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THIRTEEN
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Bayou Whispers FOURTEEN
FOURTEENGreenwood Cemetery Caretaker’s CottageNew OrleansCURTIS LOOKED AT Jeannine standing on the first step that led up to Roo’s attic conversion. He finally had a moment to process that Jeannine was back in town. She was really here.And she was pissed.A mix of emotions overwhelmed him. He wanted to throw his arms around her and tell her he was sorry. He wanted to yell at her for going off with that asshole Bernstein all those years ago. He wanted to laugh, to cry. To scream. He wanted to tell her he’d protect her, and it would be all right.But all he could do was to remember to breathe.“Well, it’s a pretty long and convoluted story,” he finally said. It even sounded lame to his ears.“I’m used to listening to long, convoluted stories from defendants,” replied Jeannine. “I think I’d like to hear it.”“Jeannine ... it’s been so long, couldn’t we just ... ?”“No,” she said flatly. “I have some questions, Curtis, and I’m going to get answers fi
Bayou Whispers FIFTEEN
FIFTEENBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansYou are closer to me than any of your predecessorsBCP.She knew this place.It was once one of the leading state-run psychiatric institutions of the American South. Bayou Cypress Pavilion, better known as BCP, was now a crumbling shell of its former glory. The lobby and east wing were destroyed by the floods of Katrina and a subsequent fire that took a hundred and thirty-seven patients’ lives.Cassandra knew of every death that had occurred due to her storm.The place had been abandoned during the hurricane, with the most dangerous of inmate patients left to fend for themselves. Locked in their cells, many either chained or sealed in straitjackets, those who didn’t drown or burn died from dehydration or starvation. BCP was nearly closed after, with the head administrator given a fine and two years at home with an ankle monitor.His was the worst punishment handed down to any employee of the facility.Ca
Bayou Whispers SIXTEEN
SIXTEENGreenwood Cemetery Caretaker’s CottageNew OrleansTHEY WERE OUTSIDEthe cottage, near the parked truck. “Roo, can you get to Charley before those things get here?” asked Curtis through gritted teeth.“Yeah, he’s wrapped up—but I hate moving him before the process is complete.”“Get him into the bed of the pickup. Fernández, go with him.”“Do you expect to waltz through a couple hundred zonbi?” asked an incredulous Gallow, as he pulled a shotgun from behind the couch.“No, I expect we will run away as fast as we can get out of here.”“And go where, Jonesy? My restaurant and house are sure to be covered with cops.”“Back to my place.”“We burned it to the ground, remember?”“I do. You didn’t burn the bunker, though.”“Guys,” began Jeannine. “While I appreciate this macho banter, can we move, please? I’m really not interested in hanging out with the dead again, especially if Papa Nightmare is here, too.”An engine roared outside and Roo screamed something unin
Bayou Whispers SEVENTEEN
SEVENTEENUndisclosed LocationCURTIS AWOKE INsome sort of cell. The dampness reminded him of the hole in the ground he had been kept in for a week in Colombia. He shook his head, the cobwebs faded, and his mind cleared. He had a vague recollection of Roo’s place, bodies crawling toward him. Shotgun blasts ...Gallow. That fucking traitor. He always was a political pussy, cutting deals to save his own skin. That’s why Curtis had ended up in that hole in the ground in Colombia, too. It all made sense now. Gallow’s restaurant in the French Quarter was never a place where he wanted the krewe to meet. “Bad for business, having you criminals around,” Gallow had always said.But crooked cops with the entire state in their pocket?Well, that would ensure Gallow’s place of power within the corrupt local government.How did Curtis never see it?Gallow had saved Curtis’s life during the war. But because Gallow’s motivations were always so coated with self-interest, he’
Bayou Whispers EIGHTEEN
EIGHTEENThe SultanaEASY STREET HADalways loved playing his horn. The music naturally flowed from him. His mama had never been able to afford him lessons when he was younger. When he was alive.He’d stolen his sax—Ms. Maxine, as he’d lovingly named her—from a white man who owned a pawn shop long since bulldozed. Old man Gene loved to beat on black people, especially children. Nobody cared back then. Mostly, they still didn’t care, from what Easy Street had seen.So, he stole Ms. Maxine. But try as he might, he couldn’t get a sound out of her.Until a man named Reggie explained what a “reed” was and taught him how to blow into the horn all proper. He even taught the boy how to hold the instrument. Reggie played records for him, and young Easy Street listened, then noodled on the horn until he found the right notes. In less than a month, the kid was able to play old Ms. Maxine like a pro.“Boy,” said Reggie one day, “I never heard nor done seen the like. You is a natural,
Bayou Whispers NINETEEN
NINETEENU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12FERNÁNDEZ KEPT TRYINGCurtis’s burner. Gallow’s, too. They rang out. “Still not picking up,” he said.“Something’s obviously happened,” said Roo. “We’ll lay low at my cousin’s storage place until we hear from them.”“Why a storage place?” asked Fernández.“It’s one of my bolt holes,” said Roo. “I have a pass card that gives me twenty-four-hour access.”He turned his truck into the facility, stopping at the gate long enough to buzz himself in. He saw the security cameras but was nonplused about hiding from them. Beside him, Fernández struggled to hide his face.“The place belongs to my cousin,” said Roo. “I got him out of trouble a while back. He lets me use one of the bigger units here as payment. His boys will erase the camera footage as soon as they come in later this morning.”Fernández relaxed a little. “Who else knows about this place?”“Jonesy does. He’ll figure we’re laying low and he’ll show wh
Bayou Whispers TWENTY
TWENTYBayou Cypress Pavilion for the Criminally InsaneNew OrleansTHE BAYOU CALLEDto her with scents and sounds—wrapping around her like a favorite blanket. She smelled glorious stagnant pools filled with muck and slime; the subtle peaty smell of decaying leaves and wood—the beautiful, fetid scent of animal flesh giving back to the insects and the plants and the waters of the bayou. Nocturnal animals called for their mates, ate one another, raised their young, and fought over territory. Massive birds screamed at the reptiles trying to hide their hunger. The bayou whispered her new name, whispered approval at her plan.But someone else controlled her body, controlled her thoughts. She fought against it, but the struggle took all her strength. The power of the Loa was as frightening as the knowledge that flooded into her. The bayou laughed at her.Ti Malice laughed at her.This is just a taste, child. It’s your turn now.For Jeannine knew, now, that Cassandra and Ti Mali
Bayou Whispers TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-ONEU-Store-It!Public Self-Storage Units off of Interstate 12WHILE FERNÁNDEZ SPENTthe night alternating between stacking crap in front of the big metal door and bitching under his breath about “lazy-ass magic douchebags,” Roo prepared for the reanimation of Charley Mouton. The spell used to create the clay vessel for the Golem was relatively straight forward and was to be the last component of the invocation to be done closest to dawn. Using Charley’s degraded tooth to return the ex-Ranger’s soul to the created body, that was the tricky part. Besides, Roo thought, as Fernández swore loudly because the cot he’d just tossed on the top of the makeshift barrier tumbled off the pile and nearly hit him, hard work helps the little man forget he’s been out of chewing tobacco for a few hours. A little before dawn, the bit of yellowing ivory that represented what was left of Charley’s physical form, hummed with stored energy as Roo completed the difficult spell work. Next,
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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
