Chapter Eleven
The powder was really an herbal remedy I’d been using since Sarah’s death. If it put me to sleep with all my issues, Murphy shouldn’t be any trouble at all.
Once he crashed, I’d slip away. When he awoke, he wouldn’t bother to follow me, since I’d leave his money where he’d be sure to find it.
Having a plan made me downright j olly, and I had to tone down my exuberance lest Murphy think I’d lost more marbles than he already did.
I needn’t have bothered, since he was preoccupied, staring into the trees, not speaking to me at all. It wasn’t even a challenge to slip the sleeping powder into his applesauce. He ate it out of the disposable container without appearing to know or care what he was consuming.
Night descended. A slightly larger sliver of moon appeared as the sounds of the jungle surrounded us.
Murphy lifted his rifle onto his lap. “I’ll keep watch.”
I doubted he’d be watching much but the inside of his eyelids. I also doubted a gun would be of any use if the Haitian, or some of his friends, decided to come back.
As expected, within fifteen minutes, Murphy’s head bobbed, then he mumbled and j erked upright, eyes wide as he searched the darkness. Soon he couldn’t fight any longer, and his chin dipped to his chest. I waited fifteen minutes more, just to be sure, then grabbed my things.
I poured a circle of salt around Murphy to protect him until he woke up. No zombie could pass over salt.
Interestingly enough, my zombie-revealing powder contained not a hint of it—which might be why it had never worked.
Before I left, I tossed the money order onto the ground in front of Murphy. There’d be no reason for him to come after me now. We were square.
As I headed into the trees, I refused to feel sad about that. I had plenty of other things to be sad about.
Like where the hell I was going. Since we’d been heading steadily up the mountain in a northwesterly direction I continued that way. I experienced a moment’s unease that this was too easy—kind of a reverse yellow brick road, leading me away from the wizard rather than to him. But what choice did I have?
Only one: Give up or go on. Which really wasn’t a choice at all.
I traveled all night, never once needing to stop and hack at a vine or squeeze through an area of densely grown trees. I was definitely on a trail leading somewhere. Hopefully not off the edge of a cliff.
I heard nothing but insects—no growling, no voices, no paws, no footsteps—until the darkest part of the night, right before sunrise, when the moon and the stars disappeared and the sky went as black as the pits of hell. I hated that time. It was then that my dreams of Sarah came.
“No dreams tonight,” I murmured. “Not going to sleep.”
I paused because I could no longer see the trail and pulled out my canteen. Leaning against a tree, I drank slowly and watched the sky, waiting for the telltale lightening of the ebony night, which signaled the arrival of the sun, but nothing happened.
“Maybe it takes a little longer here,” I whispered, the sound of my own voice not as soothing as I’d hoped.
The rustle from the underbrush was so slight I wouldn’t have heard it if I’d been walking. Something light, small, probably furry.
My right hand crept toward my knife, sliding away when a figure stepped through the trees. “Sarah.”
I wanted to touch her, but I didn’t dare. This couldn’t be real, even though I wanted it to be very badly. If I touched her would she disappear in a puff of smoke?
She wore the outfit she’d died in—her private school uniform, all navy blue and white. She’d loathed that skirt. Her dark hair, so very much like mine, was combed, her cheeks flushed with health—with life—her brown eyes, too much like Karl’s, shone. The only oddity was her lack of socks and shoes.
I had to be dreaming, yet here I stood, back against the tree, the damp air of Haiti pressing against my skin.
I shifted and the earth scratched beneath my boots. I slammed my hand against the tree trunk. Pain exploded up my arm.
Mommy ? murmured the wind.
Ah, hell, I thought as tears threatened. Was I crazy or wasn’t I?
Every thing ’s all right.
Not really. Nothing had been all right since she had gone.
Mommy , she said again, and ran toward me.
I went down on one knee, held out my arms, and she blew through me, like the first chilly wind of autumn.
I closed my eyes, and I could smell her. That particular scent that was Sarah’s alone—both sweet and sharp, soft white light and hot pink neon, sunshine, shadow, and the earth. I hadn’t smelled it for a very long time.
“You OK?”
My eyes snapped open. I was sitting on the ground, my back against the tree. The sun was up, creating a halo around Murphy’s head as he squatted in front of me.
I blinked at the sky. “What time is it?”
“That’s all you can say?” He shifted, plopping himself down at my side. “You drugged me.”
“Did not.”
“You did something.”
I’d fallen asleep and dreamed of Sarah. I wasn’t sure why that thought caused a shaft of disappointment so deep I ached with it. If she hadn’t been a dream, she’d been a ghost. Which was the entire reason I was in Haiti—or at least one of them.
I’d also lost several hours of travel time and allowed Murphy to catch up to me.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“I’m taking you to the bokor, remember?”
“No, you were taking me to the funny farm.”
I startled a laugh out of him. “I haven’t heard that expression since me poor sainted mother died.”
His brogue was back. Instead of being irritated, I was intrigued. I knew so little about him. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
His expression became shuttered. “That was long ago and far away, my wee colleen, no reason to have your sad eyes grow sadder on my account.”
My irritation returned. “If you pat me on the head, I’ll slug you.”
He smiled. “That’s better. Now, tell me what you drugged me with and why?”
“Sleeping powder. Herbal. Obviously it didn’t work very well.”
“I was asleep until dawn, which I believe is what you had in mind.”
I glanced at the sky again. From the position of the sun it was midafternoon. I couldn’t believe I’d zoned out that long.
“I didn’t think you’d care,” I said. “I paid you. Why did you come after me?”
“I’m a lot of things, but a murderer isn’t one of them.”
“Murder? Am I missing something?”
“You think I’d take your money and trot back to Port-au-Prince, leaving you to wander the enchanted forest until you die?”
“Aren’t you being a little melodramatic?”
“No.”
Oooo-K.
“Why did you call it the enchanted forest?”
“I was trying to be funny. How come you never laugh?”
“I laugh.”
“Must be silent laughter. I’ve never heard you.”
“I don’t see much to laugh about in this world.”
Murphy tilted his head, then touched my cheek. “I’m sorry for that.”
“Isn’t your fault.”
“I’d still like to kick that guy’s ass for hitting you.”
I realized then that he wasn’t apologizing for my lack of laughter but my black eye.
“Damn near impossible to kick a zombie’s ass,” I said.
He sighed. “We’re back to that?”
“Did we ever leave it?”
“How can I convince you there’s no such thing as a zombie?”