[ WP ] You find yourself beside a four-way intersection in the middle of a rural , isolated area with no trace of civilization in sight . A suitcase is handcuffed to your lacerated , bleeding wrist and the only thing in your pockets is a crumpled piece of paper with something scribbled on it

The squeaking of my shoes through the muddy wet ground could finally stop. The fog rolled thick tonight with a smell faint with rotted eggs. I looked up to the road sign, illuminated only by the full moon overhead. Desperately I pulled the paper from my pocket, *Carefwa Kat* just like it said on the sign. So I knelt, the bayou seeping into the fabric of my tired and tattered pants. I opened the briefcase given to me by Vanessa Laveau for the first time. There was a pack of cigarettes, a mortar with pestle and a hand drum. I breathed in sharply through my nose, the stench of the swamp hit me hard. 
 
 Looking into the mortar I saw some pale violet flowers and honey, ready to be crushed together. As I started grinding it together a faint breeze pushed some of the fog away. Once finished I sipped the mixture, the bitterness of the flower barely masked by the honey. I took another deep breath of the sulfury air and lifted the hand drum out of the case. 
 
 In that moment it all came over me. I started looking into alternate medicine nearly five years ago. The Western treatments were n't working and she was fading faster and faster. I probed deeper. First into herbs, then crystals and chakra, then spiritualism trying everything I could. By the time she passed I had n't seen her in a month. I'd been deep in the mountains and could n't be reached by family or friends [ if any were left ]. In the past year all of the money was spent, I'd go from library to library trying to find any stories or hints of something that could have helped her. Finally I think I found it here. 
 
 I snapped the cigarettes one by one over the closed briefcase heaping their tobacco as high as I could. I rubbed some blood from my open wrist in a circle around the pile. Another deep breath and I began to drum rhythmically. Just as I was told. It felt like minutes. My palm became more and more sore, then progressed into numbness. Could this be hours that passed? Days? It did n't matter. This was the last chance. Then from behind I heard a voice creep through me, `` *Bonnwi. Konmen ça va*?''
