Once the sun came up and people began to stir, Harris couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer and decided to try rousing Porter. He found the sergeant sitting up in the hammock with an abashed look on his face. “Hit the sauce pretty hard last night, did I?” Porter asked, nudging the empty jug with his foot and scrubbing at the back of his neck.
Harris, frankly amazed that Porter was even coherent, nodded. “You were out cold when I came back with Kenny and his friends.” He couldn’t help grinning. “Thanks for letting me go with them. Crabbing is fun, although” his face fell into mournful lines “I don’t understand why they made me throw back the baby gator I found. Gee, that would have made a swell pet! I like reptiles, you know?”
Porter laughed. “Harris, you can’t make a pet of everything you find in the swamp! How’s Alex?”
“Oh, that faith healer says he’s going to be just fine, given time. Had a bad night, but he’s sleeping now. So’s Mr. Aubert. Poor dude really looked wiped out, like he needed the rest.”
“Let’s go upstairs and see for ourselves.” Porter knew that if Aubert had gone to sleep, his work --- for better or worse --- had been completed. He needed to see his partner. They quietly mounted the stairs. As they entered the attic, light filtering through the curtains fell across Alex’s bed and they heard the Ranger’s rhythmic breathing. He seemed deeply asleep.
"What's that smell?" Porter wrinkled his nose like a cat. There was a sick smell, fleshy but faint. It was masked by a much more powerful aroma of herbs and chemicals.
"He must've burned some of the herbs," Harris suggested, his profiling instincts coming into play. This idea was borne out by a large metal dish with the remains of a charcoal block and ashes. There were also the stubs of candles, and a Bible with several ribbon markers in its worn pages. He sniffed again, like a bloodhound, with his eyes closed in concentration. “It smells like angelica root, several incense resins, and…” One more whiff and Harris had identified the fleshy odor. “Valerian. It’s used for ---“
“I know what it’s used for,” Porter responded absently, confirming for Harris the fact that he’d dosed Kat’s tea last night. “It’s an herbal sedative, the same chemical consistency from which Valium is derived. Hey, don’t touch that!” He stopped Harris from picking up the Bible. “Never mess with a healer’s things, Harris. It ain’t polite.”
They turned their attention to the man sleeping in the bed. Alex lay on his back, looking pale and tired, but no longer as though he were at death’s door. There was a religious medal of some kind around his neck. Porter bent closer to examine it and then almost chuckled. St. Jude, the patron of lost causes and desperate situations.
Neither of them wanted to touch it. Porter knew well enough about the work faith healers did, and Harris was just flustered. He kept thinking about voodoo and had no desire to fool with anything left around.
"It’s not voodoo,” he explained quietly, accurately interpreting Harris’ sudden fit of nervousness, “though I could care less if it was if that’s what kept him from dying. Whatever the man did, he did it good. Sleep well, buddy." Porter nodded, his hand resting briefly on the younger man’s dark curls, and left Alex to his healing sleep. Harris hurried after, face scrunched up in thought and brain teeming with unanswered questions. Alex slept on without dreaming.
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Harris, frankly amazed that Porter was even coherent, nodded. “You were out cold when I came back with Kenny and his friends.” He couldn’t help grinning. “Thanks for letting me go with them. Crabbing is fun, although” his face fell into mournful lines “I don’t understand why they made me throw back the baby gator I found. Gee, that would have made a swell pet! I like reptiles, you know?”
Porter laughed. “Harris, you can’t make a pet of everything you find in the swamp! How’s Alex?”
“Oh, that faith healer says he’s going to be just fine, given time. Had a bad night, but he’s sleeping now. So’s Mr. Aubert. Poor dude really looked wiped out, like he needed the rest.”
“Let’s go upstairs and see for ourselves.” Porter knew that if Aubert had gone to sleep, his work --- for better or worse --- had been completed. He needed to see his partner. They quietly mounted the stairs. As they entered the attic, light filtering through the curtains fell across Alex’s bed and they heard the Ranger’s rhythmic breathing. He seemed deeply asleep.
"What's that smell?" Porter wrinkled his nose like a cat. There was a sick smell, fleshy but faint. It was masked by a much more powerful aroma of herbs and chemicals.
"He must've burned some of the herbs," Harris suggested, his profiling instincts coming into play. This idea was borne out by a large metal dish with the remains of a charcoal block and ashes. There were also the stubs of candles, and a Bible with several ribbon markers in its worn pages. He sniffed again, like a bloodhound, with his eyes closed in concentration. “It smells like angelica root, several incense resins, and…” One more whiff and Harris had identified the fleshy odor. “Valerian. It’s used for ---“
“I know what it’s used for,” Porter responded absently, confirming for Harris the fact that he’d dosed Kat’s tea last night. “It’s an herbal sedative, the same chemical consistency from which Valium is derived. Hey, don’t touch that!” He stopped Harris from picking up the Bible. “Never mess with a healer’s things, Harris. It ain’t polite.”
They turned their attention to the man sleeping in the bed. Alex lay on his back, looking pale and tired, but no longer as though he were at death’s door. There was a religious medal of some kind around his neck. Porter bent closer to examine it and then almost chuckled. St. Jude, the patron of lost causes and desperate situations.
Neither of them wanted to touch it. Porter knew well enough about the work faith healers did, and Harris was just flustered. He kept thinking about voodoo and had no desire to fool with anything left around.
"It’s not voodoo,” he explained quietly, accurately interpreting Harris’ sudden fit of nervousness, “though I could care less if it was if that’s what kept him from dying. Whatever the man did, he did it good. Sleep well, buddy." Porter nodded, his hand resting briefly on the younger man’s dark curls, and left Alex to his healing sleep. Harris hurried after, face scrunched up in thought and brain teeming with unanswered questions. Alex slept on without dreaming.