When Landry arrived, Henri was at the bar with his usual — a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape wine. Landry ordered the same, and they caught up on events during the months since they last worked on one of Landry’s cases.
Duchamp was the founder and president of the Louisiana Society for the Paranormal, a group dedicated to separating the hoaxes from Louisiana’s actual supernatural mysteries.
Two decades older than Landry, the man was highly educated and well respected. Even colleagues who scoffed at ghosts and hauntings listened to what he had to say. Today Henri was ready to learn what Landry was up to. On his earlier call Landry gave him the address in hopes Henri would research it before their meeting.
Over roasted gulf oysters and seafood gumbo, Landry described the many unusual incidents in the building and Tiffany’s unexplainable attraction to it. When he finished, he asked for Henri’s thoughts.
“Many claim the building is perhaps the most haunted in the French Quarter. More active sightings have occurred there than almost any other in my records. Because of that, I’ve done considerable research on it over the years. It’s one of the area’s oldest structures, and it has weathered the test of time pretty well, all things considered. No one knows the year of construction, but we can narrow the dates somewhat.
“It wouldn’t have survived the Great Fire of 1794 that destroyed most of the French Quarter. We also know from records at the Vieux Carre Commission that in 1805, just two years after the Louisiana Purchase, an individual named Lucas LaPiere owned the three-story brick structure on Toulouse Street. The man emigrated to New Orleans in 1798 and probably built it. His wealth would have been more than sufficient for such a project. I calculate the construction date between 1798 and 1805.”
It always impressed Landry how much his friend could turn up about a subject. The ability to ferret out little-known facts was just one reason he was so valuable an asset.
“For decades the building housed the offices of LaPiere et Cie., one of the city’s largest slave brokerages. The offices were on the ground floor, there was an entresol above that for storage, and the family lived on the second floor. Their quarters opened onto a balcony on the street side and another on the courtyard, linked to it by a wrought-iron stairway along one side of an adjoining building they also owned.”
Landry added there were also three dormer windows on the top floor, and Henri smiled. “Have patience, my boy. I’ll talk about the attic soon.”
He said a billiards room and tavern had occupied the space for almost thirty years during the second half of the twentieth century. When Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans in 2005, the owners shut it down, and the building had sat empty ever since.
“I remember going there,” Landry said. “I didn’t get to NOLA much in my younger days, but my friends and I shot pool there. It was a great place — smoke-filled rooms, country music blaring from a jukebox, and lots of locals enjoying a beer or two.”
“Did you know the ghost stories back then?”
“No, but I’ve been doing research since all this started. I’m interested to hear what you know about it.”
In his element and ready for a trip back in time, Landry ordered two espressos and a brandy for Henri.
His friend continued, “Lucas and Madam LaPiere lived on the second floor, as I mentioned. The house servants had rooms in a building on the opposite side of the courtyard, and according to historical records, they were treated decently by the master of the house. But there was a sinister aspect to the building that involved his wife Prosperine.
“You mentioned the third floor — the attic. Those three little windows on the street side are the only giveaway it’s there. I explored the building a few years after Katrina. There used to be an outside stairway to a balcony on the second floor. They had been removed by the time I visited, and I had a devil of a time finding the entrance to the family quarters upstairs. I had to crawl on hands and knees through the entresol, believe it or not! At any rate, I never found a way to access the attic. There must be one, but it’s boarded up or hidden, because the attic was the place where Madam LaPiere did some despicable things.
“We know Lucas and his wife were slave traders. They owned a few servants themselves, but their business was brokerage. He would attend auctions over in what is now Jackson Square, buy men and women, hold them for some period and sell them for a profit. The sad but undeniable truth is they were property just like a horse or a mule, and often they were treated badly. I haven’t seen the third floor, but reports from the 1820s and 1830s tell of a holding area where these men and women were chained so they couldn’t escape. They were well fed — it made economic sense to keep them healthy — but they spent tragic weeks or months as prisoners of the LaPieres. They beat the ones who disobeyed, and stories abound of the screams for mercy coming from the building.
“One house servant who ran away in 1831 recounted tales of the atrocities and horrors, the times when Madam Prosperine went too far and the body of a man or woman was dumped in the river at night. If half the tales are true, it’s no wonder the place has a reputation for ghostly activity. Maybe Lucas was aware of the awful things his wife was doing and chose to ignore them. Or maybe he was afraid; by all accounts she was a domineering woman.”
“My God, I didn’t know that,” Landry said. “I did some research myself, but I didn’t find any of this. When you stroll through the French Quarter today, you can’t imagine the things that went on in its buildings over the past three centuries. I understand now why people say the building’s haunted, but what does it have to do with Tiffany and her inability to resist its calling?”
“Perhaps you can find out for yourself. You say she claims to have had a recurring dream since childhood. Are you familiar with age-regression therapy?”
“I’m not. What is it?”
“It’s a controversial issue, but it’s been used for years to take people back to a time in the past where a life event occurred that made a significant impact. People can repress traumatic or monumental things from their past — for instance, child abuse, death, or witnessing something horrible — but these things sometimes stay hidden in their minds as they grow older. They don’t understand what it is or why, but therapists who use age regression claim they can get to the root cause of issues.”
“How?”
“Through the use of hypnosis. They take a subject back in time, stopping at places along the way to get an idea of what’s happening in their life, and often they reveal the source of a problem. Dealing with it can stop things like recurring dreams, or so they claim.”
Landry nodded. “Sounds harmless. Someone would hypnotize Tiffany and take her on a walk through her past, right?”
“In theory, yes, but I have concerns about it. I believe there is much about the human mind we don’t understand, and many view hypnosis as a parlor trick or Vegas nightclub act where people parade around clucking like chickens. Putting a subject into a trance and manipulating his mind seems dangerous to me. Instances have occurred wherein the hypnotist had problems bringing his subject out of a trance. Not many, but enough to give a person pause. No one died or anything, but was there damage to the subject’s psyche? To my knowledge, there have been no studies about it.”
Landry said, “But are there physicians who do it as part of their practice? Psychiatrists, maybe? I’d be less reticent to mention it to Tiffany if a professional was doing the procedure.”
“Be careful, Landry. The woman tells you she has never been to Louisiana, yet she knows the building. That may not be true; I suspect there is some repressed connection that could be brought to the surface, but would the revelation be worth the potential risk? What if she or someone close to her was involved in a horrific act? Could tweaking her mind make things worse than the recurring dream itself?”
Henri made a valid point, but it would be Tiffany’s decision. Landry had found today’s discussion fascinating, and he hoped he might get to observe age regression in per
son.
As they departed, Henri asked a favor. “If the woman agrees to hypnosis, I’d like to attend the session. If that works for you, that is. As you can tell, the subject interests me. Observing a regression would be interesting.”
Landry promised to include Henri if things came together. It was almost four when he returned to the station. Jack was ready to talk, but Landry shushed him, saying he had something to do and they’d discuss everything later. As Jack watched, Landry searched online. He printed one article after another while Jack wondered about his sudden interest in hypnosis. An hour later, Landry stood, grabbed his backpack and told Jack to come along. They’d go to dinner, but first he wanted to talk to Cate.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
As they walked to Landry's apartment, he briefed Jack on the boy who died in the courtyard, his own arrest for assault, and how Tiffany went home but once again fell into a trance that brought her back. "I flew to Albuquerque and picked her up," he said. "Cate's staying with her until we figure this out."
The girls were sitting on the couch, watching the local news and eating popcorn. Cate was glad Jack was okay, and she said they'd spent the afternoon visiting the World War II Museum and the aquarium.
When she asked about dinner plans, Landry said he and Jack had a lot to discuss, all of which involved the Toulouse building. They were welcome to come along, but it would be a working dinner. Cate said they would go somewhere else, but Tiffany insisted on going. She wanted to hear everything they said.
They walked to the Gumbo Shop on St. Peter and settled into a corner table. The place was quieter than usual, and when Landry declined wine and cocktails, Jack said he'd be fine if they wanted to have a drink. Landry refused; Jack was on a fragile path, and he wanted to support him.
Landry wanted to talk about what he learned from Henri Duchamp, but he gave the floor to Jack, who eagerly waited to prove himself. The topic of age-regression therapy could wait until he finished.
Jack had spent the weekend and Monday doing research, and what he found not only dovetailed with Henri Duchamp's information, it provided new insight into the history of the family.
When Lucas and Prosperine LaPiere emigrated from France to New Orleans in 1798, they chose an odd means of transportation. They booked passage on the Couronne Dorée, the Golden Crown. Its manifest showed it crossed the Atlantic carrying over two hundred people. A little digging revealed something very interesting, Jack said.
Only twelve of the two hundred fourteen people on board had bought tickets. Those passengers had staterooms, but the rest were shackled below decks. The Couronne was a slaver. It sailed south from Le Havre, made port on Africa's Windward Coast, picked up its human cargo, and crossed the Atlantic.
Jack continued. "The LaPieres were well off. Within a year they owned several lots near the Place d'Armes, and later they built the Toulouse Street building. So why did they choose a slave ship for their voyage? Why didn't they take a passenger ship straight to New Orleans? They could have arrived a month sooner and under much nicer conditions. I think it's because even in France they were slave traders. The Couronne might even have been his boat. And I'll bet he owned some of the slaves it carried."
"That makes sense," Landry said as the food arrived. "It's as good an explanation as any about why they were on that ship. What else did you find?"
Some of what he turned up they already knew, but confirmation was good. The couple lived in five rooms on the second floor above Lucas's office. They made the newspaper now and then, appearing on the society page along with other prominent Orleanians who attended Mardi Gras balls and charity events.
"Here's something interesting," he said. "According to police records, officers visited the address on Toulouse Street twice." Landry commended him for thinking about police reports. He conceded he hadn't thought of that source and the compliment caused Jack to smile.
The first police report was in July of 1818 when officers responded to a complaint by neighbors of cries and wails coming from the LaPiere building. Lucas LaPiere, the owner, met the officers at the front gate. The officers heard no such wailing, and LaPiere exercised his right to refuse them entry. The report described LaPiere as "a respected member of New Orleans gentility and the owner of several French Quarter properties." Instead of provoking a wealthy landowner, the officers chose discretion and accepted Lucas's assertion that all was well. There was no need to disturb the family further. Lucas and Prosperine somehow stopped the noises, because police didn't return for almost two years.
"Do you think the officers suspected what was going on inside?" Cate asked, and Jack nodded.
"Slave trading businesses rented buildings around the Place d'Armes to be near the auction venue. They held men, women and children prisoner in those places, and the police surely knew that Lucas had some too. I guess as long as they didn't 'disturb the peace,' it was okay. Can you imagine?"
During the conversation they hadn't noticed Tiffany, who now sat rocking back and forth in her chair with her eyes closed. Cate touched her arm and the girl's eyes flew open. She drew back in alarm and shouted in a strong Creole-accented voice, "Stop this talk and let them be! Don't you see they can't rest?"
Confused, Tiffany stared off in space while other patrons shot surreptitious glances in her direction.
She whispered, "I...I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that."
Landry squeezed her hand. "This is important. Tell me what just happened."
"I was listening to Jack talk and thinking how interesting it was. Then the room began getting blurry. My head spun, and I closed my eyes to stop it. Eerie black shapes moved toward me. People maybe, but more like ghostly masses that took over my mind. All this happened in seconds — I could still hear Jack talking, like an echo from somewhere far away, and when he said there were prisoners, I heard their screams.
She put her hands to her face and sobbed. "It was more than I could bear. Those were the most awful, unearthly sounds I've ever heard. They treated those people like animals, her far worse than him. Madam chained them in the attic and tortured them. She was an evil, cruel woman —"
She paused and looked up at Landry, her eyes wide with fear.
"Oh my God, how do I know that? Am I crazy?"
"Not at all. You saw those things. I don’t know how or why, but I believe you did. Jack, let's drop this for now. We'll finish up tomorrow at the office."
"Hold on! You haven't heard the best part. Lucas LaPiere got in trouble again. It was worse the second time."
Jack's enthusiasm was commendable, but in his eagerness, he ignored Tiffany's distress. Landry said, "No. I'm sorry, but it has to wait. Let’s talk about something else. Does anyone at the table know what age-regression therapy is?"
A hand went up from the person Landry had hoped for — Cate.
"Is it something your dad knows about too?"
She nodded and he smiled. "Great. I was hoping so."
Cate's psychiatrist father was a frequent contributor to medical journals and a sought-after lecturer at seminars around the world. He and Landry had talked about his profession and how the human brain was a thing of mystery and wonder. From the moment Henri Duchamp brought up age-regression therapy, Landry had wanted to ask Doc if he knew anyone who did this kind of work.
With his report finished, Jack left, saying he'd be at work by eight. At the apartment Tiffany went to the guest bedroom, Landry again stacked furniture in front of the door, and he and Cate went into his bedroom to call her dad.
Doc was interested to hear about Landry’s lunch. He knew about the therapy and observed a session, but that was the extent of his involvement. They discussed Tiffany’s dreams and her compulsion to return to the building, and Landry told him what happened in the restaurant tonight.
"Do you think age-regression therapy might help her?" he asked. Doc couldn’t say, but he had a friend who was an authority on the subject.
"His name is Fredrick Little. He's not a physician. He has a PhD in cl
inical psychology and runs a clinic in Santa Fe. I'd be happy to set up a conference call so you can explain what's going on with your friend. I'll be listening in too — you've got me intrigued."
Doc said he'd call back when he knew something. Landry prepared for bed, thinking it might be days before he heard. But his phone rang just thirty minutes later, and Landry put the call on speaker for Cate to hear.
"How about nine our time tomorrow?" he asked, and that worked for Landry.
Doc added, "Before we go further, I want to tell you something. There's a lesser-known and controversial aspect to age-regression therapy. Sometimes during the sessions very unusual things have happened."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about an esoteric offshoot called past life regression. I find it fascinating, but then I have the luxury of merely reading about it and not performing procedures. It would scare the hell out of me to be a doctor doing some of this stuff, but I also admit the results have been downright astounding. They'll blow your mind."
"Past life regression. Henri didn't mention that."
"Here's what it's about. You heard how age regression works. The hypnotist takes the subject in stages back to childhood in a search for understanding. There have been rare instances wherein the effort to take the person as far back as possible provides unexpected, alarming results. Cases have occurred where the person's mind travels back past the moment of birth."
Landry still didn't understand. "Into the womb?"
"No. Further than that. Years and years, sometimes centuries. Back into a previous life."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Landry and Cate looked at each other in disbelief. After a moment her father said, “Hello? Are you all still there?”
“Yes, sorry,” Landry said. “You threw us for a loop. What you’re talking about — past life regression — that’s not accepted therapy, is it? How could it be? It’s like something out of a movie. Sounds like you’re in my arena now — the paranormal.”
Die Again (The Bayou Hauntings Book 6) Page 9