A Life Without Fear

by Leo King

  Jacob furrowed his brow, looking deep in thought. “Well, yes and no. I’ve been having some problems of my own to deal with. Plus, I’m not a detective, and I feel pretty helpless. But I do want to help prove your innocence. I just don’t know how.”

  Sam smiled to herself. Richie’s idea seemed that much more golden now. “I know what you can do, Jacob,” she said, resting her arms on her knees. “Richie suggested that I stay busy with other people, in public, every single night. You know some of the party spots in town, right? Why not take us around, go out with us, ya know?”

  Jacob sat up and clapped. “Sam, that’s a great idea. I know of a lot of places we can go. Restaurants, shows, dance clubs, anything you want. Lots of people. Lots of alibis. Brilliant!”

  She patted Richie fondly on the back. “It was his idea.” She was so proud of him.

  Jacob looked over at him and gave him an appraising gaze, nodding. “Not bad, Richie. Not bad at all.”

  “Thanks,” he said. Sam could feel his tension lowering. Maybe he’d been tense because of what had happened at the front door. Without his meds, he’d surely had to work through it on his own. We should probably get that prescription refilled.

  Richie leaned back. As Sam leaned against him, she asked, “So, Jacob, what places do you recommend we—”

  “Hey, Jake, honey,” came a female voice with a thick Creole accent. “Who are these people? Friends of yours? Not the regular crew.”

  Sam sat up and looked. The woman in the nearby doorway was in her mid-twenties, a bit on the short side, and dressed in a pair of boxers and a tank top. She was toned like an athlete and had tanned skin, black hair, and brown eyes. The bags around her eyes were red and puffy, and she smelled so strongly of marijuana, Sam feared she’d get a contact high.

  The woman slid into Jacob’s lap, who looked notably uncomfortable at the woman’s public display of affection. He put an arm around her and said, “Emilie, honey, this is my best friend, Sam, and her boyfriend, Richie. Sam, Richie, this is Emilie Guidry, my… girlfriend.”

  Sam grinned awkwardly. She knew him very well, and she couldn’t imagine him dating a drug user. It seemed completely out of character. “So, Emilie,” she finally said, “good to meet you. I’m Sam Castille.”

  Jacob, who had started making throat slashing motions as Sam introduced herself, looked exasperated.

  Already, Guidry’s expression had stiffened. Her eyes were a bit narrowed as she said, “Yes. My name is Emilie Guidry. But you may call me Officer Guidry, Miss Castille.”

  Sam felt the color drain from her face. Next to her, Richie tensed up.

  Jacob chortled nervously. “Whoa, whoa. Calm down, ladies. Emilie, we talked about this already. You don’t think Sam is the killer, right? Sam is my best friend. Let’s not make this awkward.” He sounded like a man who had already lost control.

  “It’s already awkward,” Sam said between her teeth, looking away. She felt Richie’s hand over hers, but it hardly helped. She wanted to leave. She began to squeeze her charm rapidly.

  “Right, sorry,” said Guidry, her tone still on the cool side. She slid off Jacob’s lap. “It’s hard to stop being a cop, even when I’m with Jake. It’s just that you’ve been—”

  Her comment was stopped by a sudden slapping sound.

  Sam quickly looked over to see Guidry rubbing her butt. Jacob was glaring up at her, a dark look in his eyes. Sam blinked. It was like he had become someone else for a moment. She couldn’t believe that the same gentle soul who had been her best friend for years would slap a woman’s rear end in such a derogatory manner.

  Guidry’s cheeks flushed. “Right. I won’t talk about it anymore.” Rubbing her eyes, she said, “Honey, I need to get ready for work. I’m going to go take a shower. A real long one.”

  And with that, she headed to the back of the apartment.

  Sam shook her head. “Seriously, Jacob, you’re dating a police officer? And one with a drug problem?” She wanted an answer from her friend.

  Next to her, Richie felt tenser than ever. It was like he was ready to pounce.

  Jacob nervously bit his bottom lip. Any vestige of darkness from when he had slapped Guidry’s butt was gone. In its place was a look of pity. “Man, Sam, I wasn’t going to trouble you with this. I didn’t want to hide stuff from you, but this has gotten really messed up. I mean, really messed up.”

  “What has gotten messed up, Jacob? Spit it out,” said Sam, starting to get angry. Richie was looking at Jacob with narrowed eyes, as if sizing him up.

  Jacob leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “So, I’ve been dating Emilie for a short while. Not long enough to build some kind of relationship, but long enough that she trusts me. So a few nights ago, she comes here in hysterics. Why? Sam, she’s the one who discovered the body of the new Bourbon Street Ripper’s first victim. She’s only been active on the force for about a year. Then, would you believe it, the poor thing discovers the second body as well.”

  Sam was shocked. Most of her anger immediately washed away. She could see the look of concern and disquiet on his face.

  “And so I do the best I can to help her, because that’s just what I do, right? So last night, she shows up strung off her ass on pot. I can’t even imagine how much she smoked. She’s never done it before, either. She won’t tell me where she’s gotten the stuff from. All it takes is one random drug test and Emilie’s career and life are pretty much screwed.”

  Sam felt bad for starting to doubt her best friend. Beside her, however, Richie was still tensing up, his fists tight. What’s his problem? Richie was starting to grate on Sam’s nerves. “So, Jacob, this is the personal issue you were talking about?”

  He nodded. “I can’t say I’m in love with her or anything. I mean, she’s a lot of fun and she’s really cute. But, hell, I don’t need this kind of problem. But what am I going to do, throw her out on her butt? I mean, who can understand the horrors that she saw?”

  “I can,” Sam said softly. “I saw what Grandfather did to people. I know how it looks. She’s not handling it well. No one can.”

  “No, she’s not,” Jacob said, leaning forward. “Sam, I never talked about Vincent Castille because I knew it would upset you. However, I gotta say that I’ve always admired how you’ve been able to go on with life after living through all that. Emilie just doesn’t have your strength. She’s falling apart and there’s nothing I can do.”

  Without a word, Sam got up and hugged him. That was the Jacob Hueber she knew—someone who was always concerned with others. Someone who made it their mission to save poor girls in danger of falling out of life—girls like Sam when she was in college and in dire need of a friend.

  She kissed his cheek and said, “I understand. You do what you have to do, just don’t beat yourself up if she screws up her own life, OK?”

  He nodded once more as Sam sat back. She noticed that Richie was looking away, totally disengaged from the conversation. She glowered a bit. He and I are going to have a little chat when we get to the car.

  “Anyway,” said Jacob, clearing his throat, “Emilie is working tonight, and I’ve got to make sure she doesn’t look strung out or smell like weed. I’ll be free around seven, so why don’t the three of us grab dinner and hit the town?”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, that’ll work. Someplace public and fun. What do you think, Richie?”

  Richie quickly looked over and smiled, but it looked insincere to Sam. “Sounds great. Dinner and fun. Love it. Let’s do it.”

  She scowled at him.

  Jacob must have sensed the tension, as he hastily stood up and said, “Right, well. Let me go tend to Emilie. You two lovebirds go do your thing. I’ll stop by your townhome this evening. Don’t worry, Sam, we’ll make sure you have a strong alibi. I won’t let you down.”

  “You never do, Jacob,” she said, heading out of the apartment. She felt good having her best friend at her side.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Jacob,” said Richie. The two
men shook hands for what felt like a few seconds too long. It was like they were sizing each other up.

  “Take care of Sam, Richie,” said Jacob, and then showed them out.

  Soon, Sam was driving back home with Richie. He was staring out the window. She was holding her charm so tightly her knuckles were white. She was not pleased with her boyfriend and felt like arguing.

  “Okay,” she said with annoyance. “What gives? You’ve been acting weird. What was all that about at Jacob’s?”

  “I don’t like him. I dislike druggies. And I really despise guys who hit girls,” he said very matter-of-factly.

  “What the frick, Richie?” she said, glaring at him. “This from the guy who pops anxiety pills like they’re Pez. And he didn’t hit her. He smacked her butt. Yes, it’s degrading as shit, and if you ever smack my ass to get me to shut up, I’ll beat the taste out of your mouth, but that doesn’t mean Jacob’s an abusive type.”

  He looked at her. His eyes were uncharacteristically cold.

  For a moment, Sam felt like she didn’t know who he was.

  Then Richie sighed. “You’re probably right. He’s probably a good guy who’s trapped between a rock and a hard place. Sorry. Just. Bad memories. Really, really bad memories.”

  In that instant, she felt her annoyance and anger start to melt away. Something about the pained look on his face, something about the way his eyes watered, made her heart ache. Reaching over, she placed her hand on his. “What happened, Richie? Share with me. Please.”

  “It’s a shitty story,” he said. “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  With a grim expression, he closed his eyes and started talking. “It’s hazy because I blocked out most of the details, but I pretty much grew up without a father. It’s like he didn’t want me or my mother around, like we were an embarrassment, so he ignored us and just did his drugs. Heroine, mostly. The bastard was always high on the stuff.”

  Sam squeezed Richie’s hand.

  “So one day when I was around ten years old, Mother borrowed a spade from a neighbor, took all of his drug crap, and buried it in the backyard. Just buried it. His needles. His pills. Everything. When he found out… Sam, he went ape-shit on us. He slammed that spade into me until my ribs cracked. And he beat my mother so badly that…”

  His voice choked. Tears ran down his cheeks.

  She felt a sudden wave of nausea start to build up inside her. Like when they were at the Patterson shop on the dark ride, she was getting severe motion sickness. It felt like something in her guts was wiggling around.

  “If a neighbor hadn’t heard me screaming, Sam, he woulda killed her. He woulda killed us both. Sam, I… Sam! Sam!”

  Sam’s head lolled, her eyes rolling back, as she felt Richie grab the wheel and swerve. A few seconds later, there was a tremendous jerk and a squealing sound—the sound of brakes. Then all those sensations were replaced by a tranquil coolness, the sounds replaced by someone else calling her name.

  “Sam! Sam!”

  It was her grandfather.

  It was over twenty-five years ago when little Samantha awoke in Southern Baptist Hospital. Barely five years old, she was too weak to move. Through blurry vision, she saw people standing around her. One was a doctor wearing a white coat. Another was a doctor wearing green scrubs. Standing at the doorway was a middle-aged man she didn’t know. Seated next to her was her grandfather, his hands covering his mouth. He looked terrified.

  “Sam!” Vincent rubbed his face. “Dammit, she’s still not responsive.”

  “So she just passed out?” asked the doctor in the white coat.

  “Yes,” replied Vincent. He had never looked so upset before. “She was just playing in the nursery when she said she was tired. Then she just fell over.”

  The haze was parting. Samantha could see people more clearly. Her chest hurt. Her arms and legs felt numb.

  “We did an EKG. Her heartbeat is very labored, Dr. Castille,” said the doctor in the scrubs.

  Vincent didn’t say anything. He just rubbed his face anxiously.

  She wanted him to hold her. She was getting frightened.

  “Does the mother have any health conditions?” asked the doctor in the scrubs.

  The man at the doorway stepped inside. “Yes. Mary Castille suffers from a weak heart. She’s been on medication since childhood. Her nighttime job is very strenuous. When not working as a nurse, she—”

  “That’s enough, Jonathon,” said Vincent, gritting his teeth. His sudden anger made Samantha even more frightened.

  “They need to know everything, Vincent,” replied Jonathon. He wasn’t backing down.

  Vincent glared at him, motioning his head toward Sam.

  Jonathan sighed. “Fine, all right. If you come this way, Dr. Hofmann, I can fill you in on the details about Samantha’s mother. We need to be discreet.”

  After they were gone, the doctor in the white coat placed a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “It’s genetics, Vincent. There isn’t much we can do about it right now. Give us a few more decades, and we’ll—”

  Vincent’s outburst made him recoil. “She doesn’t have a few more decades!”

  Samantha whimpered on the inside. Everything was so confusing. She wanted to cry. What had happened to her?

  Vincent paced around the room as the doctor tried to calm him down. “There has to be something we can do. The thought of losing my princess… No, it’s inconceivable. There must be a way to strengthen her heart.”

  The other doctor folded his arms. “It’s not that there’s nothing we can do, Vincent. There’s nothing we can safely do. You know that we’re limited by science and technology.”

  Samantha tried to call out. She wanted her papa. She wanted her grandpa. She wanted to be held, to be safe.

  Vincent was still pacing. “I know that, Lazarus. But if modern science and technology fail, there must be other options. Chinese healers have been cheating death for thousands of years. Men have purged sickness from their bodies through sheer will. There must be a way, even if it defies convention.”

  Dr. Lazarus shook his head. “Vincent, my dear friend, you are treading dangerous ground. Need I remind you what happened to your fa—”

  “Papa!”

  Samantha’s voice was suddenly free. While Edward was not there, her little cry made Vincent stop in his tracks. In a moment, he was at her side, holding her hands. “Sam! Sam!”

  He turned to Dr. Lazarus. “She’s coming around. Please, my friend, go get Dr. Hofmann.”

  Dr. Lazarus nodded and headed out. He stopped at the doorway and regarded them both for just a second. His expression was troubled.

  “Grandpa,” Samantha said, crying, “I’m scared!”

  “I know, Sam,” Vincent said, kissing her tiny hands. “I know, my princess. I’m here. Grandpa’s here.”

  “I can’t move, Grandpa,” she cried. She felt so weak. Even breathing was hard.

  “Try to move for me, Sam,” he said, squeezing her hands. “Show me that you have the will to live. Show me that you have the will to cheat death. Move for me, Sam! Move for me!”

  “Move, Sam! Move!”

  Sam’s eyes fluttered open as Richie shook her shoulders. He looked both out of breath and terrified. Glancing around, she realized she was lying on the sidewalk and was surrounded by quite a number of onlookers. Nearby, EMTs were getting out of an ambulance.

  Groaning, she sat up. The people around her gasped and scooted back.

  “She ain’t had no heart attack,” someone yelled derisively.

  “Yeah, she just passed the hell out,” someone else said.

  Richie snarled at them. “Back off, the lot of you.” He then motioned for the EMTs.

  Letting them examine her, Sam looked wearily at her boyfriend. “Richie, what happened? How long was I out?”

  He held tightly onto her hands. “You passed out. About ten minutes, I think. You scared the shit out of me, Sam. I thought you’d had a heart attack.”
<
br />   She blinked and peered up at him. “Heart attack?”

  He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “You were grabbing your chest and gasping for breath. Then you fainted. Guess I overreacted, though, huh?”

  “Come on, miss,” said an EMT, helping her stand. “Let’s get you checked out at the ambulance. Then we’ll see if you need to take a ride.”

  “Is my car OK?” Sam asked, uneasy on her feet.

  Another EMT chuckled. “I think she’s fine if she’s asking about her car.”

  “Your car is fine, Sam,” said Richie, following along.

  At the ambulance, they gave Sam a more thorough exam, including listening to her heart. Someone asked, “Do you have any medical conditions?”

  “No. Not to my knowledge,” she said, wondering if that was true. She was certain she had just had a dream, a distant memory, where someone had said she had a condition of the heart. But why wouldn’t anyone have ever told her?

  “Well, you seem OK. It was likely a fainting spell,” said an EMT. “However, I recommend you go to the hospital anyway and get checked out. Tulane is just up the road. We can bring you, or your boyfriend can drive you.”

  “I can drive her,” Richie offered, again squeezing her hand.

  Sam smiled at him and squeezed his hand back. “Yeah, I’ll let him drive me. Thanks.”

  The EMTs took her information for billing and then left.

  Once in the car, she pointed down the road and said, “You see that big building with the word ‘Tulane’ on it?”

  He started up the car. “I do.”

  “Take me there,” she said, leaning back in her seat. She still felt tired. She wondered what the heck was going on with her. That was twice in a row she’d passed out while under stress. Maybe she needed different medication. Maybe she needed to see Dr. Klein after all.

  A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot for Tulane University Hospital.