by Deanna Chase
"Oh, this is even better than I imagined. Listening to the big bad FBI agent whine like a little girl. Priceless." The revolting voice grated on Jon-Luc like nails on a chalkboard.
He felt a hand on his arm. "Luc, I see the car," Claude's voice whispered. Jon-Luc nodded. It was all he could think of to do. From far away he heard his friend calling his men to their location and instructing them to come in quiet. No lights, no sirens.
"Luc. Do you hear me?" Another man's voice echoed through his head.
"Frank?" Shocked to hear the voice of his dead mentor, Jon-Luc sat perfectly still, barely breathing.
"Listen to me carefully. I want you to imagine a brick wall around yourself, with Chauvin on the other side unable to see or hear you," Frank Thibodaux instructed.
"Will that prevent me from seeing Angie?"
"No, this will only make your brother blind to your thoughts and actions. To get your sight back, you will need to concentrate hard, willing the vision away while holding tight to your St. Michael medal. When the time comes to face Chauvin, call upon the power of Michael, the archangel, for the strength and power to fight the evil before you." Frank's voice softened. "Luc, I know you're conflicted, but don't be fooled. Your brother is no longer there, it is a demon who wears his face. He must be killed quickly, without hesitation. It's the only way to set your brother free."
"How did this happen? Was Chauvin into devil worship or something?"
"No, nothing like that. After the death of his friend, he blamed himself. His depression was so great, he fell into a catatonic state. Because of his gift, the door between both worlds stood open. He floated from the physical to the spiritual plain and back again. This lasted for seven days. His defenses were so low he didn't care if he lived or died. A demon attached itself to him and woke him up, slamming the door shut in the process. The demon has been with him ever since, dueling inside your poor brother until the beast finally won."
The voice fell silent.
Alarmed, Jon-Luc cried out, "Frank? Are you still with me?"
"I am here, my son." The response comforted Jon-Luc like a warm blanket.
"Don't leave, I might still need you."
"I can't make any promises. The level of your distress was so great, it reached out and pulled me to you. I don't know how I made it here, or how long I'll be able to stay. That's why I needed to share all I knew before the tether is broken."
Jon-Luc had to act swiftly now more than ever. He refocused on Angie. In the time he'd spoken to Frank, her body had been carved with strange symbols, one above her breasts, then two more leading down her stomach, all the size of his fist.
The fiend had just begun another carving above her pelvic region. The edge of the knife blanched the skin just enough to produce a scarlet outline, without actually damaging her body. Blood bubbled up, chasing the tip of the blade as it danced along the surface making another bizarre design.
A deep throated chant accompanied the act in a foreign tongue. Jon-Luc knew Latin and this was not it. It must be one of the lost languages from centuries past. He thanked God Angie was still out cold, unable to witness the atrocities being done to her, or feel any pain.
Jon-Luc shut his eyes, clutched the medallion and forced the image from his mind. Instead he replaced it with a thick brick wall, imagining the beast on the outside. He then circled that wall with the white light for further protection.
"I call upon the power of God to merge with the power of the Archangel Michael for the purpose of giving me the strength and power I need to defeat Lucifer and his minions." While crossing himself, he said, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."
When Jon-Luc opened his eyes, his regular vision had been restored.
"Well?"
He heard Claude's voice and turned toward his friend. "Sorry?" Jon-Luc asked.
"Are you ready?" Claude's fingers rested on the handle of the car door. "Back up should be here momentarily."
Jon-Luc opened his door. "Let's do this." Both men grabbed their guns before moving stealthily through the woods. A tricky thing to do without snapping a twig, but they did the best they could under the circumstances. Watching their footing made their progress slower than Jon-Luc would have liked. The adrenaline pumped through his body, putting all his senses on high alert.
His heart thumped a quick staccato in his ears, then he heard a low mumbling off to his right. He stopped and held a hand up to Claude. He pointed to his ear, then in the direction of the sound. Claude nodded and followed Jon-Luc off the path. Once close enough to see movement through the brush, Jon-Luc belly crawled until he could see both the UNSUB and his victim.
Jon-Luc had to distance himself from the circumstances if he wanted everyone to make it out alive. So he stuffed his emotions deep, and went into special agent mode, treating the scene like he would any other hostage situation. He turned back to Claude and motioned him to go around behind the suspect. Claude nodded, and keeping low, took off.
From where he lay, Jon-Luc had full view of the UNSUB and his victim. She, still on her back, eyes closed, scantily clad in undergarments. He, clad only in jeans, hunched over her right leg. The handle of the switchblade skated along the surface like a felt-tipped pen. Completely engrossed in his ritual, Jon-Luc felt nearly certain he had no idea he had company.
Jon-Luc itched to go in, but waited instead until Claude was in position. Once he received the sign, Jon-Luc stood, pulled the gun from his waistband and led with it into the clearing. The UNSUB's head flew up, eyeing Luc cautiously, then he snapped to his feet with lightning speed. The thing took a wrestler’s stance; crouching slightly, one arm arched on his left, the other arm arched to his right. The knife was clenched in his fist.
"Well, look at you. You snuck up on me, Special Agent Boudreaux." A foul stench wafted toward Jon-Luc the moment the demon opened its mouth.
As Jon-Luc eyed it warily, the thing changed back and forth from his brother to a horrifying hairy beast with the body of a wolf standing on its hind legs and the head of a goat that snarled and snapped, drool dripping from its fangs. The image flickered back and forth like an old-fashioned silent movie.
From his peripheral vision, Jon-Luc spied movement below. Angie stirred. He willed her to keep silent and stop moving. He had to keep the beast's attention on him.
"Leave her be. Take me instead. Look, I'm lowering my weapon." Jon-Luc bent forward, gun held out sideways and set it on the ground, then kicked it toward the thing. The creature's head tilted back, its mouth wide. The sound that escaped was half-laugh half-growl, depending on the face it showed.
Jon-Luc covered his nose with one hand and grasped his St. Michael medal with the other.
"You humans are all alike. Stupid."
Archangel Michael, I need you now!
Just as the thought ran through Jon-Luc's mind, all hell broke loose. The demon/Chauvin dropped the knife, and his hand disappeared behind his back.
Claude screamed, "Gun!" Jumped to his feet and fired.
Jon-Luc saw the barrel of the Glock staring at him from just ten feet away while the synapses in his brain unscrambled Claude's words. He started to drop, but it was too late. The force of the bullet hit him square in the chest while he watched the demon's head explode in slow motion. Blood and brain matter spewed in all directions.
Jon-Luc felt its warmth as it hit him in the face. His body flew through the air backward several feet until he landed. Hard. Then he felt nothing more.
32
"Luc. I have to go," Frank Thibodaux said.
Jon-Luc started to panic. "No, not yet. There's so much I didn't get to say."
"There's nothing you could say that I don't already know." Frank laid his hand on Luc's head lovingly. "You couldn't have been a better son if I'd fathered you myself. I am so proud of you. Of the man you have become. I want you to know that I thanked God everyday for bringing you into my life. You enriched it more than you can ever know."
Tears welled up i
n Luc's eyes. His love for this man was so overwhelming, he didn't know if he could survive losing him again.
Frank said, "You will go on to do great things, my boy."
"Frank, you saved my life. You taught me unconditional love. I wouldn't be the man I am today without you. Please don't leave, I still need you in my life," Jon-Luc pleaded.
"I have no choice, my son. I'm being pulled away as we speak. You'll be fine. Now I must go." Luc watched as Frank was sucked backward into the vortex.
Jon-Luc awoke to find Angie wearing scrubs and sitting on the side of his bed, staring down at him. He was lying in a hospital room. "What's going on?"
"St. Michael saved you," Angie said with a grin.
Jon-Luc remembered his prayer to the archangel Michael, but couldn't imagine how Angie would have known about it. "What do you mean?"
"You were shot, but the bullet hit your St. Michael pendant and saved your life. I've got to get me one of those."
Jon-Luc feigned innocence. "You plan on getting shot?"
"No, for good luck, dummy." She slapped his arm.
"Hey, no abusing the patient." He rubbed his arm where she'd slapped it as if it hurt. "Since I don't have a gunshot wound, why am I in the hospital?"
"You have a couple of cracked ribs," Angie said matter-of-factly.
"Shit, I've broken a rib before. It's really painful." He tilted his head down, afraid to move too much.
"Well, considering the alternative, I think you'll live."
There was that sassy sarcasm he'd grown to love.
"Thanks. Your sympathy overwhelms me," he teased her with a frown, then something else occurred to him. "Wait. That still doesn't explain the bed. There's nothing you can do for cracked ribs, so why am I in the hospital?"
Angie's expression turned serious. "The force of the blast was so great, you were airborne–"
"Chere, you've been watching too many movies. A bullet doesn't have the power to make someone fly through the air. You get shot, you fall down. End of story."
"For your information, smarty pants, I saw it." Her demeanor grew serious. "It was horrifying. When you landed, it knocked you out. I thought you were dead." She blinked back tears. "The doctor says you have a knot on your head the size of a tennis ball and fears you may have a concussion. He wants to keep you overnight." Angie turned her head away.
Is she mistaken, or was the blast from the gun powered by some supernatural force?
"Hey." He grabbed her hand in both of his and waited until she looked at him. When he saw her face, tears stained her cheeks.
"Luc, it was just awful. Please don't do that to me again." She sniffled.
He stifled a smile. "I'll do my best." He leaned forward a bit and grimaced at the pain, then took her face in his hands, drying her tears with his thumbs. "Chere, I'm sorry you had to go through that. But I don't see me taking on anymore cases like this in the future, so you don't have to worry."
"You'd better not," Angie said with an exaggerated pout. "I couldn't live that way."
"Does that mean you plan on staying in my life?" Luc asked hopefully.
Angie's eyes grew wide. "Well, duh."
Jon-Luc laughed and brushed her lips with a kiss. "Good."
"But it might be hard with me living here and you in New Orleans."
He leaned back gently against the pillows again. "We'll work it out, don't worry. After all, I kinda like you."
"You mean you love me," Angie said, with a straight face.
Luc barked a laugh. "That too."
Angie grabbed a tissue, dried her eyes, then blew her nose. It was the most unladylike sound he'd ever heard. She sounded like an elephant calling the herd. Jon-Luc started to laugh, then grabbed his ribs.
"Are you laughing at me?" Her brows arched and she acted offended. The face she made only made him laugh harder.
"Stop. Don't make me laugh. It hurts." Jon-Luc fought for control.
When his hysteria finally died down, he dried his eyes and changed the subject. "What about you, chere?" He placed his hand on her leg. "What did the doctor say about your wounds?"
"Oh, that," Angie replied as if they were talking about a paper cut.
Jon-Luc shook his head and grinned. "Yeah, that." Life with this woman would never be boring.
"Did you see the shit your demented brother did to me? What a whack job, that one." She pulled down her shirt in front to show her dressed wound. "I was this close to becoming the bride of Satan." She held up her thumb and forefinger. "But don't worry. I had a consult with a plastic surgeon and he didn't think there would be any permanent scars. Thank God. Can you imagine if I had to live with devil signs all over my body for the rest of my life? You'd never want to have sex with me again!" she said dramatically.
"It would take a lot more than that to keep me from wanting to have sex with you." He assured her.
Her brows arched. "Really?"
Luc chuckled. "Really. What else did the doctor say?"
"You mean after he gave me that nasty tetanus shot?" She scrunched up her face and rubbed her arm. "Damn, but that sucker hurt!"
"I'm sorry. So after that horrible doctor tortured you with that big bad shot, what did he say?"
"I'm supposed to have my regular doctor check the wounds in a day or so. But I don't have a regular doctor here in Paris."
"Don't worry, I'll get you one."
"You'd do that for me?" There went those brows again.
"Of course. As you so readily informed me, I'm in love with you."
"Damn straight." She nodded.
"Does that mean you're in love with me?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"What?"
"Kidding. Of course I love you, what's not to love? You see ghosts. You're hot, great in the sack, hung like a horse—"
Luc cleared his throat.
Angie rolled her eyes. "Okay, and a really great guy."
"Gee, thanks." Jon-Luc now focused on the spirits that had surrounded his bed. He'd seen them immediately upon opening his eyes, but he’d had more pressing matters to deal with first.
"Now, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I will need to leave this hospital sooner, rather than later," Jon-Luc said as he watched the crowd of newly departed souls grow.
The hardest part of being in a hospital for Luc was the fact that these people were confused, they didn't know they were dead. Just that no one could see or hear them. They were trapped in a nightmare until they either figured it out, or moved on. It broke his heart he couldn't help them.
Earthbound souls had to learn to use the energy around them to communicate. Until they did, they could not be heard or nor could they hear a word Jon-Luc said. To just lay idly by with their sad faces imploring him, was sheer torture.
"What? Why?" Angie asked.
"Because we're not alone," he answered simply.
Three days later, Jon-Luc, Angie, Claude, and Mimi sat in the dining room of the Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athénée in the Champs-Élysées. They'd just placed their orders for supper and were enjoying their cocktails.
"Bring me up to date on the case. What happened after I was knocked out?" Jon-Luc asked.
Claude set his wine glass on the table and stared at Jon-Luc across from him. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your brother is dead."
Jon-Luc instantly flashed to that night. The beast flipping back and forth. One second Chauvin, the next a hideous demon. Then his head exploded. "That thing was not my brother," He ground out.
"As you wish," Claude said. "I'm sure it would be hard for anyone to find out their sibling was a serial killer."
"Ya think?" Angie interrupted.
Jon-Luc put his hand on her thigh to calm her down.
Claude cleared his throat. "They found Melody Waterston's corpse belted into the passenger side of the SUV he had stolen. The level of decomposition had advanced to the point that she needed to be identified by dental records."
That's what he meant when he said she was sit
ting next to him, flesh and blood. And I thought he meant her spirit. Jon-Luc scrubbed a hand down his face.
"Ew, so I was riding around Paris with a corpse?" Angie scrunched up her nose. "At least that explains the smell."
Luc chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders, then turned back to Claude. "What about her family? Didn't they know she was missing? I would have thought they'd had her shipped back to the States a long time ago."
"I looked into that. Evidently her body was stolen from the morgue and they were trying to keep it quiet. They thought by stalling the family with a bunch of red tape, it would give them time to locate her corpse and return it. Evidently there was a lawsuit pending from the Waterston family. The head of pathology has been suspended until the results of the inquiry come out." Claude took a sip of wine.
"Did you learn anything more about Demetrius? Since he wasn't the killer, why had he wallpapered his room with Angie's pictures? And why did he butcher a rabbit for her to find?"
Angie interrupted. "Oh, that wasn't Demetrius, it was Michael. He was trying to scare me away. To get me to leave France. At least that's what he told me."
"As far as we can tell, he was in love with Angie. Obsessed," Claude answered.
"What?" Angie said. "Then why was he always so mean to me? He'd never looked me in the eye when we spoke."
Jon-Luc turned to her. "I think I can answer that. He was over-compensating. He was so afraid you'd be able to detect his true feelings, that in an effort to hide them he was brusque. Answering in short replies and averting his eyes."
"How would you know that?" Angie asked.
"I have a degree in psychology," Luc answered.
"Man, there is so much I don't know about you," Angie said.
"We have a lifetime to correct that," Jon-Luc said as he pulled her close, Angie smiled and laid her head on his shoulder.
"So, what have you two got planned for the future?" Mimi asked.
"For now, we're going to travel," Jon-Luc answered.
