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As Zaiden sped down the highway, he couldn’t help but replay the events that had unfolded since his arrival in town. His presence had triggered a chain reaction, forever altering the lives of everyone involved. The wind whipped through his hair, as his thoughts raced alongside him.
He laughed bitterly, reflecting on how they all deserved what they got. They had tried to mess with him at every turn: the fake addresses, the tracking devices, the removal of the evidence from the box, and their reluctance to hand it over. He couldn’t believe how quickly things had spiraled out of control, all because they had chosen to cross him.
A wave of anger and resentment washed over him, as he thought about the town and its residents. He hated that place and vowed never to return. He hoped he would never see any of those people again, the ones who had tried to outsmart him and failed. The thought of leaving it all behind filled him with a twisted sense of satisfaction.
As the miles flew by, Zaiden focused on the road ahead. He knew he couldn’t afford to dwell on the past; there were still loose ends to tie up and a score to settle.
17
The night was dark and heavy, pressing down on Zaiden like an ominous weight as he parked his bike a few blocks away from Papa Samedi’s place. He checked the gun in his hand, feeling the cold metal reassuringly solid against his skin. He had attached a silencer to it, ensuring that no one would hear the shots when he fired. His heart raced in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins as he made his way towards the old man’s house, determined to find out what Samedi had done with the evidence.
He didn’t believe it had anything to do with Juliette…or Chains for that matter, since the box was unsealed when she had given it to him and there hadn’t been any signs of it having been opened.
As Zaiden approached the house, the shadows seemed to twist and dance around him, making it difficult for him to see clearly. The leaves of the ancient trees rustled ominously, and the air was thick with tension. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. This was his chance to regain his freedom, and he wouldn’t let fear hold him back.
He carefully made his way to the front door, finding it surprisingly unlocked once again…the same as last time.Old fool. Just made it easier for me.He stepped inside, gun at the ready, eyes darting around the dimly lit room. The place where he had seen the old man sitting during his first visit was now empty, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. The eerie silence of the house made Zaiden’s heart pound even louder in his ears.
Determined to find the old man, Zaiden moved further into the house, his steps quiet and cautious. He entered another room, and there in the darkness, he saw a figure sitting in a chair. It looked like an old man, and Zaiden wasted no time in firing two shots into the figure.
As the muffled shots rang out, a sudden noise from behind him made Zaiden whirl around in terror. The lights flickered on, and there, standing before him, was Papa Samedi, completely unharmed.
Zaiden quickly raised his gun to shoot, but before he could pull the trigger, the old man lunged at him, wielding the same ritual dagger he had shown Zaiden during their first meeting. The sharp blade pierced Zaiden’s chest, and he gasped, dropping his gun to the floor.
As Zaiden’s life began to slip away, Papa Samedi leaned in close, his breath hot against Zaiden’s ear as he spoke. “Le mal ne devrait jamais tester les pouvoirs du bien.”
Evil should never test the powers of good.
Zaiden’s vision blurred, and as he collapsed to the floor, he understood the terrible mistake he had made. In his desperation for freedom, he had underestimated the power of the old man and had paid the ultimate price.
The house fell silent once more, the shadows swallowing up the room as Papa Samedi stood over Zaiden’s lifeless body. The old man knew that in this world, the struggle between good and evil would continue as he said, “Dat line, it be splittin’ good an’ evil, go right tru de heart of ev’ry soul. Now who got de guts to rip out a piece of dey own heart, hmm?”
Even in the depths of the bayou, evil could not hide from the ancient wisdom and power that Papa Samedi wielded, a reminder that some forces should never be underestimated.
* * *
Blackheart felthis cell phone vibrate in his pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, he rose from his chair and walked away from the others to ensure privacy during the conversation.
“How can I help, Uncle?” he asked.
The rough, old voice on the other end belonged to Papa Samedi. “I want Gator and Baptiste to return something to the river.” And with that, Papa Samedi ended the call.
Blackheart scanned the room and called out to Gator. Spotting Baptiste, he motioned for him to come over as well. The two men approached, curiosity etched on their faces.
“I’ve just been talking to Papa Samedi,” Blackheart began, noticing Gator shudder at the mention of the name.
“That guy puts the shits up me,” Baptiste muttered.
“Well, he wants you two to do something for him,” Blackheart said.
“Us? Do something for him? Why us?” Gator questioned, his brow furrowed with worry.
“It seems he has someone at his place who needs a trip to the river,” Blackheart explained cryptically.
Baptiste and Gator exchanged concerned glances. They knew Blackheart wasn’t talking about a scenic ride up the river – at least not for a living person. But why had Samedi asked for them? What did he know, and what did Blackheart know about their activities three months earlier?
“Who?” Gator asked.
“Zaiden,” Blackheart said.
