“Jeezus, Row…” Ben groaned. “Are you sure you ain’t talkin’ about a friggin’ horror movie or somethin’?”
“I know. It sounds like one, doesn’t it? But, here’s the rub. One of the initial theories was that Doctor Lalaurie had been conducting medical experiments on the slaves. However, according to the story printed in the New Orleans Bee, it was determined via witnessed accounts that the wife, Delphine, was insane and that it was she who was responsible for inflicting the tortures on them.”
“Damn. So did they hang ‘er sorry ass?”
“No. Following the discovery, she fled New Orleans in a somewhat spectacular escape, and where she ended up is a bit of a mystery.”
“So you think maybe the ghost of this Delphine woman is really Miranda?” he asked.
“No, but close. Listen to this,” I replied then shifted the papers so I could read him the notice. “ Found Drowned. The coroner held an inquest yesterday on the body of a woman named, Miranda Blanque, sister of Delphine Lalaurie, aged forty-three years, who was found floating in the Mississippi opposite the third municipality. It appears that on Sunday night last, she was seen to have jumped into the river. Verdict accordingly.
“That was from the front page of the New Orleans Bee, September eighteenth, eighteen fifty-one. The tomb that Doctor Rieth is taking me to see is that of one Miranda Blanque, date of death, on or around September fourteenth, eighteen fifty-one, which would have been that Sunday.”
“Jeezus, Row…”
“Yeah, Ben. I think maybe insanity runs in that family.”
“No shit,” Ben muttered, then spoke up and huffed, “Okay… I hate ta’ rain on your parade, but where does all that get ya’?”
“It gives us a pretty good idea why Annalise has been doing the things she has,” I explained.
“Yeah, but we’re still talkin’ about a dead person here, Row. I can’t arrest a dead person. Besides, what it all comes down to is that Felicity’s evil sis is the one that’s really doin’ the killin’.”
“I know that. But, Miranda is the one driving her to do it.”
“Yeah, so? Miranda’s still dead. We need ta’ be lookin’ for a live homicidal bitch.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“I mean Annalise is your problem, not mine.”
“Come again?”
“Look, Ben, I’ve been told at every turn to stay out of this. By your superiors, by Detective Fairbanks this morning, and at least a dozen times by you over the past few weeks. So, that’s what I’m doing.”
“I thought ya’ said you’d been at the library?”
“I have.”
“Well, the way you’re talkin’, it sounds more like ya’ been hangin’ out in a bar gettin’ trashed. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re up ta’ your ass in all of this no matter what anyone has said.”
“I can’t help it if our investigations overlap.”
“Now you’re just bein’ an asshole again, White Man.”
“Call it what you want, but I’m not here looking for Annalise. I’m looking for Miranda.”
“Oh, so now you’re a friggin’ ghost cop, are ya?”
“Sure. Why not? Obviously somebody has to do it; I guess it might as well be me. Look at it this way-I’m giving you what you want. I’m staying out of your way.”
“Fuck me,” he spat then paused. A second later he added, “Like I said before, I think you’ve lost your goddamned mind. When’s the last time you got some sleep?”
“You’re the third person to ask me that today,” I said. “It’s starting to get a little old.”
“Been awhile, huh?”
“That’s irrelevant, Ben. This whole thing got personal the minute Miranda decided to use Felicity as a horse. You don’t really think that’s going to stop just by finding Annalise and locking her up do you?”
“Shit, I don’t know,” he huffed. “I ain’t mister Voodoo guy. It’s all just one big freak show as far as I’m concerned. Hell, I sometimes wonder if I’m a half bubble off for believin’ any of it.”
“You’ve seen too much not to believe, Ben.”
“Yeah, and that’s the problem…” he sighed. “So, tell me… What’re ya’ gonna do now that ya’ think you’ve found ‘er?
I puffed my cheeks then blew out a heavy breath before answering. “I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
CHAPTER 11:
Their reprieve had been too long, and I was growing impatient. I needed to be satisfied and these constant interruptions were making that need even harder to bear. If that little bitch in the kitchen knew what was good for her, she would get on with her work and stop pestering me.
I started back up the stairs, pausing only for a moment when I thought I heard my name being called yet again. The tickle deep inside was growing, and it was all I could do to stand there in silence, waiting. But, I heard nothing other than the sound of my own heart as it began to race faster with anticipation. Turning, I gathered my dress in front of me and started back upward, my shoes striking with a deliberate thump against the wooden planks. Before I was even halfway through my climb, I could hear their muted sobbing filling the short voids between my footfalls.
My excitement welled in a warm rush that traveled all the way into my stomach, forcing me to catch my breath in a sudden gasp.
They feared me. I could feel it. I could even taste it on the air as I began to take shallow breaths through my parted lips. This was how it should be. Their fear and their pain were my pleasure. It was how they showed their love for me. And, it belonged to me-as did they.
I stopped at the top of the stairs, standing perfectly still for a short moment. The tickle was becoming the itch that would soon be exploding through me, making my knees go weak and my passions flare; but I knew that at this moment it was only the beginning. Very soon that itch would be everything. And, all that I needed to make it happen was just on the other side of the door.
I unlocked the barrier and pushed it open. A small swath of dim light fell across the room. The door creaked on the un-oiled hinges as it swung wider. I entered slowly, savoring the promise of what was to come before turning and pressing the door closed in my wake.
They were moaning, at least those who could. Some of them were even sobbing quietly. Their misery fueled my desire. I stepped with determination across the room, the soles of my shoes clacking lightly against the floorboards.
I stood near him in the darkness. I could hear him mumbling, and it sounded as if he was praying. I smiled to myself at the very thought, imagining that his prayers were not to God, but to me as his Goddess.
I started to step away, but my foot hit something soft that made me almost lose my balance. I felt it move as I shuffled then heard it whimper as I thudded against it again. One of them was on the floor. I couldn’t tell if it was a woman or a man, but that mattered little. I gathered my dress up and stepped on it. The thing let out an animal-like wail, but I ignored its pleas, and instead I reveled in its misery. After a moment I continued across the room.
The shutters clunked as I swung them open, allowing the afternoon light to spill in. It was growing late, but the illumination seemed bright in the shadowy room. I glanced around at the others. Most had provided me with fruitful entertainment. Those that did not were no longer here. But, my sights this day were not set on them. I was here for the new arrival.
I moved deliberately back across the plank floor, returning to my station near his head. He was chained to a low table-nude and bound at the wrists and ankles. He was pristine but for a few telltale signs of the lash. Looking at him, prone and helpless, I felt the itch ignite my entire body.