by Lynn Emery
LaShaun sat forward forgetting the scent of coffee that floated into the room. She wondered if he would have the strength to say it. “Explain what you mean.”
“I looked in my boy’s eyes. I don’t care what nobody says, Miz Rousselle. What looked back at me wasn’t my grandson.” Mr. Young spoke with such force that the cords in his neck stood out. Then he lost steam again and sank against the cushioned back of the chair. “My wife lost her mind, too, when she looked at him. Been in a nursing home this past year. Doctors say it’s Alzheimer’s. I know different.”
“Mr. Young, I can’t help you by going to see your grandson.”
He shook his head slowly. “Joyelle told me you said no.”
“Then why did you come to see me, Mr. Young?” LaShaun studied him as he seemed to waver on how to answer.
“Whatever got hold of my boy is movin’ in other folks. I knew your grandmama.” Mr. Young wore a sad smile as he nodded at her surprise reaction. “My wife grew up not far from here, before her daddy lost his land. She’d play with Odette when they was kids. We never thought of her as evil. Fact is she helped us with our daughters. The girls went wild when they got to be teenagers. All three of ‘em, only a year apart. Odette put a scare into them.”
“How?” LaShaun raised an eyebrow.
“They were sneaking into the woods with boys, having liquor parties and such at night. Odette caught the kids out on her property and pretended to be workin’ magic on ‘em.” Mr. Young wore a genuine expression of mirth for the first time. “They call it scared straight when they make kids tour a jail or prison, right? That’s what she did. Scared those rascals straight. At least two settled down, finished high school and got decent husbands.” The light died from his eyes.
“Must be hard on all the family,” LaShaun said.
He seemed unwilling to broach that painful subject. Instead he stood up. “Listen to Joyelle, and talk to those other folks she told you about. Maybe you’ll reconsider. I thank you for your time.”
“Stay and have some coffee to take the chill off the night. We can talk some more and--”
“No, ma’am. I’ve lost the knack of being company for other folks. Besides, I don’t have any more answers for you. All I know is Manny got taken over by something bad, real bad. He wasn’t no angel, but he don’t deserve to die with a needle full of poison stuck in his arm.” Mr. Young gazed down at LaShaun solemnly. “You take care.”
His last words didn’t sound like a normal leave taking goodbye. He turned around and walked out of living room with LaShaun following him. The dour man’s steps seemed heavy as he trudged across the porch, down the front steps and into the shadows. LaShaun saw the vague outline of a truck just off a path beyond a clump of azalea bushes. The headlights flared up and he backed out to the road. The rumble of the engine faded into the night as LaShaun locked the front door. For the first time a flicker of trepidation tickled the base of her spine.
*****
LaShaun came wide awake in the dark. She lay still as her eyes adjusted to the darkness in her bedroom. Every sense in her body told her she was alone. Yet her spiritual sense shouted the opposite. Nothing moved in the room. There was no sound except the occasional creak of wood settling in the old house. She was used to hearing the creaks and cracks. In fact they were oddly comforting. But she knew something was up. Coming fully out of a deep sleep always signaled she needed to be cautious. The antique brass clock on the table ticked off the seconds. The modern digital clock glowed on the nightstand next to her queen-sized bed. Fifteen minutes went by before she heard it; a soft insistent scratching. LaShaun rose slowly from the bed as though not wanting to startle the source of the noise. Anyone else would think mice. LaShaun wasn’t anyone else. Her supernatural alarm clanged inside her head causing a dull throb to take hold behind both ears. With catlike movements she pulled on a pair of jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt and a jacket. She found her leather walking boots at the foot of her bed and put them on, grateful she’d gotten the zipper version for fast dressing. In minutes she found the large hunting knife one of her male ancestors had used in the early eighteenth century. She clipped the leather sheaf that held it to her waist and walked down the hallway to her the back door leading to her porch. She unlocked the door, and the sound of the metal caused the scratching to cease.
LaShaun opened the wood door, then pushed through the screen door to step onto the porch. The soft glow from the tall security light reached the back yard, but only partially. Most of it was left in darkness, which LaShaun preferred. She scanned the quarter acre neatly mown lawn. Then she looked at the denser indigo blue where her woods began. Something in the distance moved; an outline different from the tree trunks and shrubs. LaShaun walked across the porch and down the steps toward the shape. It moved away. The thing wanted to put distance between them. Waves of apprehension and shame brushed across her senses like an unworldly breeze. LaShaun focused on sending a message of reassurance, of calm, to the thing. Instead it cringed even farther into itself. Then a sharp metallic taste flooded the back of her throat. A warning. She snapped back to her surroundings too late. Something hard slammed into her from the left and LaShaun hit the ground. She rolled onto her back as the man, or something crouched over her. Loud breathing above sounded like a cross between a human and an animal. The thing’s fetid breath caused LaShaun to choke on bile rising in her throat. Whatever she faced had been feeding.
LaShaun made whimpering sounds to simulate being in fear. The being let out a low growl as if pleased. A yelp from the woods caused the head to whip toward the sound. LaShaun drew her knife from the leather case and slashed at where she thought the legs would be. The shrill scream of pain sent chills up her spine. Suddenly the shadow over her vanished, and the scream faded as it ran for the cover of her forest. LaShaun scrambled to her feet and whirled around to check all sides for more danger. Her senses told her they were gone. Finally she let out the breath she was holding with a long sigh. LaShaun backed her way up the steps, across her porch and through the kitchen door. She slammed it harder than necessary and snapped the metal locks.
Her whole body ached from the impact as she walked on shaky legs to her kitchen. Only the soft light of the oven hood glowed, so LaShaun turned on the fluorescent lights set in the ceiling. She looked down, but found no scratches on her skin or rips in her clothing. Then she looked at the antique silver knife, wondering why she’d chosen to pick it up in the first place. A thick deep red liquid oozed on the blade. After a few seconds it sizzled as if the metal held heat. The liquid turned to ashes. LaShaun found brown paper used to wrap meat for the freezer. She tapped the ashes onto it though not sure why. Folding the paper carefully, LaShaun went into her small parlor. She found one of seven old family books, each bound in soft leather. Selecting the one she thought would be most helpful, LaShaun spent the rest of the night reading.
Chapter 5
The musical chiming in her dreams sounded familiar. LaShaun shifted position without opening her eyes, and wondered why the rabbit she was watching suddenly played a flute. Then she snapped awake. She lay stretched out on the small sofa in the entertainment nook off her kitchen. The forty-six inch flat screen television showed the local morning newscast, but the sound was muted. The book she’d been reading lay face down on the braided rug in front of the sofa. LaShaun looked at the digital clock display on the televisions screen. Six forty-five. When the doorbell chimed again she pushed herself upright, stretched and went to the back door. Chase looked as sleepy as she felt. She let him in.
“Good morning.” LaShaun yawned as Chase kissed her cheek. “You’re off to work early.”
“Good morning back. And no, I’m going home after working almost twelve hours straight.” Chase went to the kitchen and straight for the coffee maker. He sighed when he saw it was cold. “Okay, I’ll make the first pot. You’re up pretty early.”
“Not exactly. I barely went to bed,” LaShaun said.
“You didn’t even drin
k this batch you made last night. Why couldn’t you sleep?” Chase emptied the left over coffee and wet grounds to make a fresh pot.
LaShaun remembered her family journal and retrieved the book. Chase had his back to her as he measured coffee grounds into the filter and then filled the water well. She slipped volume seven of the Histoire de la LeGrange Famille into the book shelf below the television, not ready to share the remarkable Rousselle and LeGrange chronicles with him yet.
“Just restless I suppose,” LaShaun replied and found the television remote. She turned up the sound a little.
“I see. Wouldn’t have anything to do with Orin Young stopping by last night for a chat, would it?”
LaShaun spun around to find Chase gazing at her with both hands resting on his wide leather police belt. He still wore his handgun, safely holstered. He also had a set of handcuffs and various other tools of the trade. His marine blue knit shirt had the department insignia on the right shoulder in gold. Chase looked very official.
“I didn’t think Xavier Marchand was one to gossip.”
LaShaun gave him a brief smile as she went past him to the cabinets. She took out two coffee mugs and set them on the granite counter top. Moving fast she grabbed a small cast iron skillet, got eggs from the fridge and started breakfast.
“The Blood River Ripper’s grandfather visits Monmon Odette’s granddaughter, and you’re surprised word got out fast?” Chase leaned against the long counter and watched her.
“I’m surprised you’ve been tied up with a murder and missing person, people. I guess Patsy and her lover are still gone without a trace.” LaShaun figured her attempt to steer the subject in a new direction wouldn’t work. She was right.
“What am I gonna do with you?” Chase shook his head.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed against him. “I’ve got some real good suggestions if you want to take off that uniform.”
“I’m serious.” Chase pulled free of her embrace and crossed his arms. “First of all you shouldn’t have let the man in here at night when you were alone. His grandson is a serial killer.”
“Right, but he’s not. He was a member of the Catholic Men’s Fellowship ministry at St. Anthony’s. His wife grew up with my grandmother.” LaShaun spoke in a measured tone to sooth his irritated nerves.
“Oh, well that cancels out the fact that he raised a murderer who butchered people.” Chase’s hard expression didn’t soften even a little.
“If it helps, Xavier, Sr. and his son came over to check on me. I’ll bet they kept an eye out until he left. His wife called later to make sure I didn’t need anything.”
Chase gave a grunt. “Betty Marchand wanted more information she could add to the gossip that I’m sure is making the rounds right now.”
LaShaun was more than a little annoyed with him for seeing through what she didn’t say. “Maybe so, but what does it matter? I baked some tea cakes. I’ll give you a bag to take home.”
“What does it matter? Oh I don’t know, LaShaun. Maybe you might consider that folks will think I can’t be trusted to protect them. I have to be seen as objective, willing to follow the facts and not be influenced.” Chase followed her.
“So this is about you running for office, huh? What about the fact that Orin Young wasn’t convicted of any kind of crime. Unless loving his grandson despite what he is or what he’s done breaks some law.” LaShaun faced him with her arms crossed and her own scowl.
“All I’m saying is...”
Chase broke off and walked away to stare out of the bay window. He leaned on one of the chairs around the table next to it. He wasn’t enjoying the view of her woods either. LaShaun was buffeted by his strong emotions: anger and disappointment. She knew her tone should stay calm, but her annoyance at his judgment of her got in the way.
“What? Spit it out,” she said.
“You won’t meet my family, and you seem to be doing everything you can to stir the pot when it comes to town gossip. First it was this thing with Miss Clo and her friend Joyelle. Now of all people you could be seen talking to, Manny Young’s grandfather. We both know half of Beau Chene already knows by now. The other half will get the news by dinner time.”
“Let’s deal with one thing at a time. First about meeting your family, just two days ago you said there’s no rush. Remember that? Apparently you didn’t mean it,” LaShaun said.
He spun around. “I did, I do... it’s just. I can’t keep explaining to my folks why you won’t come to Sunday dinner. Or even an evening of dessert and coffee with just my parents. I can understand if a big family event would be too intimidating to start.”
“I’m not scared of your family,” LaShaun shot back. “I’m proud of my own family, and I don’t need to explain or apologize for who they were, and who I am.”
“I only meant you need to get comfortable with letting them get to know you,” Chase replied evenly.
“Showing up so I can pass inspection isn’t my idea of an enjoyable social event.” LaShaun glared at him.
“That’s not true,” he replied with heat.
“You want your parents and the rest of your family to approve of me. That means I shouldn’t be discussing supernatural stuff with Miss Clo and Joyelle. Maybe I should have run inside the house and refused to open the door the minute I knew who Mr. Young was, huh? Should I let you give me a list of people and places I should avoid and subjects I can’t discuss?” LaShaun matched his hot response with her own fiery words.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Chase shot back. He massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “The reality is I want to make a life for us in this parish, and as the wife of an officer of the law you--”
“Oh wait a minute, Deputy Broussard,” LaShaun cut him off sharply. “We haven’t even gotten that far in this affair.”
“Okay. Right. We’re having an affair.” Chase’s leaden tone made the word sound dirty.
“Stop with the self-righteous act. You were more than eager to have this affair. Don’t try to make it sound like I deceived you or something,” LaShaun shot back.
“Being with you is something special. At least it was to me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have brought my family into it.” Chase gazed at her steadily.
The “was” stabbed into LaShaun. His words sounded like rejection because she’d failed some standard, some benchmark test. She didn’t know what he wanted from her, or maybe she did and knew she couldn’t give it to him. Chase was measuring her by some yardstick that applied to other women, not her. She was a Rousselle, and she was used to walking on the fringes of normal social interaction.
“You’re special to me, too; but if accepting who and what I am doesn’t work for you then...” LaShaun crossed her arms, but this time to brace herself for pain.
“Meaning you don’t do commitment?” Chase stood still, arms by his sides.
“We started off talking about Orin Young, and now we’re having a heart to heart about us.” LaShaun went to the cookie jar shaped like country cabin. She filled a plastic bag with tea cakes and closed it with a twist tie. She held it out to him. “You’re leaving so you might was well take these.”
“Is this my goodbye gift?” Chase said quietly as he took the bag.
“That’s up to you,” LaShaun replied. She angrily swiped a stray tear from her cheek then looked at him. “You would have an easier time getting elected and a less complicated life in general if you do say goodbye.”
Chase stood holding the bag and gazing at her. “I need to change clothes, get a few hours of sleep and go back on duty. I’m too tired and on edge, not good for us to talk right now. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay.” LaShaun took pride in the fact that her voice didn’t crack, even though her heart did.
He approached and kissed her lightly on the forehead. For a few moments he seemed about to say more, but went through her back door instead. LaShaun didn’t follow him as usual. She heard the engine of his truck start and the sound of gr
avel crunching beneath the tires as he drove away. Only then did something force her to move to the back door and lock it.
To dodge the empty sensation those thoughts brought on, LaShaun went over plans to work on the house that wouldn’t violate the historical features. Her great-great grandfather, Lawrence LeGrange, had built the original house in 1878 as a gift for his daughter Marianne. LaShaun gathered research to submit her application to the Louisiana State Historical Society. The local museum curator had agreed to help her, so LaShaun had two good reasons to go see him. The other being she needed to get out of the house and away from bad vibes left after her fight with Chase. LaShaun finished a few housekeeping chores, put the box of her family’s documents in her CRV and headed for the museum. A few hours thinking about history was more appealing than brooding about a possible future without Chase
Hours later LaShaun felt better, but not much. Thank God Pete Kluger, the curator, had given her homework. LaShaun climbed to the finished attic and happily sorted dusty boxes and old trunks. Decades of Rousselle family clutter helped keep her busy.
“Thank you, Monmon, for being a confirmed collector. Pete will be thrilled, and I’ll get to clean out this place,” LaShaun muttered looking around with satisfaction.
She’d even managed to find a wooden box of more family papers that dated from the late nineteenth century. At first glance, the letters seemed fairly dull. But Pete would delight at tidbits from everyday life in nineteenth century Vermillion Parish. The chiming of the front doorbell interrupted her reading a riveting account of taking hogs to market. LaShaun put down the journal, slapped dust from her clothes and went down the narrow stairs. She was surprised to find Savannah on the porch.
“Good morning and what are you doing out here?”LaShaun asked as she brushed a cobweb from her shoulder.
“It’s after twelve, and have you listened to the radio?” Savannah gazed at LaShaun from head to toe. “Girl, you really do some heavy duty housecleaning.”