The Living Dead

There was nowhere to run to. In fact my estate was safer than most places that we could be under these particular circumstances. I understood that my death was not Marcus’ immediate goal. He had made his, bloody, point and would give us all time to consider the implications, to mourn and appreciate the lesson.

Ngozi understood his loss in a way that I couldn’t beyond my intentional sense of guilt. They talked quietly for hours and shared tears, achieving the kind of beautiful intimacy that is only capable with people who have a shared transformative experience…mortals. I stayed out of sight, but couldn’t help but hear their exchanges.

His name, I learned, was Winston. He realized from very young that he wasn’t only aware of the injustices of his island existence, but he also seemed to have an unusual ability for expressing the complexities of these situations in very accessible language. But there was no place for a truth teller in a society that was suspicious of its own citizenry and still felt a twisted sense of loyalty to its colonial past.  His talent pushed him to the fringes of his own society where he became a champion to the masses and occasional entertainment to the upper class. An outsider.

And while he wrestled with his grief and feelings about me, there was lots more for me to consider. I was not sure that I could save them both. But that was Marcus’ point. He saw any prolonged interaction with mortals as a futile exercise in inevitable loss. He loved referring to them as mortal, because of what it not so subtly said about us. Of course, in a very practical way he was right. Still, what I remembered of being human went way beyond avoiding uncomfortable situations. I recalled the choices and opportunities for growth and progress as long as our actions delivered on the promise of our intent. I exist with the consequences of my own error in judgement and believe I still have the opportunity to change.

Perhaps we were both misguided idealist, but I felt disingenuous for feeling empty about the possibility of immortality. Two more lives hung in the balance and I was weary of having so much power and so little control. Maybe a certain death was the only way to save them both... 

Who Decides…

It was a painful choice, made quickly. I would go to Ngozi first and hope that Marcus was wrong. I could not know how many were sent, or how much of a head start they had, so I pushed my unnatural body to extraordinary limits.

I approached Ngozi’s house from the open field to the back of her house. It was still and quiet. I stopped a few meters from her back door and sensed no other presence beyond her steady heartbeat. I could feel her eyes on me, studying in the dark.

“I’ve been expecting you.” She said flatly, from where she was sitting to the left of the door. She never talked much about our connection, or how she was affected by it, but I have always suspected that she could sense my presence and perhaps much more.

“I need you to come with me. To stay with me for a while…you know I respect your independence, but this is unavoidable at the moment.”

She allowed my unexpected request to breath a moment.

“I know it must be bad…I still want an explanation when there is time though.” She said before disappearing into the house before returning with a small bag.

“Hold onto your bag.” I said picking her up. She looked up to me and smiled before closing her eyes for the frenetic journey back to the estate.

As I stopped on the fringe of the estate, I could smell blood in the air. I sensed eyes following us. Beyond the night sounds of crickets and toads, it was eerily quiet. Ngozi's forehead was slick with sweat that also dotted her upper lip. She gripped my hand tightly as we avoided the clear path to my front porch.

Marcus never sent anyone for Ngozi I thought, that would be too obvious…this was about teaching a different lesson. Still, there was no sign of his hunting party. There was something ahead that looked like a pile of mannequin parts covered in red tobacco sauce. I stopped abruptly and turned Ngozi away from the small heap of broken flesh before us. It appeared to be two, perhaps three, young children that were fed on and left as a macabre marker.

There was something else. I was suddenly aware of shallow breathing and near silent sobbing. It was coming from someone with a heartbeat. We made our way to the back of the house where my new friend, my latest victim, knelt cradling his wife, covered in her blood…

Lucidity…

They came out of the darkness, silently through the fog and light rain. I let them take me without incident. I would find out more about their coven this way, it was an unexpected moment of clarity.

Marcus walked ahead as I was led further up the street. We walked for some time, going higher and higher until we left the road and tracked even higher through lush vegetation and purple-heart trees. Twilight was pinning her cloak, but even under the scrutiny of the midday sun where we came to rest could pass unnoticed.

Using the ready supply of purple-heart wood they built a structure in a large clearing and around existing trees. Perhaps Marcus was a carpenter in his previous life, before becoming less than a messiah.

There were sentries on duty that seemed to be expecting us. It was all very organized, exactly what I had come to expect from Marcus. Inside, the structure was just as impressive. The ceilings were high, made from logs that were linked together with space enough between for the room to breath and ease some of the natural humidity. The smooth floor was made of sturdy planks suspended about a foot from the damp forest soil. Even the furniture, chairs, tables, was made from beautifully varnished Purple Heart. It was all well illuminated be kerosene lamps, fixed in holders equally spaced high on the walls.

My revere was interrupted when I was shoved near a seat in front of Marcus who was already seated on a larger chair that resembled a throne. It was situated on an elevated platform and was larger and more ornate than any other piece I saw. I sat before him and for a few moments more he just glowered at me, as he struggled to control himself. Then that charismatic, eerily controlled smile spread across his face.

“Father told me it would be like this.” He began. “Still, I can’t say that I’m not disappointed. Apart from him, you are the most beautiful of our kind that I have seen. We are all in awe of you. Even your struggles with your true nature are endearing. Tragically, it is also a sign of your weakness…one of the signs.”

If I thought him capable of empathy or sadness, I would say he even looked sad. More than likely though, what I saw was disappointment.

“You even sound like La Safer. He must be very proud.” I said with a smile of my own. “What I don’t understand, what I have never understood, is if I am such a disappointment why hasn’t ‘father’ as you call him, taken this gift back himself?”

“Oh something you don’t know.” He began somewhat amused. “I’ll be happy to clear that up for you. You see, I’m not quite sure if he can or can’t but I do know that he has chosen not to interfere in our new lives beyond our remaking. In much the same way that God is responsible for the lives of mortals but has given them freedom of choice.” He seemed quite pleased with his analogy.

“So we are all acting out some twisted passion play for his amusement is what you’re saying.” I said.

“I don’t think that’s what I said. In any event, it is unfortunate that it has come to this.”

“To what?” I said.

“Another teaching moment. Because you insist on identifying with them, living among them…loving them.”

And then it dawned on me. I had put new mortals in more immediate danger than I had imagined. I feared a death squad was already nearing my estate or worst to Ngozi.

“I’m certain that you understand from the look in your eyes.” He continued. “I know we can’t hold you here. Choose wisely. You can’t save them all.”

“We are not done.” I said coldly, before disappearing into the night.

Every Action…

Marcus met me on the street that led to his house. I could sense the presence of others as he approached but they stayed out of sight. Grey clouds hung low, making it prematurely dark for early afternoon.

“Walk with me.” He said smiling as he put an arm around my shoulder. We walked pass his house in silence, past a small two bedroom house where three young men smoking marijuana on the front porch fell silent as we walked by. The frequency of houses decreased and soon we were between a smattering of trees and high bush.

“How have you been Nicholas?” He said breaking the silence.

“I’ve been good.”

“Have you.” He said removing his arm.

“Is everything alright?” I asked stopping.

“No Nicholas, things are not alright, at least not for me.” He said, walking off the road and stopping beneath an old mango tree. I followed him as a light drizzle began. His back was still turned as he continued.

“I’m troubled Nicholas, more so because this doesn’t happen to me very often. Being troubled that is, by anything. What really concerns me is that I strongly suspect that you know why I’m troubled and I would like nothing more than to be wrong…which also doesn’t happen too often. Do you know why I’m troubled?” He asked. He still hadn’t turned around. My mind raced.

“No, I don’t know why you’re troubled.” I said. He was gripping the trunk of the tree so hard that bark was cracking under his hand. The drizzle intensified and a low mist hung in the field we were standing in. I was aware of the fragrant smell of mangoes, the sound of water dripping off leaves and the apparent stillness of Marcus.

“My wife is missing.” He said. “No missing is not quite right. I am certain that she has been killed, in as much as our kind can be killed. Destroyed may be more appropriate, but whatever the correct term may be I am incensed. It is an affront to me. There must be consequences.”

“Why do you think something has happened to her?”

“She is one of us!” He said tersely. “Of my blood. Strong and ruthless. Loyal. If she could be here she would be. Something has happened.”

“And why do you think that I would be aware of such a tragic development?” I said with as much indignation as I could muster.

“Because my dear Nicholas.” He began, turning to face me with eyes that appeared to glow red. “She was going to follow you when I saw her last.”

A New Wrinkle

The man who sang under the sobriquet Public Defender wasn’t only a talented calypsonian, but his craft also demanded an attention to detail and an awareness of his environment. I was not sure what he saw or would remember of our brief encounter but I would have my answer in short order.

I had to maintain appearances. I was about to leave the estate to visit Marcus when I picked up a familiar scent. I sat on the porch crossed my legs and waited. Moments later I saw him, walking briskly, removing his gray fedora to mop the sweat from his brow with a white, sweet smelling handkerchief.

As her approached my porch he fussed with his gray shirt, black slacks and belt and seemed startled to look up and find me sitting with my eyes fixed on him. He stopped at the steps and removed the hat again, wiping rivulets of perspiration from his face. He smiled nervously and I could smell the alcohol on him that was poorly disguised by cologne and breath-mints.

“Ah sorry to disturb yuh Mr. Nicholas, but ah would appreciate a moment of yuh time?”

“Please.” I said standing slowly and indicating the empty chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll get you something cold to drink?”

The handkerchief was out once more patting his face, head and neck. “Dat is not necessary Mr. N- ”

“Nonsense.” I interrupted evenly. “I’ll get us both some water for the heat and please, call me Nicholas.”

He smiled and nodded, perched at the edge of a chair. I returned with a pitcher filled with ice and water and two glasses. I poured us both a drink and sat.

“So tell me.” I said taking a sip. “What brings the great Public Defender to my humble estate?”

Some color was returning to his face and he sat back enjoying the gentle breeze and water.

“Well. Ah recognize yuh from some uh the shows at Mas Camp. Yuh always real nice to everybody and to me with yuh tips. The money does help mih family.”

“I wish I could do more. You are a gifted performer and composer. What you do and what you have to say, it’s important…necessary.” I said smiling. “But you sought me out, found my estate to do more than express your thanks.”

“Yes.” He said nervously, shaking his right leg. “Ah was drinking last night. Ah was drinking, but ah sure ah see you on mih way home.”

“I see.” I said breathing evenly. “And just what do you think you saw?”

“Ah drink too much sometimes. Ah know dat, but ah not crazy and I aint no fool. Is not the first time either that ah see something like this.” He focused on a point just to the left of me. “Ah lose a child to something like this. But ah not blaming you. You coulda kill me anytime yuh want, but yuh save me instead. So yes, ah want to thank you for a lot.”

I raised my hand to stop him. His gratitude made me uncomfortable. “You probably understand a lot more than I think you do, but I fear I may have put you in more peril by saving you…by following you to begin with.”

“What kinda peril?”

I pressed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to put off making another bad decision.

“I want to offer you a job and a place to live. Get your family and bring them back here.” I reached into my pocket and removed a set of keys, putting it on the table between us. “Use this to get in and make yourself at home.”

He looked at the keys then at me suspiciously.

“Yuh want me to trust yuh. After what I see? Why? Ah doh understand.”

“I’m trusting you and I hope that’s enough for now. I’ll explain everything when I get back. But there is somewhere I need to be to ensure that things don’t get any worse.”

After a moment he took the keys and walked slowly out of the estate, looking over his shoulder until he was out of sight.

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…

The Beautiful Struggle

It would be easier if I did not care about my distant mortality or my mortal relationships. Far simpler if I were not genuinely fond of Marcus Anthony. It has been two weeks since our second meeting and I now spend some part of each day with him. Our kind instinctively recognizes weakness and exploits it, so for me there was no plan beyond waiting for an opportunity.

While I am understandably circumspect of Marcus and his family, they welcome me with open arms. They are considerate of each other and me and seem, dare I say, almost normal. There are many questions that I have about them and their curious dynamic but other questions are more pressing. Still, it is an unsettling comfort to be in their company.

There are twelve others that work for him, that he calls his extended family, his brood. Marcus is a natural leader, charismatic, convincing and completely convinced by the message he instills in his brood. They are disciplined and loyal and I am uncomfortable in their presence.

I suspect Marcus knows that I am opposed to his belief in our domination, but for the moment we both seemed content with the easy friendship and respect of an equal. As a token of his goodwill Ngozi is safe. He says we are brothers in a far deeper way than actual siblings. We were, both, chosen by La Safer and he believes this to be a great honor.

“We are a select few.” He said to me. “Our bloodline is divine and while we can make others of our kind none are as close to beautiful perfection as we are. It is my sincere hope that you see that it is our right and responsibility to lead our kind.”

His words were chosen well and not entirely unreasonable, but I knew that I could be equally persuasive. More seductive is the easy acceptance by another of my kind who saw me as both prodigal son and misguided big brother. He is genuine in his affection, dare I say love for me, but he is also very deliberate in the use of his family to create the sense of emotions I crave. Still, we stand at philosophical extremes so I know, ultimately, this will end badly for both of us…