Face Behind the Mask

by Leo King

  Well, I haven’t done it in days. I might as well while everyone is busy.

  Throwing on the covers, she opened her robe and slipped her hand between her legs. She was already smoldering, and more than anything, she wanted to feel another person within her. Closing her eyes, she started to expertly move her fingers. Within seconds, the rhythm was perfect, and she was moaning softly and steadily. She’d gotten the whole thing down to a science.

  Richie, I miss you so much. Where have you gone?

  She wanted nothing more than for him to be there. But the last time she saw him, he was with Michael and Rodger’s ghosts, trying to hold back Vincent’s guardians. One of them just happened to be the ghost of Edward Castille.

  I need you, honey. I love you. Richie!

  When she reached her peak, she silently cried his name. Then she wept until she fell asleep, hugging her pillow as she had once hugged the man she loved.

  It wasn’t until after dinner that Sam was able to talk to Meghan alone. She had decided not to tell her friend about her impending transfer, figuring that if they could get the proof she needed, it would be stopped. So she only insisted that she get into Dr. Kindley’s office that night. Even though Meghan tried several times to convince her to abandon the plan, Sam wouldn’t hear of it. Meghan finally agreed to break in after the graveyard shift had started.

  And so, late that night, Meghan led her through the hallways, using the same paths she used for her secret trysts. Sam’s injured leg significantly slowed their progress, so it took them nearly an hour to avoid the orderlies and reach Dr. Kindley’s office. They both hunched down in the alcove by the door, hidden in the shadows, except for Sam’s leg sticking out into the hallway.

  “This took way too long,” she whispered.

  Meghan stuck out her tongue. “Yeah, well, I’ve never had to sneak around with a pregnant woman on crutches. It’s amazing that we didn’t get caught because of how loud you move. Oh, wait, it’s not amazing. I’m amazing.”

  Sam felt her ears burn. “Sorry.”

  “By the way, if your plan is to trip anyone walking by, you’re doing great.”

  She tucked her leg in. “Sorry again.”

  With a sigh, Meghan took out a small key and unlocked the office door.

  That made Sam blink. “How do you…? How do you have a key to Dr. Kindley’s office?”

  “You don’t think Dr. Kindley keeps me around because of my award-winning personality, do you?” Meghan fluffed her hair.

  Immediately, a nagging feeling arose in Sam’s gut. Something wasn’t right. Why would Dr. Kindley transfer Meghan if they were having sex?

  “Hey, Meghan?”

  “Mmm. Yeah, Sam?”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me? About you and Dr. Kindley?”

  “What, other than I go down on him sometimes?”

  “Meghan, please.” The very thought of that repulsed Sam.

  Then Meghan got very quiet. “You don’t trust me. Is that it? You think I’m just some stupid slut who doesn’t care about anything other than sex, sex, sex.” She backed away, her face tightening. She looked genuinely upset.

  “Look, Sam, I’ve screwed up a lot of things in my life. I lost the guy I was engaged to by sleeping with his father and brother at the same time. I’ve screwed every one of my bosses to get bonuses and perks. And I once hosted a gang-bang with the Saints’ defensive line. I know I’m a useless piece of trash.”

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. “But, damn it, you are the only person to force me to connect as a friend and not a lover. Everyone else here—and I mean everyone—fucks me and then discards me. But not you. You care about me. That means something. I won’t betray you. I promise!”

  Sam felt a lump form in her throat. It grew as Meghan poured out her heart. God, I never knew. She was so wrapped up in her own problems, she forgot that others were suffering, too.

  She pulled Meghan into her arms. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m just scared. Everyone I’ve ever trusted has betrayed me.” She kissed the top of her head.

  “Well, I’m not everyone,” Meghan said, rubbing her face against Sam’s chest. “You stupid bitch, I won’t betray you! Now go in there and get Laura’s info so we can get out of here.”

  Getting up, Sam entered the office and quietly hobbled over to the desk. She located the drawer she recalled Dr. Kindley using earlier that day. She was surprised to find it unlocked. Opening it, she took out the first folder.

  It had the name “Laura Levron” on the cover. Underneath it was another folder with the name “Meghan Dubios.” And underneath that was a folder with the name “Samantha Castille.”

  This was it. Something here had to incriminate this son-of-a-bitch. She felt her heart start to race as she opened the first one.

  She wasn’t expecting what she saw.

  Photographs. Dozens of photographs that were taken from the streets, from windows, and from the doorways of hospital rooms. Dozens of photographs of a woman getting in and out of cars, moving about her house, sitting on her back patio, riding the streetcar, and more.

  But these were not photographs of Meghan, or even of Little Squeaker.

  They were all photographs of her.

  What the hell?

  She opened the next folder, and it was more of the same, photographs and photographs of her, surveillance on her as early as the 1980s. Her in college. Her in her townhome. Her out with Jacob. Her out with Richie. Her going to Angola with Rodger.

  Everything was of her.

  What’s going on?

  Hands now shaking, she opened the last folder. In it were notes, reports, maps with her walking routes, spreadsheets with her every movement throughout the day, and discarded receipts at places like coffee shops and restaurants. Some of the papers were decades old, faded in the middle and torn around the edges. Someone had spent the last twenty years tracking her almost every day.

  “What the hell is this?” Sam asked out loud, her voice quaking. “What the…”

  Then she saw it. In the right-hand corner of each folder was the same crest Dr. Kindley had on his lapel. Underneath it were the words “The Knight Priory of Saint Madonna.”

  “No fucking way!” She fell back on the chair. It was too much, too surreal, too positively awful to be real. This had to be a bad dream.

  “Hey there, Little Sammy,” came Herpin’s voice from the doorway.

  He cackled wickedly, holding some sort of a baton. Behind him, another orderly restrained Meghan. She struggled. “Let me go! Sam, I had no idea this would happen! Sam, I swear it, I—”

  Herpin backhanded her in the face hard enough to knock her out. “Shut up, slut! You were just supposed to keep an eye on her, not get all cozy. Useless whore.”

  He then advanced on Sam. “Dr. Kindley told me not to hurt you unless you resist, seeing as how you got two incest babies in there.”

  She pressed back against the bookcase behind the desk, her hands shaking and her heart pounding against her chest.

  His expression grew more menacing. “I beg you, though, please resist.”

  The look in his eyes was downright vicious. The instinct to protect her two unborn children melted away any desire to fight. She held up her hands. “OK. OK. Please, don’t hit me. I’ll go quietly.”

  As he cornered her, his sickening garlic stench started to make her gag. “Mmmm, your pussy smells good, Sammy. When I started working here, I thought little Meggy was the sweetest piece of ass. But you—yeah, you’re a real whore fucking your nephew, aren’t you?”

  He rubbed his baton against her breasts and reached down to lift up her gown. She felt a swell of outraged pride well up inside her. It was overpowering. This paltry little germ thinks he can just touch me? Who the hell does he think he is?

  Before she realized it, she had spat a rather phlegm-filled wad on his face.

  The silence as he wiped the spittle away was deafening. When his face reddened, she knew she had made a mistake.

>   “You stupid cunt!” He smashed her in the face with his baton, the force sending her reeling to the side. She momentarily blacked out from the impact as teeth and bits of flesh flew out. Instinctively, she put her hands over her stomach to protect her children.

  “You nasty whore!” He hit her again, this time in her left leg. Crying out, she stumbled forward into his grasp.

  “Whoa, Josh, what the hell, dude!” the orderly restraining Meghan called out. Both were staring in horror at what was happening.

  “Shut it, Steve,” Herpin said as he pushed Sam against Dr. Kindley’s desk. “This uppity bitch has it coming. Just hold that other skank back.”

  As she fell against the desk, objects spilling to the ground, he bent her over. Then he pushed her underpants down, lifted up her robe, and kicked her feet apart. His intention was very clear.

  God, no. This can’t be happening!

  “No! Don’t touch her, you bastard!” Having come to, Meghan jerked forward, only to have the other orderly pull her back. “No, no! Rape me if you have to. Tear me up! Just don’t hurt her! Please!”

  “Oh, shut up, you tramp,” Herpin said. He ran his fingers over Sam’s backside and slapped her cheeks. “You have such a nice ass, bitch. I’m going to enjoy ripping it up. Maybe if I go deep enough, your incest babies can lick my tip!”

  When she felt him touch her rear, her entire body tensed. Seeing the panic-stricken expression on Meghan’s face and the confused but fearful look on the other orderly, Sam realized that no one was going to stop Herpin from raping her. That realization, along with the deep-seated instinct to protect her children, ignited something within her that she hadn’t felt in months. A fire within her: The same fire that had burned away the paralysis when Dallas was torturing her, the same fire that had burned within her when Vincent tried to re-possess her with Marinette, and the same fire that had burned within her when she accepted Bridgette’s offer.

  Bridgette’s offer.

  Time around Sam started to slow to a crawl as she remembered that Bridgette hadn’t offered a mere possession. Their pact was something much more complicated. It was a symbiosis. A fusion of souls.

  The fire within her flared into an inferno as she finally understood what had happened that night in her townhome. It was why she was so sensitive to spirits. It was why she could communicate with ghosts. It was why her sense of sexuality had spiked out of control. It was why she got so incensed when others offended her.

  She finally realized where Bridgette had gone.

  She didn’t vanish. She’s not inside me. She is me! We are one and the same. I am Sam and I am Bridgette. I am the queen of the loa!

  And in that instant, her will to fight returned. With all her might, she focused on activating the power within her. Time had already slowed down to a crawl. Every molecule of air hitting her body, every drop of foul sweat from Herpin, every brush of his oily skin over her flesh, every scent from every person in the room, and every sound all floated into her in the finest detail. It was like that night in her townhome. She felt like a god.

  Then she heard him unzip his pants.

  Letting out a deep roar, she turned and, with a strength and speed that made him look like he was walking through oil, punched him square in the jaw.

  It ripped right off.

  Time and sensation returned to normal as Herpin, whose jaw had flown across the room, gawked at her, wide-eyed in fear, his tongue flopping around his neck, blood and spit pouring out. With a gurgle, he fell to the ground, writhing. A few seconds later, he stopped moving and let out a final burbling wheeze. His eyes went dark.

  She sniffed and spat on him. “Never touch me without my permission.”

  Searing pain then tore through her body, like someone had set fire to her insides. She was barely able to cover her stomach in time as she hit the ground, every muscle seizing. Then she saw two men in black uniforms holding cattle prods. They had the same crest as Dr. Kindley’s lapel pin on what looked like black military-style berets.

  Every time she moved, they shocked her long and hard. She couldn’t concentrate long enough to use her power again. She couldn’t even contact the spirits around her to summon them.

  Then Dr. Kindley entered the office. He seemed very displeased. “Unbelievable. You give a guy a second chance, and he tries to rape the Princess.”

  She shrieked as they shocked her again. Why had he called her “Princess”?

  The other orderly was still holding Meghan. “Dr. Kindley, what’s going on? What just happened?” His eyes were wide with shock and panic.

  “Sorry, you’re not a part of the inner circle.” Dr. Kindley took out a pistol and shot the orderly in the head. “And you’re fired.”

  Meghan squealed and fell into a huddled position.

  Wiping the gun off with a silk handkerchief, he walked over to Sam. “I’m very sorry, Miss Castille, for what Herpin tried to do. But at the same time, I’m very glad. It was amazing what you just did. Truly amazing.”

  Feeling her control start to return, she tried to stand. One of the guards jabbed her again with the cattle prod. The electricity burned through her, causing every muscle to tighten and spasm. She whimpered in pain, holding her stomach, desperate to keep her children safe.

  Dr. Kindley snarled at them, his professional countenance gone. “Cut that out! Remember, you hurt her children and you’re dead.”

  “Sorry, sir. But to be safe, you should sedate her now.”

  One of the guards motioned toward Meghan. Two more guards had picked up her and restrained her. Her face was pale, and she had vomited on the front of her gown. “What about this one?”

  With a dismissive wave, Dr. Kindley said, “Let Dr. Klein deal with her. She’s seen too much to live.”

  As the guards pulled her away, Meghan yelled, “Sam! Help me! Please, help me!”

  Sam’s heart ached. No! she screamed in her mind. Don’t! She has nothing to do with this! But she couldn’t speak. They wouldn’t let her.

  “I wouldn’t worry about her, Princess,” said Dr. Kindley, filling a syringe with a clear liquid. “Dr. Klein’s going to have a field day with you. If it were up to me, I’d keep you here. But sadly, I don’t get a say. For now, I’m just a cog in the wheel, despite my perfect lineage.”

  She eyed him wildly. What is that stuff? Don’t, you bastard! My babies!

  While he leaned over her, finding a vein in her arm, she focused on the pin on his lapel. Now she knew that it was the crest of the Knight Priory. He was a member.

  “Although, if I play my cards right, I’ll run this whole thing before too long.” He stuck in the needle and injected the syringe’s contents.

  She cried out, still unable to speak. Every part of her hurt.

  “Don’t worry, this won’t damage your children. And if it makes you feel any better, I now believe you are possessed by Bridgette.”

  A murky blanket descended over her mind, and her vision started to fade.

  “Too bad the others don’t believe. They never have, no matter how long they’ve been watching you.”

  Sam lost consciousness with those words in her mind. The Knight Priory had been watching her for the last twenty years.

  And now they had her.

  Cold November Rain

  (Dixie Olivier’s Story)

  Chapter 6

  Blood Trails

  Date: Monday, October 26, 1992

  Time: 10:00 p.m.

  Location: Desire Street

  New Orleans Ninth Ward

  The nighttime air was cool and damp. At any moment, it could start raining. Lieutenant Dixie Olivier felt the pressure in the air. It covered her like a wet tapestry, pushing relentlessly on her ears and up into her sinuses. The coldness bit at the back of her throat, and the wetness made her hair clump in strands. But even worse, she felt it pinch the nerves along the stump of her left arm.

  She massaged her stump, grimacing. It had been a little over two months since she had lost her arm at t
he New Orleans wharf during an arrest gone wrong. Even though it would be at least a few more weeks before she could be fitted with a prosthetic—bureaucratic red tape at its best—her physical therapy was coming right along. But no amount of treatment or medication could ease the phantom pains or relieve the bite of cold weather.

  Detective Scott Rivette came up alongside her. “Hey, Lieutenant, you gonna be all right to handle this?” His hands were stuffed into his black duster, while his long hair was pulled back in a ponytail. A menthol cigarette rested between his lips, and his expression was one of concern.

  She smiled. For a moment, he reminded her of a younger Rodger Bergeron. It was a welcome memory. “I’ll be fine, Rivette. And please call me Dixie.”

  “Only if you call me Scott or Captain America.” He puffed smugly on his cigarette.

  “Ha! OK, then, Scott. Let’s not start playing superhero with a crime scene.” Then she jerked her head toward the shotgun house before them. About half a dozen police cars were circled around it, their flashing lights illuminating the block. Neighbors were sitting on their porches, watching from their windows, and even standing in the streets. Everyone’s attention was focused on them.

  “So what happened?”

  He stroked his goatee. “Landry’s inside with the crime lab unit. It’s a massacre, Dixie. We haven’t seen anything this brutal since, you know, the wharf.”

  Unconsciously, she touched her stump again, remembering the unadulterated slaughter. The assassin Blind Moses had killed almost every officer and SWAT member there. If it hadn’t been for Sam’s miraculous intervention, the fatalities would have been even higher.

  “Um, did you want to go inside?” Rivette asked.

  She quickly pushed those thoughts away, especially the ones about Sam. Thinking of her was too painful, and she needed to concentrate on work.