Above-Ground Graves
Skyla and Alex walked down to Jackson Square, where the artists were setting up their tables, trying to catch a tourist or two to buy their local creations. Alex walked over to a young guy carrying a sign that read "Tours for Donations." A few people congregated in his area. They milled around, some drinking coffee and others drinking beer. Alex arranged for a seat on the bus. The driver jotted down something on his pad and then nodded and gave a wave to the hovering crowd. There were ten people, including Skyla and Alex, who followed him to his small bus. Alex and Skyla took a seat at the front. The others filed in, snapping shots and shimmying into the scratchy seats. The driver introduced himself using only his first name, Malachy. He told his group he was a typical New Orleans mix. His mother was an Irish immigrant who'd run away from her abusive stepfather. When she arrived in New Orleans, she began working as a cocktail waitress at a bar on Bourbon Street. She met his father, a Louisiana native with a genealogy that included runaway slaves on both sides. His father had been working as a private bodyguard for a wealthy Louisiana oil mogul who frequented the city on Saturday nights. Malachy's mother and father fell in love that night. Malachy was born later that year. He had seven younger brothers and sisters. He'd had nine, but two died in Katrina.
The bus started and Skyla looked out the window. To her left she saw the French Market. Malachy pointed out every street and every possible point of interest. He slowed to allow two eager travelers to snap some pictures. He turned into a neighborhood known as the Upper Ninth Ward. He told stories to prepare his group for what they were to see on the next leg of the tour, the Lower Ninth Ward.
Nothing could have prepared Skyla for what she saw, though. The houses in the run-down town of Talbotton had been mansions in comparison. Lots consisted of dirt piles, with cinder blocks serving as headstones for the lost homes. Malachy pointed out the numbers written on the houses that still stood. The numbers were written by men who had been attempting to count the dead. Then the bus turned a corner. Skyla could see that the empty lots were everywhere. She could imagine the wave coming through that cleaned out the area. This block was different, though. Between the dust lots were new houses standing proud. Some people had decided to come back home. Alex held his hand over his eyes, and Malachy continued his narrative.
Malachy pointed to a tree where, he claimed, he and some others had had to rescue a cow that was stuck in its branches after the storm. He directed their attention to a fenced-in mound of rubble. It used to be the park that his brothers and sisters played in when they were younger.
It all became too much for Skyla to bear, and she leaned into Alex and silently prayed for the missing and the dead.
They left the Lower Ninth and drove back through the Upper Ninth with new eyes. It seemed richer now. They passed through Treme and were told this was the area where Malachy lived now. Malachy pulled over, and the voyeurs were instructed to use the facilities and buy some food at a brightly lighted and cheery cafe. Skyla and Alex kept quiet.
Twenty minutes later, they piled into the bus, shaking off the grim images that had danced around their minds. Skyla clasped her coffee and tried to steady her nerves. The next stop would be the Garden District. Skyla had strolled through this area with Alex already. She welcomed this part of the trip. It was a beautiful area lined with manicured homes and lawns and gardens.
Malachy pointed out the homes that belonged to famous actors. He pointed out where the family of professional athletes lived. He asked them to look out the right side of the bus at the sprawling garden of a big white home that was surrounded by a stone wall. Skyla was trying to peer over the wall when she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, a child sitting on top of the wall. She jumped up from her seat and pressed her palms to the glass. She started to scream, but her voice got caught. Then the child was gone. Had she fallen into the yard? Had Skyla's eyes been playing tricks on her? She turned toward Malachy, who had stopped the bus for the amateur photographers. She began to mumble about a baby.
"I think a baby ..." She stopped and covered her eyes. She shook her head. "No, a child just fell from that wall. She was sitting there watching us and now I don't see her."
Malachy smiled and sneaked a sly look at Alex. Alex lowered his eyes and shrugged. "There is always someone on the tour that sees her," Malachy said with a wink. Then he turned and put the bus in "drive."
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. They visited several cemeteries and their above-ground graves. The sun began to set, and Skyla's eyes played more tricks on her. The white stone graves seemed to vibrate and speak to each other. The tourists took shots from every angle. Alex wondered what would come out in the pictures. Would they catch a glimpse of images from other worlds? He walked away from the crowd and was drawn to a stone. He stood in front of it and cocked his head. Why was this familiar?
Skyla came up behind him and he jumped out of his skin. "Let's go," he said. "I am getting the creeps here." He grabbed Skyla's hand and steered her back toward the bus.
Skyla looked over her shoulder and saw that etched in the stone was "Stephen Renard 1780-1813." She squinted and looked hard at Alex. He kept his eyes forward.
Malachy made his second-to-last stop in the Warehouse District. Alex shook his hand and dropped some money into the pail marked "Donations." Skyla and Alex walked the rest of the way. They were passing by the Louisiana Children's Museum when Alex tugged on Skyla's hand. She looked at him and he smiled.
"They're closed now, but we should go play in the museum one of these days," he said.
Skyla did not say anything. Her smile faded as she considered what he'd said.
"I mean, if we stay in town long enough. If you stay with me, here," Alex quickly corrected himself.
Skyla smiled back and got up on her toes so she could kiss him. He leaned down and put his arms around her. When they were finished kissing, Alex held her close. He whispered in her ear that he was glad they were here together. They started walking again. They followed South Peters Street until it became North Peters Street. Then they were home.
They were silent as they strolled through the waking streets of the French Quarter. It was dark now.
Brooke had been lonely since Skyla left. She hated going home to the apartment at night. She'd started working extra-late, staying until 9 p.m. most days. That's when she started spending more time alone with Rob. He had been her boss for three months now. He'd taken her out to celebrate the occasion two nights ago. It seemed that everyone had noticed when the two walked in together the next morning. Last night she'd argued that she had to go home to her own place. Tonight she'd found herself back in the same situation. This time they sat at a sushi restaurant. This is how it had started last time-food and then too much drinking. Tonight there was endless sake at dinner, and there would be too much vodka at the bar next door during after-dinner drinking and flirting. Two nights ago she'd told herself it had been celebratory. However, it seemed she was in the same predicament now. How could she refuse him? It was impossible to grasp a clear perspective. She hadn't gotten to this part of the conversation with Skyla. The last time they'd spoken, they agreed that this should not even come close to happening. What would Skyla say now? Probably that screwing your boss was a bad move. It was too late now. He was awfully charming. She loved the way his dark hair flopped into his eyes by the end of the day, abused by a worrisome hand that gripped and pulled at it throughout the hours of work. She loved that his tie hung loose around his neck, still neat but pushed aside so that the top button of his shirt could be loosened.
Rob leaned across the intimate-sized table, pointed a chopstick at her, and said, "That was fun the other night. I was thinking about it all day long. You might be bad for business. I can't keep my head in my work."
"I was rather hoping to be an asset for the company," she answered, trying to keep the banter light. Things were getting out of her control. Brooke was in the habit of keeping all aspects of her life in order, and this was not in the plan.
He smiled and popped a spicy tuna roll into his mouth. He knew that she would be going home with him tonight. She knew it, too. That's why she'd put a toothbrush and a change of underwear in her laptop bag before she left her apartment that morning. She finished her drink, and he poured her another glass. His eyes were dangerously beautiful.
She leaned closer, signaling him to do the same. Whispering, she let him in on her most intimate secret. "I don't fall in love, and one way or the other I always end up on top."
He understood the double-entendre. He made a mental note to send her out for coffee first thing in the morning.
Mara paced behind the bar. It was her turn to watch the place. The others had just left, gone out to find some fun. It had been about thirty-four hours since she last slept. She had tossed and turned all day yesterday and hadn't slept a wink. Where was Steve? He should be home tonight. He'd promised he would be back. It was nearly 10 now. He would put Alex in his place.
Sure, Steve had granted the request for a short vacation when Alex approached him with it, but no one had thought Alex would stay away.
This was ridiculous to Mara. No one could stay away from the den for long. Its energy and its calling were a draw not worth fighting against. It was a magnet holding them to this earth. It felt awful to be away for any length of time. Atleast that is what Steve always told her.
Even if Alex decided to fight Steve's wishes, it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't win. It didn't make sense that Alex would risk everything for this simple girl. Mara had so much more to offer. She could make Alex truly happy. They would be unstoppable-a power couple. They were bred for it. One thing was for sure: If Steve wasn't obliged to get rid of Skyla, then Mara would.
Mara wouldn't drink Skyla's blood or anything like that. She despised the thought of having Skyla as a part of her being. However, there were plenty of hungry gators around these parts. An alligator was less picky than a self-respecting member of this den.
A couple of regulars wandered in and interrupted her reverie. The two guys ordered some beer for lunch and sat at the bar. They were among the many men who were glad that Mara had finally turned 18. Life was sure funny that way. She put the beer down in front of them and stared into their lonely eyes. One guy took his hat off and averted his eyes. The other one scratched his beard and examined his glass. This one was missing a tooth.
Boring!
Mara held her breath and tried to hear Lucy's thoughts. Lucy always tried to include her when she was left behind. She could sense Lucy straining her voice, trying to keep Mara with them in thought. Mara could not make out the words. They faded fast. James, Peter, and Lucy were too far away now. She could just make out their laughter as they walked farther away from Steve's Place.
August was slow-not many tourists. Mara was too young to remember the good old days. The days before Katrina had destroyed the lifestyle that James, Lucy, Alex, and Peter remembered well. These days James, Peter, and Lucy had to wander well beyond the French Quarter at night.
Things were starting to pick up again, but August was always too quiet. It was risky to party locally until the end of September, but James insisted they try Frenchmen Street tonight. The off-season tourist loved to think of himself as a music lover, traveling to New Orleans for the true jazz experience. It shouldn't be too difficult to get a few stragglers leaving a bar, walking down an opportune street. It would be nice to find a couple. They could bring the guy home for Mara. Couples disappeared easily. Often, people just assumed they had run off together. Lucy volunteered to make friends in the bar. She was getting so good at it. Certainly, she was better at it than James and Peter. Peter was not such a smooth talker. James lacked the patience for cajoling couples.
Men of various shapes and sizes sat on stools outside the strip of bars, trying to entice passersby into entering and enjoying the music. One couldn't really tell if these were hired employees or patrons who owed a bill. It was common to see men with missing teeth and dingy clothing adorning the entryways.
Lucy sauntered by the men on stools, and they grew silent. She smiled to herself and chose the most populated place. She did a quick scan and spotted the two sitting at the far end of the bar. Lucy chose a seat a few paces away from the lovely couple. She caught the guy looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He sat up a little straighter. His body knew, even though his mind didn't, that he was in imminent danger.