The Reunion: The Secret of Cypriere Bayou

by Jana DeLeon

  “I am so sick of dead ends,” Olivia said as she peered around him. “Someone had a serious obsession.”

  “Or was extremely paranoid.”

  “Well, I can’t really say much about that. I think I bought a ticket on the paranoia train a while back.”

  John shook his head. “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.”

  “Thanks for reminding me that my impending death is not merely the work of my overactive imagination.”

  John handed Olivia the lantern and began a search on the ceiling with his hands. “Look at it this way—it’ll make a great story once it’s all over.”

  “No one would believe it. Fiction has to make sense even though real life often doesn’t.”

  “Hold the lantern up a little higher, if you can,” John said and looked over his shoulder at Olivia. “I feel a bump or something where my left hand is, just behind me. Can you make out what it is?”

  Olivia raised the lantern up close to the ceiling, then let out a choked cry.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Before John could ask what was wrong, Olivia grabbed his arm with her free hand and yanked it down from the ceiling. Then she jumped back a foot from where she’d been standing, her eyes wide and still looking up. John looked up and saw black spiders running in all directions across the ceiling.

  “It’s a nest,” Olivia said, her voice shaky. “You had your hand on a nest of spiders. I am officially freaked out.”

  John checked his hand to make sure he hadn’t brought any of the creatures back down to visit. “At the risk of lowering my masculinity status, that was definitely not cool.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, they’re not a poisonous breed.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “Old houses have bugs. I make it a point to learn all the bugs and snakes of a region before I visit, so I can avoid the ones that may kill me.”

  John stared. Compared to the women he knew, Olivia Markham was a study in preparedness. Hell, he’d bet she even had most of the men he knew beat. “Well, then that does make me feel better.”

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  “I think it’s safe to say that the trigger switch is not likely buried under a bed of spiders. I’m going to check the walls.”

  Olivia passed him the lantern. “Take a peek before you touch anything.”

  “Good idea. The next batch might be poisonous.”

  “Or a snake, and I gotta tell you, if you find a bed of snakes, I am out of here. I’ll take my chances with the intruder.”

  “Duly noted,” John said as he held the lantern up close to the wall on the left of the dead end and scanned for anything else living. “All that’s here is some mildew.”

  He placed his hand in the top corner of the wall and ran it across the surface, then paused when his fingers dipped into the brick. He pressed into the dip and heard Olivia gasp. He turned around and saw Olivia pointing her flashlight into an opening on the opposite wall.

  “It’s a room,” she said, “and it’s not empty.”

  John stuck the lantern into the opening and it cast a dim glow around the room. It was small, maybe about twelve foot square, and bookcases lined every wall from floor to ceiling with books and boxes scattered among them. A long table sat in the center of the room, a pile of books in the center of the table and a single chair pulled up in front of it.

  Olivia stepped inside the room and shone her flashlight along the shelves. “Looks like a library,” she said, “like the one upstairs in the main house. Well, except for the two inches of dust and lack of windows and light.”

  John stepped up to one of the bookcases and held the lantern right up to the shelves. “Except it’s not all dusty. Look. Some of the books have been dusted recently. They don’t have a speck on them.”

  Olivia stepped over to the table and flashed her light on the stack of books. “It looks like journals.” She flipped the first book open, then a couple more. John stepped beside her and placed the lantern on the desk to light up the table’s surface.

  “Unbelievable,” Olivia said. “Some of these are over a hundred years old.” She looked up at John. “Why would someone sneak around the house to read a bunch of old diaries? And why hide them in these tunnels?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” John pulled one of the dusted books from the shelf behind them. “This one is an album, like the one you found upstairs.”

  He placed the album on the table and flipped through the pictures. The first couple of pages contained photos of laMalediction from years ago and while still under construction, but when he flipped over another page, Olivia gasped.

  “It’s Marilyn Borque,” Olivia said. “Like the picture on my bed, remember?”

  John studied the picture for a minute then looked at Olivia. “You really do look like her.”

  “What do you think this all means?”

  “I don’t know, but clearly someone has been researching the family and they must think you’re connected.”

  “That’s entirely possible, but that still doesn’t mean anything to me. So what if I’m a distant relative of people who died a long time ago? I didn’t know them or any of my family, for that matter. What difference could I possibly make to someone obsessed with them?”

  John reached for one of the journals. “Maybe they think you know something. You do dream about this place. Maybe you were here at some time and the intruder knows it. Maybe he thinks you’re here for a different reason than writing a book.”

  “Do you really think I could have memories from that young? Even if I did, it would be from the viewpoint of an infant.”

  John opened the hard cover of the journal and saw strips of paper sticking out the top. “Look at this.” He pointed to the strips. “Someone was marking pages. Maybe this will tell us something.” He flipped to the first marked page. Olivia leaned over to watch as he read the page out loud.

  “February 11, 1862

  Franklin got the word today from his father. He wants him to go to war. To uphold their community standing, the family must contribute to the cause and Franklin’s brother is too young. Franklin took it as well as expected. His drunken rampage lasted well into the night and I had the marks to show for it. I took refuge with Sissy’s cousin the voodoo woman, knowing it was the one place Franklin wouldn’t come for me. She cast a spell for me—a spell of protection. I told her that with Franklin gone, I didn’t need protection, but she insisted. She said the spirits spoke to her, that they told her I was in great peril. If it were anyone else but Sissy’s cousin saying such things, I would dismiss them as the words of a madwoman, but I know better. I’ve seen her power. After all, I am her student.”

  “Oh, my God,” Olivia said. “Whose diary is this?”

  John flipped the front cover open and located initials in the bottom right corner. He pointed them out to Olivia. M.B.

  “Marilyn Borque,” Olivia said. “It’s got to be.”

  “The woman from the photos.”

  “Yeah. Is there anything else marked?”

  John checked the top of the journal and flipped to the second scrap of paper. “Looks like three different spots. Let’s see what this one says.”

  “February 23, 1862

  Franklin left today. I made a big show at the train station because I knew he expected it, but I celebrated with Sissy when I returned home. You can almost feel the burden lifted off this home. The staff would never say anything, as it’s not their place, but I can see the relief on their faces. I even convinced Sissy to drink a glass of champagne. She’d never had a drink before and it made her giggle.

  I’ll send for him tomorrow. It’s been so long that I wonder if he’ll come to me again. Six long months of marriage to Franklin have not lessene
d my longing for him. I can only pray that he feels the same.”

  “Sounds like no one is sad ol’ Franklin has gone off to war,” John said.

  Olivia nodded. “Since it also sounds like ol’ Franklin liked to practice his backhand on his wife and probably the staff, I can’t say that I blame them. But an affair? That’s risky, especially in that day and time.”

  “Maybe they’re banking on him not coming back.”

  “But we already know he did. He killed her, remember?”

  John frowned. “Maybe we’ve found the reason why.”

  “True. He wouldn’t be the first husband to kill his wife over another man. What about the last marker?”

  John flipped the pages to the last marked entry.

  “March 10, 1862

  He came to me, my love. It’s as if we were never apart. My heart sings with joy at the very sight of him and my body quakes with his every touch. I cannot get enough of him, even though we spend almost all our hours together.

  If only I weren’t tied to this dreadful house out in the middle of nowhere. I know well why Franklin built here, surrounding me with swamps and bayous. He knew if I were still in New Orleans, I could find a way to be happy, despite being married to him. But here, in this desolate place, an emptiness sometimes overcomes me, even when I am with my beloved.

  Sissy’s cousin says the house is lonely and it’s tugging at my soul to fill it up. I know it’s a thing of brick and mortar, but there are times when I’m certain I’m alone and I can still feel something watching. I will ask Sissy’s cousin to cast a spell of protection for me. My sleep is troubled with dreams and I wake restless but unable to remember them with any clarity.

  I sometimes wonder if I am afraid to remember.”

  Olivia crossed her arms across her chest and shuddered. “Okay, that’s just creepy. She talks about this house like it’s alive.”

  “Not exactly a stretch from a woman practicing voodoo.”

  “No, I guess it’s not. I just... What in the world have I gotten in the middle of?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, “but someone has been doing a lot of studying...a lot of research.”

  “On what? I’ll give you those passages in the journal are fascinating just because of the subject matter, but what do they have to do with me? What purpose do they serve for the intruder? Why those particular passages?”

  “I don’t know, but I think we need to do some reading. There’s got to be a link somewhere. Maybe we can find it.” John stared down at the journal and frowned. “Why does she say ‘Sissy’s cousin’ but she never gives the woman’s name?”

  “I can only guess that it’s superstition. Writing her given name may give the spirits power over the cousin.”

  John stared. “Seriously?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me. A lot of the old cultures are centered around fear of spirits and being used as portals or gates for them to cross. I don’t know that much about voodoo, so I’m just guessing.”

  “That makes as much sense as anything else, I guess. I think we should take these back with us to the cottage so we can read them thoroughly.”

  Olivia nodded. “There was a laundry basket on the washing machine. We could bring it back and load it up, but then he’s going to know we were here.” She lowered her eyes to the table. “And none of this helps find your sister. I’m...I’m afraid for her. If he finds out we were here.”

  John blew out a breath, considering her words, but he already knew she was right. If they took the books the intruder would know they’d found the tunnel, but they couldn’t exactly set up shop in this room, either. Damn it! Every step forward he took in locating the intruder seemed to be one more barrier to finding his sister, and after the shooting incident John had no doubt that the intruder would kill to get what he wanted.

  He looked at Olivia, who was staring at him, probably hoping he’d come up with a solution. As she opened her mouth to speak, John heard an almost inaudible shuffle in the passage. He placed his finger over her lips and nodded toward the doorway. Olivia’s eyes widened and her body went rigid.

  Easing his pistol out of his waistband, John crept toward the doorway. He motioned to Olivia to duck down behind the table and she slid to the basement floor, the top of her head and her pistol the only things above the table’s surface. He was only a couple of feet from the doorway when the door began to slide silently back into place.

  He heard Olivia gasp as he dove for the closing wall of bricks, but he wasn’t quick enough. The wall slid silently into place, closing them off completely from the passage. John slammed a fist into the wall in frustration, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Always so close, but not within his grasp.

  He ran his hands across the ceiling in front of the doorway, knowing already that it was pointless to hurry. The intruder had a huge advantage on disappearing and John knew he was long gone. Olivia stepped up beside him and silently began to search the wall next to the doorway. A couple of seconds later, she pressed a spot on the wall and the brick wall slid back. John lifted his pistol in ready position and moved quickly around the corner, but the passageway was empty.

  He stepped back into the room and shook his head at Olivia. “He’s gone.”

  Olivia glanced at the opening then back at John. “You’re sure he was out there? I mean, there could be a delay on the door...”

  John shook his head. “He was there. I heard him, just like I heard you that first night. He’s good, but he’s not a ghost.”

  “Well, I guess there’s one positive thing.”

  “Really? And what in the world could that be?”

  “He knows we found the room, so we can take all the books we want.”

  John sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Do you want to go back and get the laundry basket now?”

  “No,” Olivia said as she gathered the books on the table and stuffed them in her backpack. “We need to keep looking for your sister. The books on the table are probably the most important ones. We can start with those.”

  John nodded, relieved that he wasn’t going to have to choose between continuing to look for his sister and sticking close to Olivia. “Can you handle the backpack? I don’t want to put additional strain on your ankle, but I’d like to be ready for action if needed.”

  “My ankle’s barely sore, and I’d rather you had one hand wrapped around your gun and the other around the intruder’s throat.”

  John lifted the lantern from the table and handed it to Olivia. “That can be arranged.”

  * * *

  FIVE HOURS LATER, Olivia laid the backpack on the kitchen table in the caretaker’s cottage and sank into the chair in front of it. She buried her head between her arms on the table and tried to choke back the disappointment she felt. Over six hours combing the tunnels in the basement, looking for secret doors and rooms, avoiding spiders, and the library room was the only find they’d made.

  She heard John open the refrigerator behind her, but she didn’t even lift an eyebrow.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I’m just too tired to move. I think I’ll just sleep right here with my clothes on, okay?”

  “You ought to take a hot shower while we still have power. That should make you feel better.”

  Olivia lifted her head as he slid into the chair across from her and pushed a beer across the table. “A shower would require taking off my shoes and clothes and then there’s that ten-step walk from here to the bathroom. I’d have to turn the faucets on and off, and I gotta be quite honest, the thought of towel-drying makes me want to weep.”

  John smiled. “You writers aren’t exactly a hardy bunch, are you?”

  “Depends on what you call hardy. If you mean are we normally equipped to deal with stalkers and gunfire and being
trapped in remote areas surrounded by numerous creatures that can kill you with no viable means of escape or contact with the outside world, then no, we’re not hardy.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “But no shortage of words, I see.”

  “The day I have a shortage of words is the day I’m... Never mind.” The last thing she needed to bring to the forefront of John’s mind was death. She grabbed the beer and took a huge drink, wincing at the bitterness.

  “More of a wine person?”

  “Actually, I’m more of a coffee person. Even late at night. It doesn’t keep me awake—the caffeine. I guess I’m just wired differently, but I drink it for the taste. Or on a chilly night, I like to wrap my hands around a warm mug.” She looked over at John, then down at the table. “Stupid, right?”

  “No. I used to yell at my sister for taking the last cup of coffee. She doesn’t even like coffee, but she used to say the same thing—that she liked the feel of the warm mug in her hands. And the smell. She loves the smell of coffee brewing.”

  Olivia could hear in John’s voice how much he cared about his sister, and she couldn’t help but wonder about this man who was such an enigma. “Tell me about her. I mean, if you want to.”

  “Rachel is beautiful, and smart, and hardheaded, like our mother. She’s a grad student working on her master’s thesis in architecture. That’s why she came to laMalediction. It was on a list of houses she wanted to visit for her thesis.” He gave Olivia a sad smile. “She’d like you, especially your knowledge of old homes.”

  “And your parents. You said she was your half sister—did your parents divorce?”

  “No. My dad was a policeman. He was killed on the job when I was five.”