Die Again (The Bayou Hauntings Book 6)

by Bill Thompson

  Landry said he didn’t understand what happened, but she needed help. The man agreed to charge Landry's card two hundred dollars. That would pay for breakfast at the Red Robin, a room at the motel where Tiffany could relax until Landry got back to her, and some cash for her pocket.

  He spoke with Tiffany again, explained what she should do, and said he would call her back once businesses were open and he could figure out a plan. Knowing there would be no more sleep tonight, he fixed some coffee, showered and dressed, and started working on her dilemma.

  Tiffany had to come back if they were to solve her problem. The thing that was controlling her brain and pulling her here was stronger than her will to resist. She couldn't fight the compulsion that was luring her to the building.

  She would have to take time off from her job for who knew how long — a few days, hopefully, but maybe longer. He’d front her expenses, but he could already see possibilities in this story, and that meant WCCY would reimburse him. He searched for airports near Blythe and learned that the closest was Yuma, a hundred miles away. From there she could fly to Phoenix and on to New Orleans.

  He worried about her traveling alone. Should he go there and accompany her back, since another bout of memory loss would exacerbate the dilemma? That question became moot when his phone rang.

  "Mr. Drake, it's Charlie Peterson out in Blythe again. I have some bad news. Your friend's disappeared."

  "Disappeared? What happened? I thought you were taking her to the motel —"

  "I did. I paid for her room like you asked and made sure she got to the door. Then I came back to work. I worried about her, so I went over to check a few minutes ago. The desk clerk said she walked out right after I left her there. I'm sorry. I should have done more —"

  "It's not your fault," Landry assured him as his mind raced. Where could she be? He knew she was headed this way, but how? "Did another bus come through after you left her, and did she have enough cash to get on it?"

  "She had plenty of cash. I didn't charge her for breakfast, and the room was only twenty-nine dollars, so she had almost all of your two hundred bucks. She didn't take a bus; the next one's not due until this afternoon."

  Landry thanked the man and said he'd try to contact her. He tried her phone but got voicemail. He left a message and ten minutes later he tried again. The call connected and in the background he heard Tiffany talking to someone.

  "Say hello," the man said. "Lady, answer your phone."

  "I can't. I mean I don't want to. I can't talk right now."

  The man answered, Landry explained Tiffany was a friend and asked who he was speaking with.

  "Tim Cowling. I drive for United Freightways. I picked this lady up hitchhiking outside Blythe, and we're headed for Albuquerque. She seems to be in some...er, some kind of mental distress. She's not acting out or anything, but something's not right, if you know what I mean." To Tiffany he said, "It's okay, lady. Calm down. This is your friend I'm talking to."

  "What time will you be in Albuquerque?" Landry asked, and the driver said it would take around seven hours. With the time change, he'd be at the depot around four.

  Landry had to put something together fast. He didn't know this guy from Adam, but he was a driver for a major trucking company, not to mention the only remedy available. He explained that Tiffany was going through an emotional experience and at age forty-seven she was literally running away from home. She's working her way to New Orleans, he added, and he worried about her safety. He told the driver if he'd make sure Tiffany got to Albuquerque, he'd pay him for taking care of her.

  No need for that, Tim Cowling replied, promising to buy her lunch and get her to United's depot. "What do I do with her then?"

  He took the driver's phone number and said, "I'll take it from there. Give me a little time and I’ll get back to you." He had no ideas, but he had seven hours to come up with something. He checked schedules, called Cate to enlist her help, and told the driver his plan.

  Two hours later he took a Southwest flight to Dallas Love Field and connected to Albuquerque. He was waiting at United Freightways' vast truck depot when Tim Cowling and Tiffany arrived at a quarter past four. Thankful he could take charge of her now, he insisted the driver take a hundred dollars, thanked him for his help, and took Uber back to Albuquerque Sunport. At eleven fifteen p.m. he and Tiffany walked into his apartment on St. Philip Street, where Cate sat waiting for them.

  "Thanks for coming on short notice," he said. "I didn't have much choice. She has to stay here so she won't run away, and I didn't want her in my house without you here too."

  They put the addled woman to bed in Landry's second bedroom, moved the dining table and some chairs in front of the outside door as a barrier against her leaving, and crawled into bed themselves.

  During this crazy day he'd forgotten to call his friend Henri Duchamp. He'd also forgotten about Jack, regretting he hadn't given the man a thought. He was to have reported for work this morning, but Landry hadn't even gone to work himself, so he didn't know. There had been no phone message, and Landry hoped things were okay. He listened to Cate snore next to him and willed the thoughts out of his mind. He hadn't rested last night, and he needed some peace right now.

  His eyes popped open to see sunlight flooding the bedroom. They had slept until nine, a rarity for them but no surprise after yesterday. He and Cate checked the living room; the furniture still blocked the door. Cate opened Tiffany's door, peeked inside and gave Landry a thumbs up. He breathed a sigh of relief. For once, something turned out right.

  One minute later, things went wrong.

  A loud knock came at the door. "Police! Open up, Mr. Drake!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  He pushed the barrier of furniture away from the door and opened it. Two officers walked in.

  “Landry Drake, you’re under arrest for assault,” one said, reading him his rights and ordering him to get dressed. He emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, gave Cate the lawyer’s number, and asked her to make the call.

  With hands cuffed behind his back, they led him down two flights of stairs and put him in a cruiser. This was I — on the night Tiffany was hurt a week ago they’d stuffed him into a cop car the same way.

  Surprised that Tiffany slept through the ruckus, Cate called Pamela Sacriste. The attorney said she was on top of it and promised Landry would be home by afternoon. A few minutes later Tiffany emerged from the bedroom in Cate’s robe. She seemed bright and perky after being so confused and uncommunicative yesterday. She asked if there was coffee and maybe something to eat. It appeared now that she was back in New Orleans, whatever force controlled her psyche had been temporarily mollified.

  “Is Landry still asleep?” she asked, and Cate advised what had happened.

  “He didn’t hurt me. They can’t do this! I’ll tell them I’m not pressing charges or something.”

  “It’s not that easy. Since you were unconscious, you can’t say who attacked you. As the only other person there, they arrested him. I must tell you I’m worried. His career and his freedom are on the line. He must find the answers.” With tears brimming in her eyes, she turned away and fixed Tiffany’s breakfast.

  The police car was on Rampart Street, heading for the justice center on Loyola, when the driver’s phone rang. He listened for a minute and replied in a voice too low for Landry to hear. Then he put on his turn signal, lit up his light bar and took a left.

  “Where are we going?” his partner asked, but the driver shook his head and pointed to the back seat. Landry noticed they were on Toulouse heading back into the Quarter, and he wondered what happened.

  He saw flashing lights a few blocks ahead. At Royal, a police car blocked the intersection, and news trucks from WCCY and another station were setting up a satellite feed. The cop directing traffic at the corner stepped aside so their car could proceed, and Landry saw more cops in what had become a familiar location.

  As they stopped, Detective Young stepped to the car
, helped Landry out of the back seat, and removed his cuffs. He said, “You’re not free, but I brought you here to see something.”

  They walked through the gate and down the corridor to the busy courtyard. A body covered with a sheet lay on the paving stones by the fountain, and a teenaged boy sat on the ground while talking to a plainclothes detective.

  “Two nineteen-year-olds – the deceased and his friend over there – entered the building around five a.m. According to the friend, they knew rumors about the haunted building, but the gate was unlocked and they had to pee. Once inside, they made a bet who’d chicken out first. Looks like this guy on the ground won the bet. He died here.”

  “What was the cause of death?”

  “Blunt force trauma. He has several broken bones and contusions.”

  “Do you think the other kid attacked him?” Landry didn’t, but he wanted to know the angle the police were taking.

  Young said, “I don’t think so. I listened to his story and told the guys to bring you here right away. The friend says he was urinating in a corner of the courtyard. He heard a noise, looked up and saw the other guy standing up there on a balcony.” Young pointed to the tall windows on the second floor, where no balcony existed.

  “He claims something dark and frightening appeared in the window behind his friend, and the next thing he knew, the guy fell over the railing to his death. I’m sure he’s still intoxicated, but he hasn’t changed his story since he called 911 at fourteen minutes past five.”

  “That’s because there is no other story.”

  “I thought you might say that, but there’s also no balcony and no railing. If he fell to his death, enlighten me on how that happened.”

  Landry told him the history of the building and the LaPiere family. He explained about the stairway and balcony that once existed, and he talked about Tiffany’s and Jack’s dreams.

  “According to legend, a lot of inhumane things happened inside these walls. Tiffany and Jack talk about how the building calls out to them and tries to lure them in. I haven’t figured out the connection, but I’m convinced something paranormal is happening here.”

  Young asked if Landry knew where Tiffany Bertrand was, and the answer surprised him.

  “When the cops took me away this morning, she was asleep in my guest bedroom. This is the second time in two weeks she’s awakened en route back to New Orleans. We can’t leave her by herself; I barricaded my front door last night in case she tried to leave.”

  “Where’s she trying to get to?”

  “Right here, Detective. She’s coming to this building. This courtyard. As you know, I found her unconscious on the pavement here last Monday. She went to the hospital and then flew home. The next thing she knew, she was on a plane back, with no recollection of boarding it. She returned to LA a second time, and yesterday she called from a diner in Blythe, California. She has a bus ticket in her pocket but no recollection of going there. I arranged a motel room and was working on flying her here, but she disappeared again. A truck driver picked her up hitchhiking and agreed to stay with her until I could get there. I flew to Albuquerque and brought her to New Orleans last night.”

  “That’s amazing, Landry, and even more so since I told you not to leave town. But I get it, and you did the right thing. I never thought you hurt Tiffany, and what you did to help her yesterday should prove that to others. Let me interview her and if the story checks out, I’ll call the assistant DA. With the warrant outstanding the boys will have to take you in, but I’ll make sure you don’t spend the night in jail.”

  Landry said, “So will my attorney, who’s likely wondering where I am right now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Two hours later, after being processed into the criminal justice system, represented by counsel and released on $50,000 bail, Landry returned to his apartment. It distressed Tiffany that a boy had died in the building. She ducked her head and sat on the couch with legs tight against her chest, rocking back and forth as she listened.

  She murmured, “I wonder if that boy had dreams too, like Jack and me. I wonder if the building called to him.”

  Landry said no and explained how they happened to be inside. The surviving boy claimed his friend fell from a balcony.

  “I think I saw that balcony when I found you unconscious the other night,” Landry said. “That’s where the dead boy fell.”

  “He didn’t fall. She pushed him.”

  “She? Who are you talking about?”

  Eyes wide with fear, she stared at him. “I don’t know.”

  He showered and put on fresh clothes and asked if Cate had heard from Jack. When they parted company on Friday afternoon, he was to report for work at the station Monday at eight. Landry didn’t go in, but a call to the station revealed Jack hadn’t shown up or called.

  Landry hoped that didn’t mean what he suspected. Three days had passed since he saw Jack. He tried calling and decided to go to the motel. On the way he called Ted with a partial update and said he’d check in when he knew more. Aware of Landry’s unconventional work schedule, Ted thought nothing of it.

  When Jack didn’t answer the door, Landry went to the front desk to speak with the clerk. The man had been off all weekend, but he had seen Jack yesterday morning after breakfast. He’d gone out, returned in the late afternoon, and had been at breakfast again this morning.

  “Today he left around eight,” the man said. “He had some papers with him — business papers, I guess. I waved at him and he said he was off to work.”

  The news relieved him. Whatever Jack was doing, it appeared he wasn’t drinking. He knew Jack would turn up, and now he turned his attention on Tiffany.

  Back at his apartment, he announced they were going to walk to Toulouse Street. He refused to accept Tiffany’s protests. “We’re going, and we’re going now. Get dressed,” he commanded. “We leave in ten minutes.”

  While Tiffany was in the bedroom, Cate chided him for being too harsh, but he shushed her. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. This has gone far enough, and we have to take a fresh approach.”

  Her eyes brimming with tears, Tiffany emerged wearing the clothes from yesterday. “Don’t make me do this,” she begged, but Landry explained that facing this demon was the only way to move ahead.

  “I’m okay now. I had another peaceful night. Why do I have the dreams at home, but never when I’m here in New Orleans?”

  “How long have you had them?”

  “Since childhood. Some of my earliest memories are having disturbing dreams — not nightmares, but no pleasant fantasy either. It was always about a building. I’d see it from a distance, and the street was as familiar as the one I grew up on. That’s why it surprised me so much to find the building on that ghost tour. There was the place I’d dreamed about for forty years, and it terrified me. Now it makes me come back. It won’t let me stay in LA. Don’t you see? I’m going to die. I know in my heart whatever’s there will kill me. Please. Please don’t make me go.”

  Just as Cate shot him a stern, imploring glance, Landry had an idea. There might be another way. Now it was time to call his friend Henri Duchamp.

  He said, “Okay, we won’t go right now. I’ve thought of something that could help. Cate, can you please stay another day or two? I think we all agree Tiffany can’t go back to LA, but we can’t leave her alone here either.”

  Cate agreed, Tiffany relaxed, and Landry went to work. He believed Tiffany had to face the demons on Toulouse Street, but perhaps there was another way. He called Henri for a late lunch and crossed his fingers.

  Out on the sidewalk, he almost collided with Jack. Both relieved and angry, Landry resisted the impulse to lash out.

  “You had me worried. You never checked in yesterday. I thought —"

  Jack interrupted, his face beaming with anticipation. “I’m sorry. I know what you must have thought, but I haven’t had a drink since the last time I saw you. Between meetings, I kept my mind occupied. In fact, you won�
��t believe it! I went to the public library, the historical museum and the records room at the Cabildo. I’ve been digging up stuff about the building — a lot of off-the-wall material — and I think you’re going to be amazed. Can I tell you about it?”

  “No, not now. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you made a mistake. Don’t do this to me again, Jack. Cate and I worried about you. A lot has happened since Friday. A kid died in the building yesterday, and there are issues with Tiffany. I can’t talk now. I’m on my way to meet someone who might help me figure out some answers.”

  “Someone died in the building? What happened?”

  “I told you not now. I have to go.”

  “Mind if I come along? I’d love to hear what you’re working on.”

  “You can’t. We’re meeting at a bar, and there’s always wine involved. If you’d stayed in touch, I’d have arranged it somewhere else so you could come too. You disappeared on me. Don’t do it again. I’ll catch up with you later. Do you need more money?”

  “No, I’m good. All I’ve bought for the past three days are some photocopies of records, Lucky Dogs and Dr Pepper.”

  Landry ordered him to stay put in his office until he returned.

  As he walked, there was a spring in Landry’s step. Lunch with Henri Duchamp was always something to look forward to. Besides being a friend and mentor, the man’s wise counsel helped Landry better understand the supernatural world he worked in. Today he might even find answers to the enigma on Toulouse Street.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Brennan’s Restaurant was busy from breakfast until the last dinner was served. Tourists flocked to the pink building on Royal Street and ate in crowded dining rooms. Waiters scurried about, balancing trays loaded down with Bloody Marys, Brandy Milk Punches, turtle soup and eggs Sardou.

  Tucked away in a corner, the restaurant’s Roost Bar was a little hideaway just steps away from the noisy restaurant scene. Locals who knew about the cozy nook could have a quiet chat over a Sazerac or a flute of champagne.