by Leo King
Dixie felt Sam’s hot blood splash on her face. She cried out, panic penetrating her heart for the first time in years. Sam’s sudden psychotic break brought back vivid memories of how her father had abruptly snapped. Images of her father beating her big sister played out in bone-breaking reality. For every drop of Sam’s blood on her face, she saw, heard, and felt every one of those blows.
Then the deep, booming voice of Sergeant Arsenault rang out. “Freeze! On your knees or I’ll blow your fucking head off, bitch!” He was heading into the clearing, holding an automatic shotgun on Sam.
Rodger’s eyes got wide and he rushed toward Sam. “I’ve got the suspect covered. I’ve got her covered! Sam, listen, please drop the weapon and surrender.”
Snapped out of her flashback, Dixie stepped away, putting distance between herself and Sam. She felt, for the first time in her life, that she was looking at a real case for the insanity defense. Any certainty that Sam was a cold-blooded and manipulative killer was gone. For now, she was only certain that this situation was rapidly spiraling out of control.
“Back the fuck off, Bergeron,” Arsenault boomed at Rodger. “This crazy bitch is in my sights. She’ll never hurt anyone again. She needs to get on her knees and surrender!”
“Sergeant! Stand down!” Ouellette said over a loudspeaker. “Bergeron has the suspect covered. Stand down!”
“Yes, sir, I’ll stand down,” Arsenault roared back. “As soon as this psycho-bitch drops her weapon and gets on her fucking knees. You told me to make sure no one got hurt, and that’s what I’m doing, Commander.”
Dixie stared at him. The lighting at the wharf made him look even more menacing. She couldn’t tell if his threats were real or a feint. She had heard stories of his over-use of force, but even this seemed too much.
“Arsenault, stand down—that is an order,” Ouellette boomed over the loudspeaker again. “Bergeron, for fuck’s sake, take Samantha into custody. Do not let this get out of control!”
Dixie drew her pistol and pointed it at Sam. “Please, Rodger, get the knife from her. Sam, listen to me, please. If you don’t drop that weapon right now, this officer is going to kill you. Please, for God’s sake, drop the weapon.”
Richie moaned and started to get up. His expression was decidedly deer-in-the-headlights. “Sam? Rodger? What the hell is going on?”
Meanwhile, Rodger had slowly approached Sam. When she saw him, her gaze softened. He reached out for the knife, but she jerked her hand back. He spoke in a low and controlled tone as he said, “Sam, listen to me. We have to arrest you. Please don’t fight back. This is serious. They will kill you. Please don’t make Edward watch his daughter die like this.”
“Yeah, little Sam,” taunted Arsenault. “Don’t make Daddy watch you die like a bitch. Now drop the knife and get on your goddamn knees before my trigger finger gets too itchy and I blow your brains out by accident!”
Dixie was horrified. Arsenault was throwing gasoline onto a fire. “What the hell is wrong with you, Arsenault? We’ve got it under control. We’ve—”
Sam’s voice once again got deep and menacing. And it started to reverberate in an unnatural way. “You have nothing, Detective .”
Dixie snapped her head over to look at Sam.
Her eyes were cloudy, her pupils were dilated, her face was even paler, and she was tilting her head to the side. She was also staring at Arsenault with a condescending smile. It looked like she was sizing him up. “This one needs to learn its place,” she said, flipping the butterfly knife and catching it by the blade. “Perhaps I should throw this into its eye? Or maybe its throat? Would that shut it up?”
Arsenault grinned widely. “That’s assault against an officer. Big mistake, bitch.”
As he pumped his shotgun, Sam cocked her arm back, ready to throw.
Oh, God, no… Dixie felt her stomach drop. Any second now, the sound of gunfire would fill the air.
Instead, it was a scream.
“Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh—” came a voice from above.
The scream had come from the sniper once positioned on top of the crane. When his body hit the ground, it folded in half like a lawn chair, making a sickeningly wet sound accompanied by blood splattering. Some of it splashed on Arsenault’s face.
Dixie looked at the top of the crane. So did Arsenault. So did everyone else.
A figure holding a rifle and dressed in an indigo hooded robe with black gloves and a skull mask had also leaped from the crane. Arsenault looked up just in time to have the indigo assassin land on his face.
The impact was so hard that Arsenault’s face caved in, making a sound similar to crunching ice. The indigo assassin bent her knee as she landed on him, using his body to absorb the shock of the fall. Pushing herself off, she did a forward flip and landed a few yards away.
Dixie was stunned. Somehow, the indigo assassin had jumped from the top of the crane and landed precisely on a target the size of a basketball, all without any harm to herself. No human being could do that.
Arsenault was gurgling on his own blood and struggling not to fall. His face was caved in; an eye had popped out and was hanging by the nerve. With what must have been a monumental force of will, he raised his shotgun toward the indigo assassin.
A shot fired out, the sound resounding throughout the wharf.
The indigo assassin, while still facing Dixie and the others, had just pointed her rifle backward and shot Arsenault in the head. The rounds must have been explosive, because there was nothing left of it. Arsenault’s lifeless body fell back, hitting the edge of the pier and flipping into the water.
Dixie stared. What she had just seen was impossible.
As she recovered her senses, she realized that the members of SWAT Team Alpha were coming out, weapons trained on the indigo assassin.
Ouellette called out. “Team Bravo, answer me! Team Charlie, answer me! Team Delta! Snipers Two and Three! Someone, anyone, fucking answer me!”
Oh, my God. She killed them all. All the other SWAT teams. While everyone else was preoccupied with us, she was killing all of them. That’s why no one is answering.
The indigo assassin cocked her head toward the approaching police, and then did a back flip, going several yards into the air. SWAT Team Alpha opened fire.
Dixie watched as the indigo assassin began a series of flips, rolls, and other acrobatic moves. They were moves no normal human could perform, dodging bullets while firing the rifle with one hand. In less than a minute, every member of SWAT Team Alpha was either dead or writhing on the ground in agony, limbs blown clear off.
Once again, she felt helpless as she watched the carnage unfold. What kind of monster is this? She didn’t say anything until Ouellette’s voice had died down. Then she asked no one in particular, “Who… who is this person?”
While Sam seemed to have returned to normal, her expression was still grave. She put away the butterfly knife. “I believe that’s Blind Moses.”
“What?” Rodger said, shocked. “That’s Blind Moses?”
Richie was also in shock. “Violet said Blind Moses would seek you out soon, Sam. Shouldn’t we leave?”
Sam didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped toward the indigo assassin. “Blind Moses, I presume?”
The assassin nodded. Her white skull mask looked just like the design on Jonathan’s oxygen mask. A voodoo death mask?
Blind Moses pointed her rifle at Sam, holding the weapon in one hand. Her aim was rock-steady. Dixie knew enough about firearms to recognize that no human being had either the strength or control to accurately aim a rifle with one hand. But Blind Moses was doing just that.
This person wasn’t human. Sam had no chance. Dixie felt a sudden surge of fear for her. “Stop!” she shouted, putting herself between the two. She pointed her weapon at the assassin. “Blind Moses, is it? Put your hands up where I can see them.”
She wasn’t sure where this sudden courage was coming from. It felt instinctual. Sam, suspect or not, was clearly being t
hreatened by a superior foe.
Sam gasped. “Dixie, stop! What are you doing?”
Dixie held her gun on Blind Moses, her hands starting to shake. “What am I doing? My job, Sam. You may or may not be our killer. But like everyone else, you deserve fair treatment under the law. This Blind Moses seems to have no intention of letting you leave here alive.”
She wasn’t sure what was going on anymore. What she had just seen Blind Moses do defied all logic and reason. Too many things were happening too quickly. However, she was certain of two things: she was an officer of the law, and Sam wasn’t the one who had just murdered dozens of police officers. Sam, we’ll sort you out later. Right now, it’s my job to protect you.
Blind Moses started walking toward them both.
“I said stop,” she commanded again, cocking back the hammer of her gun.
Blind Moses continued walking forward, lifting her rifle and pointing it at her.
“Detective Olivier, stand down,” Ouellette’s voice cried out over the loudspeaker. “Do not get between Blind Moses and Sam. Do you hear me? Stand down. That’s an order!”
Dixie didn’t back down. “Protect and serve, Commander. I can’t ignore that.” Her hands were shaking, her aim was unsteady. She was so scared.
She inhaled deeply through her nose, then exhaled through her mouth, focusing. Her hands stopped shaking. On my honor, I will never betray my badge, my integrity, my character, or the public trust. I will always have the courage to hold myself and others accountable for our actions. I will always uphold the Constitution, my community, and the agency I serve.
Dixie’s aim centered on Blind Moses’s heart.
“Last chance, Blind Moses. Drop your weapon and lie on the ground.” Her voice was strong and controlled.
Blind Moses continued to walk forward, rifle pointed at her.
She clenched her jaw. This was it. Her trigger finger started to squeeze.
From behind her, Sam gasped out, “Dixie, no!”
I’m so sorry, Gino. Dixie thought of the dark-skinned beauty that had waltzed into her life and taught her how to cherish every precious moment. She saw his smile, his eyes, his love, as he told her he’d be waiting.
I won’t be coming home tonight.
Two shots fired, the sounds resonating throughout the wharf.
Chapter 13
The Good and The Bad
Date: Monday, August 10th, 1992
Time: 11:59 p.m.
Location: Napoleon Avenue Wharf
Port of New Orleans
In her first meeting with Dr. Klein, Samantha Castille had said nothing, as had he. For an entire hour, they had sat and stared at each other across his office desk. To her, it had been a surreal experience, as if she had been watching a movie of the two of them just staring at each other. At the end of the hour, he had leaned forward and said, “Zis vas a very informative session, Samantha. I thank you.”
The second session had been much the same: the two staring at each other, him tapping his fingers together while studying her, and her sitting in her day dress, staring wordlessly up at him. It had been the same for the third session, then the fourth, and then the fifth. Each time, at the end of the session, he would thank her, saying it had been “very informative.”
On the sixth session, she had finally spoken, asking, “I don’t want to be here anymore. When can I stop coming?”
His answer had been, “Ven you are better.”
When she had asked when she’d be better, he had said, “Ven it is only Samantha I am talking to, und no one else.”
As the months and years went on, she started talking more and more. She started talking about school, and about becoming a writer, about how much she loved Auntie Marguerite and hated Auntie Gladys, and even about living on her own after her sixteenth birthday. However, in a session one afternoon in April of 1979, she got a reaction she had never gotten before.
“I’m thinking of shortening my name,” Samantha had said. “I want to call myself Sam.”
Dr. Klein had gone ballistic. He had stood up and exclaimed that he had spent too many years with Samantha for her to throw away everything that they had accomplished together. His face had been so red and his voice had been so loud that she had had to cover her ears. He had then immediately prescribed a round of rather strong barbiturates for the terrified seventeen-year-old girl.
After that incident, things went smoothly so long as she never referred to herself as “Sam” in front of him. Every time she did, he would get furious, to the point of yelling at her for ruining “all the hard work they’d done.” Then he would prescribe another round of stronger medicine.
She hadn’t been sure what she was getting out of the sessions. Oftentimes, they’d stare at each other without saying a word.
Finally, one day, she had asked him why she couldn’t call herself Sam.
His response had made no sense. “Because you are Samantha Castille, not Sam. Samantha was victimized by her murderous grandfather. Samantha is a good girl who wants to live a normal life. That is who you are. Samantha. Not Sam.”
But outside of her sessions with Dr. Klein, Sam had never gotten those surreal, distant feelings. Not until the night of August 10, 1992. First, when she was being attacked in the parking lot with Richie, and later when she was being accused by Dixie at the wharf. Both times, Sam had felt as if she were watching things happen instead of being in control.
Therefore, when Blind Moses appeared and destroyed the SWAT team, Sam felt what little hold she had on reality melt away. The past twenty years, the waking nightmares, the constant insomnia, the ever-increasing prescriptions, and the confusing sessions with Dr. Klein—everything came crashing down at once.
She had just stood there, transfixed, for most of the fight.
But when Dixie stood between her and Blind Moses, it jarred her back into reality enough to appreciate the gravity of the situation. Watching as Dixie faced off against an obviously superior foe, she cried out, “Dixie, no!”
Violet had said that Blind Moses would seek her out. This meant that she was the real target, and that Dixie was risking her life to protect her. Suddenly, she was terrified for Dixie’s life.
Stop! What the hell are you doing?
Both Dixie and Blind Moses fired at the same time. However, Blind Moses twisted to the side and dodged while Dixie did not. Sam felt herself get distant again.
Dixie, no!
In the blink of an eye, she pushed Dixie. It was just enough to keep the bullet from striking her chest, and instead it struck her left elbow, promptly exploding. Hot, red blood, chunks of muscle, and bits of bone splattered everywhere. What was left of her arm fell to the ground.
Dixie screamed in agony. Both women were knocked to the ground.
Sam rolled several times and slowly got up. Her body hurt all over from the impact, but despite her own pain, she rushed to Dixie’s side.
Dixie was holding what was left of her arm, shaking as she tried to squeeze the stump. There was enough pressure that the blood squirted past her fingers, coating Sam’s face, hair, and chest.
“Help!” Sam cried out, trying to help Dixie hold back the lethal bleeding. “She’s bleeding out! Help us!”
In a moment, Rodger and Richie were at their side. Richie’s face was pale. Rodger seemed to be on auto-pilot, taking off his belt and telling Richie to remove his jacket. It looked like they were making an improvised tourniquet.
All the while, Dixie stared up into Sam’s eyes. Sam’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked wildly back at her, not sure what she could do to help save her life.
Dixie’s eyes showed sincere regret. “I’m sorry, Sam.” She then went limp, her eyes closing.
“Dixie, no!” Rodger screamed. “Commander! We need a bus now! Dixie’s dying!”
Sam’s heart rate slowed. She felt Dixie’s blood on her face. She also felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to start harming anyone around her. So she focused on Blind Moses, who shouldere
d her gun and stared back. The two faced off against each other.
“So, then, Violet was right. You’re here for me, aren’t you?” Sam asked softly.
It was obvious that Blind Moses heard her, because she nodded. Her hearing was somehow heightened.
“What do you want with me?” Sam asked, still speaking just as quietly.
Blind Moses said nothing. She just made a slashing motion over her throat.
“You want to kill me?” Sam asked, not at all surprised. “Why not just do it already?” She felt she knew the answer to that as well.
Blind Moses pointed to herself, then to Sam, and then made a fist and shook it.
“I see. You want me to fight you one on one. You want to defeat me. You want to best me.” Sam reached down and squeezed the shoe charm that dangled from her belt.
She felt several things at once. She felt a tingle, like every nerve was shivering. She also felt an even more intense craving to inflict harm on others. But beyond that, she felt something even stronger—a deeply rooted hatred for Blind Moses. It was as if the next logical action was to leap on her and rip her throat out with her teeth.
It was a similar feeling as when she had confronted Violet Patterson, but exponentially stronger. She felt as though her life could not continue if she didn’t fight against Blind Moses and win. With a few flicks of the wrist, she popped out the butterfly knife once more.
“Very well,” she said in almost a whisper. “We fight to the death. But leave everyone else out of it. This is between you and me.”
Blind Moses nodded again, pulling out a rose-colored capsule from a pocket. She pantomimed breaking it open and then tossed it to Sam.
Sam caught it and sniffed. It had a distinctive fruit smell. “You want me to inhale this?”
Blind Moses nodded once more.
Sam became aware of the shouting behind her, followed up by Ouellette saying, “Let me see her. Dixie? Oh, my God.”
Richie shouted, “Sam! What the hell are you doing? Get back!”