Redivivus

It was him! The man. This time in shirtsleeves, his collar open. He turned and pitched the cigar over the railing and stepped into the room. His lips curled into that same cynical grin as his eyes raked over my naked legs, t-shirt, and untethered breasts.

"Bonsoir, chère," he murmured.

"My God. Who are you?" I asked, voice shaking.

"Remy Delacroix."

His smile grew wider, the dimples I remembered deepening, as he extended his hand to me.

I ignored the hand, keeping my arms folded across my breasts, my hands tucked into my armpits.

"How did you get in here?"

Remy threw his head back and laughed, a deep rich laugh, and waved his hand back toward the door.

"You brought me here."

"N-no, I didn't," I stammered.

"You did, chère," he explained. "You called to me across time and space to come to you."

As Remy took a step toward me, I took a step backward and snapped, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Holding up both hands, as if to surrender, to show me he meant no harm, Remy stepped back and then simply stood there with his head cocked to one side, staring into my eyes. He let his hands fall back to his sides.

My shaking had become unbearable, my entire body quaking with the effort to control it and to breathe. I watched his expression change from amusement to concern as tears filled my eyes and spilled over onto my cheeks. I didn't know why I was crying.

Remy's eyes seemed to take on a liquid quality of their own, and he reached out a hand to me once more, his mouth moving as if to offer me comfort.

"No!" I spouted, holding my own hands up to ward him off before he could speak. "You have to get out. Please, just go."

His eyebrows lifted, and the cocky smile curved his lips once more.

"Comme tu veux," he said, and turning on his heel, strode quickly back across the room and out the balcony door.

"Wait," I called. "You have to go out the other door."

Silence.

I ran to the balcony. He was gone. Thinking he might have fallen or jumped over the railing, I leaned way over and peered through the darkness. Nothing. No movement and no sound. Perplexed, I looked around the balcony for a place he could hide. Nothing.

Feeling slightly sick, I darted over to the phone and dialed the front desk. I explained there'd been a man in my room, and he'd apparently gone over the balcony railing. A hotel security guard came up and examined my room and balcony, while another checked the courtyard below and the outside of the building with a flashlight. He tested the locks on the doors and pronounced them secure.

"Is it possible you might've dreamed this, ma'am?" he asked.

"N-no. Of course not. I talked to him. I smelled cigar smoke."

"There's no sign of forced entry, no sign outside of anyone having fallen." He shrugged. "I don't know what else we can do."

"Oh, so, you think I imagined it."

He shrugged and smiled.

"It's possible, but sometimes strange things happen here that can't be explained. Either way, I think you're safe. Call us if anything else happens."

It took me a long time to fall back into a fitful sleep. My dream lover did not come.

The gray light of dawn was seeping into the room when I awoke, headachy and thirsty. Sitting up, I rubbed my hands around and over my face. That man, Remy, had been in my room. Then he'd disappeared over the balcony railing. What the hell was going on? He must be nuts. Delusional. He said I'd called to him. What did that mean? He hadn't seemed to want to harm me, and when I'd asked him to leave, he'd gone. Still. It was creepy. I wondered if I should go to the police.

Throwing back the covers, I shivered in the air conditioning. I turned it down and stepped out onto the balcony. My neck tingled as I looked over the edge. The walkway was clean, the grass still manicured, the bushes still perfect, and the trees still hung with moss, just as they'd all been before. A fat calico cat meandered across the walkway toward the aquamarine glow of the pool. There was no fire escape ladder and no way a person could reach another balcony from mine. No trees were close enough either.

Maybe I was the delusional one. Maybe I was going nuts. Maybe all the stress had finally caught up with me.

"Oh, no," I gasped and plopped down in the wicker chair.

As if things weren't eerie enough, I remembered just then that I'd arranged to participate in a Halloween Voodoo tour of the French Quarter the day before. Yesterday it had sounded like fun, especially being part of a group. Today, however, I wished I could cancel. I'd already paid though. Great.

"God, Casey," I whispered, thinking I'd better find someone else to talk to before talking to myself became habit.

Beignets and café au lait. I grinned. That's what I needed. It was a good thing I'd be leaving in a couple days. If I stayed there, I'd end up big as a house. A big, fat lunatic who wandered around talking to herself, I thought, giggling.

After breakfast, I went down to the Moon Walk, where the tour bus was boarding. The group of tourists chattered excitedly amongst themselves in the late morning sunshine. My longish, flowing sundress and sandals and wide-brimmed straw hat seemed out of place with their t-shirts and shorts and sun visors. Donning my sunglasses, I sighed and stared out the window as the French Quarter whizzed by.

St. Louis Cemetery #1 was our first stop. As we disembarked the bus, our tour guide stressed the importance of everyone staying with the group. To illustrate his point, he read aloud the warning posted at the entrance.

PREMISES AT THEIR OWN RISK. NO

SECURITY NOR GUARDS ARE PROVIDED AND

THE NEW ORLEANS ARCHDIOCESAN CEMETERIES

DISCLAIMS RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE PERSONAL

SAFETY OF VISTORS AND THEIR PROPERTY.

Shivering despite the heat, I wondered if we were being warned against the living or the dead. The spooky feeling had remained with me and seemed to shadow the hazy sunshine.

As we entered the cemetery, the tour guide explained that New Orleans cemeteries were often referred to as "Cities of the Dead," as below-ground burial was not possible there due to the water table. The dead are interred in crypts that do, indeed, resemble miniature houses, their architecture mimicking the style of New Orleans at large. The crypts are arranged in lanes, and some are even surrounded by ironwork fences.

The group meandered along, twittering and occasionally elbowing each other, as the guide spoke in his spooky Vincent Price voice of the ghosts that supposedly walked the alleys of St. Louis #1. They all seemed enchanted with him, but, frankly, he was beginning to annoy me.

We came to a stop in front of a rather nondescript, small white building that the guide touted as the tomb of Marie Laveau, New Orleans' most famous Voodoo queen. Her crypt was marked all over with X's and crosses, which, the guide explained, people carved into the stone walls for luck. The doorway was littered with "gifts" for the queen; candles, bottles of water, beads, dried beans, herbs, flowers, and bricks wrapped in tin foil. All supposedly brought believers good fortune.

"There is a legend, we're told," the guide deadpanned with arched brows, "that if you make a wish in front of Queen Marie's tomb, turn around three times, and then knock on her door three times, your wish will come true." The last few words were drawn out for emphasis.

The ladies in front of me twittered and giggled, their plastic skeleton and pumpkin and black cat earrings dancing, then blessed themselves and performed the ritual. Then they all burst out laughing and moved on with the rest of the group.

I sighed and dragged along behind, wishing I'd skipped this tour entirely. Just as I passed by the corner of Marie Laveau's tomb, I noticed an old woman crouched there, placing a flower on the little stoop. She hadn't been there before and startled me, the creepy feeling shivering down my back again, in spite of the warm, humid air. She looked up at me with a sweet smile, her eyes pale blue and milky in her ancient face.

"Have I frightened you?" she asked, pulling herself up with her cane and straightening her back.

I smiled back.

"Oh, no. Not really. I'm just a little spooked because of Halloween and being in a cemetery, and our tour guide..." I trailed off, not sure, really, what else to say.

A bead of sweat ran down my back and into the cleft of my buttocks.

"You seek the assistance of Queen Marie?" the old woman asked in her soft, melodic voice—not the voice of an old woman at all.

"Well, no. I just came on this bus tour," I stammered, pointing vaguely in the direction of my group, which was getting further away.

The woman shuffled forward and laid a hand on my arm. Her fingers felt cold, her skin papery, against my own over heated and clammy skin.

"I really need to stay with my group," I said, pulling away.

She seemed harmless, but the words on the sign at the cemetery entrance rang in my head, and the tour group seemed very far away. My mouth had become cotton dry, and I felt somewhat dizzy. I also felt silly, being spooked by an old lady.

"Go to the queen's house. The daughter will give you what you seek."

She was obviously nuts. I smiled at her and nodded.

"Thank you. I will," I said, turning to follow my group, which had disappeared around a bend in the lane.

When I looked back, the old woman had disappeared. I turned all the way around searching for her, but she was gone. Just like that. She couldn't have moved that quickly. Silence enveloped me, as the warm air pressed down, and I began to walk at a rapid pace in the direction my group had gone and then started to run. I reached them, breathless and queasy from the heat but glad to be among people again. I felt is if I was being watched and kept turning around for the remaining few minutes of the tour, but nobody was there. Out of the corner of my eye I'd see shadows, and when I'd look in that direction, nothing would be there. Once, I thought I saw one of the bright, white statues move, but when I looked, it was frozen in time.

As we reached the exit, I milled along with the group toward the bus. Upon reaching the door, however, I couldn't get back on the bus. Couldn't face the twittering women and the goofy tour guide, so I simply kept walking, past the bus and on down the street.

The eerie feeling persisted but wasn't quite so bad now that I was out of the cemetery. I walked along, trying to stay in the shade, and sipped water from a bottle I'd tucked in my bag. My hat was bothering me, despite its wide brim protecting me from the worst of the sun, so I pulled it off. I couldn't imagine what had possessed me to wear the hat anyway. Or the dress, for that matter, with its gauzy skirt and somewhat low-cut neck line. I mean, who the hell did I think I was, anyway? Blanche DuBois? I sat down on a low brick wall to collect myself, fanning my neck and face with the hat. I didn't know exactly where I was, so I pulled my trusty guidebook from my bag and consulted the little map.

If I continued to walk on St. Louis Avenue, I'd eventually run into more familiar territory, so that's what I did. Sure enough, after a couple of very long, very warm blocks, I came to Bourbon Street. Without really knowing why I did so, I turned down Bourbon Street and kept walking. The feeling that someone was following me or watching me was back, and I kept looking over my shoulder. Nobody seemed to be paying me any attention, but I still had the urge to run. I walked a couple more blocks, and then I saw it. Marie Laveau's House of Voodoo. Goosebumps sprang out on my arms.

The smallish clapboard building with peeling paint sat on a corner with its shutter-type doors wide open. I stood outside for a long moment, my breathing shallow and quick, and wished I had something more to drink, as I'd finished my water a while ago. I thought about going someplace—anyplace—that I could sit down and have a drink, but couldn't seem to tear myself away. In slow motion, I stepped up into the shop, which smelled strange and slightly musty; unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar at the same time. The walls inside were hung from floor to ceiling with all manner of stuff—strange figures made from a variety of materials, beads, masks, shelves of books, voodoo dolls, candles—too much to take in, really. There was an altar set up at one end that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

"How can I help you?" a smooth male voice asked from behind me, causing me to jump and whirl around.

"I-I'm not sure," I stuttered.

The man's skin was so dark, it appeared almost bluish in the dim shop. He smiled, showing straight, white teeth and reached for my hand, which I pulled away and tucked behind my back before he could touch me. I must have looked wild with fear, because the man touched my shoulder instead.

"It's alright," he murmured.

"A lady in the cemetery said I should see the daughter of Queen Marie. That she could help me." I babbled. "But that's silly, right? I mean, her daughter couldn't still be alive, could she? I don't really know what I'm doing here. I don't even know if this is the right place."

Really, I was feeling very foolish and close to tears.

A woman, whom I hadn't noticed before, stepped out from behind a beaded curtain and said, "Maybe I can help."

She was very young, with beautiful smooth skin the exact color of café au lait and hazel eyes. She wore flared jeans and flip flops with a pale yellow tank top that didn't quite cover her pierced belly button. She could have been a girl from anywhere and certainly didn't fit my image of someone who practiced voodoo.

"My name is Jessie," she said, taking my hand and leading me through the beaded curtain and into a small room containing a small table and two chairs.

On the table was a deck of cards. Jessie pointed me toward one chair and took the one opposite for herself.

"I'm Casey," I said.

Jessie nodded.

"I am a descendant of Marie Laveau. Perhaps the lady you spoke of sent you to me."

Too spooked to speak, I simply stared at her.

Jessie went on to say she would be doing a simple tarot reading, which would help me interpret current and past events and give insight to my future, along with her fee, which she expected to be paid up front. With trembling hands, I retrieved the money from my wallet and gave it to her. Then my reading began.

After shuffling the deck of cards, which was larger than a deck of playing cards and much more colorful, she laid seven cards face down in an arc before her. Beneath the curve she placed one more card, also face down. This last card was the one she turned face up first, after setting the rest of the deck aside. On its face was a beautiful picture of a woman with flowing, dark hair, lounging on some grass under a dark, starry sky. She leaned against a large lion, her cheek against its head, and her fingers entwined in its great mane.

"This card represents you," Jessie said, touching it with her fingertips. "Strength. You have great strength and determination, though it often seems hidden. You sometimes appear weak but have the ability to tame the beast with your confidence and faith and inner power."

She looked into my eyes, and I nodded my understanding. She then flipped over another card. This one featured a person in a long, hooded cape, staring down at three golden goblets laying on their sides, the contents of which had spilled and was soaking into the ground. Just behind the person were two more goblets, upright and filled to their brims with what appeared to be wine. The sky in the picture was gray and cloudy and dark.

"This card, the Five of Cups, represents the past. You believe you've lost love and that it is lost forever, but it's still there." She tapped the two full goblets with her finger. "Right behind you, right at your shoulder," she said pointing toward a point just to the left of my head.

My head jerked back to look over my shoulder, eliciting a grin from Jessie. She moved along quickly, though, not giving me a chance to really think about what she had said. Turning over the next card, she revealed a fantastic scene of a masked woman, bedecked in feathers and a corset and pink stockings, which tied above the knee with black bows. On her elegant feet were black shoes, also with bows and little heels. She was riding through the night sky on a sliver of moon, over some water that reflected the lights of a city on the shore. A large crawdad was crawling up out of the water.

Jessie's face took on a more serious mien, once again.

"The moon represents the present. You have come here to New Orleans to lose yourself in the magic, in this fantasyland—a place where you can be whoever you want to be, and nothing is quite what it seems. A place where there are no rules."

She tapped the next card without turning it over.

"This next one is your hidden influence."

I blanched as she flipped it over. The Devil. He sat on a throne of sorts, knees bent, furry legs ending in cloven hooves. His body was that of a man, but his head was a hideous red mask with long horns curving up and out from either side of his upper forehead and down around the sides of his face. Two people, a man and a woman, hands joined, stood naked in front of him, chained to his throne. Flames leapt and licked around them in the background.

"The Devil card symbolizes earthy things—sex, drugs, addictions, ambition. It doesn't really mean the Devil, himself, but it could be a person. Someone who wants to free you from your inhibitions. This person enjoys the good life, is very ambitious, and is used to having people do exactly what he wants them to do."

Apparently not wanting to allow me to dwell on this, Jessie flipped over the next card. The Tower. The picture actually looked more like a once elegant old house that had been neglected, with cracks and vines growing up its walls.

"There is a house of lies. It was brought down by falsehoods, but its influence remains, and it stands between you and your dreams."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," Jessie replied. "It will probably come to you as you think this over later. Shall we move on?"

I nodded, and she turned the next card.

"This is the Eight of Cups. Someone has drawn you here. They influenced you to come. They're telling you to forget all you ever thought you wanted and cared for and surrender to your dreams."

Next, she flipped over a card that was embarrassingly erotic. A naked woman lay sprawled on her back, her limbs entwined with the body of a naked man, whose face was hidden between her thighs. One of his hands reached up to grasp a ripe breast, the other lost in the shadows of the woman's sex. The woman's back was arched, and her eyes were closed, her mouth open as if she moaned her ecstasy. The scene was shockingly familiar, as all of them were, really. I wondered if everyone saw themselves in these cards. Nonetheless, a fine tremor buzzed through my body, and I fought the urge to flee.

"The lovers," said Jessie. "This is your action card, and the action you should take is to follow your heart, believe in your choice, and find the true love of your dreams."

It was too much. I could barely breathe and nearly fainted as she flipped over the last card and I saw the glint of light on the scythe of the grim reaper and saw the word emblazoned across the bottom of the card in orange.

DEATH.

With that, I bolted out of my chair, all but knocking over Jessie's table with my purse, and ran out of the room. As I flew through the shop, something brushed against my bare arm, and I screamed, slapping it away, and fled through the doorway and back out into the muggy afternoon. I ran as if the demons of hell were after me, and after a block or two, I did, indeed get the feeling that someone was following me. I heard their footsteps and glancing behind me in terror, I caught a glimpse of a man running after me, his path blocked by groups of tourists milling along the street. My throat burned, and I felt as if I might be sick, but I kept running.