Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller (7 page)

“This is as close to Bourbon
Street as I can take you; vehicles aren't permitted. It’s just over there.”
Alberto points to the junction ahead, a mass of humanity under its spell. “The
bar here has a more relaxed vibe than the rest of the quarter. Tell them
Alberto sent you; they'll look after you.” Jeff pays the fare whilst Alberto
imparts more words of wisdom. “It’s going dark and it’s a full moon, people go
loco. Be careful and look after her.”

“I will.”

Stepping out onto the
pavement Jeff waves farewell; he’s about to close the door when Alberto calls
to him.

“Remember the city is best
viewed under a French Quarter streetlamp.”

“So I've heard, thank you.”

“
Au'voir
.”

The door slams shut and
Alberto drives away. Edouard’s restaurant stands just a few steps away. In 1886
Edouard Cheval forged his culinary career with a simple boarding
house-cum-restaurant. Today his descendants continue to serve traditional, home
produced French food. From the sidewalk, first impressions promise fine dining
and cuisine. They walk past two foliage-laden pedestals flanking the white
steps and gold rails leading up to the restaurant. The blue and gold lined
canopy proudly displays Edouard’s legacy; the glass paneled oak doors invite
them in.

The host greets them with a
smile, and seats them with a table for two in a comfortably secluded location.
The discreet, laid-back jazz quartet adds flavor and ambiance to the evening.
On the waiter's recommendation, they both choose French Louisiana oysters, with
Edouard’s original Liberty sauce for the appetizer; the sauce is a closely
guarded family recipe. Edouard created the sauce in 1886 in dedication to the
Statue of Liberty; it was a gift from the people of France to the United
States, and the sauce is Edouard’s gift.

“That was nice”

“It was; would you like a
top up?”

“Please.”

Jeff reaches for the bottle
and pours the wine; the waiter discreetly removes the plates. Eve’s eyes sparkle
in the candlelight, capturing his soul. She’s always had such beautiful eyes;
people often comment on them. Yet for Eve, in this perfect romantic setting;
opposite the man she loves and walked away from, there’s one burning question.
Will she have to walk away again?

“Jeff.”

“Yes?”

“Do you miss your family?”
She can feel the rush of adrenalin, and the flush of heat in her face; she’s
confronting him.

“Family?” Jeff knows his
future with Eve depends on his answer. “You mean wife?”

“I guess so.”

“No.” There’s no hesitation
in his answer, and looks her square in the eye. “Not at all.”

“Why not?”

“Truth?”

“Please.” Eve knows what she
needs to hear.

“I still love you.”

“You said that before and
you didn’t leave her.” Her guard’s down; she loves him, but she needs the
truth. “I’m worth more than that.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It was a
mistake.” Jeff sighs. He has to open up; it’s not always easy for him. “I was
torn. It’s not straight forward with children involved. I hurt every single
day; I just wanted to be with you. But when you kiss a child goodnight, and
tell them that you love them, you’re a hypocrite. How do you love them when you
betray them, and your family, because you love another woman?”

“I didn’t think of it in
those terms; I just presumed you didn’t love me.”

“I do. I always have. When
you left I looked everywhere for you. I had no forwarding address and no one
knew where you were. You simply cut me out and disappeared. I tried to bury
myself in work, but in the end I resented my family for making me give you up.
My wife knew something was wrong; I was distant, my spark was gone. And along
with it, so were you.”

“Does she know about me?”

“What’s the point of hurting
someone even further? She lost me; the least I can do, not for her, but for my
daughters, is to be kind.”

“You’re a good man Jeff.”

Eve’s hand reaches forward;
it feels good to have a bond as their fingers touch. The waiter has impeccable
timing, and for now, they have to be content with a quick squeeze of hands, one
that says 'later'. The roast tenderloin of beef for two has arrived, served
with Edouard’s sauce, and special fried potatoes. The food is faultless, the
mood perfect.

The meal done, Jeff raises
his glass in toast to the chef, yet as he raises his glass he freezes. Seated
behind Eve is Casey, raising his glass; smiling directly at Jeff. Someone walks
past and he’s gone. Eve quickly looks around, to see who’s captured Jeff’s
attention, but there’s only an empty table.

“Are you alright?” Jeff
looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Eve’s not
convinced. “You turned white.”

“I think I just need some
fresh air.” Jeff can’t think straight. “That’s all.”

“It’s a bit stuffy in here,
shall we?”

“Yeah.” Jeff’s enthusiasm
covers his confusion. “Let’s hit the strip.”

Jeff calls for the check.
Before walking out he looks back one last time; fearing that Casey's apparition
may follow them. Stepping outside, the air is cool. Its bite helps shake off
his experience. His irrational thoughts are left behind at the restaurant.

Along the neon-lit
sidewalks, half hidden in the shadows, are many unfortunate ragged souls who
keep Jeff on guard. Eve’s oblivious, and fascinated. The sidewalk is one
throbbing mass of people, dressed in all manner of bling and attire. Girls in
short skirts struggle with high heels on the uneven surface; jubilant faces
reflect the neon lights surrounding them. All walks of life have come here to
let their hair down; the drinks and party spill out onto the street along with
the smell of great food. This carnival of sights and sounds surrounds historic
restaurants, jazz joints, upscale lounges and more: at every turn, gentlemen's
clubs have strippers at the doors trying to entice them in.

“I’m sorry, Eve.” Jeff loves
the sights, but he’s no fool. “I didn’t realize it would be so raucous.”

“Don’t worry.” The seedier
side of life fascinates Eve. “Anyway, it’s interesting to watch.”

“Really?” Jeff sounds too
enthusiastic for Eve’s liking. “Don’t get your hopes up! We’re not going in.”

“I wouldn’t want us to.”
Jeff senses that he’s walking on eggshells.

“Of course you wouldn’t.
Come on, let’s go back to the motel.”

The party never ends on
Bourbon Street. Yet the enticement of music, clubs, food and people-watching is
no match for love. Both Jeff and Eve have waited all night, longed to be in
this moment, back at the Pink Lady Hotel. In this room, on this bed, and alone,
shielded from humanity. To hold, love and touch each other once again. Jeff’s
lips gently touch Eve’s neck as she whispers, “I want you.”

The gentle caress of his
tongue stirs violent passions. His breath invokes powers that makes oceans
tremble and autumn leaves blush. Eve gasps at the touch of his fingers sliding
with a gentle sensual weave through hair, enjoys the sweetness of his hard
lips. His tongue slips through hers with a wanton thirst. With each touch of
skin on skin, with each kiss, they savor desire, before it inevitably
overpowers them. Eve’s legs quiver; her nipples stand proud.

“Devour me.”

She whispers; fingers trace.
She feels heat against her, aching to be touched. Taking his hand she draws him
to her. Fingers slide across flesh, yearning, unfolding anticipation. Silky
lace, moist with the heat of desire. Hearts beat faster. Wild breaths, frantic
passionate deep kisses. The spring beneath Jeff's fingers flows into rivers and
lakes. Eve arches; his hand plunges into pure soft want. Tears rise from his
back, a whip
driving him harder. Countless breaths; the
heat of fire. Fists clench, inner flesh surges: every drop spills. Release. Eve
feels the pulse of love beat inside her.

“I love you.”

The freshness of
the morning breeze, along with the sweetness of New Orleans, slowly begins to
sour, becomes choking. Jazz turns to ghetto beats, with side street hustlers,
pimps, hookers, motherfuckers with blank stares. Grass pushes through scarred
pavements; graffiti silently screams.

“You can feel the despair,
can’t you?”

“Yeah.” Jeff’s always been a
humanitarian; sadly, he states, “These people wake up every morning on the
wrong side of democracy.”

“It’s inexcusable.” Eve
looks out of the window, scorning the world. “It’s wrong.”

“It keeps you in work.”

“Me?” Taken aback by this
suggestion, she states, “I’d rather have empty prisons than society feeding me
desperate individuals.”

“They’ve always been
bastards.”

“Who?”

“The elite.”

“Oh them.” Eve sighs.
“Aren’t they always?”

“Yeah.” Jeff pauses for a
moment’s reflection. “Would you believe this all started back in 1663?”
 

“I always loved that about
you.”

“What?”

“You’re a lecturer.” Eve
sarcastically flutters her eyelashes towards him, smiling a sweet smile.

“Do you want to hear this?”
His serious tone of voice cracks, and he smiles; Eve’s playful nature wins him
over.

“Go on.” Pleased with
herself, she settles in to yet another of his talks.

“It was the year that divide
and rule took its first breath. Before then it was commonplace for black and
white children to be seen running through and playing in the tobacco fields
together.”

“Really?”

“A historical fact. It
wasn’t only Africans but white Europeans, the Irish, who were enslaved by the
English, and then transported here.”

“I didn’t know.”

“History is hidden by the
ideology of the day.” Jeff decides to keep this simple; he doesn’t wish to bore
Eve. “The divide started in Gloucester County, Virginia. A secret meeting took
place between black and white slaves. They were angry with the harsh working
conditions they were forced to endure, and devised a plan. They were heard
beating a drum, as they marched up to the plantation mansion, carrying
makeshift weapons.”

“What happened?”

“The revolt was put down.
But as brothers-in-arms they had bonded; together they became a powerful threat
to the establishment. After the uprising, landowners bred racial contempt,
giving whites privileges and denying them for blacks. Racism was encouraged,
and used, to separate, divide and control the slaves.”

“Their anger was diverted
away from the landowners.” Eve’s appalled. “And towards each other.”

“It was the perfect
solution.”

“But look at the damage
they’ve done.”

“I didn’t say it was right.
You should know that in all probability, it was a cold, calculating individual,
with a grandiose sense of self-worth, instigating the ideology.” Jeff pauses
choosing his words carefully. “Combine this with a lack of remorse, or empathy
for his fellow human beings, and what are we left with?”

“A psychopath.”

“Exactly.”

Jeff’s pleased that he’s
give Eve food for thought. Even after all the years that have passed since
that
 
day back in Gloucester County, Jeff
can still feel the tension that was created back then as they drive through a
black neighborhood.

“Do you know where we’re
going?”

“I’m not lost, if that’s
what you mean.”

“I wouldn’t dare suggest
such a thing.” Eve knows no man admits to being off-course. “I was merely
asking.”

Jeff has a feeling of
familiarity driving through the streets. Although he’s never stepped foot in
New Orleans before, it has the intimacy of home. Instinctively he turns left,
and the street name confirms that his intuition is correct. Before him is a
reality that shakes his convictions. The old wooden townhouse he saw in his
dream, painted in the Italianate palette of browns, greys and blues, stands
before him. As with all the other houses on the block, it's decaying just like
autumn leaves.

“You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Eve’s concerned;
Jeff doesn’t look well.

“What did I just say?” Even
as the words roll off his tongue, he feels guilt for his attitude.

“I was only asking.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighs. “I didn’t
mean to be snappy.”

“Don’t worry.” There’s
something wrong, she knows, but for now she’ll ignore it. “Which house is it?”

“This one.”

A young boy around the age
of nine, dressed in blue jeans, an over-sized black t-shirt, and a baseball cap
sits tapping the back of his shoes on the brick wall, watching as the white
folks step out onto the sidewalk. Jeff’s concerned about the rented car, and
for peace of mind decides to approach the child. The boy realizes with interest
that Jeff’s walking towards him, and slips off the wall.

“Hi. Would you like to earn
five dollars?”

“Maybe.” This boy’s earned
the right to be wary of strangers.

“Would you watch my car?”

“You gonna be long?”

“We shouldn’t be.” Jeff
senses mistrust. “We’ll be in that house.”

“Aimee’s.”

“You know her?”

“Yeah.” The boys guard
drops. “She’s a nice lady.”

“Okay. Any problems and
you’ll come and get me?”

“Sure.”

The small path leads up to
the house, and the old timber steps strain underfoot. Jeff’s already seen this
before in his dream, except he stood alone. Reaching out he pulls the door
knocker back, rapping three times; it’s an old door, but the thud is solid.

“Do you think she’s in?”

“Who knows? It would have
been easier if the phone line wasn’t still down.”

Jeff reaches out to knock again,
but hears movement behind the door. The bolt is drawn back and the rattle of a
chain precedes the door opening. A specter steps out, a specter with white
curly hair, a black shawl and gold rimmed spectacles, the look of Casey and
that all-knowing smile. Jeff’s speechless, unable to find any words. Realizing
something’s wrong, Eve takes the helm.

“Hi, we’re sorry to trouble
you. Mrs. Jones?”

“Yes.” Her voice holds the
lilt of New Orleans.

“Casey’s mom?”

“Casey. Oh I’m sorry, he’s
not here.”

“We understand that, Mrs.
Jones. It’s you we’d like to speak to.”

“Are you the cops?” Her
voice is guarded now, suspicious.

“No. We’re acting on behalf
of Casey. I’m his psychiatrist. We would like to ask you a few questions
regarding his gift.”

“I see. Can you help him?”

“I hope so.”

“Then you’d best come in,
but please, your identification first.”

“Of course.”

Once satisfied that Jeff and
Eve are who they claim to be, Mrs. Jones turns around and walks back into the
house, beckoning them to follow Eve turns to Jeff and whispers.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

Inside they are greeted with
a humble yet immaculately clean living room. The walls have a soothing floral
pattern, and the black cast iron fireplace proudly takes center stage. A
polished French dresser sits on the wood-stained floor, holding freshly cut
flowers beside photographs of people, and memories. A large wooden engraved
cross hangs on the wall, beside a framed photograph of Casey. He smiles in the
picture, watching over the proceedings, the ghost of a lost and loving son.

“Would you like a drink?”

“We had one just half an
hour ago.” Eve’s first impression is that Aimee is friendly. “But thank you for
offering.”

“Please sit down.”

They sit on the sofa. Jeff
looks around; the room is nothing like that of his dream. But he's sitting
opposite his premonition come to life.

“Mrs. Jones.” She looks to
Jeff; he sees Casey in her eyes. “My name is Dr. Davies and this is my
colleague Dr. Brown. But please call us Jeff and Eve.”

“I’m Aimee.”

“Aimee. That’s a pretty
name.” Eve says.

“Thank you.”

Jeff realizes it would be
wise for him to simply relax and let Eve, being a psychiatrist and a woman, do
the talking.

“I know it must be difficult
for you to discuss Casey with us, Aimee, but we do have his best interests at
heart.”

“I sense that you do.” Aimee
nods her head firmly.

I presume you’re aware of
Casey’s incarceration, and his defense in court?”

“Of course.” Aimee finds
this question patronizing. “I’m his mother.”

“Then you understand just
how unique he is?”

“I do.” Aimee smiles to
herself; they mean no harm.

“His defense rests solely on
his psychic gifts.”

“It does.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Yes.” Aimee looks at them
both. “But I can see that you don’t.”

“We do.” Eve tries her best
to look convincing. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

“Then how do you prove a
knowing in a court of law?”

“With evidence.” In her
mind, Eve’s willing Aimee to open up.

“Hmm. Where would you like
me to start?”

“From the beginning.” Jeff’s
relieved. Eve’s got her talking. “When did you realize Casey was special?”

“My mother- his grandma -
was psychic. I remember the day as if it were yesterday; it was Thanksgiving
and the house was full. Uncle Lavelle and Aunt Chika, even Father Ulysses
stopped by. I’m the last in the family line, apart from Casey.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. They’re all
in God’s hands now. We had dinner; my mother made the most wonderful cornbread
dressing you’ve ever tasted, and mama’s apple pie, well, they always wanted
second and third helpings. Later on Uncle Lavelle played his guitar, while we
sat outside on the porch. Mama called it the Devil’s music; must’ve sold his
soul to play so well. I remember the steps being hot to the touch and warm to
sit on. Street was quiet, most folks still inside with their families. She
turned to me and said,

'Aimee.'

'Yes Mama.'

'Casey’s one very special
little boy.'

'He is, and he’s all mine.'

'I know, honey, but he’s
more than special; he’s a gifted child.'

'A gifted child? What are
you trying to tell me?'

'Don’t be afraid dear, he
was born with a gift, and sees what others can’t.'

'Like you, Mama?'

'Yes, honey, just like me.'

“She went on to tell me
about a chat they’d had together. He’d asked her about events, friends and
family, questioned our history and the past. She told me I had to guide him,
and that he must never doubt himself or fear his abilities.”

“Can you give us any
examples of his gifts?”

“He woke one morning with
tears in his eyes, he came to me with his head bowed, clasping his hands out in
front of him. I said 'whatever’s up, baby'? He said 'I’m sorry Mom. Grandma’s
gone to heaven'. I ran all the way to her house. I found her on the porch. I
can still see her sitting motionless in that rocking chair; I moved a strand of
hair that had fallen onto her face and tucked it behind her ear. She must have
known it was time; she was holding a small crucifix with the chain wrapped
around her hand. It’s the one I wear around my neck. A gift, you see, can also
be a curse.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,
Aimee.” Eve has a puzzled expression, then asks, “But how did Casey know?”

“He said she came to him as
he slept, and told him not to worry, she was with God now. He said she looked
like an Angel, and she left a message for me.”

“What did she say?”

“'Faith is the light in your
heart and not the darkness that surrounds you'. Her words have kept me going
all these years.”

“Beautiful words.”

 
“What have we without faith? Casey foresaw,
births, marriages, situations and deaths. It’s not the dying that people fear;
it’s what’s on the other side.”

“Death might be one of our
greatest blessings.” Eve murmured.

“Are you a religious woman,
Eve?”

“I want to believe.”

“You will. Part of the truth
you seek is here. I knew you would be coming today.”

“You knew we were coming?”

“Yes. Please follow me; I
have something to show you.”

Aimee leads them into the
hallway and to a cellar door beneath the stairs.