The night was thick. A damp haze wafted aimlessly through the air coating the windows of the lone car in the lot with fog. Deja stifled a yawn and cranked up her music; the warring bass and high hat thrummed in her chest and kept her mostly awake.
She didn’t expect much out of MSY this late at night. All the other rideshare cars around her had already pulled off, shuttling the passengers that preferred them over a taxi off to their destinations. At this point, she could either wait in hopes of catching an employee ending a late airport shift or just chalk it up to the game and head home.
She grabbed her main phone and shot off a text. Her secondary phone — only for ride share work — glowed dully from its holster mounted on the windshield at eye-level and plugged to the cigarette lighter to sustain the draining battery.
The main phone pinged.
The other stayed silent.
What?
Deja rolled her eyes. Kiki always copped an attitude at the end of her shift at the hospital. Deja knew better than to take it personally.
Bout to head back from the airport. Drinks? She texted back and rubbed her eyes.
One airport trip would’ve put her over her goal for the day but whatever. She was exhausted, it was well after midnight, and there was no point in idling in the parking lot waiting for—
Her secondary phone beeped.
A passenger.
Shit, never mind then.
She accepted the ride — a simple trip from the airport to somewhere in the French Quarter. A hitch in her plans with Kiki but not a complete bust.
Picking up. Meet on Frenchmen in 40?
Imma fight u. Whatever see u in 40 ugly
Deja snorted out a laugh. She shifted her car into gear, backed out of the parking spot, and whipped around to Arrivals. A lone figure stood beneath the harsh white lights, a pale young woman. Dark hair oozed over her shoulders in limp strands and the bag slung cross her body bore the telltale initials of a designer as expensive as they were exclusive. She lifted a hand, the enormous red gem set in her ring catching in the overhead lights.
OK, moneybags.
“Jessica?” Deja said as the woman slipped into the backseat of her car.
The woman squinted at the car’s interior, nose upturned in disgust. “Yes.”
“Going to the French Quarter?” The app marked the destination clearly on the map but Deja got higher ratings when she asked anyway. It gave off a friendly vibe and left a good enough impression to slide the tips up a dollar or so.
“Yes.” Jessica slammed the door.
The smell of mustiness and mothballs wafted through the car. Deja fought to control her face; she always struggled with her expressions — they spoke first and they spoke loudly.
She prayed the smell wouldn’t linger in the upholstery. Still, she discreetly cracked open her windows and sunroof as she eased onto I-10 and headed toward the Quarter.
“So, this your first time in New Orleans?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Deja bit her lip to contain her frown. This rider was already testing her patience. “Welcome back, then.”
“Indeed. I’ve been away from home for far too long.”
Deja glanced into her rearview mirror, ready to commiserate with a fellow hometown girl. A chill raced down her spine and she cut her eyes back to the road.
The woman’s gaze burned; the intense blue eyes blazed in the darkness.
Deja’s hands clenched on the steering wheel. She wasn’t usually so easily spooked but that brief glance had left her heart racing in her chest.
“What’s wrong, girl?” Jessica cooed, her voice drifting from the backseat like a whisper. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No, it’s not—” She slammed on the brakes, jerking the car to an abrupt stop behind another who decided they needed to be in her lane at that exact moment. Instinct took over. “You good?”
Their gazes met in the mirror. Brown eyes stared back at Deja, wide with fear and bright with tears.
“Where — where am I?”
Deja whipped the car over to the shoulder and spun to face her passenger. The blue eyes that had scared her so suddenly were gone. Jessica’s eyes were brown, deep brown, nowhere near the vicinity of blue.
Had it been a trick of the light?
“What’s happening? Where am I?” The woman’s entire demeanor seemed changed. She pressed herself back into the seat, fingers digging into the dark leather.
Deja frowned. This was about to be some wild shit, and she hated being dragged into wild shit. She keyed in Kiki’s number, hit speaker, and turned the volume down on the phone. If something popped off, Kiki would hear and Kiki would know exactly what happened to her best friend.
She took a deep breath and prepared herself for wherever this was about to go. She turned in her seat, forced her face into a gentle smile. “You good, baby? I pulled over on I-10 right after the Carrollton exit —” She said that part for Kiki to hear. “— in case you need to throw up or something.”
Deja prayed all she needed to do was throw up.
“Where am I? Who are you? What’s going on?”
“You’re in New Orleans. I picked you up at the airport and I’m driving you to the French Quarter.”
“That woman —” Jessica’s face went white, the dark bruises under her eyes suddenly stark against too pale skin. “That woman —” She threw herself forward, clutching Deja’s hands. “You have to help me. That woman —”
“Whoa,” Deja screamed and pulled away.
Jessica was too close now, her fingers cold as ice. The enormous ruby on her ring caught the light, glinting brightly. Her grip changed, tightened enough to grind Deja’s bones together as the woman jerked her across the car.
“I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do, girl.” Jessica spat “girl” like it was filth on her tongue. “You’re gonna get back in that seat, get back on that road, and drive me where I told you to. You understand?”
“I ain’t gotta do nothing and you can get outta my f—” Deja yelped as the woman squeezed her hand harder and something threatened to pop. She jerked her arm back but couldn’t pull free.
How was this lady so strong?
“How many eyes you think you need to drive this thing, girl?” Metal glinted in Jessica’s other hand as she brought the knife up and dragged it along Deja’s cheek. “One or two?”
Deja froze.
Jessica pressed the flat of the blade against Deja’s face. “Drive me to where I said, girl. You understand me?”
“Yes,” Deja hissed.
“Yes, madame. Say it.”
Deja felt the blade bite into her skin, the wetness of blood. They were just words. Words wouldn’t kill her, though whatever this was just might.
“Yes, madame.” She prided herself on not choking as she said it.
Jessica shoved her away and Deja crashed into the console. The woman’s eyes glowed blue again, her wide smile a bearing of teeth.
“Drive.”
The steamboat Natchez disappears into the fog on the Mississippi River.
A knife the length of her forearm pressed against Deja’s spine as the now blue-eyed passenger dragged her along the dim streets. They’d abandoned the car in front of somebody’s driveway, but who could care about a ticket or a tow when someone threatened to show you just how far your entrails stretched.
What a night.
Deja had never wished to stumble across a crowd of drunk tourists so badly. But this deep into the French Quarter was quiet and dark and far from the bars and revelers clogging up Bourbon Street.
“Keep moving, girl.” Jessica shoved the knife against Deja’s back, hard enough to break skin, to draw blood.
Deja clenched her jaw, felt her back teeth grind together. She breathed deeply. The stink of mothballs and unwashed bodies still hovered around them. Her stomach turned and she swallowed the bile that threatened to choke her.
“Stop,” Jessica said. “Here it is.” She wrapped long fingers around Deja’s arm and dragged her to the corner. “I’ve come home.”
Pale stone walls jutted out along the sidewalk and iron posts held up an impressive balcony that circled the building.
1140 Royal Street, Lalaurie House
Deja knew exactly what dead woman kept threatening to gut her.
“This isn’t what I built,” Madame LaLaurie murmured from the body she rode, “but we’ll make due.” She grinned at Deja, that same ugly bearing of teeth that held nothing but threat. “All right, girl, now you’re going to—“
“Hey,” someone shouted.
They turned and there was Kiki sprinting directly toward them out of the dark, an open bottle in one hand and a branch with thin green leaves in the other.
She flung her arm forward, dousing LaLaurie in liquid. Deja smelled the sharp flower and herb scent of Florida water with the bite of something else. Was that rum?
Whatever it was, LaLaurie screeched as soon as it touched her. Kiki swung the branch, hitting Jessica around the shoulders and head. The screaming rose in pitch, so high it rattled Deja’s eardrums. The air around them felt heavy, like the dark of the night would drag them all down.
Then silence.
Jessica and Kiki stood across from each other panting.
“What—” Jessica took a shuddering breath and staggered, her eyes dark brown again. “What did you do?”
Kiki sucked her teeth. “What did I do? Girl, what did YOU do? You the one who was possessed.”
“I don’t know — I could hear and I could see but it was like someone else was moving my body.”
“Girl, I said you was possessed.” Kiki flung the leaves at her again. “You don’t listen. That means there was a spirit on you.”
“Is there a—” Deja stepped in quickly to pull the long dagger out of the woman’s hand. “—a hotel we can drop you off at or something?”
She lifted a hand to her head. “I—” The ruby on her finger glinted blood red in the light.
Deja’s eyes widened. The ring—
Jessica’s hand shot forward, wrapping around Kiki’s throat as both women tumbled to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Deja yelled, grabbing at Jessica’s shoulder.
“I don’t know! I can’t—” The other woman’s body shifted and tried to pull away, but her hand wouldn’t let go. “It’s not me!”
Kiki’s mouth opened in a soundless scream, her hands smacking at Jessica’s arm desperately, her face red and straining.
Deja tugged at Jessica’s wrist. “Let go! You’re killing her!”
“I’m trying! I’m trying! It’s not me!”
Kiki’s strikes slowed, each hit getting weaker and weaker.
“Let go! She can’t breathe, you’re killing—”
“I can’t! It’s not me! My hand won’t—”
Deja’s throat felt raw with her screams but—
“—let go. My hand won’t let her go. It’s not me!”
—Kiki’s eyes were getting glassy and she had to do something—
“I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do, I can’t let go!”
—or just sit here and watch her best friend die in front of her.
"She lifted a hand, the enormous red gem set in her ring catching in the overhead lights."
The ruby caught the light, glinting there on the ring finger of the hand wrapped around Kiki’s neck.
Deja felt the weight of the dagger in her hand as a cold clarity overcame her.
She knew what she had to do.
She threw herself down, trapping Jessica’s arm between her body and Kiki’s, hissed “Don’t move,” and cut. The knife slid through flesh and bone and muscle like nothing. The severed finger rolled against Kiki’s chin. Jessica’s hand went slack, blood spurting out of the knuckle. Kiki choked, gasping in great gulps of air.
Deja scrambled for the ring. As soon as her fingers wrapped around the bauble, it felt as if something was trying to burrow into her skin. She fought the urge to drop it immediately, the desire to slip it on for just a moment wasn’t it so beautiful wouldn’t it look lovely on her hand if she just—
She dropped it through a sewage grate and tossed the dagger in after it. Her head cleared and she breathed what felt like her first breath all night.
“Baby, we need to call you an ambulance,” Kiki said behind her.
“Uh, my insurance won’t cover that.” Jessica said, her voice shaky with shock and pain. “I’ll call a car. Oh—”
Deja spun, ready to fight whatever fresh hell made itself known tonight.
Jessica held up her phone. “Looks like our ride is still going. Think you can drop me?”
Deja closed her eyes, remembered everything this woman had put her through since she picked her up at the airport.
And thought about the price racking up on this trip.
“Girl, come on,” she said, helping Kiki get Jessica to her feet, “let’s go.”
Brittany N. Williams is a New Orleans-based writer and actor. You can find more of her work at brittanynwilliams.com.
"story" - Google News
October 26, 2020 at 11:00PM
https://ift.tt/3e0IpUc
Rentre: A story of possession | The Latest | Gambit Weekly | nola.com - NOLA.com
"story" - Google News
https://ift.tt/2YrOfIK
https://ift.tt/2xwebYA
Bagikan Berita Ini
0 Response to "Rentre: A story of possession | The Latest | Gambit Weekly | nola.com - NOLA.com"
Post a Comment