A Jamaican native man of about thirty years takes a seat at an outdoor café. "Jus’ watah foh me ma'am", he explains to the elder waitress. He stares into the ocean scenery before him, slowly running his hand over his tight braided corn rows. The waitress returns with both his water, as well as the company he has been waiting to meet. The notion is not hidden that he is more happy to see the water than the caucasian woman before him.
“Dean Damasco?”, the woman smiles and extends a hand. Dean looks onward to the calm blue water without looking at her, “yes, take a seat ma’am.” The young woman fixes the skirt of her polished white business suit before taking the seat across from him. She immediately thinks she overdressed for this meeting after seeing that Dean is wearing a faded tank top and oversized bathing trunks. She pushes her brown hair behind her ear and introduces herself, “Hi, Jill Shaunessy.”
“Yes, I know who yoo’ar”, Dean turns his head slowly towards her, revealing an intricate tattoo spanning from his right cheek to his ear, a labyrinth of black ink deters her eyes from his. Jill blinks and fixes her glasses, “I wanted to know more about…”
“Aye Zeal I know watt ya want ma’am. Yoo tink yoo ar’ready ta learn”, Dean takes a sip of water while Jill processes his thick accent, “Watt makes ya tink dat Zeal?”
“I was… contacted. I mean, I had a supernatural encounter. Most people think I am a loony, but I sought you because I know you would understand." Dean squints at her; she is not the only one having troubles with accents. Jill wonders if “loony” means the same thing in Jamaica as it does in England. Dean leans back in his chair, “Right right Zeal, so yoo see a spirit an’ now you come ta Jamaica, land of da voodoo foh answers”, Dean makes a hand gesture that implies ‘Behold, the marvelous Jamaica’. Dean glares through Jill like a fox preparing to decapitate a hen, “Yoo’ar dealing wit powers beyond yor imagination Zeal. Ar’ yoo absolutely sure yoo want to be tested?”
Jill looks at Dean with a focused stare that tells him she will not succumb to his intimidation, “I am, sir.”
“Fine, did yoo meet my messenger?”
“An’ did he tell yoo ta come prepared?”
“Well, les see watt yoo haf.”
Jill pulls a necklace out from under her blazer and proudly displays it before Dean. Dean examines a few strands of dried grass woven together with dull beads and plastic toy proxies of gems alternating in orderly fashion, with small pink ribbon tied into bows on either end of the beads. Dean chuckles, to him this looks like an attempt to make something recklessly made into something pretty and feminine.
”Dat, dat is yor protection amulet?”, he scoffs.
“It’s not my best work I suppose, but I am new to this”, Jill defiantly stands behind her creation.
“If yoo will, please grab on to tha edge of tha table, ma’am."
Jill frowns and follows his suggestion. Dean extends an open hand to her and mutters some words in a language Jill does not recognize. She feels a sudden jolt of crushing pain from within her torso. Jill gasps for air but feels as if she is taking in water. Her arms flail wildly and she spasms back and forth in the chair, finally falling to the ground. Sweating and shaking, she feels as if another being had passed right through her. The spasms cease as quickly as they had begun. Jill breathes heavily, unable to focus her vision, and too weak to sit upright. Dean stands over her with a patronizing expression, “Even a simple protection amulet would haf repelled dat strike. Yoo’ar a cub among tigers. Yoo’ar not ready.”
Dean finishes his water and leaves the café.