Five Days of Darkness Page 6

  Henri stopped in his tracks. He tried to replay the word in his head to hear how the man might have meant it. It could have been a subtle ‘wait’ that he would allow him to speak to his daughter, or maybe it meant he was going to get a weapon.

  “You a priest?” the man asked.

  Henri let out a sigh of relief. He turned back to face the giant, whose eyes were locked on Henri’s clerical collar.

  “Yes.”

  The man eased his shoulders. The tables had turned, and there was something he wanted.

  “Can you wipe her sins?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, can you wash her sins away? She has placed a black mark on our family. Our friends don’t talk to us. She ain’t allowed in the church. Father Crowe won’t allow her to enter.” His tone became more pleading the more he spoke.

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” Henri said. He didn’t hesitate one more moment. He thought about how he could wash her sins, but it might not change how their parish saw her.

  The man moved to the door and held it open for Henri.

  Henri turned back to Modeste. Their eyes locked for a few moments, then Henri gave the nod as if to say, ‘Please don’t leave without me,’ and Modeste gave one back as if she understood. Henri took a few steps and disappeared inside.

  Sarah Jane was already sitting on the couch as if she were waiting for Henri. Her focus was on the ground. Her hands shoved underneath her. She appeared frail, but only because of how her posture had changed in light of her circumstance. Her shoulders slumped forward, and her back was curved. If it weren’t for that, Henri thought she probably was as strong-willed as her father. It was a big assumption, but she made her own choice to try to see them. No fearful, timid child could do that on their own. Unless, of course, a town had turned its back on you.

  If Henri had the urge to run. It was too late; there was nowhere to go. The man was the width of the door frame, and he stood blocking it.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” Henri asked the father in hopes of lightening the mood.

  “Thomas.”

  “I’m Henri,” he said, as he turned his attention to the girl. “And you must be Sarah Jane.”

  Sarah Jane only responded with a head nod.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” Henri asked. Although Henri wasn’t much for confrontation, he always put on a strong face for children.

  He wasn’t sure how old Sarah Jane was, but he remembered the moment he lost his innocence. The moment he realized that not everything in life is perfect. It was when his mother died. Henri was only ten years old. Henri didn’t know what the cause was at the time. He had heard the doctor tell his father about ‘consumption.’ Henri would later learn the disease was tuberculosis. He didn’t understand death at the time or why people had to waste away and die.

  Sarah Jane nodded again. This time, it was more pronounced. She never broke focus from the ground in front of her.

  “I was hoping to speak to you about what you saw a few weeks ago. would that be okay?”

  “She’ll talk if you take her sins,” Thomas butted in.

  “I will try my best,” Henri said, turning around to Thomas.

  “I don’t remember much. I was just there…” Sarah said, as her voice trailed off.

  “It’s okay. We are not here to judge,” Henri said as he watched Sarah Jane raise her head and look directly at her father.

  “I was there to see Jacob. Hoping. Just hoping Jacob would come back.”

  “And where were you?”

  “I was down by the cypress tree. It’s a hundred feet from Jacob’s house. Jacob and I played together under that tree. I thought that if I waited there, he would come back for me. I know it was stupid, but every night, I would sneak out and wait by the tree,” Sarah Jane said.

  Thomas looked away. Not only did she see Jacob behind his back, but she was also sneaking out of the house to do it.

  “So you saw the killer?”

  “The monster,” Sarah Jane corrected Henri.

  “You saw the person responsible for all of the murders.”

  Sarah Jane finally looked up to Henri. Pain behind her eyes. “There were more murders?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. That’s why I’m here. I’m trying to help stop it.”

  Sarah Jane’s face brightened just a little. “I don’t know what I can tell you.”

  “Just tell me what happened that night.”

  “I was sitting under the cypress. The moon was full and putting a blue light on everything. I had my canvas with me. It’s the only thing I need. I was sketching a picture of Jacob and me standing together in front of his house. We were happy. Everyone was happy. Nobody cared who we were. I painted us playing under the cypress.

  There weren’t many sounds. I could hear the sound of crickets, but not much else. I think everyone else here was asleep.”

  “Do you happen to know what time it was?”

  “Late. Maybe two, three?”

  “Then what happened?” Henri asked. He didn’t want to push her too much, but he needed the truth., and so far, she was the only one who had seen the killer.

  “I continued to draw, but then I heard a stick break. Normally, I wouldn’t be frightened of the sound. I know there are animals out there. It could have been so many things.”

  “Smart,” Henri threw in, hoping the compliment would ease any tension she might have.

  “But my heart was racing. I could feel it beat out of my chest. I had to concentrate on my breathing to help focus. I tried to listen closely, so I know if something was coming, but all I could hear was the beating of my heart,” Sarah said. She was becoming increasingly worried. The more she recounted that night, the more anxious she became.

  “It’s okay. It’s over now. You’re safe here”

  “I set my canvas down on my left side. I thought that if I stood up, it might help.”

  “Then what happened?” Henri asked.

  “I heard another stick snap. This time, it was closer. I peered into the darkness around the trees but couldn’t see anything. The moon was pretty bright, so I thought I should at least see something moving.”

  “You would think so,” Henri agreed.

  “I stood up and tried to let my eyes adjust to my surroundings. But I still couldn’t see anything. But then…” Sarah Jane stopped. Her eyes were locked on her father.

  Henri shifted and locked onto Thomas. He could see the stern expression Thomas maintained. It was the same look Henri knew well. It was the same expression he gave Betsy when she first told him of speaking to God. It was the same expression a parent gave a child when they didn’t believe their story.

  Henri turned back to Sarah Jane. He kept a kind smile on his face, hoping it would spread to her. He wanted Sarah Jane to feel comfortable. At least enough to tell him what she saw.

  “It’s okay, Sarah Jane. No matter what you saw, I believe you.

  Sarah Jane looked away from her father. Henri finally felt like he was getting through to her.

  “I started walking toward the trees. I could feel something there. I thought that maybe it was Jacob and he needed my help. I thought that maybe if I found him, I could help him.”

  “What made you feel like he needed saving?”

  “They were already missing for five days. Anyone gone that long without some sort of word is either dead or needs saving.”

  Blunt for such a young child, Henri thought.

  “What did you see?”

  “I didn’t see anything. I felt something,” Sarah Jane said, putting extra emphasis on the second line to prove that it happened. “It was behind me. I could feel it breathing.” Sarah Jane shivered.

  Henri felt his heart race. He wasn’t sure if he believed every word, but even if she was lying, it was all Henri had to work with.

  “I was frozen on the spot. I could feel goosebumps on my arms and legs. I wanted to run. I wanted to yell for my father. But I couldn’t. I was frozen.”

  “An
d then?” Henri asked, hanging on to every word.

  “He whispered in my ear.”

  “What did he say?” Henri asked, even though he was worried about what the killer might have said.

  “Do you want to see Jacob?”

  9

  Henri and Modeste didn’t speak to each other after his time with Sarah Jane.

  Henri was distraught after leaving the house, and Modeste wanted to let him cool down before she pressed him for information. It was an awkward few hours as they waited for the train. She even sat across from him to give him room to decompress.

  Halfway through the trip to Melville, Henri finally turned his attention to Modeste.

  “Why is he only killing black folk?” Henri asked.

  “Well, look at how many people have paid attention to the murders so far. Not many. Do you think we would be investigating ourselves if the victims were white folks?”

  Modeste didn’t have to wait for him to answer to know he already knew.

  “It’s only a matter of time, though,” Modeste added.

  “Until?”

  “Until he takes a white victim. The monster will spread the killing like a plague. Once it knows people are onto it, it won’t care who it kills.”

  Although she knew she was right, Modeste had trouble admitting it. Bloodsuckers only cared about one thing, and that was blood. They didn’t care about race or religion. All they cared about was what was flowing through the veins of its victims. And that was something that everyone shared, regardless of race or religion.

  “What in the world would cause anyone to do such a terrible thing?” Henri asked.

  “Monsters don’t need a reason.”

  “Can you stop calling it a monster? Although it’s easier to call it that, what we’re hunting is still human.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I know humans. Some people are far worse than any monster you could create, Modeste.”

  “You think I’ve created the idea of a bloodsucker?”

  “Maybe not created, but you’re keeping the tale alive,” Henri said, then looked out the window. “How do you kill a bloodsucker?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe it?”

  “I don’t. But we have a long ride ahead to Bunkie, so I might as well humor you.”

  It was a thought that Worried Modeste after leaving Marigouin. What were they going to talk about? They had to pass Melville and Morrow before even then it was another two hours to Bunkie..

  “A stake through the heart,” Modeste said plainly. As if the process was simple and achievable.

  “A stake through the heart? How do you know?” Henri asked.

  Modeste could see the look of disgust spread across Henri’s face. She answered his questions, so she wasn’t quite sure why he was so bothered by it. How else do you kill a monster?

  “This was a mistake. This entire journey has been a mistake. Neither of us is fit, physically or mentally, to hunt a killer.”

  “Just because you don’t want to believe, or can’t understand, doesn’t mean it’s not real,” Modeste responded. It seemed her words were falling on deaf ears. Maybe the priest wasn’t as progressive as rumored. Sure, he opened his doors, but in a lot of ways, he kept his mind shut. “If you want to give up, and can live with an increasing death toll. then I suggest getting off the train in Morrow.”

  Her statement left him speechless, for just a moment. There was so much more Modeste wanted to tell him, but she needed a better place to start. She needed to ease him into the idea that things exist outside of his beliefs.

  “Modeste, honestly, how can you believe in such things?” Henri asked.

  “Believe? Many people would think what you believe is nonsense. The thought of someone who drinks blood isn’t that outrageous. You should know all about that. I mean, don’t you consume the body of flesh with every service?” Modeste flashed a devious grin. “Civilizations have done it for centuries. There are still societies that eat flesh. Your crusades have been trying to convert many for a long time.”

  “So you’re saying it is human.”

  “Not at all. I was just trying to help open your eyes to the horrors beyond this world.”

  “I don’t need a lesson from you.”

  “Father, I’m only trying to help you understand another possibility,” Modeste said. It was getting harder and harder for her to have a conversation with him.

  “Tell me—” Henri began, but Modeste raised her hand to silence him.

  She pointed toward a small compartment under the neighboring booth, where travelers could place their belongings on the trip. A light tapping had caught her attention, and she pinpointed to the compartment. Modeste was frustrated that all the other train cars had the baggage stowed underneath, but the blacks-only car was forced to ride with their items in their car. One reason was to keep from mixing their bags from the other cars, and second, so the conductor didn’t have to touch their things.

  Modeste went to speak, but before she could get a word out, the door sprang open. The noise and action startled both of them. Modeste was fully expecting an animal who had taken refuge on the train to come tumbling out, but instead, Sarah Jane rolled out onto the floor.

  “What are you doing here, Sarah?” Henri asked.

  “Please, I need help. I didn’t tell you everything. I couldn’t tell you everything in front of my father.”

  “About the killer?”

  Modeste didn’t like the idea of traveling with the daughter of someone who was vehemently against her worth, because of her skin.

  Luckily, they hadn't reached Melville yet, so Henri decided to stop, so they could discuss how they could get Sarah Jane back to Maringouin. Maringouin was twenty-eight miles from Melville, and there was only one train a day. With the train only one route a day, it meant that their trip was going to be postponed a day.

  Now that Modeste was able to really take a look at the girl, she noticed that there was something off about Sarah Jane. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were rimmed with dark circles. Modeste figured that the poor girl hadn’t slept well over the last few weeks.

  It wasn’t until Sarah Jane lowered her collar of her burgundy gown to reveal two marks an inch apart that Modeste suspected something left by the bloodsucker. The markings had already healed over, but the bruised skin remained. Modeste had never seen markings like them before, but Marie used to tell her stories about monsters who walked at night, seeking the blood of the innocent. From some victims, they drank all of life’s essence, and others they took just enough to keep their victims alive. Then, the monster used the victim, consuming their blood often.

  There was something about Sarah Jane that reminded Modeste of her own daughter. The resemblance brought a melancholic feeling over her. It had been over ten years since Tiara went missing, and Modeste still thought about her every day.

  Modeste felt Henri’s studying her, and she realized that she could never hide the sadness in her eyes. She pushed the thought away and turned her focus on Sarah Jane.

  “Why didn’t you show me this before?” Henri asked.

  “My father didn’t believe me and said I was making stories,” Sarah Jane said, as she lowered her collar enough for the pair to get an even better look at the wound.

  “We’re going to have to get you back to Maringouin.”

  “No, please. I need help. I don’t want to turn into one of them.”

  “Turn into what?” Henri asked, a look of confusion on his face.

  “A vampire.”

  “Sarah Jane, can you give us a moment?” Modeste asked with much more compassion than her traveling counterpart.

  Sarah Jane didn’t respond; she slowly rose from her seat and hobbled to the back of the car. Her movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. Modeste watched as the young girl slumped down in the very last booth. Finally, she turned to Henri.

  “I know you don’t want to believe what happened, but no matter your belief, that gi
rl needs our help.”

  “Modeste, once her father realizes that she isn’t there, he will put the pieces together and come right after her.”

  “We won’t take her with us. I will try to heal her wounds and leave her to rest in Melville. We can send a messenger that she is safe, and when ready, they can take her home.”

  She watched Henri as he considered her proposal. It was obvious that the girl needed help, and she hoped Henri agreed it was the only option.

  “And you feel like you can heal those wounds?”

  “I will try. At this point, I’m the only one who knows where to start.”

  “If something happens to that girl, you will be blamed…”

  Henri was right. If things took a turn for the worst, Modeste would be to blame. The hunt for the monster would turn into a run for her own survival. Modeste looked over to Sarah Jane, who was asleep. She had a lot to consider, but nothing in those considerations abandoned that poor girl.

  “I have to help her, Henri. I worry what will happen to her if I don’t,” Modeste responded.

  “What do you need?” Henri asked.

  “We need a place to take her. A place where I can collect a few things.”

  “This is crazy. She needs actual help.”

  “And right now, I’m her only option,” Modeste said with a harsh tone. She was done to discussing this with Henri. The girl was dying, and the Modeste needed to do whatever she could to save her.

  “What was she talking about? Talking about changing into one?”

  “It is believed that a bloodsucker drains just enough blood to keep their victims alive, but then they begin to crave blood themselves.”

  Henri shook his head. Modeste knew that everything she was saying to him sounded like a different language.

  “I pray that I’m wrong about you,” Henri said, then turned his attention to the passing landscape.

  Modeste prayed the same, but to a different God.

  Chapter 10

  Henri estimated that Melville was twice the size of Maringouin.

  The towns were similar in appearance, except for the Atchafalaya River that flowed to the east side. Henri saw the bridge crossing from the platform but couldn’t remember going over the water. He was glad he missed it. Every time he saw bodies of water, he couldn’t help but imagine the body of the young boy floating in it.