"Jack? Jack Blair, is that you?" He walked down the hallway and found the homeless man. "It's me, Landry Drake. From the other night. Do you remember?"
"Bits and pieces," he slurred, backing away on unsteady legs.
"You said then you'd never been in here. It scared you because it tried to lure you inside. Why do you say it’s dangerous?"
"There’s something evil inside. You were in the courtyard, right where they buried the bodies..."
The man's face clouded over and he stared at Landry through bloodshot eyes. "Wonder why I said that? I don't know about any bodies."
"Are you talking about the legend?"
"No tellin’, mister. Those words just came into my head. I drink sometimes, remember? I don't know what I'm talking about."
"You've never been inside, yet you know there are bodies?"
"I heard stories, that's all. You're asking too many questions. I need to rest." He walked across the street and sat on the stoop that was his home. Landry followed and apologized for being pushy.
"I've spent the morning researching this building," he explained. "According to legend, back in 1832 a woman murdered her husband and his mistress by throwing them off the balcony into the courtyard. She ordered a servant to dig a hole by the fountain, and then she buried him alive. It's a fascinating ghost story. Have you heard it?"
"Not in the way you think. Things come into my head, like a movie's playing in there. Sometimes I see a woman dressed in black standing on the balcony, looking at the fountain. That's the same balcony and fountain you're talking about, right?”
"The balcony's gone but I saw the fountain, and I want to find out if there are bodies under the stones."
"Why in hell do you want to do that? Are you nuts?"
"Because it's what I do. I'm an investigator."
"Oh, yeah. It's coming back in bits and pieces, like I said. You're the supernatural guy on TV."
Landry said, "Will you go inside with me? I’m curious to see if you get any unusual vibes."
"Mister, you may have a death wish, but keep it to yourself. Don't start coaxing me like the building sometimes does. Now go away. I need some peace and quiet."
CHAPTER NINE
Jack had no idea of the time. Since the noise from Bourbon Street had died down, it must be the wee hours before dawn.
It puzzled him to find he wasn’t in his box. He stood on a balcony in front of tall, open doors. Expecting to see a pretty girl dressed in white, he looked inside.
What pretty girl? I've never been here before.
Instead of a girl, an older woman in a long black dress was looking out at him. Remembering why he came, he drew back in shock. She lured him here, forcing him to walk deep inside the old building, climb the staircase, and now —
The woman took a menacing step towards him and Jack backed up to the railing, the top half of his body leaning over it as she came closer, smiled and whispered, "You'll die for your sins." She reached to touch him, her outstretched arms and long fingernails just inches from his face.
When he went over the rail, his jacket snagged on a jagged piece of metal, slowing his fall. The copious amount of alcohol in his body gave him a sense of calmness instead of panic. He grabbed the bottom of the railing and fell into the dirt below.
Jack ran. He pushed through the gate, stumbled into the street and headed for the corner. For once, he needed light and people instead of the darkness and solitude that were his friends. Until now nothing scared him, but now something in there was eerie as hell.
He reached Bourbon Street and careened straight into a throng of rowdy revelers. One drunk kid pointed and said, "Look guys, a bum. You look like you've seen a ghost, buddy! Here. You need this more than I do.” He handed Jack a to-go cup half-full of something. Jack didn’t care what it held. He just knew he needed it, and he took a deep swig.
As bourbon and Coke swept through his body, he wondered if the kid was right. Maybe that woman was a ghost.
I’m never going in there again. I’ll take rain and wind any night over what happened in that courtyard.
He crawled back into his sleeping bag, slept a little and awoke with the dawn, wondering if it actually happened. He remembered snagging his jacket on the railing, and he examined it to find out if his bizarre dream was real.
There was a jagged rip in his coat.
It had happened. This wasn’t a dream. It was real.
CHAPTER TEN
Instead of feeling relaxed and refreshed after her trip to New Orleans, Tiffany returned to Los Angeles with a deep sense of foreboding. There had been no dreams as such since she returned; her nights were different now. Although scary, the dreams weren’t real. Even knowing they happened in New Orleans, it was still like reading fiction. Now when she slept, what she experienced was vastly different — and real.
Ever since she returned, she'd been having flashbacks. Memories. Actual memories, but impossible ones. Long-ago memories of a place she’d never seen until last week.
Most memories relate to pleasant things or bad ones, milestones or insignificant moments. Unlike a dream, a memory is almost tangible — a life event that happened. And now, instead of having nightmares about a building, Tiffany's mind played back memories about things that couldn't have happened.
Until this week, Tiffany had never been to Louisiana, much less New Orleans. That night on the ghost tour marked the first time she had ever laid
