The Girl on Prytania Street

by Kira Saito

  “Okay, if you were, tell me what the inside of the Dubois mansion looked like. Recall one conversation that you had, anything that can help us write a decent story.”

  “I remember… Richard and Anita, their wedding is in the winter. The Dubois mansion is mostly gold.”

  “Wrong, it’s in the fall and no, the Dubois mansion is mostly silver, blue, and gold.”

  “Shut-up! Shut-up!” I screamed as I rose from the bed and paced the room. I was sure that I had seen Charlene. I had touched her and then I was sure that I had seen a couple having sex or had it been couples?

  “I’m not going to shut-up. We had one shot and you blew it,” he accused.

  “I blew it! I blew it? What about you? I saw the way you were sucking up to Mr. Dubois pretending to be his best friend, following him around like a little puppy dog. You know something, don’t you? You know more than you’re letting on.”

  “I was doing my job, that’s all, Kate. I was doing my job. Look, is there anything else that you can remember? Anything at all?”

  “Wait, I do! There wasn’t a couple having sex, there were couples having sex with midgets. They were all in costumes.”

  “Midgets?” Disbelief and pity were written all over his face.

  “Fine don’t believe me, but it’s true. The midgets were having sex with couples in costumes.”

  “Like the movie Eyes Wide Shut?”

  “Yes, exactly like that!”

  “When’s the last time that you saw that movie?”

  I didn’t want to admit that I had fallen asleep to it a few days ago. “What are you suggesting? That I’m lying? That I’m making up stories? You’re exactly like Richard and Detective Ryan, not one of you is decent, not one.”

  “I’m not saying you’re trying to pull a fast one over me, all I’m saying is that maybe this is like the bearded man who was following you around town, an invention of an overactive imagination fueled by a little too much hard candy.”

  “Get the hell out of my room!” I went back on my promise of not breaking any more items and threw a crystal glass at his head. He ducked in time and the glass fell to the floor.

  “Maybe you think you saw Charlene because it gives you hope that she’s alive. Maybe you were thinking about your own daughter rather than focusing on what you were supposed to be doing. Madame Queenie did say that Charlene was dead, either she’s lying or you are, which one is it?”

  “You believe a stupid deck of cards over what I saw?”

  “No, I believe a stupid deck of cards over what you think you saw.”

  “Get out, get out!” I screamed at the top of my lungs probably waking up the entire house.

  “It’s late, we’re both tired. I’ll see you tomorrow. Get a good night’s sleep, Kate, you need it.” He closed the door behind him.

  I stared at the door tempted to go after him and scream at him. Instead, I sat on the bed and toyed with my fingers. They were tempted to troll Chris’ YouTube channel and expose him for the shill he was. What kind of grown man spent all his time making YouTube videos? Maybe he couldn’t get a real job. Tears of anger and frustration rolled down my face, but I refrained from stalking his profile because if I did, I would be breaking my contract with Madame Queenie and Mrs. Dubois. I was in desperate need of something familiar. I turned on my phone. There were several texts from Richard.

  Is brunch still on? Let me know so I can clear my schedule.

  Earth to Kate, brunch? When, where?

  I Googled brunch places in New Orleans and finally settled on Commander’s Palace. It seemed elegant and classy, a type of place that Richard would now appreciate. Maybe if I pulled it together, Richard would come back to me. I decided that this brunch would be a chance for us to start fresh. Maybe he wouldn’t agree right away, but over time I would convince him, I would even get to know Anita if that’s what it took. I would squeeze my way into their social circle and then pounce on him when the time was right.

  The reply came in a matter of seconds.

  Sure, sounds great, does 11:30 am work for you?

  That sounds wonderful, can’t wait to see you. Love, Kate.

  I was proud of myself for sending such a mature and loving text. Yes, that was the role that I would now take on. I would stop the popping and become mature, loving and focus on writing an article for The New York Watcher that would gain me fame and perhaps even a Pulitzer Prize or a Noble Peace Prize. Did they give Nobel Peace Prizes to journalists? I wasn’t sure, but I would research that later.

  I put down my phone and went to the bathroom to take a long philosophical shower. I wanted to look well rested for tomorrow. I wouldn’t take more pills. I scrubbed my body and washed my hair multiple times while trying to recall what I had actually seen tonight. The memories were blurry, unfocused, and suddenly I doubted whether I had seen Charlene Dubois at all. It wasn’t the first time the dead had visited me during a blackout.

  Once, I had made dinner for Jane Eyre, gone shopping with my dead mother, and then there were the many many times over the past year when I had eaten lunch with Zoe. The last time had been at a local greasy spoon, one we used to frequent when we were craving a fix of unhealthy food. I had ordered two soy burgers, two servings of onion rings, and two milkshakes. After I had finished my meal, I had yelled at Zoe for a good ten minutes for not touching her food until the kindly old manager finally came over to my table and reminded me that I was alone. That was the kind of humiliating stuff that I was going to stop doing. I was going to become better. Richard was going to love me again.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kate

  I woke to raindrops pounding against the window pane, the roll of thunder in the distance, the clamor of chimes as the warm summer wind rustled through them and the distant sound of a jazz band. I glanced at the alarm clock. It read 3 a.m., it was witching hour that time of night where ghosts, goblins, witches, and other supernatural beings supposedly went out and performed their nightly rituals of torment and scares. It was also the time that I always rose when I hadn’t taken anything before bed.

  The folklore behind this hour had always fascinated Zoe. I remembered the summer she had turned eleven and had been convinced that she was a witch. We had spent countless days brewing potions, casting spells, re-reading Harry Potter, and staying up until 3 a.m. in order to catch a glimpse of the apartment’s resident ghost, Neddy.

  “Mom, do you think the authorities are going to come and persecute us for being up this late?” She pointed her flashlight down the dark hall on the vigilant lookout for Neddy. Her lips were tight and her eyes wide which meant that she didn’t want to let me know how scared she really was.

  “No, honey, I think we’re good. Times have changed.”

  “Have they really? If an estimated 60,000 people were executed during the witch trials what makes you think the people who are afraid of witches have given up? Maybe they’ve turned into witch hunters? Do you think a witch hunter is watching us right now? Possibly tracking our moves to see how much power we have?”

  “Well, if a witch hunter is watching us, I’m sure that once he or she sees how much power you have, they’ll simply back off. They’ll go back to their witch hunter overlords and confess that they’re too afraid to mess with you.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yeah totally and then soon other persecuted witches and wizards will flock to you for protection. They’ll be pounding on our door offering you money and other favors to keep the witch hunters off of their backs.”

  She smiled and took a deep, confident breath. “And then, of course, I’ll refuse the money and other goods because it wouldn’t be right to capitalize on their fear, isn’t that right, Mom?”

  “That’s my girl. Never capitalize on the fear of persecuted witches or anybody else for that matter.”

  “Oh my God! It’s him! It’s Neddy!” She pointed to a shadow that crept across the wall. It turned out that Neddy was actually a fat black cat who took deli
ght in tormenting the residents of the apartment building after the lights went out. We adopted Neddy for the summer and were heartbroken when he had abandoned us for the apartment building across the street.

  A loud clap of thunder pulled me out of the past. I glanced out the window, the party across the street was still in full swing. I wondered what Richard was doing, was he having a good time? As I stared at the party across the street, my thoughts drifted to Charlene Dubois and whether she was really alive. Even if she were alive, the only person I could legally tell was Madame Queenie and Mrs. Dubois. If I went to the police, the contract I had signed implied that I could face a prison sentence. I highly doubted that they would take my little visitation seriously. What proof did I have?

  “Hey, you! Look down here.” My attention drifted to below my window pane where a costumed girl stood. It was the same costume that Charlene Dubois had worn in the bathroom.

  “Go away, you’re not real.”

  “Are you high?” she asked.

  “No, I want to be completely lucid for tomorrow.”

  “Then I’m real, come down here.”

  “No. I refuse to be humiliated again.”

  “I’m not here to humiliate you, I’m here to help you. Look, if you don’t hurry, I’ll get caught and this whole thing will blow up in our faces.”

  “What thing?”

  “Can you listen and stop arguing?” It was the same line Zoe had used on me so many times.

  “Fine. Give me a second.” I grabbed a bathrobe and my phone. I quickly snapped a couple of shots of the costumed girl for proof and for my own sanity. I opened the door and headed down the dark, silent hallway.

  Downstairs, the lights were still on and a young man sat at the reception desk. “What are you doing up at this hour, Kate?” he asked.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “It’s my job to make the guests feel welcome and wanted,” he said with pride.

  “I see. I can’t sleep, I think a quick walk around the neighborhood will help me drift into la la land.”

  His mouth opened and closed taking in my bare feet and fluffy bathrobe. Instead of saying what he was really thinking he smiled politely. “A walk sounds like a lovely idea. Be careful though, it can get dangerous out there.”

  “Oh, I’m a big girl,” I said as I headed out the door.

  “Wait, do you need an umbrella? It’s raining out there.”

  “No, I’m not made out of sugar.” I stressed the word sugar. If only Chris could see me now, he would eat his stupid cowboy hat. He was going to be so pissed that I had been right. Maybe I wouldn’t tell him. I’d keep the story to myself, and he could read about it in The New York Watcher. His stupid channel would vanish into obscurity.

  The masked girl leaned against the fence and anxiously tapped her foot against the pavement. “Finally,” she said grabbing me by the hand.

  “You are real.” I gave her hand a squeeze. It was so soft and delicate.

  “Told you,” she said pulling me across the street.

  “Does that mean what I saw inside your house was real, too? The couples having sex Eyes Wide Shut style?”

  “Eyes Wide Shut?”

  “You know the movie.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not the same age. I don’t speak the same lingo as you.”

  “Sorry, I’m so used to sharing these types of things with my daughter. She hated my taste in movies, but she put up with it. Not that I particularly liked Eyes Wide Shut. It never made any sense to me until last night.”

  “You sound like you were a good mother,” she said.

  “Maybe. Speaking of mothers, do you know how much grief your mother’s in?”

  “You feel sorry for her, don’t. She’s not as innocent as she looks.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” At this point I didn’t care if this was in fact a hallucination speaking to this girl made me feel closer to Zoe.

  “You’ll find out.”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll play your little game. Where are you taking me?” I asked running to keep up with her pace.

  “I’m going to show you where I like to hang out,” she said simply.

  I squeezed her hand again to make sure that she was real as I realized that she was taking me to Lafayette Cemetery. “I think it’s closed,” I said once we reached the iron gate which was flanked by two live oaks.

  She pulled at the lock and the gate opened. “Come in,” she invited. I stepped into the massive city of the dead with its extravagant tombs, magnolia trees, and bunches of fresh flowers. It didn’t smell like death or any New York cemetery that I’d ever been to.

  “It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

  “Why are we here?” I asked again.

  “I want to show you where I like to hang out when I’m sad or angry,” she said pulling me past giant tombs and statues of weeping angels and other strange characters. “Look, it’s a brilliant idea to have the funeral processions in a cross shape, isn’t it? Does New York have cemeteries like this? I’ve been to New York, but I didn’t see anything nearly as spectacular as this place.”

  “How do you know that I’m from New York?”

  “I just do,” she said.

  “I don’t want to play this game anymore,” I said conscious that the rain had soaked right through my bathrobe and an uneasy feeling had taken over my once adventurous spirit.

  “I’m not playing a game. I just want you to know who I am and what I like to do and how it happened.”

  “How what happened? How you vanished?”

  She smiled. “You can say that. I never really thought about it that way.” She tilted her head and let out a playful giggle.

  “Well, how did it happen?” I asked.

  “On a night like this, it was raining, and the smell of the flowers was rising all around me. I felt as if I were Ophelia, so dramatic and symbolic. Death should mean something, shouldn’t it? It should be poetic. I decided that if I wanted to do it, then it should be in a manner that would be remembered for …”

  “Wait, you wanted to kill yourself?”

  She let out a small laugh. “I know, sad, I didn’t learn anything from Thirteen Reasons Why. I was hopeless and a part of me was already dead, I figured that killing my body would only be a physical representation of what my soul already felt.”

  “Why did you feel so bad? What happened? Why couldn’t you tell your parents?”

  She laughed again, high, loud, and sad. “Only if things were that simple, only if the world was black and white, but it isn’t, is it? The world is not simple as some fancy marble floor.”

  She weaved her way through the tombs and I ran after her attempting to keep up. The rain fell harder and harder until it was so thick that I couldn’t see her anymore. “I can’t see you!” I screamed.

  I felt fingers thread through my hair and let out a cry as my body fell backward onto the soft earth. The weight of a masked man was on top of me and his hands enclosed around my neck. My eyes opened and closed as I gasped for air. I clawed his arms in an attempt to fight him off. Our struggle continued. I clawed, and he continued to squeeze. A gunshot rang into the air and then a bullet landed in the dirt beside us. The masked man let me go and ran off into the stormy night. I sat up and gasped for air. A figure emerged from the shadows and chased after the masked man. It took me a few seconds to realize that Detective Ryan had been the one who had saved me.

  “Kate, are you alright?” Detective Ryan asked coming back after a few minutes of unsuccessfully chasing the masked man.

  “Oh, thank God.” I covered my face with my hands and took several deep breaths. “Detective Ryan, how did you find me?”

  “I was having a nightcap on the porch when I saw a figure sneaking off into the shadows. Lucky you, I chose to satisfy my curiosity and followed you.”

  “Of course you did.” My breath was ragged as I fingered my aching neck.

  “What are you doing out here?”

&
nbsp; “I was following Charlene Dubois. She’s alive. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I swear it’s her. Look here, I took pictures.” I reached into my pocket and took out my phone. To my disappointment the pictures I had taken were useless as Charlene appeared to be no more than a fuzzy blob, she could have been a bird or a rabbit.

  “That doesn’t help much that can be anything. What were you really doing out here, Kate?”

  “If you were following me then you must have seen her, too. You must have heard me talking to her.”

  “I didn’t see you with anyone; I only arrived in time to fend off that man. Do you have any idea who he was?”

  “No idea. There’s a bearded man who’s been following me around town, I kicked him in the balls yesterday, and maybe he was out for revenge.”

  “I don’t think getting kicked in the balls is motive for murder.”

  “Then maybe it was Nigel, he’s afraid that I’ll finally expose him for who he really is.”

  He shook his head in disagreement.

  “Well, who do you think that it was?”

  “Do you know what I think? I think that you were out here in the middle of the night meeting the hit man who knocked off Jay Simmons.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it really? I don’t think so. I think you agreed to pay him in cash instead of Bitcoin, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe this will refresh your memory.” He showed me a record of texts that I sent to a hit man named Thomaz in Queens. Supposedly I had agreed to pay him ten grand in cash for Jay’s murder.

  “I didn’t do that! That wasn’t me!” I read the text again hoping to recall if I actually did send it.

  The bastard had the nerve to end his text with the word Shalom. It sounds like he’s ready to meet the Big Guy upstairs. You can bash his skull in, you can poison him, you can pluck out his eyeballs, I don’t care. I have the cash, if you need it before I get back to New York, you can fly out to New Orleans or send one of your men. I want him out of the picture. He needs to be out of the picture before any more evidence is found.