A Life Without Fear

by Leo King

  He looked at the door where Sam and Rodger had left minutes ago. “At least Sam will get to live,” he said to himself. “That means everything to me. I hope her story has a happy ending.”

  The sound of pressure building stopped, and he heard a series of clicks—the safety valves releasing. His throat tightened and tears rolled down his cheeks, boiling halfway.

  “Goodbye, Sam. I love you.”

  As the flames shot up, filling the room with such a blaze that the air itself caught on fire, Richard Fastellos, author of The Pale Lantern, closed his eyes. In the distance, he heard the sounds of someone digging. He knew what that sound meant. Baron Samedi was digging his grave.

  I’m dying… Ya know, it’s funny. In the end, I’m not all that scared. I didn’t piss myse—

  Death came before Richie could finish the thought.

  Chapter 32

  A Tale of Two Sisters

  Date: Tuesday, August 25th, 1992

  Time: 5:00 p.m.

  Location: Sam Castille’s Townhome

  Uptown New Orleans

  “You sure you’ll be OK?” Rodger asked Sam.

  She had been thinking about Richie, and Rodger’s words pulled her out of her thoughts. With a small smile, she leaned over in the squad car and kissed him gently on the cheek. It felt like she was ten years old and kissing “Uncle Rodger” again.

  “Honestly? I don’t know anymore. But I’m going to try,” she said.

  It had been one week since the final confrontation with the new Bourbon Street Ripper, Dallas Christofer, alias Julius Boucher, alias Richard Fastellos. It had been just one week since she, nude and covered in blood, had left the Castille mansion with Rodger after sealing Dallas in the crematorium. It had been only one week since the gas pipes in the crematorium had burst after killing Dallas, engulfing the Castille mansion and all its secrets in purifying flames.

  It had been only one week, but to her, it felt like it had been a lifetime ago.

  As she started to get out of the squad car, she felt Rodger’s hand on hers. In a gentle, paternal tone, he asked, “Would you like some company for a while? I don’t have anywhere to be.”

  Sam looked at the man who was an uncle, a friend, and a savior to her. “You know what? I think that would be nice. A little coffee? Like old times?”

  Rodger smiled back. His face showed the stress of their ordeal, the lacerations from Dallas’s attacks still healing. She knew that the stab wounds to his sides and shoulders would take longer to heal. He grumbled as he got out of the car, his voice strained. He was definitely showing his age.

  The stress of the battle with Dallas had also taken a toll on her. The doctors concluded that she had only recovered from the locked-in syndrome due to what they called a shock to her system caused by the torture she suffered. And she had sustained major injuries in the fight as well.

  Both Sam and Rodger had ended up in the hospital again, where they had stayed for the better part of a week. Her quick recovery from her injuries was being considered another modern miracle. The only explanation anyone could give was “mind over matter.”

  That had all ended up working in her favor. After Rodger had presented the district attorney with all the evidence he had uncovered, she was formally cleared of all charges. Dr. Klein, who was still pushing for a committal hearing, was delayed while the Bourbon Street Ripper case was formally closed. For now, Sam was free of being Dr. Klein’s patient.

  Sam of Spades was still being treated like a multiple personality disorder, much like Richie and Dallas. Sam was also diagnosed with acute schizophrenia and was placed under the care of a state-appointed doctor. She received new anti-psychotics specific to her condition while the district attorney decided what to do with her. While she was still adamant that Sam of Spades was something else, she agreed to try the medication out anyway. Anything to keep Dr. Klein out of her life.

  But Dr. Klein was the last thing on her mind as she and Rodger, sitting in the kitchen of her townhome, waited for the coffee to brew. The only thing she could focus on was how much she missed Richie. Despite everything, he had been the first and only person she had ever truly fallen in love with.

  And she had killed him.

  “I’ll give it to that maid service Dixie got in here. They cleaned this place up better than I could have imagined,” Rodger said, chuckling morbidly. Both of them had become a bit more morose since the confrontation with Dallas.

  Looking around, Sam said, “I agree. I’ll have to give my thanks to Dixie and Gino when I see them again.”

  Rodger shook his head. “It’s not just about cleaning your house, Sam. Dixie’s trying to reach out to you. You should meet her halfway.”

  Sam tried to smile again, but she didn’t much feel like smiling lately. “Well, it’s nice that someone wants to be friends with me, but I’m not ready to come out and live again. Not after all that.”

  He nodded and, reaching up, patted her hand gently.

  Now she smiled softly. His touch was the only thing that felt real right now. Her uncle Rodger.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, and don’t take what this old man says seriously,” he said. “Take time to grieve. I know you loved him. And the real Richie? Well, he was a good man.”

  She nodded back. She thought maybe tears would come to her eyes, but they didn’t. She had long since cried them all out.

  “Anyway, it’ll be a while before Dixie’ll want to be social again,” Rodger said, leaning back in his chair. “And then, once she finishes her physical rehabilitation, she’ll be a lot busier. You heard that she was made a lieutenant, correct?”

  “I heard,” Sam said in a low voice. While she was happy for Dixie, she felt that Rodger should have also been rewarded. “It should have been you, though. You caught the Bourbon Street Ripper. You caught him both times.”

  He shook his head. “No, no. I just put the pieces together. Everyone caught him. You, me, Michael, Richie, Dixie… and Aucoin and Douglas and Ouellette… heck, even Rivette, Landry, and the others. We all did it.”

  With a slight nod, she said, “Yeah. We all did it.”

  The coffee machine beeped. She got up. “Well, you should have at least been promoted to something. You are a hero, after all. You have a medal of valor presented by the mayor himself, right?”

  His cheeks flushed. He cleared his throat before casually lifting the lapel of his new overcoat to show the medal. “You mean this little thing?”

  She smirked gently as she poured them both some coffee. “Show-off.”

  Rodger gave the kind of helpless grin a man gives when he’s OK with showing a little bravado. Covering up the medal, he said, “Well, the real reward is that my pension is intact, my record is clean, and I’m being given my gold watch at the end of the month.”

  “Retirement, eh?” Sam asked as she finished doctoring the coffee. She carried his cup to him. “Why, Detective Bergeron, whatever will you do with all that free time?”

  Taking the cup, he chuckled again. “Honestly? I think I’ll travel. I didn’t realize until Michael’s funeral that Shreveport is the furthest I’ve ever been from New Orleans. I’d like to see the rest of this country.”

  As he sipped his coffee, she chuckled as well. “Well, if you want some company, and don’t mind your niece hanging out with you, I’d love to come.”

  He locked eyes with her, looking genuinely touched. “Thank you, Sam. I’d like that.”

  Her smile, as she sipped her coffee, was small but sincere.

  “So what will you do?” Rodger asked. “Other than go gallivanting around the United States with your fat old uncle?”

  Sam’s smile grew as she snickered into her coffee cup. When she was a child, he had always had a way of making her life better. Now, twenty years and one serial murder investigation later, she felt like that old connection was back.

  “Honestly, Rodger? I don’t know,” she said. “I want to write. I have a lot to get out. A lot of darkness that is burst
ing forth. I’ll finish this copycat story just to do it, but then I’m done with mysteries. I think I’ll write something else. Maybe supernatural horror?” She sounded as unsure as she felt.

  “Well, whatever you decide,” he said, “you’ll do fine. You’re a good woman, Sam. Edward would be proud.”

  She looked down at her coffee and felt life return to her heart by degrees. “Thank you, Rodger.” Still looking down at her coffee, she finally asked, “So Rodger, can you tell me, you know, the whole story? About my mother, my father, my… real father… everything?”

  He sloshed his coffee around in his cup. “It took me days to sort through everything and get the full tale. It’s a sordid story, Sam. You sure you’re up for it?”

  She nodded. She wanted to know everything.

  Rodger leaned forward, again resting his elbows on the table. He began the story. “Back in the early sixties, Vincent Castille and his childhood friend, Carlos Marcello, founded a cabaret nightclub called the Jean-Lafitte Theater. It was created as a throwback to the Prohibition era.

  “At the time, there were two nurses—twin sisters—who worked at the St. Jude hospital alongside Vincent. The sisters were from a lower-middle-class family and needed the extra income. They found out about the club from Vincent and ended up getting jobs as singers. The twin sisters were Mary and Maple Christofer.”

  Sam nodded. “Mine and Dallas’s mothers.”

  “Right, exactly,” said Rodger. “The Jean-Lafitte Theater became a place where anyone who was anyone in New Orleans would go. The mayor. The top businessmen. Pretty much anyone who was a part of the social elite—”

  “You mean the Knight Priory of Saint Madonna?” asked Sam.

  “Exactly. People like Jonathon Russell and Vincent Castille. Now you wouldn’t catch the Castille women like Gladys or Marguerite there.” Rodger took a long sip.

  Sam shook her head. “Of course not. It was a different era. Women of high society probably didn’t even go to cabarets.”

  Rodger chuckled. “And neither did poor-ass bum detectives like me. But Edward Castille went, as did Giorgio ‘Blue-Eyed’ Marcello. Anyway, over the months that he attended the theater, Edward fell in love with Maple, who sang under the stage name Marigold. Giorgio started moving in on Mary, who sang under the stage name Magnolia.”

  Sam finished her coffee and got up. “Please continue.”

  Rodger said, “However, at that time, Giorgio came under investigation by Ouellette for a string of serial rapes. So, even though Edward was actually interested in Maple, he publicly pursued a relationship with both sisters. To further protect Mary from Giorgio, Edward took Mary, not Maple, to the Comus Krewe Ball. That’s where your mother got the charm you squeeze.”

  Sam looked at the red plastic shoe charm, which was dangling from a belt loop, and patted it gently. “So Edward started to date both sisters to protect Mary from Giorgio,” she said, pouring herself another cup. “More coffee, Rodger?”

  “Yes, please,” said Rodger, holding out his cup. “And so began Edward’s fall from grace in the Castille family’s eyes. Not only was he a police officer, which they considered a gross profession, but he was dating two sisters, both of whom were the equivalent then of a stripper today.”

  Sam poured him a second cup. “So Edward was publically involved with both Christofer sisters, but only had eyes for Maple. How does Grandpa… I mean, Father… I mean, Vincent fit into this?”

  Rodger sipped his coffee. “She was the only person at the theater who Vincent actually liked. Vincent’s first wife, Edward’s mother, had been dead for many years. They say that Mary was similar to her. Quiet. Kind. Gentle-hearted. Maybe it stirred a memory deep inside Vincent. Either way, only Mary was allowed to sit with him. I suspect that at the time, only Edward and Maple knew. I imagine they were OK with it. And why not? If Vincent and Mary were together, that left time for the two of them.”

  Sipping his coffee again, he added, “The end result is that Vincent married Mary about the same time that Edward married Maple.”

  The sequence of events was falling into place for Sam. Sipping her own coffee, she asked, “And soon after the weddings, Dallas and I were born. Also roughly at the same time?”

  “Exactly,” said Rodger. “The sources I’ve dug up said that the sisters were sequestered in a beach house on the North Shore during their pregnancies. That was Vincent’s doing. Since both women were basically no more than harlots in the eyes of the social elite of New Orleans, Vincent had his and Edward’s marriages hidden from the world. The sisters were not allowed to live with their husbands. Mary, Maple, and Dallas lived in a private townhome in the French Quarter. You, as Vincent’s daughter and his heir, were allowed to live in the Castille mansion. However, to keep up the appearance that you were Edward’s daughter, you also lived with him.”

  Sam looked down at the coffee in her mug, noticing that it was so dark, it could pass for blood. Shaking that thought away, she said, “So I was told that my mother had died soon after I was born. But that was a lie. Mary was still alive. To keep up the ruse, I spent half my time with Edward, the other half with Vincent. Meanwhile, Mary and Maple were forced to live as if they had never married into the Castille family. Is that correct?”

  Rodger looked away for a moment, sighing in obvious disgust, then looked back. “I told you it was a sordid tale. I’m sure there were threats made to Edward and Maple, and even to Mary. You see, as the patriarch of the Castille family, Vincent wielded considerable power in New Orleans. Even after the older generation of the Knight Priory retired, he was still one of the most powerful men in southern Louisiana.

  “And of course, the Knight Priory went through all those changes because of the ritual they did on you and Violet. It scared people so badly that most of them just stopped gathering. Nowadays, the Knight Priory consists mostly of their grandchildren and other politically connected people. I don’t really know who belongs to the current Knight Priory, and I don’t think they’d ever reveal themselves to me. And I don’t care.”

  Sam didn’t say anything at that. While locked into her body, she had had many conversations with Sam of Spades. She had become thoroughly convinced that Vincent, after finding out she had a weak heart like her mother, had put something inside her at the age of five. That something had forgotten what it was and reformed its psyche as Sam of Spades. After the drugs had worn off and Sam of Spades had had a chance to sort things out, it had started referring to itself by a new name.

  Marinette.

  The thing inside her had the same name as one of the loa hag sisters. What more proof did she need of what Vincent had done to her?

  “Anyway, Sam,” Rodger said, breaking her out of her train of thought, “over the years, the tension between Edward and Vincent grew. When Giorgio was actively investigated and Edward, suspected of being an accomplice, fell under the scrutiny of Internal Affairs, it must have driven Edward over the edge. All Edward wanted was to live with his family, but his own father wouldn’t allow it. The sad truth, Sam, is that I can assure you that Edward wanted you with him. However, Edward knew that if he took you, the Castille princess, away, Vincent would spare no expense or manpower to hunt him down. So he concocted a plan to run away with his wife and their child, Dallas.”

  Sam lifted her coffee cup to her lips. She felt the steam rise over her face. It felt real. Finally, she said, “So that’s when Edward and Maple poisoned my mother?”

  “Not poisoned,” Rodger said cautiously. “They just wanted her to collapse and be hospitalized. Edward would then take Maple and Dallas and flee the state, maybe even the country, knowing Vincent wouldn’t leave Mary’s side to pursue them. The problem, however, was that Mary had a weak heart. Back then, that wasn’t something they knew how to treat. So those nicotine pills did make your mother collapse, but instead of putting her in the hospital, they killed her.”

  “And that broke Vincent,” Sam said, feeling the story was done.

  “No,” Rodger r
eplied, his tone getting serious. “You don’t just wake up one day and decided to torture people to death. Vincent had the makings of a sociopath years before he became the Bourbon Street Ripper. I mean, why did he keep Edward away from Maple and Dallas? What kind of man does that? No, Vincent was already a bad egg. He just needed a reason to start acting like one.”

  Although she nodded in agreement, she somehow felt like that wasn’t the full story. She recalled how, soon after Mary’s death, she had come across Vincent crying. On that day, Vincent had seemed genuinely frightened. Frightened that she, Sam, his princess, would die. So, being ten years old, she had promised not to die. Ever.

  It was one of many memories she wouldn’t share with anyone.

  “So that’s where we end our tale,” Rodger concluded. “Vincent became the Bourbon Street Ripper, and involved Topper Jack, Mad Monty, Fat Willie, and Blind Moses. All of this was to capture and torture dozens of women, all to cover up his real intended victims: Edward, Maple, and Dallas.”

  “Whom he blamed for Mary’s death,” Sam said, draining her coffee cup. “And while he was at it, Vincent decided to inject Dallas with the tkeeus to further test it. So he punished Dallas just for being born, used him as a guinea pig, and ended up sowing the seeds of a future serial killer.”

  “Correct,” he replied, draining his cup as well. “And I honestly don’t know what to make of the tkeeus. It does seem like voodoo magic to me, and after using it myself, I can believe anything. Magic. Spirits. Wonderdrug. The stuff is dangerous. Ouellette has personally overseen the efforts to make sure all of it is destroyed. And we’re waiting to hear back from Dr. Lazarus on his findings.”

  Sam was silent for a few moments. Like everyone else, she wanted to know the truth behind that mysterious pink substance. Among other things, it would confirm whether she was possessed or simply insane.

  Finally, she said, “That’s all the questions I have. Thanks, Rodger.”

  Nodding and getting up, he said, “Then I should get going, Sam. I have to start cleaning up my desk at the precinct before tackling those reports. Plus, Michael’s family is sending someone to get the personal stuff out of his desk.”