Twenty-six

 

Until Amelia’s return to New Orleans, Celina had been increasingly convinced she would, indeed, marry Jack and that it was the right thing to do.

Although she’d wanted to get away sooner, she’d stayed with Amelia until Tilly ventured down from her domain, and then it had been impossible to refuse the woman’s evident attempt at making peace by asking Celina to have some tea and cake with them.

Celina was still certain she would marry Jack, but not so certain it wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake.

She hadn’t intended to stay so long in Chartres Street. Darkness began to close in and she hurried on her way to Royal Street. Despite the slowing down of Dreams’s business, she still felt an urgency to keep working. Jack had surprised her by taking his new duties very seriously. He was convinced that at least at present their focus should be on individual needs among children who were no longer hospitalized. To that end Celina had obtained a list of discharged patients from St. Peter’s and was in the process of making calls.

She was tempted to make a detour past Les Chats and try to talk to Dwayne privately about Antoine.

But if someone was watching and listening, searching for any sign that Celina or Dwayne knew more that they’d admitted, it would be a mistake for Celina to go to Les Chats.

Celina automatically looked behind her. The evening crowd was revving up. Locals moving with purpose. Tourists laughing and drinking from plastic cups while they gazed through open doors into clubs. Many already carried bags of the obligatory souvenirs—T-shirts, cheap masks and trinkets, incense sticks to ward off evil spirits they’d forget about the instant their visit to The Big Easy was behind them.

The scene was surreal. She paused and drew back against a building, saw the laughing faces and expansive gestures in slow motion. A kernel of panic assailed her, but she took deep breaths and willed herself to be calm. Too much had happened. Too much more was about to happen. Wilson’s assault… She put a hand on her belly and tried to think of the baby, not of how she had been conceived. Errol’s death needed closure. But what could a citizen do if the law wasn’t interested—or appeared not to be interested? And Antoine. Tomorrow she would go—No, Rose had specifically begged her not to try to make contact. The woman had promised she’d get back to Celina somehow.

Why hadn’t Rose come back to see her yet?

Jack would be angry when he discovered Celina hadn’t told him the details of Rose’s visit.

“Hey, good lookin’,” a man who was barely more than a teenager yelled into her face. “How about you and me goin’ dancin’?”

She shook her head. His face was too close to hers. A sun-reddened face. Straw-pale hair. Bloodshot blue eyes that closed slowly and opened slowly. He held a plastic cup of pink slush. A fruit daiquiri from one of the bars that sold nothing else.

Celina turned from him and walked on, swallowing gulps of air. Sweat formed between her shoulder blades and instantly turned cold.

She was going to marry Jack Charbonnet and live with him and his child in Chartres Street. This week she would take that step. What did she really know about him? Only what was public knowledge. And that when they made love he could chase away any doubts.

The kid with the straw hair passed her with several buddies. They called out to her but kept on moving.

A street vendor slapped a disc into his CD player and snapped his fingers, dancing while he straightened rows of cheap jewelry pinned to boards atop a trestle table. Some who walked by clicked their fingers too, and bopped their own dance steps.

The gaudiest city in the world. Celina loved it, or she did when she didn’t jump at the slightest sound and panic in crowds.

She walked on, deliberately keeping her pace leisurely. But her heart didn’t slow down, and her stomach didn’t relax.

An elderly woman sidestepped a tall, emaciated girl on Rollerblades who wore psychedelic elbow and knee pads with her cutoff jeans and halter top. Unfortunately the girl was no expert on the blades. She lost control and walloped into the woman, who dropped a basket overflowing with groceries.

Apples rolled, and oranges. Grapes splatted on the sidewalk, as did a carton of milk. A bottle of vitamins broke, scattering pills in all directions.

The girl yelled, “Watch where you’re goin’, you old hag,” righted herself, and skated away.

Celina hurried forward and went to her knees to help.

“Young people,” the woman muttered. “They got no respect no more. Sign says you can’t have them things on the sidewalk. Them skates. Do they take notice? Not them. Look at my grapes. And them vitamins cost a bundle.”

“It’s awful,” Celina said, gathering items and returning them to the basket as quickly as possible. The grapes she picked up and began to drop in a garbage can.

“Don’t do that!” the woman said. “I gotta take ‘em back. They packed ‘em in the bottom of the basket, didn’t they? Bound to get squashed. The store will have to replace them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Celina said, only vaguely shocked. She rounded up the plastic net for the grapes and scooped them inside.

“Look at those apples.” The woman tutted and pointed to the bruised fruit. “I’ll have to make a pie with ‘em.”

“I bet it’ll be a great pie.”

“If there’s enough of them left. Where’d they all go?” Celina searched in all directions and caught sight of both apples and oranges that had rolled into an alley. Despite the darkness, she went after the fruit and began picking up pieces.

The alley was dank. Overhead the walls of the old buildings on either side bulged. Clothes flapped on lines along galleries. If they’d dried at all today, they’d already be wet again because they’d been left out too long.

She felt movement behind her and started to turn around. A blow between her shoulder blades caused her to stumble. Before she could cry out, a length of fabric was jammed into her mouth and her head was forced back against a shoulder.

Celina kicked with her heels. And she jammed her elbows backward and struggled. She tried going limp and dropping her dead weight in the other’s arms. She was promptly jerked upright with the gag. It cut into her cheeks and threatened to make her vomit.

She squirmed and tried to scream. Only a muffled squeal emitted. One arm was free, and she reached over her shoulder, scouring about for the man’s eyes. His response was to capture that hand too, and anchor it behind her back.

Celina stared down the alley toward the street. Surely the woman had seen what happened. Surely she’d go for help.

People passed the end of the alley. They laughed and jostled. They didn’t look into the darkness between the buildings.

There was no sign of the woman or her dropped groceries.

The man behind her spoke not a word. The gag was secured, and he dragged her backward, backward, backward, and against a wall. That was when she saw what she hadn’t noticed before. A van, black or some other dark color. It gleamed dully. Celina saw it from the corner of her eye, gradually saw more of it as her assailant pulled her along its side.

Once past its length, she was shoved against the back doors of the vehicle and her hands were lashed together behind her back.

She kicked out again, but the doors of the van swung open and she was pushed, facedown onto the floor inside. With several efficient movements her ankles were also secured.

The van sagged as the man leaped in behind her. Then a bag descended over her head and she saw nothing.

Screaming silently, choking on the gag, she writhed and tried to turn over, but a foot came down in the center of her back and she lay still.

Her baby. She must protect her baby.

A sharp rap sounded. The van’s engine turned over and the hard floor vibrated beneath Celina.

He could not expect her to follow his orders as if she were a child or a well-trained dog. Jack jogged through the streets. Tonight he really could describe what people meant by having one’s heart in one’s throat. Every breath was a struggle.

How had he come to this point with Celina? How could he possibly have changed his mind about her so drastically?

Why had she defied him when he’d specifically told her not to leave Chartres Street?

He shook his head. He’d already covered that. She couldn’t be expected to follow his wishes blindly. She’d do what she wanted to do.

And she could have walked directly into the hands of some of Win’s depraved hoods.

Jack broke into a run. He banged into a man, spun him around, and yelled, “Sorry,” as the other started spewing expletives. It was hot, too damned hot, and another rain squall announced its presence with fat drops that spattered Jack’s face.

He’d gone looking for Sonny Clete, but had only managed to track down one of his minor soldiers, a man known as Primrose, for no reason Jack could imagine unless it was a cruel reference to his ears. His ears had frilly lobes and popped from high on the sides of his head. Primrose hung out at a totally nude strip joint on St. Peter Street in the warehouse district. Sonny was known to spend a good deal of time there, too, but he hadn’t shown today although Primrose kept insisting he was on his way. Eventually Jack had decided this was an attempt to detain him. He should have left as soon as he discovered Sonny wasn’t around.

Sonny was neck-deep in whatever was going on, and something was definitely going on. Win’s trouble antenna had been screaming while Jack was with him. and Sonny Clete had been the one to flip the switch to on.

That was much as Jack had planned. He’d set Sonny up to rattle Win. Jack wanted a war, but he hadn’t planned for potential reprisals against him that would put Amelia and Celina at risk.

He walked at a more sane pace. According to Tilly, Celina had gone to talk to Cyrus, no doubt to explain Jack’s plans for them to marry this week.

At least there were no anxieties about sexual compatibility. Despite his anxiety, he grinned. No anxieties at all.

Skidding to a halt at the entrance to the courtyard at Errol’s place—he’d always think of the Royal Street house as Errol’s place—he felt jumpy inside again. He didn’t want Celina staying there anymore. In the morning they’d make arrangements for their wedding.

These things were important to women, the trappings of the occasion. He’d like to find a way to dress up what would otherwise seem like a formality, but wasn’t sure how to go about it.

He reached the outer staircase, and the door at the top flew open at once. Cyrus emerged onto the steps with Dwayne behind him. They both stared down at him.

Jack’s mouth forgot how to make saliva. He swallowed and swallowed, and his throat only grew more dry.

He turned his face up to the other men and said, “Where is she?”

Cyrus closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his mouth.

“She isn’t with you?” Dwayne said.

“No, goddammit,” Jack said, leaping up the rest of the stairs three at a time. “She should be here.”

“I was sure you would have found her by now,” Cyrus said. “She called from your place to say she was on her way. That was two hours ago. I phoned your place and a woman called Tilly said I should wait here in case she came. I was so sure you would have her with you by the time you showed up”

“We’re calling the cops,” Jack said, barging into the building. “Not a word from her? Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Dwayne said. “Even if she walked backward she’d have been here an hour and a half ago.”

“I don’t need you to tell me the obvious,” Jack snapped, tearing the receiver from a telephone in the hallway. He dialed 911 and asked for the police. “A missing person,” he said when he got an answer. “Celina Payne. Last seen? What? Oh, when? About two hours ago.”

He swiveled to see Cyrus and Dwayne. Neither of them would meet his eyes. “I don’t give a shit about your rules. I don’t care if you don’t think two hours constitutes being missing… What? No, goddammit, we did not have an argument. I don’t argue. Fuck you, Officer. My fiancée is missing. She shouldn’t have taken longer than twenty minutes to get from
my house to hers. Ι think she’s been abducted. What makes me think that? Celina was Errol Petrie’s assistant. Does that ring a bell? No? He was murdered only days ago. I’m still not ringing any bells for you? How about there are some very nasty people in this town and I think at least one of them has it in for me. This nasty person is very likely to have decided to get at me through Celina.”

He took the phone from his ear and stared at it. The lecture about how long a person had to be missing to warrant some sort of concern on behalf of the police was being rolled out for a second time.

Jack slammed down the receiver. “They won’t do anything except tell all cars to keep a watch out for her.”

“She couldn’t have returned to your place by now, could she?” Cyrus asked. His face resembled damp chalk.

“Tilly would have called at once.” Nevertheless Jack punched in his number and waited until Tilly answered. She told him what he had feared she would, and he hung up again.

Dwayne flexed his hands at his sides. “Why would someone hurt Celina, Jack? There’s a reason, isn’t there? Otherwise you wouldn’t be so scared—you wouldn’t be so sure she didn’t just go shopping on the way.”

He thought about that. “And why wouldn’t she go shopping? That’s a normal thing for a woman to do.”

“Antoine isn’t around,” Dwayne said, eyeing Jack significantly. “I shouldn’t have had to come here to find that out. Someone should have told me”

“Things have been kind of hectic.” Jack passed the others and went to the office. He rifled through folders, looking for something on Antoine. “I now know Antoine must have found out something that frightened the wrong people. The wrong people evidently had something to do with Errol’s death. Antoine came to you to say he saw something, Dwayne.”

“But he didn’t tell me. He started, but clammed up and took off.”

“Okay. But evidently someone saw him with you and they don’t believe he changed his mind about talking to you.”

‘I’m tellin’ you—”

“You don’t need to tell me, Dwayne. I believed you the first time. These people also think Celina had a chat with Antoine. He came up to talk to her the same day he tried to get to you. What I can’t figure out is how they know that.”

Both of the other men frowned.

“I guess it doesn’t much matter how. They do. And they’re rattled. Which means they’ve got something to be afraid of. Roughly translated, we’re close to finding out who killed Errol—or the killers think we are.”

“We’ve got to find Celina,” Cyrus said abruptly. “Dear Lord, we must locate my little sister. She’s fragile enough without being exposed to this type of horror.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. His own insides were trying to fold in on themselves.

“What do you mean, yeah?” Cyrus said, grasping Jack’s arm. “Celina has suffered greatly. We both know that. And she’s pregnant, Jack. I’ve been concerned about her because she’s not as well as she should be. She’d never stand up to harsh treatment.”

“Harsh treatment?” Dwayne’s voice broke and squeaked upward. “You think someone would treat our Celina harshly? That they’d hurt her? Surely they wouldn’t do any such thing.” He tottered to one of the chairs in the office and fell into it. “She should never have been allowed to remain in this house after Errol was killed. She should have been taken somewhere absolutely safe and watched over all the time. I should have insisted she come to live with Jean-Claude and me. Oh, my God!”

“Cool it, Dwayne,” Jack said, feeling close to being sick. “We’re going to work our way logically through this. And while we do that, we’ll hope she comes walking through that door.”

“I’ll rattle her teeth till they fall out!” Dwayne cried. “How dare that girl frighten us all like this because she wants to shop for a few useless baubles.”

Jack gave way to a faint smile. “Let it out, Dwayne. It’ll help. One of us has to stay here in case she comes back. I’ve got to search for her.”

Dwayne and Cyrus chorused that they were going too. “Wait a minute,” Cyrus said. “Let’s think about the route she’d take.”

“She’d take the same route I just did,” Jack said.

“Unless she’s gone shopping somewhere.” Dwayne stared at Jack. “I need a drink.” He hurried into the parlor and poured liquor into three glasses.

Jack followed reluctantly with Cyrus trailing close behind. They both took the snifters Dwayne offered.

They drank and retreated to chairs, where they sat in silence, sipping at their brandies.

Jack got up to draw the heavy brown drapes over the windows. “There’s no point in running around this town with no idea where to look,” he said. “I’m waiting another half hour. Then I’m going to the police in person and I’m not leaving until they put out a bulletin.”

“I feel as if everything’s gone mad around us but we’re the only ones who notice,” Dwayne said. “Surely they ought to have leads on what happened to Errol by now.”

“I talked to O’Leary again,” Jack told them. “He said somethin’ garbled about wanting to avoid giving the killers any signals. But I think I understand. I did hear from Errol’s lawyers. Lowell and Maxwell. Very well thought of. Evidently they’ll read the will anytime we’re ready. I’d told them we’re not ready.

A choking sound escaped Dwayne. He made no attempt to hide the tears that welled in his eyes. “It’s all so cold. I miss him so much. He was always there for me. The least judgmental man I ever met.”

“Me too,” Jack agreed.

Cyrus said, “I never really knew him very well. What I did know, I liked. For Celina to be so fond of him, he had to be a good man.”

“I thought the two of them had something going,” Jack said, no longer concerned with holding anything back from these two. “I thought Celina had wormed her way into his affections. That she’d played on his weaknesses—at least where women and sex were concerned—to get close to him. I thought she was an opportunist.”

“Amazing how stupid an intelligent man can be sometimes,” Dwayne said, heading back to the brandy with his empty glass.

“I deserved that,” Jack said. “I never gave her a chance, but I couldn’t see beyond the beauty pageant title and all that goes with that in my mind.”

“None of that was Celina’s idea. She did it for my mother.”

“I know that now,” Jack said, somewhat sheepish. “But I didn’t then, and I came to hate her. When Errol died, I thought it was her fault somehow.”

Dwayne made a tutting sound. Cyrus remained silent.

“I think I’ve been as honest as I can be with her about that. I haven’t held anything back.” Nothing but a great chunk about his activities with Win Giavanelli, and the plans he’d set in motion long before Errol’s murder. Those matters were not for any woman to be involved with. “Oh, hell, why doesn’t she come back?”

“Could she have gone to her parents?” Dwayne asked, unable to keep a curl from his lips at the mention of the older Paynes.

Cyrus got up and made a call. He didn’t ask outright about Celina but talked around the edges. What were his folks up to this evening? Why? Because he cared about them. So did Celina. She had an odd way of showing it. Why was that? Because she refused to do as her parents told her, and cultivate the Lamars. Well, Cyrus couldn’t speak for Celina on such matters. She was a big girl who could make up her own mind. Why didn’t they speak to her about it the next time they saw her. They intended to do just that.

He hung up. “She’s not there.”

“Could she be dealing with some business?” Dwayne asked.

“Not at this time of night,” Jack told him. “Why did I leave her alone?”

“You can hardly follow her around all the time.”

“Follow her, nothin’,” he said through his gritted teeth. “I’m gοin to tie that girl to me. Or maybe I’ll use handcuffs.”

“Look,” Dwayne said, “we should sit down and get good and drunk. Then, when she gets back, we can manage a real raging row. What d’you say?”

“Sounds kind of good,” Jack told him, but the words felt hollow.

Cyrus gave a forced chuckle. “I hope we’ve got enough booze. I want to be really mad at her.”

Jack refilled their glasses, and they perched on chairs, listening for the door and staring at the telephone. He locked at his watch. Nobody laughed anymore.

She smelled the waterfront.

Two men, and she was almost sure there were two, pulled her from the back of the van. They untied her ankles, then each of them held one of her arms and bundled her along roughly enough to cause her to trip repeatedly.

They had driven into a building of some sort. She thought she was right about that because the noises had changed, and when the back doors of the van had opened, she’d heard big doors sliding shut. Like hangar doors. Or warehouse doors.

Α warehouse on the waterfront, or near enough to the waterfront for her to smell it, and hear river sounds.

They walked her onward until she cracked her shins on something metal and choked on her own cry. Promptly the two men hauled her off the ground and swung her forward. Α door with a high metal threshold.

They said nothing to each other, and nothing to her. Not that she could have responded.

She was released.

The air about her changed subtly as people moved. She listened to their footfalls, and strained to hear anything else that might help when—and if—she got away from here.

Had they brought Antoine here?

She trembled inside.

Was he here now?

Would they do the kinds of things to her that they’d done to him?

Was Antoine dead? She believed he must be. And she’d done wrongly by not trying to get help for him regardless of what Rose had said.

Why didn’t they say something?

The hands gripped her arms again, hands that were hard, the fingertips a sharp pressure into her flesh. They moved her inexorably forward. A dank odor rose and permeated the bag over her head. Several times she stumbled, but they held her up and she felt them move her through one area after another.

At last they stopped walking and released her. She made no attempt to move. There was no question of speaking.

To her horror, a length of string or something similar was wrapped around her neck and tied, she presumed to keep the bag in place. She shuddered so violently her teeth drove into the cloth they’d used as a gag, and she retched.

Noises—scuffling, sliding, wood scraping on wood—continued for some time. Then she was lifted again by one man on each side of her. They set her down and she wobbled. Gingerly, she shifted her left foot forward an inch, then backward, and realized she’d been set on top of a stool or short stepladder.

She ached to scream that they were sick, and that she had nothing they wanted, and was no threat to them. Why were they doing this to her?

If she wasn’t very careful she’d fall, something she couldn’t afford to do, especially now. If she ever got away again, she’d take great care of herself, and of her baby. She’d follow Jack’s instructions to the letter.

Jack had insisted that it was dangerous for her to walk about the city alone. Why would he be so certain of that? She’d never had problems before.

A sound like a whip snapping through the air captured her entire attention. A hand descended on her right arm. The man held her steady and shifted her feet a little, making her stance more stable. She’d like to ask him why he was bothering, when he obviously intended to make her suffer.

Another hand ran down her back—and rested on her bottom and squeezed.

Her knees began to buckle. Nausea welled into her throat. They could do whatever they wanted to her.

The hand lingered, then was removed.

One hand settled on the back of her neck, another worked something over her head.

A noose.

She was standing on some sort of narrow stool, or short ladder with a bag over her head and a noose around her neck. Her hands were tied. Only her feet were unfettered, but if she made the slightest move in the wrong direction, she’d fall... . She’d fall—and hang.

The noose tightened, and pulled until the back of her neck was forced upward.

Cowards. Filthy cowards. One woman who had been easy to pick off in an alley, and they felt they had to terrify her before they killed her.

When one of her tormenters took each of her nipples between finger and thumb and pinched, she screamed low in her throat and barely managed to right herself.

“Cut it out,” a voice said clearly. “Leave her be.”

Confusion overwhelmed her. She was to be dependent on one crook with a conscience, while a pervert was determined to take advantage of her helplessness.

“Nod or shake your head.” The same voice spoke. “You know a man named Antoine.”

She immediately nodded. The more honest she could appear, the better.

“Very well?”

She shook her head.

“But he worked for your boss—Errol Petrie?”

Celina nodded.

“Good. You’re doing just fine.”

Pressure low on her belly passed downward and between her legs. The silent man cupped her mound. Blackness swirled inside her head. He humiliated and hurt her.

“Let it go,” the other man said. “If you’re horny, we’ll make sure you get something real good before the night’s out. I heard of something juicy. Just be patient.”

A grunt was all the acknowledgment this announcement received.

“Celina. Did Antoine come to you and tell you about something he thought he saw one morning early? On the morning after Errol Petrie was killed.”

She shook her head violently.

“Emphatic. Have you been asked that before?”

She nodded, and tried to steady her stance as much as possible. She detested the notion that these men were looking at her when she couldn’t see them, and that she was utterly vulnerable before them.

“Antoine didn’t tell you about someone he thought he saw at the Royal Street house on the morning after Errol died?” She shook her head again.

“Good, good.”

“But his wife, Rose, she came to see you?”

What was she to do? She shook her head slightly.

“Well, now, that sure is commendable. Loyalty while under fire. Want to try that answer again?”

A hand slid inside her top and rose to fondle her breasts. He undid her bra and used both hands to squeeze and push her breasts together.

“Want to try again, Celina?” the voice asked. “Rose came to see you.”

This time she held absolutely still while the beast she couldn’t see handled her with an intimacy that made her feel faint.

“Did Rose tell you Antoine had seen someone that morning?”

She shook her head. The air was cold on her naked breasts, and she realized the one man had lifted her blouse to give his buddy a view.

Please, God, don’t let them rape her.

“Enough!” the voice said. “Give it up now.”

She was promptly released. Her blouse covered her again.

“Okay, I believe you. But Rose did come to you, and I’m sure she showed you one or two things. Don’t bother to deny it. She had instructions about what she was to do. She came to you with some show-and-tell. But you haven’t told anyone, have you?”

Celina shook her head no.

“Good, good. My buddy here and I are going to have to give this situation some thought. That will take some time. Meanwhile, you just stand real still, Celina. If you do, and if we decide we can afford to let you go, we’ll be back for you. But if you get careless and fall off that step stool, well .. . c’est la vie. Isn’t that what they say?” He fumbled beneath the hood and removed her gag. “Wouldn’t want you choking to death on us. Nο one will hear you anyway.”

Their footsteps retreated.

She swallowed and moistened her chapped lips.

Not a glimmer of light showed through the bag over her head. Her bra had been left undone and rested bunched and uncomfortably taut beneath her breasts. How that kind of man reveled in humiliating people—especially people weaker than himself.

For a long time she heard no sound at all. Then came a sound she wished had stayed away. The scratch and scrabble of rodents. She smelled and felt the dampness. The rodents squealed as they went about their business.

Celina felt the extent of the step with her toes. No bigger than about ten by five inches, and squared off at the edges. Maybe the stepladder was homemade. What if it was weak? What if it broke under her weight .. .

In the distance she heard a clock strike. She couldn’t make out what time it was. Her darkness was utter, her fear overwhelming. Sweat streamed down her body. She braced her feet slightly apart, hoping to steady herself.

Not a single sound in this place. Even the rats had lost interest here and scampered on to more fulfilling real estate.

It was cold, cold as if she was standing in water that turned the air dank and frigid.

She heard water dripping somewhere. There was nothing but the darkness, and the solitary, measured drip. She was tired. She hadn’t known how tired until now when, despite her horror, she wanted to close her eyes.

A dog barked in the distance.

The bellow of a horn on the river quickly faded.

The drip continued.

They might never come back. Maybe she didn’t want them to. But if she remained where she was, eventually she’d have to sleep. Then would come the fall that went on and on. She would never get up again.

Sing. If she sang, she might keep herself awake. “Didn’t he ramble,” she sang. “Didn’t he ramble Didn’t he ramble Didn’t he...Didn’t ...” If she made too much noise, they’d come after her again. She thought of the one who’d handled her, and shuddered so hard, her teeth chattered.

She hummed and hummed. Tuneless humming. When she’d won the Miss Louisiana contest, she’d danced. Tap-danced. She never could sing, but she really loved dancing.

Celina started to move her feet, then remembered, and steadied herself.

Somewhere in the building a door slammed. In the distance. Probably a metal door. It didn’t slam, it clanged. Not that it mattered.

Please don’t let them be coming back here.

Please don’t let that man touch me again.

“Didn’t he ramble Didn’t he ramble. Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm. Didn’t he ramble.” She couldn’t breathe and sing. How could that be? “Didn’t he ra-am-ble. All around the town. Didn’t he, hmm, didn’t he, hmm, didn’t he?” She wanted to scream and scream and scream until someone came.

“Shh, shh.” Quiet, Celina. The only ones likely to come were them, the ones who would hurt her.

The beginning of a cramp hit her right instep. She wiggled her toes. Since she’d been pregnant she’d been susceptible to cramps in her legs. Probably because she wasn’t getting enough calcium. Babies took a lot of calcium for their bones and teeth. Their teeth were in their gums already before they were born. And they had fingernails and toenails really early. She’d read a book about that.

“Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes.”

Drip, drip, drip. Were the walls plaster or metal? Or were they brick? The water might run down the brick in rivulets that switchbacked past uneven spots.

Would the brick be red or that yellow color?

If there was dripping, it must be coming through the roof. A one-story building with holes in the roof.

She must keep thinking, keep awake.

A door smashed shut again. This time a closer door.

“Goin’ back home. Back home to New Orleans. Home, sweet home,” She couldn’t remember more of the words. “Back home...home, sweet home. Go home, go home.” Something about a carnival queen.

The cramp knotted her instep this time. She pressed down on the ball of her foot. Another knot shot out on her calf. It ached to the back of her thigh.

Strength of will could overcome all. Any threat could be ignored.

She sucked in a breath and blew it out, worked her foot, sucked, and blew.

Light-headed. Oh, she couldn’t be light-headed. Light-headed and nauseated. Bile rose in her throat. She swallowed and gagged.

Fuzziness closed in around the edges of her brain. A misty picture at the center, a picture of nothing in particular, but framed with thick fog.

“Stay awake. Stay awake, please. You can’t go to sleep here. You have to wait till you go home. No sleeping. You’re not tired. Oh, no, you’re not tired.”

She forgot what she was saying and brought her lips together. Inside the darkness of the hood, her eyes closed. A quiet place inside her. Curl in and seek the silence. Inside you can be where no one can touch you.

The distant clock chimed again.

Celina sang some more, sang songs she couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. When would they come back for her? “Didn’t he ramble.” Maybe they would just pull the stool away. Maybe that’s what they’d planned from the start. They might try asking her some more questions, but only to give them an excuse to misuse her some more if they decided she was lying.

Drip, drip, drip. What if there were a pipe leaking and the room was filling up with water? Soon she might feel the cold and wet covering her feet. She sniggered. Twice dead, that’s what she’d be. Hanged and drowned. Would she hang first or drown first? Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Kind of like Errol. She might hang before the water went over her head.

Her eyes wouldn’t stay open. Her head ached and didn’t do what she wanted it to do. She couldn’t hold it up anymore.

Her left foot slipped and she jolted upright. “Didn’t he ramble. Didn’t he...Didn’t he...Didn’t ...” Don’t fall asleep.

Just close your eyes. Lock your knees. It’s okay. Lock your knees and close your eyes. There, feels good. My head wants to rest somewhere. My neck hurts.

The cramp struck her calf once more. Celina cried out and lifted her foot. She stamped it down, curled up her toes, stamped again, and missed.

Her shoulders were birds’ wings. Trembling. Ready to fly. Α noose around her neck, like they put a line on a bird’s leg when they train it. The rope tightened. She fell. No way to stop the fall. My baby. She opened her mouth and yelled Help, but no sound came.

Slowly her legs buckled, and then she was on the floor, spread on her belly, her bones hurting, her flesh stinging.

The rope fell about her. She felt it like a long snake killed in midair and left to fall in coils. It hadn’t held, hadn’t hung her. They would be angry.

Consciousness began to slip away.

Laughter.

“Clumsy girl.” The voice of the man who hadn’t touched her. “Clumsy, clumsy girl. Good thing you didn’t have far to fall, hmm? Sit up, please.”

She opened her eyes.

“Sit up, please. Now.”

Celina scrambled to do as she was told.

“How was that? Have fun, did you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He coughed. “I’m askin’ if you liked your peace. Everyone

needs space. Isn’t that what they say? We gave you some space

and quiet. What did you fall off for?”

“Tired,” she mumbled.

“Time for you to go home, then.”

He was teasing her. Torturing her.

“Did you hear what Ι said? Time to go home.”

“Yes, yes, time to go home.”

“How about, yes, thank you?”

Celina said, “Yes, thank you. I thought you were going to—”

“Hang you, maybe? Well, we were practicin’ this time. Here, you can take this as a memento. Look at it anytime you’re tempted to say something you shouldn’t say. To someone who doesn’t have no business knowing.”

A hard object was thrust him her hands, shoved into her ribs.

“You don’t say anything’ about Rose, you got that?”

“Yes,” Celina said, whispering, feeling what he’d given her. “The top step of the ladder. It broke off.”

A high giggle to her right sent shivers over her body. “What?” she asked. “What did you say?’

“You’re holdin’ your ladder, baby. All of it.”

She passed her hands over it again. Anger all but made her throw the piece of wood she held.

“Two inches off the ground,” she was told, “and with a rope around your neck that was just draped over a beam with a little bag of potatoes weighting the end. Not tied to anything. Ain’t that rich?” He laughed, and his companion joined him. They laughed and snorted and coughed.

Celina dropped the wood on the floor.

The hands she hated hauled her to her feet and she was pushed forward. Her legs hurt so she could scarcely walk. Through the building again, lifted over high thresholds.

“You’re sick!” She shook her arms, tried to dislodge them. “You tried to terrify me to death. Sick!”

Their renewed laughter shattered the last morsel of her composure. One of them held her while the other replaced the gag. She sagged, but they held her up between them and half dragged her until she heard the van doors open again. She landed on the hard bed of the vehicle. Once more the floor sagged as one of the men joined her. Then they drove away.

It seemed a long time before they came to a stop. She waited for the second man to join them in the back, but he didn’t. Instead, the man who was with her opened the van, climbed out, and unleashed her ankles. Then he pulled her out.

“Now, you keep quiet, okay? Keep quiet, lean on me, and walk. We’re lovers out for a walk in the rain. Nothing unusual about that. It’s not far. Nod if you understand.”

She nodded

“Good girl. And while we walk, you listen.”

They walked. His shoes clattered on stone. Her softer shoes made little sound. “We’re almost there,” he said. “Now, you’ve been a good girl. And I’m not talking about tonight. This was necessary for a number of reasons. There are people who have to find out we mean business. You’re going to help us make that clear to them.”

She let her head fall forward and hung back. She’d pass out at any second.

He shook her gently. “Almost there. Then you’ll get some sleep. But listen to me. So far you’ve kept quiet about Rose’s visit. And if Antoine said anything to you, you’ve kept quiet about that too. I’d prefer to make certain you won’t ever be tempted to change that, but for now we need you alive.”

For now. They could come for her again. Of course they could.

“So this is what you tell your new friend. The one you’re so close to. You don’t tell him anything about Rose or Antoine. Got that?”

Yet again she nodded.

“Uh-huh. That’s it. That’s the way.”

He pushed her to her knees, gripped the cloth at the back of her neck, and pressed her face into something soft. “What you do tell Jack Charbonnet is that if we get wind of anything that’s against our interests, you’ll die. So will that nice little girl of his.”