Face Behind the Mask

by Leo King

  “But I haven’t been a good husband or father.” He looked away from her.

  She leaned over and captured his gaze as she always did. “You’ll get better at that again. But right now, you are a good man, and you are a good cop. You love helping and protecting people. So I think that when it matters—when it really matters—you’ll be a shield that protects the ones you love.”

  With a gentle tug, she brought his hand to her lips. “I believe that.”

  She kissed his fingers and then let go. Getting up, she said, “I need to head out, but I’ll be in touch. Remember what I said, and maybe, after some time, we’ll try this again.”

  As she left some cash for her meal and started to leave, she turned to him and winked. “That is, if you want to give this train wreck of a marriage another chance. I know I do.”

  Aucoin watched as she left. Then he laughed. “That woman is unbelievable.”

  It was the near the end of the day when Aucoin finally went to the La Croix Voodoo Shoppe in Jackson Square. When he entered, he caught a sweet, spicy scent in the air. Other than himself, however, the store was empty. He frowned. If not for everything that Dixie had told him about the Hannah Davis case, he wouldn’t even be there. He had no time for superstition.

  A voice from across the shop caught his attention. “May I help you?”

  His breath was nearly taken away. Standing there with her hands on her hips was a chocolate-skinned woman dressed in a dark red bustier and a long, black skirt. Her black hair was braided in locks and draped over her shoulders. She wore golden loop earrings and a red headscarf. She had a sensual air about her. Clearing his head of indecent thoughts, he glanced again at the business card Dixie had given him. “Are you Tania Patterson?”

  “I am,” she said. “And who wants to know?”

  Showing her his badge, he said, “Detective Aucoin. Dixie told me to contact you if strange things started happening. You helped her with the Davis case, and I was hoping you’d help me.”

  Tania folded her arms. Then she said, “One moment.” She moved past him like a summer breeze and turned the store’s sign to say “Closed.” Then she leaned back on the door. “So, tell me about your problem, Detective.”

  He hoped this wasn’t a waste of time. “All right, so here’s what’s been going on. For weeks—months, even—things I’ve been writing down have been coming true. Not word-for-word, but they’ve been pretty accurate. I’m… I’m pretty sure I’m somehow responsible for what happened to Hannah. And I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for other things. The problem is that I just don’t, well… I’m not a very religious man, but—”

  “You don’t believe in voodoo,” Tania interrupted.

  “Pretty much. But from what Dixie told me, and from what I’ve seen lately, I don’t know what to think.”

  She straightened up and locked eyes with him. Her look was intense, her pupils were dilated, and the area around her eyes was slightly bruised. It was similar to how Sam was during the wharf incident.

  Finally, she spoke. “Hmmm. Well, you’re clean. There isn’t a loa attached to you or inside of you.”

  Nodding ever so slightly, he backed up. “Right. So, Tania, any idea what’s going on?”

  Walking over to the sales counter, she said, “Not at first glance. For loa to affect the physical world, which is what your story suggests, there needs to be a ritual, an action that’s done repeatedly—like dancing or chanting. And there needs to be a focus.”

  “A focus?”

  “A magic wand. A ritual dagger.”

  A light suddenly went off in Aucoin’s head. “Or a pen?”

  Leaning against the counter, Tania said, “Yes. A pen would make a good focus. The monotonous strokes of ink on a page could be the repetitive motion of the ritual. This would fit with what you’ve described. Have you always used the same pen?”

  “I have.” The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. He had known it was something about the pen, but he hadn’t expected it to be a voodoo ritual.

  He hurried out the door. “Thanks, Tania. I know what I have to do.”

  She called out after him. “Wait, what do you need to do? Let me help you!”

  “No time. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

  When Aucoin arrived at home, it was well past dinnertime. The afternoon traffic had been thick, matching the heaviness of his thoughts.

  The pen. The silver pen. All this time, it had been the cause of untold suffering.

  I destroy that thing, and we’re done. It’s over.

  His house was quiet and dark when he got home. As soon as he closed the door, he flicked on a light switch.

  Nothing.

  That’s odd.

  He flipped it a few more times and then felt his way into the living room, figuring the light bulb had burned out. It was surprisingly cold, although there was no draft, and the air was stale. He reached the lamp by his chair and tried to turn it on.

  Nothing.

  “OK, something squirrelly is happening here.”

  Taking out his gun, he headed to the kitchen and felt around the cabinets. It wasn’t long before he had what he was searching for—a flashlight. Shining it around the kitchen, he saw some light glinting off the metal of his empty sink and the glass of the window above it. Otherwise, the room was completely dark.

  “Right, let’s go check the fuse box,” Aucoin said, turning around and coming face-to-face with what looked like a rotted corpse made of smoke and mist.

  The creature’s jaw unhinged, and it shrieked right in his face. With a cry, he fell back, landing on his rear. His tailbone exploded with pain, but his instincts and training kicked in, and a moment later, he was aiming his gun at… nothing.

  The creature was gone.

  He sat there, holding out his gun and panting heavily. He heard feet padding behind him. It reminded him of when Cheryl was a baby, crawling on the floor. Only the sensation he felt wasn’t heartwarming. It was dreadful. Taking a deep breath, he turned around.

  Crawling toward him was a creature that looked like a nutria with human feet. Like the corpse from before, it was smoky. It stopped when it met his gaze, and then it stood up on its hind legs. On its stomach was a single giant eyeball, which scowled at him.

  “Oh, the fuck,” Aucoin said as he stumbled out of the kitchen. When he reached the living room, he ran right into his comfy chair and flipped to the ground. The flashlight rolled across the carpet.

  “Excuse me,” a voice behind him said. Sitting on his chair was a skeleton wearing a bathrobe. On the couch was another skeleton wearing a dress, and a third, smaller one wearing jeans and a tank top and listening to a Walkman.

  “Please be quiet. We’re trying to watch the movie.” The skeleton in the bathrobe pointed at the television. It was on, and the screen was covered with static, periodically showing scenes of Dallas torturing Cheryl.

  “Oh, Daddy,” the skeleton with the Walkman said. “Do we have to watch a documentary tonight?”

  “Shh, mind your father,” the skeleton with the dress replied.

  “What the fuck!” Crawling to the flashlight, Aucoin grabbed for it, but odd little creatures that looked like black clothespins with large, white eyes at the tips carried it away. He swatted them to the side, grabbed the flashlight, and spun back around to see that the skeletons were gone, and the television was off. Every muscle in his body shook, and sweat poured down the sides of his head. With every breath, he felt his grip on reality strain more and more.

  “OK, if this is real. If this is really real… if I’m not crazy…”

  Without another word, he scrambled to the table next to his chair and dug out the notebook and the silver pen. By the light of the flashlight, he wrote down what he hoped would be the end to this madness:

  The spirits stopped haunting Aucoin and turned his power back on.

  Within seconds, the lights flickered on, and the temperature rose back to normal.

  Leaning against his chai
r, he rubbed the sweat off his face. “Thank God that’s over.”

  Then all around him, a deep and cultured voice spoke. “I assure you, Detective, God had nothing to do with it.”

  Chapter 20

  The Silver Pen

  Date: Saturday, March 24, 1993

  Time: 1:00 a.m.

  Location: Kyle Aucoin’s House

  St. Bernard, New Orleans East

  The silver pen fell to the carpet with a soft thump, and Aucoin stared at it. Did I just… did it just talk to me?

  For a full minute, he sat motionless, unsure of what to do. When a few minutes passed and nothing happened, he picked it back up. Almost immediately, the voice spoke again. “It’s really rude to cut me off like that. Please don’t do it again.”

  Aucoin leaned against his coffee table. If not for his experiences over the past few days, if not for Dixie’s story about Hannah, he would think he was dreaming. But he knew this was no nightmare. This was real.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Is it important? The point is that you’ve used this focus so much that now I can communicate to anyone holding it. My strength is growing every day, and I have to thank you, Detective.”

  “Tell me who you are! I want to know what’s going on.”

  “Oh, me. Oh, my. So full of questions. Very well. As for my identity, I am the king of the loa. As for what’s going on, we’re having a conversation on your living-room floor.”

  Aucoin realized he was, indeed, on the floor, so he got up. “So you’re the one who’s been killing folks in New Orleans and Metairie and other places all over southern Louisiana?”

  “No, I didn’t kill anyone… this time around. Other people did. More precisely, people my loa were either riding or possessing. Consider Detective Bradley, for example. It was written that he’d shoot the Fat City Stabber. But he was always the Stabber—an amazing coincidence, to say the least. So all the krabinay within him had to do was drop the possession right before he attacked his own daughter. Then the weakness of human nature kicked in, and bang—a dead serial killer. You’re welcome.”

  Seeing how that fit into what he already knew, Aucoin said, “Yes, but you were the one leading them. The loa possessing Hannah said they had to do what their king commands, and since you’re their king and you commanded them, that makes you the main conspirator.”

  The voice chuckled . Then it said, “My, my, but you are entertaining. But, then, following that logic, you were the one giving the requests to me through the pen, so doesn’t that make you a conspirator as well?”

  Shaking the pen in the air, Aucoin said, “Don’t try to turn this back on me! I had no idea what I was doing.”

  The voice grew darker and more sinister. “Isn’t ignorance of the law no excuse for breaking it? You see, your will has powered these commands, these rituals. You wanted others to suffer because your daughter suffered. I merely translated those desires into actions. So don’t act like you’re innocent, Detective.”

  Closing his eyes, Aucoin focused, remembering what Dixie had told him. “The loa possessing Hannah said it needed lives. Why do your loa have to kill?”

  “Because the amount of energy a person releases when they die is necessary for my plans.”

  “What plans?”

  “You wouldn’t understand, Detective.”

  Aucoin tightened his grip. “What plans?”

  The voice laughed and then said, “To extend my reach to every part of the world where the voodoo gods reign and to be able to send my loa into the physical world without needing this pen.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I want to destroy the Knight Priory of Saint Madonna and end their use of the tkeeus so I can control this city alone from beyond the grave!”

  Pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. “Knight Priory? Tkeeus? Beyond the grave? Were you a part of what happened back in August?”

  Laughing, the voice said, “Isn’t that wonderful? Despite having been only on the periphery of the investigation, you’re figuring out the mastermind. Yes, that was all me.”

  The rest of the pieces fell into place—comments made by Sam and Rodger, snippets of notes from Michael, and even the methodologies of Dallas. If one accepted that spirits existed, there could be only one person on the other side of the silver pen. “I know who you are now. Oh God, everything that’s been happening makes sense. Poor Sam.”

  “Poor Sam?” the voice said in an incredulous tone. “Poor Sam? That ungrateful child is why I’m having to make do with a depressed, washed-up cop like yourself.”

  “Shut up,” Aucoin said, putting on his jacket and heading out. He felt an ember of rage igniting in his heart. “Because of you, Vincent, so many people have suffered—Cheryl, Dixie, Sam, Rodger, Michael, and who knows who else? Whatever you’re doing, I’m sure Tania Patterson can stop it!”

  “Hmph! That dumb dog? I’d like to see her try.”

  Aucoin held on to the silver pen securely as he drove back to Jackson Square. Vincent spoke the entire time. Nothing he had to say was particularly flattering.

  “You’re wasting your time, Detective. That Patterson girl was the weaker of the two sisters. Even now, with the power she has gained, she’ll never be able to stop me.”

  Rolling his eyes, Aucoin said, “It doesn’t matter, you sick son-of-a-bitch. You’ve been hurting people for far too long. It’s time we put an end to you.”

  “Detective, you have no idea what I’ve become or what I’ve done. You’re just a small piece in this sordid puzzle—a disposable piece, at that. But work with me, and I can help you become something amazing.”

  Aucoin turned off the interstate and drove down Decatur Street. He’d be at the shop in just a few more minutes. “I’m not interested.”

  “Think about it, Detective. Think long and hard. If you work with me, think of all the good we can do.”

  “There’s no good that can come from you.”

  “Just hear me out. You know how the pen works now. You can just use it to kill criminals. Murderers. Like how you killed the Fat City Stabber.”

  The desire was there, and Aucoin couldn’t ignore it. Now that he knew what the pen could do, the craving to punish those who harmed others was almost overpowering. But he thought of how much Sam had suffered and how children like Hannah were being hurt by the pen. So as he drove on, he pushed those desires down with every ounce of will he possessed. He was an officer of the law, and he had come too far to fall again.

  “That’s enough! I may hate those scumbags, but I will not become one of them.”

  Vincent growled. “Your will is much stronger than I thought. How? Has your suffering made you tougher, or is it your convictions? No matter—someone out there is willing be judge, jury, and executioner. All I have to do is call them to me, and I’ll have my way. It’s human nature to harm.”

  “No, that’s your nature, you sicko,” Aucoin said, putting the pen in his glove compartment. “And I’m through listening to your poison.”

  Up ahead, at the entrance to Jackson Square, were the flashing lights of a dozen police cars at a blockade. A uniformed cop was redirecting traffic down a side street.

  Aucoin rolled down the window and flashed his badge. “Hey. What’s going on?”

  The officer moved the barrier. “Some shop caught fire. Occult store. Real bad, too. A woman was killed.”

  The blood began to drain from Aucoin’s face, and a sickening feeling grew in his gut. As he passed through the barricade, all he could think about was Tania. Driving along the cobbled stones of the square and approaching the voodoo shop, he could see the blaze. A pair of fire trucks in front had it mostly under control. He parked next to Rivette and Landry’s car—he could tell it was theirs from the Power Ranger on the dashboard. Ouellette’s car and an ambulance were nearby.

  At the shop, Rivette looked pissed, Landry shuffled about anxiously, and Ouellette stood over a body bag. As Aucoin approached, Rivette said, “Isn’
t this great, Kyle? Paul and I are being sent back to the precinct to work on reports. I guess a woman being burnt to a cinder ain’t important enough for two homicide detectives!”

  “Shut up and get your ass back there, Rivette,” Ouellette said. He motioned Aucoin toward the bag. “You think this is the proprietor?” Inside were the charred remains of what used to be a human being. The skin was black as soot, the hair was gone, and what little clothing remained was more like a burned paper bag. She was unrecognizable.

  Maybe it’s not Tania. He scanned the gathering crowd and didn’t see her. Wouldn’t she be around if her store had caught on fire? If she wasn’t here, though, where was she?

  “Well?” Ouellette asked.

  “Where was she found?”

  “In the middle of the damn inferno. Do you think it’s Tania Patterson?”

  Looking over the crowd again, Aucoin said, “My gut tells me that she’s alive.”

  Folding his arms, Ouellette said, “Humph. All right, then, Detective. Poke around and see if you can find something to corroborate your gut.” He headed off to talk to the fire chief.

  Aucoin hunched down and examined the woman’s remains once again. There was no way to determine if she was Caucasian, African-American, or something else. The damage was too severe. Carefully, so as to not further damage the body, he opened the bag. The smells of burned human flesh, muscle, and fat were nauseating. Shining his flashlight into the mess, he searched for something—anything—that could clue him in as to who this was.

  Was the fire an accident or arson? Who would want to kill Tania?

  His musings were interrupted by another flash of white. The same white orb as before was floating over something in the bag, something made of metal. After a second, the orb vanished like mist.

  What the—? Crime Lab had missed something. He plucked it out. It was partially melted, but he could make out the basic design—a crest sporting a cross and a crown. He flipped it over a few times before realizing where he had seen it before. “Caroline Saucier, the editor-in-chief of the Times-Picayune, had this same design on her lapel!”