Broken Bayou

by Rhonda R. Dennis

  “You’ll go blind trying to read with the spillover from inside the house. If you need a light, turn the damned thing on,” Felton grumbles.

  “Thank you, I will. I just got caught up in the story and didn’t even realize how late it’s gotten.”

  “It’s time for me to turn in. Knock if you need anything.”

  “I will. I appreciate that you’re letting me stay here.”

  “Gotta keep my boy’s girl safe. He’s pretty smitten.”

  “Yeah? Me, too.” Adjusting my tone to something more somber, I say, “Felton, I’m really sorry about all of this. I’m worried about Cal.”

  “Don’t you worry about my boy. I taught him how to take care of himself long ago. He’s smart, tough, and he’s not going to let anything happen to himself or to you. I raised him right.”

  “Yes, you did. He’s by far the most amazing man I’ve ever met.”

  Felton stands a little taller. “Thank you for that. Sleep well, Cheyenne.”

  “You, too. Goodnight.”

  I shimmy out of the hammock and somewhat hesitantly traipse into the house. Felton has converted the sofa into a comfy looking bed with sheets, a fluffy pillow, and soft blanket. After a quick shower, I don my favorite pajamas and curl into the shockingly comfortable makeshift bed. I drift off to thoughts of the characters in the book I’m reading, but sometime during the night, the dreaded evil dream resurfaces with a vengeance.

  I’m screaming hysterically when Felton runs into the living room with a semi-opened plaid bathrobe, rubber boots, and a .44 magnum. When he realizes my shouts aren’t related to an intruder, he lowers the weapon and cinches the belt on his agape robe. I’m still trying to catch my breath when he begins to grumble.

  “You scared the shit out of me, woman. What in the hell are you screaming at?”

  I pull my knees to my chest and wrap the blanket around me tightly. “I’m sorry,” I say with a pant. “It was the dream again.”

  He rolls his eyes and tosses his weapon onto a nearby TV tray. “Why are you still having this dream? I thought it was all over and done with.”

  “So did I. I haven’t had one since talking to Father Donnelly.”

  “Well maybe you should go see him again. These early morning wake up calls aren’t good for my ticker.”

  I start to feel sorry for myself. “Like I don’t have enough going on with Luke’s reappearance, but now the dream is back with even more scary images.”

  “More?” Felton asks. “What now?”

  “There were two ghosts this time. I finally made it out of the house because a gray ghost pulled me from the closet and brought me outside to meet a black ghost. It was so dark and terrifying. The gasping lady, the faceless man, the blaring music.”

  “Music?” he asks.

  “Yes, the last couple of times that I’ve had the dream, it was like a theme song was being played as I walked through the house.”

  “Interesting. What song?”

  “I don’t know. It’s something classical, but I’m not familiar enough with classical music to name it.”

  Felton smiles. “See, another point that discredits the dream. There was no way music could have been playing after the murders because the piano player was shot.”

  “That’s right,” I say, feeling a tad better.

  “I really think you’re putting too much into figuring out this dream. Nothing relevant has come from it. You can’t control whether or not you’re going to have it, but you can control how you react to it when you do. You need to learn to shake it off.”

  I sigh with relief. “You’re right. Father Donnelly seems to think the dream is related to Cal. Maybe I’m having it again tonight because I’m worried about him.”

  “I’m willing to bet on it.” He glances at the wall clock. “It’s almost five. I’m going to go meet the group for some coffee. You’re welcome to come if you wish.”

  I shake my head. “I think I’ll try to get some more sleep.” The thought of joining a slew of cantankerous elders who complain while slurping coffee doesn’t sound very appealing to me.

  “Suit yourself. Should I bring something back?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d love some biscuits and gravy, please.”

  He smiles. “Breakfast of champions. Don’t answer the door for anyone unless you know for sure who it is. I’ll keep this here,” he says, pointing to the massive gun on the TV tray. “Aim and squeeze. Shoot until it’s empty.”

  “Uh, I don’t think I…”

  “Trust me. If your life is in danger, you’ll be able to do it. Just make sure it’s a bad guy you’re aiming at before pulling the trigger.” Wide eyed, I glance between him and the gun. “Call me if you need anything.”

  I simply nod before slinking back down onto the sofa. I click off the small lamp on the end table, and take slow deep breaths until I begin to fall asleep. Felton leaves the house, and the last conscious thought I have is when his car backs out of the driveway. It’s me hoping to have the amount of courage he thinks I’ll have if I’m put into a life or death situation.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee wakes me, and I smile knowing the dream didn’t reoccur. Felton hands me a Styrofoam tray that is piled with biscuits and gravy.

  “There’s no way I’ll eat all of this,” I say, diving in with a plastic fork.

  “Eh, it’s how it came. Nelly says to tell you hi.”

  “That’s very nice of her. The food is absolutely delicious. Thank you for bringing it back.”

  “No biggie,” he says, flipping on the TV and plopping into his chair. Awkward silence fills the room as I eat and Felton watches his western. Once I finish eating, I hop in the shower just to have something to do. The water runs cold faster than I’d have liked, so I dress and go off exploring Felton’s property. Pecan trees dot the land, and I try to skip the brown shells of the fallen ones across the water like stones. Even though I fail miserably, it’s still more fun than watching Felton watch a movie.

  By four in the afternoon, I can’t stand it anymore. I’m bored out of my mind, so I give Father Donnelly a call and ask if I can meet with him. I can’t imagine anyone getting upset over me wanting to visit with a priest, even though I really prefer to go window shopping or something else equally mind numbing. He is happy to do so which makes my next hurdle getting Felton to agree to let me go. He doesn’t put up as much of a fight as I thought he would, in fact, he’s very encouraging of the outing. Maybe he finds me just as boring as I find him? Felton tosses me the keys to his beast of a car, and before long, I’m outside Father Donnelly’s office door.

  “Nice to see you again, Cheyenne. How have you been?” he says, rising from his desk chair.

  “I’ve been better,” I answer honestly. He gestures for me to sit, and I choose the avocado green chair this time.

  “Another rough patch, my child?”

  “Yes, sir. You could say that.”

  “I heard about the murder outside of your apartment. Tragic and quite shocking to say the least.”

  “Yes, incredibly. Father, I don’t understand why all of this is happening. Odell was somewhat strange, but ultimately, harmless. Luke should’ve known better than to feel intimidated by him. I don’t know why he had to kill him.”

  “Luke?”

  “My ex-husband who is supposed to be spending life in prison.”

  “Oh, yes. I forgot that you were married before.”

  “He is a vile man—very abusive, mean-spirited, and arrogant. He was imprisoned for nearly killing a police officer, but despite that, we learned he was recently paroled.”

  “And you believe he killed Odell? How did this conclusion come about?”

  “That’s what the police believe. Luke came to my office and left a package that contained Odell’s name patch from one of his uniforms and a note warning us that Cal would be next. He wants me to be his and only his.”

  “Why do you suppose he feels this way? Have you maintained contact with him s
ince the incarceration?”

  “No. I divorced him immediately after his sentencing, and I haven’t spoken to him since.”

  “But has he tried to contact you?”

  “Yes, a few times, but I thought it was over and done with once I moved.” Father Donnelly nods. My phone rings, and I excuse myself to answer it. “It’s Major Collins with the department,” I explain. He waves me off, and I go into the hall to take the call.

  “Brant, is Cal okay?” I ask without as much as a “hello.”

  “He’s fine, but listen— I’ve got some new information about Luke. He’s not in violation by being in Louisiana. I finally got in touch with his parole officer and was able to clear up a few things. Luke’s cleared to be here because he was offered a job offshore. Now, there are stipulations: he can only come two days before his hitch starts, and he has to be back in Oklahoma two days after he gets back. According to the PO’s records, Luke is supposed to be on a rig out in the middle of the Gulf. We’re trying to track down the exact rig number and such and verify with the hiring company that he is indeed out there. It’ll make it a whole lot easier to pick him up if he is. He pretty much sealed his coffin with this janitor mess. Surely he had to know he’d end up back in prison by pulling that stunt. Guess he’s one of the dumb ones. He’ll probably say he strung him up in self defense or some other equally idiotic defense. It’s happened before.”

  “But Brant, if he’s on the rig, then Cal and I aren’t in immediate danger, right?”

  “True, but don’t get antsy on me. Let me make sure before you start to let your guard down.”

  “I understand. Thanks so much, Brant. I appreciate everything.” The church bells begin to chime in the background.

  “Cheyenne, where are you?”

  “I’m visiting with Father Donnelly. I had the dream again last night, and it nearly scared Felton to death. Gray and black ghosts appeared this time. I have no clue how that ties in to the whole scared of commitment theory, so I figured Father Donnelly could offer some insight.”

  Brant is livid. “I told Felton that you aren’t to leave his house without an escort. Damn it! It’s not that complicated.”

  “Don’t be hard on him. I’m totally disrupting his life, and we needed a break from one another.”

  “Still,” he growls into the phone. “I could’ve sent an officer to escort you. The old man is slipping. Cal and I discussed that not too long ago—Felton’s poor decision making and slipping memory.”

  “Look, I’m absolutely fine. I promise to call you once I’m on my way back to Felton’s place, and I’ll call you again when I get there so you’ll know I’m okay. Is that a fair deal?”

  “Do it, and don’t forget,” he orders.

  “I will, and I won’t. Bye, Brant.”

  “Bye, Cheyenne.”

  I close the door behind me once I’m back in Father Donnelly’s office. “I’m sorry about that. It seems as though danger might not be as imminent as previously feared. Luke might be on an offshore rig.”

  “Well, wouldn’t that be helpful.”

  “That’s pretty much what Brant said. Father, the reason I’m here is because I had the dream again last night, and I’m really stumped by the new additions this time.”

  “Why’s that?” He kicks back in his chair and crosses his hands across his rotund belly.

  “This time there were two ghosts, for lack of a better term. They were transparent blobs, but I could tell they were supposed to be men. One was gray, and one was black.”

  “Interesting. I think I have an answer for you. In keeping with the general theme of your dream, perhaps the black ghost is representative of Luke, and the gray, or lighter ghost, representative of Cal.”

  I shrug. “I suppose that might be it. Father, while your theory absolutely makes sense, part of me thinks that maybe there is something more to it. Like the story is fitting, but it’s not quite right. I should feel relieved, but I feel unsettled instead.”

  “That’s the bad thing with dream interpretations, the possibilities could be endless.”

  “It’s just so real when I see it—so vivid in my mind.”

  Father Donnelly begins to rock back and forth in his chair. “I understand your apprehension. However, didn’t you tell me the events you’ve witnessed in your dreams are inaccurate according to the actual police reports?”

  “Yes, but…”

  His tone changes to one similar to the one reserved for the ill—soft with a pinch of sympathy. “Listen, sweet child. You’re under a lot of stress. You’ve been through so much lately, and the extra stress you’re putting on yourself because of this dream isn’t helping things at all. Perhaps this move wasn’t in your best interest. The experts say that death, divorce, and moving are some of the most stressful events a person can go through. You’ve dealt with them all in a relatively short period of time.”

  “Are you suggesting that I move back to Oklahoma?” I ask, slightly flabbergasted by his comments.

  “Maybe it would be for the best.”

  “But Cal’s here. The problem stems from my ex-husband. If I can get him back in the prison where he’s supposed to be then I see no reason why I need to move. I love Cal, and he loves me. I’m not about to ask him to leave Louisiana.”

  “But the reoccurring dreams…”

  “I guess I should make an appointment with a licensed therapist,” I snap. “I’ve run from my problems once; I’m not inclined to do it again. I’m tired of running. I want to establish roots. Real roots with the man I love, and if I have to spend months on a shrink’s sofa to make that happen, so be it.”

  “I never proclaimed to have all the answers, Cheyenne. But, I do think you should leave. If you do it quickly, I’m sure it will cause the least amount of hurt.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Have you not heard what I just said? I tell you I want to make this work, and you’re telling me to steal away into the night. Not even tell Cal where I’m going or why? What is wrong with you? That would tear him apart, not to mention how much it would kill me.”

  Father Donnelly shakes his head. “I’m sorry to have upset you. Forgive me. It was just a suggestion. I don’t know much about romantic relationships, and it shows. I was simply trying to offer other options.”

  “I think I should go,” I say, nearly making it to the door before Father Donnelly stops me.

  “Please be careful, Cheyenne. You’re a good girl, and I’m fearful you’ll be caught up in a web of darkness.”

  “Relax, Father. Luke didn’t win the first time, and I’m not going to let him win this time, either.”

  He outstretches his arm and makes the sign of the cross with his hand. “May God’s light shine upon you, keeping you safe and comforted.”

  “Thank you,” I say, shutting the door behind me. Once I get to the end of the darkened hallway, I drop to my knees. It’s happening again. I can’t move. I can’t talk. I can’t see anything but darkness, but I can hear. Panic fills my gut, and I tremble with anxiety. Recapturing my breath, I’m finally able to stand, and with wobbly legs, I bounce off of the walls while making my way back to Father Donnelly’s office. I’m ashen when I throw open his door. “That song. That music…”

  He quickly pulls the needle off the record on his gramophone. “It’s Vivaldi. I play it to relax. Dear God, are you okay?”

  Bright flashes of light occlude my vision as I stumble back down the dark hallway. I need to get some air. My brain is desperately trying to conjure up images, but something is blocking them. The result is a rapid array of pictures that last barely a nanosecond. I can’t even begin to process them.

  “Cheyenne!” Father Donnelly calls after me.

  “I have to go,” I say, hugging the wall. “I have to get out of here.”

  “Please. Stay. At least have a glass of water before you leave,” he calls after me.

  I don’t even acknowledge his last request. Finally making it outside into the crisp, cool night helps to allevi
ate some of the symptoms. The visual disturbances cease, and even though I’m still incredibly shaky, I start Felton’s car and zoom off to his place. There is something I’m supposed to be doing, but the brain fog has me utterly discombobulated. Then I remember Brant.

  I stop the car on the side of the road to dial his number, and he answers right away. “Hey,” I say, stopping him before he can say anything to me. “Something happened at the church. I’m shaky, but I’m okay. The song I’ve been hearing in my dream—Father Donnelly played it in his office. It’s Vivaldi. Anyway, hearing it caused some weird things to happen, and I just want to…”

  “Cheyenne, stop and listen to me. Get to Felton’s right away, and call me when you get there. Luke’s job is a fake, and someone went to great lengths to make it look legit. The company doesn’t exist. He flew into New Orleans from Oklahoma, but that’s all we know right now. I’m getting a warrant to pull the videos from the airport to see what happened once he arrived. He’s out there somewhere, so please be careful.”

  “I will. Thanks again, Brant. How’s Cal?”

  “He’s fine. You’ll be seeing each other again soon. I promise.”

  “Okay. I’m holding you to that. Maybe I should call him?”

  “No, you need to get to a place that’s safe and secure. Don’t forget to call once you get to Felton’s, and be sure to catch some big ones tomorrow.”

  “I won’t, Brant. I’m on my way as soon as we disconnect. Wait. Big ones what?” Too late, he’d already ended the call.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The beams of the headlight illuminate Felton’s stout body as I park beneath the carport. The chilly air has him trying to keep warm with an oversized red and black plaid jacket, while his balding head is covered with a knit cap. He’s messing around with his boat across the yard, and he waves when he notices me getting out of the car.

  “What are you doing?” I call as I make my way to him. “It’s too cold and dark to be going out in the boat.”

  “I’m just getting it ready for tomorrow. I got big plans to go out and join the guys. You’re gonna have to stay sequestered though, sweetheart.”