Darkwater Truth

by Robin Caroll

  “No, I’m going with you. Beau made it clear that someone could be out for either of us. We should stay together.”

  She nodded, but led the way to the security office. Her heels tapped on the smooth tile floor. She made a point to pay attention to any music, but heard nothing. She opened the security door and stepped inside with her father. She nodded at the two men in security uniforms sitting in the office. One was Sully Clements, and the other was Hixson Albertson.

  She let out a little breath. “I’m glad to see you’re on duty tonight, Hixson.”

  “Yes, ma’am?” His brow furrowed.

  Hixson was a twenty-four year old brilliant technician that knew a lot about computers and hacking. He’d been a lifesaver last month when they’d been hacked.

  “There is music in the elevators.”

  He glanced at her, quizzically. “Um, yes, ma’am?”

  “We don’t have music in the elevators.”

  “Oh.” Without another word, he turned to his bank of screens and keyboards and began pounding away. “Which elevator, in particular, did you hear the music in?”

  “I was in car one. It might be in the other two as well.”

  “Let me see.” He typed and clicked the mouse. Three monitors flashed to the elevator cars’ interiors. “Hang on, I’m getting the reading of the location. Give me a minute.”

  More clicking. Typing. Flashing of monitors.

  “Hmm…Well, it’s not in the hotel’s system.”

  “Then how did I hear the music in the elevator?” She looked at her father. He’d heard it, too, so she wasn’t imagining things.

  “Hang on, Ms. Fountaine.” Hixson kept clicking and tapping and the screens flashed from different views to different areas.

  If nothing else, she could thank Claude Pampalon for installing the best and most elaborate security system that he could. Of course, he did so to protect his criminal and nefarious actions, but she was grateful for it today.

  “There.” Hixson pointed at the largest monitor where he’d split the screen into three different views.

  “What am I looking at?” It looked dark and like something in the broiler room or some such place. Visions of old horror movies raced through her head.

  Hixson ran his finger along the cable in the pictures. “These are live feeds of the top of each of the three elevator cars.” He pointed to a small, black square. “See this?”

  She nodded.

  “It doesn’t belong there, but it’s on top of each of the cars.” He clicked a button and a fourth image filled another monitor. “That’s the inside of car one.”

  He tapped the screen in the top corner of the elevator car. “You can’t really see it very well, but there’s a black dot. I think it’s a small hole there. I can’t get a close-up of it, but I’m betting those squares on each of the cars is a remote MP4 player and those little holes are how the speaker is filling the car with the music.”

  “How did someone get up there to set that up?” That someone could get in the elevator shaft of all three elevator cars and no one know it…well, that was a problem she would have to correct immediately. Especially since they’d worked very hard to lock down all the hidden passageways from the original construction of the Darkwater Inn.

  “It’s actually not as hard as you would think. You’d assume you’d have to get into the shaft to put something on top of the car, right?” Hixson asked.

  She nodded.

  He shook his head. “You don’t. The ceilings of the elevators are easily accessible to assist firemen and other officials in getting out stuck people. Anyway, because of that, you could use a little pole to push up one of the panels, use something like a selfie stick or something like it to slide the MP4 player to the roof, then just pull the little wire into the corner for the speaker. If you practiced it, you could probably do it in less than a minute or two.”

  “But we have elevator attendants.” How hadn’t they seen someone doing this?

  “That, I don’t know.” Hixson shrugged.

  “How does the music play?”

  “I’m sure it’s remote activated or programmed.”

  “Programmed?”

  Hixson smiled. “Like people can automate parts of their house by phone? They have programs to turn lights off and on, open or close a garage door, lock or unlock doors…all kinds of stuff like that. You just have to have the electronic device set up to the app and have the app on your smartphone. Easy peasy.”

  Addy couldn’t help but wonder if technology, while making lives easier, wasn’t going to be the world’s downfall. For the moment, however, she had something more pressing to deal with. “How do we get it down?”

  Hixson shrugged. “I can go pull them out for you. Won’t take me but like ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Then do it.”

  Her father grabbed her arm. “Maybe you should call Beau first, honey. Someone tampering with the elevator cars in the hotel, on top of you receiving an anonymous music box, and considering the tune…”

  She nodded. “Hold off on removing them, Hixson, until I can contact the police, but is there any way you can stop the music without actually touching it and contaminating evidence?” She pulled out her cell and quickly called Beau.

  “Let me see.” Hixson did his thing on the computer.

  The call went straight to Beau’s voice mail, very unlike him. He must be making a call. “Beau, it’s me. Call me when you get this message, please. We’ve had someone place music players in the elevators here at the Darkwater Inn.”

  “It’s off now, Ms. Fountaine,” Hixson whispered.

  She smiled and nodded. “And I received an anonymous music box yesterday. Both the music box and the elevators are playing the same song—the ‘Axman’s Jazz (Don't Scare Me Papa)’ from 1919.”

  December 25, 1938

  “We need to hurry, Will. My family will be expecting me to open presents once Henri wakes up.” Harold followed his friend down the hallway.

  Will glanced over his shoulder. “It won’t take but a minute. It’s your present from me.” He opened the door to the construction area and waved Harold into the dimly lit room. The candles flickered, there not only for light, but there to purify the space.

  “Surprise!” James and George gestured to the big box with the bright, red bow on top that sat between them.

  It was fitting to do this today, the celebration of the birth of Jesus.

  Harold grinned and took a moment to shoulder clap each of them. “Guys, you are the best. This is great.” He moved to the box and tore off the bow and opened it. Tissue paper spilled onto the concrete floor as he pushed it aside, digging into the box.

  Will slipped into the black robe, as did George and James. Will lifted his arms and began to speak. “Dear Lord, whose nature is ever merciful and forgiving, accept our prayer that this servant of yours, bound by the fetters of sin, may be pardoned by your loving kindness.”

  Harold stood and turned, his face a mask of confusion. “What’s going on?”

  Ignoring him, Will continued, praying the specific prayers he’d researched through old texts at the library to learn over the last couple of weeks. “Holy God, Almighty Father, Everlasting Lord and Father of our Savior Jesus Christ, who once and for all consigned that fallen and apostate tyrant to the flames of hell, who sent your only Son into the world to snatch from ruination and from the clutches of the noonday devil this human being made in your image and likeness. Strike terror, dear God, into the beast now lurking, through a direct bloodline, into this mere mortal. Let your mighty hand cast him out of your servant, Harold, so he may no longer hold captive this person whom it pleased you to make in your image, and to redeem through your Son; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever.”

  Harold’s face twisted. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but I’m leaving. I’d suggest you all leave as well.”

  He made a move to bolt, but James a
nd George grabbed him and held him.

  “Let me go!” He twisted and jerked, but the young men had been well instructed by Will, who’d explained the demon would make Harold flee in order to stay within him.

  Will walked to Harold and made the sign of the cross in front of him.

  “Stop this, Will. Your prank has gone on long enough.”

  “Prank?” Will stepped back and stared at Harold. “This is no prank. There’s a demon in you, passed down from your father.”

  “My father? What are you talking about?” He thrashed about, but James and George held tight.

  “Your biological earthly father, Robert Holmes.”

  “What about him?”

  “He was weak and allowed a demon to take possession of him. Through this, he acted as the Axeman, who attacked many people. My mother was one of them.”

  Harold jerked and twisted. “You’re crazy.”

  “No, it’s true. We’ve done the research.” George held tight as he spoke.

  “James, you can’t believe this nonsense,” Harold pled with the other man.

  Hesitating for just a moment, James then shook his head. “I do. I did most of the research myself. Your father was the Axeman.”

  “But he’s dead.” Harold leaned against their arms as he raised his voice to Will. “If he was, and if he killed your mother, I’m sorry. That has nothing to do with me.”

  Will smiled. “Poor soul. Tobit 3:5 clearly tells us, ‘And now thy many judgments are true in exacting penalty from me for my sins and those of my fathers, because we did not keep thy commandments. For we did not walk in truth before thee.’ ”

  “You’re insane.” Harold jerked and even tried to run, but George and James held fast.

  “When your father left this earthly place, the demon could only depart the body through a direct bloodline. To you.” Will made the sign of the cross in front of him again. “The demon is dormant within you for the moment, waiting for the perfect time to rise up and begin his evil crusade once again.”

  Fear settled over Harold’s face as he wiggled and kicked, bucking his legs, but George and James supported him by his arms.

  Will began praying in Latin. He was pretty sure he was pronouncing everything correctly. If not, God knew. God had set him on this path from birth. Will just knew it.

  “George, James…you guys. You know me. You know I’m not evil. Haven’t I been nothing but a friend to you ever?”

  “Silence, demon!” Will broke his prayer as he saw the uncertainty pass over James. “You are banished from here. From this servant. You are not allowed to use his tongue.”

  “Listen to yourself, Will. I’m me, Harold. The kid who told you stories at St. Vincent’s when you couldn’t sleep. Your friend who helped you with your lessons at St. Mary’s so the Mother Superior wouldn’t get her ruler after your knuckles.” Harold sagged against James and George’s hold.

  “You do not fool me, demon!” Will continued his praying in Latin, but all the time, he knew what he would end up having to do. Had known it before they’d even come. That’s why he’d brought the axe he’d hidden under the box.

  “Guys, I don’t have any demon in me. My father may have been the Axeman, but I have no idea about that. He died from the flu. He and my mother both.”

  Will took a step closer. “I command you, unclean spirit, minion from Lucifer, by the ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Spirit, and by the coming of our God for judgment, that you depart! I command you to obey me as I am a follower of God despite my unworthiness.”

  “Even if my father was the Axeman, his evil died with him.”

  “Demons can’t just die, Harold. That’s the evil within you telling you lies.”

  “He didn’t have a demon in him.”

  Will smiled. “You were a child. How would you have known? All the nuns said that the Axeman was a mortal who allowed a demon to possess him so that he could kill. You remember that, don’t you, demon?”

  Harold shot up to his feet and began to scream. “Dad! Help! Somebody, help!”

  Both Harold and James looked to Will.

  It was time. He’d wanted to wait and say a couple more prayers, but he couldn’t. He grabbed the axe and lifted it. “Depart, you serpent, full of lies and cunning. For He has already stripped you of your powers and laid waste your kingdom, bound you prisoner and plundered your weapons. He has cast you forth into the outer darkness, where everlasting ruin awaits you and your demons. You are guilty before almighty God, whose laws you have transgressed. You are guilty before His Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. You are guilty before the whole human race. You are sent back to the bowels of hell.” He brought the axe down with all his strength, right on top of Harold’s head.

  19

  — Beau

  “Detective Savoie.” He didn’t recognize the number on his cell’s display, but answered anyway.

  “This is Mother Mary Bernadette from the Archdiocese of New Orleans’ office.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Beau lifted his pen and opened his notebook.

  “Were you the officer who asked about records from St. Mary’s Asylum for Boys?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “I was able to speak to some of the older nuns who were trained under the staff of St. Mary’s. Some of the teachers there during that time kept prayer journals regarding the wards in their care.”

  Beau jotted it down.

  “While there are no records of the boy you specifically asked about, a boy named William Lowe is mentioned in several of these prayer journals. He apparently had been left at St. Vincent’s as an infant because his mother died following a vicious attack of a serial killer who terrorized our city. The injuries she sustained eventually killed her.”

  So he really was the son of Harriet Lowe, victim of the Axeman.

  “Several journals mention him as well as three other boys—George Rouzier, James Isnard, and Harold Holmes. According to what has been written, the four boys were good friends and considered inseparable.”

  Harold!

  Beau wrote the names quickly, checking the spelling. “What about George, James, and Harold…are they in the records after St. Mary’s moved and became Madonna Manor?” He knew about one, but wanted another layer of verification.

  “I thought you might ask, Detective, so I checked. Neither George nor James were listed as had been checked into Madonna Manor, just like William wasn’t.”

  “What about Harold?”

  “He was adopted in 1931 by Louis and Eva Pampalon.”

  Yes! It was all connected! “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Good luck, Detective.”

  He disconnected the call and quickly gave the information to Marcel. “So Harold was big buddies with the other three guys. I know we have nothing on William, but maybe we can find something on George or James.”

  Marcel was already typing on his keyboard. “I’m checking on James. You run George.”

  Beau nodded and began his search.

  Before Beau’s results were returned, Marcel let out a slow whistle. “Bingo. I’m looking at his record.”

  Beau reached for his pen and notebook.

  “James Isnard, date of birth is November 13, 1918. Orphaned during the flu epidemic, he was sent to St. Vincent’s, then to St. Mary’s. He married Etta Thibodeaux in 1936. Etta died in 1993 and James in 1994. They are survived by their three children: Rachel, Leigh, and Esau.” Marcel typed on the keyboard. “Let me see where his kids are.”

  Beau glanced at his monitor. “Here’s what we have on George Rouzier. Born January 10, 1917. Orphaned after an auto accident killed his parents, he went to St. Vincent’s, then St. Mary’s. He married a Marie Boudreaux in 1940. George died in 1990 and Marie in 1999. They had no children.” He clicked to go to the next screen.

  “James’ daughter Rachel is married and lives in Las Vegas with her husband. Leigh is divorced with two little girls and lives in Colorado. His son, Esau, died from an overd
ose in 1992 before Etta and James died.”

  Beau looked back to his monitor again. “Looks like George didn’t have much listed.” He scrolled. “Wait! Here it is.” Tingles tickled up and down his spine. “George was a founding member of the Cretum Deus religious group of New Orleans until the time of his death.”

  “Same with James!”

  Grinning, Beau updated his notebook. “We need to talk with anyone in this Cretum Deus group who might have known James or George, and maybe William. Someone has to know something because there’s a connection in some way. I’ll see if the department has any open files on them.” He opened the search option and typed in the name of the cult.

  This was it…he could feel it. Everything was connected. He played it over in his mind.

  Harold got adopted. The other three boys ran away a year later. Maybe it was planned for them all to connect later or whatever. Either way, they had to have connected while Harold was living with the Pampalons. Something somewhere went sideways for whatever reason, and Harold was murdered and walled into the Darkwater Inn. William, James, or George should have known something. There had to be a lead somewhere.

  The computer beeped. Beau read the file the department had on the cult. “The Cretum Deus might call themselves a religious group, but some who have left are very adamant about it being a cult. They were demanded to give over all their money to the group. Women were and are considered second-class citizens, and the only way any man in the group can marry is with the permission of the leader, a Will Youngblood. Several of the women reported that their marriage could not be consummated with their husband until they gave this Will Youngblood a son.” Beau’s stomach coiled.

  “Yeah, sounds like a cult to me.” Marcel typed on his keyboard. “But looks like every complaint was buried. No action ever taken.”

  Beau scrolled through statements, feeling sicker with each report. “Will Youngblood kept everyone in one house. The men could have sex with any women they wanted to—sounds like they were treated as sex slaves. But I hope that doesn’t mean…young girls. And incest.”