Haunted Waterways (Dark Legacy Series Book 2) Page 9

  “I’m not trying to.”

  Her sudden burst of laughter startled him, “You are a horrible liar.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to shield you a little,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just don’t want you to worry about things you don’t have to.”

  “I saw how you reacted, Louis,” she swept her hand out. He wasn’t sure how she thought the gesture captured the situation. “It’s pretty obvious that this is something I need to worry about.”

  “This wasn’t about a mare, Maggie. Not entirely.”

  “Then what was it about?”

  “It’s about him.”

  “Who?” Her brow furrowed, “John?”

  He tried to hide the way he flinched at the name. He was sure he didn’t accomplish the feat. Staring down at his hands he hunched his shoulders against the cold feeling creeping into his chest.

  “One of the best and worst things about growing up in my family was that I always knew there were things lurking in the dark. I knew there was evil in the world. I knew that monsters were real. And I knew that some of them wanted to hurt me.” Fears that he had buried long ago bubbled to the surface, as strong as they had ever been. “John La Roux was my boogieman. He was the one I checked under my bed for. I even nailed my window shut, refusing to open it even during summer. I was convinced that one day he would come crawling through it.”

  People went on ghost tours to learn about the macabre and the levels of depravity humans are capable of. And nothing was quite as twistedly bazar as the La Roux family. Each generation was comprised of serial killers and madmen. He had extensive files on the history of her family, or at least what information had been made public knowledge. When this had first begun, Marigold had been determined to face all the monsters lurking in her family tree. He had given her the files but had no way of knowing just how much she had managed to stomach. For some unknown reason, out of all the carnage and horror the La Roux line had unleashed into the world, the crimes of John La Roux had stuck with him the most. It might have been because, when he had first heard of him, Louis had been a prime example of his victim of choice. He hadn’t yet turned thirteen, his room was on the ground floor, and his window hadn’t been visible from the street.

  Finally deciding to place her hand on his forearm, Marigold spoke softly, easing him back out of his thoughts, “John died in the 1930’s.”

  “And it really seems to have slowed him down,” the words came out with a sharper edge than he had intended. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you remember why they called him the Vampire of New Orleans?”

  She hesitated at each word, watching him carefully. “He would break into children’s bedrooms and kidnap them. After he drained their blood, he would come back. He’d …” she flinched, “he’d tuck his victims back into their beds for their parents to find.”

  Louis could feel the weight of his fears, both old and new, bearing down on him.

  “When I was little,” he eventually began, “I had honestly believed that John La Roux would kill me. Not that he could, but that he would. Like it was destined to happen.”

  “And yet you’re still helping me?”

  He glanced over to her and smiled, “Of course.”

  Marigold shifted closer, shuffling until their thighs pressed together tightly. Looping her arm around his, she hesitantly threaded their fingers together. Her skin was cold and he squeezed her tightly, both in reassurance and to coax some heat back into her flesh. With a sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “You’re a good man, Louis Dupont.”

  He smiled. “And you’re a good woman . . . A good woman who completely mangles French names.”

  Vibrations rattled against his shoulder as she laughed. She didn’t lift her head as she squeezed his hand and lightly slapped him with the other.

  Chapter 11

  Neither of them attempted to move as the hours passed and the boat slowly came alive around them. Then new energy that coursed through the boat was enough to keep Marigold’s drooping eyelids from falling entirely. Idly, she thought that it must have been past midnight because it seemed that the spirits had taken to their normal, disturbing, routine. It was hard to hear the once prominent sound of the cello over the malicious, crazed laughter that roamed the halls at random. There was a constant pounding noise, like the beating of a hollow drum, and under all of it, Marigold caught the slight crash of the pots and pans being hurled around the kitchen. Louis didn’t comment on any of it. If it wasn’t for the slight flinch he gave at every sudden crash, she would have thought he didn’t even hear it.

  The candle had burnt low and released its wax in a milky pool over the floorboards. She watched it, thinking she should light another one. But she didn’t want to get up. Sitting on the floor had grown steadily more uncomfortable and the draft that crept under the door made her shiver, but she was busy reveling in human contact. It was always uncertain when she might next be able to have an opportunity to feed her tactical nature. As much as Louis meant to her, they didn’t really have a relationship where she felt comfortable asking for a hug. Louis never flinched away, but he rarely initiated. Only when she really needed it. It was nice to have a moment where she could just pretend that life was normal.

  Louis abruptly straightened, the movement catching her off guard. Her stomach sank as he looked over his shoulder to the still blocked window.

  “Did you hear that?” he whispered.

  She was just about to respond when he lifted a hand to silence her. Then she heard it. It lingered under the ruckus that consumed the boat, echoing from somewhere far off in the bayou. A horrified, short scream. A woman’s scream.

  “It’s a trick, right?” she asked. “They’re just trying to lure us out.”

  He met her gaze, his hazel orbs void of the conviction she had been hoping to find. Before he could answer, they heard the scream again. It was moving closer at a rapid speed. Marigold cringed at the raw terror of the sound. In unison, they got to their feet and inched closer to the porthole. They both stood within arm’s reach of the pillowcases but neither made an attempt to remove them.

  “Twenty bucks says that when I take this off, John’s face is plastered against the glass,” Louis struggled to joke.

  She didn’t find it funny but appreciated the effort. “I’m not taking that bet.”

  Focusing his eyes onto the porthole he timidly reached up, his fingertips brushing over the material but not taking hold. Marigold moved closer to his side, not knowing if she was trying to gain comfort or supply some. They stood like that, waiting for something unknown, frozen in place. But when the scream came again, far closer than it had been before, Louis grabbed the pillowcases and yanked. The thin material ripped in places as it revealed the porthole. The fog pressed close to the glass, hiding the rest of the world and leaving nothing but an orange glow.

  Their eyes met again. She had expected something to try and get in and now that it wasn’t, Marigold didn’t know what she should do. Louis’ Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. He edged closer to the glass. The horrified scream sliced through the night, drawing him forward to peer through the glass. A second later, he backed away, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He was already moving to the door when he called over his shoulder.

  “Stay here.”

  “Like hell,” she snapped as she instantly started to follow him.

  With one hand on the door, he glared at her like a scolding parent.

  “Sorry,” she smiled, “Like heck.”

  “Maggie–”

  “You’re running head first into a trap. I’m coming with you.”

  “It’s not a trap.”

  The cry of the Wailing Woman made her flinch, her hands instantly going to her ears. Louis took the moment of distraction to wrench open the door and once more run into the hallway. She wasn’t going to let him leave her behind again and kept close on his heels. Her ears were ringing as they ran through the colored halls,
past the scattered object tossed from the kitchen, and further to the back of the boat. When sound finally returned she could hear the grinding roar of a car engine.

  “Go back to the room,” Louis said.

  “Weird stuff happens when we split up,” she shot back. “Splitting up isn’t safe.”

  They burst out into the night and the fog instantly enveloped them. Apparently, Louis had accepted that she wasn’t leaving him because he reached back and took her hand, keeping her close as they made their way to where the gangplank should be. They tripped over bottles and ropes and other odd items before they found the opening in the railing. In the distance, the mist brightened in the wake of the car’s unseen headlights. The cry came again and Louis’ grip tightened to the point of pain.

  Only about a foot separated them but she still wasn’t able to make him out clearly. She searched for his features but only found smudged shadows. But his anxiety was clear in his voice when he bellowed his cousin’s name into the fog.

  “Cordelia!” His fingers tightened when the only response was the drone of the engine and the shriek of straining breaks.

  “Are you sure it’s her?” Marigold asked.

  “Positive.”

  Breaks screeched in the mud, metal collided with metal, and the boat shook with the force. It seemed like Cordelia had fallen to the same fate they had when the Wailing Woman had forced them off the road. Louis lunged for the gangplank but Marigold held tight and threw her weight back until he stopped.

  “I have to help her!” he snapped.

  “What help will you be if you get lost in the mist?” She held his hand tightly as she dragged him to the side. After a moment of blind groping, her movements made frantic by the woman’s screams, Marigold finally found the coil of course rope she had tripped over. She pressed it against his palm to make sure he knew what it was. “Help me tie this around my waist and I’ll go down.”

  “What? No! I’ll go.”

  “I’m not strong enough to pull you up if something goes wrong,” she said.

  Cordelia’s next scream came from the side of the boat and was met with the sound of metal and thrashing water. Even in the dim light, Marigold saw Louis tense up, torn between his need to protect his family and his will to keep Marigold safe. But the sheer desperation in the cry broke his resolve. With quick and easy movements, Louis wrapped the end of the robe around Marigold’s waist and knotted it tight. She rocked with the jolts as he tugged sharply to check his work.

  “Anything happens, tug on the rope and I’ll pull you up.” He then rushed to the edge of the boat and yelled into the mist, “Cordelia, stay out of the water!”

  Not wanting to give him a chance to change his mind, Marigold ran past him and down the gangplank. The wood and metal rocked with her every step. It wasn’t until the frosty mud swallowed her feet that it occurred to her what she had done. Her bravado crumbled and she was left frozen in place, taking in her surroundings. Behind her, the floodlights were bright discs upon the fog, but in front there was nothing. Just a steady progression into darkness. She couldn’t hear the engine anymore. Or the screaming. Only a slight murmuring over the normal sounds of the bayou.

  She ran her fingers over the coarse material of the rope, assuring herself that it was still there, and headed to the right. It was odd to hope that Cordelia had crashed in the same area Marigold had, but she hadn’t. Marigold wasn’t sure she would be able to find her. The incoming tide had loosened the mud and it made her struggle for any progress. Mud oozed through her toes and claimed her feet, holding onto them with a sucking sensation. She could hear things slithering through the muck, unidentifiable in the mist.

  “Cordelia!” Her lungs strained as they fought to keep her from making a sound. Her instinct was to be quiet. As if her body didn’t want to admit that the ghosts already knew she was there. That even though she couldn’t see them, there was no doubt that they saw her. She swallowed thickly and tried again, this time able to summon more strength. “Cordelia!”

  A scream ripped through the air and she broke into a hobbled run towards it. Shadows began to emerge from the mist, details only coming as she closed the distance. There was a truck, tilted on its side, half of it sunken into the mud that surrounded the boat. A shadow loomed by the front door, hunching through the window and moving in sharp jolts. Cordelia’s terrified cries came from inside the truck and Marigold launched herself forward without thought. Shock rattled through her when she struck the shadow and found herself making contact. The shadow was as solid as flesh.

  She couldn’t move fast enough to miss the blow. Between the fist colliding with her jaw and the mud clutching her feet, Marigold collapsed against the sodden earth. Pain exploded behind her eyeballs and her head spun. Breathing hard, she looked up and managed to focus on the shape in front of her. The mist cleared enough that she could see that the shadow was a man. His narrow but strong back faced her, and after the single strike, he didn’t seem to bother with her again. His attention was solely focused on trying to pull something out from the truck. The whole time he worked a constantly babbled string of muttered gibberish.

  As the pain ebbed from her skull, she realized he wasn’t mindlessly rambling. His tone made it clear that, despite his fear, he was trying to reassure someone who she couldn’t see. Agitation had sped up his words and his thick Cajun accent made it near impossible for Marigold to understand him. She struggled to her feet and he whirled on her with a snarl.

  “You move and I’ll hit you again.”

  Cordelia cried out from the truck, her voice reduced to a garbled, bubbling noise. With that, he completely lost interest in Marigold and threw his torso back through the window. He hunched up like a feral cat when Marigold rushed over.

  “I’m Louis’ friend. Let me help.”

  “I can’t get her out. Something’s got her.”

  He shifted enough to give Marigold enough room to see. The dim lights of the dashboard cast a slight glow over the inside of the truck, allowing her to make out a few things within the mist that clogged the air. Water was quickly filling up the truck, sloshing up over the form of a struggling woman. Out of the murky depths of the swamp water, Marigold could see a figure shifting under the surface. It had a firm hold on Cordelia’s foot and held her in place as the water rose. The man had both her hands but he couldn’t break the hold of the creature in the water. The struggle pulled Cordelia taut.

  Marigold struggled with the knot of the rope, tugging and thrashing until she could unwind it. It was a simple plan. Crawl in, get the rope around Cordelia and get Louis to join the struggle. She hurriedly explained as the man held tightly to Cordelia, his force of will the only thing keeping Cordelia’s head above the rising water. As the words tumbled out, she realized just how much she wanted him to argue. But he didn’t. He just nodded, his attention never leaving Cordelia.

  While the man was tall, his shoulders were narrow, so he didn’t have to move too much for Marigold to slip through the remaining space of the window, bracing her feet on the dash and the windshield to keep her out of the water. Cordelia’s strained position made it easier for Marigold to wind the rope around her exposed torso. But the water made the rope float and bunch as Marigold tried to get it into place. The water sloshed over her arms and her heart hammered each time she had to push her hand into the inky liquid.

  Marigold’s feet slipped and she dropped into the icy, slime covered water. Cordelia looked at her with wide eyes but didn’t say a word as Marigold struggled to find her footing. Her movements became wild as she tied the rope into place around Cordelia’s chest.

  “Okay,” Marigold said as something slipped past her leg.

  The man tugged sharply on the rope and an instant later, it pulled taut. Marigold gasped in pain as the rope coiled around her arm and bit into her skin. She had somehow tethered herself to Cordelia. The rope tightened and she clenched her teeth to keep in a scream. She pulled back and the moss on top of the water stirred and opened. Sh
e saw a shadowy figure. She saw a pair of glowing blue eyes. A second later, Cordelia was yanked down with a colossal strength. Both women struggled vainly to keep inside the truck. The force pulled harder and they were both dragged deeper into the frigid bayou.

  Chapter 12

  Louis slid across the deck, the rusted metal tearing the back of his shirt, as he refused to release his hold on the retreating rope. The pull twisted him around until his side slammed against the railing. The course material of the rope burnt his hands as he desperately tightened his grip. He lurched up with the pull until he was able to set his shoulders and slam his body back down. His arms strained and his fingers began to bleed where the rope rubbed them raw, but he couldn’t stop the constant drag. Out of the mist, he heard a voice. Fear distorted the words until he couldn’t find any meaning in them but he bellowed in response all the same.

  “Grab the line!”

  The rope snapped taut, as tight as a bow string, making the metal railing release a musical ping and rope struck it. Louis shifted to brace his feet against the railing, tightened his hold, and threw his weight back. He couldn’t gain an inch.

  “I can’t see them!” the voice called back.

  Louis pulled again but couldn’t get it to move. He needed something larger. Something heavy.

  “Get up here,” he called, “Help me find the anchor!”

  Moments later, the gangplank screamed as Cordelia’s new husband emerged from the mist. Rene glanced around, blinking into the shroud, completely disregarding Louis in his search for the anchor. Without a word, he ran into the mist, leaving Louis to continue his struggle with the rope. Suddenly, the rope turned slack and he slammed down against the deck with a solid thud. He scrambled to get back up, his hands snatching one over the other to take full advantage of the moment of reprieve. A few feet of wet rope passed through his hands before it pulled taut again, making him fight to maintain the progress he had made.