Doc said he would ask, but he doubted the man would do it. He said, “Fred and I have been delving into the human mind for years. It’s a fascinating and complex place. There's much we don't understand even today, and I think in Tiffany’s case, the risk outweighs anything you might learn.”
Ted caught Landry as he was leaving and asked if they could talk a moment. Afterwards Landry texted Cate to say he was walking home.
She texted back a smiley face and a martini glass and, "It's five o'clock and we're at Harry's Corner."
He loved Harry's, a quaint spot on Dumaine only a block from his apartment. He stepped inside, waved to the bartender, and joined Cate and Tiffany at a high-top table in the window looking out on Chartres.
"Landry! Vodka tonic?" the bartender yelled, and several patrons heard the name and turned around. He smiled and waved. This was one place he felt at home. The people here were friends, drinking buddies and locals like him who didn't gawk at a ghost hunter. Here he was just one of the boys.
He told them about Empyrion's house. Seeing the old mansion and the family cemetery raised new questions, as did Empyrion's anger at their showing up uninvited.
Jack called to say he was at the station and could they meet somewhere? He had important news.
Landry had important news too, but he had to protect Jack. "I'm having drinks with the ladies," he said. "I'll see you at the station tomorrow."
"Is it just you three? I'm a big boy, Landry. I have to conquer my demons. Avoiding bars has nothing to do with it. If I want a drink in this town, I can buy one anywhere.”
Landry had to agree it made sense, and he told Jack where they were.
Ten minutes later he joined them, ordered a Dr Pepper and said he had a research report.
Landry said he wanted to hear it, but first he had news of his own to share.
"I met with Ted today. He keeps up with what you and I are doing because he's enthralled with this case. He thinks it could be one of my most interesting, and I agreed. We also talked about your road to recovery, how helpful was the work you're doing for me, how are you making ends meet — things like that."
"Why did he want to know about me?"
"Because he offered you a job. It's temporary — only for as long as this project lasts — but you'll be a full-time employee of WCCY-TV at fifteen bucks an hour with the title investigative assistant. We've talked about hiring an assistant in the past. If everything goes well on this assignment, then maybe — just maybe, I'm saying — this might work into something permanent. There are no promises and no guarantees. You'd just be on the payroll working with me."
"Holy crap! Are you kidding? After the performance I apparently put on during Tiffany's hypnosis the other day, he's still willing to take a chance on me? Holy crap. Yes, yes, I accept! Let's drink to that!"
He raised his soda bottle and clinked with their glasses.
They're willing to give me a chance. And by God, I won't let them down.
Landry said, "Okay then, it's official. You're my assistant. Now it's your turn. Let's hear what you found."
"Two things. First, except for being trustee in 1892, Empyrion's name never appears in any state record. Except for one instance, it's as if he never existed. After I learned Prosperine was still owner of record, I searched for a will. Even if the plantation remained in her name, her heirs would own it today. Who are they? I searched the parish records in this parish and in St. John the Baptist, where the home and cemetery are. There was nothing here, and up in Edgard the only things on record are a death certificate and the order to inter her body in that crypt we saw."
Landry said, "So there's no will, maybe no heirs, and a strange man who says the house is his. If he actually lives there, he spends nothing on maintenance or upkeep. Anything else?"
"Here’s a side note. I said how helpful the parish clerk in Edgard was. Keeping your name out of it, I told her I went to the cemetery this morning. I also went inside the house and Empyrion Richard and I had tea."
"She said that was impossible and I couldn't have done those things. Her exact words were, 'You weren't there, period.' She told me everybody in town knows the LaPiere place. It's been uninhabitable for years, and it's collapsing inside and out. I stopped her. I told her which road we took, the brick columns we drove through, and that the cemetery lies in the trees off to the right. The house is old and in disrepair for sure, but it’s livable. The place isn’t falling apart like she said."
He stopped, pulled some papers from his notebook and turned them upside down on the table. "I was adamant because I knew what we saw. Thank goodness my arguing didn't make her mad. She asked me what interested me about the LaPiere mansion, and that's when I revealed who I worked for. Man, did that ever change things. She became even more helpful. I'm sorry if I shouldn't have played the Landry Drake card, but it sure worked."
Cate smiled. "I'm not surprised. People in south Louisiana are getting accustomed to having Landry poke around their towns. It creates some excitement."
"Here's what she said next. She and her father go for a drive every Saturday. Three weeks ago, they were exploring the back roads of the parish and came to the brick pillars. He recalled that the LaPiere house was down the road on the bayou, and they turned in to see it. They went to the cemetery too. They almost didn’t see it for all the ground cover. It was nothing like what we saw.
"Then there was the house. Three weeks ago the vines over the front door were so thick her dad cut a hole through them to get to the door. I think that's the same hole we crawled through today! But then everything is different in her story. They tiptoed down the hall to avoid gaping holes where the floor had rotted out. The furniture we saw wasn't there — only sticks and debris where chairs and tables had been a long time ago. There were no books on the shelves, no knickknacks or tea service. A portrait couldn't have hung above the fireplace, because the fireplace and the chimney were just a pile of bricks on the floor.
"The more she assured me we didn't go there, the more I insisted we did. That's when she said she'd prove it to me. She emailed me pictures they took that day." He flipped over the pages to reveal a series of color photos he'd printed off. Each bore a date — a Saturday three weeks ago.
Without a doubt it was the same house. But instead of what Jack and Landry had seen this morning, the place was just as the girl described it — a decaying mansion abandoned for over a hundred years. The same vines and creepers blanketed the veranda, but in her pictures, they were much thicker and denser than today.
The interior was the astonishing part. Her astonishing photos confirmed her story. The rooms were the same, but the dust and grime Landry and Jack had seen was nothing compared to the absolute destruction the pictures showed. In them the house was falling apart, nothing at all like the dusty room where they had sat with the man who claimed to be Empyrion Richard.
"She and her dad also went upstairs. Same thing. Debris and destroyed furniture everywhere. Gaping holes in the floor too. See why she claimed no one could live there today?"
Landry studied the pictures. "We know what we saw. We went into the house through a hole in the vines, we walked down a dusty hallway with intact floorboards, sat on a couch, looked at a picture hanging on the bricks over a mantel, and we were served tea with spoiled milk in it. The tall man said it was his house.
"You're on to something here. Someone's trying to steer us in the wrong direction. My first thought was that these photos are doctored, but that makes no sense. Why would she create fake pictures to show someone who asked about the house? And why does Empyrion's name not show up in any records?
"Whatever's happening, you're doing a terrific job, especially since your job doesn’t begin until tomorrow. Keep it up. What you’re uncovering is important in solving our mystery."
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Doc called at six in the morning, apologizing for the early hour. He had a busy day ahead but wanted to return Landry’s call first.
Doc tol
d him Dr. Little agreed to regress Jack, but he would have nothing to do with Tiffany. “What happened to her deeply affected him. He questioned his methods, his training — everything. I reminded him this was one case out of hundreds of uneventful ones in his career. He accepted that but still won’t work with her. Let’s turn to Jack. Are you thinking of using the courtyard again?”
Landry was, but he had to have permission. “I’ll go see the trustee myself,” Landry said. “Maybe I can convince him to allow us in again.” He wondered if the trustee would already know about their experiences at the house yesterday, and if the tall black man had the power to stop them.
Eager to start his official job, Jack was in the lobby when Landry arrived. After taking him to the HR manager, Landry created a place in his office for Jack. An IT guy came through to set up a laptop and monitor, and an hour later the two of them were maneuvering around each other in the cramped space they shared.
“Now that it’s official, I have something to talk to you about,” Landry said.
Jack raised his fingers in a Scout’s honor. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll stay on the straight and narrow. I won’t disappoint you again. I promise.”
“Thanks, and I believe you, but that’s not it. I want to know if you’ll let Dr. Little hypnotize you.”
“What good would that do?”
“Maybe a lot. You know you’re in the middle of all this. You felt the building calling to you long before we met. Whatever role you play, we’re in this together. If you’re game, I’d like to see where it goes.”
“Are you talking about past life regression?”
“Yes, but I want to know more about this life first. I know almost nothing about your past. Maybe you’ve repressed things that will help figure this out.”
Jack shook his head. “I doubt it. My life’s an open book, except for the parts where I drank myself into oblivion. You won’t find answers in my past. My dad was in the military. I was born at Fort Knox, spent every year of grade school in a different state, moved to Memphis with my mom when they divorced, and I enrolled in architecture school there. I took to college like so many others, I guess you’d say. I began drinking and oversleeping, and I flunked out the first semester of my sophomore year. When Mom kicked me out I moved into an apartment in New Orleans with the wrong kind of friends.
“I was a busboy, a fry cook, a stocker, a bartender — a bad job for me, by the way — and my last job was unloading cargo at the wharf by the French Market. I got fired every time, and eventually I quit trying. My friends changed the lock when I couldn’t pay the rent, so I lived on the street for three years until you showed up.”
Landry agreed there seemed to be no link to the building, but Tiffany had none either. For her the answers came during a journey into the distant past and another person’s life.
Jack said, “I’ll do the whole enchilada. At this stage in life, what do I have to lose? I’m an alcoholic hanging to sobriety by a thread, worrying every hour I’ll relapse and disappoint you and myself, and hoping to be strong enough to overcome this disease. If hypnosis will help me find answers, then I’ve contributed, and that’s an important step for me.”
What happened to Tiffany didn’t worry him. “That was a fluke. The doctor as much as said so. He’s done hundreds of these, and he’d have brought her back. I do know one thing. After our visit to the house yesterday, I won’t have Empyrion Richard’s help like Tiffany did!”
Landry was glad when Jack agreed. He could already see the makings of an incredible Bayou Hauntings special. He had no idea what Jack’s past might uncover.
Now it was on to the next hurdle, one Landry didn’t mention to Jack. He wanted to use the Toulouse building, but if the trustee turned him down, there was another possibility, trespassing.
Since he had the passcode, getting inside would be easy. Part of him — the foolhardy risk-taker dressed in red and sitting on his left shoulder — said to hell with legality. They’d be in and out in two hours and no one would be the wiser. It made sense, but the part of his conscience who dressed in white and sat on his right shoulder whispered that he knew better. If something unexpected happened — which was a genuine possibility in that building — then simple trespass could become something much worse. Not to mention the fact that a famous investigator broke the law. Not to mention that Channel Nine would never go for the idea.
Cate was his anchor — the person who kept him on target when he veered into dangerous places. Because she was always the voice of reason, he told Jack to keep this to himself. No mentioning it to Cate or Tiffany. If things worked out, there would be time to tell them. No need for anybody to rain on anyone else’s parade just yet.
He would have preferred keeping Cate’s father in the dark too, but he needed Doc to get the hypnotist back to New Orleans. He had to confide in him and hope he’d agree to keep it from Cate for the moment.
Doc was excited to get back on the project and ready to help. He said he’d contact his friend and line up several dates. Landry would ask Ted to cover Dr. Little’s expenses again, and he would figure out how to hold the session where it should be — in the courtyard on Toulouse Street.
He called Godchaux and Hart and made an appointment to see the building’s trustee.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Jack whistled as he walked through the Quarter on his way home. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like whistling, but he knew deep inside that today marked a turning point in his heretofore miserable life. On the night Landry Drake came to Toulouse Street, Jack had been living in a box, begging for money to buy booze and past the point of hoping things might improve.
He couldn’t fathom why Landry believed in him, but now Jack had a place to live, food in his belly, and purpose in his life, and as of today he had something he’d long since given up on — an actual job.
Except for the occasional meal with Landry, Jack had been living on Whoppers and Lucky Dogs for days, but tonight called for a celebration. His mouth salivated as he stood in line with a dozen others outside Acme Oyster House. The table he got was so close to the next that he could have eaten off his neighbor’s plate. After a two-year hiatus from reality, he gave the menu a brief glance. He already knew what he wanted for dinner, and he was almost giddy with anticipation.
The waiter asked if he’d like a beer.
Would I like a beer? Damn right, more than anything. A po’boy and a beer. Nothing better. Oh, and one of those oyster shooters too. Raw oyster and vodka in a little glass. I’d like one of those as a starter. Hell, bring me two.
“No, thanks. A cup of seafood gumbo, an oyster po’boy and a Dr Pepper, please.”
Jack savored each tasty morsel, drawing glances from other diners as he murmured, “Oh, man,” after every bite. Stuffed and contented, he walked out. His motel was to the right, but he took a left instead, and after four blocks he came to a bright storefront. The door chime dinged as he walked in and took a chair.
Although no one acknowledged his presence, everything here was familiar. The leader read from the Big Book and then opened the floor for a discussion about resentments. The anonymity of AA was a blessing. Other than the obligatory “My name is Jack and I’m an alcoholic,” you could remain silent, taking just what you needed. Tonight, that’s what Jack did. He listened, he thanked God for new friends and a second chance, and he left for the motel an hour later.
The French Quarter streets were getting crowded. As Jack passed one open bar door after another, he heard the laughs and shouts of carefree people. He savored the smell — the all-too-familiar scent of stale beer and cigarettes — and he felt something stir in his gut. Something feral, way down inside, arising from deep-seated instincts and desires, rose to the surface in a tidal wave.
Come on in. You belong here, and you can’t resist it. There’s no use fighting, because you can’t win. You don’t even want to win. You want to be where you belong. Come. Come to me.
As the feeling overwh
elmed him, he pushed back hard. He couldn’t do this to himself, to Landry and to the others who cared. He ran down one block after another, racing to get away from the temptation, and stopped to catch his breath.
Seeing where he was, he realized his mind had tricked him. The temptation wasn’t about a friendly bar or a satisfying drink. The place he couldn’t resist coming to — the place he belonged — was here. He opened the lockbox, stepped through the gate and walked down the corridor. With each step, he left Jack Blair further behind. By the time he reached the courtyard, he was someone else.
He stopped at the fountain and turned. A girl watched him from the balcony. He had known she would be there, and he knew she was in terrible danger.
A voice came through the open bedroom doors behind the girl. “You eavesdropped on me! After all these years, I learned the truth at last. You saw them die, didn’t you, Caprice? Tell me!”
I have to help her!
He rushed up the stairway as Prosperine LaPiere stepped onto the balcony. His mind swirled. He knew this scene well. He had dreamed about a dark thing filled with horror and venom. The embodiment of evil. That woman.
My wife.
She grabbed the girl by the arms and gave her a violent shake.
“Tell me, you little sneak! What did you see?”
“Leave her be, Prosperine. You’ve done enough.” Jack heard the words come from his lips, but they were lines from a production. He was here, but he was an actor playing a role.
The woman sneered, “Leave her be? You’re dead, dear husband. You can’t help her. You can’t even help yourself, because your body lies with your whore down there under the stones!”
Caprice pulled away and shouted, “Here’s what I saw. I saw you kill Elberta and Massah Lucas. James too. You dumped him in the hole alive. You gonna burn in hell, you devil woman!”
Now she spoke other words — words in her native tongue — and pointed a finger toward someone who stood in the bedroom behind Prosperine. He raised his hand as if defending himself against the words and she yelled, “You to blame, Charles. For me, for her, for everything!” She spoke in her language again as the man backed away in fright.
Die Again (The Bayou Hauntings Book 6) Page 15