Previous Chapter

Chapter 12 - Troubles and Challenges

Carrefour, Port-au-Prince Arrondissement, Haiti: the following day

“Madam, you wished to see us urgently?” a hard-looking burly man asked as he received permission to enter Vanessa’s study. “Malory is delayed. He’ll be here in an hour or thereabouts.”

“It is well, Vincent. I don’t entirely trust Malory; he does too much of, well, I’d call it ‘freelance’ work. Too much of his collateral damage can affect my goals. Please give him the instructions I shall give you gentlemen and impress on him that he must be discreet. None of his brutality! And for the rest of you, too. Do not call attention to my project by being brutal in your work. Remember!”

The men nodded. They were four in number. Stone-faced men who moved with watchful purpose, showing that they possessed the skills of advanced martial arts. They were loyal to their queen: Vanessa, the self-proclaimed queen of Haiti’s Vodou priestesses.

Vanessa began to speak. “I called you here because I have an urgent mission. If it is fulfilled, I will be able to advance my project by several years, so your success will be greatly rewarded. But know that I will not tolerate failure. My plan can be greatly advanced if I can add a powerful manbo to our group and that will be your mission now, to help me find a certain person. Years ago, I had found a manbo who was sufficiently strong, but she was at first resistant to my orders. Then the earthquake came.

“When the earthquake occurred, I learned that the person who possessed that power had perished in a fire. I had doubts because I could feel the whispers of that power in the spirit world, but the power was not part of the spirit world; therefore it must be still on earth. But all the searching that you warriors performed for me confirmed that the person had indeed died.

“Last night I was communing with Lord Kalfou, my patron lwa, and he showed me that a strong power is newly arisen. I have felt faint hints of this power during the past few years, but those hints have been feeble and fleeting. Now, Kalfou has helped me to sense that our missing manbo may indeed be alive, yet very distant from here. If she is alive, I want her back here to serve me and to help me get our chosen monarch placed as Haiti’s leader. My missing manbo has grown strong in her power; yet I am stronger; with Kalfou’s guidance, I can overcome any resistance she might present and have her serve me.”

“Who is this of whom you speak, my queen?” asked Vincent, the spokesman for the group.

“You knew of her as Cassandra Bernard, the manbo at Aubry, but if she faked her death, she may have changed her name. Official records showed that she perished, but it is her power which I have sensed. She is not in Haiti, nor is she nearby in the D.R. My spies there have denied her presence. No, most likely she went to the U.S.; I learned that her husband may have gone there for medical treatment for his earthquake injuries. Another possibility is the U.K. since Bernard had relatives—or perhaps just one relative—there.

“My source in the U.S. State Department has reported to me regularly and faithfully that there has been no sign of a Bernard, nor of anyone having Bernard’s description, entering the country in the two years following the ‘quake. Recently he has followed up on some information he sent me, making corrections, and other sources have verified that those corrections were accurate. So the data from my spy in Washington remains good.

“Even though I do not know where she currently may be, I expect that with her abilities, she will feel compelled to continue as a manbo. I want you to go to the U.S., to where the Haitian people in exile have gathered. The Haitian community in New Orleans is one where she would feel the most comfortable and would find it easiest to fit into the community. New York and southern Florida are possibilities also, but unlikely, because those areas are very expensive to live in and Cassandra and her family were quite poor here. I saw that when I visited her ounfò.

“I want her found and brought here. But I again stress to you: Use no methods which will call the attention of authorities to us. We cannot allow errors in revealing my plans now that we are so close to their fulfillment. Now come close, all of you, and look deeply into my eyes, and I shall seal these instructions to your souls.”

They did, and after a minute, they again became aware of their surroundings.

“We shall do as you command and shall succeed, my lady, have no doubt,” Vincent assured her, and with bows, the four men departed.

Little Haiti, Miami, Florida: two months later: April

By April, the Alexandres had gotten the pole barn outfitted with the meager possessions which had been rescued from Nadine’s Haitian ounfò. They had hung the vèvès and had collected a dozen chairs and a few benches from a few sources. It turned out that even used seating was expensive. Nadine had been spreading the word that her ounfò would be open soon, mainly in the evenings, and she could provide counseling and folk medicines too.

May arrived and the school year was close to being over—only five weeks to go. Tamara was excited, her school traditionally held a graduation ceremony. It wasn’t much, just an assembly on the last day in which the achievements of the eighth graders were recognized, but the parents always made a big deal of it.

One morning, a half hour after Wilson left for work and just after Tamara left for school and had crossed the street opposite to their driveway, she noticed a car parked further away, down the street. It was unusual to see anyone parked there, and as she glanced at the car, she sensed a strong, evil aura. She had gotten used to thinking of that term as describing her special sense. She walked a little further until a building blocked her view of the car and then hid from sight; then watched as she saw a man leave the car and walk up to her driveway and turn in toward her home.

As he passed Tamara’s hiding place, she sensed purplish-black waves of evil flowing around him and she tasted something metallic in the color—it was blood! That man had the tastes of pure evil; as she watched him, the sounds of the dull gray taste of a steel knife pierced her ears. Walking carefully and keeping hidden, using her “I’m so little, you don’t see me” projection—she realized that she hadn’t used that in years—she followed him silently and watched as he knocked on the double-wide’s door. There was no response, although Tamara knew her mom was there. Her work shift started later in the day.

The man went to the pole barn and tried that door; it was locked. He peered into a window but then quickly turned and went back to the house.

“I know you’re there. I been watching your place and you haven’t left yet,” he called in Kreyòl. “Your phone won’t work. I got a jammer here.”

He started to kick at the door but the door didn’t budge, so he went to a window and broke it, then started to climb in. He didn’t notice Tamara, who had come within ten feet of him and had ducked behind the front porch.

I can’t see his eyes so this may not work, she thought. So I can’t compel him. Maybe confusion?

She began to “push” yellow and tan, fear and confusion, at him. He stopped with a panicked look, halfway through the window with one leg inside and another hanging out, and acted as if he didn’t know what to do next.

That’s when Nadine came around the side of the house behind him, carrying a shotgun. She was so happy that Wilson had insisted that she learn to use it; they had spent several hours at a range and though her shoulder hurt somewhat after that session, she had seen what 00 buckshot did to a target.

In Kreyòl, she told the intruder, “One wrong move and I shoot. This will put a big hole right through the place your heart should be but I doubt you have one. Keep both hands where I can see them, get out of there, and down on the ground. Now.”

“Lady, I...”

“Three seconds and I pull the trigger. One...”

He just about fell out and dropped to the ground, but his hand was flashing to his belt, out of Nadine’s sight. But not Tamara’s. Neither the intruder nor Nadine had noticed her where she was hidden behind the front porch and out of Nadine’s sight. Tamara didn’t want to startle her mother; she might accidently shoot at Tamara.

When Tamara saw his hand move, she tasted a flood of red-purple from the man. And something else too. Tamara realized that was an intent-to-harm emotion and the other...? Suddenly she realized that the intruder could “pull,” doing something like the way she “pushed.”

This could be very dangerous, she realized, but maybe that pull is why my tastes work without eye contact.

She quickly acted, sending another flood of mostly yellow-tan at him, “pushing” extra hard. The pulse of confusion washing over him made him suddenly forget what he had intended. Then Tamara called out in French, figuring with his thick Kreyòl and bad grammar, he wouldn’t understand it very well.

“Mom, I’m here behind the porch. Watch him but don’t look in his eyes; he has some kind of ability. He has a gun or something near his waist. I made him get confused, like I told you I did to those people at school. But he’s terribly dangerous and totally evil!”

“I know! I tried calling the police but got no connection. He said he had a jammer or whatever.”

“Heard of them. Blocks cell phones. While he’s still confused, I want to try something new. I get a feeling that it should work against his mental ability but only if he isn’t thinking straight.”

Tamara marshaled some extra strength and then “pushed” a dense fog of pure white at the prone man. As it washed over him, he stopped squirming and lay still, resting on his side.

“What did you do?” Nadine asked.

“I guess it worked. I pushed a kinda ‘sleep’ to him. We need to tie him up ‘cause he’s so evil, this may not last long. My other ‘pushes’ didn’t affect him like it did other people. It must be his evil is some kind of shield or something, or maybe that ability I felt he has. I know, use his belt to tie him. I’ll try. If he starts to wake, hit him with the gun butt.”

Tamara pulled at his waist, undid the belt, and pulled it open. She saw the butt of a pistol tucked in his waistband so she pulled that out, and then noticed a big lump showing in the man’s visible pocket. Throwing the pistol a few feet away, she pulled the belt out of its loops and then, with a little difficulty, pushed the man onto his front. Then she looped the belt around the man’s upper arms, pulling his shoulders back, tightened it, and secured the buckle.

“Mom, we have any rope?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Listen, this has Vanessa all over it. We can’t call the police; they might be involved too; like they are in Haiti.”

“Wait, first that jammer,” Tamara said, and fished the lump from the man’s pocket.

She looked at it and turned it off. “Interesting. I’ll take it apart, see how it works... Oh, Mom, we don’t need rope. One sec though... I’ll call Dad.”

She called Wilson. He answered quickly, her calls and Nadine’s were the only ones that rang through during work.

“Dad, a guy tried to break in here. He’s totally evil, has a gun. Mom’s got the shotgun on him and we’re trying to tie him up. She says no police ‘cause it’s Vanessa. I put him asleep.”

“Okay, be careful. Tell Mom to just shoot, if he gets free. You stay far away if he starts to wake. I’m coming, calling a buddy too. Should be ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Just be safe!”

“Dad says he’s coming now, to shoot if Mister Evil here gets free. You know those old lights from the pole barn—their wires? Make a good rope.”

The old fixtures had been slid into the crawl space under the double-wide. Tamara dragged one out, ran into the house for a scissor and used it to cut off the wire. She used sections of the wire to tie the man’s wrists and ankles together and finished about a minute or two before he began to regain consciousness. When he did, he began swearing at the two of them, threatening them with death or worse if they didn’t free him.

After a little more than ten minutes later, a county heavy-duty tow truck pulled into the yard and Wilson jumped out. Nadine ran to him and hugged him.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she gasped as she sagged into his arms. “Don’t look into his eyes, Tamara says. He has some kind of ability. I was so scared...”

“Looks to me like you did a pretty creditable job with this scum,” Wilson said, walking over to the struggling and cursing man. He gave the guy a kick in the ribs. “Shut up, scum, or I’ll keep kicking you there until you do.”

The man spat at him so Wilson kicked him harder. The guy shut up. Wilson was wearing steel-toed work boots.

Then another big truck pulled in.

“That’s my shop partner, Ray Wilky,” Wilson told Nadine. “I was headed to the motor pool garage when you called so I was closer to here. I called him for backup. So tell us what happened.”

Nadine and Tamara told the two men about the events of the morning and they were very impressed, especially with Tamara’s cool behavior. Tamara had edited her part to avoid saying how she had disabled the invader, saying only that she hit him from behind with a piece of wood framing that had been saved from the old wood shed.

“Hey, Ray,” Wilson told his friend. “Can you watch out to see that no one comes in? This guy may have backup if he doesn’t check in or something. His pistol is on the ground over there. Grab it.”

“Sure thing, Wilson. Call if you need me.”

“Wait,” Tamara called. “His car is down the block. You should get it in here.”

“On it,” Wilky said and started toward the guy.

Nadine told him, “Don’t look in his eyes. He has a kind of hypnosis or something.”

“Okay...?” Wilky said, and then patted the intruder’s pockets, found the keys, and fished them out. “I’ll bring the car in here and watch the driveway.”

“Good. Okay now,” Wilson said. “Time to play twenty questions. Let’s find out who sent this scum.” Then in Kreyòl, “Hey, scum, who sent you and what were you doing here?”

“Fuck you and no way am I sayin’ anythin’.”

“Have it your way, then,” Wilson replied.

He backed his tow truck to behind the pole barn, out of sight from the driveway.

“Great trussing job on him here,” he commented to Tamara who was nearby watching as he dragged the intruder closer to the tow truck. “You probably don’t want to see what I need to do now,” he told her.

“No, I need to see it. He was saying he wanted to kill Mom,” she answered. “This is the worst evil I’ve ever seen.”

Wilky pulled the intruder’s car up next to the tow truck and got out.

“Okay, my new friend,” Wilson said to the captive, “you’re in for an interesting experience.”

He raised the truck’s tow boom and deployed a chain with a hook on it. Then the two men dragged the struggling intruder over to the back of the tow truck and snapped the hook onto the leather belt holding the man’s upper arms together. Wilson activated the hoist, retracting the chain so only a fraction of the man’s weight was on the ground. His arms and shoulders were supporting the remainder of his 240-pound weight.

Wilky poked Wilson in the arm. “Don’t go easy on that piece of shit, buddy. If that was my wife who was threatened, I’d tear his balls off and stuff ‘em up his ass.”

“Nah. I need info first. I learned some stuff about getting answers from the enemy when I was in-country with the Marines.”

Wilky went back to guarding the driveway and Wilson turned to his victim.

“Let’s begin,” he said. “Who sent you?”

“Fuck you.”

Wilson spun the chain around, grabbed the man’s right hand, and applied a thumb lock. Unable to move away, he screamed in pain.

“Again, who sent you?” Wilson asked and bent his thumb back again.

“Vanessa... it was Vanessa.”

Wilson continued to use various methods of creating intense pain, and the story gradually emerged. Vanessa had been sensing a feeling or something that reminded her of Cassandra and suspected that Cassandra might possibly still be alive. So she decided to send her soldiers to check on Vodou practitioner priestess in areas where large numbers of Haitians lived to see if Cassandra might be a priestess there.

That was all that their captive would say; he wouldn’t divulge any more about himself or his mission, nor would he divulge his identity or give up anyone else’s name, other than Vanessa’s, despite the pain that Wilson inflicted. Wilson figured that either he had been conditioned to withstand continued pain or the pain just wasn’t working anymore. A search of his pockets found nothing.

“Nadine, look in his car,” Wilson called to her. “See if there’s any ID.”

She looked and found two U.S. passports with photos similar to the man, and a Haitian passport in the name of Malory Leger.

“Can I help?” Tamara asked. She had been watching her father’s questioning. “I think he has a compulsion not to answer about things that happened before coming here on this job, but whoever put the compulsion on him forgot to do it now or maybe wasn’t able to include the recent stuff,” she explained.

“You said that you can’t read minds, though,” her father said.

“I can’t, but compulsions contain emotions and he has something I can’t figure out. But I think that I may be able to ‘push’ a stronger compulsion. I can’t though if he resists and he’s really, really strong. And the evil around him is making me really sick, too. Maybe if he were unconscious ... Not the ‘sleep’ I ‘pushed’ before.”

“I can make that happen,” Wilson told her. “How long do you need?”

“I never did this... wait. Back at school that time, when I ‘pushed’ those compulsions to forget, it was maybe just three or four seconds.”

Wilson nodded. “If I press on his jugular for maybe ten-twelve seconds, he’ll be out for about the same amount of time. That’s the longest; longer might suffocate him. Is that enough?”

“I’ll try.”

Fifteen seconds later, Leger was unconscious and Tamara “pushed” her greenish-brown cloud at him.

“You’ll wake up and have no idea where you are. You can’t remember what happened this morning, but you need to tell the people who are here, why you’re here and who you are working with. Otherwise, hundreds of scorpions will climb all over you and start stinging.”

About ten seconds later, Leger began to wake and suddenly screamed and twisted on his chain.

“Get them off me! I’ll tell you—if I tell you what I know, get them off me!” he shouted.

Nadine came closer. “Vanessa sent you. Who else came here?”

“I’m here solo, but Vincent is in Miami too.”

“Who’s Vincent, and who else is involved?” she asked and Wilson grabbed his cell phone and began recording.

The story came out; Vanessa’s “soldiers” had come to the U.S. using passports provided by a spy in the State Department. Leger gave the names used on the passports and when and where the others had traveled. He told of connections Vanessa and her revolutionaries had with the Haitian embassy and with the consular offices in Miami, New York, and New Orleans. He named the contact persons in those offices, but he didn’t know who the mole in the State Department was.

At that, Wilson nodded. “I think we know who that was,” he whispered to Nadine.

Wilson continued. “Why did you come to my home? You have permission to remember that now.”

“I won’t answ... ow, ow, stop the stinging, pull them off! I... I was looking for manbos for Vanessa. The last manbo I located said a new manbo was here and I came to see if it was the Cassandra who my queen wants. She wasn’t a very good fuck, either.”

Wilson jerked. “What did you say? You forced her?”

“Yeah. I fuck all the women I hunt down.”

Tamara’s face turned white and she ran to the back corner of the yard, where she lost her breakfast.

Wilson grabbed a bottle of water from inside his truck and handed it to Nadine, who ran to give it to Tamara. She rinsed her mouth and drank a little.

“Okay now?” Nadine asked.

“Yeah. I said he was making me sick, but when he said that...” she shuddered.

Wilson slapped his head. “Damn it! I think I know who he raped. Tamara, can you get Ray? Now that we know this scum has no backup...”

Wilky came over. “What’s up? Find out anything?”

“Enough. We just found out this turd is also a rapist. I heard something about a guy’s sister at the downtown motor pool shop, she’s a priestess and was raped a few days ago. Looks like we found who did it; this guy here.”

“I know who that is. Leon Domingue’s sister was raped. I used to play poker with a bunch of guys and he was one. You don’t know him, do you?”

“Paths never crossed, but I heard the name. Have his cell number?”

“No, but I can get it.”

Wilky made two calls, got the number, and called it.

“Leon, you remember me. Ray Wilky from poker.”

“...”

“Yeah. Hey, here’s the shit. Sorry about your sister, but Wilson Alexandre from the heavy mech shop might have caught the rapist.”

“...”

“Serious. Not fuckin’ around, I don’t do that. Seems the guy came after his wife and she got the drop on him.”

“...”

“I’ll take a shot of his mug, she tell you what he looked like?” He took a few photos.

“...”

“Good. Sending. Call me if he’s the one.”

Several minutes later, Wilky’s phone buzzed. He answered and spoke for a few minutes, then gave Wilson’s address.

“That was Leon. He thought it was the guy and sent the pix to his sister and she confirmed it. He’s getting his cousin and they’re coming here.”

Tamara was quiet, deep in thought. Then, “Manman, this man is way too evil and has dangerous powers too. I think he could use them to get free somehow—yeah, he’s already been able to do that at least once, I think.”

“What can we do, then?” Nadine asked. “I don’t think that, um, Leon and his cousin are going to kill him.”

“No, I’m sure that they won’t. Maybe they’ll beat him up first and then bring him to the police. That would be a mistake, ‘cause if they beat him up, the judges may let him out on bail, and you saw what Vanessa can do here with people she knows. I speak to my schoolmates and they say that the judges will let just about anyone out. With Leger’s ability, he’d get out immediately.”

“So I’m sure you have a plan,” Nadine grinned at her daughter. “You always seem to.”

Tamara nodded. “I kinda thought of what to do. When I got scared by those people who came to my school, I did some scary things when I ‘pushed’ them. Scary to me, that is. One of them was bad, the lawyer, but not totally evil the way this one is. I think maybe I can turn his evil around on him, let its emotions fill his mind. That should be much easier than if I try to ‘push’ evil, something that I don’t understand ‘cause it’s not inside me. I just need to figure out the ‘aura,’ or ‘taste,’ of whatever I need, to do it.”

Leger, having told all he could of the job he had been sent to do and of the group who sent him, was still hanging, exhausted, from the hook on the tow truck’s boom. Wilky was with him; wearing his work gloves, he had brought the pistol over to get Leger’s fingerprints on it, and then went to talk to Wilson to decide where to plant it. They were working out a simple story which everyone could easily recall.

Tamara had waited until Wilky was done and then she approached Leger; she had no intention of getting closer than about ten feet from him, so she came to that distance and stopped, using her special sense to ‘taste’ the emotions coming from him. They were rancid, putrid.

She marshaled her strength and tried to suppress her gag reflex as she gathered a burst of greenish-gray aura of compulsion and “pushed” it toward him; then with a deep breath, she tried to conjure up the feeling of nothingness, an emotion that would replace Leger’s consciousness with nothing but the evil emotions within him, pursuing after him. Using what she had learned from her mother’s rites and from her extensive reading, she tried to link the “aura” of nothingness to something she could “push,” and suddenly Tamara sensed a visualization of the personification of a totally unfamiliar spirit lwa, Marinette-Bwa-Chèch, the “she-devil” of Vodou, and as she sensed that lwa filling her, a wave of blackness—not the color, but the absence of any sense at all, none of color, taste, smell, sound, whatever—began to form. This void she “pushed” at the figure hanging ten feet from her.

When it enveloped Leger, the blackness shrunk, leaving only a sense of a blood red taste behind, and he began screaming and twisting, pulling at his bonds, and shouting, “Stop, stop! ... what is happening... I can’t stand it... No, stop!”

Nadine, who had been watching, came to Tamara, gasping in shock, “That... that was awful ... the blackest magic... oh, Legba protect us, what did you do...? Where did you learn that?”

“Manman, no. I did not do that; he did. I just made it possible for his evil morals to become as an emotion, and his own psyche allowed it to occupy his mind. I asked for the help of the lwa to do it and the lwa Marinette answered...”

Nadine gasped again and cried, “But Marinette is unsafe! She’s so dangerous that she’s never invoked within buildings—she literally burns with rage and can burn down buildings if invoked indoors!”

“I’m aware, Manman. But somehow I sensed that I needed those colors, the blackness and the blood, and unbidden, she answered. I know she’s thought to be evil, but she really has two sides. Marinette can either free a person from bondage or drag a person into bondage. She’s created the bondage that Leger is in now, bound to the evil in his soul.”

Tamara began crying and Nadine opened her arms and she flowed into them, sobbing. “I never wanted to do such things, Manman. It’s just that somehow when I think of a great need, it’s as if somehow the answer comes to me and I do what’s needed.”

“Indeed, what your father told me last year about you is true. He told me, and I recall it as if I heard it yesterday, that, I quote, ‘Just before I fell asleep, I had this wonderful peaceful feeling, along with the thought, Tamara is Ayizan Velekete’s.’ You are truly beloved of the spirits, darling.”

While Nadine and Tamara were talking, Domingue and his cousin had arrived and hauled off the thrashing, screaming, gibbering Leger, and bundled him, still tied up, into the back of his car. Then they drove both cars away.

“I saw Leger’s condition,” Wilson said after Wilky had gone too. “Was that Tamara’s doing?”

Nadine nodded and told him what Tamara had done.

“Sounds like she’s a manbo even without first being a kanzo,” he said.

“She has more native power than anyone I have ever known of, even my manman,” Nadine answered. “But being a manbo is much more than simply having powers.”

Wilson nodded. “I guess I knew that. Anyway, Leon promised that they wouldn’t kill him. When they saw his condition, they were actually scared. I intimated that you had done that to him when you captured him. I think they might emasculate him, though. Leon is burning for revenge. They’re coming up with a story. Oh, and I called the FBI and our friend John Norris—he’s the one who met us at the airport—should be coming out here in about an hour.”

Some twenty minutes later, Wilson’s phone buzzed.

“It’s Leon,” he said, and listened a while. “Here’s the scoop for the cops and FBI. So we all have the same story. If it’s not covered by this script, we say discussing is too upsetting. Here goes.”

The story that Wilky and Wilson, plus Domingue for his part, had come up with was that Wilson was headed to the motor pool where Domingue worked, and got a frantic call from Nadine.

Wilson went on, “Someone was trying to break in—oh yeah, we’ll need to clean up the bear spray I shot at the broken window—and the bear spray disabled the guy, but he was able to snatch her phone away so she couldn’t call the cops. Then Domingue and I got here and tackled the guy and that’s when he recognized him as possibly being his sister’s attacker and then the jerk actually admitted it to us. During the struggle, one of us must have kicked the guy in the nuts because his testicles were crushed.

“This next part is true but you don’t have to remember the details. Domingue took Leger, using Leger’s rental car, to his shop to get his own truck and to get help bringing Leger to the police because he was still being violent. While the men were subduing him, somehow a soldering gun was used to write ‘rapist’ on his forehead. The cops wanted to know who did it but no one would say.”

Soon Norris arrived with a police detective in tow and they interviewed Wilson and Nadine. The parents kept Tamara from being mentioned. There was hardly any physical evidence apart from the broken window and bear spray; the shotgun wasn’t mentioned either, but the pistol was “found” under the broken window.

The detective was irritated that the FBI had become involved, but after the recording was played and Wilson mentioned the passports which were in Leger’s possession, the detective relented. This had indeed become a federal case.

Next Chapter            Return Home

Copyright © 2023 Seems Ndenyal. All Rights Reserved.