Sugarcane and Indigo

Praying and Other Pointless Pursuits

Much too soon, I found myself parking the car in front of the big house on the plantation. Everything – besides one certain thing – was the same as the last two visits. The sugarcane swayed in the wind, their voices bouncing and drowning each other's out; the gravel crunched beneath my feet as Grammie forced me out of the car; even the big house looked the same. Everything looked the same.

    Except, standing on the porch in a semicircle, looking like fallen royalty in their funeral attire, were the remaining six members of Le Fouet. Off to the right side was Sheriff Buchanan, staring at me with a sickening grin, licking his lips like he was imagining the taste of me on his tongue. Next to him was Miss Boone, the nursing home director, wearing another smart pants suit, this one yolk colored. Next to her was Zuri Saint, the school's principal, who was refusing to meet my eyes.

Huh, guess she felt guilty killing a former student.

Next to Principal Saint was Mayor Coontz, her hair done up in an elegant braid snaking around the crown of her head, she had no problem meeting my gaze. Standing to the left were Mrs. Church, a woman I'd only seen in passing before, but upon closer inspection I recognized her as the face I had seen peeking from the window the very first time Indigo and I had visited the plantation. Besides Mrs. Church was a woman and a man both dressed in the same baby blue color huddled together whispering amongst themselves.

The woman I had known for my entire life. Her name was Helena Bray, my doctor, a terrifying woman whose gift allowed her to know the exact probability of anything she wondered about. Besides her was her husband, our town's funeral director, Mr. Holder. I'd only met him once before - at Violet's funeral actually - but I remembered everything about him. His gift was simple: language. He could speak any language he heard but beyond that he always knew what to say to get what he wanted. He always seemed to know exactly what to say and when to say it. It was a great quality as a funeral director, but terrifying to meet face to face.

    All of their powers, actually, were terrifying to be on the receiving end.

Principal Saint had the gift of foresight, she'd once described it to me as a feeling she got when she was in danger that always kept her on the winning side of every interaction. Mayor Coontz could control other people's perception of time, a single snap of her fingers could make every second feel like it lasted a hundred years. Mrs. Church, if I remembered correctly, was an empath and could make you feel the heights of joy and the pits of despair with a single glance. And I already knew just how dangerous Grammie and Sheriff Buchanan were. I would literally beg to have been anywhere else.

    Dr. Bray stepped forward, "You're late."

    Grammie waved her off with a dismissive hand gesture. "How can we be late? We're the entire show."

    Dr. Bray narrowed her eyes but it was her husband who spoke. "It doesn't matter if they're late, honey, - which they are - they're here now. Let's just get started."

    There was grumbling all around but every single person seemed to agree with him. Of course they would, his gift was manipulation.

    While this all was happening, I was desperately looking around for some sort of escape. Maybe I could run into the sugarcane fields and hide and wait to make a break for it? No, I immediately thought, Grammie's voodoo doll would immediately get me. Maybe I could charge Grammie and knock the voodoo doll away from her and then run? No, I again thought, the powers of the other six would immediately incapacitate me. Maybe, I thought desperately one last time, maybe ... but no idea came to mind. I was trapped. I couldn't run. I couldn't fight back. I was helpless.

    My eyes felt tight as tears threatened to fall but I held them at bay this time. I wasn't going to cry, not again, not if I could help it. The only thing I had left right now was my dignity and I wasn't about to hand it over without a fight.