Page 39 of Witch
Hopkins didn’t believe in doctors, and he didn’t believe in those who were considered healers. Instead, he endured alone, with nothing to relieve his discomfort.
When Georgie woke in the morning, he knew his master was dead. Determined to comply with his wishes, he walked into the village, mailing the letter to his wife. He then followed the map, walking nearly seventy miles to the cottage in the woods.
As he opened the door, he was overwhelmed with the stench of old blood, feces, and urine.
“What is this place?” he murmured. Lighting the lantern on the table, he sat back down and gasped at what he saw. Horrible instruments coated in the blood of his victims. Pieces of clothing, hair, and even bones were strewn about the small cottage.
Along one wall, wooden crates waited to be filled. Georgie stepped outside, sitting on the small stool. He wept for all the victims of his master’s cruelty, arguing with himself about what to do.
In the end, he couldn’t refuse a dead man’s wishes. Besides, if he sent these horrible instruments to America, perhaps they’d never be seen again. It took him three days to pack everything in the crates and another four days to load them into a borrowed wagon and take them to the nearest port.
He paid the ship’s captain the fee, handing over the crates. Georgie was happy to have them out of his hands. With any luck, a storm would hit the ship and sink the crates to the bottom of the sea.
It was not to be.
Marcus jerked awake, the darkness outside telling him it was once again too early to rise. He looked at his cell phone, realizing that it was only four in the morning.
His ancestor was sending a message through his dreams. He was telling him to proceed and proceed he would. With a few more hours of sleep, he was ready to wake and attack the day.
Seated beside the window, he had a perfect view of the parking lot of the General Store. He had to admit they’d been more than generous and kind to him. They didn’t ask for upfront payment, they allowed him to have an account at the store, and they didn’t bother him at all.
Stupid redneck hillbillies. That’s what he thought of them. He’d leave this place, his bill, and everything behind once he fulfilled this final act. With his hot coffee in front of him, he stared at the fresh beignets the store had offered him. He didn’t want to refuse, but he’d been shitting like a goose for almost forty-eight hours. The coffee was one thing, but putting anything into his stomach seemed suicidal at this point.
By noon, he was starting to really get hungry and stepped outside, walking to the store.
“Oh, Mr. Hopkins, nice to see you,” said Beau Couvillion. “My brothers said you weren’t feelin’ well.”
“I’m fine now,” he said, not looking at the man. “Could I possibly get one of those wonderful roast beef sandwiches you make?”
“Of course,” he nodded. “Ain’t nothin’ better than a good roast beef po’boy. Gotta have a side of the au jus and some potato salad.” He kept talking, and Hopkins just nodded, walking around and looking at all the interesting items for sale.
When he’d first arrived, he noticed there were paintings, jewelry, ceramics, pottery, and all varieties of pickled and canned foods. There were jams and jellies, okra and pickles, beets and beans. If he were starving, this would be the place to get lost in.
On the counters were more varieties of jerky than he’d ever seen in his life. Deer, beef, chicken, duck, even fish jerky. Behind the counter were jars and jars of old-fashioned candies.
Yes, sir. This would be a good place to be lost.
“Here you go,” said the hillbilly.
“Thank you. Please put it on my bill.”
“Ain’t no problem at all,” he smiled. Beau and his brother, Bridges, watched the man walk across the parking lot, smirking.
“Give ‘em a call, Bridge. Let ‘em know he’ll have a full belly and be ready for the next adventure.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“The boys will be inside the cottage once y’all arrive,” said Gaspar. “You’re probably going to see Hopkins following you but just ignore it. He’s not all that bright and obviously doesn’t think we are either. Let him follow.”
“We’ll be okay, Gaspar,” smiled Marie. She stood on her toes, kissing her brother’s cheek. When she tried to pull back, he gripped her arms, pulling her in for a hug. She could feel his emotions bubbling to the surface.
“Do everything we tell you,” he whispered.
“We’ll be okay, Gaspar. All of us. You know how I know that? Because you, all the others, Mama, and Pops are all watching out for us. I trust you. I trust Dex and all the other men here. This is one man. He won’t get away with six women. We can fight as well.”
“I know. I know you can. It’s just that losing Mama and Pops…” he stopped, choked up.
“Yeah, I know,” she said, smiling at him with tears. “They’re here, but they’re not. But the good news is, we’re all here. I think it’s why they had fifteen damn children. So that we’d be here for one another.” Gaspar laughed.
