Breaking the Chain (5 page)

             
           
    
9
 

             
The tap, tap, tap of Sadie's cane on the hardwood floors announced her arrival. "We're in the dining room," Mary called. "I've fixed a roast beef sandwich for you. I hope that's okay."
             
Sadie shuffled to the nearest chair. "Where's the table and chairs used to be in here?"
             
"The Martines sold it before my aunt bought the plantation," Mary said. "They were the most valuable items in the house."
             
"Didn't I tell you that Martine woman was trouble?"
             
"Yes, well, Nicole's gone now, so you don't have to worry about her anymore," Mary soothed.
             
"I know. I heard about the fire, it was on the TV. That woman was evil--she deserved everything she got. The spirits never lie. Never."
             
"Nobody deserves to burn to death the way Nicole did." Mary's hand trembled as she handed Sadie a plate. "It was horrible."
             
"God punished her for her sins. It ain't ours to question his ways," Sadie mumbled.
             
"I'm sure Mary doesn't want to go into any more detail about Ms. Martine's death," Justine announced from the doorway. "It was terrible tragedy for everyone involved. Why don't we talk about something else?" she suggested.
             
Mary handed her a plate. "Good idea. What do you think about the restoration?"
             
"It's absolutely beautiful," Justine cooed. "Considering the state of disrepair the house was in, I'd never have believed this was possible. You've worked miracles."
             
"Not me. The craftsmen are the ones who deserve all the credit. They were wonderful."
             
Sadie belched and reached for a sandwich. "It ain't over. Not yet. You still got problems, child. I done seen it." She glanced toward the door. "Where's that husband of yours?"
             
"He's out back, working on the porch railing. Do you need him?"
             
Gnarled black fingers wrapped themselves around her hand. "No. He ain't part of this--you the one I need to tell. Not him."
             
Mary stared at the old woman. "Sadie, no matter what you tell me, I won't keep any secrets from Jack. There's no room in a marriage for secrets. Not now, not ever."
             
"Humph. Not even when he's the one you gotta watch out for?" Sadie spat out.
             
"Jack? I don't think so," Mary countered. "He'd never do anything to hurt me."
             
Sadie tightened her grip. "You ain't listening to me child. Shut up and let me finish. I know what I know. You and Jack are like them two skeletons you found."
             
A knot formed in the pit of Mary's stomach. "How...how did you know I found two skeletons in the tunnel?"
             
Sadie's cackle echoed around the room. "I done told you. I got the gift of sight. My family's always had it, same as yours."
             
"What do you mean 'same as mine'?"
             
"That aunt of yours. She has it. Only it ain't as strong in her as you." She leaned closer, black eyes glittering. "The child you are going to have will have it, too," Sadie whispered.
             
Tears welled in Mary's eyes as she shook her hand free. "What? That's where you're wrong, Sadie. The doctors told me I can't have children." She blanched as Sadie cracked her cane across the table.
             
"Sit down and listen, 'cause time's a wasting. You and Jack are going to have a child--I seen it. Spirits don't lie."
             
"Don't be alarmed, Mary," Justine said. "I've known Sadie a lot longer than you have, and if she says you and Jack are going to have a baby, you will. I don't know how she does it, but she's never been wrong. Just sit down and listen to what she has to say. If you don't believe it, fine. But at least do her the courtesy of listening to what she says. I've never seen her as anxious for anyone as she's been for you. That's why we came."
             
Mary resumed her seat. "Fine. I'll listen to what she has to say, but that's all. At least for now."
             
Sadie leaned forward. "I know this is frightening; it scares me, child, like nothing I ever seen before. Spirits called me to warn you, and to help you if I can. Jack ain't the one's that gonna hurt you, but if you don't listen to what I'm gonna tell you, he just might get you both killed. I done seen it in my dream. You gotta beware the brown man. I don't know how or when, but Jack's connected to the brown man, and you gotta be on your guard. That man's evil, I done seen it."
             
"What brown man? Do you mean a black man? Someone with brown skin? What?"
             
"I don't know. All I know is he's a brown man." Sadie rubbed her face. "I'm getting old. My visions ain't as powerful as they used to be, and every time I have one of them, they ain't clear." She squeezed Mary's fingers. "You have the power; I done seen that God's given you that gift. Only, it ain't like mine. Your power's different. You see things done happened; I see the future. The child you and Jack are going to have will be blessed with this gift, too. Maybe even stronger 'n you."
             
Mary patted the old woman's hand. "I'm sorry, Sadie, but I don't think I have the 'power' you're talking about. I've never been psychic, and I don't think anybody in my family is either."
             
Sadie's eyes glittered with anger. "If you don't have the power, how come you seen so much about them dead folks that used to live in this here house? You tell me that, missy."
             
Mary sighed. "I can't. I don't know why I could see glimpses of Jean-Pierre and Magdalene. Maybe I did have some of this psychic power you're talking about, but whatever it was, it's gone now."
             
"You sure about that?"
             
She shook her head. "Yes... I haven't seen or heard anything since I found the skeletons of Jean-Pierre and Magdalene in the tunnel. No ghosts, no eerie voices calling me..." She paused for a moment, lost in thought. "There was something... Yesterday, when Jack and I were in town, I thought I heard somebody calling my name. It was weird, like they were a long way off."
             
Sadie nodded. "That's good."
             
"I'm not so sure I want this 'power' you talk about, considering that it nearly drove me mad the last time I had it."
             
"Humph. That was 'cause you didn't have nobody to teach you how to use it. That's why I'm here; to help you learn to use your power for good."
             
Mary stared at the old woman for several minutes, then glanced away. "Sadie, I need to ask you something, but I'm not sure if I want the answer."
             
"You want to know about Jack's dreams, don't you?"
             
Mary felt her jaw drop. "You know about Jack's nightmares? Oh God, I'm so glad. I...I mean, I'm glad you already know about them. He's been having them for weeks."
             
"You sure you want to know?" Sadie asked. "Because it mightn't be what you want to hear." She glanced toward Justine and bobbed her head.
             
"Whatever it is, we need it out in the open." Mary took a deep breath. "Please tell me, Sadie. I...I want to know. I need to know."
             
Justine draped her arm around Mary's shoulder. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we can find a way to solve it."
             
"Jack's been having dreams 'bout you dying, child. He sees you lying on the floor, covered in blood." Sadie paused for a few moments. "He's got a gun in his hand."
             
"Oh my God." The cup Mary'd been holding fell to the floor, shattered into tiny pieces. "Is...
Did
...did Jack shoot me?"
             
"No; but he don't know that. I seen him holding you, calling your name. You're covered in blood. The brown man's responsible. That's when my vision ended and I knew I had to come--to try and stop that from happening."
             
Mary rose from the table. "I have to tell him. I have to tell Jack--"
             
"No! He can't know he's the one bringing the brown man."
             
"But I have to stop his nightmares! They're terrible. You haven't seen him wake up shaking all over, covered in sweat like I have. I have to tell him--"
             
Sadie jerked her arm. "No! The spirits done warned me 'bout telling him."
             
Tears rolled down her cheeks as Mary hid her face in her hands. "God, I wish I'd never come to this plantation. I wish I'd never met you."
             
Justine patted her shoulder. "Hush, child; don't cry. There's got to be a way to fix this. Sadie's the most powerful Voodoo priestess there is. If anybody can find a way to change the future, she can."
             
Mary raised a tear-drenched face. "What if she can't stop me or Jack from dying? What then?"

             
           
    
10

             
             
"How much longer until we reach the plane?" Elizavon asked. "Shouldn't we be there by now?"
             
"The landing strip's about five miles ahead," the driver replied. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes."
             
Elizavon stared at the lines of cars on either side of them waiting to go through the
tollbooth
. "Couldn't you have taken another route? This is ridiculous."
             
"Look, lady, I'm going as fast as I can. The airport is thirty miles outside of town, and the only way to get there is over the bridge. Why don't you just sit back and enjoy the ride?"
             
"Why don't you shut up and drive," Elizavon snapped. "Maybe we'll get there faster."
             
The sight of her plane gleaming in the morning sun was a welcome sight. Elizavon threw the driver one last glare and climbed out of the car. Dykes stood under one wing, wiping the underside of an engine.
             
"Well, is it fixed?"
             
"Yes. Good thing I checked. We needed to replace some wiring that was shorted out."
             
"Did you keep a copy of the receipts for my business manager? He'll want to turn them into the insurance company."
             
"Yes."
             
"How soon can we leave?"
             
"As soon as I get clearance from air traffic control. I figured you'd be ready to go the minute you got here."
             
"Well, you were right. Get my bags out of the car. I don't trust that buffoon of a driver to do it. And be careful--that's expensive leather."
             
As Dykes stowed her suitcases, he wondered how anybody could stand being around Elizavon for any length of time. The old bat could've at least said thanks. God, what a bitch. He'd only been employed for six months, but that was long enough to realize how fortunate he was. He only had to put up with her on the rare occasions when she traveled by plane. His spirits lifted when he realized that after the disastrous ride they'd had yesterday, she probably wouldn't be traveling again
anytime
soon. What a shame.
             
Elizavon buckled her seatbelt and listened for Dykes to start the engines. When she didn't hear anything other than their familiar hum, she allowed her body to relax. She was getting too old for this kind of jaunt. She flexed her left shoulder and winced as a stab of pain shot down her arm. This kind of weather wasn't good for her arthritis, and yesterday hadn't helped matters. Wave after wave of pain radiated down her arm, and she grabbed her purse from the storage compartment.
             
Where had she put those damn nitroglycerine tablets? Maybe her doctor was right. Maybe she ought to think about travelling on commercial airlines, instead of a small plane. Her thin lips spread into a smile as she calculated the profit she'd make if she sold the plane, but her smile faded when she realized that she'd be at the mercy of the airlines. They cancelled flights on a whim. One little bit of bad weather, and she'd be stranded in some God-forsaken airport for who knew how long. Not only that, she'd also be forced to travel with dull, boring passengers whose only goal in life was to inundate her with the details of their equally boring jobs and family. No, that definitely would not do. She'd rather die than give up her independence.
             
             
A hand on her shoulder shook her out of a light doze.
             
"Ms. Phelps, we've landed. Your limo's waiting," Dykes whispered. "You feeling okay? You look kinda pale."
             
She straightened her glasses, brushed away his hand. "Of course I'm fine," she snapped. "Even if I wasn't, it's none of your business."
             
"Will you be traveling anywhere else?"
             
Elizavon's eyes raked his face. "I haven't decided. Make sure you're accessible through the weekend. That's what I pay you for. Five days a week, weekends if needed." She pushed past him. "Get out of my way; you're blocking the exit."
             
Her chauffeur greeted her with a tip of his hat. "Afternoon, Ms. Phelps. How was your trip?"
             
She silenced him with a cool stare. Why couldn't the idiot understand that staff should be seen and not heard? God, it was hard to find good help these days. "Load the bags into the trunk; I'm ready to leave," she ordered.
             
When the limousine rolled to a stop in front of her mansion she tried to stand, but her legs buckled and she fell back. Damn the frailties that came with old age! All her life she'd prided herself on not needing anyone's help, and now she couldn't even get out of the car. She called for her wheelchair and gritted her teeth at the bitter pain that washed over her as Taft lifted her out of the car and into the motorized chair.
             
"Shall I ring for the doctor, madam?" he asked.
             
"Tell him to come around this afternoon."
             
"Very well. What time?"
             
Elizavon's chair inched forward, picking up speed as cramped fingers activated the control switch. "Don't bother me with the details. I want to see him now." She steered the wheelchair down the hall, her maid trailing behind.
             
"I want to take a bath. Let me know when it's ready," Elizavon ordered as the maid helped her into her bedroom.
             
The faint scent of lavender tickled her nose as she lowered her tired body into the steaming tub, allowing the velvet soft water to envelop her like a scented envelope. As she sank further, she lifted her head so the maid could place a pillow beneath her neck. "I'll call you when I'm ready to get out."
             
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, allowing the light fragrance to permeate her lungs. There was something innately soothing about the smell of lavender, and it never failed to fill her with a sense of inner peace.
             
A light knock on the door dispelled any illusions of tranquility.
             
"I'm sorry, madam, but the doctor's here," the maid whispered in a timid voice.
             
"Well, don't stand there gaping like a fool. Help me get dressed."
             
The doctor entered her bedroom as the maid plumped her pillows. "Leave us," Elizavon ordered.
             
He placed his black bag on a chair and removed a stethoscope. "I see you've overdone it again."
             
She eyed the cut of his gray jacket, which accented the whiteness of his hair. "How do you know I've overdone it? You haven't examined me yet."
             
He clicked his tongue. "Elizavon, Elizavon. How long have we known each other? Twenty, thirty years? I don't have to examine you. One look at your face tells me everything I need to know."
             
"Yes, well I always knew you were a quack. Now you've proven it."
             
He chuckled and a mischievous twinkle appeared in his brow eyes. "And you're nothing but a crabby old woman, so that makes us even." He ran a wrinkled hand through his hair and placed the tips of the stethoscope in his ears.
             
Elizavon allowed herself a tiny smile. Doctor Bruin was one of the few people she trusted, and the only person she allowed to talk to her that way. "Just give me a stronger pain prescription. That's all I need."
             
He pushed the sleeve of her nightgown away from her thin wrist to check her pulse. "No, you're not getting me out of here that easy. I charge extra for a house call, so you might as well get your money's worth." He finished his examination, then pulled a chair closer to the bed.
             
"You've got to take it easier, Elizavon. For God's sake, woman, you're seventy-eight years old, not thirty-eight. You've got to slow down, or I won't be responsible for the consequences. Your blood pressure's too high; you have a weak heart. Didn't I tell you not to fly in your condition? You could've had a stroke. I've a good mind to admit you to the hospital. At least that way I know you'd get some rest."
             
She snatched her arm out of his grasp. "I'm not going to any hospital. Just give me some different pills."
             
His smile faded. "There aren't any other pills or a higher dose that I can give you."
             
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Then I guess it's time you left. Tell Taft to get my attorney on the phone. And close the door on your way out."
             
He stuffed his stethoscope into his bag and snapped it shut. "One of the days you're going to go too far, Elizavon. Even old friends have their limits."
             
She raised one eyebrow. When did he become so sensitive? "I didn't mean to offend you."
             
He studied her face for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm afraid you did, Elizavon. You never say anything you don't mean. That's always been your biggest problem."
             
Elizavon watched the door close behind him, wondering if she'd overstepped the line. Maybe she ought to call him back in and make nice for a little while--she certainly didn't want to break in a new doctor.
             
She heard a knock on the door, and waited.
             
Taft entered and lifted the receiver from its cradle. "Your attorney is on line one."
             
She grabbed the receiver and motioned for him to leave. "Charles? I have a job for you. Find someone to do a background check on a man called Jack Windom. He's married to my niece. I want to know everything there is to know about him, in detail. And, Charles, I want it yesterday."