Brigitte's Cross (The Olivia Chronicles)

by Angelic Rodgers

  Olivia was silent for a moment. “I don’t see any harm in giving you a chance, Wren, to show your loyalty. You’re certainly not going anywhere, and they would have no reason to believe you if you try to tell them who I am. They already think you’re crazy. However, if I find that you have broken my trust, things will go back to the way they were before. If you betray me, I’ll come only one last time to see you. That last visit will be one that you’ll not remember; in fact you’ll not be able to remember anything. The madness you felt before will pale in comparison to what you’ll suffer if you tell anyone about our relationship or mention my name. And, I suspect that once they realize you’re not in a complete stupor that the press will come calling, as will your lawyer.”

  The next morning, Wren woke well-rested and with a clear mind, her senses still sharp from having fed on Olivia.

  The breakfast was simple—coffee, toast, and bland scrambled eggs which Wren was fairly sure were from powder. She didn’t care; after her dark time, everything tasted fantastic. The empty tray brought attention; the guards informed the warden who not only took time to stop by but was also persuaded to call her public defender and request she come see her client.

  After she ate, she considered her situation. Olivia had vowed to return, whispering that intention to her last night before she dissolved and disappeared. Wren realized that if she was going to not be executed here, she would have to work a deal with Olivia. It was clear to Wren that this was her only shot—to willingly become Olivia’s underling and to serve her, learning from her at the same time. She had to learn how to channel the power Olivia gave her when she turned her. She knew that now. Getting Olivia’s vow to trust her, even though no promises were made as to what she would be given if she proved her trustworthiness, was a major accomplishment. It was a relief to Wren that she could remember the entire visit and that she had slept normally, rather than simply being in a stupor.

  At the end of the day, Jan Solaris met her client in the visitation area. Since Wren seemingly went off the deep end, Jan had attempted to see her several times but was turned away. She was surprised when she got the call that her client was suddenly coherent and asking for her attorney. As Wren was led to her chair on the other side of the glass, Jan could see that she was not only back to herself, but that she was cleaned up and no longer looked insane. She actually felt a twinge of sadness as she watched Wren in her orange jumpsuit, chains jingling at her ankles and around her waist and wrists.

  Once Wren was seated, both women lifted their telephone receivers and cradled them against their ears. Jan was the first to talk. “I am glad to see you’ve pulled yourself together, Wren.”

  Wren grinned. “I haven’t really been myself lately. Sorry about that. What can you tell me about things as they are?”

  “Not much. You remember much from our previous talks? Talking to you has been useless.” Jan saw Wren squeeze her eyes shut and bite her lip, and she felt a pang of guilt for being so candid. “I’m sorry; I’m just not sure there’s a nice way to put that.”

  Wren shook her head. “Really, it’s fine. I understand. I remember the arrest, and I remember you telling me something about them finding evidence I killed people other than Alex. I would tell you that the story is more complicated than that, but I know you wouldn’t believe me.” Wren could tell by Jan’s face that her assumption was correct. “At least from what I can remember, it certainly seems like it is more complicated. I’m still pretty fuzzy on the details.”

  Jan nodded, sighing. “They connected you to the murder of Wanda. The similarities between the wounds on her remains and the injuries Alex sustained were too much for them not to make the connection since you knew them both. I’ve heard some murmurings, too, that they may try to put in a charge for the murder of Professor Tim Clark, given the similarity to Ryna’s death.”

  Wren started to protest that she didn’t know Tim Clark, but decided that wasn’t important right now. What was important was how much time she had before actually having to face the charges in court. “How long before we go to trial?”

  “Jury selection isn’t even underway yet, as you’ve been so out of it. If you stay coherent, we can hope for a trial date to be set soon, which will kick things off. I would try to file a change of venue, but as you can imagine I’m not sure it would make any difference. You were found on the scene with the body and it was pretty clear that you killed Alex. Your initial confession and the physical evidence make this a surprisingly easy case to prosecute. My office just doesn’t have the resources you need, Wren.”

  Jan frowned. “I suspect you’ll be the second woman on death row in Louisiana, unfortunately.”

  The first and only woman on death row in Louisiana was Antoinette Frank, a former police officer who in 1995 killed restaurant owners she worked for doing security detail. Her moonlighting apparently was not enough for her, and she set up a robbery with the help of her teenaged boyfriend. She shot and killed two of the owners, a brother and sister; she was caught when she went back in to double-check to make sure no one was left alive. One surviving owner was there and had already called 911. She was convicted and was working her way through her mandatory appeals.

  Wren knew about Frank, and she feared years of appeals. In the beginning of her own case Jan brought in the early newspaper accounts of her crime that predicted death row in the LCI in St. Gabriel would soon have another resident. So, Jan verbalizing it now certainly was no surprise to Wren.

  Jan changed the subject. “I got a call from a reporter a few days ago, Vaughn Morris, from the Times-Picayune. He’s called me a few times, as a matter of fact, and each time I’ve told him you’re in no condition to talk. Do you want me to bring him? If we can humanize you to readers that might help.”

  Wren agreed to an initial meeting in the presence of her attorney.

  “He’ll have to come during regular visiting hours, I suspect, but as long as you and I both ok his visit, they should let him see you.” Jan smiled. “I just have to trust you that you won’t tell him anything that could make things worse for you. It’s not like there’s reasonable doubt here, Wren. Maybe talking to him about the situation could help, though.”

  Wren was torn; she knew she couldn’t tell the real story, but she also hoped to soften the view of her as some maniac. She cared for Alex once, and she had once hoped to be with her again if she could turn her. After the short meeting with Jan and being given the option to talk to Vaughn, she was even more convinced that her only real option was to turn to Olivia for help. After Jan left, Wren sat quietly in her isolation cell and waited for Olivia to return.

  Shortly after midnight, she heard a soft giggle in her ear. She sat up on her bed, legs crossed and leaned forward, watching for the telltale wisps of smoke to come in under the door. She sat silently, in a much different state than she was the night before when she was desperate for Olivia’s presence to the point she couldn’t help herself. The wisps slowly increased in number, rolling like fog under the door. Once Olivia stood before her, Wren spoke: “I need and want your help.”

  Olivia laughed softly; it was the same small laugh Wren heard moments before. “I am glad to see you have fully recovered from your drought. As you no doubt understand now not feeding won’t kill you, but it will make you wish you were dead due to madness. The hunger is often deadly to our kind because it makes us careless, reckless. Tell me, though, what I stand to gain if I help you. Aren’t you more useful to me here rotting away in madness, waiting to be executed?” She said it as if it were nothing more than mentioning someone waiting for a bus to arrive or waiting for a blind date to show up. Her smirk was cold and Wren flinched a bit, thinking about how cruel and uncaring Olivia seemed to her now.

  Wren shook her head. “Before, I always felt before like I was compelled to help you and do your bidding. Can you imagine, instead, how powerful the two of us will be if I know how to use the abilities I have to not only help myself, but also to help you? Let me learn from you and s
erve you now so I can survive later. I’m asking you to help me as my mentor, not desperately pleading out of base want or physical need.”

  “Are you sure it’s just not because you don’t want to die?”

  “Yes. Do you think that if I was not willing to learn and fully embrace my role that I would offer? It seems as if dying would actually be the easier way out. Not dying and knowing that I killed my best friend is harder.”

  Olivia sat down on the mattress and looked Wren in the eye. They sat, almost touching noses, their faces were so close. Wren felt the familiar physical pull toward Olivia, and suddenly she had to fight the urge to pin her down and kiss her. She fought well, though, calming herself and focusing on Olivia’s eyes. The silvery brightness of the blue, even in the dark, was startling. Olivia eventually gave her a small reward, first whispering to her “I hope that there is still a little bit of the old lustful fascination.” Their lips were so close by the time the last syllable came out of Olivia’s mouth that the tiniest movement forward from Wren pressed their lips together. Wren felt a dropping in her heart, as if she could start sobbing at any moment. It was a feeling of lust and a feeling of grief all at the same time. The physical attraction was stronger than the grief and self-hatred she felt for having killed Alex, and even stronger than the anger she’d felt a moment earlier at Olivia. She felt a tear spill from her left eye, trailing toward their mouths. Olivia leaned back and watched Wren’s face, her eyes now closed. As Wren sat perfectly still, Olivia kissed the tear from her cheek.

  “If you truly mean you are ready and willing, I will help you. I had no idea that you were such a strong mind, Wren, when we met. I should have been more careful with you.” Olivia kissed her softly, more softly and sweetly than she had ever kissed Wren before. The cold, mocking look was gone, and in its place was a look of genuine curiosity and even a bit of concern. “As I said before, I see no real harm in this experiment of yours.”

  Wren smiled. She hesitated for a moment before telling Olivia that a reporter was coming to see her. “Should I meet with him? My lawyer seems to think it is a good idea as it might show people I’m not a monster.”

  Olivia shrugged. “As long as you do not mention me or indicate I was involved in any way, and you don’t say anything to tarnish Liz, say what you like.”

  She stood and prepared to leave. “Let me think on our plans awhile to determine how best you can learn and serve me. You will see me again, and I will help you. In the meantime, though, you should rest and gain your strength. I will ensure you feed. You will have an opportunity in just a few moments, as I have persuaded one of the night crew to allow you to feed. Do not drain the poor woman; since you are healthy and mentally clear you should be able to restrain yourself. Do you understand?”

  Wren nodded.

  “Good. This, then, is your first lesson. You can, as you know, eat regular food, but to stay clear and healthy and to reap the benefit of immortality you must feed regularly. I think that your unfortunate actions before are to be blamed on several things intersecting. Jealousy was a factor, as were the levels of alcohol and other substances you were taking in. My own treatment of you probably fueled both of those factors. You’ve really got to take better care of yourself, and I will be more forthcoming with information and stop treating you like a toy. You are my apprentice. Here, you are forced to be sober, so we’ll have some time as I make arrangements for your emergence from jail to discuss these things.”

  Wren felt the air crackle with electricity and knew that Olivia was leaving. “Thank you, Olivia. I will be a good student this time.” As she watched Olivia fade and disappear, she swore she could hear her laugh a final time.

  She also heard another sound, that of keys in her cell door. She remained seated and watched as the door slowly and silently opened first imperceptibly. She could see the night guard, a young and strong woman, slide into her cell. She did not turn on the light, nor did she speak. She stood at the end of Wren’s mattress, staring straight ahead at the wall in front of her at the spot where Olivia stood and disappeared from just seconds before.

  Wren stood and walked to the guard and stood toe-to-toe with her. The other woman did not flinch and seemed unaware that Wren was there. Wren then felt her softly reach into the neck of Wren’s shirt, find the chain and slip it over her head. She then took Wren’s right hand in her own and pressed the pendant in her palm. As she pressed the pendant in Wren’s hand, Wren thought she could hear her whisper, “Please.” She obliged, first unbuttoning the top two buttons of the guard’s uniform and making a cut on her shoulder, just where her bra strap would rest and put pressure on the wound, which Wren knew would be imperceptible by morning even to the guard herself.

  Unlike the feedings on Olivia and on Alex, there was no frenzy and no desperation with the feeding on the guard. It was almost clinical, and it was certainly passionless. The entire transaction took no more than five minutes, and then the guard took the pendant back, taking care to slide on the tiny attached blade guard before she pulled the long chain over her own head, tucking in the necklace so it was not visible under her uniform shirt and walking out of the cell.

  Chapter Ten

  It was nearly 3 am by the time Liz, Kirby, and Mike made it home on Liz’s first night back in New Orleans. She felt woozy as she entered the house, halfway expecting Alex to greet her at the door. The house smelled different as the scents of Kirby and Mike’s soap and hair products had taken over the house. She shuffled toward the bedroom she had shared with Alex, having to fight the urge to turn away and run out the door. She slid her hand up the doorjamb and over to the light switch. She turned the dimmer slowly, fearing it would look as it did the last time she was here, Wren and Alex blood smeared in the corner. When the light was fully on, she felt Kirby standing behind her. “You OK, kiddo?” She leaned back into him.

  “As OK as I probably will be for a long time, Kirby.” She dropped her duffle bag in a corner. “Thanks again for keeping things the same as much as possible. I’m just not ready to redecorate her out of my life.”

  He nodded and turned toward his room. “You know where we are if you need anything. Try to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” He pulled the door softly shut.

  Liz was alone. Leaving the light and her clothes on, she slid between the sheets and closed her eyes.

  Sleep came much more quickly than she assumed it would, possibly because of the number of drinks she’d polished off before turning in.

  Liz woke to hear the sound of Kirby doing dishes and listening to WWOZ in the kitchen. She also heard other noise that made her think that he must have company. She got up and put on her robe. On her way back from the bathroom, she headed into the kitchen for a cup of coffee only to find that the other voices she heard were not from the kitchen. She was standing at the coffee pot, when a break in the broadcast allowed Kirby to hear the voices, too.

  “Ah, shit!” He ran toward the front of the house and stopped at the front windows. Liz followed him. He pulled back the curtain and she could see a small group of people standing outside on the sidewalk. The one talking appeared to be Vietnamese. She was incredibly beautiful, and she was pointing at the house and answering questions.

  “I’m sorry, kid. I have complained to everyone I know to complain to. If they are on the sidewalk and they are not violating a specific ordinance, the cops won’t do anything.”

  “What are they doing, Kirby?” Liz felt tears welling up and clenched her jaw. “Please tell me they aren’t doing what I think they are.”

  “Yeah, they are. Our house is now officially part of the Haunted History Tour circuit. I have asked the guide, Ai, to knock it off, but apparently she is determined to milk it while she can. She’s a freaking folklorist and Anthropology major, according to Mike. Here’s one for academia bleeding into pop culture, huh?” He rubbed Liz’s back, wishing he could do something to make her feel better. “The first couple of times I talked to her, she seemed pretty nice, but then once
she figured out there wasn’t anything I can do if she stays on the sidewalk or in the street, she now just ignores me. Supposedly, once the holiday season is over, she will cut back to just weekends, but it’s too lucrative during the holidays. She said she wanted to ‘strike while the iron is hot.’ Can you believe that shit?” He dropped the curtain. “Come on, let’s go listen to the radio and drink coffee. I’ll even make you pancakes, if you want.”

  Liz managed to nod and smile weakly. They headed back to the kitchen. She slid into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, letting Kirby get her a fresh cup of coffee. “I dreamt you bought me a bar—not just any bar, but The Ruby.”

  “Oh, hush. By the way, Sandy is staying on through New Years Eve and ceremonially turning things over to you at midnight.”

  She called her dad and let him know about the bar, only to find out Kirby kept him up to date the entire time she was staying with him in Hattiesburg. He told Liz she was incredibly lucky to have friends like Kirby, and that it made him feel so much better about her going home to New Orleans, knowing Kirby was there for her.

  After eating something and getting some caffeine in her system, she returned to her room to unpack. The room seemed somehow bigger, perhaps because she felt an emptiness there, knowing that Alex was never coming back. She opened the closet to find nothing moved, nothing taken. Alex’s clothes were still where they were when Liz left. She stepped into the closet and buried her face in the shirts hanging there, inhaling Alex’s scent until she thought her chest would burst open. She chose the most worn cotton flannel shirt, the one Alex wore when it wasn’t blisteringly hot outside or when she was inside with the air on, and put it on.

  In the weeks since Alex’s death, Liz had tried to avoid thinking about the end as much as she could. Staying with her father had helped, as she was able to retreat for a bit from the life she shared in this house with Alex. They reverted a bit to what life was like before she left home; not completely reverted, of course, because now she and her father were both widowers, and she was far more grown up than she had been when she left. It was better to come back and face her fears and move on with her life, rather than being stunted and in denial. And, she felt like her father deserved a chance to cultivate his new romance. Still, returning to the house in New Orleans was bittersweet.