Hunt for a Demon

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Perhaps another pot of tea would do the trick. Cheek cupped against her palm, Alison pushed her free hand up to signal the smiling Chinese girl that had been distributing the steaming tea kettles to the early guests. Alison had gone through the first helping in a matter of minutes but the pounding inside her head refused to relent. Happy New Year She thought wrily, acknowledging her current condition was largely her own fault. New Year�s parties at the Raffles always consisted mainly of drinking, talking, cementing old friendships� and more drinking. She should have been used to this by now.

The evening had begun splendidly. When she had arrived the usual words of welcome such as �hello darling, so very good to see you where have you been hiding?� flew back and forth with chain-gun speed. These were rituals Alison knew and treasured. Returning every greeting with equal warmth she had made her rounds, spending a little time with as many old friends as she could manage. There was no regret at the shortness of each conversation since at nearly ever little talk new appointments were made.

There had been cheers when the waiter brought her bags and she began setting up her camera and tripod. She had laughed and waved them off. �Go back to what you are doing. Party and don�t pay attention to me. Just let me do my work.� Of course they had done no such thing! One after the other had stopped by: the hostess who made sure her glass was ever full, her friends who did the same and a colonel from the British army who gave her some free advice before returning to his drinking. �The tripod must be put on a footstool for the proper height�, he told her with an air of importance. Alison only half listened to the old dear. When he was finished, she took another long drink from her scotch, smiled and explained that unfortunately the Raffles Staff had forgotten the footstool but that she was managing just fine.

Not long after the old dear�s advice all the shots had been taken and the drinking started in earnest. It had been a blast � judging by her throbbing headache.

What had possessed her to think an early walk would battle a hangover? She had been wrong, wrong, wrong. Groaning, Alison pushed herself upright, lifting her head as her palms dropped to the rickety wooden table. Half turning she cast a searching look over the small Chinese tea house. She�d kill for a handful painkillers� but failing that, tea would work�maybe� hopefully.

What was keeping the waitress?

--Alison

The Chinese woman, young still, perhaps mid-twenties, kept her hair tied back with traditional ribbons. Wearing a traditional dress and slippers, her movement was somewhat restricted. Noticing Alison's summons, she brought a fresh pot of green tea and a gracious smile.

In broken English she asked, "More?"

Bowing slightly she set the tea down and then remained for a moment, "Excuse me, excuse me, are you waiting for man?"

At first the question made little sense, but then the waitress humbly gestured behind her and for the first time Alison noticed the presence of Davey Humboldt, her East Asian contact for the National Geographic Society.

He sat with a cool smile and a fresh beard on his face. Brown-eyed and blond-haired, his youthful looks were deceiving. Although they had only met in person once before at a company party, she knew he was in his early thirties.

Wearing a white fedora, khacki button-up and slacks he looked as if he was on assignment already. Gesturing comicly with his fingers as if he was taking a drink, he pointed from across the tea house and chuckled.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�Oh! Yes indeed. Thank you.� Explaining this was just a coincidence was too much of a hassle, so Alison smiled and nodded with a little dip of her head. A mistake. Her head throbbed and the waitress swam in and out of her vision. Groaning inwardly she waited for her head to clear before pushing her chair back. �We�ll have our tea over there, please.� Alison didn�t bother bringing her cup or tea pot over, the waitress would take care of that as soon as she took a seat at Davey�s table.

�Davey Humboldt. What a lovely surprise! How are you?� Alison�s smile beamed as she reached him. Despite her bleary-eyed vision, she was able to admire his immaculate appearance. Obviously he hadn�t knocked down a few too many drinks at the Raffles last night.

--Alison

Davey stood up and gave Alison a polite hug and offered the seat across the small round table from his. He had chosen a fine location. The floor-to-ceiling window the table was posiitoned in front of offered a delightful view of the Boat Quay.

Street vendors were setting up wares, crafts, and produce while shop owners were opening their doors for business. Restaurants, hotels, parks, and shops tower over small cobblestone streets. A strong Wednesday crowd flooded the small streets as people go to trade, sell, or sight-see. A few British soldiers could be spotted keeping a careful eye on the crowds. With recent uprisings, they are being very cautious.

"Well if it isn't Alison Taylor, Gem of Islands," he said.

Sitting only after Alison sat, he waited politely for the waitress to bring the tea over. After a quick bow and smile, the waitress went on to other customers.

"You are up early for a New Years Day, I would have expected you at the Raffles."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Alison poured tea for Davey and herself. �And you would have been right a few hours ago. In fact, I am just starting to feel human again.� She chuckled. �The Raffles was a blast. Good drinks -they know how to do that- and almost everyone was there.� Alison set the teapot down and reached for her cup. Staring over the rim she waited for the drink to cool, her gaze wandering to the vendor carts and their colourful wares. She smiled, turning gaze back to Davey. �I fled when they began talking politics. Some feel nothing changed since the Occupation. And after all that drinking they were getting persistent and you know Michael.. Michael Dawnes?.. he likes to provoke and baited them with a few clever words. It was very much the spirited discussion when I left.�

With a look at Davey, Alison raised the plain kettle, offering him a refill. �Of course, the real reason is that I had come close to passing out, but you aren�t supposed to tell anyone that. Hopefully, the tea will cure it all.�

�It was a shame you weren�t there, Davey. You really missed a good time.� A thought dawned and she canted her head. The sleek blonde locks brushed her shoulder as she regarded the man thoughtfully. �They didn�t send you on an assignment, did they? Not on New Year�s Eve?� She asked, a shimmer of envy perhaps shining through. Alison didn�t think they would do that. But if they had, she�d been happy to trade places with him.

--Alison

Davey laughed at his visualization of the party and accepted the tea graciously.

"It's funny you ask," he said sipping, "and quite a lark that we've bumped into each other. The bloody yanks did put me on assignment on New Years Eve and now that I see you I think I could use some help. If not for a bit of company. Maybe we should ring Washington and ask those blokes to send you a new contract."

He sighed and rubbed tired eyes.

"I arrived two hours ago. Supposed to go profile the Devil of Sensota."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�I can�t think of a better way to start a new year�, Alison agreed immediately. �Hmm, let me see� It will be early New Year�s Eve in the States.� She concluded after a glance at her watch and doing some calculations in her head. �Most of them will be home now, readying for their party. Do you know if they�ll open for business in the morning?� Not much chance of that, but perhaps Davey would volunteer a contact. They only needed a verbal agreement after all, with the papers sent by next mail.

Alison was feeling better by the minute. Sipping tea, she watched Davey rub his eyes. �Two hours ago? Goodness Davey, you must be exhausted.� Sending him a smile across the table, Alison lowered her cup. She beckoned the waitress for a fresh kettle and leaned back in the wobbly chair.

�I can�t wait to hear what Devil�s been hiding in our rainforest.� She laughed, intrigued with the name. �Please, do tell me everything. What kind of creature is this and where was it last seen?� Davey�s assignments never failed to capture her interest. If it were up to her, she�d gladly spend the next few hours listening as he explained the details of his assignment. Or perhaps, their assignment� Alison crossed her fingers.

This would a good time to try those new films Mr Zhou send me. They are the best on the market, he says. See first, believe later. I�ll bring one of my old films too, just in case. And the tripod... If only the office goes along with this. Please, please let them agree with Davey.

--Alison

"Good, then. I'll ring Washington."

He sipped more tea, implying the phone call would wait.

"Don't know if you listen to the locals. The fishermen over there been talkin' about a devil for decades. Somethin' that lives in the forest and snatches anyone passin' through. Apparently there's been a rise in activity as of late and the ol' society'd like to do an plug on it."

Davey lit a cigarette and then added, "I wouldn't worry about too much activity. You know Geographic, they just want the 'history' and 'people' behind the myth."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�Can�t say I�ve heard�, she replied thoughtfully. �Or read. I don�t think the papers mentioned any disappearances?� As she tried to remember recent headlines, Alison�s gaze idly trailed after one of the patrolling guards until he walked out of sight.

Comfortably seated on the wobbly chair, Alison appeared cool despite the clammy heat. With her mild tan and sleek blonde locks �neatly combed back-, knee-length skirt of pale green cotton and white cotton shirt with rounded shoulders and small waistline, Alison looked as British as Piccadilly Square.

She smiled at Davey. �If it�s folklore you�re after, you have come to the right place. The locals tell a good story once you get them talking. The way they tell it, you believe� until you�re back home and realize there must be a logical explanation. But the stories are grand. You will enjoy them, I think.� She fell silent, thinking of the upcoming assignment and waiting for the Chinese waitress to replace their empty tea kettle with a full one.

--Alison

Davey polished the tea and put out his cigarette.

"Well, then, I'll give Washington a ring."

He winked and went to the cash register, requesting use of the phone. In the meantime the waitress brought more tea.

Davey came back in a couple minutes.

"I think they were just trying to get me off the phone, but you're in. The paperwork should arrive in a few weeks. I suppose you'll need to gather your things?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Alison enjoyed another cup of tea while Davey was on the phone, watching the busy vendors on the street. She rose when he returned, anxious for news. A wide smile spread at his words and her eyes sparkled with enthousiasm. �Well done�, she cheered.

�I�ll need my camera and a few other things, nothing that would take long.� Remembering he had arrived only two hours, she added. �Do you have a hotel? If not, the guest room at home is free for use. You might snatch a few hours sleep while I'll pack my camera and do a bit of lightning fast shopping. I desperately need a pair of loafers.� Her light tone implied she did need them but not badly enough to waste time over. The offer was mainly made to provide him with the opportunity of sleep.

--Alison

"I've already checked at the Raffles," Davey said somewhat dissapointed he couldn't join the lovely young woman in her natural habitat.

"It is probably for the best, I'd say. A hotel bed shall only keep my nap small. A nice feather bed may keep me there until supper. Shall I pick you up two hours? Remind me where you live."

He took a fountain pen from his kacky breast pocket and offered a paper napkin to write on.

"If you mention your favourite blend of wine as well, that may prove useful in the future."

He playfully winked and called the waitress over to pay the bill.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�Two hours should be plenty�, Alison reassured him. Her slender, well manicured fingers held the napkin in place as she wrote her address down. She laughed, handing his pen and napkin back �If the occasion arises, I�ll gladly rely on your good taste.�

�I will see you at ten-fifteen or thereabouts then?� Alison waited for him so they could leave together. �And thank you for the generous amounts of tea, Davey, that was just what I needed.�

�This is too good to be true, I must be dreaming. I didn�t dare hope for another assignment for another week at least, with the holidays and such.� She confided in him as they stepped out. �I�ll be counting the minutes till we leave, hoping I won�t wake up in the meantime.� After they had left the Tea House, Alison looked for a Trishaw to take her to her favourite shoe-shop before returning home to pack her things. �See you then, Davey.� She said, giving a warm smile as they parted ways.

--Alison

Davey was punctual as usual. He arrived at the house with an American flatbed. The 1943 Ford was stocked full with camera equipment, camping gear, water jugs, and backpacks. He'd managed to cover most of it with a tarp, but various tripod legs, bottle caps, and nozzles poked out from underneath. Getting out and feigning a snobby and proud walk he acted like a chaeffer by removing his hat and opening the passenger door.

The sun was high now and humid heat began to wash deep into town. The cobblestone and concrete absorbed the blue skies above and it already seemed to much to be wearing slacks and boots. The insects were out too. Several unidentifiable beetles flitted through the air throwing buzzes into her ears. Mosquitos had also taken flight, although there weren't too many this far into town.

"'ello, love. Your car is ready."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Her backpack bulged from the newly bought loafers that had been packed, together with a fresh set of clothes, her swimsuit, flashlight, first aid kit, make-up and a lot of other necessities. After she had changed into slacks and a fresh white shirt, Alison wrote a quick note for her parents and left it upon the kitchen table.

Dear mom and dad, I ran into Davey from the National Geographic Society, and guess what? He has an assignment for me! We are leaving immediately for Sentosa, not sure when I'll be back, could be hours or a few days. Love, Alison

Alison secured the note by planting her father's favorite tea mug on one corner. "That should do it." She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and dragged her backpack out just in time to greet Davey as he pulled up in front.

�Thirty seconds late ��, with a mock frown at her watch and a snobbery that matched his. She laughed and lowered her backpack to the pavement. �Funny man", she said with an approving grin.

"It's good to see you, Davey. Let me grab my camera and I�ll be all set.� Alison pointed to the door and put action to word by walking back inside. A minute later she was back, carrying her tripod and camera bag. Alison helped him stack her gear into the Ford and climbed into the passenger seat, keeping her camera and a bottle of water close. �Ready.� She smiled at him and reached on to the handhold above the car door.

--Alison

Davey roared the flatbed to life and drove recklessly onto the semi-paved street. The radio was tuned to a station playing American jazz, but the reception was not good enough to make much of the music out. The truck barrelled through town, passing the meek buildings of the city.

Eventually they were outside the city and on bumpy and dirty roads. Each dimple in the road sent the truck lurching high because of Davey's speed. The station was finally changed from static to a Manderin new station. Although the driver could not understand, he knew Alison could.

The jungle escalated around them and the road became more and more diffiuclt to drive on. This did not change Davey's speed.

"So," he said in between bounces, "when was your last assignment, then?"

Last edited by Laveaux on Mon Mar 14, 2005 4:08 pm; edited 1 time in total

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Davey�s driving threw her left and right, against the car door and back in her seat, as she held on desperately to the handhold above the door. �A little over three weeks ago�, she told him as soon as the road permitted conversation. �photographing the plain tiger and the banded peacock, amongst others.� Throwing him a sidelong grin, she added �Butterflies in Malaysia, I didn�t know either.�

Alison planted a foot against the dashboard, bracing herself against the worst leaps of the truck. Mandarin chatter assaulted her ears through the radio, Davey seemed intent on breaking all her bones before they arrived - how did he manage to keep driving anyway? � and she was enjoying every second! The years between 1942 and 1945 had hardened her against discomfort and taught her the value of simple things, such as good company� like Davey�s.

�What about you?� She asked after a pause. �What was the last time you were in Singapore? What did you do before returning here?� Again she looked over at the driving man, �and what do you think of this assignment?�

--Alison

"Haven't been here since ... when was that... I was... that was the night I woke up on the street I think. Eight months ago?"

The truck went airborne for a second and after it landed, Davey continued.

"I've been stationed in Berlin, covering a story about post war Germany. The article's being published this week. Bloody glad I'm in someplace warm now."

On her last question he shrugged, "You seen one devil, you've seen'm all."

He roared with laughter and smacked her knee as if she was one of the guys.

"Time is it?" He asked and checked his watch before he answered.

He pulled a flask from a backpack behind his seat and took a sip, then offered it to Alison.

The truck continued to pound its way deep into the forest, but they were suddenly passing through a clearing. The area seemed to have been turned into a small ranch. Fences kept cattle at bay and long grass served as a sudden change of scenary.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�On the street?� She laughed, shaking her head. �Oh Davey!� The way he told it, waking up on the street sounded like a splendid joke. Alison was still laughing when she accepted the flask from him. �Well, this is going to be my first devil�, she told him contently, �so he will be special�. It was easy to relax around Davey with his jokes and laughter and Alison found herself looking at him almost as much as watching the road and the rainforest. Now she thought about it, he was getting very cheerful. He hadn�t been drinking, had he? Ah, and what if he had? Davey knew what he was doing.

Alison waited till the truck had landed after another bump and raised the flask, sniffing the contents before taking a drink.

�Oh look!� She pointed with the flask in hand, �Slow down, Davey, isn�t it gorgeous? And so close to the city still! Are these people you wanted to interview, or further still?� She threw him a fresh excited smile and risked letting go of her handhold to angle for her camera.

--Alison

The flask smelled of sweet rum, and it went down like coconut milk. It was still full, so it appeared Davey had only begun drinking. The warm sensation cloaking her stomach suddenly took the edge off the hard trip and eased a pleasent calm over her.

Davey, without responding stopped upon request and pulled the truck to the side. He got out and wiped some sweat from his brow, the jungle heat already coming to a climax.

"Good shot, dove," he said.

Suddenly he cocked his head as a curious expression glinted across his scruffy face.

"What's that then?"

He pointed into the feild. It seemed four or five cows were either sleeping or dead a few dozen meters in.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

The drink trickled down her throat like a balm after a hot day, its pleasant effects spreading through her body. No wonder Davey had been such pleasant company, she thought as she stoppered the flask and left it on the driver�s seat. She grabbed her camera and hopped from the truck. �Hot, isn�t it?� Alison shot Davey a sympathetic look, �It will be steaming once it starts raining� � She grinned, �but it never lasts long and at least you aren�t in cold Berlin.�

Turning to the field at Davey�s questions, Alison raised one blonde brow. �Heh, that�s odd� you won�t find many cows in Singapore. Most farmers keep pigs or poultry.� She took a few steps closer and leaned over the fence to look at the placid animals. �I wonder where the owner is?�

--Alison

"Well, then, get your camera."

Davey took his own camera and tripod from the truck and slipped under the fence into the tall grass ahead.

Upon arrival the cows were most certainly dead. Mutilated in fact. Davey quickly brought a handkerchief to his face and reeled back a few steps. There were five of them, placed in a neat row. Their stomachs were slashed open and whatever was left were covered in huge flies.

Every other part of the cows were intact.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Camera slung over one shoulder, Alison ducked back into the truck to dig out her tripod. �Coming�, she called out to Davey as she lithely climbed over the fence despite the tripod in her arms.

�Oh God�� Alison pressed a hand to her throat and averted her eyes, swallowing heavily. �Oh dear Lord..� Her legs felt weak and she fumbled with the tripod, trying to get it to stand on the uneven grass. She pushed it back and forth, removed it and stomped the grass with her boot. Anything to keep looking away from the butchered lifestock. Opening her camera bag with trembling fingers, she mounted her camera on the tripod. �Don�t touch anything.� Alison warned automatically, although she didn�t think Davey would be that stupid. She was mostly talking to herself.

During the war she had heard of worse deeds than this; she had known what happened to men who provoked the Japanese. Still, the jungle had seemed so peaceful. It was the unexpected brutality, the sudden find of this slaughter when she had been feeling cheerful and happy that had shaken her badly. Beads of perspiration trickled over her forehead incited more by her intense concentration than by the tropical forest heat.

Going through the familiar motions of setting up her camera helped her regain her control. Somehow, the mutilated beasts didn�t seem as bad -not as real- when seen through the finder. She took two pictures, one of the cows� neat row and the other focusing on a single cow and the fly covered wound.

When she was done, Alison hastily dissembled her camera from the tripod and walked to the truck, grabbing Davey�s liquor from the seating. She drank deeply and offered the flask back to him. �Good stuff. I hope you brought a lot.� She told him with a weak, sick smile. �Where do you think the owners are?�

--Alison

Before Davey could answer a rifle shot echoed through the air, crackling over them like thunder. It was not certain where it had come from or where it hit, but it was very close. Davey dropped beneath the grass and took Alison down with him by grabbing her wrist.

"I'd say that be them."

The rifle sounded again, this time a chunk of earth exploded next to them.

"Not hunting porcupines, I see," he jested not a glint of worry on his face, "why don't you ask him for a pint? You know, settle things over spirits?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Alison recoiled when the first riffle shot hit sounded. She�d have frozen in shock if not for Davey who pulled her down into the cover the long grass provided. �Davey!� When the earth spat up beside them, she smothered a scream and pressed her body close to the ground. �We haven�t done anything!� She spluttered to Davey. �What�s that idiot think he�s doing!�

�Berhenti!� She shouted in Malay as she pushed up on her elbows. �Stop!�

�Kawan.. Friends. We�re here to help. Stop shooting!�

Not too sure of how her words would be received, Alison hastily crawled back a couple of paces from her previous spot, ducking her head low to the ground. With her luck, the shootist would be Chinese or worse and Davey was laying there as if it all was one grand joke.

Who had armed these people with rifles anyway? This would never have happened before the Occupation� Bloody Japanese!

�If he keeps shooting, we�ll run to the truck��She glanced at Davey, a plea in that look. �You�re a good driver�. � All she wanted to hear was some sort of confirmation that he�d get her out of there, away from this crazed farmer.

--Alison

The gunfire stopped and all that remained were the scattering wings of nearby water foul. Davey arched his eyebrows and peered over the top of the grass and then looked back at Alison shrugging.

"Maybe he liked your voice."

He gestured to the truck with his head and then crouching began heading that way.

A very British voice sounded from the distance, "So sorry! Thought you were poachers. My rifle is away now... you can come out. My wife has some fresh bread and cheese!"

He stopped his crouch and asked permission from Alison with his eyes.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

British! The man�s accent told her all she needed to know, it was his credentials, assurance and badge of honor all in one. Nodding quickly at Davey, she answered the unspoken question by pushing to her feet.

�Poachers? No, but someone killed your cows, Sir.� She called back. Alison wiped her hands over her hips, leaving a smudge of dirt, and strode over to pick up her tripod. She threw the tripod in the truck and put her camera gently on the passenger seat. It didn�t occur to her she�d make a prime target� one Brit didn�t shoot another. �I think we should accept? If he lives here, he may have heard of the Devil.� She told Davey. With her back turned to the dead animals, Alison could find some appeal in the thought of lunch.

Alison glanced over in the direction of the rancher�s voice, expecting him to approach. �I am Alison Taylor and this is Davey Humboldt. We are doing research for an article.�

--Alison

Alison's body crested the grass and she saw a ridiculously dressed Englishman forty yards away. Decorated with a safari hat, shorts and safari shirt, he carried a hunting rifle, long black mustache dangling below his chin, monocle on his eye, and a pipe in his mouth. It was as if he stepped out of a comic strip.

"Ah, yes, I know, love. Terrible fright it is. They get a pretty pound for beef in these parts."

Davey could not hold back the snicker. He motioned forward, smiling smugly at his companion and waited for her to pass before he followed behind to catch up with the rancher.

The man politely kissed Alison's hand and shook Daveys, after removing his hat and setting the butt of his rifle on the ground.

"Walter Rushing Jr., pleasure to meet you. Journalists are you? Why, I am a fun of the printed word, indeed. Rather find non-fiction quite wizard, in fact. For whom do you scribe, love?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�Someone married him?� Alison whispered to Davey well before they caught up withWalter. It probably was crazy, Alison mused, to be thinking of the man�s marital status but he was too unreal� she could only imagine what the missus would be like. Maybe she was an American, one of those fat ladies perhaps with a passion for historic romance novels and Wagner operas. Whatever she was, Alison hoped with secret delight she was every bit as colourful as this Englishman.

�It�s a pleasure, Mr Rushing�, she told him genuinely with a quick look to the truck. What a shame her camera was laying out of reach on the front seat. Perhaps if she slipped it into the conversation, Mister Walter Rushing junior would be partial to having his picture taken. With that moustache, he�d make an excellent subject for one of her portrait studies� But not here, she decided, the light was too strong here in the open. Now, if the man�s home had a porch, that would be simply perfect�

�Davey is the scribe, actually. I just provide the pictures, I�m a photographer.� If his wife is as photogenic as he is, we have a winner. A picture of him alone only needs a very short article to sell. I wonder if Davey sees it too. Looking at Davey made her smile, nothing could get that man down! At the same time seeing him reminded her of why they were there and with a brief pang of regret, Alison forced all greedy thoughts of Walter Rushing pictures to the backburner of her mind.

Avoiding to look at the gruesome scene to their left, Alison raised her hand in a vague gesture. �Not the first time then, Sir? The poachers, I mean?�

Alison had not studied the dead beasts too closely, but still had not gotten the impression the criminals had taken much meat from the cows. Either they had been interrupted, or they�d been after something else. Whatever they had been doing, they had taken the time to line the animals up, which might well indicate they had intended an unhurried butchering. She shivered, caressing the hollow of her throat with nervous fingers. �I hope you will catch them�, she added abruptly. While the girl wouldn�t frown upon a family poaching a chicken or a solitary animal for some food to get them through, the situation here was something else indeed. Slaughtering animals on this scale had the feel of careless, brutal waste. Uncomfortably, Alison waved herself some fresh air, chasing a buzzing insect away from her sweaty brow.

--Alison

Alison's comment threw Davey into a roar of laughter, but he composed himself before greeting the stranger.

Walter Rushing Jr. smiled delightfully upon hearing of their occupation.

"Photography! Yes! Wizard past time. I dabbled in it myself far too long ago than I care to admit. And you sir, a sorceror of print, indeed. I shall oblige myself to dangle into your world, as it were, and take upon your musings with great zeal. Where would our empire be without the blessed craft, back in the stone age I say. Yes, wizard. Quite wizard."

His exaggerated face melted into dismay and possibly desperation. Throwing a hand into the air he said, "Yes, indeed. The poachers have been quite naughty lately."

Davey looked back at the cattle and scratched the scruff of his neck.

"Um.. Mr. Rushing. Don't poachers usually take the meat or something somewhat useful?"

Rushing raised a cooky eyebrow and looked beyond Davey's shoulder.

"So they do. It seems these ruffians extracted nothing at all..."

He went to inspect the cows. After lifting up the incision with the nose of the rifle, it appeared that the animals were cut open but everything was still inside.

Alison noticed that the eyes of the animals were missing.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

When both Davey and Walter Rushing jr focused their attention upon the slaughtered beasts, Alison�s gaze involuntarily followed their investigation. The fingers at her throat tensed and she remained very still, watching Walter in helpless fascination. Even before Walter lifted the slabs of cut meat Alison already knew what he�d find, she�d seen it through the seeker of her camera. To Alison, it appeared as if the cows� eyeless sockets reflected an endless patience, whatever had been done no longer touched them. They were just waiting until those fast-moving, slow-thinking humans were finally done. Then they�d disintegrate and leave humanity�s cruelty behind. Despite the moist jungle heat, Alison shivered. Whoever had done this, had had a purpose� but what anyone would want with that many cow eyes eluded her �. Unless�

�Their eyes are missing, think our devil wanted a change of diet?� She asked Davey, forcing a light-heartedness she could no longer feel. The Malay might know why this happened, their knowledge of demons, devils and warding against them is better than ours.

�That�s what we�re here for, you see?� She addressed Walter Rushing. �To investigate rumors of a devil scaring the inlanders.� An outstretched hand indicated the cows.. �We thought they were just rumors... � Her voice trailed off and she avoided looking at Davey and Walter. In the light of the burning sun, it seemed too farfetched to suggest the inlanders might have been scared enough to harvest extra eyes for protection� but Alison found herself considering just that. And if she wished to know whether the people here had behaved oddly, Walter -no matter how weird - was their best bet. "Have you had any trouble lately, Sir? Aside from poachers?" She asked. It never occurred to her to distrust the man. Who would slaughter his own lifestock? And besides, he was British.

--Alison

The cartoon man looked at her with bushy raised eyebrows. Thoughtfully sucking on his pipe he looked over his slaughtered cattle once more.

"Ah. Well. If it is the Penangal you are speaking of... it doesn't exist. And if it did, it goes after babies, women and children. Those are local folk tales. Rubbish."

He cocked his head and added, "The locals have been squawking like chimpanzees over the bloody devil women, though."

Davey, having been crouched for a further inspection of the cows looked up suddenly, "Our devil is a Penangal?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�You know the story of the Penangal, Davey?� Alison waded through the long grass towards him, causing another storm of flies to momentarily abandon their feast. �We�re getting somewhere now�Did you find anything?� She whispered as she reached him, having more faith in Davey�s examination than in the caricatural man�s observations.

�I don�t believe the stories either but if the locals believe them, there might be trouble.� She raised her voice enough to be heard by both men. �I�d very much like to meet the ones who�ve been squawking�� Smiling at Walter to soften her eagerness, she added a polite �but not until after tea, of course.�

--Alison

Davey shrugged and sat back, accepting more rum into his stomach before proceeding. He allowed Alison to step in and see what he was looking at.

"Penangal... some sort of baby eating ghost or something, isn't it?"

"Not quite on the dartboard, old friend," Walter said, "if it were a ghost, it wouldn't be eating the flesh of the young, now would it? Disembodied demon, they say. It comes at night in the form of a head or torso, the very insides of the creature hanging beneath it in a site that would turn Dante himself pale. Forever cursed to feat on human blood."

He cackled evilly and then erupted in his own obnoxious laugh.

Davey suddenly perked up as he looked from behind Alison, "Mr. Rushing? Do you know of anyone from the Caribbean on this island?"

The rancher's eyebrows arched in curiosity, "Why, sure I do! My help is a wonderful Haitian family. Odd sort, but they do a pretty piece of Edwardian labor."

Davey grunted and then pointed in the cow's mouth. Alison saw immediately what he was referring to. The animals' tongues were missing as well.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Walter�s cackling laughter chased a shiver down Alison�s spine. Odd how the noon sun wasn�t hot enough to prevent the sudden cold that trickled through her veins. When she had been living on the isle of Penang with her parents and brother, she�d heard the locals whisper about the Penangal but they had never described the demon�s appearance. All Alison had ever heard was that they fed off pregnant women and newborn children�s blood, but even more than Walter�s description, his laughter made her uneasy. Compared to Rushing�s quaint behaviour, the mutilated corpses almost appeared normal.

She exchanged a discrete glance with Davey and lofted a questioning brow. �What made you think of the Caribbean, Davey? Does this ring a bell for you?� An imploring hand reached for Davey�s arm, slender fingers curling over his wrist.

Alison healthy complexion turned a bit pale and her breathing quickened. The more they found out, the less she liked this �hunt� and Walter�s strange laughter had tripled her unease. However, with the odd Englishman so close she didn�t dare speak her mind and just reached for the flask of coconut rum Davey was carrying. Before she raised the flask to her lips, her eyes sought Davey�s, holding his gaze for a second before flickering towards Walter. A concerned frown etched upon her brow and she tipped the flask back, enjoying a good sip from the soothing liquor.

--Alison

Davey rather liked the attention and took her clasping fingers with his other hand, smiling.

"Well. Taking eyes and tongue is a Voodoo custom. I just thought it'd be a strange religion to be in the bleedin' Pacific. Unless some local customs bare strange similarity.

"I think your servants might be stirring up the pot."

Rushing furrowed his bushy eyebrows and stuttered over his words before finally settling on, "I see..."

Davey stood up, taking Alison's hand.

"Well! Looks like we found our devil quite a bit sooner than expected."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

What an odd reaction... Alison watched the odd Englishman bemusedly. Weird man� Firing at us, but gaping like a fish on dry land now Davey figures his own staff might be involved. A frown creased upon the young woman�s brow and she clasped Davey�s hand just a little bit tighter.

�Not much of an article without a devil�, she laughed away her distress with a light joke. �Unless we can find another angle, the Geographic will be terribly disappointed in us.� Recovering as she talked, Alison smiled at Walter Rushing. �Although I can�t say I share their disappointment. Voodoo rituals are so much more... normal.. wouldn�t you agree? Still, isn�t Davey just the miracle to think of it?�

I don�t believe a word of it She thought as she babbled away at small talk as if she were attending a tea party. Even if his staff did this, they�d have had a reason.. and he wouldn�t know about it? No�I don�t like it.. He is too odd, too strange�like he�s inviting us to think he�s stupid, but that doesn�t mean he is. He could be involved for all we know. Oh, if only I could speak with Davey alone!

--Alison

Walter Rushing lead the two to his jeep nestled in an overgrown road beneath the awnings of a jungle canopy.

"I trust your truck will be safe?" He asked rhetorically as he started the vehicle.

Davey, keeping her hand shrugged and as they went to the jeep he whispered in her ear without his knowing, "I don't trust him either, but what'll a bit of tea hurt, eh?"

Rushing drove them down the road as if nothing had happened. His drawling banter poured out in gushes. He spoke about the countryside, the locals, the problem with poachers, and how hard it was to raise cattle in the tropics. Every word left little room for the other two to discuss or respond.

At last the arrived at what must have been his mansion. Towering four stories high in a traiditonal colonial architecture complete with pillars and an open deck, it was hardly the home of a meager rancher. Ancient moss-covered trees hung vines all over the property so that the entire ediface of the house could not be seen.

Walter exited the jeep and clapped cheerfully into the air. A Haitian girl, barely reaching 14 left the house dutifully. She wore British clothing: a corsette and dress, but it did not fit her athletic physique. Black eyes and stared humbly at her boss as he barked, "Gather their things, Abella."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Alison made sympathetic sounds whenever Walter paused and switched from one topic to the other. She had quickly discovered that asking questions was a no go and � with an amused glance exchange with Davey - had settled for the alternative in polite listening. She concentrated mainly on keeping her camera safe in her lap, only occasionally lifting one hand to brush the blonde locks away from her face.

�What a splendid house!� The exclamation came before Alison had time to think it over. Her fingers ached to lift the camera and photograph this magnificent sight. Good manners, however, dictated otherwise and she climbed from the jeep, tearing her gaze from Rushing�s home towards the servant girl, noting the subservient demeanor. perfect for a servant, I suppose, Alison thought wrily. But I don�t think she�ll tell us anything without Rushing explicit whispering in her ear. She should have expected this, but it was a disappointment all the same.

�Mr Rushing, you have my admiration�How did you find this gem? You didn�t build it, did you?� As her eyes had travelled back to their scrutiny of his home, it was evident what Alison meant. It has atmosphere.. Not sure yet if it�s the good kind. It�s old� There are windows behind the vines. I wonder if anyone is watching?

--Alison

"This pleasent little vista is birthed from my very own hands, sweet lady. Well . . . hands employed by me at any rate. And for good salary, I'm not a barbarian after all, now am I? Wretched mess, it was. Took five bleeding years to get the foundation stable, what with the bleeding Singapore sludge they call ground.

"Took the design from the Americas. I'm quite fond of Haiti as you may have gandered."

The jovial man tossled Abella's hair as she went to help Davey, who politely refused.

"Go on then," he said, "I'm sure I can take it."

"Abella," Rushing said, taking note of Davey's response, "a bit of tea would be nice, if you please. There should be fresh cream in the pantry."

Rushing shrugged apolegetically, "I'm afraid we are cursed with Medeival technology. The power of electricity is alien to this land. I do have a generator for emergencies, but I rather enjoy the peace, admittedly."

Davey's playful fingers suddenly came up from behind Alison and he tickled her spine wailing like a ghost.

"Don't know, without electricity how will we SEE THE DEVIL?"

Davey thought his joke was rediculously funny and toasted himself before sipping the rum. Passing the flask over to his colleague he followed Rushing into the house who politely smiled with a furrowed brow.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�Davey!� Alison hissed the name, shooting him a frosty glare as she accepted the flask. This time she didn�t drink but restoppered the flask, attaching it to her belt when she was done. Davey�s wit and good humour had turned business into pleasure, had softened the shock of finding the dead animals, but unlike the others this joke had been ill-timed and left Alison feeling uneasy and disappointed.

Perhaps the tea would do him good; it had done wonders for her only hours ago. Her smile softened and she took her camera, leaving it to Walter to decide whether more of their luggage should be brought in. They weren�t intending to stay long after all. She headed towards their host, camera-bag slung over one shoulder. �It�s a gorgeous house. With a home like this, I�d gladly forgo electricity too.� She flattered, eager to make up for Davey�s ill-behaviour. �Would you allow me to take pictures of the house, Mr Rushing? It�s a gem!� her smile deepened. In this, at least, she could be honest without reserve. �You would get a print, of course, and I promise I won�t use them without your permission.�

--Alison

Like a child, Davey shrinked back blushing. Realizing he'd gone too far, the young man cleared his throat and ran his hands through unkempt black hair. He looked at her apologetically and then immediately took a business-like posture.

"A photo opportunity would be very generous . . . and perhaps an interview?" Davey asked.

The cartoonish man laughed from his belly and waved his hand.

"Nonsense! Who'd interview an old sloth like me. You are indeed welcome to take photos, my dear, and you have carte blanche to use them however you please."

Posing proudly he looked up at his mansion while the young girl helped unload the camera gear.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Only Walter�s presence stopped Alyson from wrapping Davey in her arms, telling him she had not meant it. He looked so vulnerable, so sweet that it was tempting to forget it wouldn�t be proper, easy to forget he was so much older than she. Davey, I am so sorry. Don�t be like this, please� Her smile was radiance when Davey found his business pose and she turned towards Walter.

�An old sloth! Certainly not.� Alison laughed. �Davey is right, sir. You have build a home based on South American style here in Singapore. I am sure our readers will be thrilled to read why you chose Singapore, what problems you encountered and how you solved them.� It took a few seconds before her own words echoed back at her. Why Singapore? A good question indeed. He loves the Caribbean.. Why is he ranching here? It doesn�t make sense. Stiffling a sigh, Alison resisted the urge of copying Davey�s manner of running her fingers through her hair.

The girl cast an appraising look at the sky. �A few more hours, I think, till the light is best. We�d have more than enough time for tea before we�ll have to set up our equipment. Wouldn�t you agree, Davey?�

--Alison

"Well then," Walter Rushing said, "I'd love to have an interview. Tea first, shall we?"

The rancher lead them inside wherein Davey nodded as professionally as possible to her inquiry. The manor was far more glorious inside than out. A colonial master staircase draped from the second floor down into a wooden foyer where masterful rugs and tapestries lined the walls. Brass bordered the houses features and dark oak supported the walls. Candle lanterns and chandeliers brought as much illumination as electricity would and oil portraits consumed the halls.

Rushing gave them a very quick tour as they went into the dining room and each room was more elegant then the last. Upon arrival of the dining room and the adjacent tea terrace stretching into a manicured garden outside, the Haitian servants were seen. An older man and his wife dressed in traditional English serving clothes set the table with fine china and pewter. The servants were careful not to make eye contact with their master's guests and went on as usual.

In the tea garden was a young girl, certainly Walter's daughter, who had gotten her pretty blue English dress dirty by playing amidst the willows, vines, and trees. Her blonde locks were done up in ribbons and sparkling blue eyes radiated at the vision of her father.

"Father!", she squealed, "I found a caterpillar in the garden!"

"Leave it be, bird, and come meet my guests. Ashleigh, this is Alison and Davey from the National Geographic. You remember that periodical don't you?"

"With the animals!" She ran up and hugged Alison as if she were a long lost aunt.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Wiping her hands on her kaki pants, Alison followed Walter and Davey through the house. �I was right.� She smiled at the eccentric Brit, �this house is a gem. You have created a marvel, Mr Rushing, I am in awe.� After an initial curious look to the Haitian servants, Alison avoided looking at them directly. In this perfect, harmonious setting they were the only dissonant, grating on the nerves like nails over a schoolboard.

When Alison stepped out into the tea garden, the tension flowed from her muscles. Quietly she drew in the beauty of the mansion's garden, reminded of the gardens the British had kept in Penang before the occupation, only more splendorous. She might even go as far as to compare Rushing�s achievement with the sweet beauty of the Cameron Highlands, where the mountains shielded the valley, allowing for a pleasant mild climate the entire year through. It reminded her of home.

Wistful thoughts of her brother and the lost peace on Penang were chased away by a child's happy squeel. �Hello Ashleigh.� Alison laughed and kneeled to meet the kids height �Yes, that�s the one. With lots of animals. Although Davey knows more about them than I do. I only make the pictures.. some of them.�

The house grand interior, the child�s welcome and Walter�s hospitality had sung her suspicions to sleep. How could she have doubted Walter? A man - an Englishman - who had made a home like this, and family like Ashleigh was not the devious scoundrel she had started to take him for. All the folk tales and rumors faded to the background as Alison smiled over the child's head at Walter. �It was so very kind of you to invite us, sir.�

--Alison

Ashleigh could not contain her excitement. Face buzzing and proper clothing doing little to stop her she scrambled to Davey who also knelt to greet her.

"Can you tell me about the monkeys and the zebras and the gazelles? I'd love to go to Africa, but father says it is too dangerous for young girls. Have you been? Have you seen a lion before? Elephants? Giraffes? I saw in the National Geographic that giraffes only eat plants, is that true? Like salads? Do they eat tomatoes? I don't like tomatoes, they are gooey and far too tart for my tastes. Can you ride a giraffe like a horse? Father got me a horse in the stable last summer for my birthday. I'm 8 years old. Father says I'm almost a woman. Do you want to see my horse? It's not as pretty as a zebra. Her name is Wendy. Wendy the horse. She's a pony, really, but father says the pony is a horse just like I am a young woman."

Davey had fallen on back, propped with his hands, abdomen heaving with laughter. Not even bothering to try to answer any of her questions before she rattled off the next one, he finally took a breath in between laughs and said, "We'd be delighted to see Wendy, love."

"Now, bird, don't scare away the guests," Rushing jested, "We will have some tea and then we can visit Wendy."

"Very good, father, can I have tea?"

"Of course!"

They each took a seat in the garden. From inside the Haitian woman delivered a pot of tea and soft cheeses. Not really acknowledging them Walter proceeded, "Mrs. Rushing should be out directly."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Laughing, Alison threw Davey a hand to help him up from the grass when Walter gave the signal for tea. �I'd love to see Wendy." She sighed contently, sinking into one of the chairs near the tea table. The early afternoon sun warmed her face and Alison tilted her head to the light, squinting her eyes as she enjoyed the lazy warmth. With one hand she waved herself some air, an old habit to cool the sweat on her brow.

Waiting for Mrs Rushing to arrive, she couldn't quite stop herself from speculating. What kind of woman would have married the comical Brit? Would she be every inch as eccentric, or would she be a young voluptuous blonde chasing after Rushing's obvious wealth? Glancing at Walter from under her lashes, Alison enjoyed a feeling of pleasant anticipation. In a few minutes, she would know.

--Alison

When Mrs Rushing arrived Davey openly laughed again, but quickly disguised his shock by clearing his throat and coughing. She was as cartoonish as Mr. Rushing. Complete with a flower-pattern dress, pearls, tidy short and gray hairstyle, white gloves, and a hat with delicate netting.

"Ah, husband! You have brought guests. How delightful! They will have tea, yes?"

"Dearheart, these are journalists for the National Geographic. They have come to research the devil."

"Oh, so they have! Lovely! Well, I don't envy your work. The subject of the devil can be ghastly."

She sat down and Haitian woman poured them all a round of tea.

"I know the locals are very fearful. They think their sons an daughters will be eaten," she resumed.

Davey chimed in, "Are they blaming the devil on the loss of livestock?"

Walter Rushing shot him a furious glare and then surprise dawned an his wife's face.

"Loss of livestock? Whatever do you mean?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Although she had laughed as well upon first meeting Walter Rushing, Alison merely smiled when Mrs Rushing proved every bit as colourful as he. She rose from her seat to greet their hostess properly, a warm smile touching the soft brown eyes. The gorgeous mansion and Ashleigh had made all the difference in the world, these people might be eccentric, but surely it had to be a good kind of eccentric? �Mrs Rushing, what a pleasure to meet you. We were just telling Mr Rushing what a gem this house is.�

�We were hoping to talk with the locals later, for background on the story?� Alison mused as she retook her seat. Watching the exchange between Mrs Rushing, Walter and Davey, Alison fought back a frown. Surely Davey�s comments had been out of line, but the look Walter send him was equally over the top. Men!

Alison reached for her tea and stirred in a lump of sugar as she composed her thoughts. �That is how we met Mr Rushing. We found several of your cattle dead in the fields�, she explained to Mrs Rushing. It was too late to keep it a secret now, if that was what Walter had intended. �Your husband thought we were the perpetrators and tried to shoot us.� The girl grinned at the memory. �Fortunately, he missed, we explained the situation and here we are.�

�And we are so lucky to have met you both, Mr Rushing promised us an interview.� An �oh� shaped her lips and she looked over at Davey. �That reminds me. Davey, quick question, please?� She set her tea down and pushed her chair back. �Business, please forgive us�just one minute.� With smooth apologies and a warm smile to Walter and his wife, she stepped to one side, a little distance away from the group.

�What are you doing?!� She whispered to Davey when he caught up with her. �You are deliberately baiting him, that�s not like you. Why?�

--Alison

Leaving the two older folks to discuss the loss of livestock, Davey and Alison were in the other room for a moment of fleeting confidentiality. His brown eyebrows raised, pushing tousled hair backward.

"I don't have the first idea what you're talking about," he bantered, "I'm just making bleeding conversation in there and I feel like I'm walking on bleeding pins and needles. There is no bloody devil, Alison, these Haitians are practicing voodoo. They've taken the organs of those cows and are probably hexing their overpriveleged masters for mistreatment as we speak.

"We've already cracked the case, I say we run with it and create as much drama as we can."

He presented a headline with his hands "Voodoo in Asia," he conjured, "or... Inside Haitian Singapore. We need a chat with that family. I wonder . . . how is your French?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�I don�t know, Davey.� Clasping her hands before her, Alison lowered her gaze to her companion�s chest. �I agree it looks that way, but I�ll be more convinced after we�ve spoken to the locals.� She cast a quick glance to the other room where Mr and Mrs Rushing presumably were discussing their recent misfortune. �Why did the servants come with the family if they were out to hex them? Mind you, I am no expert on voodoo but with most of those �magics� they have something that is supposed to work over distance. Wouldn�t they have done something when they left Haiti?� Fingers uncurled and she threw her hands up in an uncharacteristic display of defeat. �Oh, I don�t know.� She had enough control to keep her voice down, which resulted in a comical sigh. �Maybe you are right.�

She did not know what to think. Although Davey�s explanation didn�t cover all her questions, it was tempting to believe him. His reasoning had the merit of being straightforward and it kept the Rushing�s out of the picture, something of which Alison was secretly glad. If he had tried to pin this devil hoax on them, she�d have fought his reasoning with much more vigour. Seeking Davey�s hand for comfort, Alison fell silent as she pondered his advice.

�I guess you are right, but my French is non-existant�, she said somberly. �Unless I can keep them occupied with photographs, you�ll need Mr Rushing anyway. I don�t think they�ll talk to you if he�s hovering nearby to forbid them. Or if you�d rather get his support? Perhaps if we could get him apart from the servants and explain?� Or we could ask Ashleigh when she shows us Wendy� but I really don�t like doing that. There is no need to go behind Walter�s back, they�ve been nothing but kind to us.

--Alison

"You have a point, bird, but I suspect whatever is prompting them to hex is a recent problem or else they wouldn't have left. We won't know until we talk to them."

Happily taking her hand he fell silent, processing their next move.

"Perhaps you're right, going behind their back may be offensive, at the same time they may not be willing for us to have privacy with their servants. If you think you can get that from Mr. Rushing, that should be our play. If there is even a doubt he'll be suspicious, then I'll take him for an interview and you can get to the Haitians covertly.

"If you're caught just be your sweet self. How were you to know that speaking to the servents was frowned upon? You are simply doing your job after all. They'd understand.

"What do ya' say, kid, are you up for it?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Davey suggestion brimmed with practicality even if it wasn�t entirely ethical and Alison found herself nodding reluctantly. �I cannot predict what he�ll do. He might refuse, I don�t know.� Nervous fingers entwined with Davey�s, �I could ask one of them to help me with my equipment while you interview Walter.�

Alison still was not convinced pushing the servants was a good idea but since she had nothing better to offer, she went along with Davey�s suggestion. He made sense, even though he was showing a part of himself that made her squirm. The ease with which he changed from goodnatured friend to a reporter well used to deceit and manipulation, hinted that Davey had done this sort of thing before.

He has to get those insight stories somewhere. She defended him against her own judgement. Watch and learn, and maybe some day you�ll be travelling the world as well.

�It�s the only sure way�Yes, i am up for it.�

Davey�s excitement caught on to her and she laughed, swinging their hands. �Very well, I�ll go and get my camera. If you�ll excuse me with the Rushings? The light won�t let me wait any longer. If they�re gone by the time I get back, I will have the perfect reason to ask the staff for help.� It was terrifying how easily she could picture the scene, the inevitability of it all. How could she have blamed Davey for his scheming talents? She was just as bad, only not as good at it as he was. And what harm was there? They weren't intending to hurt anyone, after all.

--Alison

A broad handsome smile appeared on Davey's face as Alison spoke, yet his perceptive eyes picked up on something in her. Still keeping her hand, he brought his other hand up to her cheek, cupping it gently in a gesture that could have been interpreted as either a friendly one or loving one. Sincerity in his eyes brushed away any contemplation as he said, "It'll work out fine. Don't worry."

He jogged back into the garden to conduct his business, pulling a notepad and pencil out of his pocket. Armed with a charismatic smile and a barrage of interview questions, he quickly engaged the couple to allow Alison time to go to work.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

What could go wrong after that kind of reassurance? Smiling as she brushed her fingers where Davey�s hand had touched her cheek, Alison watched him jog off, realizing only after he�d gone that Davey could have tackled the Haitians and leave her with the easier task of diverting the Rushings. It had never come up. Somehow she didn�t think that smart when Davey was around. His optimism made seeking other paths seem a waste of time.

Perhaps he was right.

Checking her appearance in a mirror, Alison rubbed a fingertip over a tiny crease on her brow. Silly worry frowns. Mocking a deep frown at herself, the young woman laughed and strode off to find the Haitians, or rather one of them. She did not want the daughter, the girl�s demeanour had been too flawlessly subservient. And although Alison had no real hopes where the woman was concerned, she knew where to find her which was more than she could say for the man.

For that reason Alison ambushed the woman when she cleared away the remains of their tea. �Excuse me, miss�, she opened as she walked straight up. Unfamiliar with the woman�s name, Alison settled for addressing her as �miss�, even though it wasn�t quite proper, and smiled - friendly, she hoped. �I was wondering if someone could help with my equipment.� She waited for a reaction from the other before confirming the Rushings were still out of sight by a swift look over her shoulder. Now she was certain the other couldn�t hide behind not understanding the language � a popular game played by the locals on Penang - the young blonde took a step closer to the other woman. �And I need more help than just the luggage... Please.� She stated as she sought to meet the servant�s gaze. �I know you can answer my questions. What happened to the cows would alert any believer.�

--Alison

The Haitian woman, perhaps in her late twenties, stood with a proud posture. Although conditioned to wear British dresses, she chose ones with light black cotton and gold patterns reminiscent of her traditional clothing. Her hair was held up with interlacing flowers. High cheek bones delivered black and wizened eyes.

Alison's initial request was understand but after looking over her shoulder to see the Rushings were being escorted further into the garden for an interview, the woman simply looked at her blankly. It took a sturdy pause before she spoke.

A thick French accent drowned her words, but Alison could make it out.

"We must protect our daughter," she said, "there are things we should not discuss."

Closing the conversation with averted eyes, the woman began heading to the door to retrieve Alison's luggage.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

If the woman thought that was the end of the conversation, she was mistaken. Alison followed the other to the Jeep, pointing out which pieces she needed. �I understand your reluctance.� She agreed sincerely. �But what if your daughter�s case is not alone? Other parents are frightened as well. You protect those you love, but not everyone has that knowledge.� She pleaded, taking up a few of the smaller pieces of luggage to delay their return to the mansion. �Do you at least know someone who might tell me more?� Only that last try to see if the woman would lend her that much help. She would not go any further. Privately, Alison sympathized with the Haitian woman. Any other mother would have done the same.

--Alison

"All children are in danger," she said taking some equipment, "but we cannot help all children. We can only help our daughter. The diable come for les enfants. We blind le diable. Take its tongue so it cannot speak. Take its eyes so it cannot hear."

The woman stood in front of Alison to make absolutely sure their eyes were connected. A stern face emitted a gut-driven intensity that caused the finer points of her face to tremble slightly.

"You have never seen horror before."

Then back to work she muttered almost under her breath, "What are a few vaches...."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Although Alison did not comprehend every word of the woman�s speech, the message came across loud and clear. Despite the tropical temperatures, a shiver crawled up her spine. Alison was no stranger to pain and cruelty. Although she and her family had been relatively fortunate, the Japanese had made certain everyone knew the consequences of bad behaviour. Bad years, but it had been war, and war changed people. It turned them into beasts, not into devils preying on harmless children in the night.

Alison clutched the flashlight case in her arms as she met the Haitian woman�s intense gaze. Hypnotizing. Like a snake. She thought. And, She has strength. I wonder if she is a priestess in her religion. Stepping aside to let the other woman pass, the youthful blonde followed, unsure what to make of the mother�s revelations.

She pointed to a spot where the trees provided some shadow. �Over there, I think.� Giving the example by marching over, Alison avoided direct eye contact. Her fingers trembled as she set up her tripod and camera, but she did not return to the subject of the penangal.

--Alison

The Haitian woman waited patiently for Alison to take her photographs and even allowed a shot or two of herself, before offering to take the equipment inside. By the time they returned to the garden, Davey had gotten the Rushings silly on French wine. Not taking a drink of his filled glass at all, he simply egged them on and bombarded the two with friendly questions, secretly hiding real journalism.

Delighted to see Alison's return, Davey stood and said, "Welcome back, love. We were just going to sit for lunch. I hope your appetite is with you. Chardonnay?"

He poured a glass and rushed over so to be briefly out of earshot of the older couple.

"It's urine," he whispered, "or damned near."

Walter and his wife soon followed and took seats at the table in front of luxurious place settings.

"We offered a place to stay for the evening to Davey," he said, "but he wanted to submit the itinerary to you, it seems. Perhaps you can use our house as a camp to set up your studies?"

The Haitian family, now all together, brought out water, baskets of rolls, butter, and more wine.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

As she took pictures of the house, Alison felt her spirits rise. Concentrating on her work, she experimented with a variety of angles and filters before deciding on the exact picture. The one with the filtered light and wide angle might turn out best, she judged. The mansion would appear dreamy in that picture, a central jewel framed by ancient trees. She also had high hopes for another picture. Using the maximum amount of light she could get, Alison had attempted to let the shadows work for her. Rather than blending in, the four storey house would pose a contrast to the wilderness of vines and trees surrounding it.

When the Haitian lady proved willing to pose for a few pictures, the photographer thought she had landed in heaven. Light was a challenge for these portraits, the woman�s dark skin made it even more important to balance the amount of light coming from the front and behind. Alison forgot how the woman's intense stare had made her feel, instead she poured all her skill and energy in the attempt to capture some of that mystery on film.

With professionalism taking over, Alison privately considered the technical problems of photographing a penangal in the dark of night. She was not blind to the horror of the woman's story but she was at work and her head was filled with tables of light and calculations. It would be hard, but not impossible, she concluded.

The offer to help her take the equipment inside was gladly accepted and she expressed a heartfelt thanks for the woman's assistance. When the equipment was stored, Alison followed her to the garden, giving a friendly wave to Davey and his victims.

�Chardonnay sounds lovely. I am parched. Totally silly of me, I forget everything around me when I work.� Laughing, Alison walked over to meet with them, pausing when Davey rushed over. His comment evoked another peel of laughter but she accepted the glass all the same. �And that is what you pour for me?� She whispered back teasingly. �Thank you so much.�

She winked at Davey and walked past him towards the Rushings. �You have?� She exclaimed. �But that is very generous of you both.� Her smile beamed from Walter to his wife and back. �We�d be delighted to accept�if it isn�t too much trouble? It would save us so much time if we don�t have to find a camping spot and set up the tents. This really is most kind of you.� If Walter had offered her a year's salary, Alison could not have been more pleased.

--Alison

Conversation was light and mainly facilitated by Davey who asked very casual, but crafty questions of the Rushings. They were served chili crab with papaya and mango chutne. Although chili crab was a standard dish in Singapore, it only made sense that the Haitians would adopt such a meal. Reminiscent more of cajun America than Cantonose cuisine the blends of fruit and spice create a melody of flavors.

The conversation skirted the question of the local devil and instead dealt with the locals. Many of the men stopped farming and ranching, in favor of keep guard of their families. The word was over half a dozen children had gone missing in the past three weeks, but Walter didn't believe it. The proper British man thought the locals were just trying to stir up troubles agaist the govenorship.

By the end of lunch it was already late in the afternoon and rum cocktails were served. Moving into the garden once more the Rushings were perfectly comfortable and able to receive almost any kind of conversation.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Alison contributed to the conversation with the right sounds at the right moment. An occasional �oh no, did they really?� conveyed sympathy and she exchanged glances with Davey frequently. What would he think now? She wondered. Did Davey still think this was just a plot hatched by Haitian voodoo priests?

Complimenting the Rushings on their lovely garden, Alison walked outside with them, elegantly sinking into one of the chairs. The hottest part of the day had passed, cocktails were served, these were times when she felt at home. Laughing at one of Walter�s comments regarding the locals, she watched him over the rim of her glass. �It is true, these people would do anything to �free� themselves of what they see as another occupation. In Singapore, we have heard of the troubles as well. It is the talk at the Raffles these days.� She sipped her rum cocktail and sank deeper into the comfort of her chair. �The older people say the government should be more strict, but what can you do?� With a smile to Mr and Mrs Rushing, Alison told them indirectly she understood their troubles.

It was hard for them, she supposed. Having come all the way from Haiti, only to run into these problems here, the Rushings surely had met with little luck. �It is very unusual though, that the locals give such an elaborate reason for not working.� She pondered. �I still would like to speak with them. If this is their scheme, they might let something slip against a mere woman. Pray tell, Sir, does any of these families have their home nearby?�

It was tempting to try and pay a visit before dark, although the timing would be tight. If she wanted to try and capture a possible penangal on film tonight, she�d need to rest beforehand.

--Alison

Walter pulled heavily from a pipe enjoying the aroma and took a moment to view his garden, of which he was clearly very proud. Davey smirked subliminally at Alison, signaling that her question approached the situation exactly right.

"Ah, yes, well there is a whole gaggle of them down the road about two kilometers."

"Walter!" Mrs. Rushing objected to his use of words.

"What? They honk enough like geese, don't they? Goodness, it's not like I called the bloomin' heathens, even if that's what they are."

The rum was making Walter tipsy and he was losing control of his composure.

"You've plenty of time to go see them, dearheat," he said, "and you could return before dark."

Davey shrugged, "May be a good plan. I'd be willing to go on a bit of a joy ride."

"If it's all the same, I'd rather not join you," Mr. Rushing said somewhat distantly, "I've seen enough of them as of late."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

�But Davey, the weather�s perfect for a late dinner stroll�, Alison protested against his notion of using the car. �It�s only a thirty minutes walk at most.�

Agreeing with Walter�s suggestion to stay at home, she nodded a smile in his direction. �I am so ashamed that you are having these problems with the locals. What mustn�t you think of Singapore? Really, Sir, it was much better before the occupation. Of course, there were problems but nothing like this.�

She finished her drink with polite slowness, extending their stay before undertaking the intended walk. �What a lovely evening, isn�t it?� She remarked idly, changing the topic to small talk until Davey too had finished his drink.

�We should take the camera, don�t you think, Davey?� Alison rose from her seat and caught Davey�s gaze with a smile. She hoped he would enjoy the walk. They had a lot to discuss and it was unlikely a better opportunity would present itself in the near future.

--Alison

"So that's how you keep in shape," grinned Davey.

At the suggestion, he pounded the remainder of his rum and stood to gather his things. Realizing that Alison was nursing her drink, he politely leaned against the back of his chair with both hands and continued the conversation until she was done.

"Just because the locals are restless, doesn't mean they will stay that way. Then again, I've not heard what the Empire plans to do with her latest acquisition. We could have another Ghandi here in no time."

Walter nodded, "True. I'd hate to see a revolt of any kind."

Once Alison was finished, Davey patted her upper arm as a signal that he was ready.

"A walk sounds lovely and you've better take the camera. Thanks again, Mr. Rushing. We will return by nightfall. And thank you, Mrs. Rushing."

As soon as they were outside, Davey sighed, "Very strange people ... did you find out anything from the Haitian woman?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Following Davey's cue, Alison rose as well and made her polite escape from the odd couple. "I am sure they mean well." She commented distractedly, checking how many more pictures the camera's current film would allow. It would have to do, she decided as she adjusted the strap over her shoulder. A chuckle followed the sidelong glance she'd thrown him at his sigh. "You handled them expertly. I think they'd tell you their bedroom secrets if you asked." She teased.

"You were right about the servants." Although the Rushings provided material for endless jokes, Alison was glad to steer the conversation away from them. After all, they had done everything in their power to welcome Davey and Alison and poking fun of their kind hosts almost seemed indecent to the young woman.

"She didn't even try to deny it when I confronted her." What triumph the young photographer felt over her little victory was quickly subdued when she remembered the mother's face. We must protect our daughter. Her own expression became haunted as she recalled the woman's stoic conviction.

"But they aren't after the Rushings." Alison hastily continued to tell Davey of her conversation with the haitian woman. "I believe her, Davey", she concluded solemnly. "Same as the locals, the Haitians believe there is a penangal. I don't know if she is right, but i intend to find out." Repeated intake of rum, chardonnay and more rum added a sturdy bravoure to Alison's statement. "When we come back tonight, i won't sleep but keep watch with my camera instead. If the penangal doesn't show, we'll try again tomorrow night." Realizing she could at least have discussed this with Davey, who was essentially her employer, Alison blushed. "I mean, I know how much you like a good story..You want this too, don't you?"

--Alison

"Oh but I did ask," grinned Davey, "and that Mrs. Rushing is an absolute tiger in the sack."

After he howled in laughter over his own joke, he simmered down to listen to her report. Considering the story carefully, he walked quietly along the road they had met Rushing on in the first place. The fields were bleeding back into the jungle and the road became no more than two paths side by side holding enough width for only a vehicle and nothing else. A recent rain filled several areas with water and turned most of the road into a slick and muddy cake.

"I discovered why the Rushings left Haiti to begin with. It seems our friend was involved in a scandal with a French business owner.. Rushing didn't elaborate, but he said they fell upon a disagreement over money and then took advantage of the Crown's expansion in the Far East. He cashed in three sugar plantations in South America and has essentially retired here.

"I think there is more to the story. Firstly, a family of Haitian servants is odd, isn't it? Of all the islands they are the ones most vocal against slavery... I'm not saying they're slaves, but... eh... it's just a little old fashioned, I guess. Secondly, why Singapore? My guess is, he doesn't want to be found.

"I'm not sure our friends are entirely on the up and up, that's why I suspect the Haitians have ill will toward them."

He shrugged.

"Maybe not, I've been known to find a story where there is none."

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Slipping and sliding over the muddied path, Alison trudged by Davey's side, waving her arms when the treacherous road gave way beneath her feet. All too soon the mud had stained her boots well past the calves and splattered on her once light colored pants. If she noticed, she made no mention of her appearance, but instead listened to Davey's story with breathless attention. His joke on Mrs Rushing's expense even drew a faint smile as Alison awaited his reportings.

"So that's why!" She exclaimed. "I thought it didn't make sense for them to leave Haiti." Her pace quickened even as her voice lowered. "The Haitians did not mention anything about the Rushings. Only about their concern for their daughter. I wonder what made them move from their home country? I mean, it's the center of their Faith, isn't it?"

The blonde woman laughed and exuberantly threw her arms around Davey's neck, wrapping him in an frivolous with a camera caught inbetween. "I can't believe they let you in on all that! You truly are something else, Davey Humboldt!" Without any trace of shyness, she released him and grinned. "Now we are really getting somewhere. It explains where he got the money for the house..." A thought struck her and she stopped, her gaze tracking Davey's. "...It's just -if what you say is true -...I mean... Wouldn't it be a bit..hazardous.. for them to have visitors?"

--Alison

Davey received the hug with his own embrace around her waist. When released he kept an arm around her shoulder and squeezed one more time.

"What about you? You got a confession out of the Haitians. I'd say you are the pants in this operation."

Continuing the walk he thought about her question with a shrug, "I suppose they wouldn't consider us much of a threat. Our interest is not in their background, but in the local mythology. . ."

Davey was interrupted by a sudden rustling in the jungle around them. Freezing in his tracks, he gripped Alison by the wrist with the composure of a bodyguard. Putting her behind him with a quick and fluid gesture, he lowered his head and looked off the path. Now far from the Rushing's field, they were deep under the canopy. With only foliage and underbrush as far as the eye could see, the dimming light allowed no opportunity to see the source of the disturbance.

Then a Chinese woman pushed through, her appearance and clothing was completely eclipsed by the fact she held the bloody mass of what was once a toddler. Wailing tears spread over a tortured and horrified face. She stumbled to her knees and lay the child beneath her, revealing the immense residue of the child's wounds on her meager clothes.

Davey dropped to his knees to inspect the child. A gnawed neck and split chest revealed far more of the human anatomy then he could take. For a moment he held back vomit and then turned to the child again. Offering a chilled hand to the woman, she ignored it, sitting in a pile of weeps and wails.

The child had only just died.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

The photographer�s gaze snapped towards the unexpected sounds but before she could think of a proper reaction, Davey had reacted - faster than Alison had expected him capable off. With his body shielding hers, Alison felt it safe to peek around him towards the foliage.

Her eyes fell upon the woman stumbling onto the path and the bundle she was holding � and all time stopped.

What are a few vaches? Alison thought incongruously, remembering the Haitian mother. �What of those who don�t have your knowledge?� she had asked the voodoo lady. The woman�s reply had shocked her. How could she say that she � Alison- had not seen horror? Had she not seen what the Japanese could do? Had she not seen the cows in the field?

A choke broke off her exclamation of denial, words wouldn�t come. The image of mother and child held her frozen, captured her gaze until the tears had blurred its image beyond recognition. Her knees buckled and Alison knelt beside the woman, whispering a desperate stream of inadequate soothing phrases in Chinese. A gentle hand blindly reached for the mother�s shoulder.

�This stops here, Davey.� She whispered, her tear streaked face close to the other woman�s. �No more talk. This stops now.�

--Alison

Speaking in Chinese was a great comfort for the woman, she took Alison with both hands around the neck, still dripping in blood, embracing her in-between weeping while keeping the child in her lap. The photographer's once clean clothing was now permanently stained from the torso to the thighs.

Glossy with the trauma, Davey's eyes stared, unblinking at his associate. Not only was this unexpected, but there wasn't a thing that could be done to resolve it.

In Chinese the woman with broken thoughts explained to Alison, ". . . the beast came from the wild . . . I saved my own life but it was too late for him . . . it was snared by the farm. . . I snared it and ran . . . are you a doctor? Are you a doctor?? Help him, please! He is my only child!"

Davey stood up and looked into the jungle ahead of them. Pulling out a pistol that must have been hidden under his untucked shirt.

". . .don't move . . ." he said severely and crept forward with alert eyes.

A sound unheard by Alison cocked Davey's head.

"We have to go. Now. Can you get her up?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Heedless of her clothes, Alison held the woman close. How to tell the child was beyond help? She was a photographer, not a doctor, but from what her brief view of the child had told her, it was too late. Much too late. So much blood� Only a child. What are we going to do?

�Not a doctor. I am sorry..� Every language was inadequate to express just how sorry he was. It had to remain at the simple statement in Chinese. �We must go now.� Alison scrambled to her knees, emphasizing the urgency with a tug on the other woman�s arm.

Snared? What does she mean? Questions. Compassion. A tiny bit of curiosity... And a burst of Fear when she noticed the tension in Davey. �What is it?� An edge of hysteria crept into the whisper. The young professional had obeyed to Davey�s urgent warning without thinking, but now her mind worked again the girl�s eyes had widened and her breathing had quickened. But even now she was helping the Chinese woman to her feet, trying not to think of the child in her arms.

�Davey?�

--Alison

A moment passed. Perhaps it was fleeting, but to those on that muddy path it lasted for an eternity. The jungle stood still. No bird passed over. No songs cawed in the distance. No rustling in the leaves. No insects buzzed. The world around them wound to a stop.

Then, time crashed into a gallop.

Deep in the forest, ground cover pounded downward one after another. The speed of the impact was impossible to measure. A large beast burrowed through as a predator's charge, but the only evidence it was there was the parting jungle around it.

"RUN!"

Davey forced the woman to stand and although she carried her child, she was very aware of what was happening. Fear washing into her already paled face pumped her body into a sprint, clutching the child as if it were an extension of her body. Waiting only a fraction of a second for the others to pass, Davey wheeled around running backwards as he opened fire into the jungle.

Tropical birds scattered from the sound of firearm, but the progress of the predator did not slow.

Running uselessly through the fresh mud, slipping as they went, there was no doubt the beast would overcome them. The last few branches before the path parted and nothing but a stale wind pushed through knocking them all flat onto their stomachs. It smelled briefly like lilacs and then it was gone leaving the prey alone, unharmed, panting and frightened in the mud.

In the next moment, the Chinese mother realized her child was no longer breathing and her wails came without control.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

Frozen in stunned disbelief, Alison wasn�t as fast as she should have been. How am I supposed to make pictures of �this-? was her first, crazy thought at the void sweeping through the forest. The camera half-raised in her hands moved no further. A split second later, the camera fell from her limp fingers, swaying heavily on the cord around her neck. Davey pulled the Chinese woman to her feet, the look of terror on their faces mirrored her own.

Somehow she had whirled around, found herself running down the path as fast as her legs could carry her, the chinese only a few strides in front, Davey right behind her. Wincing at the first shots, Alison hazarded a glance over her shoulder. She slipped on the treacherous mud and stumbled. The near fall brought a new spasm of fear pumping strength to her legs. She did not try to look back again.

When the wind hit them, it happened so fast, she was too terrified to even scream. Falling down in the mud, Alison covered her head with her hands, convinced this was the end.

She did not realize they were unharmed until the other woman started wailing. Her body slumped with relief, Alison couldn�t bring herself to go to the woman just yet. �That.. was.. no.. penangal..� was all she managed.

--Alison

It had been three days and it took nearly that amount of time to recover the sanity of the woman in the jungle who'd lost her child. The Rushings welcomed the woman into their home, Davey did a thorough job of making her feel safe and although she was grieving she graciously allowed Davey to interview her with Alison's help and even permitted photographs.

The following two nights were uneventful and gratefully so. Mr. Rushing spent many hours patrolling the grounds with his rifle and often Davey would join him. They reported no more mutilations or sightings of the strange event.

Mr. Rushing believed they must have been attacked by a cougar or some other wild beast, but Davey told Alison in secret he didn't believe it for a second. Hunters don't simply leave their prey. He wondered if there was indeed some merit to the penangal story. If not an actual supernatural creature, it was something never recorded in science before.

The group took it easy until the Fourth when they decided to drive the woman back to her village so she could bury her child. It was a solemn morning, pulsating with nervous energy. Both Walter and Davey had their weapons prepared and one of the Hatians, named only Jaque agreed to join, with his own hunting rifle.

The jeep was packed up by 8 am and Davey took Alison aside.

"Who knows what this village has seen," he said, "but if we are careful they can lead us into further knowledge of what that beast is. I will need your ears. Will you be able to translate?"

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)

She�d been up early that morning, checking her camera and the films she had ordered from Singapore. Two had been rather expensive, but were told to work even with the filtered light she should expect under the jungle�s cover. If she got but one shot of the strange monster, they�d be worth it tenfold.

�I don�t think Walter buys his own story.� She told Davey when he took her aside. �He wouldn�t take an extra man just for a cougar. Don�t worry about the language, I can manage.� Clasping her hand over Davey�s wrist reassuringly, Alison glanced past him to the packed jeep. �Are we taking both cars, or just the jeep?�

--Alison

Davey put on a cocky smile, splitting his unshaven face with excited eyes.

"What's more, there aren't any cougars in Singapore. If he'd said 'leopard' I would have believed him."

Looking back at the jeep he said, "We should take two cars."

Mr. Rushing stepped over with Jaque and as if to answer her unheard question he said, "Why don't you two follow us in the jeep. I will take my Ford with Jaque and the village woman. Keep close, the roads get rather full of themselves the farther north we go."

Davey offered Alison a questioning look and then shrugged. Loading one last bag into the jeep he took the helm and waited for her to come along.

The journey was only forty-minutes, but it was treacherous. The road gave way to two muddy paths barely cleared of the jungle. Every few hundred paces or so, Jaque jumped out and hacked away at some stray tropical limbs to let the vehicles by.

The village was over a deeply-covered hill from the road and as they all parked off the main path, it was difficult to see beyond two meters ahead. They were much farther along then when they encountered the beast a few days earlier.

Rushing pointed forward.

"Just through there, not more than a kilometer. Quite a nice walk, actually. Lots of wildlife."

Davey snorted, "Wildlife."

Jaque carried the young boy, wrapped in Mrs. Rushings finest linens. Although melancholy the village woman dutifully lead them into the jungle, knowing the landscape quite well. Alison and Davey were the last two in the line as they walked deep under the canopy.

--Laveaux 21:27, 14 December 2005 (CST)