CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Back in the relative safety of his New Orleans loft, Hampton dismissed his men, opting for a quiet day alone. The ball had been a disastrous venture. People actually laughed at him when he attempted to speak about the Square or his possible election.
“Boy, you don’t get how things work here.”
“You ain’t from here, son.”
“You messed with the wrong family.”
He’d heard it all, and now, he was hearing the voices again.
You think this is enough? It’s not. You can’t burn away our memories.
We’ll follow you wherever you go. All of us. You can’t escape us until you make this right.
“I’m trying!” he yelled to no one. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Can’t you see that I’m trying? Help me make it right. What do you want?”
As usual, there was no reply. He lay back on the sofa, one arm covering his eyes. He needed sleep. He needed to have a few hours of quiet time and sleep. Then he would be able to think more clearly.
“You listenin’ to them negroes, boy?” said the voice. He knew that voice. That voice, more than any of the others, haunted him. It was laced, dripping with evil and hate. He’d heard the voice the first time when he was just ten years old.
“They gonna try to get to you. Don’t you let ‘em, boy. Don’t you embarrass the Hamptons.”
“Who’s there? I can’t see you,” he called quietly.
“Bennett? Who are you talkin’ to, baby?” asked his mother.
“I don’t know. Some man is talking to me.” His mother paled, looking around the room.
“There’s no one here, Bennett. You just play with your toys and ignore that voice, okay?”
“Yes, Mother.” She left him in his room, but Bennett followed her, watching as she approached his father.
“He’s hearing the voices. What do we do?” she asked.
Her husband had been medicated nearly his entire life, hoping to block the voices, and it still didn’t work. For the most part, he ignored them, but he knew that his ancestors had little luck in doing so.
“I’m not sure. He’s just a boy. We can’t medicate him, not yet.”
“Will they harm him? Do the voices physically touch you?” she asked.
“I’ve told you that they don’t,” he said, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know where they come from, but it’s obviously hereditary. Maybe he’ll grow out of it.”
But he didn’t grow out of it. The voices got louder, and more voices seemed to join in. In high school, he was the weird kid who always seemed to be spaced out, watching the blank spaces in the room.
In college, he had to room by himself because roommates got tired of him yelling at emptiness. He was called in for counseling several times, and the endless drug tests proved he wasn’t taking anything.
Then the voices really got loud. It wasn’t just words but imagery that flooded his brain and caused him to listen. Constant flashes of horror and heinous acts.
“How do I make this right?” he asked over and over again. None of the voices seemed capable of telling him that. So, he went about trying to do some family research, and the discovery only left him in more pain.
“Did you know about this?” he asked his parents. His father stared at him, then back at his mother.
“I knew some. I knew that they owned plantations and most likely owned slaves.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me that?” he asked.
“Why? Why would I tell you of the sins of my father’s fathers? It can’t possibly help you in any way.”
“You don’t get it, do you? We are paying for those sins. All those voices we hear, and yes, I know that you hear them too. All those voices are the victims. We have to make this right!”
“Bennett, most of those properties are long gone. There’s nothing there any longer. We can’t make it right.”
“That’s what he’s hoping for, you know. Our ancestor.
The loudest one of all.” His father’s eyes went wide, and he just shook his head.
“You knew who it was, and you didn’t acknowledge it.
I’m trying to get rid of this anchor, this weight around my throat and yours too. Is this why you only had one child?”
“Partly,” said his mother. “Your father was going through a particularly terrible time after you were born. The voices were louder.”
“Wonderful. That tells me I can’t have a life until this is settled. Thanks for that.”
He’d left their home and set out to find a way. The voices didn’t stop, but it was the voice of the first Hampton that truly sent chills up his spine.
“Don’t be so weak! They’re nothing but animals.”
“Stop! They were human beings who deserved to be treated as such. You make me sick that I’m related to you!”
The cackling laughter made his skin crawl as he curled into a ball on the sofa. It was never-ending. He wanted to end his own life but knew that it wouldn’t help those trapped by his ancestors’ crimes. He had to find a way to help them all.
By the grace of God, he’d slept for more than five hours. It was the most continuous sleep time he’d gotten in almost a year. When he woke, he was determined to get to the tree and tear it down.
Not wanting his men anywhere around him, just in case the voices came at him full tilt, he walked the dozen blocks to the Square, praying that the old woman would be alone.
If he had to, he’d carry her out of that tree and down the ladder to safety. He didn’t want to kill the woman. He just needed to kill the tree and burn the Square to the ground.
“Easy.”