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by
(Posted 08-15-98)
Chapter Six
"With you here, I do not worry for myself. But my poor papa... You will help him through this, yes?"
"How will I be able to help him?"
"Make him understand that this was necessary, that I am at peace with what happened, that it was my destiny to become the final sacrifice."
"How can I make him understand what I don't?" he questioned.
Her liquid brown eyes looked into, no, through him. "You understand," she said gently. "You know the meaning of duty, destiny, and sacrifice. You have lived it. You would have died for it if necessary."
"But you are a child," he protested.
"And children cannot understand and accept what is to be? Perhaps we understand best of all. We endure years of not being in control of our lives or having any say in what happens to us. We are picked up, buckled in, and driven to wherever our parents wish. We can be taken away from family and friends at the whim of whatever adult is given custody. Is that not the essence of destiny?"
He sighed and remembered his own childhood. She had a good point; children had no control over what became of them whatsoever. "And you are certain that this is where you are to be and where you are to end?"
"Yes. Some of us receive our destiny early in life. Others..." She looked at him with amusement in her eyes, "not so early."
He responded to her teasing tone with the like. "Is someone trying to say I'm old?" He reached out to tickle her, then remembered that she had been abused and stopped.
"It's okay," she said, reading his intention. "Your touch doesn't upset me. It heals me. I am whole thanks to these hands." She measured them against her own. "Yours are even bigger than my papa's. Make sure he knows how much I love him, how much I wish I could turn away from this simply because the desire to be with him is so great."
"What about your mother?" he asked softly, wondering if she had one. Or maybe hers had gone away like his.
She shrugged. "I love mama too, but in a different way. She gave me life, but Papa lives for me. I am his. Everyone knew from the day I was born that to mess with Alicia Delacroix was to make an enemy for life of Edouard Delacroix." She started to cry. "Poor Papa. He will be hurt by this. You must be gentle with him and understand. Promise me?"
He looked at the tiny hands in his and nodded. "I will."
*****
Edouard Delacroix was furious. Someone had called his house and told him that the cops had three suspects in his daughter's disappearance. He hadn't believed them because he knew the police would immediately contact him if it were true. That had been the deal; that if he finally left the station, they would inform him of every incident concerning Alicia's case. He knew he was getting in the way so he had conceded, trusting them to keep their word.
He called Det. Rankin to let him know he was getting strange phone calls at home. He had been informed that Rankin was in the interrogation room and couldn't be disturbed. Suddenly, his trust vanished. Rankin and Allen were holding out him, keeping him away from the men who had taken his daughter, perhaps hurt her. Non! They couldn't do that!
It took him ten minutes to get to the French Quarter station. They were the officers in charge of the case because Alicia had been taken in the Quarter as she headed to the streetcar that she rode home from her private school. He was beginning to agree with his colleagues that all New Orleans cops were incompetent. Although he had lived in the city all his life, he'd never had reason to know anything about the police. The Delacrois weren't troublemakers and if trouble came their way, they had their own way of dealing with it. Except that when Alicia disappeared and no ransom was requested, Helaire, his wife, had insisted the police be consulted and because his little girl meant the world to him, he had agreed. Maybe he had been wrong.
"I want to see Detectives Rankin and Allen, please," he said politely as he entered the familiar bullpen. His eyes rested briefly on the bench in the far corner where he had sat for days, helplessly waiting on his daughter's safe return.
Shelly Thomas looked around, then saw the notation on the board. "They're in interrogation at the moment, Mr. Delacroix," she said gently, seeing the anguish in the man's eyes. "You can wait over there for them if you want to." She pointed to the bench.
"Are they interrogating someone about my daughter?" he demanded to know.
Shelly had no idea. She had just come on shift, but then she remembered the trace Joey had requested yesterday. Maybe something had come from it. "I'm sure if the detectives have any definitive information on your daughter, sir, you will hear from them," she said diplomatically.
"Damn it! What are you people hiding?" Edouard yelled. "You got the bastards who took my daughter and you're keeping me away from them! Why? What did they do? Did they hurt my little girl?"
"Please, calm down, sir," Shelly said quickly, hearing something desperate in his voice. "I assure you the detectives will be out shortly and they will tell you all that they've learned."
"Like those three perverts put their hands on my daughter! That they hurt her? Maybe killed her?" A haze of red dropped before Edouard's eyes, a crimson curtain that blocked all rational thought. "Where are they! I want to see them! I want--" He suddenly remembered seeing other detectives come and go with their suspects during his long vigil. He knew where the interrogation room was... and he knew what had to be done!
Everyone had turned and stopped doing whatever it was they were doing as his voice grew louder. Taking advantage of one of the passing officer's brief shock, he whipped the man's pistol from his holster and raced toward the door of the interrogation room. Not even trying the doorknob, he kicked open the door and aimed the gun.
As Blair dropped to the floor and Simon drew his weapon, Jim stood and faced the door, effectively blocking the others from sight. While this was happening, Mike and Joey tried to figure out what the hell was going on with the visitors. Was Ellison having some kind of vision now? And why were Banks and Sandburg acting as if they saw it too?
Before they could form the words to the questions, the door was kicked open and Edouard Delacroix stood in the doorway with a gun, which he pointed directly at Ellison. "You took my daughter, ma 'tite fille!" he accused. "Die, fils de putain!" He pulled back on the trigger and waited for the satisfying explosion. But it never came. He clicked the trigger again and again, but the gun never fired.
"Arrete!" Jim said firmly, making sure he was between the enraged father and Simon. "Stop it, Edouard! What would Lici say of your behavior! This is not the kind of man you are."
"How would you know what kind of man I am, you son of a bitch! You... you... you..." He stuttered to a halt as he looked into Jim's eyes. "You're him, aren't you?" His hand shook as he lowered the gun.
Jim signaled for the officers behind Edouard not to approach. "Who am I, Edouard?"
"Ma 'tite bebe, she say when I see the blue-eyed man, she would be at peace." Jim stepped closer and took the gun. Edouard placed his hand on Jim's arm. "Ma bebe? She is at rest now, at peace in heaven?"
Jim nodded and Edouard collapsed into his arms. He handed Mike Rankin the gun as Simon came around the table to help him settle the man into a chair while Blair calmly shut the door in the faces of the rest of the department. Grief such as Edouard's should be private, he thought as he watched Jim soothed Alicia's father with various not-quite-French phrases. Where in the world had Jim picked up the Cajun/Creole dialect? Then again, maybe it wasn't Jim speaking...
When Edouard seemed to have pulled it together, Mike addressed a sneaking suspicion of his. Ellison supposedly had just flown into town but maybe... "You said your daughter spoke of the blue-eyed man. Is it possible she had contact with him before?"
"Just a damn minute!" Simon began.
"He is not her killer," Edouard said before the captain could continue. "She called him l'ange, her special angel. Is that what you are, sir? An angel?"
Jim smiled. "No, sir. I'm just a man who was blessed to know your daughter."
"You know who killed her?"
The smile faded. "Not yet. But soon."
Edouard accepted it for the promise it was. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Can you find my little girl and bring her home? Her ancestors await her."
"I was just about to do that, as soon as I convinced the detectives here that I am not crazy."
"You're like Lici, aren't you?"
"Not quite," Jim said, then shrugged. "Not always."
"Excuse me, Mr. Delacroix," Joey said, trying to figure out what was happening. "What do you mean, 'like Lici'? You never said anything about Alicia being special."
"Everything about Lici was special!" Edouard said defiantly. "She was gifted, however, able to see the future with frightening clarity. I should have known... I should have guessed when she foretold of your coming..." He sighed deeply, then looked at Jim with a pleading glance. "Can we go get her now?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Delacroix, but you won't be going anywhere for a while," Mike pointed out. "You pulled a firearm in a police station. For some reason, we have laws against that."
"I need to be with my daughter!"
"Edouard," Jim said softly. "Stay here. I'll get Lici."
"But my bebe needs me," the man said brokenly.
Jim's eyes mirrored Edouard Delacroix's sadness. "Not anymore, mon ami. Not anymore."
Chapter Seven
As a figment of a little girl's imagination, he thought his senses were a little too keen, especially as the wind changed direction and sent very strong odors flowing through the broken boards of the shack. "What is that smell?" he asked, his nose wrinkling in distaste.
She grinned. "You are smelling the rich diversity of the bayou. Full of life, full of death, and all that falls between the two. The bayou follows the cycle that we all do, but in a more concentrated form. Breathe deeply and you will understand."
He began what was almost second nature to him now. Carefully he separated each odor from the whole and discovered she spoke the truth. He smelled birth and life and death, intermingled as if no time passed between each interval. Piggybacking his hearing onto the smells, he found variety there too. The clicking, buzzing, and humming of insects too numerous to decipher individually, screeches and chattering of birds, eclectic movements of other animals, even the gentle plopping of the fish in the bayou which was sometimes masked by the deep roar of the ecosystem's greatest predator-- the alligator.
"I have been in the jungle and I love the mountains, but I have never sensed so much, so close together," he admitted, smiling at the noises and smells that now he could comprehend and enjoy.
"And the city? Tell me about your life there."
He shrugged. "Boring. I get up. I go to work. I come home and go to bed."
"Tell me about your family. Make me know those you love, so I may love them too."
"My life is very different from yours. You adore your father. I barely tolerate mine."
"But you love him as you do your brother." She lay her head back against his chest, feeling it rise and fall as he breathed. It was these little, barely noticeable sensations that she would miss the most.
He snorted and she felt his breath upon her head. "Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?"
"Because I like hearing your voice and I don't think you know any bedtime stories," she teased.
"Wrong, Little Miss Know-It-All," he said and wrapped his arms tighter around her. "Let's see. I think they all begin with 'Once upon a time', don't they? Okay. Once upon a time in the land of Cascade there was a man who was very sad and didn't know why..."
*****
"It didn't work."
"What happened?"
"I don't know the details but Delacroix was primed to kill them. He took a gun from an officer and burst into the interrogation room. But one of the men confronted him and he fell apart."
"Useless, pathetic fool." A sigh of disgust came through the phone. "Well, did you figure out which one it is?"
"One of the White men. Delacroix said something about Lici telling him about a blue-eyed man. But both of them have blue eyes."
"Then our plans do not change. Kill all three. We do not know what the others have been told."
"They have left to retrieve the body."
"Can we stop them?"
"Too risky. They are traveling with a full forensics team and a number of officers in case a large area needs to be searched."
"Damn. Then take care of it as soon as possible... And don't worry about being subtle."
****
"What do you make of this?" Joey asked his partner as they followed the three Cascade cops out of the parking lot and supposedly to Alicia Delacroix's burial place. Since they were heading across the Mississippi River, he assumed the body was in one of the bayous. How original.
"Make of this or make of him?" Mike inquired, leaning against the passenger's door.
"You taught me that if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's probably a duck," Joey replied. "Ellison should be our number one suspect. Apparently the little girl knew him before. He claims to know how and when she died. If he leads us to her body..."
Mike scratched distractedly over his ear, pleased to hear Joey had actually been listening to him as he dispensed advice but uncertain as to his own belief of that advice in this instance. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," he quoted softly.
Joey laughed uneasily. "I was expecting to hear you spout some old Cajun or Creole saying and instead you quote Shakespeare. You surprise me, both with the quote and your acceptance of Ellison."
"First, Joey, the truth is the truth, whether it's a cute little saying uttered by that Cajun cook on television or the immortal words of the bard himself. Second, I wouldn't exactly call it acceptance. Let's just say I'm keeping an open mind. Strange things can happen in N'awlins."
"You mean voodoo?"
Mike rolled his eyes. "I mean 'strange things'. Why is it that when something odd occurs in Vodou, people think black magic but when it happens in other religions, it's call a miracle?"
"Other religions don't use dolls, Mike."
"What is the crucifix or a statue of Mary?"
Joey turned on his turn signal to let the others know what the car ahead was doing. They were being trailed by the coroner's van and three Suburbans of officers, several of which would man the pirogues being towed behind. The flat-bottomed boats were the best vehicles for navigating the often shallow bayous. The commissioner had authorized the use of whatever was necessary, funds included. "You know if I learned one thing in that trailer park you're so fond of saying I grew up in, Mike, was that it's useless to argue religion or politics."
Mike laughed good-naturedly. "Okay, we'll drop it, Joey. And in regards to Ellison, I'm going to let you be the designated skeptic, okay? When you see me believing too much, take my keys and cut me off."
Joey reached out his hand. "You got a deal, partner."
"You know I can't think of a religion that has been more maligned than voodoo or more properly Vodou. Hollywood, man, has taken the practice which is a mixture of a West African belief and get this, good ol' acceptable Roman Catholicism and turned it into a zombie-making, blood-drinking, human-eating cartoon," Blair was saying as he steered the rental car toward Louisiana's swamp and bayou country in the southeastern part of the state.
Simon sat in the backseat of the rental and watched the byplay of the two men seated up front. It wasn't often that he got the chance to just sit back and observe the dynamics of his best, and yes --he would admit it in his own mind-- favorite detective team. He knew Sandburg talked a lot; anyone in the same room with the kid for even just a few minutes knew that. But he hadn't realized until now that Jim actually listened to every word he said. Every time Blair paused, Jim would have a question ready that related to whatever Blair had been running on about. Simon wondered if Jim did it deliberately, giving the kid adequate time to breathe before he started up again.
"So, are you saying there is no basis for Hollywood's version? That no one in the religion has ever messed around in the black arts?" Jim asked at the appropriate time.
"Of course not. In every religion, sect, whatever, there will be members who pervert rituals. Bokors often perform acts of evil sorcery which is sometimes called 'left-handed Vodou.' But the real priests, the houngans who are males and the mambos, the females, use magic only for healing and good fortune."
"You actually believe in this stuff, Sandburg?" Simon asked with a frown, not content to just listen anymore.
"It's not whether you or I believe, captain. It's whether those who practice it do. That's where the power lies."
"Is this whole discussion based on you believing that what's going here is related to voodoo?" Simon asked, not ashamed to admit he hadn't been listening to the grad student's every word.
"Well, there was an altar with blood-shedding and human sacrifice."
"Which you just said wasn't part of voodoo."
"Not the actual religion, no. But it could be some kind of cult based on it." Jim sort of grunted and Blair made a right turn onto a dirt road which eventually dead-ended. He looked to Jim for further direction.
"From here we walk." Simon sighed and got out to tell the others.
The captain was pleased to find the bayou was only a hundred yards further. According to the county map one of the officers had, the small stream was called Bayou Rien-- River of Nothing. "Your guy got somewhere in particular we should start looking," the head of the Recovery team asked Simon, "or should we just spread out in a standard pattern?"
Simon walked over to ask Jim but noticed the Sentinel seemed to be in a near-zoned state so he turned to his partner (and interpreter) instead. "Does Jim know where the body is?"
"He's searching for it now."
Simon looked back at the detective. "His eyes are closed."
Blair shrugged. "I guess he's not using his sight then."
The captain sighed and walked back to the team. "Give him a moment and I think we'll have your coordinates."
A minute later one of the officers shouted, "Hey! Someone stop him! There's gators in there!"
Simon swiveled and saw Jim heading for the bank of the bayou. "Sandburg!"
"It's okay, captain," Blair said hurriedly, then dropped his voice to a whisper as Simon joined him. "He has permission. Seems the alligators aren't too happy with all the recent disturbances. They want us to get what we came for and leave."
"They told him this?"
Blair shrugged. "Something told him."
"Well, shit on me and call me a sundae," Officer Alex Favre called. Seeing that crazy fellow just march out into that river, he'd snatched up his rifle and headed for the bank himself. He had expected to see the alligators crawling toward the water and had hoped to pick them off before they could get at the man. But that wasn't what he saw. "Them gators ain't moving a'tall," he said in awe as he watched the animals on the other side of the bayou stare sleepily at the water. "Gator hear sumthin' in the water, he s'posed to move." He looked at the others in confusion.
Simon just took off his glasses and pinched his nose. "I just want to know if the two of you are going to pay for my therapy when all this is over."
"Sure, Simon. Maybe the doctor will even have group rates," Blair teased. He watched his partner wade out into the bayou until it was nearly up to his chin, then he lowered himself below the surface. Seconds later, he stood with a dripping mud-covered bundle and everyone knew the search for Alicia Delacroix was over.
Chapter Eight
"Children like you," she said.
He laughed derisively. "Children fear me. I'm big. I'm mean. I'm a cop."
She shook her head. "It is respect they show, not fear. When they have caused trouble, they may run from you. But when there is danger, they run *to* you."
He looked at her in puzzlement. "Where are you getting this stuff from? Definitely not from my head. Except for less than a handful maybe, I don't even know any children."
"But yet you protect them."
"I try to protect everyone."
"Do you cry for everyone?"
He wanted to walk away but it was her dream and he was under her control. "Where are you getting this information from?" he asked again.
"From the other side, from children you have helped."
He nodded as he started to understand. "You're talking about the Forty-Two and maybe the kids in Baltimore. I didn't cry for them. I was crying because their presence caused me pain, physical pain."
"What about the little boy in Turkey?"
He blanched and shut his eyes. Damn. That was a memory he had completely blocked. The drug bust had gone all wrong, the local authorities they had been working with going into the town with guns blazing without regard to the innocents. The boy had walked up to him with his arms raised as if he wanted to be picked up. Then he had crumpled to the unpaved street, his blood mingling with the dirt. "I felt him die in that miserable street, probably where he'd just been playing ball with his friends. He deserved better. I thought we were there to make it better." A sob caught in his throat.
Her hand fell on his arm. "He remembers it differently. He doesn't remember dying in the street. He only remembers being in your arms and knowing that despite his mother being a junkie and his father long dead over a drug deal, someone actually cared that he was dying, that someone would actually miss him."
He jerked away from her, his emotions too raw for her to witness. "Why are you doing this? Why are you making me remember?"
"Because you have denied your own worth too long." She tugged on his hand until he turned to face her. "You are important. Your survival matters."
"I cannot save the world."
"No one has asked you to. You save the lives you can. You protect those you can. That is your duty. That is your essence. And who knows? Perhaps one of those you save, one of those you protect, may be in the position to actually save the world one day. One drop of rain cannot fill an ocean. But without that first drop the ocean would not be."
He looked into the wise brown eyes. "The children like me?"
"The children love you."
*****
"Oh, man, she was beautiful," Blair whispered as the coroner pulled back the sheet wrapped around Alicia Delacroix. For some reason, being in the water hadn't affected the body yet. Instead of a water-swollen, mottled, perhaps insect-infested face, Alicia was as natural-looking as the drawing Jim had made.
Speaking of... Blair glanced around for his partner and saw him back at the bank of the bayou, kneeling with his head in his hands. Pushing past the men who encircled Alicia's body, he hurried to Jim's side. "Jim?" he asked softly, not wanting to intrude on his friend's grief but not wanting him to suffer alone either. He noted the wet clothes and wondered if he should get him a blanket or something. The sun was hot but with the Sentinel's sensitivity, a chill was possible.
"It hurts, Chief."
Blair strained to hear the scratchy voice. "What hurts, Jim?" Had he injured himself in the murky waters? Or maybe he was getting a chill.
"My head."
Shit. "Do you know why it hurts? Is someone trying to contact you?"
Before Jim could answer, Simon joined them, followed closely by another man. "Jim, this is Dr. Lazare. He's with the Recovery team and he wants to examine you."
"Not now, Simon," Blair responded, frustrated with the interruption.
"Your friend needs several inoculations," Lazare said. "The waters of the bayou are often contaminated."
"He has all his shots," Blair said, wanting them all to go away. Well... maybe not Simon. "Whatever you can be inoculated against, he has been. Does it every year."
"Why?" the doctor asked in confusion.
"He's a cautious man. Now, could you give us some space?"
Lazare refused to budge. "He looks like he's in pain."
"What's going on, Sandburg?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out, Simon. Please..." Simon nodded and dragged the doctor back a few yards. "What is it, Jim? Do you know why your head hurts?"
"The others."
"What about the others?"
"They want to go home too."
Blair motioned Simon forward. "The others are in the river?" A nod. "Who are the others, Jim?"
"Other... young... girls. Sacrificed. Like Lici."
"What is he talking about?" Mike asked, he and Joey having joined them.
Blair shot him a look that made him shut up. "The same people who killed Alicia, killed the others?"
"The same but not the same."
"How many others are there, Jim?" Simon asked, kneeling down to join his men.
"Forty-nine."
There was the sound of a variety of gasps. "Joey," Mike whispered. "Go tell the coroner we have forty-nine more bodies to recover. See if he has the materials he's going to need."
"When were they killed, Jim?" Simon asked carefully.
"One a year."
"You're saying this has been going on for fifty years? And no one has stopped it?" Simon glared at Mike as if he was personally responsible.
"Who, damn it?" Mike shouted. "Who the hell is doing this, Ellison!"
Jim flinched at the loud sound. The movement had Blair on his feet and in Mike's face. "You will keep your voice down or I will bodily toss you the hell out of here," he whispered harshly. "In fact, why don't you just keep your mouth closed, period."
"Sandburg, Jim's trying to say something." Simon stood and moved aside, letting Blair next to Jim and putting himself next to Mike. "Listen to me, Rankin, and listen good. That guy you were just talking to is a pacifist to his heart. Won't even carry a gun. But nobody messes with his partner. I know you probably wanted to laugh when he said he'd toss you out of here, but the truth of the matter is, that he would and could if he thinks you're a danger to Jim. When it comes to one protecting the other, it's best if you stay out of their way."
"But I'm not a danger to Ellison," Mike protested.
"The man is in a delicate state right now. He can't take any extremes which also means raised voices. So I suggest if you have something you want to say, you whisper it to me, and I'll pass it along. Understand?"
"Yeah, but..." He paused as Joey jogged to his side. "Whisper whatever you got to say, Joey," Mike warned.
"The coroner says he's prepared and Hobbs wants to know if the Recovery team is needed this time."
Simon kneeled between his men and told them what information was needed. Jim said something back, part of which Simon understood and part of which he looked to Blair to clarify. Then he went back to the detectives.
"Put the men and boats in the water. Then you will understand."
It only took a few minutes for the experienced team to get in position. Then Jim slowly extended his hands over the sluggish stream. "Yemanja, Baron Samedi!"
"He calls to the spirit of waters and the guardian of the grave," Mike translated.
"Christ Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, God!"
"He's going for the big guns now," Joey added as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
"Let the evil ones' sins be revealed!"
A mist began to rise from the rivulet and as the cloud rose so did the bodies that had been hidden deep within the bayou. First, there were pieces of cloth stained dark with the mud and muck of the bottom of the waters. Then came the skeletal remains, some still tenuously connected, others mere bones littering the surface of the murky flow. Oddly white, considering the time spent submerged, the osseous scraps which signified human life had once been present, bobbed gently into view.
Blair stumbled backward as he watched the display, jumping slightly when he backed into a solid mass which turned out to be Simon. The captain automatically put his hands out to brace Blair but his entire focus was on what was happening. It was both horrifying and awe-inspiring, repulsive and captivating, unbelievable yet undeniably true. Those who witnessed it found it difficult to describe although the event would be forever etched into their memories. For several brief, yet protracted moments the only movement in the entire area was that of the bodies coming to the surface. No one breathed. No one twitched. No one said a word as the watery graveyard was exposed.
The silence was at long last broken as Jim turned to Blair, oblivious to the tears coursing down his face. "Take them home," he said. Then his eyes rolled back until only the whites showed and he collapsed.
Chapter Nine
"Evil exists in many forms."
"I know."
"But it is at its worst when it takes the form of a human. We give it a cunning it did not have when it was a mere void, an intelligence it could not achieve in an animal."
He nodded in agreement. He had seen this to be true. An animal may viciously attack, claw, and devour. But it did not stand gloating over its victim, prolonging death as much as possible, throwing salt into wounds, or bleeding it slowly so that the prey would know it was dying and see its death deliberately reflected in the predator's eyes. No, that kind of toying, that kind of torture was reserved for those who were supposed to be greater, higher.
"This kind of evil often attracts the like and therefore multiplies until it infects a group, a group which must be fed. So I and others like me are sacrificed and the evil is appeased for another year. But each year, it is hungrier than the year before and there will come a time when it will devour itself."
"So I should be patient. That's not exactly my area of expertise," he admitted with a slight smile of deprecation.
"Then you should know the time approaches. It will not feed on me for you shall have my power. It will be weakened and angry. It will come for you. You must be ready. You must protect yourself. Carry with you at all times your shield and staff."
"My what? My badge and gun?"
"Non! Your shield and staff are written upon your heart. You know who they are. Keep them near. For their sakes and yours."
*****
"I don't think you want to hear this."
"I don't have time for games. What is happening?"
"Someone reported in from the site."
"They have the child's body?"
"Yes, but..." The hesitation lasted a long time.
"You can be replaced," came the calm warning.
"I think I want to be."
"Tell me!"
"They are recovering the others as well."
"What! What others?"
"Oh, just every body our people have dumped in that bayou since 1948."
"No! That is impossible!"
"I told you you didn't want to hear this."
"Shut up and let me think. Who is this man? What kind of power does he have? Or did she have this kind of power and we were unaware?"
"I think he must have his own and it is being amplified by hers."
"I have heard of such things but have never seen it done directly. Could you imagine what we could do if we managed to harness it ourselves? Find out which one it is, for he shall not die. Not until he has been prepared for our use."
*****
"La Societe de Sang."
"Jim?" Blair looked down at the man lying limply on the stretcher from the back of the coroner's van. "You waking up, partner?"
Jim jerked to full consciousness, his eyes opening, then closing quickly to block the strong light. "Where am I?"
"Still at the bayou. They wanted to transport you to the hospital, but since the doctor said you had merely passed out from exhaustion, I figured you wanted to stay here."
"Good call, Chief. How is it coming?"
"They are almost through. Only a few bones remain." He held up a towel to mute the light. "Open your eyes slowly. Now, dial down the intensity. Better?"
"Better." Always at my side. Protecting me. Defending me. My shield. He moved to sit up and Blair helped him balance.
"How's the headache?"
"Still there, but tolerable. Where's Simon?" Jim asked quickly.
"Supervising, of course," Blair answered, pointing toward the bayou.
Extending my reach. Removing obstacles from my path. Holding me up if necessary. My staff. "Call him, please."
"Sure. Captain Banks!" he yelled formally, his back to Jim so the Sentinel wouldn't get the full volume of his voice.
Simon grinned when he saw Jim sitting up. "So Sleeping Beauty awakens. Nice swan dive, Jim."
"Thanks, Simon. I try my best to be entertaining." He shook his head when Blair offered him a bottle of water.
"You want heatstroke on top of that headache, big guy?" He held out the bottle stubbornly until his partner took it.
"How are you feeling, Jim?" Simon asked, all teasing aside.
"I'm doing okay."
"Think you could handle identifying the remains?" Simon had watched him do it with uncanny accuracy before.
Jim closed his eyes, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, captain, but I can't tell you who they are because they themselves don't know."
"I know some of them have been in there a long time," Simon began.
"It's not that. They weren't just killed by these people. They had their essences sucked right out of them at the time of death. Instead of their souls floating around in my head, I only have the shell of who they were. They want to go home, but they can't remember where that is or who they were. Shells, captain, just empty shells," he said sadly.
Simon looked at him sympathetically. "It's okay, Jim. Cops have been identifying bodies for years without your kind of 'help'. They'll get home eventually."
"Well, tell them when they're going through the missing persons files to look for females, age twelve or so, may have a history of some kind of psychic behavior, and are virgins."
"That's rather personal, isn't it," Simon said, laughing uneasily.
Jim looked away. "Their virginal blood is part of the ritual."
Simon silently cursed himself for forgetting what Jim had experienced during his dreams. "I'm sorry, Jim. I forgot."
"I wish I could," his detective replied softly.
Simon figured he'd put his foot in his mouth enough. "You ready to head back to the city?"
"For more questioning, huh?" Jim remarked dryly. "Sure, unless you have something better I could do. A root canal, maybe? Or a rectal exam, perhaps?"
"Gee, and here I was about to suggest a stop by Mardi Gras World," Blair teased, laughing because that suggestion was almost as repulsive to Jim as the others. "But before we get to the fun, do you remember what you said when you woke up, Jim? You said something in French."
Jim frowned, then the memory returned. "La Societe de Sang."
"Yes, that was it. Who or what is the Society of Blood, Jim?"
"The ones responsible."
"For the killings?" the captain asked quickly. "I thought you... I mean, Alicia, didn't know who was behind this?" Simon was trying to figure out how all this worked. Apparently Jim's ability to be contacted wasn't a fluke that would just go away. Therefore, as his friend, captain, and Watcher, he was going to have to learn to cope with another one of the man's 'talents'.
"One of the others remembered it."
"Remembered what?" Mike Rankin asked as he ambled toward them. "We think we've retrieved all the evidence. As soon as we get loaded up, we'll be heading back."
"Jim knows who did this," Blair said eagerly.
"Who?"
"La Societe de Sang."
Mike laughed. "Yeah, right. Everything but the Second Coming have been blamed on them for as long as I can remember. No one ever listens."
"Maybe someone should," Jim said quietly.
Chapter Ten
He touched the bruise on her cheek and felt her stiffen. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said quickly, pulling his offending hand away. Perhaps it was merely empathetic pain, but now he felt an ache in his jaw as well.
Her brown eyes opened wide with wonder. "Where you touched doesn't hurt anymore." She sat up and put herself beneath his hand. Her lips brushed his palm and she felt the bleeding stop and the pain dissolve. "What is happening?"
"I am removing your pain," he said as if he had done it before, as if it wasn't just as a big a shock to him. "Lie down and let me help you." He carefully unzipped the tattered dress and peeled back the fabric that had been shredded by the whip. The flesh below was an angry red against the cafe au lait of her skin. Some of the lash marks were mere welts, while others were open and lightly bleeding. He never hesitated as he placed one palm and then the other against the wounds. Immediately new skin closed over the open lacerations and red marks faded as swellings turned to smooth, even flesh. He sensed the edemas transferred to his back, felt a trail of fire sear through his body as the pain exchanged one host for the other, but he never flinched, never gave any indication that he was in discomfort and the child relaxed in blissful ignorance.
As his touch healed, he began to hum. It wasn't a child's song or a lullaby; he knew none. It was a tune he thought he had forgotten, one he had deliberately shut out of his mind... He and a group of guys at the base has gone to see the matinee showing of "Good Morning Vietnam". They often did that with a movie they actually wanted to see; that way when they took their lady friends to a nighttime showing, they could concentrate on other things. Robin Williams' performance had been riveting as a deejay who thought of the war as one big joke until he actually got caught up in the violence and devastation. He knew what that moment felt like, when the realization hit that war was about more than strategies and weapontry but also about destruction and death. Even the small wars, the policing actions and peacekeeping maneuvers were never as simple as the people back home thought.
Anyway, he had bought the soundtrack and played it often enough to memorize several of the songs. One of them was really simple. It was brief and hell, Louis Armstrong was better known for his horn-blowing than he was for his singing. But the words painted a picture, one that was chock full of hope. Maybe that was why, less than a year later, he had sung it that night in the jungle as his last man lay dying in his arms.
That had been the last time he had even thought about the song, much less sung it. That particular night, Jim Ellison had given up on hope and had remained a stranger to it until a certain young anthropologist had bounced his way into his life. Still, the song had not returned to his memory. He wondered if the tape was somewhere in the jumbled remains of his military life that he had stored away or had he loaned it to one of his buddies before boarding the helicopter that day...
He found himself singing the words to her, but they sounded as false to him now as they had in the jungle. Lies, he thought to himself. No one witnessing what he had, who felt the suffering of this child, could ever think of this as a wonderful world. It was a miserable joke, a perversion of whatever its creator had intended... for surely no god, no supreme being could have designed such a place and the travesties that had gone on in this room. Not, at least, the same being who had created little girls with bright smiles and innocent trust in their eyes.
She shifted restlessly and he knew she was sensing his anger. With effort, he reined in his emotions and sang a little louder, trying to convince himself that this was only an aberration, that Louis Armstrong's version of the world was the norm, was what ninety-nine point nine percent of the children on the planet experienced. True, he had seen many in dire conditions, but he had seen through the eyes of a man who knew it could be better. Maybe they knew it could be worse.
*****
"We know which one it is. He revealed himself at the bayou."
"I assume you have a plan in mind?"
Gee, it's not like I don't have other things to do. "I'm working on it."
"You will bring him to me?"
That could be interesting... Nah. Unfortunately, my existence is completely wrapped in yours. "He will probably come to you. Which might be a bad thing. If he is as powerful as we think and he meets you before we can tether him, you may be exposed... or worse." And then I will be exposed.
"In my condition I cannot fight him alone. If we meet I will make sure we are all together. You and the others must come to me. See to it immediately."
"You still want me to kill his companions?"
"Mais oui. If they are bonded, their deaths will weaken him, and then his defeat will be imminent."
*****
"Mike?"
"Yeah, Joey?" he replied tiredly as his partner drove back into the city.
"About my being the designated skeptic... After what I've seen, I think I'm going to have to resign."
Mike sighed. "I can't blame you. I'm thinking about heading to church on Sunday myself. Suddenly, I can't remember the last time I went to mass."
"You're Catholic?" Joey asked in surprise.
"Apparently it has been too long," Mike replied with a crooked smile. "Most of us natives are. What did you think I was? No, don't answer that."
"What's this thing you and Ellison were getting into? Something about a society of blood?"
"It's nothing, man." Mike stared out the window, remembering. "The children around here have had nightmares about La Societe de Sang for as long as I can remember. We would tease each other about it when we were kids, tell stories out on the streets at night when we didn't feel like amusing the tourists. And parents still use it to keep the little ones in line, like the boogeyman or something. 'The Society is going to get you if you don't behave.' Or 'keep acting up and I'm going to give you to the Society.' What's the term for stuff like that today? Urban legend, that's it. Nonsense stuff that's been around a long time."
"Since 1948 perhaps?" Joey asked judiciously, knowing Mike wasn't going to appreciate the probing. But so far Ellison seemed to know what he was talking about. And he had caused those bodies to rise.
"All I know, partner, is that if the Society does exist, I have some apologies to make to my mama and others, not to mention a shitload of cases to put down. Take a right up here at the next intersection."
"Where are we headed?"
"Sandburg said Ellison needed to eat or he might take another header, so I thought I'd take them to T'Dette's."
"That's your aunt's restaurant in the Quarter, right?"
"Aunt, cousin, something like that," Mike said with a shrug. "In these parts, we just call 'em kinfolk. Anyway, Ellison doesn't need any loud noises and I know she'll let us have a room in the back. Take a left and find a couple of parking spaces."
"It's going to be loud up front," Mike warned the Cascade trio. "That's where T'Dette puts all the tourists. But the locals section is pretty tame and then there's a private room above the kitchen. It'll be fine, you'll see."
Blair made sure Jim had all his senses turned to their lowest point as they entered the restaurant where jazz blasted from a corner jukebox and tourists lined the walls. Mike led them through that area and into another where the music was more muted and he seemed to know everyone sitting at the tables.
A huge woman approached, grinning down at her nephew/cousin although he was a respectable six feet himself. "Michael Thomas, 'bout time you showed up here. I got the room upstairs all ready for you and your friends. Deenie's gonna wait on you. If she be dawdling', you just give me a yell." She turned to his companions. "Hey, y'all. I'm Odette Fourtier, but my friends and relatives call me T'Dette. That's short for petite Odette, by the way. They ain't much for havin' a sense of humor, you understand? Since I'm declaring' you friends and maybe some of you relatives," she added, eyeing the tall, dark form of Simon, "y'all just call me T'Dette. We don't go into formalities 'round here. Ain't got no menus or nothin'. I cook and everybody seem to eat it. You don' like it, I cook somethin' else. Git on upstairs and stop wastin' my time."
Mike led them up a narrow stairway and to a room that had a table set for five. "You called ahead?" Blair asked.
"Nah," Mike said with a shake of his head. "T'Dette just always seems to know when I'm coming."
"Strange things happen in N'awlins," Joey said wisely, winking at his partner.
"And they get stranger all the time," Mike agreed, tilting his head toward Jim. "How you doing, detective? It's not too loud for you, is it?"
"I'm fine. This your neighborhood?"
"My old hangout. Guess you can say I haven't strayed too far from home over the years. What about yourself? You an actual Washington native?"
Jim nodded. "I had some straying years, saw some sights I guess every man should see--"
"Yeah, that's what's Bourbon Street is for," Mike said with a grin. "You don't see it there, it ain't worth seeing."
Simon laughed. "I've heard that. I'm going to have to check out that rumor before we leave," he said.
"Guess we'll have to lock the kid in his room that night," Jim replied, earning a dirty look from Blair.
"I'm sure I've seen worse, Jim. I haven't exactly been a homebody myself."
"If you think you've seen worse, maybe they better lock you in your room, man," Mike said knowingly. "I don't allow Joey down there without a guard." He also received a dirty look.
"Well, since I'm being insulted anyway, I think now is the best time for me to go see T'Dette about Jim's food."
Mike looked at him in amazement. "If you're up to questioning T'Dette about her cooking, maybe you are Bourbon Street material."
"It's just that Jim has allergies and--"
"And you can ask me anything you want, baby," T'Dette said as she sailed into the room. For a large woman, she moved as easily as a ballerina. "You and your friend just come with me."
"Uh, I don't think Jim should be in a kitchen around all those spices. We'd never get him to stop sneezing," Blair warned.
"Oh, he ain't comin' to the kitchen with us. Grandmere wants to see him. She live the next house over."
"Your grandmother wants to see me?" Jim asked, nonplused.
"Well, she ain't exactly my grandma. That's just what everyone calls her 'cause she so old."
"Somewhere around the century mark," Mike said. "But she say a woman's got a right to lie about her age so she stopped counting at a young ninety-two. Why she wanna see Ellison?"
T'Dette regarded her relative with a frown. "Grandmere's business is her own, Michael Thomas. You know better than to question your elders."
"I didn't mean anything by it, T'Dette. I just wanted to make sure the ol' girl wasn't confused."
"Her eyesight may be fading and she got hearin' aids in both ears, but she still got her mind. You come 'round here more often, you might know that. Come on, my friends. We got better things to do than satisfy Michael Thomas' curiosities." She shooed Blair and Jim out ahead of her and led them to the alley behind the restaurant. "Philip Marie!"
A little girl scooted around the corner. "You call me, Mama?"
"Is there another Philip Marie 'round here I don't know about?" The child shook her head. "Then I guess it was you I was callin'. Take Mr. Jim here across the street to Grandmere's. And you," she said, grabbing Blair's arm, "come with me and tell me what our boy cain't git into."
Jim was still smiling at Blair's expression as T'Dette yanked him back into the restaurant when he felt a small hand rest in his. He looked down at the little girl. "Your name is Philip Marie?"
"Yessir. Most folk call me Flip, but Mama say she and all the other mamas give their babies two name and it's a shame nobody uses them, so she does." Flip stopped at the edge of the street and cautiously looked both ways. Then she nodded solemnly and led Jim across the narrow lane.
"How old are you, Flip?"
"Seven. Not quite old 'nough for the Society to git me, but I hear tell they ain't gonna be doin' that no more 'cause of you."
Jim stopped and kneeled before the child. "You heard what?"
"That you done brought back all the kids the Society took and they ain't gonna be able to take no more. We all thank you for that, Mr. Jim. I didn't cotton to bein' Society food," little Flip said, her eyes wide and serious.
"You're welcome, Flip," Jim replied and slowly got back to his feet.
He was led into a small wooden house. One woman sat sewing, two others were saying something about cooking dinner, and still another was on the phone. However, Jim's eyes quickly found Grandmere. The old lady sat in a yellow chair similar to the one he had back at the loft and in her hands was the remote control to the 27-inch color television that dominated the room. There was no doubt who ruled this roost.
"Hey, Grandmere!" Flip yelled. "Mr. Jim is here to see you!"
Bright, dark eyes looked up at him. "Thank you, baby. You wait on the outside for him, 'kay? Me and him needs to talk. And the rest of y'all can go too," she said, waving her hands which were bent with rheumatism at her "ladies-in-waiting".
Jim noted that no one spoke back or complained. The phone conversation was ended and the sewing was carefully bundled up and carried away. "What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked politely but loudly as she stared at him when they were alone. For some reason her eyes made him nervous. She was old; if she stopped counting at ninety-two, that had to be decades ago. Yet, her eyes showed no cloudiness or yellowing. Her light brown skin was thin and clung to the bones beneath. Her hair was snowy white, plaited into a long braid that hung down her back.
"Gimme your hand," Grandmere demanded. Jim did as she asked. The old lady traced his fingertips, then smiled as if she was satisfied with what she had seen or felt. "I'm old. I don't remember names so I'm gonna call you boy or son 'cause mostly everybody on this planet is a newborn compared to me. You can call me Grandmere. I 'spect right now you wonderin' why you is here so I'll save you a question or two. In 1948, my grandchild went missin'. Today, she done come home. I been waitin' a long time for that."
"If you think one of the..." he searched for the right euphemism.
"Bodies, bones, pieces," Grandmere said for him. "Call 'em what they are, son. Just 'cause I'm old don't mean talkin' 'bout death is goin' to gimme ideas. I know she was dead from the beginnin'. Y'see, if the Society had been operatin' when I was a chile, they would've took me too."
"You mean...?"
Grandmere nodded. "They is a lot of us here. Inbreedin' keeps it in the family, y'know."
Jim cleared his throat uncomfortably. "If you think one of the remains that were recovered is your granddaughter, I think you should contact the local police and let them know."
"The family's down there right now makin' a report," she informed him. "Givin' them a list of the other girls as well."
"You know the others too?" Jim asked in amazement.
Grandmere smiled, then adjusted her teeth when they started to slip. "Knew you'd be 'round 'ventually and would want them girls home quick like before they started to get on your nerves."
"I appreciate the thought, Grandmere."
"But they already on your nerves, ain't they? You carry a heavy burden, boy. But you'll handle it. Just remember, you ain't alone. Even when you think you is, there's somebody lookin' out for you. Come closer." She tugged on him until she could plant a kiss in the center of his forehead. She gasped and sat back in the seat.
He heard her heart racing. "Are you alright, ma'am?" he asked in concern.
She patted his hand and passed on a warning. "They're after you, son. Not 'cause you can stop them but 'cause you got somethin' they want."
"Lici's power," he said knowingly.
"Not just hers, but yours too. I gave you my blessin'. Let that help you, but you gots to be careful. They all 'round you."
"I'll watch my back, Grandmere," Jim promised.
Her bony fingers dug into his arm. "It ain't your back they're aimin' for, baby. It's your heart."
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