House of the Angels

The very next day, Kyle had gone with Sybilla to the fishmonger’s hut down by the river where an old Cajun fisherman sold them a bucket of crawfish and a wicker basket full of salty smelling catfish.

“I tell you Kyle,” Sybilla said as the two of them walked back towards the house. “There ain’t no better place to go for fish than down by the wharf. Cajun fishermen and their girls know exactly where to look for the catch of the day.”

“That reminds me Sybilla,” Kyle said, shifting the basket of catfish onto his hip. “Andy and Eddie were thinking about taking a few of us down to the river to go handfishing.”

“And?”

“I wanted to know if it was alright with you, that I can go with them.” Kyle explained. “Eve wants to go too.”

Sybilla gave it some thought, but knowing Andy and Eddie, they would get themselves into more trouble than they asked for. Handfishing for catfish was a favorite pastime for many of Angel Manor’s residents, but Sybilla was hesitant. Trouble often arose even during the most peaceful of pastimes.

“I’ll think about it.” Sybilla told him. “Don’t mean I’m gonna say yes but it don’t mean I’m gonna say no either.”

As soon as he was sure she had her back turned, Kyle tilted his head up towards the sun and silently mouthed a hot, vile curse he wouldn’t have dared said in front of her, lest he suffer the consequences.

The day was unusually hot and muggy, even for early summer. Everyone in the house had grown moodier as the days grew hotter. The girls wore thinner clothes, much to the delight of the men but also to the disdain of Anne and Sybilla.

“Keep up Kyle.” Sybilla said, peering over her shoulder. “I know it’s hot but we’ll be home soon.”

Kyle loped along behind her, singing an off key rendition of one of his favorite songs when all of a sudden something stopped him dead in his path. His mismatched eyes darted back and forth and all around. He could hear voices somewhere in the distance, frantic, sad, rageful voices that screamed a name he could hardly discern. A wave of fear hit him hard in the chest, so hard he could barely breathe.

“Kyle?” Sybilla asked with concern. “Kyle what is it? What do you see?”

“Something’s happened.” Kyle told her. “Belle’s Grove….between the two cypress trees.”

Kyle left the fish basket on the sidewalk before he and Sybilla took off in a mad dash towards the place known as Belle’s Grove.

Belle’s Grove was well known amongst the citizens of Bayou St. Therese where children often went to play and hang around after school. It had been named for a wealthy plantation owner’s daughter, one Miss Belle La Salle who served as a teacher to her own children as well as the children of the slaves who lived on the property. She made such profound impact on their lives, teaching them how to read, write and learn the ways of the world, that many schools on Bayou St. Therese were named after her. When she died, many of her former students planted the old cypress trees in her honor and the place became known as Belle’s Grove.

Kyle and Sybilla ran fast as lightning down the dirt road that led to Belle’s Grove. The sun beat down on their backs and the cat grass tickled their legs as they kept running. But when they got to the grove, they were totally unprepared for the sight that met them.

Kyle and Sybilla were horrified to find four bodies, two boys and two girls, all about the age of thirteen, swaying from the branches. The two girls, a blonde and a brunette and the two boys, both black as night, had been hung from the thick branches of the cypress trees. Their bikes lay in a heap close by, the frames dented and chipped as though they had been slammed into the trees. Skidmarks in the dirt showed evident signs that they had skidded to an abrupt halt.

Kyle couldn’t believe that someone had done this and to four children! Who in their right mind would be cruel enough to do such an awful thing?

“Kyle,” Sybilla stammered. “Call the police. Do it now!”

Kyle pulled out his cell phone and immediately called the police. Sybilla could hardly move such was her shock. Three of the children she had known personally but the other she hadn’t known very well. The two boys were Henry Williams and Solomon Eldridge, both from Congo Street while the little blonde girl was Sunny McCall, the daughter of a well-respected firefighter who commuted to the city every morning and didn’t return until sunset. The other girl she remembered as Ellie Jackson, the daughter of a Cajun widower who fished along the river for a living.

In no time at all the police arrived on the scene, as did the sheriff of Bayou St. Therese. He was a heavy set man who kept his hair shaved so short it was as bald as an egg. On his head he wore a cowboy hat, something he never left his office without for fear it would bring bad luck. The collar of his dark blue shirt was covered in sweat and his khaki pants were spattered with dirt from the road.

“Howdy do ma’am.” He said, politely tipping his hat to Sybilla.

“Sheriff Johanssen.” Sybilla greeted. “Thank you for coming by, I apologize if this is of any inconvenience.”

“No need for apologies ma’am.” Sheriff Johanssen said. “I know you and your little friend here must be shaken up at what you’ve found.”

No sooner did the sheriff and the police begin their investigation than several cars pulled over on the side of the road. The parents were just as horrified as Sybilla and Kyle were when they discovered the bodies of their children. Lieutenant McCall was still in his fireman’s jacket, pants and boots by the time he arrived on the scene, just as the police had cut the rope down from the tree. Sybilla and Kyle watched as Lieutenant McCall swore at the officers and swatting them away as though they were animals.

“Oh my God what have they done!” he sobbed. “What’d they do to my baby girl?!”

The sobs that escaped Lieutenant McCall’s throat sounded inhuman and frightening. Just like Dylan whenever he was overwhelmed by crushing sadness. A stormy rage boiled within Sybilla that she had never felt before. Her desire for vengeance was so strong she was sure that its flames would never be put out.

When the police had finished questioning her and Kyle, Sheriff Johanssen sent everyone home, giving his personal condolences to the family members. Kyle and Sybilla however, chose to stay behind for a while.

“You think this is something else Sybilla?” Sheriff Johanssen asked as they made their way along the dirt road towards the sheriff’s police car.

“Oh no doubt about it Peter.” Sybilla replied. “There’s only a few people on this earth who would commit a crime as heinous as that.”

“Who?” Sheriff Johanssen asked.

“Those brats who live under the roof of Miss Sally Caulfield.” Sybilla explained, her steps quickening with her anger. “And I think the Princess is following in her momma’s footsteps.”

“The Princess?” Kyle asked curiously.

“Oh yes that lil’ brat is at it again.” Sybilla spat. “Her, her momma and the rest of their filthy brood.”

“And what exactly do you intend to do about it ma’am?” Sheriff Johanssen questioned before he could climb into his car.

“I’m gonna do to them what they did to these kids.” Sybilla spat. “I’ll make’em so scared they won’t wanna come outta Mason Noir for the rest of eternity.”

“Promise ya’ll won’t do anything rash now.” Sheriff Johanssen told her. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to end up in jail for murder.”

“Oh no worries sheriff.” Sybilla told him. “You won’t be seein’ me or any of these other kids in jail.”

“Have a good night then ma’am.” Sheriff Johanssen said before he closed the door to the car and drove away.

Sybilla watched the car with her catlike eyes until it rolled away into the distance, disappearing with the imminent sunset.

“C’mon now Kyle.” Sybilla said. “We’ve got work to do.”

The two of them took to the dusty dirt path, and quickly headed for home.