?” I asked, trying to stay calm.
Dead animals.

“'Cause she told me so. And then there was the dog.”

“Dolores?”

“No. The dog
before
Dolores. Didn't you ever think Dolores was a strange name for a dog?”

I smiled, remembering that first day. “Not really, she said it meant ‘sorrow.' I think it's clever.”

“Whatever. Well, get this: Her first dog was named Dog. Not so clever. And one day…” He paused. He didn't want to tell it, and I didn't want to hear it. But we had no choice.

“Paddy, look, nothing you can say can change the way I feel about her. You've done good by her, little brother.”

He squeezed my hand.

“Well, one day that dog bit me. I was playing with Byrd, chasing her around the house. And she was screaming with delight. God, Wyn, I miss her. And I think Dog was just old and confused. Thought I was hurting her, so he bit me. Here.”

Patrick rolled back the orange sleeve of his prisoner's jumpsuit to reveal a large ugly scar.

“Jesus.”

“And then the next day the dog was dead in the yard, and Byrd was digging a hole with a shovel much too big for her. ‘What happened here?' I asked her. And she just cried, ‘I killed him, Daddy, I killed him because he hurt you.'”

“But how does that connect to…” I trailed off.

“See, Charlotte hurt me, so she killed her. Just like the dog.”

“What were you even doing fooling with Lottie anyway, Paddy? That's been over for an age, and even back when we were kids, you guys fought like cats and dogs.”

“Charlotte came on by one day with Jamie on her hip. She set him right down next to Byrd, who Minerva had put in a Moses basket next to me. I was just so torn up about losing Stella, you know? I loved her so much.”

“Paddy, I'm so sorry I never came back. I wish I'd met Stella. I've been so selfish.”

“We don't have time for all that right now, Wyn. Let me finish.”

“Okay, go on.”

“So Charlotte and me got to talkin' and our babies did the strangest thing. Byrd reached up with her tiny hands and Jamie placed his palms against hers. And that glow, you know the ones Minerva has? It lit up their hands. That's when I knew Byrd had the strange ways and those two began their own little love affair.

“She'd cry and cry unless Charlotte dropped him over.

“And as soon as she was big enough, she just walked out the front door and down the road to find him. Like she had some kind of internal GPS.

“That's how Charlotte and me got together again. At first it was nice, then it was just, I don't know, toxic. We never could get it right. Fought all the time.

“Charlotte broke it off with me the night before she was killed, Wyn. And there I was crying like a baby to my little daughter with the strange ways, crying about how hurt I was, how it was all Jamie's fault, and that I wished they would just disappear.”

“Oh, Paddy, you didn't.”

“I sure did.”

“And the next day, they were dead.”

“That doesn't mean she killed them. I still don't believe it, Patrick.”

“I wish I didn't believe it.”

“But why would she kill Jamie?”

He stayed quiet then. The chatterbox.
Hiding, he's hiding something.

“Did she say she killed them?” I continued.

“No.”

“But she said she killed the dog, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing, Patrick.”

“Look at me, Bronwyn,” he said seriously. “Look at me and know what I know. Try to conjure up some of that magic Mama passed on to you. Yeah, I know, Carter told me that, too. Look, I'd never think the worst of Byrd unless I was sure it was true. And now your job is to convince her that she's innocent because if she thinks I'm in here for life for something she did … she's gonna do it again. And I can't live with that.”

“You mean to tell me that you think you raised a serial killer? And that I have to fix her?”

“Yep.”

“That's just crazy fuckall. Look, Paddy, she's just too physically small.”

“But she has the ways of Mama's people. And then Stella. I knew she had strange ways, too, but I loved her so much … I wasn't thinkin' about the kind of kid we'd make when those genes collided. Who knows what kind of strength is in that girl? Not to mention, the curse. I mean, between the magic, and the demon of Farley Whalen, we have a few scenarios we can't ignore.”

I'd totally forgotten about Farley Whalen.

“That's a load of crap, something we were told to scare us into being good, and you know it. Besides, there's something you
don't
know.”

I told him about Grant's message and about the fight Byrd said he'd had with Lottie.

“Holy shit,” he breathed out.

I sat back for a minute. “Paddy, who's Jamie's father? Is it you?”

“Of course it ain't me! I didn't take up with her until after he was born,” Paddy said defensively.

“Well, who is he then? It seems to me someone should find him and tell him his son is missing.”

“Well, if that ain't the twenty-thousand-dollar question.”

“Really, Paddy, this is important. He may know something. She must have told you or hinted.
Something
.”

“Nope, she never said a thing. But I'll admit, I never really pushed her much about it. We had enough trouble.”

I remember her wide-open smile as she talked about why she wouldn't marry Paddy, not ever. Because she loved someone else more.

And that message.
“I'm sorry … what kind of brother … what kind of man.…

“Well, I think I know,” I said. “Though I don't want to know it.”

“Who?” he asked.

“I think you already know. I think you just put two and two together the way I did.”

“Grant?”

“I know, it seems crazy, but what else explains that message?”

“Wyn, I know Grant always felt protective of her, like a brother, nothing more. I mean … he loved
you,
Wyn. It devastated him when you left. It almost killed him.”

“I thought we weren't going to talk about that now?” I said.

“You're right, we're not,” he said. “But you know what? Shit. The more I think about this, the more it makes sense!” he said. “When Lottie got pregnant, Grant took off to New Orleans. Never came around again. Why else would he have done that? He would have stayed and helped her out. Goddamn! He never would have let her raise a child alone unless he was full of shame.”

“What if they were fighting over custody? What if Grant wanted Jamie and Charlotte said no. Then he goes to the house and gets mad. Kills Lottie in a rage and steals Jamie! Paddy, did the cops look into that possibility?”

Paddy stared at me, stunned.

“I'm sure—I mean, they'd have to have, right?”

And what I knew in that very moment was that my single-minded, stubborn ass of a brother had not ever entertained the possibility that it was anyone other than Byrd. He'd been so sure it was
her
that he'd taken all the blame without even considering anyone else.

“He didn't take Jamie,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“I just do, don't ask me anything else. But I'd never considered him a killer. I'd never thought about it for a second. It
could
have been him. Except…”

“What? Except what?”

“Byrd's knife.”

The knife. That damned knife.

“What if she lent it to Jamie? And it was there and easy for Grant to get? And even if he didn't do it, and we both know I hope that's the case, it's a really strong reasonable doubt. It could get you a new trial. Or an appeal. You could claim you were crazy, Jackson would help, then you could get a new trial and introduce Grant as a possible suspect. Maybe neither of you would get any time. Maybe it would cause just enough doubt for you to cancel each other out.”

I saw the wheels turning in my brother's mind. He had finally realized he made a mistake.

“Wyn,” he said, tears in his eyes, “you got to get me out of here.”

 

18

Naomi

 

Before my gran put me in the asylum, I spent days upon days alone at Coveview.

Eventually I looked too long out my window to that misted Island of Fortunes Cove, and I decided to make my grandmother happy. To just go there.

I didn't know that when I dove into the waters off the cliffs by our house, that Minerva was watching me. Always watching me. Like a good Caretaker should.

When all was said and done, the authorities, as well as good old Grandma Catherine, decided I'd tried to kill myself. I didn't argue. So I was sent to the Fairview Mental Hospital.

It's not such a bad place. Fancy. No one harmed me there. Just a quiet sanctuary. I've wondered so many times if I should have just stayed, but Minerva didn't want me to give up on my life. So she got me out, for better or worse, and we moved into the village.

But still, even with Minerva's attentions, I was alone. Alone in my childhood, alone in Fairview, alone in Magnolia Creek. Always alone.

What was my purpose? Why was I born the way I was? My thoughts would swirl. Nothing ever stopped them. Until, I found opium.

Lost witch, wife, mother. I had to live and act like I was alive. And for a while, I did it. Minerva helped. The children, too. But when you're
really
lost, you can't be found. Jackson couldn't help me, because after we'd lived and loved for a while, I realized he was as lost as I was.

There's this rule, that when you get lost in the woods you're supposed to just sit there and wait for people to find you. To save you. Well, how do you sit and wait when the forest is calling to you? When getting even
more
lost seems like the best decision? Losing myself completely was always a hidden intention of mine. And I can say that if I never succeeded at anything else, I was a success at hiding myself so well that no one could find me.

“Who am I without you?” I'd ask my darlings, kissing their sweet faces, while smelling the tops of their heads. That's a pretty big thing to ask a child. The more I watch Bronwyn with Byrd … the more I see the mistakes I made with my children.

But when they were babies, I believe I was a good mother. It was easier then. The drugs were always there, but at that point, they were still helping me. The people closest to me, Susan, Jackson, Minerva … they'd ask me why I couldn't stop.

“What is it about that stuff?” asked Jackson, brave on bourbon and a hypocrite to boot.

And the kids. My babies. When they were old enough to understand that I was sick, they'd ask.

I tried to explain it. But nothing came out the way it should have.
It makes me happy,
I'd say. Which left them feeling as if they couldn't make me happy. I know that now.

It was also a lie.

You see it all clear, standing on the dead side of life, you can see everything for what it really is, was, and will be.

Once, when my sweet, darling Paddy was about twelve and the spitting image of his father, he got real brave and came into my rooms for a talk. I was reading on the sofa in my library.

“Mama? May I come in?”

I put down my book and held my arms out. He always came to me. Wyn had stopped hugging me when she was ten or so, but Paddy never stopped. He even hugged my dead body when my spirit was hovering above it. Broke my ghost heart.

So he came to me and I held him close.

“What do you need, my love?” I asked him.

He started to cry. I could feel the tears go straight through my nightdress. He took the pipe out of my hand. I remember being worried he'd shake out the last bit of opium. I was more concerned about that than I was about him. That's the truth.

“Why do you smoke this, Mama? Wyn's too afraid to ask, I think. Or maybe she just don't care. But I do. I miss you.” He didn't look at me. Couldn't. Just kept his head buried against me so that his voice, changing at the time, was muffled.

His request was so sincere that I tried my best to answer him.

“Well, now. That's a big question, isn't it?” I said. “One that I don't even know if I understand myself. But let me try, okay?”

He nodded against me, still crying.

I took the pipe back, relieved to have it in my hand again.

“When I smoke this … medicine, I feel a wave of warmth rush through my body. And there are no worries. No cares. Everything melts into the edges of life. And I don't feel the magic so much. No sight. Nothing. It's better that way, Paddy. I don't like to see the future.”

He pulled his head up, wiping his eyes. “Can't you control it some other way? In science we learned that the brain has chemicals in it, and that we only use part of it. Can't we just retrain your whole brain, Mama?”

It was a good question. But I didn't want to do that. I wanted to use the drug, and I wanted everyone to leave me alone. So I kept explaining the unexplainable.

“But, baby, I can still do things … well, at first I could. Everything was so beautiful. And quiet around me. And even if you don't remember, I was a better mother during those early days. I played with you. I ran around the yard. Danced with your daddy. Made meals with Minerva, and … Susan. But the problem is, the drugs build up in your system and soon—”

“You can't do nothin' anymore.” he finished.