The Undead Uproar

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I would say you got lucky there,” the officer agreed. “I’m Officer Pete Pasquale. I heard the call come in. Are you the one who called it in, ma’am?”

  His question was aimed at me so I nodded. “Yeah. He was dead, though. I’m telling you. We’re not imagining it.”

  “Well, he obviously didn’t come back to life,” Pasquale prodded. “That means he wasn’t dead.”

  “No.” I was firm as I shook my head. “You can tell when someone is dead. He wasn’t moving ... and his eyes were open and he wasn’t blinking. He was dead.”

  “Ma’am, he’s breathing.” Pasquale gestured toward the man who was still snapping his teeth at Randy. For his part, the paramedic seemed to be an expert at avoiding a potentially dangerous bite because his hands were deft as he worked to triage the man’s injuries. “He’s clearly not dead.”

  “But ... he was.”

  “I think you’re imagining things.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “She’s not imagining things. I was with her and saw the same thing.”

  “Are you perhaps drunk?”

  “No. I had one rum and coke and I didn’t come close to finishing it. I’m not drunk.”

  “I was simply asking because ... well ... this is New Orleans. The question wasn’t meant as an insult.”

  “And yet it felt like an insult,” I muttered under my breath.

  Jack tightened his grip on me. “I’m not a hysteric. I saw what I saw. He was dead. And I know you’re not inclined to believe this because of the nature of this situation, but I’m the last person who would be predisposed to believe in zombies.”

  “That’s true,” I confirmed. “He tells me I’m crazy for believing in stuff like that all the time. I mean ... just ask him about the Megalodon incident.”

  Pasquale made a face. “I’m sorry ... what?”

  “Ignore her.” The look Jack shot me was full of admonishment. He clearly wanted me to be quiet. I could manage that – maybe just barely, but I could – and I wisely zipped my lips. “I’m not saying he’s a zombie. I’m just saying ... maybe test his blood for pufferfish poison.”

  “That’s a very specific suggestion,” Pasquale noted. “Do you have any reason to believe that he was poisoned?”

  “No, but a scientist I know explained earlier today about pufferfish poison and how it mimics signs of death, and now I can’t get it out of my mind.”

  “It’s not as weird as it sounds,” I interjected when Pasquale made an incredulous face. “We were talking about the zombie stories that people are spreading and she told us about the pufferfish poison. He’s not saying this guy was really poisoned with pufferfish toxin.”

  “Uh-huh.” Pasquale didn’t look convinced.

  “He’s really not,” I reassured him. “It’s just ... I swear that he was dead.” I adopted what I’d been told was my most trustworthy smile. People tended to believe me regardless, probably because of my age, but I was desperate to find an opening for us to leave. I was uncomfortable being out in the open like this, especially with a potential zombie snapping away at our feet. “We’re not telling you how to do your job, but it’s probably best that you not let him bite you.”

  “I think we can manage that, ma’am.” Pasquale forced a smile that didn’t make it all the way to his eyes and then pointed toward the curb. “I’m going to need to take a formal statement. You’ll have to wait about ten minutes or so while I organize efforts here. If you could just step over there, I promise to be with you as soon as possible.”

  “Sure.” Jack kept me close to his side as he headed toward the curb. “We’ll be right over here.”

  I waited until it was just the two of us to ask the obvious question. “Do you believe in zombies now?”

  “I still don’t believe in zombies.” He was firm. “It is a weird situation, though.”

  “He was dead. You and I both know it. We saw it. You’re not even remotely an alarmist and you saw it.”

  “I ... don’t know.” He was conflicted as he pulled me against him. “It was definitely weird.”

  “Zombies are always weird.”

  Jack shook his head. “I can’t get to zombies, Charlie. Don’t push it.”

  “Fine.” I slipped my arms around his neck and offered a hug, which he gladly took. My eyes drifted to the LaLaurie Mansion. Our tour group was gone, disappeared into the night. Only one or two people remained behind to answer questions. I found that telling. “Do you know what happened to Madame LaLaurie?”

  “No.” His voice was a whisper close to my ear. “What?”

  “When rumors started circulating about what she’d done to her slaves, a mob attacked the house.”

  “I’m pretty sure that was deserved.”

  “Oh, without a doubt. But she escaped. The mob set a fire and she ran. She managed to get out of the country and fled to Paris.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a punishment. Of course, this was the 1800s. It’s not as if police had computers to track people down back then.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did she die?”

  “There are two stories. The first is that she died in a boar-hunting accident in France.”

  “That sounds like karma.”

  “The other says that a sexton of St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 found a copper plate in the cemetery with her name on it. This was in the 1930s, I believe, so it would’ve been years after she supposedly died.”

  “Meaning ... what?”

  “Meaning that no one knows how she died. All they know is that she got away with torturing her slaves. Her persona has grown larger than life in the years since and it doesn’t matter that the copper plate had her dying seven years before officials in Paris registered her death. She’s still infamous.”

  “That’s kind of a depressing story, Charlie.”

  “I don’t deny that. Her house is still standing. It’s a testament to horror.”

  “And you say people live in it now?”

  “They do. They won’t allow tourists inside.”

  “Do you blame them?”

  “Not even a little. The house was restored in the late 1800s, long after Madame LaLaurie died. It’s been used as a high school ... and a music conservatory ... a bar ... and a furniture store ... and even an apartment building. None lasted because the history of the house made people believe it was evil.”

  Jack pulled back so he could stare into my eyes. “Do you believe a house can be evil?”

  “I don’t know. I believe people can be born evil. I also believe people can be made evil. Maybe if someone really evil owns a house it’s forever tainted because the memory simply can’t be washed away.”

  “This sounds like a nature vs. nurture argument.”

  “You don’t believe that people are born to be something?”

  “No.” He was firm. “I believe people make themselves. I mean ... look at you. You spent most of your childhood wondering about your birth family. You said you always knew you were adopted, and while you loved your adoptive parents, there was still a hole where your birth parents should’ve been. You didn’t see a lot of happiness. You could be terrible to deal with because of that, bitter and mean. You’re not. You’re warm and open. Laura is bitter and mean, and she grew up with everything handed to her. That’s proof right there that we make ourselves.”

  “That’s a good point and I mostly believe it. I also believe some people are sociopaths and they’re born that way. They simply have something disconnected in their brains.”

  “Okay, I can get behind that. I’m not sure what it has to do with what happened tonight.”

  “Maybe nothing. The thing is ... if someone is controlling these people, or stealing bodies, we’re dealing with an evil individual. We need to figure out exactly what sort of person we’re dealing with.”

  “I agree.” He gave me a soft kiss. “You’re good, though. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  “I wasn’t doubting it.”

  “Somet
imes I think you do. I don’t want you worrying about things like that. Bad people don’t care what others think about them. You’re not a bad person.”

  “Even though I believe in zombies?”

  “Ugh.” He sounded exasperated as he rubbed his cheek against mine. “I just knew you were going to take it back to zombies. I can’t get behind that idea, Charlie. I mean ... zombies are ludicrous.”

  “They are. But it’s a story that endures, like Madame LaLaurie. Somewhere in there, you have to wonder if there’s a bit of truth.”

  “I guess.”

  “Does that mean you agree with me?”

  “That means I’m too tired to debate. We’ll revisit this conversation in the morning when I’ve had some sleep and the trauma of watching a man get hit by a car is a few hours behind us.”

  “Fair enough.”

  IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT WHEN we returned to the hotel. People were still reveling on the street, but I could barely keep my head up as Jack and I wandered down the hallway that led to our rooms.

  “Are you going to be able to sleep?” he asked as he paused outside my room. “I mean ... you’re not going to have nightmares, are you? I can sleep with you if that’s the case.”

  My cheeks burned at the suggestion. “Oh, well ... .”

  “Not that way,” he added hurriedly once he realized what he said. “I wasn’t suggesting we do ... that.”

  For some reason his embarrassment made me feel better. “Well, we wouldn’t want that,” I teased, amused. “Never that.”

  “You know what I mean.” He wagged a finger. “I definitely don’t think this is the time for that discussion.”

  He wasn’t the only one. “No. I can only deal with so much, and I’m at my limit.”

  “Yeah.” He gently slipped a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you want me to sleep in there with you? I promise it will just be sleeping.”

  “Oh, well ... .” I was caught off guard by the offer. “Do you want to sleep in here? I mean ... I’m okay with it. Do you not want to be alone?”

  He chuckled. “Not particularly, but I think this conversation is proof that we shouldn’t have this particular chat when we’re both so tired. I’m right across the hallway. If you need me, don’t hesitate to call out. Until then ... let’s table this discussion.”

  That was a relief. “Okay. I ... okay.”

  He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. “Go to bed. We’ll have more information tomorrow morning. I’ll make sure to call the hospital first thing to catch up on the status of our dead guy who turned out not to be dead.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  “Lock your door and make sure the balcony door is locked, too.” He was adamant. “You’re on the third floor, but I don’t want you taking any chances.”

  “I’ll be a good girl.”

  He gave me another kiss. “That would be a nice change of pace.”

  I DIDN’T THINK I WOULD sleep. In fact, I was certain I wouldn’t. Surprisingly, I was out before my head hit the pillow. I slept long and hard, which is why I was groggy when I opened my eyes three hours later and stared at the ceiling.

  There was nothing there. No one was in the room. I figured that out when I struggled to a sitting position and glanced around. Still, something woke me.

  “Jack?” I called out his name, briefly wondering if he’d used the extra keycard I gave him to check on me. He wasn’t here. I would’ve felt him. Still, it was better to think of him breaking in than someone else.

  Then I heard it, a scratching noise near the door that led to the hallway. I frowned as I snapped my head toward the door, confused. Someone scratched again, and that’s when I realized the door handle was turning.

  Someone was trying to get in.

  As if in slow motion, I tossed off the covers and climbed out of bed. I felt as if I was mired in quicksand as I padded toward the hallway. I stilled on the other side of the door, jolting when the handle moved again. Someone was definitely trying to get in.

  I pressed my ear to the door and listened. “Jack?”

  I knew in my heart it wasn’t Jack. He would never try to gain entrance to my room this way. Speaking made me feel better, so I called out to him again. When there was no answer, I sucked in a breath and pressed my trembling hands against the door.

  “Who is it?” I reached out with my magic, brushing up against a physical body but finding an emotional void. It was almost as if a shell of a human being was outside rather than a real person. “What the ... ?” I had no way to explain what I was sensing.

  I drew another deep breath and turned the handle, preparing for what I was certain would be a horrific sight. To my utter surprise, the entity waiting for me wasn’t a monster from another realm or some grotesque creature that had climbed out of a cemetery to haunt me. It was the man who was struck on Royal Street in front of the LaLaurie Mansion.

  “Holy ... !” I jolted back when the man jerked in my direction. There was only one thing I could do, so I did it. I called on my magic and drew the painting from the opposite wall toward the man as he blindly grabbed for me. It hit him in the head with a loud thud, knocking him to his knees.

  Then, because I didn’t know what else to do, I hit him again, releasing the painting only when I heard Jack fumbling with his door across the hall.

  His eyes were bleary, confusion etched across his handsome face when he met my gaze. “What’s going on?”

  I was shaking as I pointed to the body on the floor. “Now do you believe in zombies?”

  He was clearly dumbfounded when he realized what was happening. “Son of a ... !”

  Nine

  Jack stood frozen for a long moment and then he rushed to me.

  “Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t tear my eyes from the man on the floor. He wasn’t moving. He’d played possum at least once that we knew of, so I didn’t trust him not to start moving again.

  “Charlie, are you okay?” Jack shook me by the arms. It was only then that I realized he was dressed in nothing but pickle print boxer shorts, his chiseled chest completely bare of hair.

  “Do you wax?” It was a stupid question, but it was all I could think to ask.

  “What?” he gave me a long look. “Are you okay? You haven’t been bitten, have you?”

  That shook me out of my reverie. “Aha!” I jabbed a finger at him. “You think it’s zombies, too. Admit it.”

  He captured my finger and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll admit nothing of the sort. I’m simply covering my bases. You haven’t been bitten, right?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Good.” He pulled me in for a hug and kissed my forehead, frowning when a door down the hallway opened and Laura poked her head out.

  “Ugh.” She made a disgusted face. “I don’t even want to know what you two perverts are doing. I get it. You’re happy and blah, blah, blah.” She wore a skimpy negligee and planted her hands on her hips in such a manner that her cleavage was on display ... even from four doors away. “Do you have to rub it in?”

  “Go back to bed,” Jack ordered. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “You’re darned right. I don’t roll that way. I don’t care if Charlie does ... although that would explain why you chose her over me.”

  It took me a moment to grasp what she was saying. “Oh, gross!”

  “Gross is right,” Jack agreed. “Go back to bed, Laura. We’ve got this under control.”

  That was a bit of an overstatement. As far as I could tell we didn’t have anything under control. Instead of pointing that out, I bobbed my head. “We’re awesome.” I shot her a fake thumbs-up. “We’ve never been better.”

  “Apparently he gets off on fuzzy sleep pants with unicorns on them,” she groused as she shut her door. “How do you compete with that?”

  I glanced down and frowned. “I forgot I packed these.”

  “The pants are cute.” He swept me toward his door as he gave the
fallen man a wide berth. “I need to call the police. They deal with ... whatever this is.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Lock yourself in there and be safe.”

  “I was asking in a broader sense.”

  “Yeah, well, tough.” He pushed my hair from my face and stared into my eyes. I thought he was going to say something profound, maybe even romantic. I thought he might even profess how much he adored me and was thankful I was okay. Instead, he took me by surprise ... as he always did. “He’s not a zombie.”

  “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

  I WOKE TO WARMTH AND QUIET. It took me a moment to remember where I was, and when I did I almost slammed my forehead into Jack’s jaw in my haste to bolt upright.

  “Whoa.” I grabbed my head to keep it steady from the rush of blood.

  “Go back to sleep,” Jack ordered, rolling to his back. “It’s not time to get up.”

  That’s when I remembered the previous evening. The cops showed up right away, Pasquale leading the charge. He seemed confused by the turn of events, which only worsened when Thibodeaux arrived. In short order, they declared the man on the floor dead, asked how I managed to remove a painting to clobber him — which I denied — and then packed him up for an autopsy. They claimed the last they heard my attacker was at the hospital and promised to check on his prognosis in the morning. Then, just like that, they disappeared and left us to grapple with the remnants of the evening.

  By that time it was almost four and we were both exhausted. Jack locked my room and pointed me toward his bed. I wasn’t worried that things were about to turn sexy because we were both too tired to lift our heads, let alone anything else. Instead, we merely crawled under the covers and passed out.

  Now, four hours later, I was plagued by questions ... and really weird hunches.

  “It’s eight,” I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “We’re expected downstairs for breakfast in an hour.”

  “Okay.” He moved his hands to my waist and tugged me toward him. “We’ll get up in an hour.”