“Yes.”
“Yesterday Dr. Little regressed Jack to 1832 so we could watch Elberta’s death again. You warned me earlier that he had to use surgical precision to make sure Jack himself didn’t die.”
“That’s correct.”
Landry said, “Then the role-playing began. You were Charles and Jack was Lucas. You shouted at Prosperine to kill him. She didn’t, and you threw him — and me too — out the window.”
“That’s also correct. Lucas was an unfaithful husband, and it was Charles’s opinion he deserved to die.”
“But it didn’t happen the right way. We know Prosperine pushed him off minutes after Elberta, but yesterday that didn’t happen. You screamed you’d do it yourself, and you did. How was that possible? How did you alter history?”
“My opinion is that we participated in an aberration of nature. I believe your so-called professional hypnotist botched the job of extricating Mr. Blair from the year 1832. That was what I warned you about. The timing had to be precise, and he botched it. He was changing Lucas back into Jack when it came time for Lucas to die. In a way I cannot explain, I think Lucas was caught in a warp that altered history for that brief moment. Once it was over, it was past. Lucas died as he originally did, in a tragic accident moments after Elberta.
“I explained that I am a conduit for my father. I know his every thought and deed. Yesterday I briefly became Charles Richard, a man consumed with passionate rage. Intending to kill Lucas LaPiere, Charles pushed you both out the window. Since Jack was in a state of hypnotic limbo, for a moment we altered history.”
“Then are there actually three bodies in the grave under the flagstones?”
“Yes. I believe he’s buried there alongside his lover. What we saw didn’t permanently change anything. As I said, I think it was an aberration.”
“My last question is about that torture chamber in the attic. How can you live with yourself knowing your father never stopped her from torturing others like himself? You said you can’t take your own life, and I can only imagine how much you wish you could. Think of it: you’re a conduit to every thought your father ever had, and his thoughts were every bit as insane as those of his lover Prosperine. I should pity you, but somehow I can’t find it within me.”
Empyrion stared out the window.
After a moment Landry said, “Fine, don’t respond. You’re a damned coward. When you die at last, I hope you rot in hell. Jack, I’m sick of the sight of this despicable person. Is there anything I’ve missed before we can end this?”
He said, “I have a question about the LaPiere mansion. When we first saw you there, it was old and run-down, but it was habitable. In fact, you called it your house. Other people saw it, Landry included, when it was totally different. Parts of the interior had collapsed from disrepair. There were holes in the floor, rotting furniture and curtains, and no portrait above the fireplace. What was that about?”
Ignoring Landry’s tirade, Empyrion said, “That’s an interesting peculiarity about my long life. Not only am I a conduit to the past, somehow the plantation is as well. On occasion the house and cemetery are as pristine and fresh as when Prosperine and Charles were here. I’m sorry to say those times are becoming less and less common these days. On other occasions the house is old and in need of a good dusting, as it was the day you and Mr. Drake first came. And sometimes it appears in its true state — an abandoned mansion rotting after years of neglect. Mr. Drake, you saw it that way the last time you trespassed on the property.
“Another time you came, I wouldn’t allow you into the house. That was because it was a good day. The house was full of fresh flowers, the furniture was clean and dusted, there were no creepers growing on the porch, and I could never have concocted an explanation that satisfied you.”
“And Milton? You called for a valet when we were there, but he was at the market.”
“Ah yes, Milton. I forget myself sometimes and call for him. He died in 1899, just before the dawn of the new century. He was a faithful servant to my father and me, and I miss him every day.”
The questioning ended with Empyrion reminding Landry of his oath as a gentleman not to exhume the bodies.
As he stood and picked up his walking stick, Landry called, “Phil, is everything good?”
Vandegriff came through a door on the far wall and said, “I got everything on camera. Audio and video all at a hundred percent.”
Flushing beet-red, Empyrion bellowed, “What is the meaning of this?”
“The meaning is that you’re going to be on television, Mr. Richard. We agreed that in exchange for answers, the bodies would remain buried. You said nothing about keeping your answers confidential. In this state, one-party consent for videotaping is all it takes. I consented, and I appreciate your candor in revealing the secrets of the Toulouse Street building. This will make a fascinating show.”
“No! You tricked me, and this will not happen. There will be no television show. You’ll hear from my attorney!”
“I’m sick of you and your family. You won’t sue. You’ve lived a very long time with no one invading your privacy. It will be hard enough enduring the publicity my show will generate. A lawsuit means depositions, cross-examinations, explanations — baring your family’s secrets to the world. Go back to the LaPiere plantation and live with your memories. Wallow in your loneliness. I have no sympathy for you. My heart goes out to the unfortunate victims, not the perpetrators.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
During the next two weeks, Jack remained free on bail. He and Landry joined Detective Young to watch the video of Empyrion’s confession. Afterwards Young agreed to speak to the district attorney about dropping the charge.
Jack asked how confident he was that it might happen.
“I’m convinced you’ve done nothing wrong. Once I tell her I’ll testify for the defense at the trial, I’d say the chances are about a hundred percent you’ll be a free man.”
His prediction turned out to be accurate, and both Jack and Doc Adams rested easier. He got his bail money back, and Pamela Sacriste reduced her fee to ten thousand dollars, a sum Jack promised to repay Doc in installments. Cate’s dad said it wasn’t necessary, but for Jack it was a matter of principle. No one had ever taken a chance on him, and although it might take years, Jack promised to pay back every cent.
As a courtesy, Landry called Shawn Leary, the building’s trustee. He revealed the upcoming television episode featuring the LaPiere family and their nefarious activities inside the building. Most of the revelations had come from Empyrion Richard, he added, and the lawyer promised to seek an injunction.
“That’s great,” Landry said. “Bring it on. Think how that will heighten public interest in what already is an incredible story. The more publicity we get, the better.”
Jack and Landry were busy over the next couple of weeks, handling a vast checklist of chores necessary to produce a television show. And once again Jack proved his worth as an assistant.
Cate called one afternoon from Galveston and asked if Landry and Jack were free on Friday night. She and her father were coming to New Orleans and wanted to get together at Muriel’s for dinner. On Friday an Uber driver dropped Cate at Landry’s apartment before taking Doc on to his hotel.
From the moment he saw her face, Landry knew something was up. She dodged his questions about why they had come on short notice, instead smiling and saying he’d learn more when the time was right. When he asked how long they were staying, she said she wasn’t sure. Her dad had business here that might take a day or two. What kind of business, he asked, but she held a finger to her lips and shook her head.
They walked to Muriel’s, where Claude ushered them to the Wine Room, a cozy area Landry had reserved that would give them privacy and a quiet place to talk. It surprised Landry that not only was Doc waiting, but there sat another familiar face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Henri Duchamp, who along with Doc, stood to greet everyone.
She smiled and said she’d amended the reservation.
Now Landry wondered even more what all the secrecy was about, but it would have to wait until they were ready to reveal things. The waiter took drink orders — two martinis, two wines and a Dr Pepper — while Landry updated Henri on the episode in the works.
“You know you got the ball rolling on the Toulouse Street building,” Landry told his friend. “That lunch at Brennan’s where you told me the history of the LaPiere family was the spark that ignited this story. This one will be a hit, and I’m indebted to you for it.”
Duchamp laughed. “Repaying a debt to me is as simple as a leisurely lunch and a fine bottle of wine.”
“You’re on. Now tell me what’s up. It’s obvious you three are bursting to tell your secret.”
Henri looked at Doc, who looked at Cate and said, “Honey, I think it’s time to let our friends in on the news.”
She smiled, took Landry’s hand and said, “I guess you scared that trustee when you told him about Empyrion’s confession.”
“He didn’t sound too worried to me. He even threatened an injunction —"
“Oh, you scared him all right. He called the Realtor and listed the property again. Guess who owns a building on Toulouse Street?”
He smiled. “Which one is it — Henri or Doc?”
“Dad’s the culprit. The paperwork’s all signed, and I’ve arranged an inspector and appraiser to meet us there tomorrow morning. We close in twenty days.”
Jack asked Doc what his plans were.
“Cate’s in charge of the project of creating a multiple-use building. The first floor — the rooms where the billiard parlor was back before Katrina — will be remodeled and leased for retail or a restaurant. The second floor — the LaPieres’ living area — will be offices, but with the original furnishings and personal items. That floor is historically significant. With some paint, cleaning, scrubbing and repairs, it’ll be a showplace. The lease will require the tenant to allow tours through the rooms. To make it historically accurate, we’ll also reinstall the balcony and stairway in the courtyard.
“Then there’s the attic. I envision it as a shrine to the doomed individuals who were tortured and murdered there. I see visitors walking through it, seeing the hidden rooms, the cells and the shackles, and coming away with feelings of both shame and regret — shame that a woman could do these things and regret for what her victims endured.”
He took a sip of his martini, and Landry said, “I think it’s a terrific idea to let visitors see a different side of New Orleans history, as awful as it was.”
Cate said, “And since Empyrion will no longer own it, we can exhume the bodies, right?”
“No, we can’t.” He paused. “I’m sorry for speaking out of turn. It’s not my building so I have no say in the matter. I promised Empyrion we wouldn’t dig in the courtyard during his lifetime. As we all know, that could be another hundred years or more. It’s your call, and maybe it’s best not to disturb the dead.”
“If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do,” Doc said. “Cate and I already spoke about that. We need your help on this project.
Landry turned to Henri. “I presume you’re here because you head up the paranormal society, My bet is you’re the historical advisor for the remodeling.”
Cate giggled. Doc smiled too, and Henri said, “You’re right. Doc has asked me to oversee the renovations, create the museums on the second and attic floors, and to make sure the restoration is as historically accurate as possible. But that’s not all. Doc told you there will be offices in the LaPiere living quarters. Those will be mine. The Louisiana Society for the Paranormal is moving. I rented our current space near Jackson Square because of the history, but after what you turned up on Toulouse Street, there’s no place more appropriate for a group studying the paranormal to office.”
“Sounds like you guys have everything figured out. I’m thrilled with your plan. Cate, what’s your role in fixing things up? I’m hoping I’ll see more of you around town for the next few weeks.”
“You bet you will. I’ll be hiring the crews, working with Henri on keeping things authentic, and renting the ground floor space. I hope we don’t get tired of each other after being together so much!”
He laughed and said that wasn’t possible. Their meals arrived and they raised glasses in a toast to those who had suffered, and to a bright future.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Six Months Later
Landry and Cate met Jack and his girlfriend, Caryn White, at the new Cajun Pride Brewery on the ground floor of the Toulouse Street building. They asked for a table on the patio, and as the server brought two beers and two sodas, they talked about how nice the building looked with its new wrought-iron staircase and balcony. The tall windows still opened onto the balcony just as they had long ago..
The pitiful wails and moans from the attic had disappeared. After the restoration, it appeared the spirits rested. The house of horrors was in friendly hands at last.
As they talked, a small group of tourists entered the courtyard and listened as a guide told the story of Madam LaPiere’s misdeeds. Landry watched them climb the wrought-iron stairs and stand on the balcony, their eyes wide in astonishment as they learned about the murders committed right where they stood.
The newest addition to their group, Caryn was the ticket agent Jack had met at the airport what seemed now like ages ago. He hadn’t called her for weeks, wanting to ensure his recovery was solid before he did. He relapsed a few times, but each time Cate and Landry were there to help. Today he felt better about himself and his situation than he had in years. He had friends, an apartment, a girl in whom he was interested, and a job.
Jack had been invaluable throughout the production process for the Bayou Hauntings episode. It had been Channel Nine’s most-watched show, and now Triboro Media was airing it on a dozen other company-owned stations. After consulting with Landry, Ted offered him s permanent position. He’d take Landry’s title of investigative reporter and Landry became senior investigator.
Landry heard his name called, and he looked up to see Henri Duchamp wave from the balcony. His personal office was in the sitting room next to Lucas’s bedroom, and he always greeted the groups as they strolled through his office and up the narrow staircase to the attic.
Doc hired another office manager for his psychiatric practice in Galveston after Cate found a new job. Now she was property manager for the building, an assistant to Henri Duchamp, and for the first time, a permanent resident of Landry Drake’s apartment on St. Philip Street.
A month back, Jack had a call from the parish clerk in Edgard. Empyrion Richard had vanished. He took a pirogue out on Bayou Lasseigne one day and never returned. They found the boat tangled in some trees along the shoreline, but no one ever saw the man again.
“Most people in town figure a gator got him,” the clerk said. “There are some out there in the swamp as big as cars.”
Landry wondered if Empyrion had at last found peace in death, or if he was still out there somewhere. Either way, he’d keep his promise. The murders Madam LaPiere committed would remain hidden beneath the flagstones of a brewpub’s courtyard. Perhaps the tortured souls now could rest in peace.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The underlying theme of this book is the concept of past life regression, an actual technique employed by a handful of therapists. Although similar in name, it is nothing like the more accepted therapy of age regression, which involves hypnotizing a patient and taking them back in their pasts to determine where problems originated and deal with them.
In 1952 a businessman named Morey Bernstein hypnotized young Ruth Simmons to take her as far back in her life as possible — perhaps even into the womb. What happened that night in front of several witnesses was something remarkable. A reel-to-reel tape recorder captured every word as Bernstein took his subject back to age seven, then age f
ive, three and one.
In his best-selling book The Search for Bridey Murphy, Bernstein explains how he decided to push further. With no idea what might happen, he told Ruth to "keep going back in space and time, and you will find that there are other scenes in your memory...in some other place, in some other time."
To everyone’s surprise, the subject began to speak in a distinct Irish lilt. Over a series of sessions, Bernstein learned she was Bridey Murphy, a resident of Cork, Ireland, who was born in 1798 and died sixty-six years later. As the author describes it, her life was "neither dramatic nor eventful but so filled with the wonderful details of living that as you read it, you know Bridey Murphy must really have lived."
How did a girl from Colorado who had never traveled outside the United States know minute details about an Irish girl who lived one hundred and fifty years earlier? Many people tried to debunk it as a hoax, but Bernstein had no apparent desire to profit from an experiment he couldn't have imagined turning out as it did. Today it remains as enigmatic as it was sixty years ago. His book became a movie, and the home recordings of some of Bernstein's sessions are available on audiobook.
I also recommend the 1988 book Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian L. Weiss, MD, which considers past life regression in a much different way than Bernstein's book.
I personally believe past life regression is possible, as are many other things in this world that cannot be explained by traditional means. I urge my readers to explore this fascinating subject. Only by expanding your mind can you decide for yourself whether you believe the concept is truth or fiction.
Thank you!
Thanks for reading Die Again.
.
If you enjoyed it, I’d appreciate a review on Amazon.
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