Landry had observed her from the moment she joined them at the coffee shop. She was emotional, sometimes on the verge of tears, and often her words flowed in an unintelligible torrent. She vacillated between fear, distress, confusion and anger.
He appreciated her frustration. If she was telling the truth, something disturbing was happening inside her mind. On her first trip to New Orleans she discovered a building she’d dreamed about for years. She went home and saw flashbacks of someone else’s life long ago. Then she returned with no idea why.
They talked for an hour, and Landry offered to buy her lunch and drop her at the airport later that afternoon. He wanted more time to dig into her interesting story, and with no place else to go anyway, she agreed.
As they walked down Royal toward the restaurant, he asked if she minded taking a stroll down Toulouse Street before lunch.
“The street from my dreams,” she said with a little shudder. “I’ll go but tell me why.”
“It’s the reason you came back. Nothing else makes sense. You board a plane in a trance, you arrive at a place you’ve visited only once, and your only tie to New Orleans is the building. The dreams have changed now, but the scenery, the people in period costume and the horse-drawn carriages — it sounds like everything’s happening here in the French Quarter. Does that make sense?”
“Make sense? That’s a poor choice of words for my situation,” she said with a rueful smile. “Nothing makes sense, but you could be right.” In her nocturnal strolls — the ones her brain called memories — she didn’t recognize where she was. Last night things changed. Just before she woke up on the plane, she had stood in front of the LaPiere building.
As they approached, she said, “Oh God, that’s it. On the ghost tour it was too dark to see much, but now I recognize it. The buildings on this block are different because...you know, because we’re seeing them today. These buildings are really, really old. I recognize them because the girl from my memories walks along this street every day. These same buildings were here then, whenever then was.”
“If you’ll let me, I’d like to help you find out when then was.”
She beamed with delight. “Really? You’re interested in my story?”
Landry sighed. Now that his shows were so successful, people sometimes mistook his words of encouragement. “I’m willing to help you. There’s something odd about this building. It’s too early to speculate about what’s going on, but now let’s work on trying to solve your problem.”
As they came closer, she grabbed his hand. A thought of Cate flashed through Landry’s mind, but she’d forgive him for consoling a terrified woman two decades older. Or maybe she wouldn’t.
“LaPiere. It’s the LaPiere Building,” she said.
Now Landry was startled. “How...how could you have known that?”
“From my memory trip last night. The girl and I stood right here. It’s gone now, but there was a sign way up there. It said LaPiere Building-1803.”
If true, that could pinpoint something he hadn’t been able to find – the date Lucas LaPiere built the structure.
He’d been investigating the paranormal long enough to know that people sometimes made up stories to get attention. She didn’t seem like one of those, but it was clear she had mental issues. Come up with a sign for the building that names the owner and pegs the date, and you’re one step closer to becoming a TV personality. Maybe that’s what all this was about.
“You should know something about me. This business has turned me into a skeptic. I can’t accept anything as fact until I’ve confirmed it. What you just told me rings true. This was Lucas LaPiere’s building, and he built it sometime between 1798 and 1805, when land records show a three-story building was here.”
“Meaning the date on the sign could be right — “
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but if you looked at the same land record I did, you could have made up the sign.”
She glared at him. “You don’t believe me? I’ve been through living hell with these goddamn dreams for years, and you think I’m lying? What motive do I have? Why would I want to research land records on some damned building I never heard of?”
“Calm down, Tiffany. I didn’t say you’re lying. I have to do things in sequence. Confirmation comes first; acceptance as truth comes second. Don’t take it personally.”
“Explain to me how you confirm something from a dream — a memory.”
“Through independent verification. Dreams can be powerful magnets that draw us toward something familiar or into a world of make-believe. I want to believe your story. If you’re right, that building across the street plays a significant role in your life. You claim not to understand, and I’ll help try to find out. But first I want to verify there used to be a sign.”
A voice came from behind them. “I’ll confirm it for you. She’s telling the truth. There was a sign.”
Behind them sat Jack Blair in the doorway where he’d been the last time.
“We meet again,” Landry said, and the man nodded. “What can you tell me about the sign?”
“I dreamed it too. It hung there like she told you. The words were, LaPiere Building, a dash, and the year 1803.”
“When did these dreams of yours
