Aftermath (6 page)

“Okay, then. The
sooner the better.”

I rolled my eyes. “All
right… and yes, of course I remember Mr. Christian. But why? Where
will you be?”

“Carla’s gotta work
tomorrow. They’re short at Wayne’s too.”

Okay, so scratch the
father-daughter time. He didn’t want me to work
with
him, he
wanted me to work
for
him. And now I had already agreed. I
couldn’t make any objections without Carla thinking I was trying to
take time away from them. I felt like I was walking on egg shells
around her.

“’Kay,” was the
most indiscriminating comment I could make. And I spent the rest of
the meal not saying much but still walking on eggshells. Carla kept
asking me questions about my life and she was especially interested
in Hayden. I felt more inclined to open up since she asked about him.
She was being so nice but I couldn’t tell if it was fake or not.

My Dad and Carla had to
get going as soon as I took my last bite of enchilada. I walked them
out to the parking lot and was still talking with Carla as my dad
instructed her to meet him at home and left. I happily helped buckle
a sleepy Brittney into her car seat, struggling with the complex
straps until Carla stepped in to take over. She invited Hayden over
for dinner sometime and I agreed, wondering if it was an empty
request. I watched her leave and turned to my car, realizing that the
car I'd had, my dad just left with. I had completely forgotten that I
was supposed to text Hayden for a ride. The darkness at night without
the usual street lights was beyond eerie. It was just another thing
we had to go without since Katrina. I quickly pulled out my phone to
call Hayden.

Hey, you done
already?

“Sorry I completely
forgot I didn’t have a truck anymore, even though I saw my dad
drive off with it. Goodbye ‘Ol' Red,’” I sighed.

Don’t worry about
it. Now you have ‘old black.’

I laughed. “Yeah
right, there is nothing about that sentence that is true. It’s
definitely not old and it’s not mine. And black? Yeah, it’s more
of a charcoal.”

Do you want your
own? I could get you your own.

“No, Hayden, that’s
not what I meant. Anyway, where are you?” Something caught my
attention. “Should I meet you out front in ten minutes?”

No, I am here.

“What?” I was
startled, looking around the street for his car.

You know I couldn’t
risk leaving you alone.

“So you have been
watching me this whole time?”

I could hear him
smiling.
I like how you look when you’re talking to me.

I scoffed at him. “You
could have had dinner with us, ya know?”

No, you needed that
time with your dad, but I guess you weren’t alone after all.

“Yeah, well, you
could have at least told me.” I saw his car pull out in front. “Far
away but always close, huh?” His smile split into laughter. “Well
now you will just have to wait for me. I want to run in somewhere
real quick.” I watched him from outside the car.

I saw his eyes darken.
Where?

I pointed across the
street, nowhere in particular, hoping he wouldn’t see the ‘Ghost
Tours’ sign. He looked and then turned his attention grimly back to
me. He rolled down the window and I put my phone away, walking
towards him.

“What are you doing,
Ana?”

“Nothing, why?” I
feigned innocence. “I just want to check something out.”

“Then I’ll go with
you.”

I leaned through the
window and gave him a quick kiss. “I will just be a minute.”

I ran across the
street, looking back at Hayden with a smile, and pushed a worn wooden
door open. A bell chimed and the door shut creakily behind me.

“I’ll be right with
y’all!” I heard someone yell from the back.

I looked around at the
brochures and different artifacts displayed on the counter. There
were copies of maps of the tour route and I folded one up and tucked
it in the back pocket of my jeans. The place smelled like incense
which reminded me of Sansha’s house of voodoo and her deliciously
devious potion I drank. I inhaled sharply, hoping this wasn’t like
her house in more way than one.

“Can I help you?”

I jumped as a woman
suddenly appeared behind me, breaking me out of my memories. I
exhaled a breath of relief as I appraised the woman. Her brown hair
had lost its luster, her skin was dry and fingernails brittle and
there were tiny creases around her eyes. No, she wasn’t like Sansha
at all. She had all the signs of aging and stress. She had all the
signs of being human. “Sorry, I was just looking.”

“Let me know if you
need anything, then.”

“I’m surprised
you’re open. I don’t suspect you’ve been getting much tourism.”
My fingers toyed a souvenir on the shelf as I kept pretending to look
around.

She shrugged with all
the confidence in the world. “I’ve lived here my whole life.
Ain’t no storm going to close me down.”

“Here’s to hoping
there will be more visitors in the spring during Mardi Gras.” I
moved on to the books, ironically picking up one about New Orleans
haunted mansions.

“I hope so. There’s
been a lot of unexplained events since Katrina. You can’t wash away
evil, the storm just pissed evil off. So you interested in a ghost or
vampire tour?”

I laughed a little,
knowing a couple months ago I just had my own personal tour. “No, I
was just interested in some information.”

“I see you picked up
the pamphlet on the Lalaurie Mansion. What do you know there was a
fire there about a month ago.”

“Really?” I spoke
nonchalantly, not trying to show too much interest.

“Yeah.” She eyed me
and her eyebrows furrowed briefly.

“Well, I have what I
need. Thank you so much for your time.” I tried not to show panic
as I straightened the stack of books and turned towards the exit.

“You’re welcome,
although I didn’t do much.”

The bell rang as I
pushed the door open.

“You come back and
I’ll give you a free tour sometime, ya hear?” she yelled from
behind me.

I turned and nodded
hesitantly before the door shut. I ran back across the street to
where Hayden waited.

“Did you find what
you were looking for?” Hayden was sarcastic as I hopped back in his
car.

I felt the map in my
back pocket. “You could say that.” I smiled up at him.

“You know, it’s
insulting that you go to a ghost tour place when I know more about
the New Orleans Underworld then anyone here.” He was back to being
playful.

“That only does me
good when you’re willing to answer my questions.” I played back
but he could sense the seriousness in my tone.

He started the engine,
pulling away from the curb. “Where is this coming from?”

My heart could have
stopped at how easily he read me.
Luke,
I wanted to say.
“Nothing. I just feel like I don’t know anything about you as a
Hunter or what it’s like.”

“This is coming after
spending the evening with Luke, I presume?” He sighed. “That’s
not who I am. That has nothing to do with the person I am.”

“I know, but I just
want to know everything about you.” I slid the back of my index
finger across his smooth cheek.

“You know me, Ana,
you are the only one who does.”

His green eyes looked
hungrily into mine and I forgot about everything else. I did know
him. I knew all I wanted to know.

I was fast asleep
that night when I sensed I wasn’t alone. I sat up in my bed with a
gasp. Upon seeing the figure sitting at the end of my bed, I pushed
myself as far as I could backward until I hit the headboard.

“Who are you?” I
asked the woman wearing a full wedding dress, sitting at the edge of
my bed.

“I’m Christine.”
Her voice was high, much younger sounding than she looked.

My eyes darted to my
bedroom door, waiting for Hayden to sense she was here and burst in
at any moment.

“Hayden won’t be
coming.”

My heart dropped at her
words.

“Why not?” My
throat tightened as I asked.

“Because this is a
dream.”

I looked at her. “A
dream?”

“Of course. I am
dead, after all.”

“What do you want
from me?”

“Just to show you
something.” She stood up, her skirts ruffling. Her white dress was
feminine and elegant. She wore a lace cap with flowers on either side
above her ears, the veil cascaded down her back. Dark waves peeked
out from under the cap. Her makeup was bold: dark red rouge on her
lips and thick eyeliner on the upper lid. Her vintage look reminded
me of a pinup girl. She was very pretty and sweet looking, but as she
said herself, she was dead. And I wouldn’t let appearances fool me.
The dress was sleeveless and when she turned, I saw it dipped low in
the back, the sash around her waist tied off with a bow. She turned
back to me, holding out a delicate hand, “Come with me.”

“No.”

A small laugh escaped
her. “Silly, I was being polite.” She swirled her hand and the
room started to swirl with it. When she stopped, we were no longer in
my room, and I was no longer sitting. I was barefoot in an overgrown
courtyard of the French Quarter. “It is not as if you have a
choice, dear.” She smiled, seeming genuine even though her words
were not.

“Fair, enough. I
suppose just telling me what I need to know would be too easy for you
people,” my voice dripped with sarcasm.

“
You people?
”
Her delicate face scrunched up, perplexed.

“Yeah, you know. You
ghostly, supernatural types.”

“Well, you
are
obliged to listen to my story.”

“Is it a sad story?”
I asked, hoping this wouldn’t be a nightmare and not able to
imagine how she would be involved.

“Murders always are.”

That sent chills
through my body, and suddenly the quaint courtyard seemed dark.
“Where are we?” I asked, not recognizing the peeled-paint
building.

“Pirate Alley.”

I followed her as she
started walking out of the courtyard to the alley. Nothing looked
familiar.

“This isn’t—“
but then I looked to my right and saw St. Louis Cathedral and Jackson
square. “That’s impossible. There was a book store just over
there.”

She started walking
towards Chartres Street and my curiosity caused me to continue to
follow her.

“Whoa!” It was when
an old Model T car sputtered by that I realized we were not just in a
different place, but a different time.

“I suppose we should
start with the back-story.”

I unintentionally hid
behind her as a group of men and women passed by. I was still
barefoot in pajama bottoms and a tank top, feeling grossly out of
character among the tailored suits the men wore and the beautiful
dresses and hats the women sported.

“Don’t worry,”
Christine said, “they can’t see you.”

Because it was a
dream.
“Right.”

“So let’s start at
the beginning, shall we?” The laughter of the group faded as
Christine swung her hand again, and I found myself a few blocks away
on a bank by the Mississippi. I swayed, feeling disoriented from the
abrupt change in scenery. Cool, wet mud squished between my toes as
Christine began talking. “Night seemed to bring out all walks of
life. On the Vieux Carre, it mattered not if you came from old money
or came to the city from the Bayou. Here, you did what you wanted and
wore what you wanted.” She paused and suddenly we were next to the
street car tracks, with no wave of her hand as a warning. The sand
from the tracks stuck to the mud on my feet and everything began to
feel entirely too real. “The warm weather allowed many nice girls
to try out shorter hemlines and haircuts.” We were whisked away to
port side, where dozens of ships were docked. I realized by then that
she was showing me New Orleans through her eyes. “By day, the
Quarta’ was filled with the working class, artists and grocers
alike. The smell from the docks overpowered fresh baked bread on any
good morning but at night everything was glamorous. Even the wealthy
came down from upriver to partake in what it had to offer.
Speakeasies were common enough and no one seemed to be bothered by
them.” When we suddenly showed back at Pirate Alley, I, used to her
mode of transportation, hardly blinked an eye. “New Orleans had
money;” she said as we walked down Chartres Street, “it was the
richest in the South. No one troubled themselves with Big Dreams
about New York City when you had New Orleans, and with better weather
too. It was 1927 when a grand theatre opened up, as did the dreams of
many young girls in New Orleans. But only one girl was able to land
the lead role in the opening play that year.” We had crossed St.
Peter’s Street when she stopped in front of a building. “And that
girl was me.”

The sound of an alarm
going off startled me. “What is that?” The noise got louder.
“What is going on?”

“We are out of time.”
She looked sad. Her red lips curled down.

“
Ana…
”

I could hear someone
calling my name but couldn’t figure out where it came from.

“What does this all
mean?” I hastily asked her. “What is going to happen? Tell me!”

“We’ll see each
other again in—“ and then I was pulled away from New Orleans in
the 1920s, pulled away from smells and the neglected building, pulled
away from finding out what would happen in the future. If I saw the
future in my dreams, why had I dreamt of the past?

My eyes adjusted to the
bright light of morning. Someone had opened the curtains in my room
and I groaned. I always kept them closed—I loved having it dark in
my room. The alarm I heard in my dream was still going off and I
looked toward my nightstand through fuzzy vision, realizing that it
was my alarm clock.