On a street corner, she encountered a guy dressed like Baron Samedi, the voodoo master of the dead, with a skull face and top hat. He blew a puff of chalky powder at the crowd, making everybody more ghostlike. All around her, people were laughing and waving, drinking and dancing. New Orleans took every opportunity to party—from Mardi Gras to funeral processions to Día de los Muertos.
Dodging around a dour threesome in skull masks, she joined a group of zombie belly dancers with tambourines. A four-member band played “When the Saints Go Marching In,” and she sang with loud enthusiasm that was hugely out of character. She danced along a street where the storefronts were mostly voodoo shops. The fortune tellers stood outside, enticing tourists with offers of special deals. For a small fee, the bereaved could have a conversation with loved ones who had crossed over. Instead of dismissing the voodoo promises as illogical and absurd, Alyssa imagined how wonderful it would be to talk to Mom one more time.
A loud, raucous laugh cut through the music. Alyssa knew that sound. A shiver prickled between her shoulder blades, as quick and creepy as a spider running across her back. She peered toward the fortune tellers on the sidewalk. Amid the crowd, she saw a woman who looked like her mother. She stood in a doorway, laughing with her head thrown back and her long silver hair rising in a cloud of curls around her head.
Could it be? Her mom couldn’t be the voice on the phone. Alyssa would have recognized her. And she was dead, very dead—Alyssa had identified the remains. She caught another glimpse. The silver-haired woman looked so much like her mom. Could she be a ghost?
Alyssa broke away from the parade and ran toward the place where she’d seen the woman. A trombone player got in her way, and then a high-kicking can-can dancer. The music shifted to a minor key as a feeling of dread swelled in her chest and spread through her body. The shop where the woman had been standing was closed, and the door was locked.
Frantically, Alyssa asked if anyone had seen her. Nobody knew anything. Nor did they care. Laissez les bon temps rouler—let the good times roll.
But Alyssa couldn’t let go. The woman’s resemblance to her mom was too uncanny to ignore. Operating on instinct, she darted through an alley and came out on a street where there weren’t as many people. She crossed at the stoplight and entered a park with a large brick patio and bronze statues of jazz legends. Pacing back and forth, she scanned in all directions.
At the edge of a grassy area lined with fat palm trees she saw the three men in matching skeleton masks who had been at the parade. She’d noticed their cold, serious attitude. Why were they here? Had they followed her?
The tallest asked, “Do you need help?”
“I’m looking for a woman. She has curly silver hair.”
“Oh yeah, we saw her. Come with us.”
The three of them surrounded her. She was trapped and beginning to be scared. “Forget about it. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
He edged closer. “You’re coming with us.”
For the three years that she’d been in the witness protection program, she’d lived in fear of this moment. The dangerous criminals she’d testified against wanted to take revenge, and she figured that it was only a matter of time before they found her. She pivoted on her heel, tried to run.
The leader grabbed her arm and yanked. The other two closed in. One of them slapped a cloth over her mouth to keep her from calling for help. She couldn’t breathe. A sickly-sweet antiseptic smell penetrated her nostrils. She heard the men in skeleton masks laughing, telling witnesses that she’d had too much to drink and they’d make sure she got home.
She struggled, kicked at their legs and lashed out with her arms. She clawed at one of the skeleton masks, and it came off in her hands. She found herself staring into flat, dark eyes above a sneering mouth and hatchet jaw. A cruel face—this man would show no mercy.
Her vision blurred. She was losing her grip on consciousness.
In half-awake glimpses, she saw another man come closer and shove one of the skeletons. It was her pirate. He demanded they release her. She tried to warn him that these were violent men, but her throat closed. She couldn’t make a sound. The pirate attacked the others. She thought he had a stun gun but really couldn’t tell.
When the skeleton let go of her arm, she fell onto the grass and desperately crawled. Her head was spinning. Her body was numb. She had to escape. One of the skeletons kicked her. She barely felt the pain.
Alyssa staggered to her feet, concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Her legs were rubber bands, incapable of supporting her. She fell again.
The next thing she knew, she’d been flung over someone’s shoulder and was being carried. She attempted to wriggle free but couldn’t move. Her last reserve of strength drained from her, and she went limp. She was caught. They had her. She hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much when they killed her.
She was dumped into a car seat. Someone reached across to fasten her seat belt. Forcing her eyes open, she saw the dashing pirate. He had come to her rescue. Merci, Captain Fournier.
Copyright © 2020 by Kay Bergstrom
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