The bar was closed. I stood on the road looking at the sign on the door wondering if I was on the right road. I looked around and saw all the other things I expected to see. A few other would-be patrons stood on the road with me. We looked at each other and shrugged.
“CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS”
“How do ya renovate clapboard and dirt?” “Maybe add a fresh layer of mud? We sure have tromped what’s there a little lower!” “Think they’ll fix that hole over the river?” “And starve the gators? Ha! Never!”
I was supposed to meet someone here tonight. Guess not. I thought about going back the way I came. Thought about dropping in on one of the new residents. Thought about seeing if a friend was available. In the end, just wandered down the road a little further.
An arm slid around mine. “Hello, young Miss. You look disappointingly lovely.”
I glanced up at the speaker. Broken sunglasses reflected the sparkle of my living eye. “Am I too lovely to bear with, or lovely because I’m disappointed?”
“Yes.” He turned off the road onto a path that opened up in the thick swamp just for him. Still holding me by my arm, I came along willingly. I knew I always had the choice of declining his overtures. But I also knew there would be a price to pay for such. There was a time to be a stubborn bitch. This wasn’t it.
The path led to one of the many branches of the river that slowly crept through the swamp. A familiar table and two chairs were waiting on the dangerously low bank. Gators lazed in the water, well within burst distance. He offered me a chair with overexpressive grace. I curtsied and took the seat.
Before taking his own, he pulled a bottle of dubious nature from an unending pocket. The bottle was covered in black cloth and had rudimentary skull-n-crossbones painted on in white paint. He poured me a shot of the thick liquid and poured one for himself. I did not touch my glass until he placed the bottle on the table and was seated.
He lifted his glass and I did the same. “A toast, Mademoiselle?”
“Here’s to not giving a fuck.” We clinked glasses as his laughter reflected off the trees despite the overabundance of Spanish moss. His rum seared my throat and made me blind for a moment. No. I miswrote. It made me felt as if blinded because I closed my eyes tight in reflex.
“Only two tears? Eh. It’s a weak bottle. I promise the next one will be at usual strength.” I raised a finger to stall for time and to remember how to breathe. He chuckled as I recovered. The first glass is always a punch in the gut. But once the alcohol kicks in, the following glasses go down easy. I peeked open an eye and smiled in mirth even though my lungs were begging for respite.
“Been in a fight with your precious ravens lately?” He leaned in and looked at the fresh scars.
“No. That’s a story I can’t quite tell just yet. That pot is still simmering. But if you would tell me, good Sirrah, does it look bad? Should I be concerned?”
He sat up straight. “No.” He raised a cigar to his lips and puffed a small cloud about him. Looking through the cloud of smoke, he regarded the scars again. “No, good Mademoiselle. I think you will enjoy the dish that comes from that pot.” He puffed another cloud of smoke that drifted behind us, obscuring the path that brought us here.
We sat in silence for a while. The second glass of rum went down much smoother than the first. At the third I was finally feeling buzzed. “Yes, definitely a weak bottle. I promise next time I’ll have something that better suits your disposition.”
“And what is my disposition, good Sirrah?”
“Too damn hot.” We both laughed. I was actually in good cheer. After the laughter died down, he began speaking seriously. But much of that discussion was kept from me after. That’s what happens when you have more rum than blood in your veins.
I was nearly sober when he poured me the second to last shot from the nearly empty bottle. He poured himself the very last shot. We toasted each other and sipped in friendly silence.
I suddenly remembered I meant to take advantage of his invitation to ask him about the jewel that was the baby’s spirit. “Hey. I have a conundrum.”
He placed his glass down and regarded me with suspicion. “You are a conundrum. What are you turning over this time?”
“You know I was in a Search and Retrieve a couple days ago. Well, I… uh… I have… an unclaimed spirit from that event.”
“So? Don’t you take unclaimed and wandering spirits to the Boneyard, Boneburner? You know how to deal with these. Deal with it!”
“I… uh…” I sipped my glass and the rum burned me again. “I’m not comfortable doing that this time.”
He put his half full glass down and stared at me intently. “And why the fuck not?”
I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. I had been considering why as well. It wasn’t because of the baby’s age. There wasn’t any unusual properties about it that I could see. It was just another stuck spirit that would quickly pass on if I so much as spelled the word ‘fire’ near it. But my instinct was screaming at me not to take it to the Boneyard. Not to let it be dissolved. I just had no clue why, only that my instinct was strong enough to keep me from sending it away.
“It doesn’t feel right.”, was all I could say. The silence that followed was worse than the prior apprehension. “My… instinct… prevents me. Not this time. Not this one. But I don’t know why.”
He nods slowly and lifts his glass to his face. Swirling the rum in the cracked glass, I thought I saw the dark fluid change color from amber brown to old blood red. “Okay. I believe you. How are you keeping it, then?” He sets the glass down. “Don’t tell me you have [Horatio] babysitting.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the idea. I shook my head and retrieved the little palm-size keepsake box that Snake had found for it. I opened the box and turned it so he would see the pearl-sized opalescent jewel inside. It shone from within and added colorful light to the ambiance.
He looks at it with a flat face. He regards my nearly empty glass, and his half full glass. Wordlessly, he pours half of his into mine. He spoke as he poured. “Not my jurisdiction. Even if I wanted to, I can’t claim it.” He turns the box so the pearl faced me. “You could do a lot with that little gem. Yes, you could do many things.”
I was disgusted. Not at what was said, for him those were tame words. I was upset with myself because I considered all the ways such a jewel could be used, and realized there was very little restraining me from taking advantage of such. “Yea… I could.” It would be very easy. Who would stop me? No one claimed the spirit after all. “But I won’t. Not mine to keep.” Who would stop me? My own instinct, that’s who. “But… not mine to abandon, either. I can’t explain.” I take a sip of my increase.
“Are you bothered by it that much, Mademoiselle?”
I looked up at him, and answered honestly. “Yea. I am.”
He grinned, and all concerns fled. He had a plan, and may the saints have mercy on those he is about to put into play. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to know a wee little woman that would gladly take that off your hands.” I felt this was going too easy. “But I can’t tell you how to get it to her. After all, you don’t belong to that way.” Aww, shit. I knew who he was referring to. In answer to my too loud thought, he sat back and chuckled deeply. He downed the remaining rum in his glass. “But you’re a crafty bitch. I’m sure you can figure out a way.” He placed his glass upside down on the table.
As infuriating his ‘advice’ is, it was consoling. “That’s all I needed to know. Thank you.” I closed the keepsake box and tucked it away. I finished off the remaining rum in my glass. The cloud of cigar smoke that had obscured the path away from the riverside table cleared. I excused myself. He tipped his hat. I left the table and the dream.