Tales of Aradia The Last Witch Volume (2 page)

"What about bastard children?" Maurice pointed out.
"Aren't you worried about those?"

Wade shrugged. "Those only have rights if you give
them any. Others you can just drown in the bayou or sell if you
want to make some money."

Maurice's jaw dropped. Wade laughed again as he
rocked back and forth on his bed.

"What about when your married?" Maurice finally
sputtered, "your wife won't allow it."

Wade cocked his head. "Who says she won't? Besides
she will be my wife. Wives and even children are just as much
property as slaves. I can do what I want with them."

"Hey Maurice, would you hurry your little French ass
and move this shit!" The stage manager bellowed.

Maurice grumbled as he rushed towards the boxes in
question. "Just because my name is Maurice sure as hell don't mean
I am French or nothing."

The stage manager had already turned away. Maurice
started to swear but then he heard a breathy little laugh behind
him. "Really Mo, if Ma could hear you talk like that..."

Maurice grinned grimly. "But Ma ain't here is
she?"

He then turned to face the speaker, an experience
which seemed more like looking in a mirror. His brother, Wade,
stood smiling at him from the same stature; as if he were lighter
version of his twin self. People often remarked how frightening it
was that the McAlester brothers were so similar. It was to be
expected though, after all they were identical twins. Wade,
however, somehow took it a bit extreme. He would dress in the same
clothes, comb his hair in the same way, and even try to act more
like Maurice. His behavior imitations would have succeed if it were
not for his frequent fits of coughing.

Maurice grimaced as Wade did just that. "Jesus,"
Maurice groused, "use a handkerchief why don't you?"

Wade laughed, which was hard considering his coughing
fit, "on my salary? Ha!"

Maurice grimaced even further as he hauled the boxes
back to prop room. "We would be able to get more wages if this damn
war would have ended sooner."

Wade followed him. "We wouldn't even have to stoop so
low as to work for wages if this damned war hadn't started."

Maurice sighed as he stacked the boxes from big to
small. "Yeah remember how things used to be with us. We were the
only living sons of one of the richest plantation owners in the
South. We had everything at our fingertips: wealth, power, and
privilege."

"And then the war started," Wade interjected.

"Made by bleeding hearts of those damned
abolitionists who honestly believe that slavery was immoral,"
Maurice continued. He then snorted loudly as he turned to face
Wade. "Who freaking cares if its immoral or not? They are just
filthy slaves! They have no feelings! They are nothing but heathens
so they don't deserve rights or nothing."

"Bloody ungrateful darkies," Wade muttered, "after
years of feeding them, clothing them, and giving them places to
stay. They have the goddamn nerve to demand rights!"

Maurice clenched his fists. "So the first opportunity
they get they run off to the north to be free."

"Thus ended the legacy of the wealth, power, and
privilege of the McAlester family," Wade concluded with a bitter
grin. He coughed into his hand again before turning away.

"Not to mention our lives," Maurice muttered,
"although it hasn't been so bad, traveling here and finding these
jobs has been quite an adventure." He sighed as he leaned against
the doorway. "But I swore to myself that it was only temporary.
Once the war was over, we believe we could go back home with brand
new slaves and start again. This, of course, was assuming the south
but since the 13the amendment has passed and they say Lee will
surrender soon...well those dreams of going back home and making
something of our lives now seems more like a dream than a possible
reality."

"Hey there boy, how would you like to earn some extra
money?"

Maurice turned in the direction of the speaker. He
wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it was definitely not a
dandy with a fine mustache and fine clothes.
He looks like he
dressed up for the theater.

"Hey! I know you," Maurice shouted suddenly, "you're
John Wilkes Booth! The actor."

Booth smiled. "I guess my reputation precedes
me."

Maurice had to laugh. "Please! You are one of the
most popular actors ever to walk the stage. We all thought you had
moved on to grander stages by now."

Booth grimaced. "Sadly, no. I have lost my taste for
acting and developed different appetites."

Maurice raised an eyebrow.

"Most especially, I have developed very particular
thirsts such as a thirst for justice."

Now Maurice was intrigued. "What are you talking
about Mr. Booth?"

"You still work at this theater do you not?"

Maurice flicked a thumb towards the door. "You see me
standing in front of it don't you?"

"Aren't the President and his wife due to come here
soon?"

Maurice scowled, and shrugged. "I suppose."

"Well like I said before how would you like to earn
some extra money?"

Maurice folded his arms and leaned against the wall.
"Depends on what it is."

"As a prop boy you must have access to all sorts of
tools..."

"So?" Maurice interrupted.

Booth took a deep breath. "So? How would you like to
earn a whole dollar by creating a spy hole in the President's
door?"

Maurice stood up straight. "The President's door?
Why?"

Booth scowled once again. "Why doesn't concern you.
Will you do it?"

Maurice hesitated and the air grew thick from the
tension. He then looked John Wilkes Booth in the eye and held out
his hand.

It hadn't been too hard to do what Booth had
requested and the dollar was a welcome addition to their meager
wages. Maurice smiled as he thought about what he and Wade could
buy.
Maybe some new clothes or even a woman or two.
He
grinned crudely but then a neigh of a horse caught his attention.
He was oblivious to the performance going on but since he was
standing so close to the door he could still hear what went on
outside of it. He squinted his eyes when he saw Booth slip in,
still dressed in his dandy outfit.
What's he doing here?
But
then he remembered Booth asking about the President appearing at
the theater. He turned his head to look at the devil so to speak.
He scowled as he saw the tall, dark bearded, thin man laugh right
next to his short and stout wife.
My father would be about his
age
, Maurice thought grimly,
if he had lived that is but
losing mother and the plantation was too much for him. All his
dreams, his hopes, and plans all wasted because a bunch of heathens
wanted rights. He died a broken man while those ungrateful animals
escaped. And there sits the man responsible, laughing and sitting
with his wife as if he had not a care in the world while both my
parents rot in their graves.

Maurice grumbled for probably the hundredth time at
the unfairness of it all. He felt so consumed by hate that he
almost didn't see the man creeping up behind President Lincoln.
What the hell?
Maurice almost strained his eyesight trying
to determine who it was. Soon enough he was able to see and
determine the figure of Booth.
What's he doing?

Slowly, Booth came up behind Lincoln and raised his
arm. The gun in his hand was so small that Maurice almost didn't
see it. Time seemed to slow down as Maurice watched Booth hold the
derringer two inches away from the President and pull the trigger.
Maurice gasped as several people in the theatre screamed. He then
saw Booth knife one of Lincoln's soliders and jump from the
balcony. His spur got caught on the flag and almost tore it in
half. He landed on the stage with a loud crack and turned to the
people who watched in horror. "Sic semper tyrannis!" Booth bellowed
before barreling down the stage and past Maurice. He stared at
Booth who ran towards the door and out to freedom. Maurice breathed
heavily as he pressed himself against the wooden wall.
The spy
hole,
he realized,
the spy hole I made for him
was
how Booth was able to find out if the President was there or not. I
helped him find his target. I helped Booth assassinate the
President!

It was barely two days after they buried Wade when
they fired Maurice.
It's just as well,
Maurice grumbled,
I never wanted to stay in that place only now what do I do? I
have no job and no money.
This is what he thought of constantly
as he walked in the rain. He was cold, hungry, and bitter
.
Most of all though, he missed his brother. He missed talking to
Wade and he missed having a constant companion.
Now I am all
alone.

He heard a loud screech and turned. He then saw a
huge horse and cart barreling towards him. In haste, he jumped
aside and tried to aim for the nearest store's porch. Instead, he
slipped and fell in to a huge mud puddle. He picked himself up now
soaked to the bone, dripping with mud, and bombarded by laughter.
What do I do?
He asked himself for probably the hundredth
time.
What do I do?

"
Hey there boy, hold up a minute."

Maurice turned and felt a wave of déjà vu. Instead of
Booth who stood before him, there stood a stranger. Still the
clothes were of the same finery and the expression just as
sinister.

"Yeah," Maurice barked, "what do you want?"

The stranger didn't answer at least not right away.
"You're a pretty boy aren't you?"

Maurice's eyes widened. "Huh?"

"Such a pretty boy you are, so pretty and beautiful,"
the stranger's face seemed almost Cheshire cat like in its madness.
"So young a boy you are. So young and pretty."

Maurice tried to back away but the stranger advanced
towards him. It was only until they were half way in the alley when
Maurice saw the silvery glint of a knife.
Oh shit!

"So pretty, and so young. You are so perfect," the
stranger pulled out the knife that it seemed to shine in the
moonlight like lightning. "Just perfect."

Maurice had lived amongst the back alley of Virginia
long enough to defend himself in a fight. The stranger caught him
off guard, he moved in fast like a thunder storm and struck Maurice
like a lightning bolt would strike a house. Maurice's insides burst
with fire and blood blossomed all over his fingers. He tried to
scream for help but the stranger clasped a hand over his mouth.

"Now die pretty boy! Die nice and slow," the stranger
cackled softly as he raised the knife again.

Maurice's eyesight started to weaken and all he could
do was stare at the knife as it came down again. He shut his eyes
and seemed to resign himself to his fate. He prepared for the blow
which oddly never came. He opened one eye slowly and saw a young
man, the same age as Wade, grip the man's arm and toss him away.
The stranger advanced again but the young man causally gripped him
by the throat. The stranger struggled in his grip like a nine year
old child caught in a candy store. Then Maurice swore he could see
the young man smile and bend towards the stranger's neck. It was to
the sound of the stranger's screams when he finally slipped into a
deep sleep.

Maurice truly didn't expect to live so he was
surprised when he finally woke up. He found himself in a strange
but luxurious dark room. Oddly, the room had no windows so it
seemed more like a red stripped and black velvet cell. Maurice
gingerly touched his wound only to discover it was gone. He stood
up in confusion and felt even more stunned when he realized he felt
good. He felt strong and healthy, in spite of being stabbed and
almost dying. He touched his face and marveled at how cold he
felt.

"What has happened to me?" Maurice said aloud.

"Me. I happened to you."

Maurice spun around towards the voice. He was amazed
to see the man who saved him leaning against the door.
Strange,
I didn't even hear him come in.

"You? You saved me? How? Why?" Maurice had almost
been killed by a man who found him attractive so he was weary of
other men who came near him.

The young man shrugged. "I couldn't let you die in
the street now could I?"

Maurice spat. "You don't even know me so why would
you bother?"

The young man shrugged again. "If I told you my name
would that change things?"

Maurice narrowed his eyes. "It might."

The young man raised his head to look Maurice
straight in the eye. "My name is Keon."

Maurice awoke screaming after a night of dreadful
dreams. He shrieked even further to discover where he was that he
was in a closed coffin. "What?! What's going on?" He placed his
hands against his the lid of the coffin and pounded with both his
fist. Amazingly, the lid came off with so much as a hesitation.
I guess they didn't bury me deep.
Maurice couldn't help but
feel a bit relieved but also a bit insulted. He pushed open the lid
and sat up. It was pitch black and his eyes darted around
fiercely.

"So you are awake? About time."

Maurice sat up further and saw Keon sitting on a
tombstone. "You?! What are you doing here?!"

Keon shrugged and then awareness began to dawn upon
Maurice.

"You!" He pointed accusingly at Keon, "you did this
to me! You buried me alive."

Keon smirked. "You aren't alive though at least not
anymore."

Maurice shot to his feet. "What?"

Keon stood up. "You are dead Maurice McAlester, your
body and your place is no longer amongst the living."

Maurice rang his shaking fingers through his hair.
"But then how can I be here?"

Keon took a deep breath. "Because you are now
undead."