Butcher of the Bayou

Part 6

The moonlight bathes the bayou in its yellow light, and the frogs are throbbing in the cattails as I walk down the long dirt road home. It is a long road with many detours. Getting there (as they say) is not important; the wandering about in the bayou is the whole point."

My house comes into view, the porch lights on, welcoming me home. I inhaled the air, smelled sweet from the magnolia trees. They're my favorite trees.

I skip up the old wooden steps. They squeak under my feet. Just as I am about to open the door, something catches my eye.

There on the old rusted nail is a bracelet, a very familiar bracelet—the leather band with gator teeth. The gator teeth, once a symbol of Eloi's swagger, now dangle eerily from the nail.

How did Eloi's bracelet end up on my porch? Is this a sign, a warning?

As I turn the bracelet over in my hands, I notice a small piece of paper tucked between the teeth. Unfolding it, a message scrawled in hasty handwriting.

"The shadows never forget, Fleur. Choices have consequences, and secrets have a way of resurfacing. You can't escape the bayou's embrace."

I race into the house up to Mother's room., thankful she is awake and sitting up.

"Did anyone stop by why I was out? Did you hear or see anyone?" I ask, out of breath.

She turns her head and looks at me her eyes are glossed over. "See anyone? No, I don't think so."

I close the space between us, taking her cold hand in mine. I ask. "Are you sure?"

She only nods and lays back down. I pull the blanket up over her and leave the room.

As I step onto the porch, the humid night air envelops me, and the symphony of the bayou fills my ears. I know where I need to go. I make my way to Papa Shango's small shack. The flickering candlelight greets me when I enter.

Papa Shango, with his pale blue eyes, looks up from his work. "Boo, what brings you here at this hour?"

I place the bracelet on the table, its gator teeth glinting in the candlelight. "Papa, do you know anything about this?"

Papa Shango's eyes narrow as he studies the bracelet. "Ah, the bayou whispers its secrets to those who listen."

I huff, not in the mood for his cryptic answers. "This is important, real important. Papa"

I pleaded.

"This bracelet is familiar, is it not? You and I both know who it belongs to; his soul has fled the bayou, but you already know this, Cher."

Papa Shango leans back, the candlelight casting shadows on his weathered face. "The bayou is a realm of balance, cher. All these deaths unbalance her.

"So you know. Do you know who's been killing all those girls?"

A knowing glint appears in Papa Shango's eyes. "Detective Cooper is a seeker, but the answers he seeks are entwined with the bayou. Whether he comprehends the full scope of the darkness that lurks here remains uncertain."

I don't bother asking Papa to keep my secrets or how he knows what I did. I just thank him, drop a few coins on the table, and leave.