Then the darkness surged. The baby's cry cut off. And I felt myself yank backward like somebody grabbed the back of my spirit and pulled. I gasped in real life. My eyes snapped open behind the veil. My lungs burned like I'd been holding my breath. The candles were still lit. The offerings still there. But the air felt different now. My hands trembled. My mouth opened and closed like I didn't know what to say. Because I had seen it again. But it wasn't clearer. It was worse. And now I could feel something else behind it. Something watching me, like the dream wasn't just showing me. Like it was testing me. I whispered, "Rosalee I asked for sight. “My voice shook. "I didn't ask for torture."
The candle flames leaned. The smoke thickened again. And then, without warning, I heard a woman's laugh. My spine went rigid. The laugh didn't come from my ears. It came from inside my bones. My lips parted. The laugh stopped. And theroom felt closer. Like walls leaned in. Like the veil on my face was suddenly too tight. I started breathing faster again. A whisper slid across my mind. Creole-rooted, old, thick. Ou mande pou wè. Ou bezwen fò.You asked to see. You need strength.
My hands moved without me thinking. I reached for the beads and wrapped them around my fingers tight, like a lifeline. I started chanting again, voice low but steady. Each time I said her name, it felt like my tongue got heavier, like I was speaking through water.
Then my mind slid again. This time the darkness didn't feel like a dream. It felt like memory, But not mine. I saw my mama. Young. Pretty in that dangerous way pretty girls are when they don't know they pretty enough to get hurt. She stood in a mirror fixing her hair, rolling her lips together, eyes shining with hunger and hope and foolishness all wrapped up in one. I felt sadness so sharp it made my chest ache.
she went and reached for a man that wasn't hers to reach for. I saw Fidel. Clean suit. Gold watch. Smile that looked generous until you realized it was calculated.
He touched my mama like he owned her. Like she was a secret he could pull out when he wanted. she let him. I watched her laugh with him, eyes bright, feeling chosen. Then I watched her cry in a bathroom, mascara running, holding her stomach. Holding me And the ache in her face wasn't just fear.
It was anger. Because she realized she wasn't chosen. She was borrowed. I saw her going to his house. Standing across the street watching him with his wife and kids. Watching him smile like she didn't exist. And that's when something in my mama's spirit shifted. I felt it. The moment her love turnedsour. The moment longing turned into a hunger for revenge. She started showing up where she shouldn't. Sending messages. Threatening with her eyes. I saw his wife watching her back. Watching like a predator watches prey.
Then I saw a table. An altar. Not like mine. Bigger. Darker. I saw a woman's hands moving with precision. I felt cold crawl up my spine like insects.
This wasn't "hoodoo for protection. “This was something else. Something mean. Something that meant no good. I watched my mama stumble one day. Her face drooping. Her eyes going distant. People called it a stroke. But in that vision, I saw it different. I saw her spirit getting yanked. Like a candle snuffed. I felt myself cry under the veil. Tears hot, silent, dripping down my cheeks. I whispered, "Mama”. it felt like the vision paused.
Then another image slammed in. My mama again sitting at a clinic table, eyes hollow.
The doctor talking. My mama shaking her head. My mama in a bathroom crying, holding pills. Aborting babies. Over and over. Not because she didn't want them. Because he didn't. And then I saw her doing something worse. Antagonizing. Showing up. Mocking. Her pride out of control. Her anger bigger than her sense.
I understood, finally, what Madame Laurent meant when she said we pay for what your mama did. Not because spirit punishes innocent people for fun. But because when you throw rocks into somebody else's water, ripples don't stop just because you regret it later. My body shook. My sob caught in my throat. I covered my mouth with my hand under the veil so I wouldn't make noise and call the whole neighborhood into my business.
Then the darkness shifted again. I saw a parking lot.
Early morning. I saw the moment. The setup. Men posted up. A phone in somebody hand. That same calm voice. Then gunshots. I watched bodies move running, ducking, firing back. my stomach turned, because it clicked. Maybe those bullets weren't meant for Noles.
Not originally. He got caught in it, but it wasn't meant for him. That truth felt like a slap. My breath came short. Then the vision sharpened. And for the first time, I saw a face. Not fully. But enough to recognize energy before features and know the shadow in my dream wasn't a stranger. My eyes flew open behind the veil. I sucked in air like I'd been underwater. My hands clutched the rosary so tight the beads dug into my palm. The candles were burning low now, wax pooling like tears. The Crown Royal sat untouched but the surface trembled like something had brushed past it.
My throat worked. The air shifted. The whisper came again, closer now. Ou ka wè. Men ou dwe kenbe sa ou wè.You can see. But you must hold what you see.My breath hitched and my vision flashed. I saw the face again, this time clear as day. It was Nash.
The room quieted. And then softly something brushed my cheek. Like fingertips. My sob broke free, quiet but unstoppable. I leaned forward, forehead nearly touching the floor, shaking under the veil. I sat back up slowly.
My veil felt damp from tears. My hands were trembling but my posture stayed straight because that's what I was taught. Even when you break, you break with respect. I wiped my face under the veil, breathing slow again. When the last candle started burning low, I finally rose. I didn't blow them out withmy mouth Madame Laurent always said don't do that, not for this kind of work. I snuffed them with my fingers and a small tool, one by one, letting the darkness return gradually.
When the last flame died, the room looked different.
Noles
I sat at Mama's dining room table with my people, but my mind wasn't really there. It was pacin. Circlin. Clawin at the inside of my skull like it was trapped. Mama sat at the head of the table, back straight, lips pressed tight, hands folded like she was holding herself together on pure will. Pops leaned back in his chair, quiet, watchful, eyes sharp like he was reading everybody at once. Juste sat across from me, elbows on the table, jaw clenched. Jules was two seats down, restless, rubbing his hands together like they wouldn't stay still. Pierre hovered near the counter, trying to play neutral but failing.
I felt like I was sitting in a box that kept shrinking. I told them what Ayida saw.
Nash.
The hit.
The bullets meant for Jules.
Me catching them instead.
Every word felt like it scraped my throat on the way out. I didn't like repeating it. Didn't like saying it loud. Saying it made it real in a way my body hadn't fully caught up to yet. Mama was the first one to speak. "I'm so fuckin' confused," she said, eyes cutting straight to Jules. "Why the hell would the Baptiste boy be tryna kill you?" Her voice wasn't loud. That made it worse.
I watched Jules and Juste exchange that look. The air got thick. Heavy. The kind of heavy that presses on your chest and makes you breathe shallow.
I already knew what was up. Ayida told me everything when she finally broke down. Nia's confession. Juliana. Nash.The DNA test. All of it fit together ugly as hell, like a puzzle you wish you never finished. But it wasn't my place to tell Mama. That wasn't my secret to break open.
Jules rubbed his hand down his face, sighing like he was tired of his own life. "Man, me and that nigga at each other on some personal shit," he said. "I ain't know the nigga was on that." Mama leaned back in her chair slowly, arms crossing over her chest. Her eyes didn't blink. "Well I'm waitin' on your ass to explain this personal shit," she said. "'Cause clearly it ain't just personal. My baby was damn near killed about it." Her words hit something in me.
