No Good Deed...

Bloodlust, supernatural abilities and near immortality can make you restless. Then there was Marcus and his family. The trade-off for my time spent with them was a deepening sense of guilt. It was easy to be around them but I could not relax, I could not allow myself to fully embrace my ‘gift’.

Not for the first time I questioned my love for this island, its people and their culture. Was it something pure or had it been tainted by what I had become and my belief that I could use my extraordinary abilities to right things? Of course, I knew intimately that the road to Hell was paved with intentions just like mines but I couldn’t turn a blind eye to the destruction of lives and dreams.

I enjoyed the art of social commentary through song, called calypso that was practiced by skilled local artistes called calypsonians. Their lot was the same as many singers and song writers the world over, but they carried the moniker of starving artiste proudly. When I attended shows I suspect they knew that the, often, lone Caucasian at the back of the room had something to do with the substantial contributions for the night.

I’m not proud to say that I would follow some of them after their performance, especially if I found them particularly entertaining. It was never with the intention to interrupt or inject myself in their lives. I was just fascinated by their creative process, their relationships, their struggles…their life.

I followed one tonight. I have followed him before. He has the ability to describe the problems of the country with clarity and wit and when he is on stage you can tell that this is what he was born to do. He is the father of three and lives in a two room shanty with his wife and children. He’s unfaithful and unhappy, and has to drink heavily after a performance so that he can go back to his life. A life I envy.

I follow him from a bar in the city to the outskirts, along the moonlit dirt track that leads to his house. He’s still a couple hundred yards away, taking a few moments between steps to steady himself and protect his guitar. Chest high weeds border the track and before the burning figure appears before him I sense we are not alone. He raises his hand to shield himself from the light and heat. I cover the distance between us in a breath. As the figure reaches for him I tackle it, the momentum carrying us into the bushes. I hear a low hiss followed by laughter.

“I knew you were not with us, now Marcus will too.” The female voice whispers.

For a moment I am confused and angry. I bare my fangs and maul the soucouyant who is defenseless against my attack. Moments later I am covered in blood. I am not sure who I have destroyed, only that they are linked to Marcus. Beyond my breathing all I hear is the sound of erratic footsteps fading into the night…