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Bayou Whispers SIX
SIXLouis Armstrong International AirportNew OrleansAN ASIAN-LOOKINGflight attendant—a woman too young to be working full-time, in Jeannine’s opinion—sat with the shaken attorney as the rest of the passengers disembarked. “It was only a nightmare,” she told the young attendant. “Too many drinks before getting on board. I’ll be fine in a minute. Honestly, you don’t have to stay with me.” “It’s not a problem,” said the Delta cheerleader with a toothy smile. “Gets me out of picking up other people’s booger rags stuffed in the seat cushions.”Jeannine’s stomach lurched. “Nice,” was all she could say without grabbing an airsick bag.The last passenger—an old man with a cane—finally exited the aircraft.“I’m okay,” said Jeannine to the attendant. “Really. I can just go grab my bag and get a cab to my hotel—”“Jeannine LaRue?”A short man with a buzz cut appeared. He wore a cheap suit under a damp trench coat and stood flanked by two uniformed cops. The three of them block
Bayou Whispers SEVEN
SEVENFebruary 2006WGNO Temporary Studio Outside the Louisiana Superdome“DON’T BE NERVOUS,”said Stanley with a reassuring smile. “You’ve done TV before. I’ll be with you the whole time. Look at me if you get nervous, okay?”“I’ll be fine, Uncle Stanley,” said fourteen-year-old Jeannine. “You worry too much.”“The people want an update on you,” continued Stanley as if she hadn’t spoken. “Talk about your new prosthetic. And don’t forget to mention the charity event next week. That will lead right into the announcement of my new talk show.”“I know, Uncle Stanley!”“And don’t call me “uncle” on the air, okay? Might give people the wrong impression, got it?”Jeannine nodded.“Say you’ve got it.”She sighed. “I’ve got it, Stanley.”“That’s my girl,” he said, as he put his arm around her shoulders.“One minute, Dr. Bernstein,” said the news director.JBack in the make-shift green room, Curtis Jones, in his dress uniform, paced nervously while watching the broadcast. He
Bayou Whispers EIGHT
EIGHTPresent Day New OrleansInterstate 10 EastboundTHE BLACK ESCALADEtraveled through New Orleans proper, the lights of the city turned to jewels by the rain drops that fell from the sky once again. Jeannine, Stanley, and the leggy brunette camera woman were sealed off from the driver via a blacked-out, soundproof partition. Jeannine felt like she was in a cave. The young camera woman’s thumbs flew across the screen of her smartphone. The handheld device provided the only light in the passenger compartment, painting everyone in a blue, sickly tint.I’ll bet she’s updating her Instagram account, steamed Jeannine. Stanley and his young women. Can’t save them all, you pompous prick.“Why the hell did you follow me?” Jeannine finally asked from between clenched teeth. Visions. Dreams. And now this. The Universe certainly had a sick sense of humor.“I’m worried about you,” said Stanley’s silky baritone. “As I said to you this morning back in New York before you storme
Bayou Whispers NINE
NINEThe StormHAD THE VISIONof her mother, Cassandra, on the roof been real? Had she, and maybe even Nana, somehow survived? How would she find them? How would they find her? These thoughts tormented her for hours as she struggled to stay alive, clinging to the shattered remains of the roof.Rain sliced at her, mixing with her tears and blood. The storm was alive—a beast, a monstrous beast hell-bent on killing her. Wind tore around Jeannine, trying to throw her off balance into the waiting arms of the waters below and laughing at her like Cassandra had. Debris tore at her body, rending pajamas and flesh. This creature made of wind, rain, and fear had tasted Jeannine’s blood and wanted more. It tried every trick to wear her down, to destroy her.But she persevered.The wind gave up first, quieting to an impotent breeze. Then, the needles of rain faded to a trickle. Despite the realization that she was alone, Jeannine called for her mother, for her Nana, her tears and blood
Bayou Whispers TEN
TENGreenwood Cemetery Caretaker’s CottageNew OrleansPapa NightmareCURTIS KNEW OFthe legendary Voodoo witch doctor, of course. He was a local celebrity. He did magic for the tourists, all the while telling them stories of New Orleans’s past. While he had the crowd’s attention, his minions picked the pockets of the more inebriated audience members. He was also in bed with the Cartel, providing safe passage for drugs and for people who wanted to come to the States illegally. If they could pay, of course. While Curtis’s krewe didn’t indulge in human trafficking or in drugs, Nightmare and Curtis were rivals of a sort. At least, Curtis liked to think so. In truth, his operation was small time compared to the self-proclaimed sorcerer.Smaller than he’d thought, Curtis admitted to himself as he watched Fernández and Gallow carry the unconscious Stanley Bernstein into Roo’s cottage.Now, how the hell is the shrink mixed up in this?“We need to get him to a doctor,” grunted Fe
Bayou Whispers ELEVEN
ELEVENAboard the SultanaTHE GHOSTS AND PAPA NIGHTMAREleft her alone. With no one to see her, judge her, mock her, Jeannine could remove the mental armor she always wore.She began trembling—whether it was due to the cold or fear, she didn’t know. Next came the tears. At first, she tried to hold it all back. But like the levees the day she was reborn, the mental barriers didn’t last long.Rebirth. Something she hadn’t thought about in a very long time.JShe remembered the aluminum boat her “rescuers” had sat her in. The smell of wet dog surrounded her as soon as the men sat her down between them. But there was no dog in the little motorboat.Water sloshed at her feet—but that hadn’t mattered one bit. She was soaked from hours of enduring the storm.The feeling of elation at being plucked off the roof by those rough-looking men. Unshaven, smelling of body odor and tobacco, they both had wide grins showing stained teeth and gaps where other teeth had been.The fingerna
Bayou Whispers TWELVE
TWELVEGreenwood Cemetery Caretaker’s CottageNew OrleansSHE’D APPEARED INthe middle of the road, damp and muddy, but alive. Roo tried to explain how the Sultanacould travel on any existing and past waterway—and certainly the bit of road they’d been on was near enough to the river. But no one could explain to Curtis why Jeannine had appeared exactlywhere the krewe was at exactlythe right time. Gallow wanted to bring her to a hospital, but Curtis, not trusting any government institution, had insisted they go back to Roo’s safe house. Curtis carried her into the caretaker’s cottage himself but refused to lay her on the couch that Stanley-the-asshole had occupied barely an hour earlier. He carried Jeannine up the stairs to the little spare room across from the master.The room was just big enough for a creaky twin bed with fresh sheets. Roo never knew when a member of the krewe would be sleeping one off at his place, so he kept the bed at the ready.“She’ll
Bayou Whispers THIRTEEN
THIRTEENAboard the Sultana“Is she away?”asked Papa Nightmare, still naked from the waist up, sitting relaxed in the captain’s chair on the bridge of the doomed paddle wheeler. “Yes, Papa. As you foresaw,” a ghoul in the uniform of the Confederacy replied.“Very well. Bring him to me.”The ghoul bowed to Papa Nightmare and then hurried from his master’s presence. A rustling breeze lazily, almost erotically, brushed the Voudon priest’s face. The breeze was warm, like the breath of a lover speaking of lustful needs.“Yes, my lady,” rumbled Papa Nightmare. “All is well. She is strong enough, when properly motivated. I just need a little more time.”The wind suddenly howled, bringing the smell of death and decay. A piece of decking came loose and struck Papa Nightmare on the cheek.“Patience, lord,” he said, and the wind subsided as suddenly as it had risen.He reached to his cheek and found blood. He slowly licked the warm crimson fluid from his finger. “Patience. It is h
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Bayou Whispers THIRTY
THIRTYNew OrleansJEANNINE SPENT THEnext week reading Curtis’s journal while waiting on her new prosthetic. It wasn’t like the countless and soulless briefs she’d studied for school and later for practice. Curtis wrote with passion. He documented what he saw and what he had uncovered for years. The shocking discovery was that his removal from the police force and his subsequent transition to crime had been sanctioned by his handlers: the FBI. After two days of reading, she closed the journal on the last entry, a note to her, written with that same passion she’d never gotten the chance to really know. With tears in her eyes, she knew what had to be done next. Some loose ends needed to be sorted.Curtis’s land was hers now, and she would build a proper home there someday, but the bunker was comfortable enough for now. Until things were tied up, she actually felt safe there. A rare thing as of late.The first call she made was to Fernández, who was busy poring over all of Roo
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-NINE
TWENTY-NINEThe SultanaHELLO, CHILD.“Where am I?” asked Jeannine.Papa Nightmare was gone, the Sultanawas gone. Jeannine stood in a place of complete darkness. It was then she noticed she was standing on two good legs.Scents of cypress and lotus filled her nostrils. The air around her felt damp. Goose flesh rose up on her skin. Life and death fought for the attention of her senses as the darkness changed, morphed. She stood at the edge of the water, barefoot and clothed in a dress made of vines and branches. She walked along the edge of the bayou. Near her feet, alligator eggs hatched, tadpoles swam, and a crane flew for the first time. She saw rotting trees and the corpse of a boar being reclaimed by the bayou.A large black snake slithered up to her, but Cassandra wasn’t afraid.We finally meet face to face, child. Centuries of planning and dining on dead things has led us to the end. The snake’s tongue flickered in time with the words that appeared in Jeannine’s head
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-EIGHTThe Sultana“MY MOTHER WAS trying to kill me,” she thought. Jeannine was back on Toulouse Street in the last place she’d lived with her mother. She knew this was another of Papa Nightmare’s visions, but she could do little to stop it from playing out.The hairs on her arms stood straight up. Danger! Danger was approaching!She ducked as the massive blade swung, slicing through air where her neck had been a split second before. Jeannine screamed as she scrambled away from her attacker.“You won’t betray me! Or steal my power! I’ll kill you first!” screamed her mother.Jeannine ran.In her panic, she ran the wrong way. Instead of running out the front door, Jeannine turned to the stairs and ran to her room.Her mother followed.Jeannine locked the door. She ran to the windows—the ones her mother said never to open. She tried to move the paint-chipped wooden frames, first hammering at them with her hands, then throwing her entire body at the window. A tree outside
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-SEVENThe BunkerTHEY WERE TEN MINUTESfrom Curtis’s place when the Golem finally spoke. “So, tell me again, how many times have you died?”Curtis sighed. “Twice. The machete was number two. The car accident the other day was the first—I think.”“I don’t believe this,” grumbled Charley, shaking his head. “You think that was the first?”“You’re one to talk,” said Curtis, frowning. “I don’t claim to understand it. All I can tell you is that when I climbed out of the car, I felt no pain. Nothing, from any of my injuries in the crash—no pain at all. Not even my knees, which I’ve been bitching about since the war.”“What’s, uh, keeping you here?” asked the Golem. “I know Roo brought me back using some of his voodoo stuff. But he’s dead. I mean dead-dead. No one brought you back.”Curtis didn’t speak for a minute or two, a faraway look to his eyes.“That’s a good question,” he said slowly. “I know ... there is a purpose to my being here. And before you ask,
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SIXThe SultanaSHE WOKE TOfind her leg gone.This time, her captors had removed her prosthetic before chaining her to a post. She wasn’t in a cramped stateroom this time. She was below deck in a wide-open space, posts reaching from floor to ceiling, spaced every ten feet or so. The smell of the bayou was stronger here than it had been elsewhere on the cursed ship. A single oil lantern burned with a greenish-white glow, making her large prison—perhaps the old ballroom, she thought—look as though it was covered in moss and mildew. A constant dripping behind her began to take on a life of its own. Jeannine tried to ignore the rhythmic splashing, but despite her attempts, her mind counted the splashes. One. Two. Twenty. A hundred.Someone, or something, coughed—a wet sound, perfectly matching her prison’s rhythm.“This must be the Sultana,”said a deep voice from behind her.She couldn’t believe it.“Curtis?” she asked, voice cracking.“Hiya, J,” said the same vo
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-FIVEBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansTHE CHEVY IMPALApulled up behind the police SUV. Fernández shut off the engine, and he and the Golem listened to the tink-tinkof the settling motor. Fernández tried Curtis’s cell to no avail. “What do you think?” asked Fernández, spitting out a wad of chewing tobacco.“It’s a Dismas Sheriff’s vehicle, all right,” said the Golem. “But if the Major were here, the place would be crawling with cops.”“Fair point. Let’s go see if we can find the boss.”As they got out of the car and headed toward the old asylum, the Golem called a halt.He was looking at the SUV.“These things have GPS trackers in them, don’t they?”“Yeah,” said Fernández. “Why?”“Well, we don’t want the Major or his goon squad showing up. Eventually, I assume they’ll be looking for this piece of shit.”“True, but I have no idea how to disable the—”The Golem picked up the truck and threw it into the bayou.Fernández blinked.
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FOURBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew Orleans“MAMA?” CROAKED JEANNINE.The sound of her voice echoed dully in the ruins of the asylum. The corpse-thing that had been Cassandra LaRue began a side-shuffling, slow limp toward them. Beetles and roaches streamed from underneath rotted clothing.“That’s far enough,” said Curtis, when the creature had closed the distance between them to five feet. He produced a pistol he’d taken from the body of one of the Major’s guards.Jeannine saw the gun and knew there was only one place Curtis could have gotten it. Cops. They were cops. She killed two cops. Dirty or no, they were—stop it! Not now.The creature let out a moist sound that could have been a laugh. The remaining skin on the left side of its jaw sloughed off and the mandible dislocated.Cassandra-corpse didn’t notice.“The Major’s men are Nazis, for lack of a better label,” she rasped. “You shouldn’t feel guilty about killing Nazis, Dear-heart.” The
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-THREEU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12CHARLEY “THE GOLEM” MOUTONhad taken out a dozen zombie soldiers before the undead creatures knew they were in trouble. He’d picked up Roo’s truck and used it as a massive sledgehammer to pound them into dust. “Golem,” yelled Fernández, as a couple of the undead turned from the resurrected Charley to renew their attack on him.The Golem moved toward Fernández and tore the heads off the would-be attackers.Fernández picked up the axe that had fallen from his hands during the onslaught, and he and the Golem prepared to charge at the remaining zonbi soldiers.The sharp blast of a horn startled them.The undead turned and retreated from the storage unit.Fernández and the Golem chased after the blue and grey ghouls. The Golem ran in a sideways lope reminiscent of a large primate and roared at the top of his lungs. Fernández moved as quickly as he could to catch up and was so focused on the pumping of his
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-TWOBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansTHEY WAITED UNTILdaybreak to explore the ruined psychiatric center. Curtis tried Roo and Fernández one last time, leaving a message.“Roo, if you get this, J and I are free and we’re at Cass’s place. Come when you can. Gallow’s in bed with the Major. Watch your asses.” Curtis put the cell back in his pocket. Two calls—to Roo and Fernández, leaving two identical voicemails. Dawn had broken and he hoped his two compadreswere okay—and that they’d been able to quietly bring back the Golem.I’m not sure what will piss Charley off more—the amount of shit he’s missed in the last twenty-four hours, or the fact that Gallow betrayed us. How did I not see that coming? Georgina always hated him, refused to eat at his restaurant even.Jeannine spent an hour adjusting her prosthetic. “It’s the humidity. Makes the stump swell.”It was the only thing she’d said to Jones all morning.When she was done, she s
