🎵 Voodoo Man come, Voodoo Man go

In the dark between shadows

As dead as alive, no soul inside

Began his life the day he died

Hollow eyes and crooked teeth

High above and down beneath

Hanged in a tree: horrific, tragic

He’s back again! Black magic, black magic! 🎵 

-Southern US nursery rhyme, origin unknown

Rocks, leaves, and dust flew up from her bike’s ragged tires as Max slid into the small, graveled carport in front of a rustic cabin-like shack. It was two stories in height yet narrow and compact. The thick, misty fog immediately absorbed her dust cloud, leaving no trace of the brunette’s arrival. Even her bike tracks seemed to fade in the pine needle-laden trail as if she wasn’t really there.

Her path down the thick, foliage-lined hollow and up the side of the mountain was bumpy and tough. The motorcycle wasn’t designed for off-road travel– that last mile was far from ideal; easily the most uncomfortable part of her journey since crossing into Tennessee a few hours prior. This far out in the country, state routes rarely included asphalt roading. A dirt-bike would have certainly been more effective in navigating the easement that separated the main path from the cabin’s clearing, but she didn’t exactly have a choice in her current mode of transportation.

Having made her way through the spooky, fog-filled foothills of North Georgia, the brunette traveled a long distance to get to this point. It took nearly two years of searching for what was described as a ‘needle in a haystack’, but Max felt she was finally closing in on her destination. Finding someone that didn’t want to be found proved to be more difficult than she ever imagined.

“This is the place,” she whispered to no one.

Propping the bike on its kickstand, Max removed her helmet and hung it from the handlebars by its straps. She looked up and scanned her surroundings. If her heart wasn’t rapidly beating at what she assumed couldn’t be a healthy rate, she would have taken a moment to enjoy the area’s beauty. Having grown up on the picturesque Pacific Northwest coastline, it was difficult to find a more beautiful part of the country. However, the southern forests of Georgia might have taken over first place in her mind. Two years ago, she would have whipped-out her camera and taken a ton of pictures. But photography took a backseat to the more important work that became her life’s focus. It was an obsession that would either become her salvation or destroy her entirely.

Lining the perimeter of the property was an old, rust-flaked fence topped by dull, spiral-wrapped barbed wire with an opening on the side wide enough for a car to drive through. The galvanized steel was weathered and beaten down over time by nature’s unforgiving will. Entire sections on the lot had fallen, weedy mounds forming between the links and over the polls as if the planet was consciously, slowly, pulling it underground to reclaim the deteriorating pieces as its own.

After ensuring her travel pack was securely in place on the back of her bike, Max searched the inside pocket of her leather jacket. When the tip of her finger scraped against the slightly crushed pack of Pall Malls, she was relieved. Max pinched back the pack’s opening and slid a cigarette out as she had done many times over the last couple of years. She placed the filter end between her lips and allowed the papered, tobacco stick to rest there for a moment. Reaching deeper into the same pocket, she located the cheap BiC lighter she purchased at a gas station several hundred miles back.

Quickly pressing and sliding her thumb along the spark wheel and holding the fork down to open the lighter’s valve, a flame arose from the tip with a click, dancing wildly in the southern breeze. Max cupped her free hand around the fire to block the wind. She craned her neck forward to close the distance between the flame and her cig. A couple of seconds later, a breath of smoke filled her mouth and swirled around inside her lungs. Using her middle and pointer fingers, she pulled the cylindrical item from her mouth and held it at shoulder level. The bike rider tilted her head back and exhaled, sending a cloud of smoke into the air that was also camouflaged by the fog.

The Voodoo Man’s house. He’s the last hope I’ve got.

Max’s thoughts scattered around in her head like that puff of smoke she just released. She remembered everything she had to go through just to get there. But she also kept her heart honed in on the one person that mattered more than anything else. She placed the cigarette back in her mouth for a follow up drag.

God, it’s been shitty for so long. If he can’t make things right, I’m done. I’ll just give up and join Chl…

She didn’t finish her thought. As usual, when ideas of self-harm floated through her mind, she heard HER voice.

“Maximus, no. You can’t. I would never have offered to trade my life away if I thought you wouldn’t be okay.”

Abruptly, she was transported back to that time again in her mind. It was the first time since Chloe’s death she had heard her voice.

Sitting on the couch at the Price household after the funeral, still wearing her wrinkled black dress and doe necklace, Max stared at a blank television screen. A small plastic plate with potluck-style hor d’oeuvres rested in her hand on her lap. A sense of dissociation rendered her motor functions essentially useless.

People were in and out of the room, mingling about, mixing with one another in a post-funeral gathering. Max heard the same phrases over and over.

“She’s in a better place now.”

How the fuck do you know? She’s not here. Not with me. That’s all I know for sure!

“Things will get better.”

How? She’s all that matters to me!

“Life goes on.”

Not for Chloe it doesn’t. FUCK YOU!

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

That last one probably stung more than the others; not because of the phrase itself, but because of who it was directed to. She observed as David and Joyce were told, “I’m sorry for your loss,” many times. Yes, they were the grieving parents, but what about Max’s loss? Nobody knew how much Chloe meant to her. Joyce knew, kind of, but not to the actual extent. All she knew was they were best friends when they were kids. She would never know anything about the week that never happened or that Max fell in love with her daughter only a handful of days ago. If she was being honest with herself, she had begun to resent Joyce even though she knew it was irrational.

I can’t be here.

Max stood from the couch and tossed her plate into the large, grey trash bin beside the fireplace. She slowly made her way to the sliding glass door that separated the living room from the backyard as she had done many times before. Placing her palm flat against the pane of glass, she pressed outward and slid the door open. Once outside, she pivoted back towards the house and slid the glass sideways until it clicked shut. She turned towards the swing set, shuffled over, and sat down. The rusted chains creaked from her weight as she lifted her feet off the grassy ground to simulate floating.

With a few gentle sways, Max built a small bit of speed in the swing. She took a deep breath then exhaled. Everything hurt. She was surprised by the physical pain in her body. It was such a horrible feeling, aching all over yet being numb on the inside.

Her world would never be the same after the week she had. In the end, she felt like some outside force made the choice to sacrifice Chloe for her. She rationalized it as being her mind just attempting to defend itself from the extreme guilt she was experiencing.

What have I done? I can’t go on without her!

“Come on, Dude.”

The brunette immediately stuck out her legs so the downward pressure from her shoes would cause enough friction to stop her momentum.

“Chl-Chloe?” Max frantically looked around, desperately searching everywhere within eyeshot.

“Cheer up, Maxter. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Is that y-you?” Max’s bottom lip quivered, yet her heart leaped for joy from hearing Chloe’s voice.

The wind picked up for a second then died back down.

“I m-miss you, Chloe,” Max whispered through sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks once again. She didn’t believe she had the capacity for more tears, yet, they flooded in and blurred her vision. She blinked a few times to clear the moisture away, hoping to catch a glimpse of the individual who spoke to her.

Suddenly, she noticed Joyce standing on the cement slab at the back side of the house with the sliding door wide open.

“I hate seeing you like this, Max.” The woman closed the door and walked over to the swing. She wrapped both arms around the eighteen-year-old and squeezed.

Max cried a little harder. She buried her face into Joyce’s shoulder and let loose. The woman had been like a mother to Max, and, even though that was years ago, it felt natural to be wrapped in her warm embrace. She released her unfair resentment and just existed like a fearful child in her mother’s arms.

Several minutes passed before Max shifted her weight and pulled away.

“You alright there, Sweetie? I know this is tough on all of us, but we have to be strong. We have to move on… in time. Look at me, I found a way to push forward after William died. That was the single toughest thing I have ever experienced in all my days. He was the love of my life.” She looked behind her and apparently spotted David in the house, who awkwardly raised his hand to wave in their direction. “Chloe and David never got along; not by any stretch of the imagination. But that man made me feel loved again when I just knew that was impossible.”

Max pulled back further and stared in the distance, away from Joyce. She wasn’t mad, but she knew the woman would never understand what she and Chloe went through together. How could she?

“Joyce, David was hitting Chloe. You kept an abusive bastard in your house while your daughter grieved for her father. That’s fucked up.” Max’s brows were furrowed, and a rage was ignited inside that felt similarly to when she went off on Victoria during the Vortex Club party. Almost immediately, she regretted saying those words to the woman. “I’m…I’m sorry, Joyce. I know David has his faults, but you have to know he didn’t help things with Chloe. She was depressed as shit.”

“Watch your mouth, Young Lady.” The middle-aged woman sighed and shuffled towards the backdoor entrance. Turning back towards Max, she said with a sigh, “I know you’re right. But I was sad, too, ya know? Dealing with Chloe, losing my soulmate, and working my ass off… I dunno, Max. It was hard. I have no excuse, but I’ll live out the rest of my life wondering how I could have made things easier for Chloe. That’s my own personal hell. Part of me would rather be dead. I’d gladly take her place if I could.”

“I’m so sorry, Joyce.”

The grieving mother nodded and wiped her own eyes. “Hang in there, Max.” Joyce disappeared inside among the others.

Max sat in the swing once more, allowing gravity to marginally sway her body. The wetness on her face felt extra cold as the water dried in the breeze.

There’s no way you just heard Chloe’s voice. Impossible, Max. It must’ve been Joyce. Yeah, that’s it. My mind was just playing tricks on me.

After a couple of minutes alone with her thoughts, Max noticed how dark it had gotten. Nighttime was rolling in, and she would need to go back inside shortly. She stood and stretched her arms up towards the sky with her eyes closed. On her tip toes, she recalled reaching up and kissing Chloe in the rain just before using the Blackwell restroom photograph to jump back to that horrible moment. Then…

“Get that gun away from me, Psycho!”

BANG!

No!

Max stumbled backwards a few steps. She shook her head to dissolve the memory from her mind. It had been months since she thought about that specific moment, and she hoped it would be months longer until she recalled it again. If the individual she currently sought could help her, she might not have to think about it ever again. After hearing what she had about the man, one way or another, this nightmare should end for her soon.

The cigarette she lit earlier was still between her pursed lips. It had gone out and was reduced to only the filter and about a half inch of tobacco and paper. Pieces of ash had fallen and landed on her boots, still clinging on. She wiggled her foot around, spinning it in tiny circles, until the ashes blew away.

“Are you going to help me this time, or just show up whenever you feel like it to startle me?” Max frustratingly spoke, seemingly to the swishing trees. She removed the butt from her mouth and flicked it over the edge of the steep foothill to her side. It rapidly descended into some untouched foliage down below.

A younger, more naïve, version of herself would have hated her for her complete disregard for nature. The current version knew one tiny cigarette butt was the least of the planet’s concerns. It would biodegrade in a short time and appear like it wasn’t even there. Admittedly, she had grown cynical since Chloe’s death. Things that once seemed important just didn’t any longer. Meaning and purpose had twisted in her heart, and the only thing that mattered was finding The Voodoo Man.

“Wah Gwaan,” a strange voice called out from an opened, screened window upstairs at the side of the house. “I dreamt of you, Max Caulfield.”

Max looked up and located the rectangular opening. She squinted to try and get a good look, but it was too foggy out to clearly see the person who spoke.

How do they know my name?

“ Don’t worry about things that don’t matter, Child. I know your name the same way I saw you in my dreams.”

Did she just hear my thoughts?

She couldn’t quite make out the voice, but the individual sounded female with an accent she could only attribute as Jamaican, but with a more French or Creole pronunciation.

“Hello,” Max began. “I’m here to see The Voodoo Man.”

“No, Young Girl. You are here to find your Boonoonoonoos.” The lady cackled to herself.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what that means.” Max shaded her eyes with a salute as the mid afternoon’s sunlight created scattered bars across the landscape, shining through the splintering tree branches and bouncing sporadically through the layers of fog.

“There are no answers here for you, Photographer. You best go back where you came from. Accept your destiny and move on.”

“I came a long way, Miss. No offense but, one way or another, this is the last stop on my journey. I can’t leave here until I find what I came for.” Max wanted to sound confident but her voice cracked and shook as she spoke.

The woman in the window began to laugh again. This time, she seemed to not be able to catch her breath from laughing so hard.

Something about the stranger’s cadence made Max’s shoulders slightly bounce. She realized she, too, was laughing, though not nearly as hard as the woman. The interaction was odd, if unexpected, and Max found herself standing outside of a shack giggling with an unseen individual for some unknown reason.

Finally, the woman calmed down. “You are a good one, Child. I haven’t had a nice laugh like that in years.”

A moment of silence followed. Max uneasily shifted her weight.

Damn. What now? She can see me but I can’t see her. I don’t like this.

“You are determined. Yes?”

“It’s the only thing that matters to me, Miss. I have to find my power again so I can go back and save Chloe. He is my last shot.”

“I know. That’s why I started giggling, Child. You came all this way seeking a man that could just as well send you to your own grave as help you. He could just as easily hand you a glass of water as a glass of poison. He’s tricky, that one.”

“Ma’am. If I can’t get Chloe back somehow, I might as well already be in my grave.”

“Ah, yes. Your boonoonoonoos. Why do I feel like you already made a choice that put your… Er… Chloe… in her grave? Don’t answer that. If you are here to find The Voodoo Man, you are already desperate enough.”

“I am,” Max responded as if she were a soldier and it was her life’s duty. She puffed her chest and straightened her posture.

“Come inside then. What are you doing standing out there in the mist?” The woman laughed. “But before you do, know this. The Voodoo Man will only offer a path forward. If you’re looking to go backwards, you’ll be lost forever. Oh, and remember, he will always be watching.”

Suddenly, the front door swung open, as if summoning Max inside. Her eyes shot down towards the door. Then she heard the window upstairs close and noticed the curtain was pulled shut.

This is it, Max. This is what you came for. Be strong.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Chloe’s voice sounded in her mind.

She reached inside the front of her shirt and retrieved the necklace from around her neck. Max extended it, bringing it up to her lips and kissing the center bullet. She tucked it back inside her collar and smoothed the wrinkles in her jacket. Running a flattened hand along the top of her head, moving from front to back, Max tightened the truss that pulled her hair back into a small ponytail bun.

I’ll see you again soon, Chloe. Promise.