Page 93 of When the Snowman Whispered
She went silent for several seconds as if not ready to confess anymore. I couldn’t blame her. Had I played her part, guilt would’ve sat at the pit of my stomach for years.
May 1995. So many fucked up things happened that month.
We hiked through more trees.
There was still no sign of Faith.
Addie Mae remained calm and steady on the bloodied path, while my heart boomed in my chest.
Can I survive this? Can Faith?
I couldn’t deal with the silence anymore. The quiet let me sit in my head and stir negative thoughts. Anxiety drummed at the very center of my bones.
I sighed. “What happened to Remington?”
Addie Mae’s words came out tense and without emotion. “He took my potion and picked Margarite up. They went to a restaurant that night. He’d rented it out. No one was there, but him and the chef. He poured the liquid for her when she wasn’t looking. She took a sip and then. . .”
“What?”
All those heads gazed sad at me. “Then she died. Remington said black liquid poured out of her mouth and she slipped out of her chair and fell to the ground.”
“She died,” I mumbled.
“Conjuring is that way. I. . .I didn’t mean to kill her. I don’t know what happened.”
We walked on and I had nothing to say. What could one say that Addie Mae probably hadn’t already beat herself up about?
She’d probably been thinking of the guilt for all these years.
“My grandma would hide her things in the walls, when she had problems with enemies,” Addie Mae said to the breeze.
I didn’t think she was talking to me anymore.
Her tone shifted.
Her pace sped up.
“She didn’t let nobody get her hair,” Addie Mae said. “When grandma did her hair, she burned the strands and sometimes the brush and comb. Put the shoes and socks she’d worn that day, right under her pillow so no one would touch it. People could use the dead muck from your toes and have you out there crazy.”
Why is she talking about this? Addie Mae, don’t breakdown on me. I need you. Faith needs you.
I cleared my throat.
Maybe if I kept her talking, then we’d both feel better.
“That’s scary,” I said. “How do you protect yourself from all of that?”
“Times are different now. More people know about the power inside of them. Not like in the old days. People thought only one person or two had the magic way. In reality, we all have it.” She touched the tiny heads that formed into her chest. “It lives inside of us. You should meditate after this.”
“I’ll definitely be doing something, after this. I pictured lots of liquor, but meditation could help too.”
“It’ll save your life.” She slithered on and it seemed she had more confidence or perhaps I’d calmed down.
There was no telling with this night.
“The Bible is powerful too,” she whispered and looked around. “It’s full of spells. But you don’t have to read or know them. Having it around is enough. I make my grands carry small bibles with them for protection. Sometimes all you need is certain pages facing the right direction, and you’re safe from anything that comes your way.”
She stopped.
