Voodoo (7 page)

“Are we sure this is the right place?” I asked.

“Not really,” Stephen said. “There could be another church, but the guy at the yard made it sound like there was only one.”

“I really wish we had a gun or something.”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” Stephen asked dryly. “It wouldn't matter anyway; I don't know how to shoot one.”
“Me either, so I guess we wing it.”

“That was my plan. Let's go.”

We picked our way carefully through the yard. At the doorway we paused, peering over the broken down door into the church itself. Sunlight filtered onto the stone floor through a roof that was mostly gone. I took a deep breath and stepped through the door, Stephen was right at my heels.

“About time you showed up,” a man said.
He grabbed me from behind, pressing a cold wet cloth to my face. I struggled, kicking the man in the shins, but he didn't let me go. I saw another man had grabbed Stephen in the same way. A sickly sweet smell filled my senses, and the world faded to darkness.

*

When I came to I was staring up at the sky through the church roof. Tree branches crossed the opening, filtering the light with their leaves and providing some shade where there would have been none. I turned my head, seeing Stephen was still out cold beside me. I reached out, shaking his shoulder.

“Stephen,” I hissed quietly.

“No need to whisper.” I knew it would be Clea before I turned around. She sounded just like Claire. I faced her and tried to stand. I could barely get my feet under me.

“If you hurt him,” I said. I heard a round of clicks and found I was surrounded by her guard, who had all just drawn their weapons on me.
“No one moves,” Clea ordered. “You, sit,” she said to me. I slowly sank back down. I wasn’t sure I could have stood for long anyway. “I didn't hurt him any more than I hurt you. Just a little chloroform to lay you out for a bit.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why do you want to hurt me?”

“Because I want to stay in this body and so does she. Because you hurt her.” Clea leaned forward. “In a dozen or more ways, over and over again you hurt her.”
“Claire?” I asked. “I didn't hurt her.”

“Please,” Clea said. Her hand went to the wide scar on her forehead. Up close I could see it was more than an inch long, angry red and swollen.

“We were just kids when that happened,” I argued. “And the scar isn't so bad on her.”

“Her’s is just the physical scar,” Clea said. “There is nothing to show for the times you went out with a boy she liked, or didn't take her to a party.”
“She didn't like parties,” I said lamely. Behind me, Stephen stirred, but I didn't dare turn around. The six scar-faced men looked ready to fire if I so much as twitched.

“Everyone likes parties,” Clea said, beginning to pace with four slow steps. She was a stunning figure in the form fitting black dress and heels. “You were always so popular, so outgoing, everyone liked you. Claire was older, but the kids in her grade knew you better than her. They never cared about her.”

“That’s supposed to be my fault?” I asked. “I would have let Claire come with me anywhere, but she was too stuck up.”

Clea took a long step forward and slapped me across the face. The crack echoed in the empty church. Tears filled my eyes as needles of pain twitched through me. Clea looked ready to do a lot more than slap me.

“Alyssa?” Stephen moved behind me. This time I turned. “What's going on?” He was lying on his back still, looking around at the guard.

“It's okay,” I said calmly.

I stood up, the guns following me, but no one shot. Clea glared ice at me, her features sharp and threatening. Below that, I could see something else. There was a hint of the softness that had always surrounded Claire. I took a deep breath, and hoped I was doing the right thing.

“Claire was a bitch,” I said.

The church was silent enough that I heard a branch creak over head. “We were both bitches,” I continued. “It was high school, and Claire hasn't even been there for the last two years. She's at college now, and you know what? She loves it. She has friends there, friends I have never met, and she goes to parties, and she gets good grades.”

“Does this rant have a point?” Clea tried to sound bored, but it was a lie. Her hand gripped the amulet around her neck. I pressed my advantage.

“Yeah,” I said. “The point is, move on. Maybe I was popular in high school, but that doesn't mean anything. Those people who Claire thinks I was such good friends with? I haven't talked to most of them since graduation, and I don't really care. I’m in college now, moving on with my life. You know who I care about? My sister.”

Clea grimaced, as if the words had hurt her. I began to walk toward her. She stood her ground, but seemed to lean back as I drew close.

“She doesn’t care about you.” Clea bit the words out. “She loves being me. There is so much power in this body now.” Clea put her hand to her stomach, eyes lighting up as she continued. “No one would dare hurt me and it is the closest thing to freedom Claire has ever known. She loves it and she will let me kill you in order to keep it that way.”

Clea strode to a crumbling stone alter, lifting a silver-handled knife. Her heels clicked across the stone floor as she returned and pressed the blade to my neck. Her hand shook, the blade nicking my skin. Her other hand went to the amulet.

“She doesn’t want me dead,” I said softly. “She doesn’t want this life you’ve trapped her in. My sister was good. She didn’t hurt people like you do.”

“She wanted to,” Clea said through clenched teeth. “Especially you.”

“She hurt me plenty,” I said, my eyes drilling into Clea’s. I ignored the pain of the blade against my throat. “And she knows it.”

“Shut up,” Clea screamed, pulling away the knife and shoving me backwards. I stumbled back a step, but caught my balance. She was holding the amulet in both hands now.

“I want to see my sister again. I want us to be friends the way we were when we were little. I want to stay up late talking with Claire about boys, or school, or whatever. I want her to stop being bitter about the things we have done in the past, and start moving on. I’m sorry I ever hurt her.”

Clea backed up a step, but I reached out and grabbed her arms. I pulled her to a stop, tugging her hand away from the amulet. The stone had begun to crack. I felt the cold barrel of a gun against the back of my head.

“Boss?” the man questioned. Clea’s face tumbled through a kaleidoscope of emotions. I shut my eyes, fearing that she would order me dead. I could hear the man breathing heavily behind me. He sounded like a smoker.

“No,” Clea said, her voice raspy. I opened my eyes as the man pulled his gun away. Clea glared at me still, but I was too full of relief to care.

“I love my sister,” I said.

The amulet cracked with a loud snap, the stone falling away. Thin smoke twisted up to Clea's nose and she inhaled. Coughing, she collapsed to the floor.

10.

Ignoring the goons with guns, Stephen and I knelt at Clea's side. Stephen rolled her to her back, and felt for a pulse.

“She's alive,” he said. I held her hand tightly, praying she would wake.

“We should waste them,” one of the guys said. The others nodded in agreement.

“No,” Clea said, her voice weak as she pushed herself up on her elbows. She cleared her throat and spoke again. “No, you are done here, go back to Crescent.”

“Boss?” the guard asked, his gun half raised.

“Go,” Clea growled.

The six men left, with no small amount of grumbling. Clea's eyes met mine. Above her eyes the scar was shrinking to the thin white line I knew it as. Her eyes softened. She let go of my hand and pushed herself to her feet. When she lost her balance, I steadied her.

“Claire?” I asked. It seemed like too much to hope for. She nodded. I couldn't help but pull her into a tight hug. For a moment she seemed to resist, but then I felt her arms wrap around me in return.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. It was so soft I doubted Stephen even heard.

“It's fine,” I said, pulling back to look her in the eye. “I understand.”

“You're right,” she said. “I need to move on. I’ve held onto so much anger over little things.”

“I didn't think you would remember any of that,” I admitted. I had meant everything I said, but it was embarrassing to think about.

Claire smiled. “Sorry. It needed to be said though. We should never have let things between us get so bad. It almost ruined me.”

I hugged her again. When I pulled away, she was beginning to fade like Hannah had. Her already pale skin became nearly transparent as she stood there. I covered my mouth to keep from crying out. It had been painful to watch when it was Hannah, but watching my own sister melt to nothing was almost unbearable. Claire saw the pain in my face.

“I'm alright,” she said. “This is the way things should be. You'll be following soon enough.”

Just like Hannah, she was gone. No sign in the empty church that she had ever been there. I sat in stunned silence, staring at where she had just been. I heard rustling and felt Stephen's strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me into him so my back rested on his chest. I clutched his arms with my hands. Tears filled my eyes.

“It's alright,” he said softly. “She is okay.”
“I know.” I was taking deep breaths, trying to convince myself that everything really was okay. “She said I'd be following soon. I don't know how to follow.” I turned, unable to hold back the tears anymore.

“We'll figure it out,” Stephen said. I leaned into him, glad to still have his strength with me when I had never felt more alone.

We sat silently in that abandoned church, held together more by shared grief than anything else. For long minutes we took comfort in each other, neither of us ready to move on from that moment. In the end, of course, we had to move. We couldn’t just wait on the floor of the church, hoping to be whisked away like Hannah or Claire. Stephen was the first to move.

“Better get going.” He gently pushed me away from him so he could stand. Once on his feet he reached down to help me up. I brushed the dirt from my dress with one hand, keeping a firm grip on his hand with the other.

“Where will we go?” I thought about Crescent with its dark alleyways and shady nightclubs. It didn’t feel like home.

“I’m not sure,” Stephen said. “For the first time in a long time, I am not looking for something. I feel . . . peaceful.”

“I know.” I felt it too, like there was no reason to go anywhere, or do anything. I couldn’t think of somewhere I would rather be, than in the church alone with him. I stepped close to Stephen.

“What are you doing?” Stephen asked. I didn’t answer, only slid my arms around his neck to pull him close. While his voice might have been hesitant, his body was not. He stepped into me even as he wondered why.

“Kiss me again,” I said softly. Still, he held himself back. “We did what we needed to, now I just want to be lost with you.”

“Are you sure?” Stephen asked. He let his head drop so his lips brushed my cheek as he spoke. The feeling made me shiver.

“Yes,” I said. “When I kissed you I felt like I was disappearing. Maybe that was how it was meant to be.”

He needed no more convincing. His lips found mine, pressing firmly and insistently, while his arms pulled me tightly to him. A familiar tingle rushed through me, warming my whole body. Then it seemed like I was falling and out of fear I pulled back.

I rested my head against his, both of us breathing heavily. When I opened my eyes I saw he was flickering in and out, growing fuzzy at the edges. Panic surged through me as I thought I might be left behind.

“Take me back,” I whispered, and kissed him again.

This time I gave into falling. I let his kiss pull me into oblivion, pleasure rolling through me in great wave. His lips were the only thing I felt in the darkness. Then, nothing.

11.

I woke to a constant, steady beep.

I opened my eyes, looking up at a white ceiling. Blinking, I tried to connect what I was seeing to what I had last seen. Where was the church? Where was Stephen? I was lying on a soft bed, I felt that much. When I turned my head, I saw my mom.

“Alyssa?” Mom let her book fall. She came to my side, and took my hand. I was in the hospital. I frowned.

“Mom?” my voice creaked out, like I hadn't spoken in days. “What’s going on?”

“There was an accident,” she said. Of course she couldn't have any idea what I was really asking. “Just lay still a moment. I'll call for the doctor.”

She went to the door, calling into the hallway. I lay in the bed, trying to piece things together. I vaguely remembered being at the hospital, but I remembered the feel of Stephen's hand in mine much more clearly. I remembered the smell of Crescent, and the feel of his boat rocking beneath us. Was it all really just a dream?

The doctor came in, putting me through the usual tests before announcing that I seemed to be fine. My dad arrived a few minutes after the doctor, standing back with my mom as the doctor looked me over. Both of them looked breathless as they waited for the doctor's announcement.

“Claire will be in soon,” Mom said after the doctor left. “They said she was the one we should worry about, but she woke late yesterday night.”