One Blood

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Lake City, LA

Brandon and Karen emerged from the rain into a grand entry hall. Brandon stared in awe at the spiral staircase leading up to the second story and the large ornate carpets in the two front rooms that looked like they came out of a history book.

The ceiling hovered some thirty feet above them. White columns separated the entry foyer from the front hallway. A beautiful crystal chandelier dangled overhead. Everything smelled faintly of pine and cedar.

“Where…where are we?” Brandon stammered.

Karen led him into the great room. They were not alone. A slim, but muscular, fair-skinned black man sat on an archaic couch beside a beautiful, dark-haired, white woman. Their clothes were straight out of the colonial period. The black man reminded Brandon of Lincoln. They had the same eyes.

“Welcome home, Karen,” the woman spoke. “We’ve been expecting you.” 

Karen moved toward the couch. Brandon had a strong feeling that something bad was going to happen when she got to them. Propelled by the urge to protect her, Brandon darted forward and blocked Karen’s path.

Karen tossed him aside like an empty pillowcase. He hit the wall and crumpled to the floor, helpless.

“It’s time, Karen,” the woman coaxed. “Time for you to join us.”

Karen stopped before them.

The man stood and opened his arms as if to embrace her, but then he recoiled. “You!” he yelled.

Karen’s head tilted slightly, and she replied in that guttural voice, “You…can’t…have…her.” 

The woman jumped up and stood toe-to-toe with Karen. “She is rightfully ours!”

Karen grabbed the woman by the throat and flung her across the room. Then she raised her hand as the man prepared to engage her. “Isaac. Others…are…coming.”

“It’s too late, Kristopher. We have chosen. Release her to us. Release this body, baka.”

Isaac? Kristopher? 

As strange as it seemed, it finally made sense. Brandon didn’t have a clue who Isaac was, but Karen was clearly possessed by her dead brother. He was speaking through her like a bad ventriloquist.

What the hell am I thinking? That’s impossible.

As Brandon got to his feet, Karen pointed at him. “Lincoln…will…come…for him. Make…them…choose.”

Choose what? 

For the first time Isaac marked Brandon’s presence. Brandon did not enjoy having those bloodshot eyes looking at him.

Thankfully, Isaac turned his attention back to Karen and said, “And if they choose incorrectly?”

“Either way…you win.”

The woman was back on her feet. Isaac looked at her for confirmation. She nodded her assent.

“Alright, then, we will conduct the reckoning in the old style, Kristopher. This time.” As Isaac spoke, the house began to change. He and the woman began to fade as well.

In a matter of seconds, Brandon watched the interior of the house turn from an antebellum plantation to a modern mansion. The orange glow dissipated, leaving him in the dark. Shadowy darkness replaced the waning afternoon light as rain and wind swirled about the house.

“Brandon?” a weak female voice called out.

“Karen!” he cried. Relief coursed his body. “Are you okay?”

“I…can’t move.”

Brandon helped her onto the sofa. He tried to switch on the lamp but the power was out. “Karen, you have to tell me what’s happening here.”  

Tears sprang from their deep, dark wells and streaked down Karen’s face. “He said the curse wasn’t real. He lied to me.”

“Who lied? Kristopher? What’s this curse?”

“Kristopher went to see Abby the night before he died, but he lied to me about what she said.”

“Who the hell is Abby?” 

“They talked about the spirit world. Curses, voodoo, ghosts…God. Our belief makes them possible.”

Brandon was confused. “Then why do they say that voodoo can affect you even if you don’t believe in it?” 

Karen wiped her tears away. “My family has fed into this curse from the very beginning. We have made so many sacrifices to Isaac and Melinda, each time hoping it would be the last time. But now I know, as long as we stay here, the curse will come back to haunt our children, and our children’s children. Somebody has to pay for Isaac, Melinda, and their unborn child. Kristopher paid that price…”

“Then why don’t you just leave?” Brandon asked.

“One of our ancestors tried that, and it actually worked for a while,” Karen continued. “But they are so patient. They waited. Then our grandfather was born. They whispered to him as a child and he came back home. There’s no escape. The only way is to give them an offering they can’t refuse.”

This was the craziest story Brandon had ever heard. Still, he believed her. He’d seen the ghosts with his own eyes. How could he doubt that?

Karen grabbed his shirt and pulled him down on top of her. “Quiet. Someone’s here.”

“Who’s coming, Karen?” he whispered. “How can we stop them? How can we end this?”

“You can’t,” a gravelly baritone spoke from behind them.

Karen and Brandon looked up to see a tall man with a pointy white hood over his face glaring down at them. He removed the hood slowly with one hand; a strange gun was clutched in the other.

Karen gasped. The man’s face was a grotesque mask of blood and charred flesh, but Brandon still knew him.

Randy Lafitte offered a grime-filled smile and regarded them with bloodshot eyes. “Daddy’s home.”