"You cannot defeat darkness by running from it, nor can you conquer your inner demons by hiding them from the world. In order to defeat the darkness, you must bring it into the light." Seth Adam Smith, Rip Van Winkle and the Pumpkin Lantern

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XXX.

Alex was no stranger to nightmares. He had experienced exhausting, terrifying nights for as long as he could remember. It was something that he had never been able to understand. When reality was so frightening, why did rest have to be so? Alex had endured the agony of Master's lashing a hundred times over in his dreams.

But they had waned. And for the briefest of times, they had stopped. It was no surprise to surmise that the only peace he had ever known in his life was when he had known Susanna.

But in the week that he had been back at the coffee plantation, Alex's nightmares were back with a vicious vengeance. He felt the pain, the fear, the hunger, the exhaustion, amplified and right at the surface, as though he would break down in tears at any moment.

He hated it. He hated this place, the memories that were attached to it. He hated that the very ground he walked made him feel powerless. He hated that the masters, the grand and petit blancs had taken his country from him. Haiti didn't feel like his home.

That peace that he craved could only be found in one place.

The free men and women who now worked this land had established a camp in one of the fields, which rotated each season. This temporary village consisted of hide tents which dotted the land. The small tent that belonged to his mother contained a straw mattress and a cloth pillow which she had stitched. Amélie had kindly given it to Belle as she continued to recuperate.

The sun had gone down on the workday, and Alex had worked. It was sickening, really, how used to the work his muscles still were. He tired quicker, probably owing to his journey from England, but it felt natural, and that was another thing that he hated.

But the sky. There was nothing so beautiful as a Caribbean sky, and the stars twinkled above like constant beacons away from this place. Alex sat down outside his mother's tent as the scents of the evening meal began to permeate the air.

"I am sorry, Alex," murmured Belle quietly from inside the tent.

Alex turned his head to see her sitting up on the straw mattress. She looked better. She regained her colour more and more each day. After only just a short while eating proper meals, her face didn't seem so gaunt. Alex wondered if he looked the same.

"You do not need to keep apologising," he assured her.

Belle understood as well as his mother did what being here was like for him. Belle also blamed herself for keeping them on the plantation. Alex couldn't fathom the sort of girl who would experience such a catastrophic wound as hers and yet believe herself to be at fault.

Alex drew his eyes back to the fire that was crackling away near the tent, the flames licking the dried pieces of wood with slow, hypnotising movements.

"A special supper for you, my dear one." Amélie returned, juggling three small wooden bowls. Alex knew the scent immediately now that the food was so close, but he couldn't quite believe it.

It continued to frighten him how the smells of this place brought back terrifying memories. This was no different. Soup joumou. That was what his mother had brought for him. It was a dish reserved only for the grand and petit blancs. It was considered superior, not for the enslaved blacks. They, of course, were forced to cultivate the ingredients, but the consummation of the by product was strictly banned.

Alex quickly got to his feet to help his mother with the bowls. Now standing, he could see the bowl filled with orange coloured broth from the squash, tender beef and steaming vegetables. It felt almost taboo to be holding such a bowl. Alex bent down into the tent to give Belle her meal, before returning to where he had been sitting.

Amélie sat down beside him, cradling her bowl in her hands.

Alex stared down at his supper, some silly part of his brain stopping him from touching the spoon. His back suddenly burned, the scars, which hadn't hurt him for a long time, felt fresh and raw.

"They have no power anymore," his mother told him softly. "Your demons possess only the power you give to them."

Alex knew she was right. He knew the masters were long gone, long dead. The house where Master had once lived was all but destroyed. But he knew deep down in his soul that he could never have happiness here.

Nevertheless, Alex forced his hand to lift the spoon and scoop up his first mouthful of soup. There came no shouts, not shots, no sound of the whip as Alex placed the spoon in his mouth and tasted soup joumou for the first time.

And it was delicious.

"You are much stronger than I am, Maman," Alex uttered.

"I have lived longer," replied Amélie. "So, I have grown used to my life. That does not mean that I am content. Not with what happened to me, and never with what happened to you."

Alex met his mother's eyes, which were startlingly sad. Alex had survived his childhood because of her and what she sacrificed for him. And, had he not had his mother, he knew that he would have fared far worse than what he did.

Over the past week, Alex had shared his tale in pieces. He had told Amélie of the conditions of the trade ship, the goings on in the British Virgin Islands, how he had come to be in Haiti (without mentioning the probable identity of the ship's captain), and, of course, how he had come to know Belle, and what had happened to her. But he hadn't confessed anything about his life in England, his dealings with Len, or how he came to know and be parted from Susanna.

When Alex had finished his soup, he placed his bowl down on the ground beside him. "I cannot stay here, Maman," Alex said quietly. "This land isn't mine. This life isn't mine. The reason I came back here was to get you, to take you to a better life. I have to go back to England. But I want you to come with me so that I can finally take care of you."

"I know you don't belong here." Amélie followed suit with her bowl and shuffled closer to Alex, taking his hands in her small, thin grasp. She pressed a kiss to the backs of his hands. "I won't be parted from you like that again." Smiling, though her dark eyes becoming glassy, she added, "And I long to see my son happy. Twenty-seven years of life and I haven't yet seen it. Not one day of happiness. If going to England brings you closer to that happiness, then take me there tomorrow."

Alex hugged his mother, feeling the softness of her tight, dark curls against his cheek. "Just promise, no matter what you learn about my time there, you won't stop seeing good in me."

Amélie recoiled, her brows furrowing. "Never," she said vehemently. She placed her hands on his cheeks with determination. "You survived, Alex. You are a survivor. When you are cursed with the life of a slave, God can only protect you so far. You have to do the rest. You have to keep yourself alive."

***

"Hommes blancs!"

Alex heard a man cry the words loudly, but they sounded so ridiculous that he dismissed them.

"Hommes blancs!"

Again? Alex stiffened, his body tensing and his brow sweating at the very notion of white men being sighted on this land. He wanted to hide. It was his first instinct. But he wasn't a boy anymore. He wouldn't be afraid.

Alex abandoned the field work that he had only recently begun that morning and broke into a run towards where the cry had come from. He ran down the long rows of crop in the direction of the road, keeping his eyes anxiously alert and on the lookout for the hommes blancs that had been spotted.

After a few minutes of running, a glisten of sweat now covering his brow, Alex had made it back to the ruin that was the plantation house. Before it was two horses, an indeed, two white riders.

The horses were not saddled, and he did not think he had ever seen a white man ride without a saddle before. It had been perhaps one of his favourite things to do with Argent.

Alex was not alone and was very quickly joined by several of the men who had not abandoned their farming tools. These tools were not carried like weapons as they approached the riders, who turned to face them with expressions of surprise and fear.

And Alex gasped. "Arrête!" he cried out, holding up his hands and racing ahead of the workers, to place himself between them and their uninvited guests.

Captain Whitfield dismounted first, shortly followed by Adam Beresford, of all people. Alex had never thought that he would see the captain again after leaving his ship, but he never would have imagined he would see the Duke of Ashwood here of all places. How on earth had he tracked Alex down?

Perhaps banishment was not enough for the duke. Perhaps he had come to seek proper revenge for his sister's heart.

Captain Whitfield held up his hands and he bowed his head to the men. Looking to the ground, he called out, "Nous sommes venus en paix et nous partirons en paix."

He spoke to assure them that they meant no harm, but mere words would not allay the fear that white men struck in the hearts of these people.

Alex captured the attention of the men and firmly promised, "Il est sécuritaire," truly hoping that it was safe for them to be there.

His assurance did seem to settle some of the angst in the men as their farm tools began to lower and they took slow steps back.

"Alex, thank God!" the duke cried, startling Alex with his tone. "I am so glad we found you."

"I don't understand," Alex said in English, "what are you doing here?" His eyes flicked to Captain Whitfield. "What are you both doing here? How did you find me?"

The captain's eyes were odd, focussed on Alex with a startling intensity, as though he was searching Alex's face for something. But before he could speak, Adam interrupted.

"There will be time for explanations later," he said dismissively. "Right now, we need your help." There was fear in his voice that put Alex on edge. "Susanna needs your help."

The hairs on the back of Alex's neck stood up as goose pimples covered his skin. All air left his lungs as he felt the blood drain from his face. "What are you talking about?" he rasped.

----

Hope you enjoyed it! 

Don't you just LOVE a good cliffhanger? It makes for such fun comments when I wake up in the morning :) My favourites are the ones when you call me evil hehehe

I went and saw "In the Heights" today which I loved! Go and see it if you haven't already!! 

Fun fact: soup joumou is eaten traditionally on Haiti's Independence celebrations. They consider it freedom soup, as slaves were not allowed to eat the soup while under the control of the French. And so since 1804, soup joumou is seen as a symbol of freedom.

I saw a comment today on one of my books from 2017, just by chance, where someone said "she doesn't know her time period well". I never usually let negative comments bother me, but stuff like that really irritates me because I spend HOURS researching my time period and anything else I need to know before I write. It's a point of pride for me that my books are as accurate as I can make them, and when I include true historical events, like what happened in Haiti, that I represent it as factually and as respectfully as possible.

I literally just counted and I have 11 tabs open at the moment that are specifically to do with some form of Haitian history, the most recent one a recipe for soup joumou! Which sounds amazing by the way.

But even though there was one annoying, ignorant comment, it doesn't detract from the countless amazing support that is my comment section on every chapter I post. You guys lift me up in ways you can't understand. 

Vote and comment (and give me something to giggle about when I wake up tomorrow!!) xxx