Return of the Devil's Spawn

by John Moore

  Copyright © 2015 John Moore

  Second Edition 2018

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:978-0-9963428-4-1

  (print)

  Dedication

  For those who follow their dreams

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One: Return of a Serial Killer

  Chapter Two: Road Trip

  Chapter Three: Decision Time

  Chapter Four: Moving On

  Chapter Five: Body Drop

  Chapter Six: Romance in the Air

  Chapter Seven: Making Plans

  Chapter Eight: Dark Ceremony

  Chapter Nine: Choices

  Chapter Ten: Old Tricks

  Chapter Eleven: Tropics

  Chapter Twelve: Old Enemy

  Chapter Thirteen: All Together

  Chapter Fourteen: New Plan

  Chapter Fifteen: Blue Sky

  Chapter Sixteen: Plans Change

  Chapter Seventeen: Rebirth

  Chapter Eighteen: Dirty Deeds

  Chapter Nineteen: Marketing Plans

  Chapter Twenty: Hometown Boy

  Chapter Twenty-One: Serial Killer Encounter

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Future Farm

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Detour

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Disease

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Worried

  Chapter Twenty-Six: ICU

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Storm Brewing

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Lab Work

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Killers

  Chapter Thirty: The Devil’s Call

  Chapter Thirty-One: The Night Sky

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Our Life

  Chapter One:

  Return of a

  Serial Killer

  “Bob, how can you stop by?” I asked. “You’re in a psychiatric hospital.”

  “Yeah, well, about that. I decided to leave. They were cramping my style, if you know what I mean. All of that psychobabble about my mommy issues. I don’t have mommy issues ’cause I took care of dear old Mommy. You remember, Alexandra. I cut her head off.”

  Bob Broussard, the infamous Quarter Killer, had escaped, and my family and I had just bought his condo—the same condo where he’d murdered seven women before he killed his mother. Holy shit! We couldn’t move in there now. What if he decided to return to his old hunting grounds?

  “Bob, you mean you escaped?”

  “I like to think of it as I liberated myself from those seeking to stifle my creativity. Besides, I have some unfinished business,” he said, lowering his voice an octave. “Just thought I’d check in to let you know you may see me around the old neighborhood.”

  He abruptly cut off the call. I sat for a moment in silence, allowing the conversation to sink in. Chills ran up and down my spine and I shook like a dog coming indoors after being drenched by a rainstorm. Which neighborhood did he mean? The French Quarter where he’d murdered seven innocent women, or the lakefront where he killed his mother?

  Thank goodness we hadn’t moved into the condo yet, and I wasn’t sure I could allow us to now. It was hard enough for me to overlook the fact that Bob Broussard murdered seven women in the bathtubs in that condo, andnow there was the threat of him coming back. We hadn’t even changed the locks. No, the more I thought about it, the more it was obvious that there was no way I was moving my family into that condo. Then again, I did tell the judge who awarded me custody of Piper that’s where we were going to live. She’d approved that particular condo. And not only did I have the court to worry about, but also if we didn’t move, Tom and Piper would be extremely disappointed. How did I get myself into messes like this anyway?

  I was having a hard enough time sleeping before Bob’s call, memories of shooting El Alacran haunting me. He’d left me no choice. He was about to cut Piper’s head off, so I had to shoot him. Still, I never dreamed I’d ever kill anyone, and it was hard to live with. I hadn’t worn my .38 on my ankle since that night. I wasn’t able to look at it without reliving the shooting, my mind replaying the awful event over and over again. I saw him turn toward Piper. I unsnapped the holster and fired a shot. He spun, and I fired again. He looked at me in disbelief as he hit the ground. Dead.

  I stood over him and he was dead. Over and over again this scene played in my dreams, waking me, haunting me. But I had no choice. My gun saved Piper and me from an evil man trying to kill us. Now, with the Quarter Killer returning, I may have to strap it on again. But, could I shoot another person? Especially Bob, whom I’d known before he was revealed as a killer, whom I felt a tiny bit of sympathy for?

  Of all of the nights for Tom to stay at his place, he chose the one when a serial killer called me. I scurried to Piper’s camp on the couch in the front of the condo. She was sleeping soundly like only a child could, curled up in a tiny ball looking so sweet and innocent with her multi-colored locks brushing the sides of her face. I hated to wake her, but I just had to. No way was I sleeping by myself tonight, but first, I thought, I’d check the locks on the front door.

  That done, I felt a little better, but I’d seen too many horror movies where the evil person finds a way in to relax very much.

  “Wake up, Piper. Come sleep in the bed with me,” I said, trying to downplay any sense of urgency.

  “What . . . ? What time is it?” she muttered.

  “It’s late. You just looked uncomfortable on the couch,” I said, masking my fear with a white lie.

  Piper shuffled behind me, trailing her favorite blanket behind her, more sleepwalking than anything. She followed me to my bedroom and plopped down, sound asleep, not a muscle in her tiny body moving. Amazing after what she’d been through in her young life that she could sleep so soundly. I lay next to her, trying to wash the thoughts of serial killers from my mind. Finally, I drifted off to a peaceful place walled away from danger. I guess my mind wore itself out and let me sleep.

  When I awoke, Piper was out of the bed and sitting on the couch doubling as her bed, working away, her hair shooting in all directions. I made a cup of coffee and looked over Piper’s shoulder. She was working on my blog adding YouTube videos of parents’ desperate pleas for help locating their missing children.

  “You have done an amazing job with my site,” I said.

  “I’ve made you a Facebook page too,” she said as she twisted her head around to present me with my morning smile. “Want to know how many likes you have?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I answered, not really sure if likes meant anything significant. I was a bit clueless about the whole Internet thing. I knew how to blog and write articles, but that was about all. I sat in the chair a few feet from the couch and propped my feet up.

  “You have 586 likes, and that’s just since this morning,” she said. “We are going to get 20,000 likes after I get the word out about the site.” Piper bounced her head back as if she’d seen a ghost come out of the computer screen. “Ohno. Alexandra, look at this post that just went up on the blog.”

  “Piper, I haven’t quite woken up yet. Read it to me.”

  “OK,” she said. “‘A body believed to be that of a young woman was found dumped in the French Quarter early this morning. If anyone out there is missing a loved one, you may want to contact the NOPD. I got this from a friend who saw the police and the coroner putting the body in the van at the scene. I don’t know anything else about it.’ That’s what the person wrote in her post,” Piper said.

  “Oh, shit,” I said under my breath as I picked up my phone. “I am calling Detective Baker. Would you like to go with me to the station to see him today?” Was it just a coincidence that I received a call from the Quarter Killer immediately
before a body dropped in the Quarter? I needed to let Detective Baker know about the call.

  “Sure. Can we go by the condo too?” Piper asked.

  “No, honey, the workmen should be tearing out the bathtubs, and we’d just be in their way,” I said. The truth was I wasn’t going near the place with that maniac on the loose, and neither was she.

  We arrived at the police station amid the chaos of shift change, blue-clad street warriors donning and removing their armor. By now Piper knew I’d shield her from the adult talk in the offices in the bowels of the precinct, soshe occupied herself striking up a conversation with one of the front desk officers. Seems the officer and Piper enjoyed playing some of the same online games. The front desk told me to follow the hall to Detective Baker’s office; he’d be waiting for me. I walked down the narrow white hallway to Baker’s postage stamp of an office.

  “Hi, Alexandra. What brings you in today?” Detective Baker asked, grinning at me with his oversized white teeth. “I haven’t seen you since the Alacran incident. How have you been? And how’s that smart little Piper doing? Staying out of trouble?”

  “We are fine . . . mostly. I got a very disturbing call last night. I need to tell you about it.”

  Baker nodded for me to continue.

  “Bob Broussard called me. He said he was in the neighborhood. How can that be? He’s locked up in the East Feliciana State Mental Hospital in Jackson, Louisiana, isn’t he?” I asked.

  “What time did he call? Did he say where he was? Do you have the number he called from?” Baker barraged me with questions. “He escaped a week ago and we’ve had two murders since. He’s our prime suspect.”

  “The call was last night, late. The number was blocked. He just told me he’d see me around the old neighborhood.”

  “Alexandra, you need to watch your back. You know how dangerous Broussard is. The state police believe he had help escaping. They think someone at the hospital may have aided him,” Detective Baker said. “I think he’s working with someone local. Mandy Morris would be my first guess.”

  “Detective, you know Tom and I bought Bob’s condo in the French Quarter, and we are supposed to move in soon. What can you tell me about the killings in the Quarter?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to discuss any of the details of the murders with you. The brass wants to keep the details of the murders quiet. I’ll just say they are gruesome,” Baker said, grimacing.

  These murders must gruesome to shock a seasoned detective like Baker. Somehow I needed to find out more about these murders before we moved into that condo. I wondered if Mandy was involved in Bob’s escape and how they managed it. Maybe she was hiding him. Great, I thought, Mandy was giving tours in the French Quarter, the Quarter Killer was dropping bodies, and I was moving into his condo. That sure sounded likea recipe for disaster—or maybe the script of that horror movie I conjured up last night. Before I could stop myself, I imagined Bob in the condo with a knife, the ghosts of his seven victims wailing uselessly from the bathroom, and Mandy doing the voiceover as Piper was murdered before my eyes.

  Stop it, Alexandra. Life is not a movie. But we’re not moving until I’m sure it’s safe, I thought.

  Piper and I left the precinct. Normally, I would head straight to Jess Johnson’s office at the Times to find out more about the bodies dropping in the French Quarter, but not today. I wanted a dose of normal in my life. No serial killers, no Colombian drug lords, and no mafia guys—just normal, or at leastas normal as I could find in New Orleans.

  Zach and Maddy had just returned from organizing the remediation of chemical poisoning at my farm in Indiana. They were excited to update Tom and me on their progress. I couldn’t wait to hear their plans to turn the farm into an organic vegetable oasis in the middle of the industrial farm operations’ genetically modified corn belt. I could only imagine the tongue-wagging going on at Marge Henson’s Cafe on Main Street back home in smalltown Indiana. There were a gay guy and an urban fitness chick planning organic hippie gardening in the middle of a rigid-thinking conservative county. Holy shit, the town must be buzzing with gossip. The thought made me smile.

  Tom was at my condo when Piper and I arrived. I sent Piper with my computer to the bedroom, needing to tell Tom about the call I’d gotten from Bob, without Piper hearing. But he was bursting at the seams with something he wanted to tell me, and I couldn’t get a word out. He grabbed some plans rolled up by his feet and spread them over the table.

  “Alexandra, I’ve hired a contractor to complete the renovations to the condo we bought in the Quarter. He specializes in bathroom makeovers. Just look at the plans he’s drawn for us to approve! The tubs will be replaced with whirlpool baths, and one will be a shower only. He’s creating a makeup slash dressing area for you. And . . .”

  “Tom,” I said, interrupting his spiel before he went any further. “I’m not too sure about moving now.”

  Tom’s face fell. He looked at me, totally perplexed, a have-you-lost-your-effing-mind look on his face. Big ears Piper bolted from the bedroom shouting, “What’s wrong? We aren’t moving into our dream house in the Quarter? Why? Why not?”

  “Hold on, everybody. I might as well tell you both at the same time. I got a call from Bob Broussard last night. He’s escaped from the mental hospital and told me he would be seeing me around the neighborhood. We can’t move into that condo as long as he’s on the loose,” I said.

  The look of disappointment on Piper’s face tore at my heart. She looked like a little girl whose puppy was just run over. Tom recovered from the shock and said, “That’s bad news. He’s definitely a crazy bastard, but I don’t think he’ll hurt any of us.”

  “I went to see Detective Baker today. They’ve found two murdered women in the Quarter since he’s escaped, and Bob is the prime suspect. I can’t put us in danger with a crazy serial killer on the loose.”

  Tom’s and Piper’s faces morphed into the most awful, pouty, bottom-lip-drooping formations I’d ever seen. It was the first time I thought they looked alike. My God, I thought, they have the same pouty face gene. It was cute on Piper. On Tom, not so much. “Well, can we at least go forward with the renovations?” Tom asked.

  “Sure. But we aren’t moving till I know it’s safe,” I said, hating to be the bad guy. But what else could I do? I had just had to kill a man to protect my family, and thoughts of that night tortured me in my dreams. I wasn’t about to voluntarily put myself back in the same situation. Then there was Piper to worry about. She would be an easy target for Bob. No, we weren’t going anywhere. I would just have to tell the judge it wasn’t safe.

  Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of knocking at the door. Tom opened it to let Zach and Maddy inside. The mood in the room immediately brightened. Zach had gained about ten pounds. Not fat, healthy farm weight. He looked solid and strong, someone you wouldn’t think twice about asking to help move furniture. His face had healed nicely and his limp was gone. He had pep in his step. Maddy was her normal ball of energy with her shoulder-length flaxen hair swinging as she turned her head to greet us all.

  “Zach, you look amazing,” I said. “Farm life must agree with you.”

  My comment was met with broad smiles from Zach andMaddy. It was like they had found their place in the world. They were both more relaxed than I’d ever seen them. Zach shook his head in agreement.

  Maddy grabbed the floor. “The farm is amazing. You should see what we’ve done to the house you grew up in. We took down the old wallpaper and painted the walls a grayish blue color. I met a woman whose husband owned a lighting showroom. We traded out personal training for new light fixtures, very modern andchic. She’s lost fifteen pounds and wants me to start a class at her house for all of her friends. I think we’ve found paradise.” She beamed, and I hoped my parents were somewhere in heaven listening in. It was so gratifying that the farm would be a real farm again.r />
  “The remediation company is owned by a man named Jason Crawford. Just like Tom said, he has his own organic vegetable farm in California, and he’s teaching me all the tricks of the trade to be a successful organic farmer. I had no idea there was so much to it. I’ve learned pesticides and fertilizers are not necessary if you farm right. Not only are the vegetables better, but also the land replenishes itself. I couldn’t be happier, and did I mention he’s good looking?” Zach said.

  Maddy slapped his leg and said, “And he’s straight, Zach.”

  “A man can dream, can’t he?” Zach said.

  Their world sounded serene to me now. No serial killers or other demons to deal with. I knew the downside of that worldtoo. Living in a small town, doing the same thing day after day could bore a person to tears. Living in a rut.And like the motivational speakers say, the only difference between a rut and a grave is a few feet. As much as I needed peace for a while, I didn’t want to move to the farm in Indiana. I really wanted to live in our condo in the Quarter. Each to his own though. Plenty of people were happy in the country.

  “Tom, on a serious note,” Zach said, “I do need you and Alexandra to come to the farm to meet with Jason so he can explain what needs to be done to protect the farm from further pollution. The surrounding land is being farmed by Aggrow. The run-off water is contaminating the land.”

  “Aggrow has to be stopped,” Tom flashed, his good mood instantly gone. He spun around to face me. “When can you leave to go to Indiana?”

  Huh? I thought. Tom was more upset about Aggrow than Bob Broussard. Piper just looked back and forth between us, waiting for our decisions. I didn’t know what to do about Bob, but I was more than ready to get out of New Orleans for a while, far away from the Quarter Killer, whoever he was. “Let’s go tomorrow,” I said.

  Chapter Two:

  Road Trip

  As the sun shined through the bedroom window, I returned to my familiar routine. I ambled to the Keurig to push the magic button. Within a couple of minutes, I had two cups of Community Coffee, one for Tom and the second for me. Community was a Louisiana original made seventy miles across the swamp in Baton Rouge, and was the official elixir that ran most Louisianans’ lives.