The Unrequited Ch. 24

Driving over to the hospital the police chief looked blankly out the window. Despite the very late hour, large drunken crowds continued to mill about the streets of the quarter as thirsty tourists continued their never ending quest for booze. They say New York never sleeps, but whoever said that obviously had never been to the Big Easy. New York may never sleep but New Orleans never even slows down. As head of the police for one of the most wide open cities in America, he had seen it all, but tonight was a first.

Dawn would be breaking soon and with it no doubt the news that a horrific gang of serial killers was loose in the city, lopping off heads and removing faces. The city, his city, had suffered so much over the years, culminating in the disaster of hurricane Katrina. Since then, everyone had worked hard to change the image of New Orleans from being a corrupt loose unsafe hell hole to a tourist and family friendly destination. This story threatened to in one-day ruin everything he and the mayor had worked so hard to achieve and he knew his ass was going to be in a big sling for answers. Hopefully the answers were contained in one of the cadaver drawers at East Jefferson Hospital. Pulling into the parking lot, the chief plastered on a stoic look on his face and walked through the front door.

Directed to the service elevator at the end of the main hall, the chief could feel the eyes of the staff shocked at his presence. He could sense the questions they must be asking. "Why is the police chief here at this hour? What is this all about? I guess it must be about Lorraine Clearwater". Reaching the basement, the doors opened and the echo of his polished patent leather shoes echoed through the lime green tiled hallways. Reaching the end of the hall, he saw the entrance to the Morgue and pushing open the door, the attendant visibly jumped when he walked in.

"Sir? What are you doing here?" the young man stammered as he desperately fumbled with his computer, desperate to close the screen filled with porn. Working the night shift in the morgue was not a high profile job, and one with long boring hours and few, if any, visitors. Steve the attendant was working his way through college at this job and took the opportunity to watch his favorite streaming girl on girl videos on the excellent bandwidth the hospital enjoyed.

"I need to take some prints son, of one of the bodies that were brought in tonight, fiftyish white man, gunshot victim. Does this ring a bell?" Knowing the man was nervous, he could not help but add a jab. "Don't worry, I won't be a second. Our guys on the scene obviously took a bad set, and, well, you know how it is these days. Sometimes you have to do things yourselves since your employees do nothing but jack off all day."

Feeling his words cut through the air, Steve pulled out his keys and blushed as he handed them over to the chief. Smirking and winking, the chief patted him on the back as he walked into the cold room and switched on the light.

Entering into the body storage facility, the chief shuddered. The individual drawers were fully refrigerated in order to prevent decomposition, and the effect on the room was to make it perpetually clammy and cold. This coupled with the aging, and failing, fluorescent light that cast a yellow/green pallor over the whole tile filled room made it live up to the creepy factor such a place would be expected to acquire. Turning the master key into drawer 227, when he pulled out the drawer his face dropped. Angry, he stormed back into the outer room and barked at Steve.

"Ok fucker, very funny. I assume you want to keep this job right?"

"Ye,Ye, Yes sir, of course. What is the problem?"

"You told me the wrong drawer. Now quit being a fuckhead and give me the right information. Look, the sooner I get out of here, the sooner you can get back to your two red heads enjoying each other's bodies, right?"

His face pale, Steve fumbled with the roster and scanned down the list. There was not a huge amount of activity in the morgue normally, and this night there had been nine people brought in. Three homeless men who had obviously had heart attacks, two gunshot victims that had not been identified yet, Captain Tony and the three attackers shot at Ed and Lorraine's house. Looking down the roster he saw the descriptions of the recent victims and only one fit that moniker, and he was stored in drawer 227. "Look, you can see for yourself" he said defiantly as he showed the roster to the chief.

"Well, he ain't there now, so unless this is the resurrection of the dead, I think someone must have written something down wrong."

Now Steve started sweating. To lose a body, even though he never placed him in the drawer nor was present when he was brought in would obviously cause his termination. Taking all of the keys out of the drawer, he rushed inside. There were only the nine unclaimed bodies on site, but he was so freaked out, he was determined to open all of the drawers. Following Steve inside, the chief visibly chuckled as he could smell the panic wafting off of him like a dog that had rolled onto a dead skunk. He hated fuckups, and nothing amused him more than to see one slowly twist in the wind. Walking behind him, as Steve rapidly opened each drawer, the chief saw the parade of bodies exposed to his gaze. There in the first couple of drawers were the homeless men, their bodies swollen and black as obviously they had been dead for quite some time before they were brought in. The next drawers contained the unnamed gunshot victims, their faces grey and speckled with frozen blood. Tony was in the next drawer, his head placed into a small bag and resting on his stomach. Smiling as he knew the mystery perps were soon to be revealed, when each successive drawer was opened to display its empty contents, his stomach dropped as much as Steve's. When the last drawer proved empty, Steve spun around in a panic, bracing himself for a violent drubbing.

"I do not understand this sir. Look, I was here all night. No one came in or out since I have been on my shift."

His face like stone, the chief grabbed Steve by the lapel and pulled him in close. "Listen up boy. Do you want to keep your job?"

Steve could not speak, but rapidly nodded.

"Good, now, tell no one about this. No ONE! Not your roommate, not your mother, not your fuck buddy! Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-Yes sir!" Steve stuttered, his mind wheeling in confusion and fear. His fear was for his job, while looking back at the chief he also recognized fear, but his fear was different, deeper and it sent a chill through his body.

Out in the swamps, Samuel cried "Hot fucking damn, finally!" when he saw the light purple glow of daybreak start to form in the east. Driving on the narrow road through the bayou for hours, any missed turn leading to a watery death had tried his skills and he had been driving for decades. Now that it was getting a little more light, and the fog started to lift, he was able to see more than ten feet in front of him and he was finally able to go above the achingly slow fifteen miles per hour. Patrick too looked visibly relieved as he recognized the incredibly dangerous driving conditions Samuel had navigated. No one ever drives in this part of the bayou at night and many, if not most, residents of the area got around on air boats.

"Good job Samuel, I really thought we were toast a few times."

"Yeah, I don't mind saying that if I had this to do over again, we would have waited to drive out here now and not start in the middle of the night. Anyway, should be smooth sailing now."

As dawn broke, the beautiful endless green of the wetlands were revealed through the pink blush of first light and both men paused the car to enjoy the beauty. Few things on earth are more beautiful than seeing the sun rising over the cypress choked bogs of southern Louisiana, and Samuel thought that this must be one of the reasons anyone would live out here. On all other fronts, living in the swamp was far more negative than positive.

"Well, you have to admit, now it makes sense why Tony Clarke wrecked his car. Frankly, you have to have the skills of Dale Earnhardt to navigate this fucked up mess."

"Amen to that!" Samuel chimed in. Looking up, he stopped the car as he saw a large opening in the trees and the enormous home of the DuChamps looming up in the distance. Pointing forward, he saw that the road ended at the house.

"I wonder if this is it?"

"Yep, this is it. We are definitely here!" Patrick smiled as he showed a picture of the house he was able to view from Marie's Facebook page.

Looking over at Patrick's tiny screen Samuel smiled as he saw the house. Shaking his head, he said "That thing is amazing. You must get me set up on Facefolder one day."

"You mean Facebo..., oh never mind." Driving closer up the road to the house, something caught Patrick's eye. "Hey, what is that?" he exclaimed as he saw two bare trees in front of the house, covered in hundreds of broken bottles.

Stopping the car in front of the tree, Samuel glared at sight, glittering with hundreds of shards of broken glass dangling from the branches. "Well, I have seen this type of thing before, but not like this. This is a "bottle tree" and you still see these things out in the rural part of the south all the time. Hell, my Grandma's neighbor hand one of these in her back yard when I was growing up."

"What does it do?"

Holding one of the destroyed bottles in his hand he spoke. "Well, the theory is that it protects the house from evil spirits. The ghost, demon, or Duppy as they are sometimes called, is attracted to the color of the bottle, goes into the neck and gets trapped."

"Seems like the Duppies got the better of this one." Patrick laughed.

"Yeah" Samuel nodded, and looking down at base of the tree he saw more broken glass, piles and piles of it. Pointing at it he looked back at Patrick. "Seems like these bottles have only recently been shattered. This debris would not be here if it had happened a while ago, storms and rain would have washed it into the bayou."

"This is getting even more mysterious. I wonder if this might be related to the Tony Clarke case, I mean, this certainly seems pretty ritualistic. Something is going on, right?"

Unsnapping the holster on his gun, Samuel nodded. Looking back up at the house he had a sudden feel of dread. He had felt queasy about having to announce the death of Tony to the inhabitants but now with the discovery of the destroyed bottle tree he wondered what they were going to contend with. This was no longer just a fact finding mission or a somber job of telling family members about the murder of their loved ones, this was now something else entirely.

Patrick looked over at Samuel and saw his thick large neck start to twitch. That was a sign and he too now was filled with dread. Samuel had a sense about these things and his internal radar now was pinging very loudly. Something was terribly wrong. Unsnapping his gun, he followed his partner up onto the wide porch of the house.

Knocking loudly, Samuel called out for someone to answer several times before he stopped and turned to Patrick. "I think we are going to have to go in. Are you ready?"

Nodding, Patrick raised his gun and followed Samuel inside as he quickly opened the door. It was unlocked.

Walking into the main parlor both officers stood still. It was quiet, but on a different level of quiet, like a muffle had been placed over everything. Looking around, nothing seemed out of place but there were no signs that anyone was home.

"Hello? Mrs. DuChamp? Are you home?" Samuel called out to deafening silence. Patrick strained to listen, but his ears rang from the silence. Walking deeper into the room, suddenly Samuel stopped and started sniffing the air.

Holding his hand up to his mouth, he pressed his finger to his lips and raised his gun, nodding to Patrick to take out his weapon and follow. Patrick grew nervous but soon he smelled it too and grew instantly alarmed. The air now was thick with the rich coppery smell of blood, fresh blood, and as a cop they both knew that odor well. Walking slowly up the stairs, his balls retracted in fear as the squeaking of the floorboards made a racket and announced to whatever perps might still be in the house of their exact location. Reaching the top, they both looked down a long hall towards a closed door. Training the barrels of their pistols on the door, both men slowly began walking down the hall, the smell of blood growing heavier with each step. Now at the door, Samuel yelled out.

"OK, if anyone is in there, keep your hands up. We are coming in and will not shoot if you have your hands up."

Patrick felt the electric surge in his gut as they prepared to bust inside. It was always there right before any raid, the combination of the exhilaration and excitement of the situation combined with the slight feeling of nausea knowing the danger. Looking over at Samuel, he saw him mouth the words "On Three...One, Two..THREE!"

Busting into the room, the coppery odor was overwhelming and sickening as the door flung wide open. The room was bright as it was flooded with the rising sun streaming through the large window on the back wall and temporarily blinded Patrick and Samuel as the contrast with the dark hall was overwhelming. Entering the room, both men had to cover their mouth and nose as sickening stench of blood hit them like a wave. Adjusting their eyes to the bright light, Patrick screamed at the sight that greeted them and even Samuel gagged in disgust.

The room was literally saturated in blood; the floor, the ceiling the walls, everywhere. Looking in horror at the scene, Patrick flinched as a huge dollop of red drizzled down from the ceiling and landed on his hand. Now with guns drawn and their nerves on edge, they both walked inside before they both stopped in fear. There in the middle of the horrific bloody scene were the heads of both Marie and her mother, sitting neatly in pool of their own gore and inside a pentagram made out of their severed limbs. Patrick was instantly overwhelmed and ran out of the room to vomit into the hall. Samuel shook and stumbled backwards before losing his footing in a slippery dark red pool and fell onto the ground. Grabbing his radio from his pocket he screamed into the receiver.

"Mayday Mayday, we need backup NOW!!! All available units if possible!"

Back at Magnolia Grove, Gus had to laugh. Of all of the crazy situations he had gotten into in his life, this was going to go down as the craziest. Getting caught naked in the girls dorm showers in college when his girlfriend decided to steal his towel was nothing like this. Struggling yet again hopelessly against his silken bonds, he sighed as they seemed just as tight as they had last night. Now that it was morning, his bedroom slowly started to grow brighter with the streaming through his window. Calling out for Angeline, he gave up after an hour, hoping that somehow she would rush in and in a Lassi-like maneuver, bite through his ties and release him. Now he resigned himself to having to wait until someone came to check on him. Looking down at his body, stark naked and still hard as nails from the impromptu cockring Sarah had looped on him, he knew that his discovery was going to be humiliating. Licking his lips in thirst, he could only hope that his rescuers would come soon, and he prayed it would not be his sister to find him in this state. He had no idea how he would explain his predicament.

Chuckling at the thought, his smile rose as he heard the door to his bedroom slowly creak open. "Angeline! Angeline! Come on girl, come rescue daddy!" he called. Now that the door was open his smile faded as he saw that no one was there. Squinting in the soft light, his eyes grew wide as he saw a shimmering black mass slither into the room.

"What the fuck?" he yelled as the mass entered the room and began to pulse and undulate into a vague feminine shape.

"Oh Antoine, you silly silly boy. I guess Sarah was not a good vehicle for our tryst."

"What! What is this?!" he yelled as the shape oozed forward and formed at the foot of his bed. His whole body tensed and struggled wildly now, terrified beyond reason as he thrashed at his bondage to get loose and away from the vision before him. The shape began to writhe and bubble and out of the center of the mass, long tentacles formed and began to hover over his body. Reaching down, the black oozing tentacle wrapped around Gus's bound and hard cock and encased his member entirely. As soon as the mass engulfed him, Gus stretched out straight and rigid and moaned. The sensations rushing through his body were beyond description and instantly he was taken right to the edge of orgasm, the goo performing the most effective and erotic blowjob on his penis that Gus had ever received. Seeing his reaction, the mass began wriggling and throbbing along with his moans before a voice erupted into the room. Pulling off the ribbon tied at the base of his cock the voice spoke.

"There we go Antoine, isn't that nice? See, Justine can keep you nice and stoked until I can find another body to borrow. Maybe that hot girlfriend of yours, Jasmine is it? Maybe she can receive my spirit. Mmmmmm, I would love to feel this slamming up into her cooch. Don't worry, I will keep you nice and entertained until she comes by."

Gus said nothing, reduced to pants and growls as every inch of his body was focused like a laser beam on his sex, his balls painfully throbbing in need as he sweated and writhed in abject erotic agony.

Over at the rectory of the Cathedral, Father Leo Aviles woke and quickly showered. He had tried the night before to get in touch with Ed and Lorraine, but only had been able to get the answering machine so he already was feeling nervous. Splashing water into his face as he shaved, he said a silent prayer as his whole body shook, a black dark feeling of dread suddenly overcoming him in a wave. Today was the day they were going to confront the evil at Magnolia Grove and he was not confident of success. Still reeling from the incident in the confessional from the day before, he knew that he would need every weapon in his arsenal.

Now dressed, and recharged by several cups of coffee and some delicious beignets, he opened his small leather black back. Inside were a copy of the Roman Rite, a sanctified host, a crucifix and a rosary. Reaching underneath the cabinet he pulled out a small plastic white bottle and walked out of his room and across the courtyard to the cathedral. He had everything ready but one thing, holy water, and luckily the baptismal font was already full and ready for him to tap. Entering the nave, he walked to the back of the church and lifted off the large brass cover of the font. Submerging his bottle into the water, he watched as the bubbles rose to the surface as it filled. He jumped when he felt a tiny withered hand grip his left shoulder from behind.

"Yikes!" he jumped as he spun around and came face to face with a tiny woman smiling benevolently up into his face. He did not recognize her, but from the blue scarf covering her head, her deeply wrinkled face and the rosary dangling from her right hand, he did recognize her kind. The Cathedral was full of such parishioners, sadly gray heads far outnumbering dark as time has gone on. She had the look of so many women of her generation; fish on Friday, confession and league of Mary on Saturday, Mass on Sunday. Seeing her, he smiled and exhaled, his alarm now completely dissipated.

"Father Aviles, you are going to need far more holy water than this. The evil one will not be stopped by a sprinkle but a flood."

"What?" He asked, shocked at her words. From her pocket book she pulled out a large flagon made of crystal and pressed it into his hand.