Voodoo

Chapter 1

When Miles arrived at her families one story duplex, the last thing she wanted to do was cross the threshold into known chaos. But she had nowhere else to go. She'd taken a path through the park, sat there watching the kids on the playground with their mothers, eating a cookie she'd saved from lunch. Her mind was racing with the vision of the girl's body thrown into the bushes. Why there, she wondered, thinking back to the yellow house and the white haired man. Had the old man killed her? She didn't think so but no one could be sure. She'd finished her homework on the same bench she always did, the one that gave her the best view of the entire park, until darkness crept in and the park became empty. Now, standing outside her house, the façade a far cry from the 19th century style homes accustomed to the neighborhood with its low roofline and single white front facing window on gray siding, she was aching to watch the news. Had the girl's body been found yet? Well, found by someone who could actually do something about it. Maybe a detective who actually cared about dead black girls would find her, she thought. She'd cared about the girl that afternoon as she loomed over her ashen body feeling a tweak in her heart for someone so close in age and formerly so pretty. But knowing she couldn't help her, she'd needed to distance herself. She'd seen how police officers questioned people who found bodies in her neighborhood. They'd usually arrest whatever nearby black or brown person they saw that fit the description or collar and intimidate anyone that had a record regardless of the crime. She didn't see people around anymore that spoke to cops. Either way, it didn't sound like something she wanted to get involved with. She had enough problems of her own. And she didn't know anything about the girl anyway. Except that she was young, brown and sunken. No blood. No wounds from what she could tell. Just a regular girl in an irregular tragedy.

Miles pushed open the front door to her home and smelled the harsh scent of burnt food before she even crossed the threshold. She rolled her eyes, passed the overstuffed sofa and stepped through the small living room into the kitchen to see her little brother with a chair pushed to the stove. His feet were on a dining chair as he strained his right arm over the edge of a large pot simmering on the stove.

"Jelly, the fire is too high." Miles turned the knob as the blue flame reduced beneath the pot.

Jelly looked over his shoulder at her, "I'd have known that if you were here to help. It's a little late for a cooking lesson at this point." Morton, better known as Jelly by his friends, gave her a terse eye roll.

He was only ten years old but acted as if he'd been reborn in his frail body from a barrel-chested man in his 40's. He was already tired of life and had barely spent more than a decade living it. But Jelly didn't let having one arm stop him from being a sassy, know-it-all to anyone he encountered, young or old. The babysitters they had in the past always complained that Jelly had a smart mouth and always wanted the last word with everyone except his mother.

"Where is she?" Miles asked, although she knew there were only three places their mother would be. At work in the art gallery, although the hour would lend to that not being the location of Harrietta. The bar was the next best option as she'd taken to "easing her stresses" as she put it over the past year. Or...

"Chasing Dad, of course." Jelly said without looking from the pot, his arm circling widely as he stirred with a large silver ladle.

Miles breathed heavily in response and shook her head of dark curls. She'd grown accustomed to her mother's antics. The crying spells. The irrational anger. The stalking behavior. Harrietta was still infatuated with her first love, their father, Dino. They'd been officially separated last year because her father was never a man to be with only one woman. Early on, he'd been smitten by Harrietta's lack of experience and naivete but after taking her most precious gift on the night of their marriage, Dino had slowly gone back to who he was. The town womanizer. A good time guy as the ladies around town would describe him. Miles knew they didn't mean he was a good time in the way she'd hoped. His good looks only hurt matters worse. The town's women would fall for his sad, gray eyes and tawny skin. He was 6'4 and commanded attention in any space he was in and therefore, he'd never quite known how to give as much attention as he received. Dino was Creole and could charm a snake into a wicker basket with his wiles. Miles could only remember a few occasions where he'd come home for birthdays. His visits were always a big deal in the house. Her mother would run about the house, frantically cleaning and re-cleaning every inch of space. She'd prepare large meals, spend hours in their one bathroom until she came out looking like a new person, not the woman with her house dress and gray robe belted tight around her slim middle but an oiled up, perfumed goddess. Then of course, her father would bring a gift for her or Jelly that was much too young and ironically, stay the night. A week was the longest he'd stay, when he was likely between homes or women. Then he'd be gone again. Leaving a broken woman in a broken home with two children to pick up the pieces. Miles had gotten old enough to realize the truth about her father. She was just waiting on Harrietta to catch up.