Possessed Read online

  They didn’t move or say anything. Instead, they simply stood there with their hands behind their backs and heavy, defeated expressions plastered on their faces. As I watched them stand there with forced smiles on their faces I felt their miserable energy creep into my bloodstream. It was full of uncertainty, despair and outright fear as they peered into the crowd of spectators. Silent tears flowed down the faces of some of the women as they watched their children shamelessly on display in the middle of the stage.

  Even though I wasn’t exactly the world’s best detective, it became very evident that this wasn’t an ordinary show and waves of disgust washed over me as I realized that in this luxurious hotel, where people ate some of the finest food in the world and used golden utensils, a slave trade was about to take place. I stood up to leave because I needed to get far as way from there as possible. Sadly, I didn’t have the stomach to watch it take place; it made me furious, but at the same time absolutely powerless and tiny.

  The loa had told me repeatedly that the past could never be changed and I had accepted that. However, seeing those poor people being auctioned and treated like pieces of furniture made me disgusted and uncontrollably angry. I tried to scream but when I opened my mouth nothing came out, no words- all my rage was trapped inside me, unable to escape or protest on behalf of those who couldn’t speak for themselves.

  Ivan took my hand and forced me back down. “Stop being so dramatic.”

  A grimy man with unruly brown hair shouted out a name and an incredibly tall slave with a wide mouth and strong arms came forward. Under the bright stage lights his dark skin was smooth, shiny and flawless almost as if it had been coated with oil. I doubt that he was much older than twenty. Although he smiled sweetly I could sense that he was utterly terrified because he knew that he had no control over his fate.

  “He’s prime property,” said Ivan.

  “Prime property? What are you talking about?”

  Ivan let out a sigh. “Yeah, prime property. He’s a guy, within the fifteen to forty-five age bracket, tall, well-built; his skin is on the darker end of the spectrum which means he can take the summer heat. He’s built for working in the fields and since cotton is king, I’m pretty sure someone’s going to pay…”

  “Eight hundred and fifty dollars,” shouted a voice within the crowd.

  “Nine hundred and fifty,” shouted another.

  “What you see in front of you, queen, are not humans but property. They can be bought, sold and traded at the whim of their owner. Hell, they can also be conveniently used as collateral against mortgages and loans. Got a gambling debt? Don’t have enough cash? Not a problem- sell off a slave or two. It’s that easy.”

  I finally understood Ivan’s ceaseless musings about boxes. What I saw before me was humanity literally divided into boxes. Priced, tagged and categorized in every conceivable manner. Height, weight, skin color, skills, gender. It was horrific and uncomfortable to watch.

  One by one the auctioneer called out a new name and a new slave came forward. Audience members asked them questions and they answered almost as if it were a job interview. It was a sickening sight to behold. For the life of me I couldn’t understand why they didn’t just run or tell the crowd off. In theory that’s what I would have done, but in reality I wondered if it would have been that simple. Would I have had the courage to stand up for myself when I wasn’t even viewed as a human being? Would I have seen myself as a person or a product? If I ran, where would I have run?

  Unable to take the sight any longer, I turned towards Ivan. “Why are you making me watch this?” I asked, as I looked at him with fury.

  He shrugged. “You should get a peek of how it really went down. A glimpse underneath the shiny veneer of Ken’s life. How those shiny marble floors and crystal chandeliers came to be.”

  “This,” I pointed to the stage, “will never be right, but what good is it to blame him for everything?”

  Ivan started to laugh. “His father filled his stomach with rich food, smoked cigars, sipped whiskey and then causally sat around and bought my mother, probably at a place like this. She was his property. I was his property. What kind of monster does that? What possible justification is there for having the need to control someone’s life and soul?”

  “You can’t blame Lucus for what his father did. That’s not fair.” I can’t believe I said that’s not fair. That’s not fair? What kind of defense was that? It sounded like something a preschooler would say. What was fair? As soon the words came out of my mouth I felt my cheeks turn hot.

  Ivan continued to laugh so hard that tears started to slide down his cheeks and his face turned bright red. When he was able to finally speak, he said, “Oh queen, did you seriously use that line? Do you think this was fair to my mother or any one of them? Let me clue you in on something, nothing is fair. It never has been and it never will be. You’re an idiot for believing that fair is what makes the world go round and round. My mother was never given a fair chance.”

  “You wanted to see if she would be here, didn’t you?” In a moment of clarity I realized the real reason Ivan had come to this place after he had woken up in his new body. Why he had tried to blend in with the wealthy. “You wanted to find your mother and you figured that if you bought her, you could free her,” I whispered. “But you never did, did you? You never found her and you never got the answers you wanted… The answers you needed. It’s been tormenting you all of these years, hasn’t it?”

  Ivan’s eyes narrowed; as he focused his attention on me his expression was severe and cold. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. This is about Ken and people like Ken. You’re delusional to think that this,” he said, as he pointed to the stage, “doesn’t occur even today. How many people suffer on account of greed and entitlement? How many people work crappy jobs with slave-like wages while the rich sit around and pretend that everything is alright? How many people are starving, suffering, dying? How many corrupt governments take advantage of the poor and blame it on the crappy economy while they sit on piles of cash and smoke their big-ass cigars? Nobody ever wants to really tell the truth. The truth is the whole world is living under a big veneer because reality makes everyone uncomfortable. Well, I’m sorry, queen, but I am the truth and the truth says that Ken deserves to suffer. He needs to pay for everything he’s taken. Someone needs to pay and it might as well be him.”

  “No,” I said, as I stood up and crossed my arms. “No. You can’t blame one person for all of this. For the world’s problems or your own problems. I know how you feel. I’ve spent most of my life feeling the exact same way. You feel insignificant and unworthy because the people that were supposed to love you unconditionally never did and you can’t figure out why. You figure if your own mom wasn’t capable of loving you that must mean you’re a monster. You think that there is something wrong with you and that somehow you’ll never be good enough for anybody or anything because every time you look around it seems like everyone else has it better than you. Your mom, dad, and that girl that you loved with so much fire left you alone in darkness. Everyone you ever loved has disappointed you. It sucks. I know it does, but there’s nothing wrong with you and from where I’m standing, the only person you’re hurting is yourself. You don’t deserve to live like this.”

  Ivan stood up and placed his right hand on his bum-chin. His expression wasn’t angry anymore, it was simply detached and distant, as if he had simply blocked out my little speech. There was a slight frown on his lips which lingered for a few seconds before it turned into a large smile. He placed his arms around my waist and brought his lips to my ear. “How much are you worth, queen? Let’s put you up on that stage and then afterwards we can discuss your armchair psychologist viewpoints. It’s so easy for people on the outside to preach, but once they get a taste of what’s on the inside it’s a whole different story. So, spare me your childish Disney-Channel conclusions about how you think I feel.”

  I pushed him away. “I’m trying to help you
,” I said firmly. “The world is trying to move forward while you insist on living in the past. How are you helping anything?”

  He shook his head and looked at the roof as if he were suddenly exhausted and defeated. “I don’t want your help. How many times do I have to keep repeating myself before it finally sinks into your little brain? So, how much are you worth?” he asked again, as he placed his arm around my shoulder and ushered me towards the grimy men standing by the stage, who I finally realized weren’t actors but actual slave traders. “Hmmm, let’s see. You’re young; kind of puny, not too shabby looking when you put in some effort, so that would make you a perfect maid or something. You know, eye candy for your owner. Trust me, they love eye candy. You’re worth roughly six hundred and fifty dollars.”

  Six hundred and fifty? That’s all I was worth? I could be bought for less than the price of a designer dress or a flat screen. How pathetic and humiliating. Was my life really worth so little?

  “You brought me here to sell me?” I asked in disgust.

  “No, I brought you here to make you understand why your little boyfriend deserves eternal damnation. But since you’re tragically stubborn and embarrassingly stupid, I have no choice but to take more drastic measures. You’ll see things my way eventually and when you do, I’ll let you go. We can be friends, queen. I’ve never had a friend before. Well, except for that one time and what a mistake she turned out to be.”

  “Let go of me.” I tried to shake myself free but his grip was too tight.

  His words filled me with a rage so intense that all reason or rationality abandoned me. All that remained was pure, unfiltered fury that surged through me from head to toe. My desire to rip his head off had returned and I knew that I needed to make a run for it now. So, I relied on raw animal instinct and elbowed him hard in the stomach and then ran like mad.

  Chapter 17

  Stage Fright

  Unfortunately, before I actually had a chance to make it out of the showroom, Ivan grabbed me and pulled me back towards him. His nails dug into my upper arm as he dragged me towards the grimy men standing by the stage.

  “You don’t want to do this,” I pleaded.

  He looked at me briefly. “No, I don’t, but how else can I get through to you?”

  I could have lied and said that I’d leave but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. I knew that he was consumed with so much anger that no matter how hard I tried to reason with him he wouldn’t hear it.

  He handed me to one of the men and then softly stroked my cheek. “Have fun. I’ll see you when you see things my way.”

  I didn’t say anything. I turned my head away from him and eyed the slave trader with outright indignation. The trader gave me sickly smile which consisted of rotting teeth. The gleam in his yellow-tinged eyes indicated that he was enjoying the fact that I was scared. “Hello,” he said, as he leaned in towards me. I cringed as the smell of tobacco, dirt and mold filled my nostrils.

  How would I get out of this one? I reminded myself that I needed to stay calm and not struggle. I would make my escape at the right time.

  I was shoved into a stuffy backroom where a hundred or so other slaves sat and waited for their turn on stage. The atmosphere was ripe with fear, anticipation and sweat. They were silent, eyes wide with panic and hopelessness, as they watched me stand there like a lost puppy.

  I was dazed. A few minutes ago I had been eating really great food, dancing and drinking cocktails, and now I was about to be sold. How was it possible that two completely different events could take place under the same roof without anybody really caring about the irony of the situation?

  A blue dress was thrust into my hand. “Go change,” sneered the trader. Yes. He actually did sneer.

  I looked at him with rage and grabbed the dress out of his hand. Changing into that blue dress was a humiliating experience in itself. At least at Lola’s and Darkwood I got paid for wearing ugly uniforms. Here it was evident that this uniform was a symbol of my identity- or lack of identity.

  I almost tripped over the too-long dress as the trader forced me on stage and made me stand by the row of miserable looking women.

  Standing in a smoke-filled room while hundreds of eyes inspected me like I was some kind of used car infuriated me to no end. But there was nothing that I could do. Nothing at all.

  I caught a glimpse of Ivan in the crowd. His arms were crossed and his expression was hard and depressed. Is that what he had looked like when he came here to see if Marie was being sold?

  The auctioneer called my name and I slowly stepped forward.

  A scrawny man with a pointy nose and freckled skin stood up and addressed me. He asked me a question but I didn’t hear him. I didn’t want to hear him.

  It was at that second I realized that I could do something. I didn’t have to stand there. It didn’t matter where I ran. I wasn’t for sale and this wasn’t my world. I didn’t want to live in this world. So, I took a deep breath kicked the auctioneer who stood beside me and ran off of the stage.

  I know I should have run right out of the show room, but for some reason I had the overwhelming urge to change back into my ball gown. I raced into the backroom and slipped out of the generic blue dress and back into the ball gown then I ran like hell.

  Chapter 18

  Come Play with Us

  I ran out of the showroom and halfway through the barroom when the smell of John the Conqueror root and cigarette smoke hit me. I felt Ivan’s arms around me, as he embraced me in a violent hug that momentarily cut off my circulation altogether. He backed me up against a wall and then slowly released me. I glared at him in utter disgust. Despite my terror and despair, I resolved not to let him see how afraid I was.

  “Those nice men don’t like to be kept waiting,” he said sarcastically.

  “This isn’t real,” I said, as I remembered what Aunt Mae had told me. Voodoo/Hoodoo was highly psychological.

  Please help me, I mentally begged any spirit that would listen. For the life of me I couldn’t think of one that would help me out of this situation, given the fact I had nothing to offer or sacrifice.

  “Oh please, you’re in my world,” said Ivan with a confident smile.

  “Oh my God, you really are obsessed with The Shadow Man.”

  Please anyone. Help me. I’ll do what you ask of me. Please.

  “Arelia. Arelia. Kiss him. Distract him and then come play with us. We want to play. If you kiss him, you can run. If you play with us, we can help you get home. We want to play. We haven’t played in a long time. We haven’t played with a powerful queen in years. Kiss him. Distract him.”

  For a spilt second I almost hesitated, but then I realized hesitation is what got me in this mess in the first place. So, I leaned forward, as my tongue slid into Ivan’s mouth, it took him by complete surprise. I kissed him savagely and angrily. I didn’t think about Louis. I thought about Ivan. Every ounce of repulsion I had for him expressed itself in that singular kiss. His eyes closed but mine remained opened. Sucker. Afterwards, I punched him in the stomach and ran out of the barroom. Not the most graceful move but it was the only one I could think of at that exact moment.

  “Where are you?” I asked the spirit, as I ran down the long hall and tried not to trip over my ball gown.

  Running around in a massive ball gown was harder than I remembered. In the movies they made it seem so easy, almost romantic and fairytale-like. Girls who ran around in ball gowns in the movies moved like enchanted fairies and magical princesses. Me, not so much. The bodice dug into my bones and the heaviness of the gown slowed me down to what felt like a drunken snail’s pace, but I refused to stop. I was worth way more than six hundred and fifty dollars.

  “We’re in the kitchen. Come to the kitchen. We’re hungry and thirsty and we want to play.”

  “There’s more than one of you?”

  “Yes, we’re twins. Haven’t you heard of us? Surely you must have heard of us.”

  Hungry, thirsty spir
its didn’t surprise me, but hungry, thirsty twin spirits did.

  I rushed into the dining hall and searched for the kitchen door. Around me handsome men and stunning women laughed and dined in outright joy and rapture, totally unaffected by the little show that was going on a few doors down. For a second a strange and unwelcome dizziness gripped me and the faces around me contorted as if they were sneering at me.

  A young and extremely striking blond man wearing a velvet waistcoat over a ruffled shirt took a hold of my hand. His bright blue eyes were full of enthusiasm as he gave my hand a soft kiss. “Bonsoir, Ma Cheri. Would you do the honor of joining me for a drink?”

  Honestly, I was a little flattered and a somewhat tempted. “I can’t,” I said, as I pulled my hand away.

  “Of course you must,” he insisted, as he took hold of my hand again and pulled me towards a nearby table.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but what part of ‘I can’t’ don’t you understand?”

  “Ma Cheri, I refuse to take no for an answer,” he said, as he thrust a flute of champagne into my hand. The pale yellow liquid sparkled enticingly under the dim lights, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to drink it.

  “Is something the matter?” he asked, as he brought the flute to his lips triumphantly and took a sip. As he did, I watched the liquid change into a deep red color. In disgust, I dropped my glass as I realized that it too was filled with blood rather than champagne. It landed with what seemed like a deafening crash on the shiny marble floor.

  I turned around to run, but he grabbed the tail of my ball gown. “Ma Cheri, why won’t you drink with me? Help me drink the blood of others,” he said, as he gave me a vile blood-stained smile. “The blood of others tastes wonderful. So delicious!”

  Do you feel nauseous yet, queen? I’m coming.