Following the River Styx

Chapter Three

Cordelia's footsteps crunched over the gravel parking lot as she approached the doors to the small community church; it had a modern sign with removable letters like a fastfood chain. Today, it read, "Children of Christ Daycare. Open M-F 8-5. Inquire within." She found the glass door unlocked and entered. Compared to some of the grandiose churches in New Orleans, the premises were hardly prepossessing, but it was much cleaner than the home she had just left. The thin carpet muted the sound of her footsteps. Down the hall, she could hear the cheers of a few children; to her right, the sanctuary was open but empty. It had a vaulted ceiling and fans at the very top. 

"Miss?" summoned a voice. She turned to face an elderly woman with deep wrinkles around her blue eyes. Her pale hair had faded to gray; it had a frizzy texture. "Can I help you?"

Too damn many new people in one day. "Yes," Cordelia answered with a small smile. "I'm looking for Rosemary, if she's here. I was told she was at work here right now."

The woman crossed her arms. "You've found her, honey. I get off in ten minutes. What do you need?"

"I... I was directed here by your grandson, Jeremy. I need to talk to you—"

"About Misty, right? Everybody and their damn mother needs to hear me talk about Misty. Can't be honest to any of them. They wouldn't believe me, anyhow." Rosemary turned away and stroked a hand through her hair. "C'mon with me, then, sweetie. Can't have you melting if somebody dumps holy water on you." Cordelia's brow furrowed, and the woman glanced back at her. "Don't act like you got me fooled. You reek of witch." Cordelia flinched at the woman's sharp tone. "Stay here. I'll walk you to my house and we can talk. It's not safe here." Rosemary rounded the corner, and Cordelia could hear her report to another woman that she would head home early—she had a visitor.

The woman had a heavy leather purse and bright eyes. "Don't say anything too loudly," she warned. "I've seen you on the TV. You're lucky no one has recognized you." She strutted with long-legged strides out of the church. "This isn't the big city. You're not safe here." Once the door had closed securely behind them, she turned to face Cordelia. "I would guess that you already know what they did to my sweet granddaughter. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Cordelia set her jaw, uncertain how to answer. "I—yes, sort of."

"Sort of?" Rosemary puffed. "I'm sure I could never grasp all of it. Keep up. My house is just across the lawn." In spite of her age, Cordelia nearly had to jog to keep up with the elderly woman. The yard of the church was freshly mowed. They headed down into a ditch and climbed up the other side, coming into the backyard of a small, modest house. "You're quite a bit late. Misty died almost a year ago. The authorities won't press charges against my son. The sheriff was there that night." As she fumbled for her keys in her purse, her lips twisted downward. 

"They had it in for Misty. She knew it, I knew it. I tell her, I say, 'Misty, you gotta get the hell out of this place before they chop off your damn legs,' but she says, she says, 'Gran, I can't leave. They'll kill my dog if I leave.'" The door popped open. "She was wrong. That goddamn dog is still suffering over there, shitting in the floor." With a wry shake of her head, Rosemary held the door open for Cordelia to enter. "Well, c'mon, honey, if you're going in. We can't stand around in the sun talking for any fool to hear. I, for one, don't plan on dying without Misty around to bring me back."

Cordelia shuffled into the home. "You knew about her powers, then?"

"Knew about them? Honey, I was the first person she ever brought back to life." The old woman cackled. "My mama was a witch—the real brand of them. Making things float around the house, doing all her chores for her." She dropped her things on the kitchen table, where a cat rested, all stretched out. "My mama died before she turned forty. She got the consumption. My little sister—name was Misty, too—she could set things on fire by looking at 'em. They drowned her when she was sixteen." Opening a carton of cigarettes, she offered one to Cordelia, who shook her head. She shrugged and lit it up. "What did you say your name was, hon?"