A story of hoodoo and spirits from the deep South |
CHAPTER ONE Memoirs of Patience Lewis On my way from the airport, I wondered why I hadn't made the trip to Savannah until now. I had begun to have nightmares about the place. All the time I had spent digging in the past had begun to bubble up in my dreams, nightmares. Most people might come here for the Southern quisine, the architecture or moss-laden trees, but not me. I had come to put my grandparents to rest. I didn't come to bury them because they've been dead and buried since before I was born, dead for sixty five years. I had come to Savannah to learn the truth about why my grandfather murdered my grandmother. Did mental illness run in the family? Was there a mutated gene hiding somewhere in my DNA waiting to express itself in some bloody way? Growing up, it was like they never existed. No one in the family was ever allowed to talk about them, but a boy's curiosity is hard to control. It almost became a game with me as I grew up. I dug up old photos, went to the library, used the internet to eventually build up my own secret dosier about them...about the murder. I would have nightmares about it sometimes. Wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, heart racing like a jack hammer, unable to move, unable to cry out. It had begun to affect my relationships too. I wouldn't let anyone get close to me afraid of what monster might be hiding inside my mind. I had to find out the truth. When I learned that my mother's nanny was still alive and in her eighties, I knew I couldn't waste any more time, so I jumped on a plane from Baltimore and now sat motionless in the lobby of the nursing home where she was recuperating after a fall. I was nervous and could feel the sweat running down my back. My tie was too tight. Years of family secrets would finally be answered by someone who had actually been there. The newspaper clippings said she was the one who found them first. She had only been sixteen at the time, just a young girl. Now she was an old woman at the end of her life. If I could just get her to talk to me, tell me what had happened. What would cause a man to stab his wife to death so violently? She knew...she had to know the answers. |