Deja Voodoo

Chapter 10

Perry's hands were clenched so tightly that his fingernails cut his palms and drew blood. He didn't feel the pain; he didn't feel anything. Watching as the ceremony progressed, he, like Paul, Tragg, Burger and the policemen, saw Samedi dancing in front of Della's staked form, his body undulating with vulgar and erotic movements to some unknown cadence in his head. The chanting from the ring of participants grew in volume and tempo. All at once, there seemed to be some sort of symmetry as the throng's voices rose and fell in time to the man's manic steps.

Then Mignon—clearly under someone (something ?) else's control—came forward once more. She was still holding the Kris in one hand, but in the other was an odd-shaped form that seemed to swing when she lifted it.

Beside Perry, Paul gasped. "Chicken."

"It isn't that I don't want to rush in," Perry countered, managing to keep his voice down. His eyes, on the other hand, were practically raging at his best friend. "And I hardly think name-calling is appropriate."

Paul dipped his head, rolled his eyes, then hissed, "She's holding a damned chicken, you Cluck!"

Burger tapped Tragg's arm, then pointed. He drew in a ragged breath. "This is the only part of voodoo rituals the movies seem to get right."

Tragg didn't even grunt. Instead, he slipped his hand into his pocket, extracted his service revolver, and gently drew back the hammer. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot an innocent bystander or worse—Della or Mignon—but he had seen enough ritualistic killings in Los Angeles to know he needed to be ready. Sometimes the only way to reason with fanatical zealots was through lead.

"How much longer?" Perry asked tersely.

Burger laid a hand on his arm. "Easy."

As Mignon approached the pole where Della was bound, she knelt. Then raising the knife, she brought it down, slicing through the neck of the still-moving chicken, causing blood to spatter her face and clothes.

"Bondye vie!"

"Oh, hell no!" Paul swore, about to launch himself into the space. Captain L'Heureux's hand held him in a grip of iron.

Translating without being asked, he murmured, "As Bondye wishes. He's their main deity. They are asking for his approval."

Tragg smothered a grunt, but otherwise said nothing as their attention was drawn back to the ceremony. The rest of the chicken blood was captured in an earthen bowl. Bowing to Samedi, she held the bowl aloft, again repeating the phrase.

"Oh no. He's not going to . . ." Paul's voice trailed off as he turned his head, silently gagging.

Burger blanched. Seeing his fiancée so embroiled in the ritual and performing such a distasteful act nauseated him.

While they watched in suspended horror, Samedi took the bowl and drank deeply. Two rivulets of red flowed from the corners of his mouth. The brick color merged with the white face paint the man wore, giving him the appearance of a demonic coyote.

Perry only stared, unable to look away. He watched as the ghoul dipped his fingers into the bowl then made several crude marks on Della's forehead, lips and over her heart. With each mark he evoked the god.

Now the chanting became louder, the people swaying in time. Mignon began a dance, moving around the pole, making slashing movements with the kris, coming uncomfortably close to Della.

Beside the lawyer, Captain L'Heureux tensed himself. If the blade slipped, if someone lost control and harmed her, Della could be beyond help. The timing was so specific. He had the impression he was threading a fine needle with overly thick floss.

Suddenly Della's whole demeanor changed. Her eyes focused solely on Samedi, following his movements with her eyes even as her lips mouthed in silent words. Her body, even though bound, swayed to the chanting, as though the voodoo priest was leading her through intricate steps on a ballroom dance floor.

"Henri, what's happening to her?" Burger demanded.

"Chwal."

"What the hell does that mean! Speak English!" he was more that beside himself; he was deeply, profoundly worried that the two women who meant the most to him were now literally beyond the pale and in mortal danger of losing their souls.

The captain frowned, but he answered the demand for truth. "She has become possessed by the spirit of the priestess."

"That's not good. Not good at all." Tragg shifted position. "This is your show, but I'm telling you now, I—"

"We have to—" the officer began, but broke off as he became aware that Perry was no longer beside him.

As one they all turned, staring in unbelief as Perry climbed the stairs. He walked slowly, as though the steps were an afterthought. Paul rose and tried to follow, but the captain restrained him.

"No, Mr. Drake. It is the kriz iwa, the possession. This has to play out. Only interfere if there is danger to him."

"Like, say, that long knife Hamilton's woman is still jabbing next to Della?" he asked sarcastically. "Or do you mean the spiritual danger of him not having control of himself. Because as the man he so recently tossed around the hotel suite like I was nothing more than a used Kleenex, I am telling you, Perry is not himself."

"Drake, for God's sake, put a pin in it," Tragg groused.

Paul only nodded. They watched as the throng of followers stopped their chanting and the Baron turned towards Perry. He looked up, and then up some more as Perry seemed to loom. With an act of defiance, he stepped in between the advancing lawyer and Della.

"Be gone, interloper! You have no business here." He might as well have been speaking to a granite boulder for all the good it did him.

"Bondye vie, Bondye vie. I am Bondye. Bondye vie."

With those words, Perry reached out, picking the dark man up and tossing him aside like a voodoo rag-doll.

"Just like that," Paul muttered under his breath, shooting Tragg a dirty look.

The silence in the temple pulsed and throbbed as the throng collectively gasped. Some clutched hands, others looked around wildly, and still others started to prostrate themselves in some sick form of homage, complete with uplifted hands and bowed heads. All the chanting turned to a cross between a wail and a sob, and Emerante swooned and collapsed to the floor.

With no mortal left to stand between him and his object of focus, he approached Della's form and stood eerily still in front of her. Then, as though his hands were acting independent of his will, he began to reach for the bonds that held her.

Outside, Paul and the others started up the steps. In the corner where he had landed, Baron Samedi was still crumpled, trying to shake off the effects of being thrown into the wall. Seeing Perry beginning to release Della, he struggled to stand.

Simultaneously, Mignon rose from her position on the floor, still grasping the Kris. Burger was reaching out for her, but she stiff-armed him aside and advanced on the Baron.

"Bondye vie. You shall not harm Bondye."

With those words, Mignon plunged the knife into the ghoul's chest, and immediately fell to the floor in a dead faint. This time nothing could stop Hamilton from rushing to his fiancée, picking her up and carrying her from the shack.

Captain L'Heureux and his men stood over the inert body of the Baron while Paul and Tragg hurried to where Perry and Della stood. The private detective was unsure what to do next, but his counterpart had no such qualms. He circled behind the pole and helped unleash her feet.

Della, free from her bonds and the spell of Samedi stood staring at Perry. His normally deep blue eyes were completely black, none of the white showing. She lifted a hand, hesitated, then said, "Perry? Please, Perry, answer me."

"Bondye, I am Bondye. I am . . . I am . . . "

Della stood on tiptoe, placing her hands on either side of Perry's face and kissed him gently. "Bondye, James Bond, Band-Aid, or Perry Mason, I do not care. Just get-me-out-of-here." She kissed him again, this time with all the reserved passion she had stored for years.

Perry's arms encircled her tiny waist, lifting her off her feet and deepening the kiss. It was unclear if Bondye was sweeping her away on the tide of his desire, or if the spell holding him hostage was broken and Perry was simply responding to the warmth and eagerness of her lips.

Paul actually blushed and was about to tap his friend on the shoulder when Tragg nudged him in the ribcage. "You'll be back in the hospital for an extended stay if you break up that kiss."

Paul sighed. "Some of us don't respond well to threats, Tragg."

The wizened cop smiled. "I wasn't threatening you, Flatfoot. I'm merely pointing out that the last man Bondye here shoved aside nearly flew through a wall." He nodded in the captain's direction toward Baron Samedi. "But suit yourself."

Clearing his throat dramatically, Paul said, "Uh, Perry? Blondie?"

"Bondye," the captain corrected from across the room.

"Right. Whoever you are—I hate to disturb you but I need Perry back so we can make tracks outta this swamp."

Perry set Della back on her feet, brushing a wisp of hair back from her face. Her lips were swollen with his kisses, reddened from the whisker burn. Her face, no longer gray, was flooded with the lovely color only a woman in love can achieve. She stared up at him in mesmerized wonder.

Looking deeply into her eyes, almost to the point of seeing her innermost spirit, he offered her a sweet, chaste smile. Then, still looking at only her, he said, "I agree Paul."

"Hey pal, glad you're back," Paul responded, brushing a hand over his forehead. All the humidity seemed to pool right there.

Wrapping his arm around Della, Perry led her to where Tragg and the captain were discussing the dead body.

"Henri, are we free to leave?" The captain glanced at him. "The followers seemed to have vanished."

He looked around the room. "They won't have gotten too far. The bayou has a way of keeping secrets, but it also purges itself from time to time." He searched for Burger, and not seeing him, made up his mind. "Yes, I believe we should take our leave. I've assigned one of my men to stay here until I can make arrangements for the medical examiner to get here."

The group made their way out of the structure. Hamilton Burger had his hand around Mignon's waist. One look at her face assured the others that she was herself again, with normal, regular eyes and very poor balance. She seemed to have recovered her senses but was very weak.

Paul looked from the pair to Perry and Della, and then to Captain L'Heureux. "Henri, would you mind explaining what happened? It seems as if everyone is just fine and back to normal."

"Well—"

"Later." It came out as a command. Perry was looking down at Della again, but he softened his voice. "We need to get these two ladies back to the hotel. Della may need to go to the ER. She may be herself, but she is still under the effect of some drug. We can sus out the details later." In a sure sign she was either still bemused or sedated, Della put up no protest. Perry leaned toward her, ran a finger down her still pale cheek. "Much later.

Three days later, as they all sat relaxing in a private dining room of the hotel, a tap on the door admitted Captain L'Heureux. Looking at the group, he noted that Miss Germain sat as closely as possible to Burger, while Miss Street sat with Perry's arm around her shoulder. He judiciously decided not to call attention to his observations.

"Good morning to you all. It's a pleasure to see everyone looking rested and in good health."

"Thank you, Henri." All pretext of rank was gone now. He was among friends. "Would you like some coffee or breakfast?" It was Perry who offered.

"Thank you, no. I just stopped by to give you some . . . answers."

His hesitation put Perry on immediate alert. His arm tightened around Della, pulling her close to his body, an action not lost on the police officer.

He pulled out a chair, removed a package of cigarettes from his jacket, shook one out, and lit it. All eyes were on him. One minute passed. Then another.

"Out with it, Captain." Tragg's gruff voice caused him to smile.

"Very well. There will be no charges filed against Miss Germain in the kidnapping conspiracy, nor in the death of the person known as Baron Samedi. His followers have gone to ground, but we have leads. The girl Miss Street described, Emerante, has disappeared, but again, we have her description and there's a BOLO. I hesitate to say it this way, but . . . she's vanished without a trace."

Perry stared at the man, somehow knowing that something was very wrong. But he also knew whatever it was the captain wasn't saying would eventually come out.

"As to what happened with you, Mr. Mason, I can only say that voodoo spirits are a mystery. Your, um, attachment to Miss Street may have opened your mind and spirit so that an iwa was allowed in."

"I'll accept that. Now what aren't you telling us?"

Henri took another long drag on his cigarette, then blew a perfect ring toward the ceiling.

"The day after we departed the bayou, my deputy was knocked unconscious by an unknown assailant. When he came to, the shacks and temple were on fire. He managed to get to the water, but only just."

"And?"

The captain laughed. "One of the many things I like about you is your directness. When we returned to the bayou there was nothing left but charred wood. The body of Baron Samedi had been moved from the structure and taken to the beach area for the police boat, but I'm afraid it has pulled a vanishing act of its own. His clothes were there, where he was left."

"Gators?"

"They would have taken everything," he said calmly. "There weren't even bones. My deputy suggested he evaporated into the ether."

Della's gasp had Perry turning concerned eyes to her. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips to reassure her that she was safe.

"It's okay, sweetheart. He can't hurt you. I'll make sure of that."

Her smile made his heart leap in his chest. "I know."

Henri smiled at the pair. Looks as if the old Baron did one good thing. "Well, my friends, once again it's time to take my leave. I'm glad there were no other side effects from that sedative, Miss Street. And I'm doubly glad I didn't have to charge you with anything, Miss Germain." He looked at each man in the party directly, then finished, "I trust you didn't manage to raise too much hell these last few days. Otherwise I would have heard about it. Next time you come, try to stick to some other parish. I don't get paid enough to do this kind of thing again."

Paul chuckled. "We'll be out of your hair today, we promise."

He nodded absently. "So I was given to understand. I suppose the only thing left is to wish you all bonne chance."

"Thank you, Captain."

Placing his cap on his head the police captain headed for the door. He stopped, turning back to the group. "One last thing. One of the men I assigned to watch the Bellemère estate noticed something odd yesterday. The portrait over the fireplace? It won't bring much in the way of value. It is just a blank canvas. No image at all."

Six people stared at his retreating frame. Then Perry, with his free hand, lifted his coffee cup in a toast. "To Magic, Mayhem, and Mystery."

"Beats the hell out of murder," Tragg grunted, and clinked his glass.