Chapter 4

Louis Hatch had just finished showering, after fucking Nina, Monique’s niece, good and hard for probably the hundredth time now. He had lost count of how often he had screwed Nina, Monique, and his Uncle Pierre, who was evidently bisexual. Since he moved in with Uncle Pierre and his family, Louis’s sex life had taken a definite upswing, he had a new job, and he was busy learning more about voodoo, the ancient Haitian occult religion that had been part of his own heritage. He certainly didn’t miss his ex-wife, Melanie, who had been a royal pain to him during their marriage.

That was when he got unexpected company, right there in the john, just outside of the shower. It was in the form of a tall, hefty, muscular man of mixed racial origins, whose eyes glowed first gold, and then red in front of Louis. Louis nearly tripped and fell as he stepped back, but the man was so strong that he literally lifted him out of the shower and set him back down on the linoleum floor. A stunned and terrified Louis Hatch tried to cover up, but the man just laughed now.

“Papa, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to rape my own father. I don’t swing that way, though from what I can tell, you do. I will not judge you for that, nor will the Gods. You are what mortals call bisexual. There is nothing wrong with that. Look, I am not out for your blood, but I do want to know ... did you know that my mother was pregnant with me when she aborted me?” the stranger asked him.

“Who are you? And what are you talking about?” Louis was honestly confused by this whole situation.

“Well, if I had been born to you, my parents, I would have been a Hatch. Maybe Louis Hatch, Jr. I don’t know for sure. Maybe Pierre Hatch, after your uncle. Instead, I was aborted by my own mother, your ex-wife, Melanie Hatch. Your mother, my grandmother, was named Emmanuelle Marie-Louise Duchamp, in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. I know that much. She married Reverend Andrew Hatch, converted to Protestant, Baptist Christianity instead of voodoo, but you returned to her faith, rejecting your father’s ... my grandfather’s.

“I completely understand why, too. Voodoo, Santeria, these ways are the ways of our forefathers, from back before they were seized in Africa and sold into slavery. They are more authentic. They are more natural and they are closer to the Gods. I should know. I’ve been to the other side and returned ... as this, a demon of vengeance. I also know what Maman is. She is an uptight, hypocritical mix of prude and slut. She is learning a little humility now, but too little, too late.

“It is high time that I carried out my last revenge, this time against her. I just came here to see if you knew or were involved somehow. I’m not worried about you warning her, though, since I know that you hate her as much as I do, that you’ve cursed her already, a curse that is going to aid me in no small way, so thank you, Dad, for that ... but also because no one would believe you if you told her, anyway. It’s too outlandish, right? I did the research. Some still doubt that I was a living, self-aware person, but I was. I have also learned that further back in time, I wouldn’t have been. By the way, I’m known to most as ‘Jonathan Nelson, ‘ Dad. So, what all did you know?” Jonathan bluntly asked his own father.