NOLA (2 page)

“Valuable things are kept behind padlocks,” he said, flipping through the keys until he found one that matched the lock.  He unlocked the padlock and then inserted a skeleton key into the antique lock and twisted.  He felt resistance as he turned the key. Age and rare use had caused the mechanism to seize.  He withdrew the key and placed a well-aimed kick to the door.  His hope was to jostle the lock enough to have the rust fall away.  Sean put the key in and tried again.  This time it opened, begrudgingly, screaming its outrage as metal met rusted metal.

Sean pushed the door in and coughed as he almost choked on the dust-filled room. He took off the mask and pulled his sweaty tee upwards over his nose.  The scent of his Old Spice body wash enveloped him.  Anything had to be better than the musty smell of accumulated dust.  He moved the beam of his flashlight around until he found a light switch.  It was a push button affair.  He pushed it and was rewarded with two bulbs popping over his head.  He instinctively put an arm over his face to protect it from falling glass.  After the old glass finished raining down on him, he was able to look up at the culprit, a small five-bulb chandelier.  The other three bulbs held, so Sean shut off his flashlight. The yellow light did a decent enough job of pushing away the darkness.

Sean found that he was in a bedroom, a very old bedroom.  He could see the spot where the old French doors to the outside had been, was bricked up.  The wall still held the remnants of the heavy curtains the last occupant of the room had used to block the morning light.  The furnishings were dark and heavy, giving Sean the overwhelming feeling that a male once resided here.  There was a desk tucked into a corner, backed by glass-fronted cabinets.  Sean looked around the bedroom but nothing else interested him, so he made his way to the small office.

The cabinets were old, the wood dry.  Time had caused one to lean.  Because of this, Sean was afraid to open the doors, fearing the breakage that would occur. He used his flashlight to check out some of the first edition books shelved there.  Sean had read a few of them in his military school days.  The stories of courage and war no longer interested him, so he moved on to the next cabinet.  There he found more of the same.  Disappointed, he backtracked, looking for something that had caught his eye on his first perusal.  Jammed in between cabinets was a wooden case the size of a hatbox.

He bent down and studied the box. He found a few crude carvings on the side of the case.  Sean found himself running his fingers along the carvings, caressing the cuttings as if they were a woman.  He reached forward and tried to pull out the box, but humidity and the leaning cabinet had all but sealed it there.  It took several tugs, but the box was freed.  Standing up, Sean looked for a place to examine the case.  Balancing the large box on his hip, he mindlessly pushed the contents of the desk to the ground to make way for his prize.  He fumbled at the latches and broke one in his haste to open it.  The box’s hinges groaned as he pulled the lid up.

Inside, he found a circular shaped object encased in a black velvet bag that fit snuggly in the custom made case.  Sean settled himself down before he lifted the bag out, untied it, and looked inside.

“A fucking bowl!  Who the fuck puts a salad bowl in a case like this?” Sean asked the empty room.  He drew out the large wood bowl and held it to the light.  He could see carvings on the exterior of the bowl similar to what had been on the wooden case.  He turned it around and saw that the inside of the bowl was made of something shiny. He set it down and ran his hand along the smooth, mother of pearl inlay. “Ouch!” he cried as a sharp bit of shell nicked his index finger.   He shook his finger, not noticing a few drops had fallen into the bowl, staining the brilliant white interior. The inside of the bowl had a luminous quality to it.  “I bet if it gets wet, it’s beautiful.”  He set the bowl down and drew out the water bottle he had tucked into his back pocket.  He untwisted the cap and poured the spring water into the large bowl, rubbing the sides at the same time.  He poured the accumulated water out on the carpet, uncaring of the destruction he was causing to the old wool fibers.  All he suddenly seemed to care about was this bowl.

He moved the case to the bed and set the bowl on top of the desk, this time with reverence.  He needed more light.  He searched the desk and found some tinned matches.  On the bedside table, there was an old oil lamp.  Sean trimmed the wick and, after a few tries, lit the lamp.  He replaced the glass chimney and brought it over to the desk.

The bowl was magnificent.  It reflected the light, especially where there were still a few droplets of water.  Sean emptied the rest of his water bottle into the bowl.  The half cup of liquid glowed as it pooled on the bottom.  Sean jiggled the bowl, causing the water to swirl.  He set it down and looked down into it.  As the water calmed, he saw features of a man form.  At first, Sean was startled at the face looking back at him.  “Fucking hell, it’s just me,” he scolded himself.  He walked over and picked up the Mardi Gras mask and put it on.  He strutted his way back to the bowl and looked down into it.  Reflected in the water was the King of the Parade.  The purple of the Romanovs was so vibrant in the reflected pool that Sean backed away.  He pulled the mask off and turned it around and looked at it.  The faded glass sequins barely had any color left.  He put it on again and looked back into the bowl.  Back was the regal purple, the spectacular green, and the sparkly gold.  All of it seemed too heavy to be contained on the papier-mâché mask.

Sean took off the mask and looked at the bowl.  It was now three-quarters full of water.  Where had the water come from?  He picked up the discarded plastic bottle and looked from it to the bowl.  Even if the bottle had been full, it would have taken him four bottles to fill half of the bowl.  He looked down into the bowl once again.  The water no longer reflected his image.  The image reflected was horrible.  It was a man whose face held no skin.  The eyes were Sean’s, but the face?  Sean raised a hand to his cheek, and as he touched it, he left a burning print.  He pulled his hand away and saw that it was full of thick red goo.  Not thinking, Sean plunged his hand into the water, oblivious that it had overfilled the bowl and was dripping on the desktop.  He next plunged his burning face into the water in an attempt to cool it.  He drew up for air and pulled his tee off and blotted the wetness away.  Once again, Sean looked into the bowl and saw his face staring back at him.  He shook his head, trying to clear it. As he shook, another face formed in the water overlaying Sean’s reflection.  It was Sean but not Sean.  It was an older, wiser version of the man.  Sean stopped and stared at the man for a moment and asked, “Father, what are you doing here?”

The man continued looking up at Sean.  Two hands appeared on either side of the head and moved upwards out of the water.  As the hands hit the air, they lost color and became transparent.  They lowered again out of sight.  The reflected face moved up out of the water until his proud nose and lips broke free of the liquid.  The man murmured something.  Sean, although horrified, lowered his head, turning his face away to hear the man better.

The hands shot up out of the bowl and gripped the sides of Sean’s head and turned him sharply, first, to face the submerged face and then hard to the left to break Sean’s neck.  As the would-be-king-of-the-ball’s body fell away from the desk towards the floor, the watery hands kept hold of the soul of Sean Edwards, ripping it from his body and pulling it, kicking and screaming, into the pool.  The water bubbled for a while.  Purple, green and gold lights danced upon the surface.  When the bubbling stopped, water seemed to have drained out of the bowl.  All that was left was the original half cup of spring water that Sean had poured.

A large dust mote dropped into the lamp, extinguishing the flame.  The chandelier darkened as the door slammed shut and the lock engaged. The Romanov mask glowed for a moment in memory of a long ago Mardi Gras and then faded again into the dull relic.  Sean Edward’s body lay where it had fallen, his head lolling to one side.  One last tear made its way from his eye to the floor, where it pooled for a moment before soaking into the dust-covered floor.

Chapter One

Mia gazed down at the landscape from the window of the private jet.  They were approaching Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, cruising over Lake Pontchartrain.  She stared a moment at the shallow lake before sitting back and closing her eyes.  She didn’t want to be on this jet, nor did she want to be traveling into a city where the disaster of Hurricane Katrina was still impacting the city, not only the living but the dead too.  It had been a last minute request and a hastily made decision that had brought her to Dupage County Airport and the private jet waiting for her.  “Beware of favors” needed to be tattooed on her somewhere she could see it minute to minute.  It had been an accumulation of favors she owed Gerald Shem that had all but guaranteed that she would agree to his request.

Mia had looked up into Gerald’s eyes on the day he asked for his favors to be returned in disbelief and asked, “You want me to leave my baby, husband, and home to travel to a place that is full, elbow to elbow, with the dead walking and do what?”

“Cross them over,” he said simply.

“I’m sure there are more sensitives down there than Bev has shoes.  It’s their territory; I’m not going to be welcomed.”

Gerald waved his hands around as he collected his thoughts.  He guided Mia over to the couch in his inner sanctum and encouraged her to sit down.  “Mia, the hurricane, as you can imagine, left a lot of the dead wondering what hit them.  The spiritual leaders of all the various religions were exhausted by the enormous task set before them.  As you are aware, not all of the dead were found right away.  Each time a home is torn down or renovated, there is a chance of disrupting a sleeping soul.”

“Various religions were tripping over each other, in the beginning, trying to help these lost souls.  A commission was established in 2007 to study the problem.  It was decided that once a year after Mardi Gras, a group of sensitives encompassing most of the population’s beliefs would assemble to cross over the lost souls.”

“What if they don’t want to cross?” Mia asked.

“They stay.  New Orleans has always been a haven for the dead. Not even a hurricane will change that.  But not all want to wander for eternity.  Most want to move on to be with family and friends.”

“Why after Mardi Gras?”

“One last party before they go,” Gerald said smiling.  “This August, it will be ten years since Katrina, and they are still in recovery mode.”

“Ten years is a long time.  I have to admit to being ignorant of what could be taking so long,” Mia said.

“Politics for the most part. The money is there but not available.  But that’s not your problem.  I would like you to go and take the place of a sensitive who had planned to attend.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Felipe Acosta has contracted pneumonia and is too ill to leave his home.”

“Pardon my ignorance, but I’m going to take the place of a Spanish priest?”

“You know Padre Acosta?” Gerald asked, amazed.

“I know of him.  One cannot have a conversation with Father Alessandro about ascensions without his good friend Felipe not being mentioned.”

“Did Father Alessandro mention why Felipe was so special?”

“Because…  Oh.”  Mia stopped a moment as realization flooded her.  “He’s a fence-sitter like me.  He understands the need to stay sometimes overrides the necessity to leave.”

“I’ll clear the favors you owe me and two of the favors owed by PEEPs,” Gerald bargained.

Mia’s mouth dropped open.  The value of these cleared favors was costing Gerald a lot.

“I understand that your son is young, and the pain of being away from him for one hour, let alone a few days, you will have.  Most young mothers who have to return to work go through this every morning.  You will only be away for seventy-two hours.  A private jet will take and return you.  Ted will be with little Brian, and I have asked Judy to spend a few days in Chicago to be near them just in case there are any problems.”

Mia looked at Gerald and calculated the cost he was taking on.  “I’m surprised you didn’t just ask my aunt and save yourself all these favors.”

“Oh, Beverly has been there before, in 2012, and was asked not to return.  The commission didn’t appreciate her brusque nature.  I believe they said that she had lined up the souls and proceeded to cross them in assembly line fashion.”

“Sounds like her.  Are you sure she wasn’t just having them on?” Mia asked, having borne the brunt of Bev’s unusual sense of humor before.

“No, I asked her, and she admitted to having dinner reservations at Emeril’s and was running late.”

“That’s one way of blowing your reputation as a
sensitive
sky high,” Mia commented.

“Yes, the Cooper name took a big hit, I assure you.”

“But if it has, then how am I going to pass?” Mia asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re Mia Martin now.”

“Window dressing, I’m still a Cooper,” Mia argued.

“Your reputation of crossing into purgatory and returning has wiped away any stain Beverly may have caused.”

“I’m surprised that you would use that, Gerald,” Mia said, visibly upset.  “That was private.”

“It wasn’t I, but the judge who brought that to light.”

“Judge Roumain has to stay out of my life,” Mia demanded.

“Good luck with that.  Once he got to know you, he laid claim to you.  It’s not a bad thing, Mia; it’s just business.”

“A judge of purgatory has laid claim to me, and it’s not a bad thing?” Mia questioned.

“He doesn’t own you.  He is just interested in you.  He protects you.”

“How is that different from what the
Other
had planned for me?  Besides, if Roumain protects me, then where was he when I was being dragged off to… to…”

“You never found out the owner of the contract, did you?” Gerald questioned.