Chapter Twenty-seven
Cassandra promised she’d get back to me as soon as she heard something from her mysterious contacts in regard to capturing and hopefully curing Sullivan. I agreed to call her immediately should the detective show up in any way, shape, or form.
The streets were already crowded as I made my way down Royal and headed toward Frenchmen.
According to King, the best Mardi Gras started early and ended late. There would be dancing in the streets, food and music everywhere, public drunkenness, exhibitionism, and a general sense that the city had been taken over by the “degenerate of the day” club.
The tourists and the locals were adorned with rope after rope of plastic Mardi Gras beads in the traditional colors of green, purple, and gold. Many wore costumes. I passed a nun, a schoolgirl with very hairy legs, several Cleopatras, and two Charlie Chaplins. Quite a few wore masks—some funny, some demonic, most decorated with an array of sequins, glitter, and feathers in every imaginable color.
King had opened the doors early. A local band already played, and the sun hadn’t even set.
He shot me a glare and I hurried upstairs, trying to figure out how I would conceal the letter opener so that I could get to the weapon quickly if necessary but not hamper my working like a wild thing all night.
I could either tape the opener to my calf beneath a pair of loose cotton pants, or tuck it into a fanny pack at my waist. I chose the latter, figuring I would be able to unzip the compartment and yank out the sharp implement more efficiently than I could pull up my pants leg and free the thing from a wad of tape.
Concealed weapons were a real pain in the ass.
There was no sign of John, but that was nothing new. He’d either show up or he wouldn’t. Tonight we’d be busy regardless.
I could barely move between the bodies, had to pick and choose whom I listened to as drink orders were shouted whenever I went by.
I managed to introduce myself to the other waitresses and new bartender, who turned out to be imports from Biloxi. They came down for Mardi Gras every year, worked one night and went home several hundred dollars richer.
In order to stay as fresh as we could for the all-nighter we’d be pulling, those of us working the floor decided to rotate fifteen-minute breaks every hour, which would allow us a brief respite every three hours. Better than nothing.
When it came time for my break, I stepped out back.
Tonight even the alley was full of people moving from one bar to another, congregating in small groups, cocktails in hand, enj oying the cacophony of music spilling from the open doors and windows of all the clubs on the street.
People danced everywhere; they sang, they laughed. I couldn’t help but smile as I allowed my gaze to wander over the teeming throng.
My smile froze at the sight of one woman standing apart from all the others. The mask covered most of her face, but even at the distance of several feet, I could see her eyes. They were both familiar and completely different.
“Katie?” I whispered.
My heart pounded too fast; I found it difficult to breathe. I didn’t want to blink for fear she’d disappear in the space of an instant.
I didn’t realize I’d descended the steps, begun to approach her, until she started to back away. I stopped; so did she.
Was it Katie? I couldn’t be sure. My sister would never have worn a skirt so short, heels so high, or a blouse so low-cut. The dark circles of her nipples were plainly visible through the gauzy white material.
Her lips had been painted “do me” red, the shade a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin and the luscious violet of the mask.
If this was Katie, why didn’t she speak to me? Why didn’t she throw her arms around me? Why didn’t she behave as a long-lost sister should?
The woman ran her tongue over her lips and smirked. That smile did not remind me of my little sister at all; it reminded me of some of the women who danced atop the bars on Bourbon Street.
I lunged forward, reaching out and snatching her wrist just as she whirled to run. Instead of j erking free, which was what I expected, she stilled, staring down at my fingers encircling her arm.
A wide scar ringed her wrist, as if she’d been shackled and tried for hours, days, weeks to pull free.
Before I could question what had happened, where, how, why, or even to whom, she did j erk away, then darted into the crowd. Though breaktime was over, I followed.
She squirted through the melee with ease; whenever I tried it, any openings I’d seen closed, any agreeable people became suddenly disagreeable. My murmured “excuse me”s were pretty much ignored.
I wasn’t going to give up. I couldn’t—even when the crowd thinned as we left the arena of music and laughter and traveled to one much sadder, darker, and infinitely more dangerous.
At first I thought I’d entered an area where Katrina had done her worst. The washed-out buildings reeked of mold; despite the warm breeze, a damp chill permeated everything. The moon glistened off puddles scattered here and there. I trod carefully, afraid I’d trip over a piece of wood, a tin can, a body.
But as I moved along I decided that the place was just empty and had been for much longer than Katrina could be blamed for. I wasn’t sure why, although the haunted yet somehow desperate air of the place might have something to do with it. I wouldn’t want to live here, even if they did bulldoze everything and start over again. Some places are just like that.
I realized I was watching my feet and not watching the girl; I looked up. By then it was too late. She was gone.
“Fuck me,” I muttered.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
With a shriek, I spun. Catching my toe in a crevice, I twisted my ankle and stumbled. Sullivan scooped me up in his arms and carried me away.
I struggled but I might as well have been a fly in a web for all the good it did me. He just tightened his grip and went on.
The moon glinted off his eyes, making them shine an unearthly silver-blue. His hair had grown in the few days since I’d seen him. No longer neatly military, it was now a shaggy mess. He didn’t smell like sunshine anymore, but something darker, something that lurked in the shadows and only came out at night.
This was not the tidy man I’d once been attracted to, but then, he wasn’t a man anymore at all, was he?
Sullivan ducked into an abandoned building, and I suddenly realized we were alone. How could the masked woman have disappeared so quickly and so completely?
“Did you see anyone?” I asked.
Sullivan grunted. I waited for words to follow, but they didn’t, so I tried again.
“I thought I saw Katie. My sister? The one who’s missing?”
“No,” he said.
I wasn’t sure if he meant no, he hadn’t seen her, or no, he didn’t remember who she was or even no, she wasn’t missing. From the expression on his face—both dazed and slightly rabid—I wasn’t sure if Sullivan knew what he meant either.
I had to get out of here. Preferably before he raped me, definitely before he killed me or made me like him.
Unfortunately Sullivan had been a very strong man; he’d be an even stronger non-man. I had a weapon, however, I wasn’t ready, yet, to kill him.