by Sala, Sharon
The jailer shrugged. “It’s your funeral,” he muttered, but Anson heard it and began screaming.
“NO! It’s not my funeral. It’s not. I can’t die. It’s not fair. I’m saying prayers. Make it go away.”
The jailer left, but came back shortly with the lawyer.
The lawyer took one look at his client, and his heart sank. “Mr. Poe, It’s me, Larry Feinstein. We need to talk.”
Anson shook his head wildly, waving his arms at the man to go away. “Can’t talk. Can’t look. I’ll burn. Tell God I’m sorry. Tell Him I won’t do it again.”
“Do what?” Feinstein asked.
“Set any more fires. Tell God I’m sorry about Frenchie’s, and the Quarter, and Voltaire. Tell God I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Feinstein stared in disbelief. “Are you saying that you’re responsible for burning down Frenchie’s, as well as the ensuing fires that burned through the French Quarter?”
Anson rolled over onto his side and curled up in a fetal position with his hands over his head, his gaze fixed.
“Yes, yes, sorry. Voltaire knew. Had to keep him quiet. Tell God I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. Make Him take away the curse.”
Feinstein’s lips parted, but for the life of him, he had no response. His client had just confessed to arson and murder, as well as to the rest of the mess he was in, which left him wondering how to proceed.
“What do you want to do?” the jailer asked.
“He needs a psych evaluation before anything else transpires. I’m through here for now,” Feinstein said.
The jailer escorted him out with Poe’s screams following his retreat.
“Tell God I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Make Him take away the curse.”
****
Brendan had a sack of groceries in one hand, and his door key in the other. His little sister walked beside him, as always, with her finger hooked in the waistband of his jeans. But this time, she had a new stuffed toy tucked under her arm. After nine years of Linny and Rabbit, Rabbit had been left behind and buried.
Brendan had seen the sadness on Linny’s face and had known the loss of Rabbit was as real to her as a death. And in an effort to make it better, they’d spent the better part of an hour down in the French Quarter at Michelle’s Candy Basket looking over her assortment of stuffed animals.
He’d stood by silently, watching Linny pick up the stuffed toys one by one, look at the face, feel of the fur, and then tuck it under her chin and close her eyes. She repeated the steps over and over until it became apparent it wasn’t just looks that she was going for. She was searching for one that gave her a good feeling as well. He was sick for the loss of her innocence. Her trust was gone, and she was looking for courage from a toy made in China.
They’d been there for more than thirty minutes, and during that time, she kept moving along the shelves without making a choice. The toys were all soft and cute, but Brendan surmised they must not feel right.
****
Linny looked over her shoulder to make sure Brendan was not running out of patience, then caught his wink and relaxed as she began looking through another row.
Like before, she started at the bottom, but this time, she saw there was a second row of stuffed animals behind the ones in front and sat down for a better view. Within moments, she saw a fuzzy little face looking back at her from between two white Teddy bears. She leaned closer and felt its gaze.
“I see you, too,” she whispered, then pulled it out, tucked it beneath her neck, and closed her eyes.
Almost immediately, the tension in her body dissipated. It felt right, too.
She looked up at Brendan and smiled.
He looked past the healing cut on her lip to the light in her eyes.
“Is he the one?”
She nodded.
“That’s a fine-looking little hound you’ve got there. Do you know what kind he is?”
She nodded. “A bloodhound. One of the boys in my class brought a picture of his daddy’s bloodhounds to show-and-tell once. They help find people who are lost.”
Her reasoning hurt his heart. Even her toy needed to be a form of protection. Damn Anson Poe to hell a thousand times.
“What are you going to name him?”
“Tracker. I’m going to call him Tracker.”
“That’s a perfect name for the perfect friend. So let’s go pay Michelle, and maybe we should pick out some candy to take home while we’re at it.”
She almost smiled. “We could get some chocolate-covered raisins. Those are our favorite, right?”
Brendan put his hand on the top of her head and then brushed a stray lock of hair back into place.
“Yep, they are our favorite, which means we should probably get extra.”
Her little smile came and went all too quickly, but knowing it wasn’t completely lost made this trip worthwhile.
And so they’d come home with a little brown dog named Tracker and a sack full of chocolate-covered raisins.
He headed to the kitchen to put up the groceries as she went to the extra bedroom and kicked off her shoes. She came back barefoot with the little dog still under her arm.
“What are we having for supper, Bren?”
“We have a couple of choices,” he said. “We can either have hamburgers and fries or chicken strips and fries.”
“Do we have ranch dressing?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Then I choose chicken!”
He grinned. “Do you dip everything in ranch?”
She frowned. “I don’t dip breakfast stuff in ranch… Oh, except for when Mama makes little sausages with my eggs.”
He laughed and was still laughing when someone knocked at the door.
Linny grabbed the dog and slunk back against the wall.
“It’s okay, baby. All the bad guys are in jail, remember?”
She nodded, but she didn’t move as he left the room.
Brendan opened the door and just like that, all of his sadness and exhaustion was gone.
“Julie!”
She smiled. “Surprise. I moved home.”
“This home?”
She laughed. “Yes, this home. Couldn’t stay away from you any longer. Is Linny here?”
He nodded.
“Do you think she can handle this?” she asked, indicating her healing wounds.
“Let’s find out, okay?”
She grimaced. “I’m a little scared.”
He cupped her cheek. “Honey, I’ve been scared ever since the both of you disappeared, and I’m still not over it.”
He led her into the kitchen.
Linny was still standing against the wall.
“Hey, little sister, you have a visitor. I’m gonna put the chicken in the oven while you two catch up.”
Linny’s eyes widened. Her lips parted, and then closed again.
Julie opened her arms.
“You better come give me a hug. I haven’t seen you since I got hurt. Is that little dog new? He’s so cute.”
“His name is Tracker. He’s going to keep me safe,” Linny said, but stopped short of a hug and pointed to Julie’s arms instead.
“Does that hurt?”
“No much anymore, but it hurt a lot at first.”
Linny’s voice was soft, muffled, and verging on tears. “I’m sorry you were hurt.”
“And I’m sorry you were, too. We are really two lucky girls, aren’t we?”
Linny frowned. “What do you mean?”
Julie pointed at Brendan. “He saved our lives, didn’t he?”
Linny cut her eyes over at her brother, then nodded. “Sir Brendan is my bravest knight.”
“And a good cook, too,” Julie said and tweaked Linny’s ear. “Is there enough chicken for me if I promise not to eat too much?”
“I’ll share,” she quickly offered.
“We have plenty,” Brendan said. “Who wants something cold to drink while the chicken cooks?”
“Me, me,” Linny said, and for a few moments, she was a light-hearted child again.
Julie moved up to the counter beside Brendan as Linny dug through the choices of soft drinks.
“How’s your mother?” Julie asked.
“She looks like hell, but she’s going to be okay. The big worry right now is if she and my brothers get charged along with Anson.”
Julie frowned. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “They knew the risks a long time ago. It’s all up to the authorities now.”
She leaned in and whispered, “Does Linny know all this?”
He shook his head.
Unable to speak her mind, she just made a sad face.
“Hey, Julie, do you want something, too?” Linny asked.
“Yes. You choose one for me, okay?”
Linny got busy all over again.
“Thank you,” Brendan said.
Julie shrugged. “Our experiences were horribly similar. Maybe we can help each other get through this.”
He dumped some French fries on one end of the big cookie sheet and chicken strips on the other end, then popped it in the oven.
“It feels so good to be home,” Julie said.
Brendan paused, then leaned down and stole a quick kiss. “It’s good to have you home, too,” he said softly.
Linny had three glasses of Pepsi, iced down, on the table and ready to drink.
“Come and get it,” she said.
Brendan laid his hand on her head. “Thank you, honey. That looks good.”
Linny pointed at the glass in front of him. “I made sure your ice didn’t float, just like you like it, Bren.”
He grinned. “That’s my girl!” He took a quick sip and then set it aside.
“So what’s on the agenda later?” Julie asked.
He shrugged. “Just hanging out, probably. Why?”
“I thought if you had things you needed to do, Linny might like to come back to my apartment with me and we’d have a little girl time. I have new nail polish and bubble bath.”
Linny gasped, then looked up at her brother. “Could I?”
He laughed. “Who am I to interfere with nail polish and bubbles?”
“Yay!” Julie said.
“Yeah… yay!” Linny echoed and then remembered Tracker. “Can my dog come, too?”
“Absolutely!” Julie said.
And just like that, what started out as a tense, anxious day was mellowing out into a better evening. It gave Brendan time to check his messages regarding job applications and do laundry at the same time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The DEA agents, Faro and White, received a phone call from Poe’s lawyer just before noon the next day. Anson Poe wanted a priest, and he wanted to confess. They grabbed their recording equipment and headed for the jail.
The lawyer and the priest met them in the parking lot, and quickly introduced themselves.
“Thank you for coming. I’m Larry Feinstein, Poe’s lawyer, and this is Father Patrick.”
Faro eyed the pair, one in a white summer suit, the other in black, both of a similar height and on similar paths. One dedicated to saving lives, the other to saving souls.
Faro nodded. “I’m Agent Faro, and this is my partner, Agent White. So Poe wants to confess?”
Feinstein shrugged. “Against my advice, I might add. I wanted to petition the court for a psych evaluation, but he has refused it, so that’s why we’re here.”
“Why the psych evaluation?” Agent White asked.
Feinstein shrugged. “You’ll see. Follow me.”
White carried the recording equipment, and Faro had a briefcase and the tripod. They entered the precinct without conversation, but instead of giving them an interrogation room in which to set up, they soon learned they were being led straight into the jail.
Faro stopped. “Why aren’t we going to an interrogation room?”
“Again, you’ll see,” Feinstein said.
When they began to hear crying and screaming, even before they entered the cellblock, White paused.
“What is that all about?” he asked.
“That’s Poe,” Feinstein said.
By the time the jailer led them to Poe’s cell, Faro’s first thought was that Poe was setting up an insanity defense. He was curled up in a corner of the cell, as naked as the day he’d been born.
“What the hell?” Faro said.
The jailer moved toward the bars. “Poe! Your lawyer is here.”
Anson was still moaning and wailing, praying the words of the rosary so fast the words were nearly unintelligible.
Feinstein took a step closer.
“Mr. Poe! Mr. Poe! The authorities are here as you requested.”
Anson looked up, took a shaky breath, then rolled over onto his knees and eased upright against the wall. His pupils were dilated, his body trembling. He had yet to focus on either one of the agents.
“Do you see it?” Anson cried, pointing at the floor in front of him.
“See what?” Feinstein asked.
“The fire! The fire! It’s there, waiting to burn me. I need to confess. I need to make it go away.”
“Let’s get set up,” Faro said and unfolded the tripod as White readied the camera.
Within a couple of minutes, they were ready to go.
“We’re ready, Mr. Poe.”
Anson seemed to have forgotten they were there and had begun slapping at his arms and the back of his legs.
“Burning me… It’s burning me,” he mumbled, then crouched in the corner. “Where’s the priest? I need the priest.”
“I’m right here, Anson. My name is Father Patrick.”
When Anson saw the face behind the voice and realized he knew him, he started to weep.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been many, many years since my last confession.”
The priest turned around. “If he confesses to me, it’s privileged. You can’t be a witness.”
Anson screamed, “No, no, I need everyone to hear! It’s the only way the curse will go away!”
Father Patrick’s fingers curled around the cross hanging from his neck as he watched Anson shove his hands through his hair over and over until the sides were standing up in a caricature of fright. Between the crazy hair and the gouges in his face that were beginning to scab over, he finally looked like the monster that he was.
“What kind of curse?” the priest asked.
“Voodoo,” Anson whispered, then looked all around as if speaking the word would actually summon the demons. “Someone put a curse on me because of what I did. I have to confess or I’m going to die.”
Faro interrupted. “Look, Father. You can stay or you can go, but either way we’re going to film this.”
The priest frowned. “This is highly irregular and I’ll not consider it an actual confession. I will simply be another witness to what he says, but that is all. Is that understood?”
“Whatever,” Faro said. “So, let’s get this started.” He signaled White to begin filming. “Mr. Poe, for the record, look up at the camera, state your name and age, and why you were arrested.”
Still squatting in the corner, Anson curled his fingers over his knees and focused on the camera like it was the face of God.
“Anson Poe. I’m fifty years old and I was arrested for human trafficking and drug charges. I am making this statement because I need to confess all my sins or I’m going to die.”
Faro frowned. “Why do you think a confession will save your life?”
He moaned and then slapped his cheeks as if he’d done a bad thing.
“I didn’t believe in God and I didn’t believe in voodoo, then someone had a curse put on me. I thought it was a joke and used it against someone else and caused their death. I’m going to die if I don’t make amends. I’m going to burn just like the fire I had set at Frenchie’s.”
Faro frowned. “What’s Frenchie’s?” he whispered as Anson kept talking.
&nb
sp; Feinstein already knew his client was responsible for the fire that swept through the French Quarter.
“It’s a long story. Just let him keep talking, and I’ll explain later.”
The agent tuned back in to what Anson was saying.
“…payback for not letting me fuck her whore. It burned The Black Garter, too, which was next on my list. Then the little coffin showed up on my doorstep. It had a match and my picture on it. That’s voodoo. Someone had a curse put on me. I tried to make Mama Lou take it off, but she shut the door in my face. I have to confess to God or I’m gonna die.”
White shook his head. He was not a believer of anything paranormal and certainly not voodoo.
Anson suddenly shrieked and rolled sideways. “Fire between my feet,” he screamed, then started talking faster. “Grayson March set his guards on me. It pissed me off. I wanted payback and needed to get rid of the loose ends. The guards were my payback. Voltaire LeDeux was the loose end. I tricked all of them. They took each other out and there was no one left to tie me to the fires. It was a bad thing I did. I lied. I lied. I lied so many times and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Somebody has to forgive me.”
Father Patrick was praying quietly, his lips barely moving, his words purposefully muted.
“Why did you sell your daughter?” Faro asked.
Anson shuddered, then again grabbed his hair with both hands, pulling fistfuls of it up and away from his head, as if trying to alleviate some kind of weight.
“Things were going wrong. I needed money and none was coming in. Family was getting away from me. I was losing control. I always had control. Had to get it back.”
“How did you maintain control before?” Faro asked.
Anson crawled back into the corner then curled himself up as small as he could get. “Pain and fear. Pain and fear. That’s power. That’s how you maintain control.”
“You hurt your family?”
Anson sat up and laughed and then slapped himself violently, as if in remorse for the sacrilege.
“Sorry, sorry. Not funny. Bad. I did bad things. They were afraid to disobey. That’s control.”
Faro glanced at his partner and mouthed the word, wife. They’d just gotten confirmation as to what the whole family kept claiming. LaDelle Poe said she was afraid to leave. He’d just confirmed it without knowing anything about what she’d said to them.
