The Night Marchers and Other Strange Tales (9 page)

I’m up for it,
I said. 

Should it come to this, get ready to run. My enemies and every demon they have sent will see it like fireworks in the night. Then they’ll come for you. 

I combine the green and brown herbs and force the earthy reeking stuff down her throat, caressing her swollen neck. 

I speak the words Tomas told me.  

Alexa’s eyes open and bulge. Her chest rises with a sputtering breath. Her back arches, violently. She gags, spraying poison and herbs. 

She sucks in air, face taut, neck muscles flexed. A look of fear plastered on her face. Did I snatch her back in time? 

She struggles to breathe. Her chest falls and with a hiss she succumbs to the poison. Again. 

It’s not fair.  

She lays in a slick of frog guts and blood, her neck puffed and blue. Her life squelched before it could blossom. She had real compassion. And with the power they say she would have had, what a waste. 

I feel a scream welling in my gut. There’s nothing in my bag that can save her now.  

It’s over. She’s gone. I grab my pack and run. 

**** 

I hand Juan a fistful of cash and tell him to take the others north. 

“Where?” he says. 

“Anywhere, away from here,” I say. “Alexa and I are going to the islands.” 

“The islands,” he says to himself, scratching his chin suspiciously. He knew the plan. He knew we’d never go. He’s wondering what went wrong. 

“This is what I hired you for. Go.” 

He pockets the money. 

I dash back to the video bar. Johnnie waits with Alexa’s body where I left it, in the garbage pit behind the kitchen. 

He sprays a half can of lighter fluid and dumps the jug of kitchen grease on her. He pauses with the matches. 

“She not gonna like this,” he says. “We’re gonna make one angry ghost.” 

He’s right. But it’s my only choice. 

Don’t let them get her body,
Tomas said.
Burn her. Smash her bones. 

Her spirit?
I asked. 

She will go where she can not be reached. 

I stuff the rest of my cash in Johnnie’s front pocket and remind him of a dozen things I have on him from over the years. 

He throws the match and she goes up in flames with the trash. 

I want to wait around to see that he does it right, but what I’ve done has lit me up like a beacon in the night. So much for simple and safe. 

I’ve got to run. Find somewhere to hide. Find some help. My best chance is Chandra about twenty clicks down the coast. She used to conjure luck charms and shark wards for the rich surfers on the circuit. 

The kitchen grease sputters. Johnnie counts his money. 

“Vaya con dios,” he says.  

I wish I knew the way. 

**** 

The aroma of strong coffee and fresh banana bread makes my stomach buckle with hunger. I stumble up the steps of Chandra’s wooden hut. The surfers eating breakfast on the deck hush and turn as I push past to the screen door. 

Chandra almost drops the tray of scrambled eggs and juice as she runs into me. The lines around her eyes and lips have deepened since the last time I saw her. Her red hair is in two long ponytails tied with ripped blue bandanas. 

“Nate! I never thought I’d see you here again. You’re a wreck.” 

I steady myself between two rickety tables, pulling off the batik tablecloth. Sugar and habanero sauce clatters to the ground. Chandra grabs me under the shoulders. Though past fifty, she is still lean and strong. A Costa Rican man in an apron rushes from the door behind us. 

“It’s okay, Manuel,” Chandra tells him. “Go outside, check on the tables.” She leads me into the kitchen, through a door into the back room. Batik tapestries line the walls. Bronze and wood statues, bottles of oil, and crystals crowd the top of the wooden dresser. Lingering odors of frankincense and sandalwood mix with the smell of eggs from the kitchen.  

“I’m sorry, Chandi,” I say. “I did wrong by coming here. Something bad is on my tail.” 

“Sit down,” she says. I collapse onto the small bed. I see the concern spread over her face. Can’t tell if it’s for me or for the trouble I’m bringing. 

She regards me with her piercing blue eyes. Her left, almost violet one, stares off into space. 

“You’ve been working way over your head,” she says. “You’re lucky there’s anything left of you.” 

“I need your help,” is all I manage to say. 

She disappears through the curtain door and returns with a glass of juice. “Take this and sleep. We’ll shake what’s tailing you when you wake.” 

“Please don’t let me sleep for long.” 

**** 

I wake and Chandra is sitting on the edge of the bed. Shadows from tall pillar candles dance on the thatched ceiling. 

I picture it bursting into a rain of snakes. 

“I gotta get to the Darien,” I say.  

“Easy, easy,” she says. “You look better. Strong enough for this.” 

She takes a bit of salve from a mortar and pestle on the bedside table and dabs it on my lips. She then rubs some on her eyelids and the center of her forehead. 

Her strong hands close around mine. She hums and murmurs in her rich voice. The candle flames dim. 

Her hum trails off and her face contorts like she swallowed a bad shot of guaro. 

“Oh, Nate,” she says with disgust. “That poor girl. It’s so horrible.” 

I picture Johnnie sifting the ashes and smashing her teeth like I instructed. 

The candles flare. “I know what you need to do,” she says. “You’re not going to like it.” 

Chandra releases my hands. 

“She hasn’t crossed over.” 

It’s like I feared. 

“The things in the jungle will come for her, and you until she does.” 

“Why won’t she go?” I ask. 

“She’s too mad. You failed her. Pretended she mattered. Then threw her in the trash. Like you would have one way or another. Her anger is all she has left.” 

“I’ve got to get her to cross.” 

“It’s not going to be easy.” She calls for Manuel. He’s through the curtain fast. “Go into the jungle and find me a snake,” Chandra says. “A small poison one. In the morning, go into town and pick out the bravest boy, for real, not just the loudest, and see if he is willing to earn good money to go with my friend to Panama.” 

**** 

The road ended miles back, and this is the end of the packed earth that continued in its place. Twisted mangrove roots dip into the murky salt water and stagnant mud. Across these waters is the other side of Panama, and South America beyond. 

Alexa’s phantom, pale and white—a frozen image of her at death—hovers where the dirt meets the water, inches above the sanctuary I failed to bring her in life. Just like Chandra said. I can feel her rage, tangible like a coming rain, certain as a disturbed hive of bees about to swarm. 

She’s angry with me. Angry I lied to her. Angry I let her die, and then ripped her back once she did. 

“I have a boat waiting at the docks,” I say. “We can go for our boat ride now.” 

Alexa doesn’t budge. A long shot, but I paid the fisherman anyway. 

“Who you talking to?” the kid asks. 

“Nobody. Don’t worry.” I give the boy the bag with the rest of the stuff from Old Tomas. “You remember how?” 

He nods his head, yes. 

I take out the small canvas bag holding the snake. 

The blue stain on Alexa’s neck darkens. 

“You want to see me suffer,” I say. 

I can tell she’s listening. 

“You want to hurt me.” 

Alexa’s ghost vibrates with an unsettling intensity. 

I nod to the boy. I hope he stays brave. I take off my left boot and sock. I wriggle my big toe in the mud. 

I open the bag and grab the young snake behind the neck. I force its jaw open. A drop of venom drips from its small fangs. I stab the curved tooth into my toe. 

Pain shoots through my foot and radiates up my leg. My mouth goes dry, my head throbbing with each racing heartbeat. Everything goes black, and then I see the boy as a blurry ghost. Alexa is vivid and clear. Her face locked in the ghastly expression from when I ripped her back.  

The poison has me. I don’t have much time so I move to her.  

Alexa lifts her hand, slowly bringing it toward my face. I think of her ashes in the jungle mud behind Johnnie’s. I can still see the beauty that once was. She’ll never grow to be a woman like Chandra. 

“I’m sorry,” I say. I open my arms to embrace her. 

She clenches her fist and swings, connecting with my jaw. The blow is solid. I’ve traveled far. 

She hits me again. Right. A left. She swings her arms wildly overhead. I hear her saying, “stay with me” over and over, but her blue lips don’t move. She always wanted me to stay. To share one restful uninterrupted night. I never did. 

With each blow her body is less substantial. She drifts back, reaching for my hand.  

“Come,” she says. Her eyes, dark in life, are black as the void. 

I should go with her. It’s only right. I squeeze but my fingers pass through hers. She fades until the faint blur of her gossamer outline melds with the darkness. 

A throb in my foot jars me. I open my eyes, gag, and spit out the rancid tasting herbs.  

The world snaps into focus. Her phantom is gone. Safe. Beyond anyone’s reach now. 

The kid did well. He’s nowhere to be found. Maybe if I hurry I’ll catch up with him on the road.  

I picture one of the reptilian demons clawing its way through the jungle.  

They have seen. They have felt me return. But with their quarry gone there is nothing left for them, except vengeance on me. 

I try to stand, but I’m too woozy. 

I never made it across the gap. Part me of me wanted to believe in Alexa’s dreams for us on the other side. I’d like to think we are together, lounging forever at some lazy villa, in the endless moment of her last pleasant thought before dissipating into the void. 

A howl sounds in the jungle. 

Maybe a jaguar will watch over me. Or the little guy from the bar. 

“El-Capi-tan,” I call for him. I cough out brown leaves, struggle to my feet, and run.  

SPARK 

I’m not like the Red River guy. Not at all. He was a sicko firebug and a murderer, and they did right for sending him on a one-way trip to spark city.  

My hands shake as I turn the gas can over. I can’t wait for the sweet stuff to pour. I run outside, trailing fluid all the way, strike the match, and boom! The night blossoms into glorious orange and red.  

“Where are you?” I call into the dancing flames. 

A slender leg emerges from the tongues of fire. I follow the strands of red hair up from her ankles to where two glowing eyes shine in the flames that form her face. 

Fire Girl turns, her burning form disappearing into the flames and emerging again. Her mouth moves, but I hear only whispers and the crackle-pop of searing wood. I reach for her, singeing the hair on my hand and arm. 

“This won’t do,” she says. “Give me a bigger, hotter flame.” 

I extend my arms, presenting her with the burning farmhouse. 

“What about all this? Please stay. Talk to me...” 

“It’s not enough,” she says. 

“Why?” 

I want to listen, to stay and beg her to reveal her secrets, but I think I hear the distant whine of sirens. I have to be free to be able to give her what she wants. 

Speeding away in the car, I see her dancing after-image in every red light. 

A bigger flame. That’s what she wants, that’s what she’ll get. I slide my hand between my legs and picture her spinning in the fire. 

My phone rings. The car swerves while I fumble for it. It’s Nadja. I bite my lip, loosen my tie, and take three long breaths to get it together.  

“Hi, honey. I’m on my way home. How are you?” 

“You sound out of breath,” Nadja says. 

“Just frustrated from the traffic.” 

“I was hoping you’d be home by now. Long day of presentations. I hate the art director on this campaign...” 

The tailpipe of the car in front of me drags, throwing sparks onto the road. I bite my lip. Harder this time. 

“Burn,” Fire Girl’s voice says along with the sound of metal clanging on pavement. 

“…and we’re out of milk for the coffee. Can you pick some up?”  

“Sure thing,” I say and hang up half way through her rote “love you”. 

Michelle’s name and number flashes on the screen. 

“Where are you?” Michelle demands in her rich alto voice with that trace of a southern sizzle that drives me nuts. “I need you to meet me. Now.” 

I gotta get home. The wife is gonna kill me
, is what I should say. 

“I’m heading down Ninety-Five. Where? The Riviera?” 

“No. My place. John is in Connecticut till tomorrow. You can stay all night.” 

“Gimme a half hour.” 

I imagine huge pillars of flame streaming into the sky. My next burn will be bigger. Higher. Hotter. I’ll stay longer and be able to hear Fire Girl’s voice loud and clear. 

I picture firemen pulling blackened crisps of bodies from charred wreckage. I’m not a killer. How was I supposed to know kids would be partying in an abandoned sawmill? I’m a good guy. I know I can pull the big one off without anyone else getting hurt. 

**** 

The morning sun hurts my eyes. When I rolled into bed late last night, Nadja didn’t stir. The family portrait of Allie, Nadja, and me greets me accusingly as I enter the office, like it always does. The happy-go-lucky smiles of me with Jonas from the golf outing seem obscene next to it, but I can’t bring myself to move either of them. 

“Good morning, Mr. Raycivik,” my assistant says. He places a Fed Ex (from Refron I hope) and my coffee on my desk. 

I tear into the box. It’s full of keys and pass codes to Refron’s refining facility in Jersey. My number-one-facilities-manager-man, Ken Lauman, came through for me. Good thing a little greasing of the palms still goes somewhere nowadays.  

Someone knocks on the door. 

“Not now, busy,” I chime with a healthy tinge of stay-the-hell-out-of-here. If it was Jonas, he’d order me into his office from the intercom instead of getting off his fat ass.