Only Fools Walk Free
Page 1
Contents
Cover Credit
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
About this Story
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
From the Author
About the Author
Cover Credit
Christopher Coyle
darkandstormyknight.com
Thank you for adorning my words so beautifully.
Your talent knows no bounds!
Only Fools Walk Free
Sandra R Neeley
Copyright © 2019 SANDRA R NEELEY
All rights reserved.
Thank you for purchasing and/or downloading this book. It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and/or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without express written permission from the author.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are creations of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked ownership of all trademarks and word marks mentioned in this book.
For everyone who believes in soul-mates.
This story is a 22,948 word novella. It has been revised and expanded from its original short story format which was released in an anthology that is no longer available.
About this Story
Samuel and Clarice live in a time that demands their love remain hidden or risk being ostracized by the society of the day. Her father learns of her indiscretion — her shame on his family name — and his actions separate the two forever.
But all is not lost. Samuel’s mother is a Voodoo Priestess, one of the most powerful in New Orleans. Desperately, she searches for a way to free her son from the curse he unwittingly brought down on himself with a simple prayer to protect his beloved Clarice.
Samuel stands silently by, watching decades pass as he dreams of his beloved Clarice. He’s lost all hope, until one day a little girl happens upon his tomb. Surely he’s mistaken — can she see him?
Chapter 1
New Orleans, April 1, 1859 — April Fools Day
Samuel stood in the alley, the sounds of carriages and the bustle of the port milling about all around him. He stepped just up to the corner again and peeked from where he hid in the shadows, waiting, his heart in his throat. His love was coming to him this night, and together they’d escape the oppression of this life, this city. They’d strike out on their own and make a life to be proud of, rather than one they had to hide from the world. He heard the clatter of horses’ hooves as a carriage came to a stop only feet from the alley where he waited. Samuel squinted in the dark, foggy night. It was a hired carriage. Surely it was Clarice. This was how she came to him when she was able. The door of the carriage opened, but instead of the delicate, silken-slippered foot he expected to light from the carriage, heavily booted feet stomped down the carriage steps.
Samuel waited, frozen in place as the man who was father to his love, faced him, scowling. “Perhaps you thought me my daughter come to meet you, so you might spirit her away!” he accused.
“What have you done with her?!” Samuel demanded, knowing full well, if she was able, she’d have been here. And if her father was here, then he’d forced from her their plans and had hindered her ability to meet him this night.
“She won’t be coming. She’s come to her senses, realized that you are no more than a smudge upon her boot. She’s sent me in her stead to warn you away before you sully her name beyond repair.”
“No, you speak fallacies. Clarice would never warn me away. She knows I love her. She loves me, as well. What have you done with her?!”
“Do not speak her name! You are not worthy to have the sound of it fall from your treacherous lips.”
“We belong to one another. Our love has already been blessed by the church. You cannot keep us apart.”
“Oh, but I can. She is mine to do with as I see fit. It is my place as her father to choose her future. And you — are not in it. This is your final opportunity. Leave here, now, this moment, and you may live to see another sunrise.”
“No! I will not leave without her. She waits for me! Depends on me!”
“She has been given to another.”
“No!” Samuel shouted, “I’ll find her, save her from your dictate.”
“You’ll do nothing but breathe your last. I gave you the chance. You chose this,” the man sneered. He stepped aside as two larger, much more physically dangerous men descended from the carriage.
Samuel’s instinct was to take a step back, but he didn’t. He had to face this, survive this, find his precious Clarice and whisk her away to a place that no one could ever hurt her again.
The two males hauled him into the alleyway, one striking out and landing a large, beefy fist against his jaw before they’d even released him.
Samuel’s head snapped back, but he struck out with his own fist as he righted himself, landing a blow on the first man that had hit him.
The second assailant struck from behind, battering Samuel’s kidneys, causing him to double over.
The first man got Samuel with an uppercut to the chin when he doubled over from the pain of his kidneys.
All in all the assault was brief, but violent. Every time Samuel managed to land a blow on one of his assailants, they beat him down four blows to his every one. But he didn’t quit until he was barely able to draw breath and his two assailants left him in a pool of his own blood.
Clarice’s father walked confidently toward Samuel where he lay moaning in the alleyway. Evidence of the violence he’d endured could be found up and down the short, dank space between the buildings. Samuel, both eyes swollen and bruised, a tooth missing, blood dripping from his lips and his knuckles, bruises covering his body as he struggled to breathe through the collapsed lung his own broken rib had punctured, lay there, helpless, at the mercy of those that had beaten him and their employer. He fought to raise his head and dared to look into the eyes of the man responsible for his suffering, as vile words once more fell from his lips.
“You thought to take my daughter from me. I warned you to go away but you refused — you brought this on yourself. Now I take your life from you.” Clarice’s father kicked him, then turned away while barking orders to his henchmen. “Finish him off, then throw him in my family crypt. No one will ever think to look for his kind there.”
~~~~~
Samuel lay on the cold, stone floor of the immaculate, white marble crypt, his life slowly seeping away from him. He could barely move, couldn’t breathe, his body broken and bloodied. Yet his mind turned to thoughts of Clarice. After several attempts he finally managed to reach into his pocket, withdrawing the cameo ring he’d saved for months to buy. He’d planned to give it to his Clarice, his love and as of two nights ago, his young wife. He’d not had it when they married, but had delivered the final payment this very morning and was planning to slip it on her finger the moment she joined him for their escape from this city. He wrapped his hand around the ring, holding it in his closed fist — the last symbol of his love for her held in his dying hand. He struggled to say the words he longed to say to her aloud. “I love you, my Clarice. I will bear this pain and more, as long as you are safe. Please,” he whispered to the fates, the powers that be, “keep her safe.” Samuel closed his eyes, prepared to let everything float away — the pain, the suffering, the longing.
But instead of cold and nothingness, he felt… warmth, and realized a soft light glowed beyond his closed, swollen eyelids. Slowly he forced his bruised eyes opened. He blinked, wincing with the pain, then blinked again, thinking his eyes deceived him. There, crouching on the floor not two feet from him, was a woman. A woman like him. A woman he had no doubt was labeled as he was — Mulatto.
She was dressed in bright, colorful skirts, and her head was wrapped in a scarf with large golden earrings dangling from her ears. A bright red peasant blouse with flounced ruffles hanging just off her caramel-colored shoulders. Her tinkling laughter filled the crypt he lay in, bouncing off the stone walls. The luminescent green eyes many of his mixed race shared, peering through his very soul. “And just what would you give for it?” she asked seductively.
Samuel was growing weaker by the minute and couldn’t raise his head any longer. He could barely speak, and when he did it was a breathy rasp that carried but a bit of his voice into the crypt. He peered at her as best he could through his battered eyes. His brow furrowed, so many questions in his mind. “For what?” he finally managed.
“Your Bebe’, you pray for her safety, no? I heard you,” she said, lightly tapping her ear. “So, I answer your prayer, and I ask, what would you give for it?”
“Everything,” he finally managed to rush out in a whisper.
“You have nothing left to give, no. Only your soul. And that’s not yours much longer anyway, I think,” she answered.
Samuel was no stranger to the ways of Voodoo. He’d been raised among some of the most powerful Voodoo priests and priestesses in New Orleans. His own mother, in fact, was one of the most powerful in the entire city — the highest priestess of them all.
His father was the son of a wealthy land baron. A member of the upper-crust of society, yet unable to officially claim the woman he’d loved for most of his adult life — Samuel’s mother. But he’d been able to provide for Samuel. To see to it that he and his mother were well taken care of, well fed, and had all they needed.
They saw him when they could. Though each night he went home to his proper wife, in her proper home, in her stiff skirts and staunch judgments left Samuel’s mother a little more broken. Despite his mother’s power, she was a slave to the love she had for his father. She’d begged him to run away with her to warmer climates, more tolerable lands where they could live forever together in the shade of palm trees with soft, warm sands beneath their feet. But he’d refused, claiming he had duties he’d been raised to perform — his father and family depended on him. So he never left his proper family. And he never joined Samuel and his mother in their family.
The years of waiting and hopes dashed made Samuel’s mother bitter and Samuel himself resentful. They had no use for the man now. But the memories of when his father had spent time with him and his mother did serve one purpose. The stories his mother told of a tropical paradise, where all peoples were equal and free to love whomever their heart loved, had given rise to his own plans with his Clarice. He’d worked tirelessly for months at any odd job he could find. Then he’d sold all his meager possessions, holding tightly to every penny he had, with the exception of the delicate shell cameo — the intended wedding ring, he now clutched — in preparation of embarking on their new life together.
Despite all the planning, fate had brought him to this moment. Samuel weighed his options. He watched the young woman crouching just feet from him. He knew she was not a balanced practitioner of his religion. Many people didn’t know it, but Voodoo was actually a religion, and when practiced properly, there was a balance of good and evil, just as in nature — a balance of dark and light. But this woman seemed to have slipped over the edge into the darkness that sometimes claimed those not strong enough to control the power they sought. Those who rushed to gain all they could, without being properly schooled and inducted slowly into the laws of a power greater than they, were almost always the ones to fall victim to its dark side. This woman reeked of power. Even in his weakened state, he could feel it. And she was far too young and inexperienced to be in control of the power she exuded. But perhaps she could fill his needs.
Samuel slowly extended his arm, opening his fist to reveal the ring. “I have this,” he managed to say.
The girl’s eyes lit up, and she reached for it, but he closed his hand around it.
She pulled back her hand, glaring at him. “It’s not enough anyway!” she spat the words at him.
“If you take this, give it to Maman ‘Vangeline, she’ll pay you all you deserve,” he rasped at her as he panted through his pain.
The girl laughed. “Even Maman ‘Vangeline isn't strong enough to save you now.”
“I don’t want to be saved. I’ll stay here forever, as long as my love is safe,” he gritted out between breaths.
The girl looked at the ring Samuel again displayed in his hand — she did want it. It was very pretty, and the cameo was framed in gold. She loved gold, as did the demon who shared her body. Unfortunately, this particular demon required permission to take all it wanted. Her eyes caressed the ring lying in Samuel’s now-open palm.
“So you wish me to take it?” the girl led him. Needing him to say the words.
“Take it to Maman ‘Vangeline. Tell her to keep Clarice safe. If you do, you may have the ring and all else she gives you.”
The demon controlling the girl was wily; she did no favors for anyone, and resented love and all who had it. She sensed a trick in play and decided to curse him in a way only she could free him from, thusly guaranteeing her own safety. “Very well, but just to be sure of my safe passage,” she reached out and curled her fingers around Samuel’s hand and the ring, still sitting in his palm, digging her nails into his flesh so deeply she drew blood, “should you have trickery in mind. I grant you the gift of life everlasting. Your soul will continue on, watching over your sweet Bebe’, for so long as you do not leave the confines of this hallowed piece of ground.”
Samuel tried to pull away, knowing only too well that any gift from a demon came with consequences, but his lack of strength played into the demon’s hands.
“Unh,unh,unh,” the girl cackled in the voice of the demon. “I’m not quite done yet.” She gripped his wrist even tighter, sneering the words. “Should you cross the threshold of this place of rest, your soul will be lost forever — flying away in search of the next body it is to inhabit.” She looked down on Samuel and begrudgingly realized she had to provide balance — good and bad in every curse, else it would come back on her. A sinister smile curled the corners of her full lips. The good would be a way out, if only he was smart enough to find it. The rules she lived by said good and bad had to balance, they didn’t say it had to be easy. She grinned at Samuel’s barely moving body. “Remember, only a fool will walk free of this crypt.”
The girl’s nails left his wrist, and her hand took the ring from his palm.
“Maman ‘Vangeline,” he whispered.
“Yes, yes, I heard you.” She stood, her eyes drifting over the walls of the crypt, the ceiling with the ornate carvings and murals. “Enjoy your new… home,” she said, flitting her hand about. She laughed again, then she was gone.
Samuel lay on the cold, stone floor, trying to understand what curse the girl had placed upon him. As far as he could tell, he would be allowed to watch over Clarice, and to him, that was not a curse. Demons never did anything for anyone without a curse of some sort, the whole tit-for-tat thing. But it mattered not, it was done. And the girl would go to his mother, Maman ‘Vangeline, for what she thought was additional reward. His mother would see the ring and come to find his body. Or so he hoped. He closed his eyes, allowing the cold and the emptiness to encompass him where he lay.
Chapter 2
Clarice pounded on the door for what was surely the hundredth time since being locked away. Her father had delivered her to the home of their banker, Mr. Bienville. The man was short and rotund with a red face and bald pate. Though he was not unkind and had
known her all her life, she would not have him. He was not her Samuel. She did not love him and never would. “Let me out!” Clarice screamed, pounding on the door again.
This time, finally, he answered her. “Child, stop your clamoring. There is no reason to fear. I will provide for you. Watch over you. You will want for nothing. Your father and I made arrangements long ago.”
Clarice refused to accept anything he had to say. “Let me out! I am already married! I will not be married to anyone else!”
Clarice's hands were bruised from pounding on the door for most of the night. But when he didn’t answer, she started up her pounding again despite the bruises. Her tears were a never ending stream of sorrow down her face, and she’d sobbed for so long that hiccups accompanied her begging to be set free.
She rested her head against the door. “Samuel,” she whispered, her eyes wandering to a window just beginning to show the dawn’s light through its mottled glass pane.
Clarice had been delivered in a near-hysterical state, screaming her hate at her father and demanding to be freed. Her lip trembled as she thought of the confrontation between the two.
“You will live the life I chose for you! You will be respected, you will learn your place and you will not cast aspersions upon my family name! You will not become a harlot, gifting your body to any piece of refuse who takes a fancy to it!” her father had shouted at her.
“He’s not a piece of refuse! He’s my husband, and I love him! We’re married! A union recognized by his church!” Clarice had screamed at her father.
Her father struck her so hard he knocked her to the floor, then leaned over and spat in her face as he glared at her hatefully. “You cannot be married to a dead man!”