Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. I | ✓

Chapter 29: The Last Day of Hunger (Part I)

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That night dragged on like a relentless virus - slow, agonizing and painful.

I didn't sleep - I couldn't sleep. The spirits wouldn't let me - they were all around me, watching me. Mama must have welcomed them into our home in addition to letting them into her heart. But it wasn't just the spirits I felt (they were a quiet and respectful bunch), but the thought of Hezekiah running through my mind that made it impossible to sleep. I sat on the bed, hands shaking from anxiety, neck pulsing in pain, wondering what was happening to him. Did his lungs still feel like they were filled with boiling oil? Did he still struggle for breath?

Throughout the night, I kept trying my methods of escape, hoping that the latch on the door would unlock or the window would open. But still, they remained shut tight. I was alone in my room - this went on for two days. I remember exactly.

I had to knock three times on the door when I needed to go to the bathroom. Two knocks when I was hungry. One of the House members would open the door and escort me to the restroom or leave me something to eat if it was the latter. That was it. That was all I did for two days - eat, go to the bathroom, and slowly but surely go insane. There was no way to escape; there were House members everywhere watching the hallways and the staircase.

The walls of the room because smaller as the hours dragged on. The heat was unbearable, sweat drenching my clothes if I even decided to wear any. I savored the moments I was allowed to go to the bathroom to shower, for I could enjoy cold water giving my skin sweet relief.

The bathroom didn't have windows, though. I would have been gone if it did.

If two months prior, someone were to ask me where I thought my life would be sixty days from then, I would have never thought of being where I was then, locked in that room. Even when my entire world caved in on itself the moment I saw Abraham murder Tia Valeria's house, I would have never thought that my own mother would lock me in a room for my "safety." But I was convinced that this wasn't her. She had become something else; overtaken by something else. Was this reason enough to give her the benefit of the doubt? No. It was hard to; I couldn't find it in myself to forgive her for this act of imprisonment. I wanted to get away from my own mother as much as possible regardless of the love I still had for her, but I was trapped, like a mouse in a trap, slowly dying. A painful death.

The second day arrived, the sun rays creeping through the tree branches outside of my window. It was another day of no sleep. I had counted every crack and crevice in the ceiling and on the floor. I didn't knock on the door, not twice nor thrice that morning. I sat still, my mind a black fog drifting through aimlessly. I felt powerless, so I was indeed that feeling - powerless. In that case, I was waiting for Abraham to murder us all, I being the last victim locked high up in the attic room. I waited for him, counting down the seconds until the Coterie had met their demise.

The lock on the door began to turn during these thoughts of mine. My eyes were still focused on the ceiling, caring not who tried to enter my room. The door opened, and as mama slowly climbed up into the room, I was overcome with anger. It was slow and steady, like a poison, but it was there. I was processing it.

I sat up gradually, adjusting my glasses to make sure what I was seeing was true. She walked in, dressed in all white again, colorful beads draped across her chest. Her hands were white with chalk, leading me to believe she had just finished a prayer session.

Her eyes were soft and apologetic, like a calm pool or a still oceanside. Normal. Or at least what I remembered to be normal. I actually didn't know what normal was anymore, so even though there was a familiarity with my mother, I remained on edge around her.