Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
It there was a place that defined the word 'hot' it was in Louianna in the height of summer. Sweat clung to every inch of the cotton shirt the weary reporter wore. He held the bottle of ice tea against his face, as he reviewed his notes. At least it was pleasant in the garden behind the Moreau house. The interior of the house was being overhauled in places, as part of the plans to reopen the following year as a Victorian Hotel. Joey, Louis Moreau's late wife, had come up with the idea and actually hired a contactor. But then when she died, Louis clung to the house, promising them to fulfill his wife's wishes after his death. So they'd begun and it promised to be a very elegant Inn when completed.
The elaborate maze and infusion of expensive flowers and shrubbery was the idea of André Sauville, the original owner. There was a reason that Max McKenna sat in the center of the impressive ground after studying the copies of design and the overhead view from the roof.
Upon taking his assignment, he'd done extensive research, starting at the beginning with Andre and Sophia, his bride. After she died and he raised Isabella, their only child. A very beautiful and headstrong young woman, she rebelled against his planned marriage to Raoul Moreau and ran away from home. He highlighted that section of his notes, having since discovered where she hid for over a year. A nagging suspicion inside told him, despite the proof supporting Moreau's claim, that she had been brought back under protest. He had another highlighted section, with some rather questionable cases involving Theodore Garson, the private eye Moreau hired to find his fleeing fiancé.
The next few years were uneventful, but Isabella managed to survive the Titantic and raise her son, Louis. It was during those years, she had a nervous breakdown. The doctor who examined her and treated her, claimed she was delusional. That there was no 'child' missing, despite the frantic woman's claims. He found by reading some of her correspondance over the years, that she was a very intelligent, sensitive woman.
He interviewed the current staff and those retired who were still alive. He spoke with neighbors, the workers of nearby homes and with the affluent members of town who knew both Isabella and Louis. From this, as well as his leg work up north outside Baton Rouge, he came to the conclusion that there was another child. It was during this week's extensive search of the massive attic in the home, that he hit paydirt. Isabella collected dolls, from the time she was a child. Most of them were in the large room on the third floor, Louis's old nursery. But among the trunks and other boxes piled in the large storage area, was a very old, hand made rag doll. It was haphazardly tossed in a trunk with some of her schoolbooks and old clothes from her youth. He'd tossed it aside and later, as he was opening another trunk, he spotted a sliver of paper tucked in the back of the doll's dress.
He held that doll now, in the daylight, and reread the letter he found inside. It was short, mostly a poem, but it was the signature that drew his attention. Dated in early 1906, it was an outpouring of love to Isabella, from a man named Philippe. The intimate details led him to conclude they were more than friends. Some of the phrasing in the letters gave him the answer about the rumors that the other interviews held. That Isabella ran off that night with a lover, a poor painter from the square. This man, the one who penned the letter, used the words, 'my angel on canvas'. So for several days, he haunted the art galleries in town, hunting down anything done by an artist named "Phillipe'. Then as he was passing by an antique store one morning, he saw her. There on the wall, was a painting of Isabella in a purple drape among flowers. The owner stated that the shop used to belong to a jeweler, whose father bought the painting. He didn't know much about the painter, just that it came from the 'Baton Rouge' area. That same area was where some of the earlier inquiries, by Isabella and via the notes of André on where his daughter was found.
He'd journeyed there before, to seek out the town where Raoul found the missing heiress. It wasn't much of a town anymore. Flooding and other natural disasters took the town away. He did find the ruins of a church and discovered that the records were moved to a nearby parish. According to André's diary, which was in the study of the main house, Raoul found Isabella in a drunken state. He claimed she'd been combative and he was forced to restrain her. Max's stomach turned at that, from what he'd read of Raoul, he wasn't fit to have her as a bride, or any bride. André's notes mentioned a doctor and an innkeeper. Neither were alive, but he intended to track down the church where the records were. Also, now that he knew Philippe was tied to Isabella and this painting was tied to that area, he had to resume his search. If they didn't want to be discovered, they'd have hidden. A year was a long time, more than enough to have a child. He tucked the letter back in the doll and thought on the words. This man truly loved Isabella and wouldn't have surrendered her without a fight. Was that the dark secret? Did Raoul murder Philippe and steal his bride? Garson had several shady incidents in his career with the Pinkertons. His death in 1910 was bloody. No murderer was found, but the agency felt he was 'silenced'. His gambling debts were mounting and he'd told his debtors that 'he knew something that would bring in big money'. Shortly after, his body was found. Did Garson know about Philippe or the 'child' of the union? Did Raoul silence him too?
He sighed and stared at the Gazebo carefully. From all accounts, this was Isabella's favorite spot on earth. Louis's memoirs confirmed that fact. His memories as a child and in his formative years, were drawn to his mother's love of the garden and gazebo. Louis mentioned her 'writing in her journals' out here. That at long as he lived, she'd recorded entries in the books. No trace of them was ever found. Louis lost track of them and after her death, realized she'd hidden them. The staff, guests and others in the area all spoke of her ghost . The restless spirit was seen in the upper halls of the house, near the room where she died, as well as roaming the garden. His investigative instincts told him that she'd hidden the books here, somewhere. He'd checked ever inch of the white, sturdy, wrought iron gazebo and came up empty. He'd been inside the family crypt once, and that proved futile. Yet he was sure, somewhere in this floral fantasy, was the key to the mystery. In those books, in her own words, was the proof of the child born of the union of Philippe and Isabella. The child, or rather, the heirs of the child, were the rightful owners of the massive fortune.
He glanced as his watch and tucked the doll under his arm, collected his notes and went to meet his wife for dinner in town. She'd been his greatest asset, doing much of the period work for him. She knew history, the area and the histories of the families in the area. He wanted to run his idea by her, before journeying back north, to seek out the love nest of Philippe and Isabella. He'd return later and finish his report. He was keeping his updates to the clerk at the firm very cryptic. He didn't want to expose his cards too soon.
"Well?" Buck elbowed his partner, "Have you thought about it? Come on, Chris..."
"...hard not to..." the blond concluded, making the mistake of taking in the rogue's broad smile, wagging eyebrows and charming grin. "I don't know, Buck..."
"I do, I'll do the thinking for both of us," the younger man protested, "It's gonna be awhile before we get more than a couple days off to string together. This new team the Travis has you putting together will be taking up time. Adam'll be starting first grade in September, you ain't gonna have time to piss, much less get a break like this."
"Five days is a long time, Buck," he mused of the trip, "I don't like leaving them."
"Sara told you to go!" His voice was slightly wounded.
"Yeah," he sighed, "I wish she wasn't so busy with that art class..." His wife was a gifted painter and scupltor. In addition to selling her own work to galleries around town, she now taught at a local art school. Her summer sessions were in full swing and she was gone every morning from 9 to 1, teaching. Lily lived nearby in a cottage on the grounds of the ranch. Tucked away and obscure, nobody knew about it, which is what the old lady liked. Sara hired an assistant to stay with Lily, who was still fit as a fiddle. She resisted every attempt to move in with them, so this was a good compromise. The girl was a student of Sara's and loved Lily's work. She came every day at breakfast and 'studied' with Lily. Actually, she kept her eye on the old woman, until Chris or Sara came for supper. Adam stayed there during the mornings that Sara had class. Lily was crazy about the dark haired boy. She insisted he inherited all her talent!
"Chris?" Buck waved a hand in front of the dazed man's eyes. "You listenin'?"
"I'll think on it..." he decided, glancing at the half-eaten roast beef sandwich. He took his tie off and loosened his collar. "Let's go over this list again. Nathan Jackson..." he eyed one of the men applying for a job on the team. Orrin Travis promoted the highly decorated agent to the team leader position. Buck was his first choice, that had been a given. When the senior Justice Dept. Director proposed the idea to Chris, to form a new ATF team, the blond had made that clear. Where he went, Wilmington went, no discussion. Now they had until the end of the year to pick the other five members.
"Sara's gonna bust you, you know that!" Buck goaded, having already told the pretty artist of her husband's reluctance to go on the trip.
"No thanks to you," Chris muttered, "I'm beat... let's call it a day. Why don't we get changed, pick up Adam and go fishing?"
"Now you're talking!" the proud uncle boasted, hauling his tall frame from the desk. "That boy grows more like me every day."
"Now there's a scary thought!"
The two friends made their way to the elevator. As it descended, Chris knew he'd lost. Between Buck and Sara, he'd have no choice. He so seldom did anything for himself, always putting the family first, that she'd be firm on this. He and Buck hadn't gotten away together, alone to kick back, since before Adam was born. Yeah, Sara would nag him and before he knew it, he and his bag would be on that plane with the grinning, mustached man.
"I don't like it..." Cait snuggled closer to her husband, tracing lazy lines on his back.
"I have to go.." he kissed her shoulder, neck and temple. "God you're magnificent..." he groaned, finding her lips.
"Don't change the subject," She wiggled away, "I'm serious, Max. You get some mystery message from a crazy old woman... a fortune teller yet. I know this town, Max, and there are alot of strange forces out there. You could get hurt..."
"Then you'd have to play nurse..." he winked, nuzzling again.
"Stop!" she moved off the bed and put her short silk robe on. "I'm scared..."
"Oh, Honey," he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I've been all over the war, to war zones for Christ's sake. This is our backyard..." He sighed, seeing her fear. "I'll make sure it's in a public place, high noon, okay?"
She didn't like it, but she knew how persistant he was. She fingered the locket on her neck and sighed heavily. Maybe he was right. Maybe she worried over nothing.
Café du Monde was crowded and Max was on his second café-au-lait, having gone to the table, hidden from view, as directed. He jumped slightly when the old woman sat down. Her age was hard to guess, her skin a pale brown. Her eyes were like cognac and her hair long, thick and pulled back, was streaked with white. It was hidden under a wrap of color. More scarves were draped over her layers of clothing. Several chains and amulets hung on her neck. He sat back startled and opened his mouth.
"Do not speak, I have little time to waste," she warned. "You are treading in dangerous waters, Mister McKenna. You have disturbed the spirits..."
"First of all..."
"Silence!" she commanded, "You wish to know the truth? Of Isabella and Philippe and her first pregnancy?"
"Why me? Why now? Why should I believe you?"
"You have been chosen... your pen will write the script of justice..." She leaned in lower, taking his hand and pressing on the soft inside of his wrist. She saw him flinch, "Yes, you can feel that... I have powers, Mister McKenna. I made a vow to my mother on her deathbed, to keep the spirits at bay. But he is dead now and it's time they rest too."
"He being Louis Moreau?"
"My nephew..."
"Nephew?" His hazel eyes darted, while his mind added the clues up at record speed. "Then your father was André Sauville?"
"I was born three years after Louis, just before they left for Europe. It was a surprise for both of them. They'd been lovers for over twenty years, since she was fifteen. She was devoted to Isabella and Louis and protected them. I gave her my word, until Louis died, I'd keep silent. She didn't want a scandal... or worse... to harm him."
"Your mother?"
"Tess Broussard Saint-Laurent..." Jessania Broussard replied. "She came to Sauville manor at fourteen, working in the kitchen. She was very beautiful and André seduced her. She loved him, despite his flaws and remained loyal... all those years. She raised Isabella and loved her as she loved me. She kept the pregnancy a secret, travelling to my aunt's for most of that winter. I was born in the bayou and raised by my aunt and her people... very powerful people... Vodun... I am a mambo." The female priest noted.
"Vodun..." he stuttered, nearly in awe of the offshoot of Catholicism found in the West Indies. "Voodoo... misconstrued by most of the western world. Uh... strong beliefs... deep convictions... bizarre rituals... strong magic... black and white... strong links to the 'other side'... the uh... spirit world."
"Enough!" she urged, "My mother had a prophecy, saw the house covered in blood. She feared for my life, so I became her 'niece'. She connected that prophecy to the bloodline, making me promise to keep the secret until the last of the line passed over." She narrowed her eyes, "Yes, I have proof," she saw him flush, "I can read your thoughts... you think I am a rambling old woman. You are partially correct. I am old in years... but very powerful. Do not cross me, you do not want to make me your enemy. Your path was chosen for a reason..." She rose, sharp eyes darting. "I have stayed too long... it's not safe. You will come tonight to the garden... your proof remains there." She pressed his wrist again, watching him blink and sway.
"Wait a minute!" He shook off the cobwebs and discovered he was alone. His heart was hammering and he hurried to catch his flight. A full day at Baton Rouge, tying up loose ends, then the rendevoux with fate in the maze.
It was held annually from the last weekend in June through the first weekend in July. Men of all backgrounds came together and paid tribute. They gathered in large numbers, put on the blue or the gray, picked up the replica muskets and began the battle again. Now, as the 134th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg approached, those men would once again take up arms. Like many of the re-enactors, one man had a particular reason for the quest. His great-great grandfather had fallen in the bloody fields on July 2, 1863. The three day battle was one of the Civil War's bloodiest. He looked at the photo preserved behind glass and felt his pride swell. He saw a resemblence, of sorts, to himself and the brash Major in the photo. The body was sent home to the new widow, who preserved the medals, uniform, guns, gloves, sword and scabbard for her son. It had been passed down, through the generations and he now owned the relics. He thought of the badge he carried and his own quest to right the wrongs. He smiled again, knowing somewhere, Major John Buckingham Wilmington was damn proud of his namesake.
Her uncle Dan got him interested in the re-enactors when he was just twelve. They did the trip together every year. Dan and Buck's mother, were the last of the line. Dan was a carefree, outgoing larger than life type and Buck idolized him. Having no father, Dan became that to him and a whole lot more. So when his beloved uncle, a homicide cop, was killed in the line of duty, the nineteen year old told his mother he was going to follow in his footsteps. He still had his uncle's badge, it was in the glass case with the Major's things.
He zipped his bag and checked his ticket, eager to get to the airport. He was disappointed Chris didn't come. Since the first year they met, the blond always went with him for the five day stint on the battlefield. But those trips stopped when Adam was born. He was a family man, nobody loved and cherished his family like Chris Larabee. As much as he missed Chris, he understood the choice. He locked his front door and jogged down the stairs, where he was expecting a ride to the airport.
Chris eyed his bride and shook his head. How was it that she was always right? How did she seem to read him so well? How did she see through him, way down deep, where no one else could find him? How was it that there was no word in the Enlish language that conveyed how deeply he loved her?
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, Buddy?" He turned to his five-year old pride and joy.
"We gonna go to McDonalds?"
"No, we're going to get Uncle Buck."
"Yeah"
Chris smiled at that and swung his boy high in the air. The giggles rain down on him in a torrent and he drank in every last one, licking them up. The boy was crazy about Buck, but then again, Buck was just a big kid most of the time. They walked to the stables, checking on the mare. She was due to foal any day now. He loved his quiet times with Adam, especially on Sunday mornings. The sleepy tot would climb in his lap on the sofa and snuggle, still toting his blanket. Chris's left arm automatically gathered him close, while he continued to read the paper. Then he'd read the 'pictures' to his inquisitive son. He explained every one the boy asked about. Then Sara would call them for breakfast. They'd laugh and share ideas and stories. Father and son would disappear for a lazy afternoon together, often with Uncle Buck in tow. Sara would make Chicken and Dumplings, with Lily at her side. Yeah, Sunday was by far his favorite time.
"Come on Guys, we gotta move!"
"Is Mommy the boss?" Adam asked, eyeing his father's face.
"Yup," the blond answered, "Who told you that?"
"Uncle Buck. He tells me lots of stuff about girls..."
"I'm gonna have to talk to him about that..."
"I think Uncle Buck is very smart, the man knows his stuff!" Sara laughed, having heard the conversation.
"He got me for a partner didn't he?" Chris tossed back, embracing his wife and kissing her.
"So I'm the boss?" she asked breathlessly, tracing the lines of his face with her finger.
"Now and forever," Chris replied huskily, lifting the antique locket on her neck and losing himself in those magnificent eyes.
"Hey... I'm gettin' all squooshed down here!"
"Sorry, Champ!" Chris laughed, hauling his boy up. "Let's go get Uncle Buck!"
"Can Sam come?" He implored of the large black Lab that was a birthday gift for his father. It was Uncle Buck's idea, the picked him from a litter. His dad sure was surprised. The nine month pup was his best friend.
"No, Sam stays home, he gets car sick." Chris relayed.
"Yuck!"
"You said, it, Champ!" Chris laughed, ruffling the dark hair.
It was the right choice, he knew that now. Initally, he'd turned Buck down. Then Sara said one simple thing. When was the last time Buck asked anything for himself? She was right, of course. The man was generous to a fault. He gave so freely, that the big Wilmington heart was legendary. This was important to Buck and he now recalled the brief glimpse of disappointment in the blue eyes when he gave his decision. They pulled up and Buck climbed in the back, roughhousing with his cherished nephew. The airport came too soon and they climbed out at the terminal. Buck waited while Sara opened the trunk. Then he saw the other bag and his head swiveled. It was a grin and handshake, no words were exchanged. But within that grin, those green eyes and that firm grip, were something very intangible. Something that Buck Wilmington treasured over all else. Something he was so proud of every time he walked beside this man. He hugged and kissed Sara and Adam, then went inside, letting the family say their goodbyes. Little did either man know, when the plane took off, that it would be the last time they'd see the Larabee family alive.
As he drove to the house, his mind was racing. This novel, which he intended to write, would be a best seller. It had all the elements, star-crossed lovers, a murder, family secrets... even Voodoo! The trip to Baton Rouge was a success. He found an old record of two females being baptized in a village church in a town that no longer existed. Their parents were listed as Isabella and Philippe Dubonnet. The infants, Alexandra Lily and Angelique Rose were barely a few months old, when the marriage to Raoul took place. Garson and Raoul must have tracked them down and murdered him. But why didn't he kill the babies? How had they escaped? No more records of them existed. Were they smuggled out somehow? Did the strange priestess Jessenia know the truth? What of the child Sara, mentioned briefly in the church records as a witness? Did she take the babies? He'd made copies of the records and his notes and mailed one set home.
He was waiting in the outskirts of the maze, when he saw her. His heart was slamming into his chestwall like a jackhammer... his breath in pants, sweat poured down his face. Yet he followed her, without question. She was in an ivory gown, her blond hair pulled back and she was beautiful. Deeper and deeper he roamed, far beyond where'd he'd gone prior. Then she disappeared into a twelve foot high shrub. He dropped to his knees, shoving his arms into the thick bush. Hard... concrete... hard... concrete...
"Ouch!" he yelped, hitting metal. Metal? His fingers fumbled, his arms were to the elbows in the thick bushes. A box... a deep box.... he snapped the lock and opened it... fumbling in the dark. His fingers groped leather... a sachel. "My God!" he hissed, feeling the outlines of books inside. He pulled the sachel free and eyed the crypt on the other side of the wall. The near darkness made it impossible to see. He entered the crypt, closing the door behind him. He got a lighter out and lit two thick candles, that sat on a marble table between the two tombs. He sat on the cold, stone bench and drew out he first book. His fingers trembled...he paused briefly, feeling the power. She'd led him here...to the truth...she sought him out. He said a prayer and opened the first page.
By the time he finished the second volume, he couldn't breathe. He was numb from head to toe. It was too much, too rich and it zapped him. There was drawings of Philippe and the babies... two of them... details on the murder by the river and of Raoul's horrid and brutal treatment. He stared again the the large, painfully realistic sketch of the lockets. It was an incredible likeness... he knew... Cait wore one around her neck, the same one the infant wore... Grace, Cait's grandmother was either Alexandra or Angelique. The other was the infant that Sara must have kept. Somehow, they got split up.
"Oh My God..." he throat went dry. He made cryptic notes on a small pad from his pocket. He reread the passages again, seeking more clues. Isabella only mentioned that Sara lived with her grandmother in a cabin close by. The old woman was sick... near death. They planned on taking Sara with them to Paris. She never knew what happened to Sara or the babies. How tragic. Grace was adopted, that much he knew. She was found in a church, now he knew where. There was no mention of a child there. Why would Sara have left one alone? What happened to Sara and the other child? He needed to check the records again. He carefully replaced the books, fearful of anyone else finding them. He didn't trust the man who ran the house, Nigel Bates. He seemed to be everywhere and was downright eerie. No, until he knew where Sara and the other baby went, he would keep the secret. For some reason, he was afraid for Cait and Grace. Maybe he'd send them north to her mother's. Sighing, he left the garden, his need to protect the family overtook his need to speak with the old woman. He eased his lean frame into his car and pulled out his cellphone, dialing the one person he trusted with his family's lives.
"...yeah..."
"Ryan? I need a favor..."
Caitlin sat up in bed and frowned, eyeing the clock. Midnight? Who on earth was at the door? She walked to the spare bedroom, which overlooked the porch and leaned out the window. She saw the tall man and relaxed.
"Ryan?" she whispered, jogging through the house and opening the door."What's wrong? Seamus? Oh God..."
"No, he's fine," the NFL star entered the home, his face clearly angry.
"What? Max? An accident..."
"No, he's okay" he reassured, gripping her arms. "He's onto something... he wants you and the baby to go to Maine, with your mom and her sister."
"Now?" She shook her head. "I'm not waking her up... it's midnight. What the hell did he do?"
"I chartered a flight for you, at a private airfield. Pack what you need, you can get the rest up there. We gotta hurry, he's worried."
"Tell me, or I don't move an inch," she glared at her handsome brother-in-law. She saw the trace of apprehension in his crystal blue eyes. Ryan knew Max as well as she did, if he was frightened for his brother, it must be serious.
God she was beautiful... just being this close to her, the scent of jasmine clinging to the tanned skin peeking above the short robe. "It's tied into that story about the Moreau estate. He didn't go into details, he thought he was being followed. I know him, Cait, if he's worried, there's good reason. Let's go... now..."
He saw the tail right away. He drove towards the city, hoping to lose himself in the crowd. He turned and swerved, going down the narrow streets of the Garden District. He eyed the tail again, as they passed under a light.
"Shit," he swore, recognizing Nigel Bates. His phone rang and he picked it, barely able to hear. The cell was dying. He recognized his brother's voice.
"Cait and the baby?" he shouted, keeping his eyes on the mirror.
"They just took... ff... re..lax... fine..."
Ryan flinched at the poor reception. "Where are you? Max?"
"I got a stinger... on... tail..."
"Max???" Ryan hollered, watching the plane disappear into the night sky. "Where? At the house? Where?"
"...meet... urry... Ry... need you..."
"Max!" He hollered into the static, "Fuck!" he slammed the phone down and headed for his car.
Two blocks later, Max saw a police car and pulled over. He eyed the rearview and saw Bates turn off. Sighing in relief, he wiped his face with his shirt sleeve. A tap on the window drew his head up. He squinted at the badge, then cranked the window down.
"You okay, Sir?"
"I am now... thanks... Officer..."
"Trent, Geoffrey Trent," the serpent grinned, clicking the gun to the unspecting fly's head. "Slow and easy..."
"Hey, I didn't break any laws!" Max protested, keeping his hands in plain sight and his eyes on the gun. He climbed out and was thrown against the side of the car. "What the hell do..." That was the last words the reporter spoke. He didn't see the gun that slammed into his skull. He didn't feel that tall policeman ease him into the backseat on his belly, cuffing his wrists.
"Worked like a charm," Trent nodded to the caretaker, who'd been well paid. He waited until Bates drove away and eyed the payphone across the street. As he dialed, he thought of his mother, his Aunt Gussie and the poverty they'd lived in, while Louis Moreau and his ate oysters and champagne. "Soon... mother... soon..." he whispered, waiting for the hitman to pick up. "A half hour... just like we planned." He got the reply and hung up. Twenty minutes later, he was on a deserted stretch of road outside town. He pulled the reporter out and rolled him on the ground. He searched his pockets and found the cryptic notes, tucking them in his own pocket. The car held no clues, the reporter was careful. Bates was paid well to watch where he went each night. Tonight, he'd been hiding by the reporter's car and heard part of a message and that 'he'd found what he was looking for'. That meant proof... the rumored diaries Isabella Moreau hid in the house. Once his partner got her, they would transfer him to the other vehicle. They had a spot nearby, outfitted for 'getting information' from uncomplying witnesses.
"You're late," he said, as the other car pulled up. "Give me a hand with him," As they bent to pick up McKenna, he kicked out, sending Trent to the ground. Before he could warn his partner, it was too late. "You fool!" He hissed, dropping to the bloody reporter's side. He touched the neck, where blood was running from the head injury. "You hit him too hard... he's dead. Dammit!"
"Did he give anything up?"
"No... I'll read his notes... if he found in that maze, I can... Shit..." he kicked the corpse. "You'll pay for this, it comes out of your money. Take care of it... off the road..." he issued tersly, striding to the other man's car.
"Hey... how do I get back?"
"I don't give a flying fuck!" Trent hollered, pulling away.
He positioned the body behind the wheel and belted him inside. He released the brake and began the task.
Ryan was driving back the same back road from the airport. He saw a police car drive by and frowned. It was city car, they wouldn't be this far out of town. It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. A few miles later, his headlights caught a familiar silver Honda. Then he saw the body reclined against the seat.
"Max!" he pulled over, tires tossing gravel. He jumped out and headed to the car.
Trent's partner was in the bushes, relieving himself, when he heard the cry. Zipping up, he snuck up on the unsuspecting instruder and was about to shoot, when the man lost his footing and tumbled over the steep incline. He watched the body roll and roll, finally stopping and not moving. He smiled as his luck and pushed the car over the cliff. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed 911. He changed his voice, making is foreign and older. He feigned being outraged and alarmed. Some nut in a silver Honda nearly ran him off the road, driving like a madman.
Ryan raised his head briefly and saw the car descending. He saw Max's helpless body wobbling in the seat. He wanted to move, but pain shot through his left side, back and head. He heard a sick laugh and turned, spotting a sinister man with a silver hand. Silver hand? He blinked and saw Max's face in the glass. Ryan tried to move, but the pain was too great and he blacked out... just as he saw the car explode.
Geoff Trent heard the call come through and smiled. He'd read the notes and gained a whole new insight into his plan. McKenna had indeed discovered the books and Trent's years as a cop gave him an advantage. From the notes given, along with what Bates overheard, the dead reporter was worried about his wife. He spotted the word 'twins split up' and 'locket' 'ALD' 'ARD' and 'Cait' with an exclaimation point. He spotted the other clues: 'Sara' 'mute orphan' 'missing twin'. There was the name of the town in Baton Rouge where Raoul found Isabella. So, she and her lover lived there. Raoul murdered him and took a bride. Somehow, the babies lived, but were separated. He'd travel to that town and find out about Sara. But his eyes went back to the 'Cait!" He recalled the bio on McKenna and the surveillance photo's he'd taken. Caitlin Harte McKenna was a beautiful woman. In every shot of her, she was wearing a locket, with ARD on it. Could she be the missing heiress?
Three days later, he had his answer. The research in the ruins of the church, led him to the former pastor, now retired. He'd taken on the assignment in 1940. He didn't recall much about the old church. But when Trent mentioned a mute girl named Sara, he perked up a bit. He recalled the retiring pastor mentioning something about such a child. He went up to the attic, where a crate of old records lie dormant. They were the personal effects of Father Paul Maguire. Geoff's heart nearly jumped from his chest. There it was... in black and white. Charles and Catherine Anderson adopted a foundling the same time that Isabella was taken. A female infant with a locket and the initials ARD. The named the baby Grace... Grace was Cait McKenna's grandmother.
A few pages later, a small note was given. Father Dominic Auberge was traveling to Santa Fe to check up on an orphan. Sara Gavin had gone to live with her father there, after her grandmother's death. He called to report it was fine home and the couple had a child, a infant girl named Alexandra Lily. ALD... the pieces came together. Sara must have taken the other infant with her. He thanked the old priest and left, making several calls from the hotel. He only confirmed what the name told him. Lily Gavin's work was world renowned. He wasn't fool enough to kill her, an eldery woman with one foot in the grave. That would make no sense. She'd been dead soon enough. No, he'd make sure her bloodline was wiped out. Her only blood heirs... they must be eliminated. Being a detective had it's bonus's. Over the years, he'd made many contacts and within an hour, had the information he needed.
He dialed the phone and smiled... thinking on how to charm the widow McKenna. He'd find all about her, while he searched for the books. He'd learn her favorite foods, movies and hobbies. He'd give he a year, watching her closely, to mourn. Then he'd move in and court her slowly, before marrying her. He'd have the best of both worlds. The money that Louis Moreau cheated him out of and bedding the beautiful Caitlin. The old man would roll in his grave... yes, suddenly the world seemed so much brighter. On the fourth ring, a voice picked up.
"I have another job for, see that you don't screw this one up!"
"Where?"
"Denver and be careful with this one, the victim's husband is an ATF agent."
"Anymore good news?"
"Don't be a wiseass!" Trent hissed, 'Larabee, Sara and Adam' make it happen..."
Cletus Fowler hung the phone up and got the next flight to Denver. He spent a few days doing research, getting the photo's and layout of the house, grounds and access roads. Larabee wasn't around, apparently out of town. He knew Sara only used her husband's truck, when the weather got dicey. A violent summer storm that day, left the roads a mess. He arrived early on the morning of July 3rd. Mrs. Larabee and her son left the house early, taking the truck. He was down the road, watching through high range field glasses. He smiled, got back in his car and went forward. She came down the mountain road, sick with rain. He took the curve hard, came right at her without warning, forcing her to swerve. She never had a chance, neither did the poor bastard on the bike that she ran into. He forced her car off the steep rocky road, taking the unfortunate biker too. The fireball was pronounced and he took off, driving slowly, the only car on the road. He pulled into a gas station, watching the cops fly up the mountain road. He did a double take at the airport, when through the crowd and dark glasses, he spotted Chris Larabee, the new widower, laughing with a friend, having just gotten off a plane. It was so sweet, he laughed all the way home, already counting his bonus.
Sunday was called the Lord's day for lots of reasons. Just that relaxing, lazy, stretch-and-lay-in-the-sun feeling was reason enough. Today, this Sunday, was no different. Sun was high in the sky, inhaling the cool, crisp air. A trace of snow on the ground and bacon sizzling in a cast iron pan just added to the peace. Josiah Sanchez flipped two eggs with perfection, landing them on the waiting hot plate. The toast was buttered and the peppers were fried. Cold, fresh OJ and black coffee were waiting. He set the perfect plate down, just like a picture from a magazine. He had the fork poised, when the phone rang.
"I'm beginning to worry about your sense of humor," the ex-preacher noted, raising his smokey eyes to the ceiling. He lived in a rough-hewn cabin outside town. It was quiet and he liked it that way. He sighed, pushed his chair back and walked to the phone on the wall.
"Hello?"
"Did I wake you?"
"Chris?" he frowned, walking back to the table. "Everything okay?"
"Fine, well not really..." The vacationing team leader hedged, sipping coffee on the patio. He only had about fifteen minutes until Vin would be jogging back. He knew the preacher had studied many forms of spirtualism and even dabbled in hypotherapy. "Is it possible for someone to speak fluently in a language in their sleep, when they don't in normal circumstances?"
"What?" Josiah frowned, sipping his juice. Where did that come from? "You mind explaining a little more?"
"Vin followed..." Chris paused and thought better, "...uh... I saw Vin wandering in the garden last night. There is a large, huge old piece of landscaping behind the house. In the center, is a maze... a very complex one. The deeper you go, the narrowier it becomes. I followed him, he was barefoot, barechested, not really awake. He was speaking fluent French, I mean perfect diction... it didn't sound like him. I did catch up to him and he attacked him, choked me out."
"Damn," Josiah swallowed some toast and eggs, then sipped his coffee. "He doesn't remember anything?"
"No. Just going to bed and then waking up with his feet in the tub..."
"Huh?"
"Oh, he cut 'em up... they were bleeding and full of dirt. I put them in the tub..."
"He troubled by anything? Worried on something?" the eldest paused, recalling J.D. looking up the Sauville House on the internet. "That place is haunted... you know." When Chris didn't argue, Josiah knew he'd hit a sore spot. "Is that it? Did Vin see a ghost or encounter a cold spot or..."
"She came to me first, a few days ago. Last night, she touched me... talked to me... I denied her... she needed help... I guess she went to Vin. Why can I remember and he can't? Why French? It didn't even sound like him."
"It probably wasn't him. It could be a lot of things and yes, there have been people who go so deeply into a subconscious state while asleep, that they do all kinds of things, and remember nothing. Talking, eating, even driving... we don't know alot about what happens to your brain while you sleep. There are a lot of spiritualists, in all sorts of religious backgrounds, who believe the soul travels while the body sleeps. During this time, the 'body' can be claimed by another soul... another wandering one or a restless spirit."
"Sounds like the fuckin' Twilight Zone," Chris hissed, watching for Vin by the side entrance below.
"Don't scoff at something just because you don't understand it, Chris. I've seen it... in South America and in Haiti. I've seen so-called-dead people, buried for days, dug up and reborn. How is he?"
"In denial." Chris admitted, "Scared... shakey... I think we ought to find another hotel."
"Won't change his problem."
"Why not?" Chris asked, "We won't be here."
"His mind... spirit... soul, his subconscious... that goes with him. Leaving there won't fix it, he has to confront it. Unless he gets hurt... or it's physically dangerous for him to stay."
"No, she won't hurt him." Chris defended the blonde woman. "But some of the other characters around here give me the creeps."
"You are in New Orleans, Chris, they are a very religious people, they believe..."
"How do I help him?" the frustrated friend interrupted.
"Keep close to him... watch over him. If she comes again, don't shut her out. You're the one she wants... you said she came to you, asked you for help. If Vin was speaking French and following her..."
"Shit!" Chris sat forward, "I never thought of that... somebody... something else got a hold of Vin. Somebody she knew and loved."
"Loved?"
"He was crying Josiah, he was heartbroken because he couldn't find her... telling her he loved her..." He sighed again, watching Vin's sweatsoaked, curly head trot by under the window. "I gotta go, he's back. I'll call you later. Thanks Josiah."
"Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"That's a dangerous town... be careful."
"Yeah."
The bountiful buffet was laden with fruits, caesar and other salads, bagels, croissants, mini pecan rolls and other breads, muffins and toppings. There was a carvery with prime rib, ham and roast pork. A chef making omelettes to order and waffles. There was the usual assortment of sausages, bacon, fried potatoes, grilled tomatoes, scrambled eggs, french toast stuffed with bananas in powered sugar and eggs benedict. Also, chicken in wine sauce, seafood newberg, crawfish and one whole table of local specialites. The desserts were in their own room, along with an international coffee bar. Chris sipped a mimosa and watched Vin enter the room. He kept his eyes on the younger man, as he shuffled to the seat. He poured them each a cup of coffee, from the thermal carafe on the table.
"Thanks," Vin managed, dousing it liberally with sugar. He sipped thoughtfully for a few minutes, then sighed. "Go on and eat, Chris, I ain't hungry."
"It must be snowing outside," the blond frowned, "Eat a little, even if it's just toast and eggs or a waffle. We'll talk upstairs... something happened out there, Vin." He watched the lean Texan sit back in the chair and fold his hands across his abdomen. The blue eyes were troubled, with dark circles under them. He came back with a full plate of food for himself and a plate with two sausages, a piece of french toast and some bacon for Vin. The other nodded, put only picked at his food. Finally, he gave up, pushing the plate away. He poured more coffee and looked up.
"Chris, ya don't mind if we skip goin' out today, do ya? I gotta get m'presentation ready fer the class tomorra and I'm kinda tired..."
"No problem, Vin, we can do it later in the week. Class is done at noon on Tuesday. I wanted to explore the marketplace and walk around the river a little. How about if I come back around two or so, pick you up for lunch? Okay? Then we'll talk."
"Yeah, thanks..." he couldn't help but notice the bruising on Chris's neck inside the deep moss green shirt. "I'm sorry about all o'this..."
"I know, Vin, it's all over. Why don't you go back to bed?"
"No!" he said suddenly, not wishing the dreams to come back. "I mean... I ain't tired... I... I'm fine."
Chris sighed and watched him leave, before consuming the rest of his meal. The day was slow and lazy. He strolled along the streets off Jackson Square, eyeing the many shops and then the vendors in the Marketplace. He bought a few things for Billy Travis, J.D. and Ezra. He'd already gotten Buck, Nate and Josiah something. Vin was even more somber when he picked him up.
"Someplace quiet..." Vin requested in a shadow of a voice. He watched the homes with a bored expression, not seeing them at all. He kept seeing her face, that purple choker and the haunted eyes that matched. But nothing else... until the blood in the tub. Why couldn't he remember? His gut instinct told him, this was no dream. Something did happen and it involved both of them. He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped a bit.
"Sorry, you didn't answer me," Chris turned the ignition off. "Hamburgers okay? This place is pretty good."
"Fine," Vin eyed the St. Charles Tavern and climbed out of the car. He got a bacon cheeseburger and a beer. Chris got one with mushrooms and swiss and a beer also. He didn't realize how hungry he was, until he took the first bite. Swallowing a mouthful, he took a swig of beer and sat back. "Why can't I remember? We both seen her... that Isabella lady... ya remember her, I can't. Something's not right... it ain't no dream."
"I woke up last night and she was on the bed with me," Chris admitted, "I... heard... that is... thought I heard... her speaking... asking for help to... follow her. I chased her away. After I took some aspirin, I saw her again, in the garden. You were following her."
Vin paused, a wounded trio of cajun fries in his hand, bleeding ketchup onto the pile beneath. "...and..." He dropped the hot potatoes, when he saw Chris's face blanch. "All of it, don't be hiddin' nothin', I gotta know."
"Okay," Chris took a swig of beer, then peeled at the label. "I chased you through the maze, way past the tourist parts, right in the heart of it. It was narrow, brushing my shoulders... I thought I lost you... but then I heard you talking to her... in French."
"What!" Vin whispered, eyes wide and Adam's apple bobbing. He swallowed the burger bite hard, hurting the back of his throat. "I can't... don't talk French, Chris. Hell, I can't even talk English right..."
"Josiah thinks that..."
"Ya told Josiah!" Vin cried out angrily. "Hell, who else knows I'm losin' m'mind... shit... it weren't yer place t'be blabbin'..."
"I had to ask, Vin, I was worried!" Chris shot back, "You damn near choked me to death, that gave me a damn good reason." He saw the blue fires die down and turn to shame. "Don't go there, Vin. Look at me when I'm talking to you," he commanded angrily. "He's studied lots of forms of religion, Vin. He's seen things all over the world that defy science or logic. He knows about this... type of thing. He said it's possible."
"What was I sayin'?" Vin asked after several tense minutes.
"I'm not sure... but your heart was broken when you couldn't see her anymore. He... you were telling her you loved her and saying you were sorry..."
"He?"
"It wasn't your voice... I can't explain it..."
"I looked up some stuff on yer laptop, about her... the house." Vin shoved the plate away. "There was a rumor she eloped. Her Pa had some kinda arranged marriage lined up t'some mean old bastard. She run off with a fella she's in love with... well, it's just a rumor. Moreau, he found her near Baton Rouge... claimed she's a drunk, out of 'er head. Some of the stuff on the internet said she had a child by the lover... nobody ever found the baby. Maybe she's lookin' fer the child..."
"Maybe," Chris sighed, "I'm sure sorry I brought you down here, Vin."
"I ain't!" Vin smiled weakly. "I was tired last night, Chris and m'head was full o'all that shit them ghost tour guides was spoutin'. It might never happen again. This week, the class... leadin' the group. I learnt a lot... from you."
"Me?" Chris smiled, shaking his head and picking up his sandwich. "You got that backwards, Cowboy. I've learned more about life from you... well, I'm just glad you parked your boots under the Team Seven star."
"Hell, yer drunk!" Vin blushed, toasting his best friend. "Guess I'll say I'm sorry in advance."
"Sorry?"
"Yeah, fer beatin' the tar outta ya in the presentation tomorra. That Captain's award is up fer grabs and it's got Vin Tanner all over it!" he bragged with new bravado, thrusting his chest out. He saw the laugh born, before the voice came. Chris's eyes always crinkled up before he laughed.
"Your full of shit!" Larabee shot back, "No way a scrawny-assed Tanner is taking me down."
They went down to the river and took a walk, not talking much. Just enjoying the relaxation and solititude that came with each other's company. Chris didn't sleep much that night, worried about Vin. But the younger man slept soundly. Monday was a long day, a full day of class and a review for the test. They got pizza and turned in early. Again, Vin slept through the night and Chris didn't, still worried. Tuesday the test was done early and the rest of the day devoted to the presentations by the six teams.
Chris's team and Vin's were neck and neck. Chris felt a smug pride when the younger man gave the presentation on behalf of his group. How he'd grown since he came to Denver. His confidence and self-assurance were shining today. Plus he blushed twice, an attractive feature which didn't go unnoticed by the teacher. The blond had to smile at that and shake his head. He knew then, he was beaten. Sure enough, Vin's team came out on top. After the enthusiastic round of cheers by the other teams died down, the teacher walked to the table and stood by Vin.
"You remember that questionaire you all had to fill out yesterday?"
"Yeah," Vin hedged, recalling the rating of books, material, teacher, etc. There was also a full page for comments on the work group.
"Well, we review them and send them to headquarters, it helps to improve future classes. But the commentary, well... we use that for the captain's award."
"The what?" Vin croaked, suddenly feeling his face flush with color. He swallowed hard when she handed him a sleek, black leather valise. "I can't... hell, I can barely manage a brown bag..."
The laughter, cheers and whistles only made him more uncomfortable, but he smiled. He didn't miss the fact the his best friend was clapping the loudest. Then he thanked each one of his teammates.
"You didn't open it," The instructor edged, after congratulating the victor.
Vin placed the soft leather attache on his worn jeans and unzipped it. Inside was an envelope with a gift certificate for a local restaurant. "Ya shouldn'a done this..." his voice trailed off. "Thanks..."
There was cake, coffee and mingling for awhile. Chris noticed Vin was missing. He excused himself and ducked outside, spotting the young man sitting alone on a shaded bench. He was about to approach, when he spotted the slow smile form. Vin was reading a card his team signed, with personal notes on it. He watched the shaggy head cock sideways and the smile widen, leaving the Texan's face completely satisified.
"Good for you, Vin Tanner," he whispered, letting the soft breeze life his hair. He waited a few moments, letting Vin enjoy his moment, then he approached.
"Not like you to pass up chocolate cake," he teased of the confirmed chocahololic.
"I got m'eye on the end hunk," Vin grinned, sliding over so Chris could sit down. "Here..."
"Vin, I can't take this, you earned it," Larabee denied the handsome leather valise.
"...clashes with m'wardrobe," Tanner crowed of his nearly all denim daily ensemble. "'sides, that one yer totin' is gettin' ratty."
"It's not ratty! You got balls!" He defended of the leather bag he carried his work in.
"...and I'm right proud of 'em..." Vin aired cockily, arching an eyebrow. The combination of which sent his best friend into a snorted burst of laughter. "Only reason I got a life now, is cause of y'all. ." He ducked his head away, shyly, "I can never give back what ya taught me... it'd never be enough. So ya keep that..."
Chris thought for a moment, met Vin's warm smile and nodded, clasping his forearm. "Your a cheap bastard, Tanner, you know that."
"...right proud o'that too!" Vin laughed, then handed Chris the card. "Hard t'believe they was sober..." he offered of the greetings.
Chris read the expressions written and smiled again, full of pride. Vin had grown so much since joining the team. Reading the notes giving the Texan credit for what was accomplished felt good.
"I wasn't going to say anything, Vin, but I heard they did get toasted last night, when they wrote..."
"Shut the hell up!" Vin laughed, grabbing the other's arms, "Gimme m'fuckin' card back, ya no account jackass..." He tucked the card away in his innner pocket, along with the look of pride on his friend's face as he read it. There wasn't any man he respected more than Chris Larabee and getting it back, well, there weren't words for what that meant. He eyed the gift certificate and stood up, waiting until Chris was walking with him.
"This place one of them that ya gotta tote fifteen forks?"
"No," Chris laughed, "but it's not Burger King. It's got great food."
"Ya busy tonight?" Vin offered and continued, after Chris gave him a bemused look. "...we gotta get cleaned up. I got a new shirt and them black pants in yer closet... that tie with the blue bats on it..."
"They're not bats," Chris held the door, "it's a design. What do you mean my black pants? Maybe I don't want your boys roaming around my neighborhood."
"I'd be doin' ya a favor," Vin continued, "ya can't wear all of 'em... ya brung too many. This way, they get some use." He paused watching Chris's face puzzle up. He gave the dark blue shirt a solid squeeze on the shoulder. "No need t'thank me..."
"Funny, that wasn't my first choice of words," he shook his head again, lost in Tanner logic.
While Chris and Vin enjoyed a three hour gormet feast at the Commander's Palace, across town, Jessenia Broussard was busy. She placed the ancient clay bowl on the table. The room was darkened, except for the flickering candles. She poured some oil in the bowl and waved her hands over it, rocking her body back and forth. She wrote down their names, Philippe Dubonnet and Vin Tanner, and placed them in the bowl. A pattern of cornmeal decorated the floor. She chanted, shaking a rattle and hearing the call of the drums in the distance.
"By blood you're joined and his soul is new. Spirit rise and seek what is true. It's time for vengeance against the dark one. Seven moons have passed and my job is done. With the new dawn, the quest begins with the new, young one. Guide him, keep him, protect him and lead him."
She tossed sacred musk in the bowl, laughing at the burst of blue smoke. She watched him in the mirror, dining with the blond one. He was stong and confident, his aura rippling with blue light. Tomorrow, with the noon sun, he'd protect the bloodline. His journey would begin.
"Damn, it looks like rain!" Vin frowned, chugging hot chololate on the patio. It was about eight a.m. on Wenesday morning. They thought, after breakfast, they'd ask Bates about the alligator excursions in the bayou. But as storm clouds rolled in, they decided to change their plans. There was some museums Chris thought were worth seeing. "Come on, Old Man, I'll treat ya t'breakfast at that Café. I got a hankerin' fer a pack of them doughnuts."
"Money is no object when you can buy us both breakfast and get change from a ten." Chris barbed. They made their way to the cafe. Vin got the food and Chris got on the phone.
"Ezra, what the fuck is this?" Buck spit a mouthful of bagel into the trash.
"It's an herb mixture, I mixed it into the cream cheese..."
"Yeah, well it tastes like foot fungus..." The rogue dismayed, eyeing his ruined bagel.
"Uh...Ezra..you didn't use that cream cheese that was in the fridge, did you?" J.D. approached.
"Yes, why?"
"It was kinda sour... old... You didn't smell it?"
"The fact that I am walking upright with this infernal germ convention is nothing short of a miracle. I cannot smell anything..."
"Wait a minute," Nathan intervened, eyeing the youngest, "If you knew it was bad, J.D., why didn't you throw it out?"
"I forgot."
"That's weak, J.D.!" Sanchez rolled his eyes, cuffing the smirking Dunne on the neck.
The phone rang and Buck picked it up, "ATF, Wilmington." He smiled and punched the conference call button, allowing the voice to come over the speaker. "Hey Chris! You two bums ready to come home?"
"No, and tell J.D. to get his feet off my desk."
"How's he do that?" Dunne amazed, dragging his feet down.
"That's why I get the big money, Kid," Larabee grinned, watching Vin shoving hot beignets in his mouth, before picking the tray up. They were too hot...causing the younger man to put the tray down and spit them out. Sugar graced his lips, sitting under the now flushed face. Their eyes met and the blond laughed, "...serves you right, you pig!"
"Are you talking to me?" Dunne wounded.
"No, Vin," Chris relayed, "he burned his mouth on beignets..."
"Class all done?" Nate asked. Josiah told them the leader would call around nine. So they were in his office.
"Yeah, we got done yesterday. The lone ranger's team scored the highest points in group presentation. Vin got voted the Captains award."
"How much?" Buck asked.
"A gift certificate which we used on dinner last night and a leather attache, which he donated in good sense." Chris paused as Vin sat down, placing two large cups of café au lait on the table and two baskets of hot, sugar coated pastries. "He's right here, guys, hold on..."
"Hey ya'll!" Vin greeted, then winced when a group "Congratulations" assaulted his ear. "Somebodies got a big mouth!" He glared at Chris, who nibbled on a doughnut.
"You sure do blush pretty, Vin!" Nate teased.
"Yeah but you can't sing..." J.D. added.
"Your hidden talents in luring unsuspecting females into your lair is second to none," Ezra nasaled, through his cold, "I tip my cap..."
"Speaking of which, Slick, we've been studying the film, we decided that's definitely a four." Buck grinned, high-fived J.D. and waited.
"What!" Vin hollered in a high octave, sitting up, "How the hell... films? Yer dead Larabee!" he threatened the chuckling blond, who dodged the boot kicking at him.
"Now, Ezra," Nate continued, over the team's laughter, "he voted for a seven, but we all thought it was a four."
"We'll let you know what Mike Ryan's group decides before..." Buck started, only to have the irate Texan blast him.
"That ain't a Goddamn bit funny, Bucklin!" Vin glared openly at the laughing leader across from him. "Ya best get yer affairs in order, Larabee. How much?" he spoke into the phone.
"It's like a mini series, we get a new section every day." J.D. crowed. "I never knew you sang in the shower..."
"Aw, hell," Vin muttered, "I ain't gonna be able t'hold m'head up... ya seen it all?"
"Right down to your cute lil' Tanner ass," Buck laughed, feeling Vin's face flush.
"Tanner paybacks is a bitch, Cowboy, ya remember I warned ya!" He growled, face scowling at Chris raised a single sandy eyebrow and smirked openly.
"Hey Vin, is that phone number your sportin' for the girl with the great teeth you cozied up to?"
"Shit!" Vin hunched down, even though the tell tale bruising was long gone.
"She sure was a looker," the womanizer continued, "I'd do you twice to get to her."
"How come it's always me yer doin' t'get t'a girl?" Vin puffed in anger, "It ain't never J.D. yer doin' er Nate er even Ezra," he voice sneered.
"I think I'm wounded," Standish jested, tapping his chest and winking at Buck
"...it's always me yer doin'..." Vin continued of the running Wilmington gag. Whenever the group was out at a bar and a pretty girl wandered by; Buck would make his intensions known. It always ended him 'doing Vin' if he could get to that girl. "...makes me feel like a damn piece o'meat..." He huffed indignantly. He heard silence on the other end of the phone, until Josiah's deep baritone interrupted. The preacher repeated the line he first said, the first time Buck aired the comment, several months before.
"Well, Son, you do have a cute little ass..."
The riotous laughter rained through the phone line. Vin tried hard not to join in, but lost the battle easily. He handed the phone to Chris, who watched Vin struggle, then lose control. He was laughing so hard, he had tears in his blue eyes. Chris finally got a voice through the hysteria on the other end. Nathan repeated the conversation and Chris grinned, enjoying the comaraderie that made their team unique.
The morning and early afternoon flew by, in a whirl of musuems. Vin enjoyed every minute, especially Chris's acute observations. The man was so knowledgeable, especially about history, it amazed Tanner. They stopped for lunch in the French Quarter. Chris was only beginning his large Aztec Salad, when he spotted Vin squirming.
"Ain't ya done yet?"
"Some of us actually eat, rather than inhale food, Vin," Chris dismissed, eyes taking in the jiggling knee, slim fingers thrumming the table top and butt squirming. He shook his head and picked up his fork. Vin had finished his sandwich in record speed. Not surprising when you consider the unusually high sugar trip he was on. It wasn't bad enough that he ingested a ridiculous amount of beignets, but during their travels this morning, he'd gulped down pralines and coke as well. "Jesus, cut that out!" he barked, slapping the jumping knee. "You're ready to go into orbit! You're worse that a kid. If you can't sit here, while I finish, take a walk up the street. Come back in a half hour."
"Okay," he stood, eyeing the large amount of greens, doused with peppers, jack cheese, hot sausage and other mexican items. "Aw, hell... we only got one bathroom..."
"Go!" Larabee barked, dropping his fork and glaring openly. Vin's chuckling stayed at the table, long after the body left.
The black sky remained as he walked along, eyeing the windows. He'd walked one street and turned back, heading up the other side to meet Chris. A loud clap of thunder caused him to hurry. Then he saw a tiny doorway, as the fat drops fell. He didn't feel them, his gaze was drawn to a rainbowed figure painted on the glass. As soon as he saw it, he got a pain in his head. The outside world went away.
"You have a keen eye, young man," a mezmerizing voice said from his side. "That is the spirit Ayza, the protector... come... come... lesove..."
He nodded, his mouth was dry and his body felt like lead. He saw the door open and walked inside, letting the old woman guide him. He inhaled the insense that clung to the dank air and felt dizzy. Crystals of glass in all shapes and sizes reflected by the candles, caused more rainbows. He felt his body swaying to the drums. Drums? He shook his head and swayed again. Voices were chanting... louder and louder. He clapped his hands to his ears and his knees buckled.
"Rest... your journey is about to begin." She eased him onto a shallow altar, watching him bonelessly surrender. His eyes were dull and heavy, his breathing labored, his fingers curled into balls. She stroked his hair and caressed his cheek, murmuring into his ear. She took the cup, containing fresh goat's blood and other spirit enhancers and drank from it, before holding it to his lips. "Drink..." Once completed, she pushed his pliant body back, stretching him out on the altar. She unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest. She took the sacred oil and annointed his forehead, heart and hands. His body slowed down, his eyes shut, his fingers uncurled and rested calmly, he was hers. Smiling, she placed the candles around him, begin chanting and gripped his head tightly between her aged hands. Stroking his temples with her thumbs, she opened the portal, his sharp intake of air, mixed with a cry of pain, began the trip.
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