The Dead House - Dawn Kurtagich Page 0,65
butchered mess—all black thread and bunched flesh, but it is no longer bleeding. Naida douses it in alcohol again and then bandages it in place.
“One down.”
Kaitlyn passes out before the second arm is finished, and then Naida checks her pulse, feels her forehead, and carefully pulls her more firmly onto the bed. She then covers the unconscious form with the blanket and sits on the edge, bows her head into her hands, and sobs.
10:02 AM
Kaitlyn sits wrapped in the blanket, a cup of warm tea cradled between her palms. She seems barely able to hold it. Naida watches her carefully.
“Won’t they miss you?” Kaitlyn asks.
“I faked a note. It’s only PE, anyway.”
Kaitlyn glances up at her. “Thank you. Not just for the tea.”
Naida gives a weak smile. “Well, I’ve never done that before. Too bad you couldn’t stay for the whole show.”
“It was getting tedious.”
Naida grins at Kaitlyn’s weak attempt at humor. “God damn, Johnson.”
Kaitlyn takes a sip of her tea, and her skin seems to warm a bit, the gray alabaster flushing with a little peach. She glances up, towards the door, where a short, knotted rope wound with numerous materials that the camera cannot differentiate hangs.
“What is that?”
“A bind. Protection for you. It’ll stop the dreams.”
“Will it work?”
“Should. It’s got my own blood in there, so it’d better.”
Kaitlyn flinches. “Was that necessary?”
“Wouldn’t do it otherwise.”
Kaitlyn nods and sips her tea again.
“What’s up, sugar?”
“How much longer?”
Naida sighs and pressed her hands to her face. “I don’t know. I’m getting closer, I think. This is new for me—I’ve never conjured or done root work before. There’s a lot to learn, to go through… And I’m tailing Mike… I’m trying my best.”
“It’s just…” Kaitlyn shudders. “Whatever’s going on inside me, it’s getting worse. I don’t know, closer. It’s getting harder to cope.”
Naida says nothing, and Kaitlyn continues.
“And I was thinking… maybe… maybe medication will help. Maybe all I need is the right kind, the right dose—maybe… maybe I am—”
“Crazy? You can’t really believe that, can you? What about that house you keep dreaming about? And where’s Carly, huh? And why did I find this”—Naida pulls out a stiff knot of… something from her bag—“outside my dorm this morning, huh?”
Kaitlyn leans away from it. “It reeks—what is it?”
“Oh, just the intestines of some poor creature, knotted into a conjure to keep me immobile.”
“What?”
“It’s a warning. From whoever’s doing this.”
Kaitlyn swallows. “It’s easier not to believe.”
“We will get through this.”
Kaitlyn dashes away a tear. “I feel alone, Naida. I don’t know if I feel Carly anymore. It’s like she’s locked away where I can’t get at her. I don’t have anyone else.”
Naida takes her hand. “You have me.”
Kaitlyn bites her lips and nods, blinking hard. “I’m scared.”
“I know. But this isn’t going to get easier before it gets better. I need you strong. So drink up that tea.”
Kaitlyn eyes the cup suddenly. “What did you put in it?”
“Something to make you strong.”
Kaitlyn nods, and then drinks.
[END OF CLIP]
Naida Camera Footage
Tuesday, 4 January 2005, 9:00 PM
Naida’s Dorm
Naida kneels on the floor before her camera and clasps her hands, bowing low over them. A candle, lit somewhere below the screen, casts an orange light on her face, accentuating her angular features. She looks tired, worn, and scared. But there is a fire in her bright eyes as she looks up, hinting at her determination.
“Blessed Gorro, guide me,” she whispers. “Mother Karrah, hold me close. By your powerful intercession, hear me.” She lifts a small brown root for the camera to see and snaps it in half. “Here is earthroot, to break conjures against me. Devil’s heart”—she lifts a small purple flower—“to protect me from those who work against me. Master root”—she lifts a bark-like formation—“to aid my psychic powers. And currency”—a silver coin—“to plow over my enemies and the enemies of my friends.”
She bows her head for a moment, then opens her Bible and begins to read.
“‘Arise, O Lord, in thine anger, lift up thyself because of the rage of mine enemies: and awake for me to the judgment that thou hast commanded… My defense is of God, which saveth the upright in heart.’” She flips through a few pages. “‘Thy tongue deviseth mischiefs; like a sharp razor, working deceitfully.… God shall likewise destroy thee forever, he shall take thee away, and pluck thee out of thy dwelling place, and root thee out of the land of the living.’”
She lifts her gaze into the camera; she is looking directly at us.
“I curse you, dark worker