It became more crowded as they got closer to Jackson Square, red bows clinging to the fence that surrounded the small urban park. Art vendors shouted from their posts to garner attention towards their wares, many of which Olivia needed a better view of. She finally settled on a small painting depicting a rescue during Hurricane Katrina and continued down the cobblestone walkway towards the cathedral. Ashton had only gone into the cathedral a handful of times, mostly as a ruse to sit down away from the crowds that mingled in the Square listening to street musicians. It had always struck Ashton as odd that, not fifty feet from the entrance of a Catholic church, many street psychics set up shop awaiting to tell people the future of their lives. Today was no different, and Olivia pulled him past them and crossed the threshold into St. Louis Cathedral.
The entrance hall of St. Louis Cathedral was always a stopping point as people noticed something they had never seen a church have before: a gift shop. Olivia laughed and took a picture in front of the sign as a breeze blew out from the doors that lead inside. Ashton began to feel uneasy as they entered the main chapel area. Moving towards the middle aisle so Olivia could snap more photos of the impressive architecture, they stepped out from under the balcony, the sheer size of the room overwhelmed Ashton, and he felt dizzy. Still, they continued towards the front of the chapel where the pulpit stood. At the end of the row Ashton looked up towards the large crucifix that was affixed to the wall, his stomach churned. He felt a surge of warmth move up from his bowels and into his mouth. Covering his mouth he rushed towards the exit, expelling vomit onto the cobblestone as soon as he exited the church.
“Are you ok?” Olivia said, trailing behind him. He was still bent over trying to stop himself from heaving. The feeling subsided quickly, he stood, and wiped away the remaining bits of vomit from his mouth.
“I’ll be fine, I’m sorry. Vertigo, I guess,” he said as passersby stopped to see the disgusting scene. He felt embarrassed by the sudden illness that had come over him, and he sat down a few feet away from where he had left his breakfast.
“Are you sure?” Olivia pressed, “We can go back to your house if you want to lay down.”
“No, I’m good. Like I said, just a case of vertigo.”
She stood up and started to bob to the music a band was playing nearby. Once he felt completely healed from the awkward experience, he rose too and listened to the tune being played. It was becoming busier as the day progressed, the daylight hours allowing families to explore the city without being harassed by drunks and undesirables, and he smiled. This was the city he loved, the city that had captured him when he needed it the most, and he was happy to be once again in the middle of the imperfect beauty that was New Orleans. It was a perfect winter day to explore the city, the temperature just right for a day excursion.
“Let’s get our palms read!” Olivia cooed, pulling his arm towards one of the street psychics. He had always ignored them, weary of their “gifts,” and was reluctant to sit in a chair opposite a woman with a head scarf and a fake overdone accent.
“Let Nicolette tell you all you need to know,” a woman said from a table filled to the brim with gemstones and random trinkets. Olivia smiled and sat down, beckoning him to sit down next to her. Even the psychic outstretched her arm, giving him no choice but to take a seat next to Olivia.
“Have you had a reading before?” the psychic inquired to Olivia.
“No. But I’ve always wanted one!” Olivia excitedly spoke, and the psychic smiled.
“Your husband doesn’t seem too keen on it,” the psychic laughed and pulled out a deck of tarot cards. Ashton rolled his eyes.
“He’s my brother!” Olivia exclaimed, oblivious to the woman’s inabilities.
“I know, my dear. I was just playing a game with you. Now it’s $40 for a tarot reading. I can unlock the truth of your past, present, and future,” Nicolette said in a faux Russian accent. Ashton wanted so badly to pull Olivia away, but before he could react Olivia threw two twenty-dollar bills on the table and Nicolette snatched it up, placing the money in a bejeweled jewelry box. The woman began to shuffle the deck of cards, placed a few on the table, and stopped abruptly.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia questioned as Nicolette looked up from her deck and straight at Ashton.
“There’s a dark aura here, I can’t continue,” Nicolette spoke, her fake accent cutting to an American accent. She pulled the money back out from the box and pushed it towards Olivia. “There’s an intense darkness surrounding him. It’s best not to dabble.” Ashton stood up, nearly knocking over the table, and walked away, leaving Olivia behind. He quickened his pace, turning the corner onto St. Anne, and continued down the street.
FOUR
“He just left me in Jackson Square, I can’t find him!” Olivia screamed on the telephone. Dillon had just finished his lunch break and was knee-deep in paperwork when he got the call, and he was unsure if he should head from the CBD and into the Quarter to track down Ashton. It was unlike Ashton to abandon Olivia in the middle of the French Quarter, but much like everything else as of late, nothing was in the realm of unbelievable.
“Go to the house, see if he’s there. Call me if he isn’t,” Dillon replied. He had only one full day on the books and didn’t want to leave midday on his second day after returning. Olivia seemed satisfied with the idea and soon he was back to work, catching up on all the things that he had left behind for well over a month. During the dark times with Ashton, Dillon’s job was the one thing that had kept him sane, the only thing that made sense during such a tumultuous time.
Somewhere inside him he knew Ashton returning to his old stomping grounds had been a bad idea too many temptations filled every street in the city. He hoped Ashton had simply returned home and not hopped into one of the numerous bars where he was sure that one of Ashton’s old friends were seated drinking away their problems. He tried his best to focus on the paperwork and on the numerous emails, but his mind kept wandering back to Ashton’s whereabouts. Olivia hadn’t given many details in the call, but it was enough to give him worry.
As he had imagined, Ashton hadn’t returned to their home and Dillon told his boss he would return shortly. Grabbing his keys from his desk, he rushed through traffic to get into the heart of the Quarter. Olivia was seated on the stoop as he pulled up, and they started retracing their steps. A weird winter warmth had come over the city, and the humidity was causing Dillon to sweat profusely within his shirt and tie, pushing his anxiety to a whole different level. They checked a few different bars he knew Ashton frequented before, but no one had seen him. Ashton’s cell phone was not being answered either, and Dillon was at a loss.
Decatur Street was their last option to find Ashton. Dillon hated the grittiness of Decatur, almost more than he hated Bourbon Street, and he pulled Olivia past a group of gutter punks who were asking for money as they continued down towards Esplanade Avenue. The Bastille was another bar that he had found Ashton on many a drunken morning passed out in the corner, and as luck would have it, that’s exactly where he found him.
“Come on, Ashton,” Dillon said, pulling him from the barstool.
“I’m not ready!” Ashton shouted, his voice deep and guttural and Dillon was taken aback. He had never heard such a sound, so unfamiliar and frightening, come from Ashton’s mouth.
“Please,” Dillon pleaded. He looked at the bartender who simply shrugged and went back to the other patrons.
“Did you know even Jesus drank wine?” Ashton asked, “That hypocritical asshole. All of God’s men, all hiding secrets.” Ashton sat his drink down, and proceeded to laugh as he walked calmly out of the bar. Dillon grabbed Olivia, pulled her back outside, and followed behind Ashton as he quickly walked down the street.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dillon screamed as he caught up with Ashton. In the middle of an intersection Ashton stopped dead in his tracks and looked at Dillon with tears in his eyes.
“What’s happening to me?” Ashton asked, his voice c
racking. A car honked its horn, trying to go through the intersection, and Ashton’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, his body becoming limp as Dillon grabbed him before he fell to the ground. Olivia ran to assist in stabilizing Ashton’s unconscious body and they pulled him back to the sidewalk.
“Should I call 911?” Olivia exclaimed, a fear written firmly across her face.
“No, he’ll be fine. Just help me get him to the house!” Dillon instructed. The trip back to the house was the longest trip he had ever taken. Ashton’s body was like a rock and only got heavier the closer they got to the house, strangers gawking the entire way. Luckily, they didn’t catch the attention of authorities, and soon they were pulling Ashton into the safety of their home. He laid Ashton on the couch and fell to the ground. His entire shirt was soaked with sweat. Dillon pulled it off and wiped his forehead. He had never witnessed Ashton in such a state, but the voice was as familiar as the sound of rain. The same unnerving voice that had been spoken in Acadian Springs had now followed them to New Orleans.
“What should we do?” Olivia asked. Dillon, uncertain what they should do, kept silent. He watched as Ashton’s chest rose and sank to the rhythm of his breathing, noting how Zen Ashton appeared. In the last few months this was becoming a way of life. Erratic waves that crashed into one another and then the murky waters would clear, leaving behind a near perfect sea. It was all becoming too much for him, he needed stability. There was something going on with Ashton, way beyond his comprehension, and he wanted answers.
“I think there’s something extremely wrong with him, Olivia,” Dillon finally admitted.
“What do you mean?” she queried.
“Like mentally. Did you not hear that voice? That wasn’t him speaking. It’s like he was a different person.”
“He was drinking,” Olivia reasoned.
“No, it goes beyond that. I’ve heard it before. Multiple personality, maybe?”
“You’re joking, right?” Olivia laughed. Dillon didn’t like being mocked in the slightest. He stood up, entered the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, he reached to the back and grabbed hold of a hidden bottle of bourbon. He took a large gulp of the bitter liquid, allowing the warmth to consume his innards.
“Oh, now we have two alcoholics on our hands,” Olivia said in the doorway. He jumped from her sudden appearance, nearly dropping the bottle. She put her hand out, he put the bottle in them, and watched as she took a swig. “Now I know what all the fuss is about.”
“Olivia, he’s sick,” Dillon cooed.
“You’re going to send him back to the hospital?”
“I don’t know. I keep having this hope he’ll just snap out of it.”
“People go through things. He hasn’t been one hundred percent since Mom died, hell neither have I. but I think if you just give him a little more time-“
“A little more time? I’ve done my best to keep things sane, to keep him comfortable and on the right track.”
“I know this, Dillon. You’re a lot stronger than I am, but please don’t send him back to the hospital,” Olivia begged. They heard movement in the living room and Olivia left Dillon in the kitchen. He faltered there for a moment before following suit. Ashton had sat up on the couch, looking worse for wear.
“You ok, babe?” Dillon asked.
“I want to go home,” Ashton muttered.
“I’ll call work, let them know I’ll be back next week then.” Dillon replied. It wasn’t what he wanted to do but at least Ashton would be away from the French Quarter once again.
FIVE
Terry Shlepp was at a crossroads. While his plate filled up with his own family’s transgressions, he still had to plan the service for Denise Batton. He was still unsure of what to say at her funeral. The Bible clearly stated suicide was unforgivable and that Denise would burn in Hell for all eternity for her sins. He was elated Mark had come to him after the major difference in opinions, but feared the only way to approach the funeral religiously correct was to bring this matter into the light and he would lose him once more.
As he had forecasted, the homosexuals had brought so much pain and torment to the town of Acadian Springs. They had even affected his own family in ways Terry did not understand. Luke’s disobedience was one thing, but the admission that Janis had not miscarried their first child, rather she had aborted it, was something that Terry couldn’t wrap his head around. She vehemently denied the allegation made by the man that night, but Terry couldn’t trust her any longer. He spent most of his time since that night at South Belle not wanting to face his wife or son. They were as against him as the homosexuals, and he would ensure all would brought to justice in due time.
The fact that the gays had pushed Denise Batton to her untimely suicide was oddly reassuring to him. Maybe God would see the subtle brainwashing and forgive her, allowing Denise into his Kingdom. He hoped God would hold Mark’s children safely and that Marsh was freed from his sickness even though he had not gone through the whole program at ReCourse. If he wasn’t, then Mark was going to have major issues in the coming years as Marsh became promiscuous and surely afflicted with a terrible disease. It was saddening to him that the homosexuals had such influence on their beautiful town, a once Holy and serene place, where you could raise a family the right way.
It was getting late in the evening and Terry’s eyes were burning from staring at a computer screen all day. In just twenty four hours he was to be in front of his congregation to say goodbye to Mark’s wife, and he needed to rest up. His day would start early with the arrival of her body, and everything would need to be nice and tidy for guests to view her. As reluctant as he was to go home, he had no choice His clothing was dirty and his body was beginning to smell from lack of hygiene. He began to flip the lights off as he exited the building but stopped at the pews, looking over the emptiness. He was proud of the work he had done through the years at South Belle, providing the Scripture for his congregation and giving guidance to those in need. His father, who had preceded him, had done the same for most of his life and Terry had faith that his father would be proud of his accomplishments at the church he had built.
He smiled as he drove home. Christmas decorations gleamed from most of the houses he passed. Miniature Nativity scenes were placed delicately on some lawns, the baby Jesus the focal point of them. His community was a strong religious group, even in the face of adversity, and for that he thanked God. His own house was adorned to the hilt in lights, and inside the tree sparkled with multi-colored facets, ornaments and a large angel appointed the top. Although the house seemed bright and airy, a large cloak had been placed around him the moment he walked through the door. Luke was locked away in his room and Janis in theirs, so he crept quietly around the house. Unclothing in the guest bathroom, he turned the shower on and hopped inside, ready to get comfortable on the couch.
This would mark the first time he had ever slept on the couch instead of the bed he shared with Janis. She had caused him so much anguish since learning her secret, and although he didn’t believe in divorce as an option for marital troubles the thought played out in his mind. He tossed and turned on the couch trying his best to let the thought go and get the rest he desperately needed. Night quickly turned to morning, and the sun forced him upwards. He could hear Janis rummaging around in the bedroom and then go into the bathroom to shower. He snuck quickly into the bedroom, throwing a suit onto the bed and stepped into it, adjusting his tie in the mirror. He hadn’t been fast enough and Janis exited the bathroom startled by his appearance in the room.
“Where are you going?” she demanded, blocking him for leaving the room.
“I’m doing Denise’s funeral,” he spoke quietly.
“Do you need help?” she asked, folding her arms. In the morning sun he could see the depression in her eyes and, for a moment, he felt guilty.
“No and you are not welcome there anymore,” he stated, pushing his way around her and walking down the hallway towards the front door. He didn’t ha
ve time to fight with her. He didn’t have the patience or endurance either. She chased him down the hall, but he shut the front door firmly behind him, leaving her to stare at him through the window. He knew she liked her privacy so he didn’t have a worry that she would bring the conversation out of the walls of their house. The last thing he needed during this upheaval was the entire church watching the foundation of his marriage crumble.
It was a bright morning, not the type of day that would harken a funeral, but Terry pushed forth. The church was serene in the mornings as sun shone through the stain glass windows, specks of color reflecting onto the wooden pews. Terry got right to work sweeping the red carpet leading up to the pulpit and reorganizing the front of the stage so the casket could be placed neatly in front of it. Every now and then a florist would come through to drop arrangements off. Shortly after 10 am, the hearse brought in the beautiful mahogany coffin, rolled it right down the middle aisle, and placed it front and center for the viewing and subsequent service.
After signing the required paperwork Terry was left alone with the body, and he opened the top portion of the casket revealing Denise’s beautiful face. Her face was pale; a light blush coloring her cheeks and with a muted red lipstick covering her lips. The morgue had done a great job hiding the rope marks around her neck, a gold locket lying delicately upon it. Her dress was a brilliant blue color he had seen her in numerous times, her hands were clasped firmly on her stomach. Her wedding ring reflected the sunlight streaming in perfectly, the diamond sparkling. On impulse, Terry touched her brown wavy locks, leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead, and whispered a prayer into her ear.
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