A Life Without Fear

by Leo King

  She again had no idea what he was talking about. She shrugged.

  “Now, go run along and play,” Vincent said, setting her on her feet before patting her back. “Grandpa has work to do.”

  “OK, Grandpa,” Samantha said as she started to head back out to the hallway.

  “Oh, and Sam?”

  When she turned back to him, he smiled. “I love the new dresses. They fit you and Marie very nicely.”

  She beamed sunshine and rainbows at her grandfather.

  The sunshine through the window got brighter and brighter until it flooded her vision completely. The sound of birds singing and bees buzzing was replaced by a monotonous beeping sound. And the sweet comfort of a spring afternoon was replaced by an aching, all-encompassing pain that felt muted only by medication.

  Sam never opened her eyes; her vision just returned. She was aware that she was in a hospital room, and that the room had a number of people in it, all of whom were currently blurry. She was also aware that the presence that called itself “Sam of Spades” was deep within her, but felt weak and subdued.

  But what she was most aware of was that she couldn’t move. She tried to move her eyes and failed.

  Immediately, a feeling of panic rose in her as she wondered if this was death. After feeling her body breathe a few times, as well as an annoying itch on her butt, she realized she was, indeed, still alive. She was just paralyzed.

  She was groggy as if still waking up. Fighting back more panic, she took what she could from her field of vision. Her left arm had an IV drip in it, and her left wrist was handcuffed to the bed. Her right wrist was also cuffed. Both arms were dressed. She felt similar dressings down her midsection and thighs.

  Handcuffs? I’m under arrest?

  Then she remembered what had happened at the wharf. Her duel with Violet. Violet’s death. Aucoin arresting her. It all came right back.

  Oh. Oh, shit. This is not good.

  Her hearing returned. At first, the words were a jumble. But they soon evened out into speech.

  “We still don’t have enough evidence to guarantee a conviction, Ouellette. You’ll have to do better than this.”

  She focused on the person speaking. He was an older white gentleman in a business suit. She remembered seeing him somewhere before. He was standing next to Ouellette, who looked annoyed. She also saw Rodger talking off to the side with a doctor. Lastly, she saw Aucoin leaning against a wall. His face got red when the lack of evidence was mentioned.

  “Not enough evidence?” Aucoin’s tone was incredulous. “Her manuscript in the newspaper? Chapter Two of her story? Teen girl gets whacked next. The details were on target with what happened to my daughter! How is that not proof?”

  Ouellette held out his hand. “That’s enough out of you, Detective. Don’t forget that you barely passed your psych-eval. I could put you on leave like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  Aucoin glared at him.

  Ouellette glared right back and said, “Go out into the hallway and cool down. Better yet, go wait with Gino in the lobby. Olivier will be out of surgery later. She’s going to need you.”

  As Aucoin left in a huff, Sam wondered what had become of Dixie. She really hoped the detective lived.

  The man in the suit asked, “So, then, how is Detective Olivier doing?”

  Ouellette folded his arms. He looked grim. “She’ll live, and thank God for it. We were seconds away from losing her. Unfortunately, the attacker used explosive rounds. Her left arm was blown off at the elbow joint.” He shook his head. “She’ll be getting outfitted with a prosthetic when she recovers.”

  “Will she be kept on the force?” asked the man in the suit.

  Ouellette looked annoyed. “That depends entirely on her. Anyway, my question to you, Mr. Connick, is what do you intend to do about Miss Castille here? This woman, despite being a suspect, put down a dangerous assassin who wiped out a good chunk of my division. I don’t think our friends will be so quick to prosecute her now.”

  Holy shit! That was Harry Connick, the DA.

  Mr. Connick put his hands on his hips. He shook his head. “First off, Commander, I decide who my office prosecutes—not anyone else and certainly not you. Now, I have every intention of charging her the moment your office gets me some hard evidence. When will the coroner have the analysis of her DNA done?”

  Sam remembered bleeding everywhere. She could only hope that the DNA test would exonerate her and put an end to this madness.

  “Soon,” Ouellette replied. “I have Melancon doing a rush on it. Meanwhile, I have to figure out how the hell a single blind woman managed to kill over two dozen highly trained and heavily armored SWAT members. You talk about wanting answers, Mr. Connick. Well, that right there is what I want to know!”

  Connick motioned toward the door with his head. “Let’s go talk about that, Louis. I want to hear how the whole thing went down. So will the mayor’s office.”

  A uniformed officer came in. He was holding a plastic bag. Inside were her red plastic charm, her notebook, and the silver pen.

  Hey! Those are mine. You have no right to take them. Sam boiled in frustration at being unable to interact with the world.

  “Commander,” said the uniformed officer. “We found these in Sam’s car. They’re the notes for the mystery she was writing. What do I do with them?”

  Give them back to me!

  Ouellette thought for a moment. “Give them to Bergeron. It’s his case now.”

  Motioning to Connick, he said, “Let’s go get some coffee.”

  Connick nodded and left the room.

  Ouellette started to follow, then stopped. He looked into Sam’s eyes for a few seconds, then shook his head as if bitterly disappointed. Then he left.

  She wondered what that was about, and why she always felt so angry every time she looked at him.

  The uniformed officer handed Rodger the packet, then left.

  Rodger looked Sam over before asking, in a hushed voice, “So, Doctor, you really think she may never recover?”

  Never recover?

  The doctor, a middle-aged man with some fat on his face and a severely receding hairline, shook his head. “It’s too early to tell. To be honest, Detective, I’m surprised that she’s still alive. The sheer amount of internal trauma she’s suffered is beyond what a human being can normally survive. As it is, I’ve contacted one of our directors to come and see her later.”

  “Would that be Dr. Lazarus?” Rodger asked.

  “Indeed. He specializes in strange cases like this. For now, you can see that she’s completely unresponsive.” The doctor waved his hand over her face. “She blinks at regular intervals, but she doesn’t respond to any stimulus. As it is, we’re going to need to do an EEG to see if there is any brain activity.”

  Rodger approached Sam. The lines on his face were heavy. His anxiety was evident. His hand touched her gently. “She’s in there. I know she has to be, Doctor.”

  I’m here, Rodger! I’m alive and I’m here!

  She didn’t care that he had known, all these years, about her witnessing Edward’s murder. He had been showing mercy by saying nothing. She couldn’t hate him, not with how he was looking out for her. His love for her was unquestionably apparent.

  He rubbed her hand gently for a few minutes, a paternal look in his eyes. “So then, Doctor, any idea what made her act so… incredible? It seemed—well, I’ll just say it—superhuman.”

  The doctor shook his head. “I wish that I knew the answer to that. Again, this is something Director Lazarus will have to look into. He’s taken a keen interest in both the pink powder and Miss Castille’s condition. But as to what happened? I have no idea.”

  “Most likely zat substance is a highly experimental drug that unlocks a person’s physical potential,” said a German voice from the doorway. “Und likely Blind Moses received it from the same person who armed her.”

  Sam felt her stomach drop as the diminutive form of Dr. Klein entered t
he room. He was eyeing her like a wolf eyes its prey. Oh, God, not him. Anyone but him!

  Dr. Klein turned to the doctor and added, “And I would caution against letting that charlatan Dr. Lazarus see Samantha. He vill only bring quack theories into what is already a difficult case.”

  “He’s one of the hospital’s directors,” replied the doctor. “I can’t just refuse him admittance.”

  “So who the hell let you up here, Klein?” Rodger asked with vocal hostility.

  “I contacted him,” replied the doctor. “While you and the other detective were arguing, your commander asked me to contact Dr. Klein for a statement on Miss Castille’s psychological situation.”

  “One I intend to give,” replied Dr. Klein indignantly. “Since Samantha saw fit to fire me earlier, I can no longer protect her from herself.”

  Sam felt sick to her stomach.

  He puffed out his chest. “I have already spoken to Mr. Bourgeois, und we have come to an agreement. I will divulge the tapes of my conversations with Sam of Spades. Und I have over two hundred hours of taped sessions. In return, I will be allowed to treat Samantha once she is acquitted on an insanity defense.”

  Oh, God, no, Sam thought in terror. She would rather die than go back to that man.

  Rodger clenched his jaw angrily. “You’re assuming Sam will even be formally charged.”

  “Samantha!” Dr. Klein said forcefully. “I have told you a hundred times, her name is Samantha!”

  “Gentlemen,” said the doctor, clearing his throat. “I have to look out for the welfare of Miss Castille, who is currently my patient. So, if you raise your voices around her again, I will have you both escorted off this floor.”

  Dr. Klein and Rodger both mumbled apologies. The doctor nodded and moved in front of Sam, obscuring her vision.

  Shit! Sam thought. Move out of the way!

  “She won’t be found guilty, Dr. Klein. She’s no killer,” said Rodger.

  The doctor shined a light in her eyes, leaving behind little dots in her vision.

  Dr. Klein harrumphed. “I agree zat Samantha is not a killer, but her other self, Sam of Spades, is remorseless.”

  The doctor placed a stethoscope against her chest. He moved it around, listening to her breathe.

  “Yeah,” said Rodger. “Well, good luck offering testimony at a trial that’s not going to happen. As soon as that DNA comes back clean, Sam’s going home.”

  “Samantha, not Sam!” said Dr. Klein in a forceful and rude tone. “Und the DNA will match. Of that, I am certain. She will be arraigned, found not guilty by reason of insanity, und I will finally be free to treat Samantha as I see fit.”

  Sam felt sick. It seemed that both Kent and Dr. Klein were actively working against her.

  She could hear Rodger sigh. “You are out of your mind if you think that Samantha, or Sam, or whoever, is the killer.”

  “It is understandable to be angry, given your emotional investment, Detective,” Dr. Klein said, sniffing. “But at least Samantha is going to get ze treatment she needs. The other one was not so fortunate.”

  Other one, Sam thought to herself. Is he talking about Dallas?

  She vaguely remembered Dallas and another boy, whose name she couldn’t recall, during her time with Dr. Lazarus—a memory that had resurfaced along with the ones of her grandfather. We played word games. Dallas and that other boy really seemed into the game, especially Dallas.

  Within her mind, she gasped. Is that where the term ‘Nite Priory’ came from?

  Sam’s thoughts were interrupted as the doctor pushed her head around in several positions, examining her at length, before getting back in front and scribbling down notes.

  He moved away from her field of vision. She could see Rodger angrily pacing while Dr. Klein stood there, full of himself. Dr. Klein… I really hate you.

  “All right, listen,” said Rodger, rubbing his face. “If this thing goes south, you keep her from death row. Sam of Spades may be a murderous psychopath, but Samantha Castille is the kindest, gentlest person I have ever known.”

  Rodger! Sam mentally wailed. How can you even think that? Sam of Spades never killed anyone. Right, Sam? Sam?

  Deep within her, she could feel the other presence. It felt distant and subdued. Maybe her injuries had made Sam of Spades go dormant. It felt almost like the presence inside her was lending her strength.

  “I agree,” replied Dr. Klein, looking at her. “But she is too far along in her life to integrate her two personalities. For her to be cured, we must destroy Sam of Spades und free Samantha Castille.”

  It’s not like that at all, she angrily thought. It’s not a multiple personality disorder. It’s something else. You’ve been treating me for a disorder I don’t have. No wonder I’m so messed up.

  Rodger grabbed his collar. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘destroy Sam of Spades,’ but let me tell you something. You hurt one hair on her head, and I’ll—”

  The uniformed officer from before burst in. “Detective Bergeron, we need you down in the lobby. Right now!”

  Rodger was still holding Dr. Klein’s collar, who glared furiously up at him. He let go, roughly patting Dr. Klein’s jacket. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s that guy you brought, Richie,” explained the officer. “He and Aucoin started arguing when the suspect’s DNA came back positive. Aucoin’s taken off his badge. They’re about to come to blows!”

  Sam’s mind hit the skids. What?! My DNA is a positive match?!

  Rodger stared, and then shouted, “It’s positive? Sam’s DNA? This is bullshit! Where is Melancon?” He quickly followed the uniformed officer out of the room.

  The doctor finished his notes and said, “Well, this is going to be a damn long night. I’ll be right back, Dr. Klein. I need to get a nurse to check Miss Castille’s temperature.”

  Dr. Klein nodded to the attending physician, who then left. Slowly, he turned to look at Sam. Then, one step at a time, he walked toward her.

  Oh, God. She felt a terror from which she couldn’t escape. Get the hell away from me!

  Leaning in, he said, “Are you in there, Sam of Spades? Did you hear that? You are ze killer. Just like I told you. You see, I know you, Sam. I know all the horrible things you have done, what you want to do.”

  He touched her face. His fingertips grazed her lips, the curve of her cheeks. “Every sordid detail of your darkest fantasies, you shared with me. Beauty through pain, you called it. To think zat after all has been said und done, you are nothing more than a cheap copy of the original Bourbon Street Ripper.”

  Dr. Klein leaned in until his rancid breath ran over Sam’s left ear. “What a waste of talent. We are all very, very disappointed.”

  Leaning back, he looked into her eyes. “I have to admit, Sam, you are a fascinating subject. When this trial is over, und you are given to my custody, I will study you and learn every aspect of you, and then I will hurt you. I will use every technique I know to hurt you until you are gone forever from zat poor little Samantha’s mind. Beauty through pain, just like you said. It will be exquisite, my little Sam. I look forward to every single second.”

  He patted her leg and started walking out. His tone of voice changed. “Sleep well, Samantha Castille. And do not worry. I will rid you of Sam of Spades. When ze pain is over, you will be a good little girl again. You have my word on that.”

  He stopped at the doorway and glanced at her. His eyes were like two hot coals, and his lips were curled in a cruel smirk. “And… farewell, Sam…”

  Sam watched as Dr. Klein left, mentally crying out, Oh, God! He’s insane!

  Although Sam of Spades was still unresponsive, she could feel that the other presence was equally terrified.

  The sickened feeling was gradually replaced by a crushing depression. It was already over. All that was left was for the district attorney to formally charge her. DNA was not something that could be refuted. It all seemed so painfully clear. She was a monster and never knew.


  My DNA matches. Whether it’s this Sam of Spades thing or something else or… I don’t know.

  She wanted to die.

  God, is it possible? Is the new Bourbon Street Ripper… me?

  Chapter 16

  Boudin and Bandages

  Date: Tuesday, August 11th, 1992

  Time: 8:30 a.m.

  Location: Ritz-Carlton Hotel on Canal Street

  The French Quarter

  The steam rose from the Styrofoam cup in Richie’s hands, the winding vapors finding their way from the hot liquid to waft over his tired face. It was black with a bitter smell to it, yet the warmth felt undeniably good. The steam was like a gentle caress, and considering how the past several hours had gone, it was a welcome sensation.

  He had been in the hospital lobby, waiting for news on Sam. Sitting beside him had been a darker-skinned guy named Gino, who he quickly found out was Dixie’s boyfriend. While he didn’t feel much like conversing with anyone, mostly from having a swollen jaw where Rodger had knocked him out, having someone else there in a similar situation made it more tolerable.

  Things went downhill when Aucoin came down to the lobby. Immediately, Gino got up to go talk to him about Dixie. Alone and feeling isolated, Richie stewed over Sam’s arrest. The evidence was damning, but not enough to guarantee a conviction. From the bits and pieces Richie overheard, everything hinged on a DNA sample found inside the most recent victim.

  Suffice it to say, tensions were extremely high.

  What finally caused things to snap was when an old guy named Melancon, the coroner, met with the district attorney and Ouellette and Aucoin in the lobby. Richie caught the end of the conversation, just as Melancon handed a file over to Ouellette and the district attorney said, “We’ll set the arraignment date.”

  Right after that, Aucoin shouted across the lobby, “Hey, writer boy! Just want you to know your psycho girlfriend’s going down for serial murder. Hope you enjoy banging a corpse.”