Broken Bayou

by Rhonda R. Dennis

  He holds up a hand. “Just because he wasn’t there this time doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Stay diligent, and call if you notice it again.”

  I nod. “Thank you for all your help.”

  “That’s what we’re here for, ma’am. Have a nice day, and stay safe.”

  “You, too.” With that he’s gone to serve and protect someone else. I’m much calmer when I finally make it to my office, but Cal is not. He’s rapidly pacing back and forth when I enter the room.

  “Are you okay? Did they catch him? Who was it?”

  “I’m fine. No. We still don’t know.”

  Cal lets out a heavy sigh. “This stuff is getting out of control. I know you think the secret admirer stuff is harmless and innocent, but I think it’s getting creepy.”

  I put my load onto the desk then make my way to him. Taking his face in my palm, I say, “You’re a good looking guy. I find it very hard to believe that you’ve never had a student admirer.”

  “Even old Hughley gets love notes every now and then. We all do. I guess it’s an authority thing or something? None have gone this far for us. What has you so convinced it’s a student?”

  “Think about it. The roses are always from the garden. They’re free, so the person probably doesn’t have much money, and frankly, a lot of the stuff is juvenile. Kittens on cards, Mylar balloons…” Cal shoots me a questioning glance. “That was today—a gorilla that says he’s bananas about me.” Cal shakes his head. “It’s a kid, Cal. Has to be.”

  “But the car?”

  “I don’t know. However, Major Collins has given me his card so I can call if it ever happens again, and he escorted me to campus with no incident. Maybe I imagined it all.”

  “I doubt that,” Cal says.

  “Well, I wrongfully witnessed the carnage of a famous murder scene too, recently. Remember?”

  “You need to move past that,” Cal encourages.

  “Believe me, I’m trying.” I say, shuffling some papers around in search of what I need for my upcoming class. “Now, I get to be scowled at by Billy, the sweet little ray of sunshine who makes my days even more delightful.” My tone is facetious.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” Cal suggests.

  “I’ll do my best,” I return, giving him a quick peck before heading to the classroom.

  Billy is extra snide and ornery, so much so that I send him away because of how disruptive he’s being to the class. Before he parts, I slam him with a two thousand word essay on the importance of classroom decorum. He tosses up both middle fingers as he leaves the room, but I pretend not to notice. The students are restless for a little while after the disruption, but soon, class returns to normal.

  I’m so backed up on paperwork that when Cal slides into my office doing a happy dance because the work day is done, I send him away, too. Well, I don’t send him right out of the door. There is some exchange of affection before he finally leaves me to finish up my work. He asks that I call upon arriving home, and I promise to do so.

  It’s well after dark, and I suddenly realize how spooky the old building truly is, especially when I’m alone. The sounds of keys clanking and the squeaking of the janitor’s cart are reassuring as Odell makes his way down the hall—I’m not entirely alone in the eerie place. Door creaks open, the cart squeaks, shuffling, door closes, repeat. The sound finally reaches outside my office.

  “Hope ya not pullin’ an all-nighter,” Odell says with a nearly toothless grin.

  “No, not an all-nighter. Those days are over for me.”

  “Good to know,” he says, dumping the contents of my garbage can into a large plastic bag fastened to his cart. “How you likin’ da area?” he asks with a thick Cajun accent.

  “I’m really enjoying it. The area is beautiful, the people are friendly… It’s nice.”

  “Been on any of them gator swamp tours? My cousin runs a boat out dat way if ya wanna go.”

  “No, no gator swamp tours. I’ve toured some plantations, though.”

  “Yeah, they got some right nice houses ‘round here. My great grandpap worked as an overseer at Azalea Downs. Pity about all them tragedies dat place done had on them grounds. You couldn’t pay me to go in dat place.”

  “Are you referring to the Nuit Rouge murders?” I ask, closing my laptop so I can give him my undivided attention. He uses this as an invitation to take a seat across from me. He pulls his chair as close to my desk as possible and leans in closely as if he’s telling a secret.

  “Oh no, honey. Da tragedy started long before them murders. Every family who ever owned that house had some major gris gris put upon them. Dat place is cursed, I tell you.”

  “Gris gris?” I ask.

  “You know—bad ju ju?”

  I nod. “Like what kinds of tragedies happened there?”

  “Like the people who built the house. The wife caught her husband with one of the slaves. She slit her husband’s throat while he slept then the very next day, she beat the slave girl to death with a cast iron skillet. They locked her away in the attic, and the owner’s brother took over the estate from there. Things ain’t worked out good for him, either. Murdered after getting caught cheating at cards. Died right in one of them fancy parlor rooms. The property was sold to the Jasper family, and the pregnant wife took a tumble down the steps. Snapped her neck clean. Both her and the baby died, and the husband was so grief-stricken they found him hanging inside the nursery.”

  I slowly shake my head. “That’s so sad.”

  “That ain’t all of it!”

  “I’m sure it’s not. Thank you for sharing the stories, but I think I’ve heard enough for tonight,” I say, suddenly queasy.

  “I hear ya, but if you ever get curious about the rest of the story, it’s all in the library.”

  “The library here?”

  “Sure ‘nuff. I always save the library last for cleanin’. They got a lot of good stuff in there.”

  I smile. “Most libraries do.”

  “Yeah, but this one’s extra special. Got them things with the tiny people and stuff in the glass cases and all. Yep, it’s right nice in there. Almost like a museum. It’s even two whole stories!”

  “I’m embarrassed to say I haven’t been yet.”

  “It’s okay, Miss Douglas. You been busy settling in and such. You’ll get to it when the time’s right.”

  “Thank you for the information, Odell. Well, I suppose I should get going. It’s getting late,” I say, glancing at my watch. Nine fifteen.

  “I’ll get campus police to send someone over to walk you to your car,” he says, reaching for his portable radio.

  “No need,” I say, reaching for the sweater draped across the back of my chair. Looking out the window as I put it on, I notice Billy sitting on a bench in the quad thanks to the ambient light coming from one of the nearby lamp posts. As soon as he knows he’s caught my eye, he bends down to pick up a poster board. Flashing it in my direction, I read “Decorum Sux Azz.” I go to my supply closet and pull out a poster board of my own. In red marker I write, “Decorum Sucks Ass” before holding it up for him to see. “Yeah, you might as well get them coming this way,” I say as Odell leaves the room.

  “You got it Miss Douglas.”

  It’s time for me to handle this situation with Billy Thibodeaux once and for all. I flip the sign and write, “8 AM. My office. BE HERE!” He indignantly takes off towards the men’s dorms.

  I meet up with the campus police officer as I’m locking my office door, and he is courteous and polite while escorting me to my car. Once I’m safely inside, he taps on my roof and yells through my window, “Be safe and have a good night.”

  I give him a wave once I’ve reversed from my spot and put the car into drive. The ride home is pretty uneventful. I continually peer into my rearview mirror, anxiously awaiting the glare of bright headlights, but none come. The roads are basically deserted, and I’m finally starting to relax when I make it up the stairs and into my apartment. I
should have left well enough alone. Taking one last peek outside, I notice Agnes peering from her usual spot. When I look down into the courtyard, that’s when I see it—the little red dress shimmying through the courtyard. Getting angry instead of scared, I decide to figure out once and for all what is going on, but first I need a light.

  I fling the door open, but as soon as I do, the girl disappears. I race down the stairs then stop so I can listen for any clue as to in which direction she went. It’s eerily quiet, and the only sound aside from my beating heart is my heavy breathing. Then I hear a click. My once wide open apartment door is now shut. That fear I’d evaded earlier grips me like a vice. Everything is inside. My purse, my keys, my PHONE, A STRANGER!

  Swallowing hard, I slowly make my way up the stairs, listening acutely for any sounds from inside the apartment. I try to peek through the closed blinds, but see absolutely nothing. At that moment I’m thankful the blinds work so well, yet also disheartened because I have no clue if someone is inside. Taking a slow, deep breath, I carefully open the door. My phone is now within reach. Getting a dose of bravery, I slowly pull my body inside the apartment until I hear a massive KA-THUNK! I grab my phone and rush down the steps as I try to find Major Collins’ number in my contact list.

  “Hello, Major Collins?” I ask in a sort of a breathy whisper.

  “Who is this?” he asks.

  “Cheyenne Douglas from this morning. Remember? I pulled up at your house.”

  “Yeah, you tend to remember things like that, especially when they happened less than twenty four hours ago.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s really urgent.”

  “Is the car back?” he asks.

  “No, but I think someone’s inside my apartment,” I whisper.

  “Didn’t I tell you to call 911 if it’s an emergency?” he fusses.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I started heading your way as soon as you called. I’m almost there. Where exactly are you right now?”

  “I’m near the stairs of my apartment. I’m hiding in the shadows. Wait, how do you know where I live?”

  “You show up at my house and tell me you’re being followed. Did you honestly think I wasn’t going to check into the story?”

  “Oh, okay. I guess that makes sense.”

  “I’m pulling up to the house now. You aren’t armed are you?” he asks.

  “No, why?”

  “Some people have itchy trigger fingers. Can’t be too careful. I’m coming around the corner.”

  He’s so stealthy that I don’t even see him until he’s practically standing beside me. “Tell me exactly what’s going on,” he whispers.

  “I thought I saw something or someone in the courtyard, so I ran to get a flashlight to check it out, but I couldn’t find anything. While I was looking around out here, I heard the door close. Sure enough, when I went upstairs it was latched shut. I went up there…”

  “You went up there after hearing it close?”

  “What if it was the wind or something? Plus, I didn’t have my phone.” He points to the George and Agnes’ house. I shake my head. “I’d rather take my chances with the burglar. Have you heard what those people did?”

  Major Collins shakes his head. “So you saw someone while you were up there and ran out?”

  “No, I heard something crash to the floor in the bedroom and then I grabbed my phone and ran out.”

  “Bedroom is where?” he asks. I give him a very brief rundown of the apartment’s layout. “Stay here.” Back in full stealth mode, he slowly makes his way up the stairs, hugging the wall as he goes. His gun is drawn, but he keeps it lowered as he ascends. Once he reaches the top landing, he extends his arm to the side and keeps his body low as he turns the knob and pushes the door open. Gun at the ready, he makes a sweeping motion as he enters the apartment. I lose sight of him not long afterwards. What seems like an eternity goes by before I hear, “SON OF A BITCH!” A wailing tan and white tabby cat rockets down the stairs, flies past me, and keeps going until it’s no longer visible.

  “Your demonic cat got out,” he says, wiping at some bloody scratches on his forearm.

  “That wasn’t my cat. I have no pets.”

  “Well, that was your perpetrator. The apartment is clear—of humans, at least.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much, Major Collins. Why don’t you come inside, and I’ll get something for those scratches?” He looks down at his injuries and starts upstairs. Taking a seat at the kitchen counter, he patiently waits while I retrieve the first aid kit.

  I find some cotton balls, peroxide, antibacterial ointment, a roll of gauze, and some tape. Once everything is in place, I carefully dab at the injured arm. “Why do you think someone’s stalking you?” he inquires abruptly.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Any jilted boyfriends? Angry relatives? Maybe an ex-husband hell bent on knowing where you are since you left town?”

  I put down the cotton ball. “I take it you know about Luke?”

  “I do.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think it’s him. He’s never tried to contact me, so why would he start now? And who would he get to come all the way to Louisiana to do it?”

  “Just exploring the possibilities.”

  “Relatives?”

  “I have none. My parents were pretty much my life until they died. Now I’m starting over again—alone.”

  Major Collins nods. “You’ve been here for a few months now. Anyone local come to mind?”

  “As far as I know there is only one local person who has an issue with me—a student named Billy Thibodeaux. He’s never actually threatened me, but he has a serious attitude problem and is incredibly disrespectful.”

  “What did you do to piss him off?” he asks.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Oh, and there is someone on the other end of the spectrum. I have a secret admirer who leaves roses, cards, and most recently balloons.”

  “And I suppose you have no clue who this admirer might be?” Major Collins inquires. I shake my head. “You know, that’s quite a bit of drama for someone who’s only been here for a few months.”

  Good thing I didn’t tell him about the ghost girl in the courtyard. “Yes sir, I suppose it is. I’ve only dated one person since arriving, and we’re still together. I’m thinking it could possibly be a student who is too shy to come forward.”

  “It’s a good possibility.” He looks at the bandaged arm. “Thank you for fixing me up. You have my number. Use it anytime you need, but if it’s something that’s possibly life threatening, PLEASE call the emergency number. I’m out in the boat a lot, or I could possibly be on another call… You just never know, and I don’t want any delay in getting help to you, okay?”

  I nod. “Thank you for coming.”

  “You’re welcome. Have a good night, and lock up tight. Not later, now, as soon as I leave.”

  I smile. “I will.”

  “I’m serious. I want to hear that deadbolt latch.”

  This time I chuckle. “Got it. Good night, Major Collins.”

  “Brant. I think we’ve graduated to a first name basis.”

  “Agreed. Good night.” I close the door and turn the latch into place as requested. I hear Brant trudge down the steps and then stop abruptly. My cell phone rings.

  “What’s up with the creepy lady in the window?” he asks once I answer.

  “That’s Agnes. She’s always in the window.”

  “Maybe she’s seen your admirer?”

  “She’s incoherent.”

  “Then what in the hell is she doing looking out of the window?”

  “I often wonder the same,” I say with a smile.

  “Fine. Night.”

  “Night.” I disconnect from the call and run a bath. Not convinced that hot water and aromatherapy bubbles will be enough, I pour a glass of moscato to the brim. I sink into the heavenly liquid and wait for the relaxation to begin. />
  Chapter Nine

  “Billy, this is Professor Gage, and he’s going to sit in with us during this meeting,” I say with as stern and authoritative a voice as I can muster.

  “Yeah, cool. Whatever,” he says, propping his combat booted foot on my desk. Cal knocks it off.

  “Sit up straight,” Cal warns. Billy shifts slightly in his seat.

  “You realize you don’t have to be here, right?” I ask.

  “I don’t? Well, see ya,” he says, trying to jump from his seat. I push him back down.

  “Not so fast. By here I mean on campus. In school. Particularly, my class. It’s very evident that you have an issue so why don’t you drop?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Because my stupid advisor says I need technical writing for my degree. Believe me, if there was someone else, I’d be there, but you’re it, lady.”

  “So what happens if I fail you?” I ask.

  “I do my work. You have no grounds to fail me.”

  “Subpar.”

  “Enough.”

  “No, not really. Participation is a major part of your grade.”

  “What does it matter if I participate if I’m getting the work done and I’m doing it well enough to pass?” Billy argues.

  “Let’s just get right to it. Do you have this issue with all of your teachers, or is it just with me?” I question.

  “I have an issue with most authoritarians.”

  Sighing, I lean back against my chair. “We need to fix this problem because my next step is to remove you from my class—permanently.”

  “You can’t do that. I won’t get credit, and I won’t graduate.”

  “Then I guess you’d better suck it up and play nice,” I suggest.

  “You wouldn’t keep me from graduating,” he says with a smirk.

  “No, I won’t, but your behavior might. I believe you owe me a paper on classroom etiquette.”

  He stares me down. Refusing to budge, I expectantly raise my brows. The room remains silent until he finally relents and pulls a stack of papers from his backpack and tosses them onto my desk. He pouts.

  “Look Billy, I’m willing to give this another go. Lose the attitude, participate every once in a while, and keep up with the assignments. Do that, and you’ll pass. There’s not a whole lot of time left until the semester is over and then you can go on your merry way, and we’ll never have to see each other again.”