Mississippi Rose | Book 1 | Into Darkness

by Lopez, Rob

  “I hear you have a boat,” he said.

  “Yeah. A steam riverboat.”

  “Right. Like the Pride of Orleans.”

  “Yeah. Mine’s the Mississippi Rose.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  Darla bit her lip. “No, well. It’s there.”

  “Do you do parties?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The boat. Do you do parties on the boat?”

  “Oh. No, just tours.”

  “Went on a boat once,” he said.

  She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

  “Are you from NOLA?” she asked.

  “NOLA?”

  “New Orleans.”

  “No. Illinois.”

  “Really? Says on the radio they’ll be getting Northern Lights.”

  “Is that a beer?”

  “No, it’s, uh, something to do with a solar storm.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Atmospheric interference. That kind of stuff.”

  “I prefer craft beers myself. You?”

  “Uh, no. I don’t drink much,” she lied.

  “I like Canebrake. Give me nachos with that and I’m good.”

  “Cool.”

  The food arrived, bringing respite from the graceless conversation, and they ate in silence. A hooded figure appeared at the window, peering into the restaurant. Staring at the diners for a moment, he yanked the door open and stepped in.

  “What are you all doing here?” he yelled. “Don’t you know the storm’s coming?”

  The guy didn’t look drunk or crazy, which made what he said more unnerving. The ghost of Hurricane Katrina still haunted the city and some people lifted their butts off their seats, poised to flee. It took a second to figure out what the guy was shouting about, then people started to relax, laughing nervously. Two of the staff approached the guy, asking him to leave, and after raising his voice a couple of times he was pushed out of the door. The diners applauded the exit, the staff members took a bow and the hubbub returned, a little louder and tenser than before, as people convinced themselves it was all a joke.

  “Guess he got his storms mixed up,” said Darla’s date, chuckling.

  “Mmmm,” said Darla unenthusiastically. With her plate cleared, she’d already had enough and wanted to go home.

  “I think we should split the bill,” he said.

  “Sure.”

  “No sense adding insult to injury, am I right?”

  For a moment, Darla was lost for words. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

  Steve got his wallet out and scanned the menu to work out exactly what he should pay. “I could still catch the game if the traffic lets me.”

  “Yeah, you should do that,” said Darla, deadpan.

  He glanced surreptitiously at her breasts as he counted out his change. “Unless you want to, uh, do something else?”

  “No.”

  “Alrighty,” he said. “You know, your profile said you were twenty five, but you look older.”

  “Yeah, well, your profile said you were intelligent.”

  “I know. I’m pretty smart.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Are you sure you’re not up for a little fun?”

  “Oh, absolutely. Just not with you, dumbass.”

  3

  “He was a douche bag!”

  On the other end of the phone, Jolene, Darla’s sister, sighed, and Darla pictured her putting on her “now, now, you know you don’t mean that” face.

  “He was, Jo, so don’t you go defending him.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” said Jolene patiently.

  “But you wanted to.”

  “I just think you can be a little judgmental sometimes.”

  “I told you you would start defending him.”

  “I haven’t defended anyone.”

  “You’re just too kind. You think everyone’s really nice inside and all they need is that little moment of understanding to break out in rainbows and kisses.”

  There was a pause at the end of the line.

  “Are you done yet?” said Jolene.

  “No,” said Darla petulantly. Her glass was empty and she rolled over on the couch to grab the Jack Daniels on the coffee table.

  “You have trust issues,” said Jolene delicately.

  “No, I just think most people are full of crap.”

  Darla grabbed some ice from the bucket and plopped it into her glass.

  “Are you drinking?” asked Jolene.

  “No,” said Darla.

  “I trust there won’t be a follow-up date to this one then?”

  “Not after he called me a bitch and I threw a plate of jambalaya at him, no.”

  There was a faint slap on the line that sounded like Jolene facepalming. “Reminds me of the times you used to throw your food across the table when you were a kid,” said Jolene.

  “Oh, it wasn’t my food,” said Darla. “I’d finished mine, so I had to grab it from the lady in the next booth. They won’t let me eat in that restaurant again.”

  The line went quiet for a while.

  “You disappointed in me?” asked Darla, subdued.

  “No. Well, a little, but … you always were the wildcat in the family. I just wish … well, you know what I wish. I just want you to be happy.”

  Darla drained her glass and stared into space. “They’re going to take my boat, Jo.”

  “Who is?”

  “The bank. I can’t make it work.”

  Jolene sighed. “I can’t bail you out this time, Darla. I used my savings …”

  “I’m not asking for money,” interjected Darla. “It’s … too much this time anyway. It’s over. I’ve been trying to think of a way out of this but I’ve got nothing left. They’re going to take my Rose from me.”

  A pause. “It’s not Rose.”

  “It is.”

  “No it isn’t,” snapped Jolene. “Rose is gone. This is a boat, not a person.”

  “It’s my fault Rose is gone.”

  “Stop that! It wasn’t your fault and you have to stop blaming yourself. Quit that nonsense and come back to the light. I don’t want you going down that hole again.”

  Darla refilled her glass, tears pricking her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jolene. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just worried about you. Are you still taking the anti-depressants?”

  “Yes,” said Darla.

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I should never have let you use Mom’s inheritance to buy that boat. You needed time to heal and it wasn’t the right time.”

  Darla retreated into the corner of the couch and bit her lip, gently swirling the whiskey in the glass.

  “I’m not a kid anymore,” she murmured.

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “You treat me like one.”

  Jolene sucked in her breath and chose her next words carefully. “I’m sorry. You’re my kid sister and I’ve been watching out for you for as long as I can remember. I … no, you’re right.” Jolene let out her breath in a long sigh. “I’m worried, okay? Tell me what you need and I’ll be here for you.”

  “I’m fine,” said Darla sullenly.

  “Look, if the worst comes to the worst, come up to Pittsburgh. I’ll take care of you until you get back on your feet. You can make a fresh start.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to. If I could, I’d buy you the ticket now to catch the last flight up here, but, well, flights are being canceled now because of the storm.”

  “What storm?”

  “The solar storm. It’s on all the news.”

  Darla stretched her back. “Got an email about that. It’s only going to affect GPS and radar.”

  “It’s going to affect more than that. I’ve been watching the updates. They think it’s going to affect the grid now and places are going to get blackouts for a time. They said it coul
d cause disruptions for up to a week.”

  “How can a solar storm do that? It’s up in space.”

  “I don’t know. Something to do with a big old chunk of plasma coming from the sun. There’s a graphic on the news.”

  “The news is full of shit.”

  “Not this time. Can’t you hear the interference on the line?”

  “No.”

  “Apparently we’re getting bombarded with particles in the atmosphere. Scary stuff.”

  “Still can’t hear anything.”

  “That’s because you’ve been drinking. Look, I’ve got to go. We’re heading up to Jeff’s parents’ farm tonight. When this is over, we’ll talk again. In the meantime, ease up on the booze and take care of yourself.”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  “And Darla? About this thing with the boat. In the long run it could be for the best. Try and see it as a positive.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, gotta go. Take care, sis.”

  Darla ended the call. Almost immediately, the cell phone rang again. It was her niece.

  “Hi, Stephanie,” said Darla.

  “Hi, Aunt D. I saw you just finished talking to mom. Did you two have an argument?”

  “No.”

  “Sounded like it. Are you okay?”

  Darla picked up the bottle to refill her glass, but it was empty.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “This line’s pretty bad. Can you hear me okay?”

  Darla walked to the kitchen to see if she could find anything else to drink.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can’t talk long. We’re bugging out. Dad says we’re going to lose power for a few days and Grandma’s got a generator on the farm. Have you got a problem with the boat?”

  Darla searched her cupboards but found nothing.

  “No.”

  “I just heard Mom mention it. I told all my friends about the boat and they’re really excited about getting a ride on it. Do you think we can do that someday?”

  “Uh, that could be a problem.”

  “Maybe you could come up the Ohio River. Are you doing the race next year?”

  “That could be a problem too.”

  “How come you don’t visit no more, Aunt D?”

  Darla felt her legs wobble and steadied herself on the worktop.

  “I’ve been busy,” she murmured.

  “Mom says you don’t want to see my baby sister because she’ll remind you of your baby.”

  Darla winced and blinked hard to clear her vision.

  “It’s not that,” she said.

  “Because it’s okay,” said Stephanie excitedly. “She’s not a baby anymore. She can walk and talk. So you can come up now.”

  “Great.”

  “Are you okay, Aunt D?”

  Darla closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Just tired,” she said.

  “Ooh,” said Stephanie. “That’s Mom shouting. Gotta go. I hope we see you soon. And don’t forget about the ride on the boat.”

  Darla grunted her assent, but the line was already dead. Slowly, she let herself sink to the floor. She was groggy but her head wasn’t spinning the way she wanted it to so that she could lay down and sleep right there in the kitchen. Too many thoughts strutted through her mind like they owned it, holding her consciousness hostage. She needed more alcohol to knock them out.

  ***

  Darla propped up the bar at Benny’s, nursing two glasses of a whiskey chaser but touching neither. Darla shared the space with a couple of barflies and a bartender who cleaned glasses and said, “Look at dat,” every time a news segment would appear on the TV. Nobody ever replied to him and Darla was content to sit in silence, staring past the optics at an imaginary world beyond.

  It wasn’t a world she wanted to live in, as it included neither her baby nor her boat, but it was the only one on offer to her. She’d reached the end of the line.

  She hated her sister’s last comment, though. How could this be for the best? And what the hell did Jo know about boats anyway? She used to get sick on a water bed. Losing the boat might be good for Jo’s peace of mind, but it sure as hell wasn’t good for Darla.

  Goddammit, that boat was her life.

  Stephanie’s comments were telling, though. Darla had never told anyone why she wouldn’t visit to see Jo’s baby, but her sister knew her too well and had guessed correctly. Darla didn’t even know the baby’s name and never wanted to ask. Jo likely knew that too. She could read Darla like a book, and as much as it irked Darla, it did show that her sister cared. Sometimes, though, Darla found her certainty a little too smug. Jo liked playing mom, and she did it so well that it only showed up what a terrible mom Darla had been.

  Rose would never had died if Jo had been her mom. In that sense, even when Jo meant well, it only served to make Darla feel bad. The nicer Jo was, the worse Darla felt, because the contrast was just too obvious.

  She wanted to hate her sister, but struggled to even do that well.

  Darla knocked back the whiskey and sipped at the beer. On the TV was an overhead shot of slow traffic clogging a highway, with the words Evacuating New Orleans overlaid. Darla squinted at the screen and recognized I-10 and then the Huey P. Long Bridge, with multiple lanes of headlights forming glittering lines.

  “Look at dem people,” said the bartender, glancing at the screen.

  A graphic appeared, showing some red blob in space engulfing Earth, and the picture got fuzzy with interference.

  “Can you turn that up?” asked Darla.

  “What fo?” said the bartender.

  “So I can hear it.”

  “Ain’t nothing worth listening to. I’m waiting for highlights of the game.”

  The interference took over the screen and Darla swayed on her stool, feeling fuzzy herself. Planting her elbows on the bar, she took a long drink. The bartender hit the TV but couldn’t get the picture back.

  What the hell. If her sister was right, they’d lose power for a while but that didn’t bother Darla much. She didn’t have cable so it wasn’t like she’d miss a series or nothing. And if the bank systems went down, maybe they’d forget about her for a while.

  Had to be a silver lining somewhere.

  “Same again,” she said to the bartender.

  “We’re closing,” he said.

  “You were going to watch the game.”

  “TV’s bust,” said the bartender with disgust, pointing to the interference.

  4

  Outside the bar, Darla paused in an exaggerated attempt to keep her balance. There was a strange smell in the air and the street had taken on the hue of avocado. Befuddled, Darla looked up. Instead of the night sky, the heavens were green, shot through with purple. Darla had never seen anything like it in her life.

  She pinched her cheeks to check she wasn’t in some deep, freaky-ass dream.

  She looked around and her car was pretty much where she’d left it, somewhat askew and with one wheel on the sidewalk. It crossed her mind that she perhaps shouldn’t have driven it here. She was certainly in no condition to drive it back.

  Glancing up once more at the sky to check that it was still there, she dug into her pockets, looking for cash and spilling coins out onto the sidewalk. With an effort, she focused her eyes and counted what she had in her hand.

  It wasn’t enough to catch a cab back home.

  Mixed in with the weird metallic scent, she caught the smell of the river. It wasn’t far. She reasoned it was better to try to make it to her boat than her apartment. There was a bed in the captain’s quarters that had proven useful at times like this, and her legs began moving before she’d even told them what to do. Like the rest of her, they were drawn to the river. Even when she was inebriated, the Mississippi called.

  Taking a deep breath she walked with firm strides, trying to look sober and purposeful. It was late and she was a woman alone. She didn’t want
to give off the vibes of being an easy mark. In spite of the time, however, there were an increasing number of people on the streets. They came out of their apartments or leaned out of car windows to stare up at the sky.

  “Hey, it’s the geo-storm,” she heard people say. “The one on the news.”

  “Wow, that’s so cool.”

  “Hey, get me my phone. I want a selfie with this.”

  “Daddy, can I come out to look?”

  “Sure, sugar, but get something on your feet. There’s probably needles out here.”

  Darla kept walking, the warm night air making her feel more sleepy than refreshed. Reaching the river, she leaned on a guard rail, feeling sick. She could see the Huey P Long bridge in the distance, bumper-to-bumper traffic stationary in the weird light. Over the bridge, the TV news helicopter that had been doing the filming hovered, sweeping its light over the vehicles. The metallic, almost chlorine-like odor got stronger and Darla recognized it as the smell of a coming electrical storm, but there were no storm clouds that she could see. She hurried on, following the bend of the river. As a mariner, she felt the instinctive need to get to shelter, though there was barely a breath of wind. She made a mental note to make sure the boat was securely tied up.

  Reaching the chain-link fence that surrounded the wharf, she fumbled with her keys to unlock the chain, opened the gate and locked it behind her. The Mississippi Rose waited for her. Relieved, Darla walked toward the boat. Then her hair stood on end.

  What began as a tingling on the back of her neck intensified and there was a high pitched keening in the air. The pressure in her ear drums increased. The sky grew brighter still until it looked like daylight and the purple swathes winked out. The vehicle lights on the bridge snuffed out and the helicopter suddenly dropped, plunging toward the river. All engine sounds ceased. Lightning arced between the cranes on the docks. Power lines hummed loudly, glowing bright red, and sparks flew as lines severed, whiplashing and coiling like angry snakes. Sharp cracks of thunder split the air and an ozone mist formed on the surface of the river. Fire leaped up from the computer in her office and flames licked out from beneath the radar dome on top of the Mississippi Rose’s pilothouse, sparks dripping down.