His valid eye was glimmering with anger, as the sun was going down on his plantation, painting everything in sweet orange tones. The slaves were still working hard at that time of the evening… The Comte de Marigot had not been nice with his employees, when he was the ruler of this place, but at least he wouldn't make them work in the sun during the worst hours of the day, between noon and 4PM. When he was their master, they'd work inside in those hours, he was no monster. Today, a pregnant slave had fainted at noon while cutting some sugar cane under the hard sun. And now, he could see her working again as if nothing had happened. He had seen everything. Not much could escape his sight, one-eyed or not, in his plantation.
His plantation.
His very own plantation.
Now ruled by a little brat named Charlie "the Great" Oliver. A nasty little idiot, who had not worked a single day to achieve his new title of plantation owner. Or maybe you can say he had worked, in the shadows and in Alfie's bed, to backstab his "sugar Dandy" as he called him and steal everything from him. How had he not seen this coming ? He sighed. The sun was taking its time to get down, he had plenty of time to remember what had happened, slowly, inevitably.
A growl at his feet reminded him not to lose focus on what had to be done. Two crocodiles, marked with stinky paints and odd symbols, were waiting at his feet. He was kneeling in the mud, hidden by giant plants, full of insects, unbearably reflecting the warmth but perfect to hide. His costume once brand new from a famous shop in Paris was covered with blood, mud and dirt. Even his eyepatch had long gone down in the swamp, and his white eye and scar looked terrible with such an outfit. He couldn't let the wig go, but the nice little curls were gone too, and his former silver hair, now greyish and tangled, was resting on his shoulders. Anyone who had known the Comte de Marigot in his former glory would wonder who was this monster hiding in the swamps, with crocodiles at his feet, but he didn't care. Not much. Not now.
Luckily for him, the crocodiles were under control. The first time he had asked the Hougan to cast a spell on them, he was so afraid he had almost peed in his pants. Huge animals, one of those who could live in both fresh and sea waters. They were said to be the biggest one and a single glance on their fangs would make him shiver, even now. But Dominique Jean was an expert in voodoo magic. And she was on his side, like most of his fellow templars. Most of them offered to help him get rid of the brat but Alfie refused several offers. Oh, yes, he would take some help but only to achieve what had to be done, alone. Charlie thought he was some kind of stupid aristocrat to afraid to break a nail to do anything violent, but he would prove him wrong. Renardo and Flint had searched for him for a few days in the wild areas surrounding his plantation and had finally found him hiding in a lost cabin, but he had refused their offer to take him with them. Before Charlie, he probably would have agreed to, but the betrayal had been such a hard slap in his face, something had broken in him. He wouldn't need all those expensive things anymore, only revenge. Revenge was burning him stronger than the sun and the mosquito bites. In a way, he could thank Charlie for the mess he had done: at least he had opened his eye on something new.
The sun was almost down now. The slaves were starting to light fires, because Charlie would make them work at night too, not even bothering to make night shifts, just to ensure bigger money incomes. If some died, well, a slave can be replaced right ? How could a boy with such an angelic face be such a devil at heart ? Money was all that Charlie wanted. Alfie knew it, from the very first day they had met. But sadly, he couldn't refrain his tastes in boys. He liked them that way, in their early twenties. Oh, for sure, Charlie wasn't one of those Parisian dandies he had enjoyed so much while at the Comédie Française, but he couldn't help it. Something in Charlie was definitely appealing and the harder he had tried to resist, the more seductive the boy became. And what was bound to happen finally happened. Alfie wasn't even sure the boy liked men, liked him. But he sure liked all the pretty things he could find in Alfie's house, all those fine expensive items from France, England, Italy… This bed with the sweetest linen, this tea in the finest porcelain, this rare food almost no one bothered to afford in the Caribbean… Even when he did something wrong, he would ensure his Sugar Dandy wouldn't be too mad at him. One day, for instance, he had opened the trunk with all of Alfie's former costumes from the theatre and while Alfie had begun to shout at him for disturbing his precious collection, the boy had started to undress to try the costume and… Well making love with such an angel in an antic greek costume, that was something. The boy knew his ways, his weaknesses. That brat.
He sighed, waving his hand to remove the flies and insects from his head. Such a gesture would have angered the beasts at his feet but thanks to some voodoo god, they remained still. Now the light had been lit in the dark, with shivering hands, it was time to refresh the boy's memory. He had to remember Alfie was still here, lurking in the dark. He was just waiting for a signal… And there it was. A light in the master's room. His room. Furnished with all the best things you could find in the Caribbean. The finest wallpaper imported from Paris, a poster bed with heavy curtains, a hand painted porcelain from Paris to wash yourself, and what about that wood on the floor, imported from Africa ? And that brat, that little cockroach was using all of this as his own, roaming with his dirty thief feet on that expensive floor, and perhaps bringing some kind of port whore under this duvet who had not seen a woman in years. Lighting his lamp with Alfie's oil, wearing the master's night dress, drinking his wine… As he had seen Alfie doing for months, waiting for him in his bed, undressed, ready to fulfill Alfie's wildest desires… Only to rob him without the slightest remorse. That little bastard. That bedbug.
He could feel his anger thickening the air around him. It was the moment, the final moment to fuel the beasts with his hatred, and unleash their fury in the plantation. He hoped the slave would react quickly enough not to be harmed. He didn't want to buy any more slave once he'd be the master of his plantation again and truth be told, despite his madness, he wouldn't hurt anyone, beside Charlie.
Anyway, it wasn't his first attack and the slaves were expecting a dark force to strike again, he could feel it. The Hougan had told him to drink a strange decoction when the sun had started to set. Now he was in a kind of trance, feeling weird, but so powerful ! His heartbeat was like a drum in his hears and he couldn't tell if the mumbling sound was coming from his throat or from some force sitting with him in the dark.
The trance made him feeling so unexplainably weird, he could almost see the feelings in the air around him. His own anger glowing red. Their fear, making some kind of yellow smoke above the plantation. It was time.
He made a gesture with his hands, and suddenly, the crocodiles who were half asleep until then began to run silently in the high grass, melting in the shadows, making a trail of moving plants behind them as they rushed to the fresh meat.
The sound of the screams was the best part of the night. Back on his feet, his knees still muddy and wet, he closed his eyes as his grin was widening. Like a bandmaster conducting an orchestra, he slowly waved his hands as he knew the screams would go only louder and higher pitched.
Such a nice evening, to remind the bedbug who was in command…
