Contents

Cover Credit

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

About this Story

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

From the Author

About the Author

Cover Credit

Christopher Coyle

darkandstormyknight.com

Thank you for adorning my words so beautifully.

Your talent knows no bounds!

Only Fools Walk Free

Sandra R Neeley

Copyright © 2019 SANDRA R NEELEY

All rights reserved.

Thank you for purchasing and/or downloading this book. It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and/or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without express written permission from the author.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are creations of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked ownership of all trademarks and word marks mentioned in this book.

For everyone who believes in soul-mates.

This story is a 22,948 word novella. It has been revised and expanded from its original short story format which was released in an anthology that is no longer available.

About this Story

Samuel and Clarice live in a time that demands their love remain hidden or risk being ostracized by the society of the day. Her father learns of her indiscretion — her shame on his family name — and his actions separate the two forever.

But all is not lost. Samuel’s mother is a Voodoo Priestess, one of the most powerful in New Orleans. Desperately, she searches for a way to free her son from the curse he unwittingly brought down on himself with a simple prayer to protect his beloved Clarice.

Samuel stands silently by, watching decades pass as he dreams of his beloved Clarice. He’s lost all hope, until one day a little girl happens upon his tomb. Surely he’s mistaken — can she see him?

Chapter 1

New Orleans, April 1, 1859 — April Fools Day

Samuel stood in the alley, the sounds of carriages and the bustle of the port milling about all around him. He stepped just up to the corner again and peeked from where he hid in the shadows, waiting, his heart in his throat. His love was coming to him this night, and together they’d escape the oppression of this life, this city. They’d strike out on their own and make a life to be proud of, rather than one they had to hide from the world. He heard the clatter of horses’ hooves as a carriage came to a stop only feet from the alley where he waited. Samuel squinted in the dark, foggy night. It was a hired carriage. Surely it was Clarice. This was how she came to him when she was able. The door of the carriage opened, but instead of the delicate, silken-slippered foot he expected to light from the carriage, heavily booted feet stomped down the carriage steps.

Samuel waited, frozen in place as the man who was father to his love, faced him, scowling. “Perhaps you thought me my daughter come to meet you, so you might spirit her away!” he accused.

“What have you done with her?!” Samuel demanded, knowing full well, if she was able, she’d have been here. And if her father was here, then he’d forced from her their plans and had hindered her ability to meet him this night.

“She won’t be coming. She’s come to her senses, realized that you are no more than a smudge upon her boot. She’s sent me in her stead to warn you away before you sully her name beyond repair.”

“No, you speak fallacies. Clarice would never warn me away. She knows I love her. She loves me, as well. What have you done with her?!”

“Do not speak her name! You are not worthy to have the sound of it fall from your treacherous lips.”

“We belong to one another. Our love has already been blessed by the church. You cannot keep us apart.”

“Oh, but I can. She is mine to do with as I see fit. It is my place as her father to choose her future. And you — are not in it. This is your final opportunity. Leave here, now, this moment, and you may live to see another sunrise.”

“No! I will not leave without her. She waits for me! Depends on me!”

“She has been given to another.”

“No!” Samuel shouted, “I’ll find her, save her from your dictate.”

“You’ll do nothing but breathe your last. I gave you the chance. You chose this,” the man sneered. He stepped aside as two larger, much more physically dangerous men descended from the carriage.

Samuel’s instinct was to take a step back, but he didn’t. He had to face this, survive this, find his precious Clarice and whisk her away to a place that no one could ever hurt her again.

The two males hauled him into the alleyway, one striking out and landing a large, beefy fist against his jaw before they’d even released him.

Samuel’s head snapped back, but he struck out with his own fist as he righted himself, landing a blow on the first man that had hit him.

The second assailant struck from behind, battering Samuel’s kidneys, causing him to double over.

The first man got Samuel with an uppercut to the chin when he doubled over from the pain of his kidneys.

All in all the assault was brief, but violent. Every time Samuel managed to land a blow on one of his assailants, they beat him down four blows to his every one. But he didn’t quit until he was barely able to draw breath and his two assailants left him in a pool of his own blood.

Clarice’s father walked confidently toward Samuel where he lay moaning in the alleyway. Evidence of the violence he’d endured could be found up and down the short, dank space between the buildings. Samuel, both eyes swollen and bruised, a tooth missing, blood dripping from his lips and his knuckles, bruises covering his body as he struggled to breathe through the collapsed lung his own broken rib had punctured, lay there, helpless, at the mercy of those that had beaten him and their employer. He fought to raise his head and dared to look into the eyes of the man responsible for his suffering, as vile words once more fell from his lips.

“You thought to take my daughter from me. I warned you to go away but you refused — you brought this on yourself. Now I take your life from you.” Clarice’s father kicked him, then turned away while barking orders to his henchmen. “Finish him off, then throw him in my family crypt. No one will ever think to look for his kind there.”

~~~~~

Samuel lay on the cold, stone floor of the immaculate, white marble crypt, his life slowly seeping away from him. He could barely move, couldn’t breathe, his body broken and bloodied. Yet his mind turned to thoughts of Clarice. After several attempts he finally managed to reach into his pocket, withdrawing the cameo ring he’d saved for months to buy. He’d planned to give it to his Clarice, his love and as of two nights ago, his young wife. He’d not had it when they married, but had delivered the final payment this very morning and was planning to slip it on her finger the moment she joined him for their escape from this city. He wrapped his hand around the ring, holding it in his closed fist — the last symbol of his love for her held in his dying hand. He struggled to say the words he longed to say to her aloud. “I love you, my Clarice. I will bear this pain and more, as long as you are safe. Please,” he whispered to the fates, the powers that be, “keep her safe.” Samuel closed his eyes, prepared to let everything float away — the pain, the suffering, the longing.

But instead of cold and nothingness, he felt… warmth, and realized a soft light glowed beyond his closed, swollen eyelids. Slowly he forced his bruised eyes opened. He blinked, wincing with the pain, then blinked again, thinking his eyes deceived him. There, crouching on the floor not two feet from him, was a woman. A woman like him. A woman he had no doubt was labeled as he was — Mulatto.

She was dressed in bright, colorful skirts, and her head was wrapped in a scarf with large golden earrings dangling from her ears. A bright red peasant blouse with flounced ruffles hanging just off her caramel-colored shoulders. Her tinkling laughter filled the crypt he lay in, bouncing off the stone walls. The luminescent green eyes many of his mixed race shared, peering through his very soul. “And just what would you give for it?” she asked seductively.

Samuel was growing weaker by the minute and couldn’t raise his head any longer. He could barely speak, and when he did it was a breathy rasp that carried but a bit of his voice into the crypt. He peered at her as best he could through his battered eyes. His brow furrowed, so many questions in his mind. “For what?” he finally managed.

“Your Bebe’, you pray for her safety, no? I heard you,” she said, lightly tapping her ear. “So, I answer your prayer, and I ask, what would you give for it?”

“Everything,” he finally managed to rush out in a whisper.

“You have nothing left to give, no. Only your soul. And that’s not yours much longer anyway, I think,” she answered.

Samuel was no stranger to the ways of Voodoo. He’d been raised among some of the most powerful Voodoo priests and priestesses in New Orleans. His own mother, in fact, was one of the most powerful in the entire city — the highest priestess of them all.

His father was the son of a wealthy land baron. A member of the upper-crust of society, yet unable to officially claim the woman he’d loved for most of his adult life — Samuel’s mother. But he’d been able to provide for Samuel. To see to it that he and his mother were well taken care of, well fed, and had all they needed.

They saw him when they could. Though each night he went home to his proper wife, in her proper home, in her stiff skirts and staunch judgments left Samuel’s mother a little more broken. Despite his mother’s power, she was a slave to the love she had for his father. She’d begged him to run away with her to warmer climates, more tolerable lands where they could live forever together in the shade of palm trees with soft, warm sands beneath their feet. But he’d refused, claiming he had duties he’d been raised to perform — his father and family depended on him. So he never left his proper family. And he never joined Samuel and his mother in their family.

The years of waiting and hopes dashed made Samuel’s mother bitter and Samuel himself resentful. They had no use for the man now. But the memories of when his father had spent time with him and his mother did serve one purpose. The stories his mother told of a tropical paradise, where all peoples were equal and free to love whomever their heart loved, had given rise to his own plans with his Clarice. He’d worked tirelessly for months at any odd job he could find. Then he’d sold all his meager possessions, holding tightly to every penny he had, with the exception of the delicate shell cameo — the intended wedding ring, he now clutched — in preparation of embarking on their new life together.

Despite all the planning, fate had brought him to this moment. Samuel weighed his options. He watched the young woman crouching just feet from him. He knew she was not a balanced practitioner of his religion. Many people didn’t know it, but Voodoo was actually a religion, and when practiced properly, there was a balance of good and evil, just as in nature — a balance of dark and light. But this woman seemed to have slipped over the edge into the darkness that sometimes claimed those not strong enough to control the power they sought. Those who rushed to gain all they could, without being properly schooled and inducted slowly into the laws of a power greater than they, were almost always the ones to fall victim to its dark side. This woman reeked of power. Even in his weakened state, he could feel it. And she was far too young and inexperienced to be in control of the power she exuded. But perhaps she could fill his needs.

Samuel slowly extended his arm, opening his fist to reveal the ring. “I have this,” he managed to say.

The girl’s eyes lit up, and she reached for it, but he closed his hand around it.

She pulled back her hand, glaring at him. “It’s not enough anyway!” she spat the words at him.

“If you take this, give it to Maman ‘Vangeline, she’ll pay you all you deserve,” he rasped at her as he panted through his pain.

The girl laughed. “Even Maman ‘Vangeline isn't strong enough to save you now.”

“I don’t want to be saved. I’ll stay here forever, as long as my love is safe,” he gritted out between breaths.

The girl looked at the ring Samuel again displayed in his hand — she did want it. It was very pretty, and the cameo was framed in gold. She loved gold, as did the demon who shared her body. Unfortunately, this particular demon required permission to take all it wanted. Her eyes caressed the ring lying in Samuel’s now-open palm.

“So you wish me to take it?” the girl led him. Needing him to say the words.

“Take it to Maman ‘Vangeline. Tell her to keep Clarice safe. If you do, you may have the ring and all else she gives you.”

The demon controlling the girl was wily; she did no favors for anyone, and resented love and all who had it. She sensed a trick in play and decided to curse him in a way only she could free him from, thusly guaranteeing her own safety. “Very well, but just to be sure of my safe passage,” she reached out and curled her fingers around Samuel’s hand and the ring, still sitting in his palm, digging her nails into his flesh so deeply she drew blood, “should you have trickery in mind. I grant you the gift of life everlasting. Your soul will continue on, watching over your sweet Bebe’, for so long as you do not leave the confines of this hallowed piece of ground.”

Samuel tried to pull away, knowing only too well that any gift from a demon came with consequences, but his lack of strength played into the demon’s hands.

“Unh,unh,unh,” the girl cackled in the voice of the demon. “I’m not quite done yet.” She gripped his wrist even tighter, sneering the words. “Should you cross the threshold of this place of rest, your soul will be lost forever — flying away in search of the next body it is to inhabit.” She looked down on Samuel and begrudgingly realized she had to provide balance — good and bad in every curse, else it would come back on her. A sinister smile curled the corners of her full lips. The good would be a way out, if only he was smart enough to find it. The rules she lived by said good and bad had to balance, they didn’t say it had to be easy. She grinned at Samuel’s barely moving body. “Remember, only a fool will walk free of this crypt.”

The girl’s nails left his wrist, and her hand took the ring from his palm.

“Maman ‘Vangeline,” he whispered.

“Yes, yes, I heard you.” She stood, her eyes drifting over the walls of the crypt, the ceiling with the ornate carvings and murals. “Enjoy your new… home,” she said, flitting her hand about. She laughed again, then she was gone.

Samuel lay on the cold, stone floor, trying to understand what curse the girl had placed upon him. As far as he could tell, he would be allowed to watch over Clarice, and to him, that was not a curse. Demons never did anything for anyone without a curse of some sort, the whole tit-for-tat thing. But it mattered not, it was done. And the girl would go to his mother, Maman ‘Vangeline, for what she thought was additional reward. His mother would see the ring and come to find his body. Or so he hoped. He closed his eyes, allowing the cold and the emptiness to encompass him where he lay.

Chapter 2

Clarice pounded on the door for what was surely the hundredth time since being locked away. Her father had delivered her to the home of their banker, Mr. Bienville. The man was short and rotund with a red face and bald pate. Though he was not unkind and had known her all her life, she would not have him. He was not her Samuel. She did not love him and never would. “Let me out!” Clarice screamed, pounding on the door again.

This time, finally, he answered her. “Child, stop your clamoring. There is no reason to fear. I will provide for you. Watch over you. You will want for nothing. Your father and I made arrangements long ago.”

Clarice refused to accept anything he had to say. “Let me out! I am already married! I will not be married to anyone else!”

Clarice's hands were bruised from pounding on the door for most of the night. But when he didn’t answer, she started up her pounding again despite the bruises. Her tears were a never ending stream of sorrow down her face, and she’d sobbed for so long that hiccups accompanied her begging to be set free.

She rested her head against the door. “Samuel,” she whispered, her eyes wandering to a window just beginning to show the dawn’s light through its mottled glass pane.

Clarice had been delivered in a near-hysterical state, screaming her hate at her father and demanding to be freed. Her lip trembled as she thought of the confrontation between the two.

“You will live the life I chose for you! You will be respected, you will learn your place and you will not cast aspersions upon my family name! You will not become a harlot, gifting your body to any piece of refuse who takes a fancy to it!” her father had shouted at her.

“He’s not a piece of refuse! He’s my husband, and I love him! We’re married! A union recognized by his church!” Clarice had screamed at her father.

Her father struck her so hard he knocked her to the floor, then leaned over and spat in her face as he glared at her hatefully. “You cannot be married to a dead man!”

Clarice’s eyes grew wide and she screamed her heartache as she fell apart, having no doubt at all that her father had harmed Samuel.

To his credit, Mr. Bienville had stepped quickly to stand before Clarice when her father had moved to strike her again. “There is no reason for violence. The girl mourns. Give her time to come to terms with her new future. All will be well.”

“Lock her away behind a heavy door to wait out her hysteria. She will recover from her bout of hysteria soon enough. If not, perhaps you should beat it out of her,” her father had instructed Mr. Bienville before storming from Mr. Bienville’s home and slamming the door behind himself.

Mr. Bienville called his manservant to assist him in lifting her from her collapsed position on the floor of his home. Together they moved her to the rooms his late wife formerly occupied. The rooms were quite comfortable and decorated in silks, velvets, and satins. “You will be happy here, my dear,” he said as he followed his manservant out of the room. He wanted to win her approval, not harm her in any way. He was not a fan of violence of any type and frowned down on her father’s treatment of her. Though he did indeed take the man’s advice and lock the door to keep her from running away.

Which is how she found herself still locked in that same room, alternately sobbing, pounding on the door, and begging for release.

Finally, from the other side of the door she heard his voice again.

“You will see that this life is not so bad. I will treat you well. Have I not always been gentle with you when you visited my bank with your father?”

Clarice pressed her hands against the door, as she begged him to understand. “I’ll never be your wife. I’ll never accept any life other than that stolen from me. Please release me!”

Mr. Bienville wasn’t cruel. He’d simply admired the young woman the sweet, young girl had grown into. So when her father had offered her hand in marriage, since he was painfully lonely himself, he’d readily accepted.

“Let me go,” she begged again.

“The only way out of our arrangement is to go to a convent,” he answered sadly, hoping the idea of a chaste, religious life would sway her toward him.

“Accepted. I’d rather live out my life as a nun, than marry any other than the husband I’ve lost. Take me to a nunnery,” Clarice answered, her heart broken, and her voice soft and resigned.

~~~~~

Maman ‘Vangeline spied the unholy girl the moment she set foot on the flagstones running the length of the row of shotgun houses her own home sat on in the red-light district. Maman shook her head — another poor child, lured to her demise by the power that could be got from the religion that had become synonymous with New Orleans.

The demon cohabitating with the girl herself inside the girl’s body felt the power of Maman ‘Vangeline’s eyes as she watched the girl. The demon and the girl, eyes swirling with both their presences, met Maman’s eyes to take measure of the woman, just as she measured them.

‘What a shame’ Maman thought, this girl was too far gone for redemption. She’d been lured by the power the demon had promised, taken it into herself and now they walked as one. There would be no savior for this one. It was simply not possible.

Maman watched as the girl approached, never breaking eye contact with her. Eventually she came to a stop just outside Maman’s front gate. She did not reach out to touch the gate or the hip high fence marking the perimeter of Maman’s small yard. She simply stood there, watching Maman, not moving, not speaking.

Maman regarded the girl dispassionately, forcing the girl and her demon to have to address her first.

Finally the demon could take it no more. “Do you not want to know why I seek you out?”

Maman raised a single eyebrow. “Not particularly.”

“I have come to collect my reward,” the demon said confidently.

“Reward? I owe you no reward.”

“You do! I have held my end of the bargain. Bestowed a gift, even.”

Against her better judgment, Maman decided she wanted to know what bargain the girl spoke of. “It was no bargain of mine. And any gift from you is clearly tainted.”

“I am as powerful as you! I can bestow gifts!”

A slow, sarcastic smile curled Maman’s lips. “If you think so,” she replied, not the least bit concerned.

“I am! And I can!” The girl sneered at Maman. “You studied for years, wasted your life away in search of magics and strengths you now hold. I, on the other hand, made smart choices, joined forces, and now I stand before you, all that you are and more after only a few months.”

Maman nodded. “And therein lies the problem, child. I control my powers, not the other way around.”

The girl’s confidence wavered. “Give me the reward I am due!”

“No.”

The demon became enraged, blustering about and stomping a few feet away from the gate to the middle of the street and back before thrusting her hand out for Maman to see. “Here is my proof. You owe me!”

Maman stared at the cameo ring in the lost girl’s hand, her heart dying a little. She knew it at once as the ring her son had bought for his wife, yet she dare not tip her hand. “Where did you find such a pretty bauble?” Maman asked, forcing her voice to remain steady and only slightly interested.

The demon, thinking herself back in control, began to strut pompously the length of the gate and back again. “It was traded. In exchange for a gift of protection.”

“Protection of whom?” Maman asked.

“A true love,” the demon possessed girl answered.

“And who traded it to you for protection of their true love?” Maman pressed.

The girl grinned evilly. “Me thinks you should pay me my due, yah, before we tell you. That was the deal.”

‘Vangeline bowed her head slightly. “Then by all means, enter. I will give you all you are due.” Maman ‘Vangeline watched as the possessed girl reached for the latch on her front gate, pausing before she touched it and looking up at Maman for repeated permission to enter. “I have relaxed all the protections on my property and given you permission to enter. You will not be harmed by my protection charms and spells.”

The girl laid her hand on the gate, and at no immediate pain or impairment, smiled, thinking herself the winner in this confrontation, and let herself into the small yard in front of the home on Basin Street.

‘Vangeline turned and walked to her front door, her heart pounding, praying to all the deities she believed in for the safety of her son. She opened her door and stepped through, leaving it open for the girl to follow.

And follow she did.

The moment the girl passed through Maman ‘Vangeline’s threshold, she lifted the girl with a simple flick of her wrist, thrust her against the wall and with a few whispered words replaced the wards on her home, locking the spells and charms back tightly in place.

The girl’s demon started squalling, the girl herself floundering, her arms and legs flying about like a rag doll as she fought the immense strength slamming her continually against the wall. “Release me! Release me now or I’ll bring a wrath like none you've ever known to your door! Release me!” the demon screeched as the bones and skin of the girl’s face contorted into the demon’s countenance, then back to the girl again.

‘Vangeline walked slowly toward the girl, pinned three feet off the floor against her own living room wall. A circle of safety painted on the wall behind the girl, talismans of the religion Maman practiced accenting that circle. “Perhaps you don’t know about me,” ‘Vangeline said as she approached the girl still pinned magically to the wall.

The demon hissed while at the same time the girl snarled at ‘Vangeline.

“I am Maman ‘Vangeline. I am high-priestess of New Orleans. You are in my home now. In my territory, among my people and my things. And that ring you hold belongs to my son. If you have harmed my son, you have breathed your last.”

The girl stopped struggling at once. She realized the error of her plan. Then the demon reminded her, ‘But we gave him a way out. And we gifted him with the ability to watch over his love. We have served her son.’ The girl grinned. “We have not harmed him. We answered his plea, and gifted him with eternal life to watch over his love. We have gifted him his desire, not harmed him!”

Maman knew a demon gifted nothing without a twisted curse attached. “Where is my son?” she demanded calmly.

“I will never tell you! But if you free me, I’ll show you,” the girl promised.

“I’m afraid you will not be freed. Not unless you give me a reason to want to free you. Tell me how you come to have my son’s ring, and explain to me how you gifted him with anything.”

The girl, controlled by the demon, their thoughts intertwining, began babbling about everlasting life, the ability to watch over his love while declaring loudly that she did not seek him out. “He called to us, we did not lure him to us. He called to us! And he was happy to make the trade! Now he will forever watch from his resting place.”

‘Vangeline’s breath caught, realizing her son was likely gone. And more likely than not, his soul had been locked to the small patch of ground where he’d breathed his last. “You cursed him. You’ve locked his soul to the very ground he died on.”

“No! We gave him the ability to watch over his love. That is what he wished for. That and for you to reward us with our due for delivering his message to you. And this! His ring, he said to show it to you and you would reward us with all we deserved.”

“And so I shall. But first, I wish to know,” she saw the flicker of suspicion in the demon’s eyes, so quickly added, “because I am so impressed with your strength, how did you plan to release him from his prison?”

The demon, preening at her praise, laughed as he enjoyed her perceived recognition of his prowess. “Oh, only a fool could be freed from the ground he keeps.”

“Surely there is a secret to it?” ‘Vangeline asked, knowing there was always a way to counter a spell.

“Yes, exactly what I said, ‘A fool can be freed from the ground he keeps.’ Otherwise, should he cross the threshold, his soul will be given up for the next in line to live its life.”

“What threshold, where is he?” Maman demanded, losing patience with the games necessary to find her son.

“In a fortress of marble and iron. He rests in a rich man’s eternal home.”

‘Vangeline closed her eyes in a momentary flash of grief. She knew well where her son was. The only rich man who had issue with him was the father of his wife, Clarice. And now she had no doubt, her son was no longer among the living. Fate had conspired to rob him of his life for loving a girl society felt he should never have had access to. He was guilty of nothing but love. And for that not only had she lost him, but he lost his own life and any chance at a future.

‘Vangeline opened her eyes. Frustration and heartbreak had taken root, along with a searing, never-ending pain at the knowledge that her son, her precious son, had lost his life simply because he dared to love. ‘Vangeline reached out and snatched the ring from the girl’s hand as the demon admired it carelessly, still dangling from the spot on the wall where she’d been pinned by ‘Vangeline’s magic.

“Give it back! I earned it!”

‘Vangeline shook her head determinedly. “No. You didn’t, but you earned this.”

Slowly the demon began to feel warmth about her feet. That warmth grew until it was an irritating stinging, then quickly an unbearable inferno. The girl screamed, flailing her legs about, trying desperately to extinguish the invisible flames licking at her legs.

‘Vangeline whispered a few words aloud in the mixture of Haitian and French languages she practiced her religion in, to bring down a curtain of silence around her home. Then she stepped over to the curio in the corner, removed the lidded vase from the shelf and turned it over, emptying a mixture of dried herbs and spices from it. She walked back over to the girl now screaming, her eyes wide as unseen fire moved steadily up her body, and the demon attempted to claw his way free of her burning body.

‘Vangeline held the vase, one singular crystal-rock of hollowed salt with its own lid chiseled from the same crystal of rock salt, out toward the girl. The demon inside her eyed the salt vase and began shrieking anew. ‘Vangeline began her chant. Darkness permeated the inside of the house, the winds outside whipped and the imaginary flames lapped incessantly at the girl’s legs and body. Finally, the girl’s body began to deform — her stomach and chest elongating and stretching, her throat rhythmically rolling like the waves on an ocean, before the dingy, gray outline of the demon herself, short, squat, and greasy, ultimately burst forth from the girl’s body and hung limply in the air, looking desperately for another host.

‘Vangeline raised her voice, using the vice of her powers, those used for good and the banishment of evil to shackle the demon with invisible, twining ropes, forcing it to her will. The demon knew she was almost done for and tried to seep through the doors and walls of ‘Vangeline’s home in an effort to escape. But ‘Vangeline kept chanting, enforcing the wards on her home.

Before long the demon tired, hanging in the air and wailing. ‘Vangeline held out the vase again, swirling it as one would do to capture wisps of smoke inside. She smiled sadly as the last of the demon’s translucent, gray form was absorbed into the salt vase and promptly sealed with the lid for all eternity.

‘Vangeline turned back to the girl’s charred body, still held in place against her wall. She allowed the girl’s dead body to fall to the floor. She should have felt something, anything at the sight of the girl’s body crumpled in a heap on her floor. But she didn’t. All she felt was the crushing sadness and desperation of knowing that she’d never again hold her sweet son.

‘Vangeline looked around her home, remnants of the evil the girl and her demon had brought into her house still littered her home. All she could think of was getting to Samuel as quickly as possible. She needed to see for herself that he’d truly been cursed to the place she thought he had. Her feet started toward her front door, but she stopped again and glanced around her small living room. Holding back a sob of heartbreak, she turned back to her living room and set about removing the girl from her floor, the sprinklings of evil from the corners and securing all as it should be, lest she come home to more than she planned. Then she’d go in search of Samuel’s resting place.

Chapter 3

“Samuel, are you here?”

There was no response, so she tried again.

“Samuel? It’s Maman, are you here?”

Samuel opened his eyes, vaguely becoming aware of a sound in the void of silence he’d been locked in.

“Samuel?!”

There it was again. A voice. A soft voice, calling his name. He sat up and looked around himself. He’d no idea of the time that had passed, there was no marking of time in the realm he now inhabited.

“Samuel, can you hear me?”

“Maman?” he called.

“Yes! Samuel, it’s Maman. Can you come to me?”

“I don’t know. How?”

“Just concentrate on the sound of my voice, follow it. Imagine yourself lifting off the ground and following it.”

‘Vangeline kept talking, and Samuel did what she said, following her voice, and to his surprise, exactly as she’d said, he lifted up off the floor of the crypt, moved right through the wall, and was soon standing — more or less, in front of her.

“Maman!” he cried, heartbreak clear in his eyes, his voice and the translucent mists that loosely represented his face.

“Samuel,” ‘Vangeline sobbed. “My sweet boy. What has happened to you?”

“It was Clarice’s father. I waited for her as we planned. Only he came in her stead. He had me beaten and dumped here,” he answered, his face a mask of anguish. “I knew you’d come, Maman. I prayed you’d find me!”

“Of course I came. I would never stop until I found you.”

“There’s more, Maman. Before I…” he started. Then he gulped and tried again. “A woman, like you only younger, offered to watch over Clarice, but wanted payment. I gave her Clarice’s ring and asked her to go to you. Is that how you found me?” he asked. “I know I shouldn’t have, but it was the only chance I had to let you know what had happened and to protect Clarice,” he explained, his sad eyes dropping down to the ground.

“It matters not, Samuel. She came to me, and I found you.”

“Is she keeping watch over Clarice?” he asked, hopeful.

‘Vangeline shook her head, “No, my sweet boy. She’s not. The girl was possessed, beyond saving. I released her from her possession once I learned all I needed to find you.”

“But Clarice! Maman! I must save Clarice! What can I do?”

With tears in her eyes ‘Vangeline explained to her beloved son what he might not have understood before now. “Nothing, my son. You can’t leave here. Until I find a way to break the bargain the demon tricked you into, you can’t leave, or you’ll lose your soul.”

Samuel watched her, wide-eyed. “But, I don’t understand. I tricked the demon. I sent the girl to you so you could find me and free me.”

Maman shook her head sadly. “You cannot leave this crypt. This wrought iron fencing is your boundary. You cannot leave here. If you do, you will be lost forever, your soul forfeited to another.”

“Maman!” he whispered.

‘Vangeline stood strong, she shook her head and raised her delicate chin. “I will not rest until you are freed. Fear not, Samuel. I am not without my own prowess, and my strengths are so much more powerful than that the girl and her demon carried. They bound you here by bargain with you. I simply need to study the bargain. Find the loophole they left as a way to free you. I will find a way. And have no doubt, I will make them pay. All who had a hand in stealing your life from you will pay.”

“I have faith, Maman. I know you’ll find a way to break the bargain I made,” Samuel said quietly. “But I worry for Clarice. What has become of her? Has he harmed her, too?” Samuel asked worriedly.

“I’ve not seen, nor heard from Clarice. I came here straightaway after dealing with those who cursed you to this spot. I will go in search of her, but for now, I’m more focused on you. Tell me, Samuel. Tell me every single thing you remember from last night. I need to know every single thing, from the moment you were waiting for Clarice, until her father arrived, until you ended up here. Leave nothing out, no matter how painful.”

“But Clarice…” he started.

“I cannot free you until you help me see everything that happened last night. Then we can both go after Clarice.”

Samuel nodded. “Yes, Maman,” he finally agreed resignedly.

Hours later they’d exhausted every single thing they could find to say to one another, with Samuel reliving the previous night over and over again, until ‘Vangeline was sure she’d not missed a single word. Samuel begged her to honor just one request. Find Clarice.

“I know you can’t free me yet, Maman. It’s not what I wanted, but I can live with that as long as you can make sure that Clarice is safe. Please, Maman, be sure she is safe, and tell her that I don’t regret a single moment. Tell her that I love her, and even if I’d known the outcome, I’d have loved her still. Tell her not to be sad, tell her to find a way to live her life and not to look on our time with sadness.”

“I’ll try to find her, Samuel. I’ll do my best, and I’ll keep searching for a way to release you. Don’t lose heart, my son. I’ll be back soon.

Samuel nodded, the wisps that made up the form of his body, floating here and there with every movement of his head. “I’ll be right here, Maman,” he said sadly.

~~~~~

Clarice was sitting peacefully before the altar in the private nave of the church only accessible to the nuns of the small cloister she lived with. She sat, silently reciting the prayers that ran through her brain nonstop. Each of them a plea for Samuel’s soul.

She was startled by a voice behind her. “Sister Clarice, you have a visitor.”

Sister Clarice turned and looked at the Reverend Mother with curiosity. She gestured to her mouth and shook her head.

“I know. You speak only the prayers necessary for praise and worship of our Lord. But nonetheless, you have a visitor. Perhaps you should receive your visitor before you decide not to speak to her as well. She awaits you in the public chapel near the entrance to our abbey.”

Sister Clarice thought of not going, but her curiosity got the better of her. There was no woman who’d call on her. Her own mother was long dead. She had no sisters or family that would even care that she was missing. She crossed herself, rose from her kneeling position, then hurried to the chapel.

Clarice peeked through the stained glass windows to try to get a glimpse of the woman waiting to see her. Clarice recognized her on sight. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. It was Evangeline Dupont, mother of her beloved Samuel. In effect, her mother-in-law. Quickly she ran around to the front door of the chapel, and pulled it open. She ran inside, stopping only when Evangeline stood to face her.

Evangeline smiled sadly at the girl, now obviously a nun. “Hello, Clarice. I’ve searched for you for a long time.”

“Ms. Evangeline!” Clarice said on a whisper, that carried on it so much pain despite the fact that it was only a whisper. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come to you. At first I wasn’t thinking straight, and then, I thought surely I was the last person you’d want to ever lay eyes on.

“There is no apology needed. And just ‘Vangeline is fine. I’m more concerned with the here and now. How are you, dear?”

Clarice dissolved into tears. “Devastated. I’m shattered.”

“Because of the death of your father?”

“No, ma’am. That news brought me the only bit of joy I’d had in almost a year. I’m devastated because of the loss of my Samuel.”

“You are aware that your father’s death has been long coming. All his illnesses, all his suffering, they have not been a coincidence,” Maman ‘Vangeline said firmly, waiting to see how the girl would respond to the news that she herself was responsible for his death.

Clarice bravely met ‘Vangeline’s steady gaze. “I’d heard that he contracted horrible illnesses. I’d heard that his fingers and toes, even the flesh of his face was dying and falling from his body. I’d hoped it was you, and I hoped that he knew it was you. I wanted him to suffer,” Clarice confided.

“He knew. And he suffered a great deal of pain and fear. I made sure he saw me each time he rested on his veranda, masked and veiled as he used to be to try to hide the disfigurement that grew unhindered. I’d stand in his line of sight and repeat all the curses I’d already brought down on him as I smiled wickedly at him. Each time he’d become frightened and ring that blasted bell for his servants to come bring him back inside.”

“He deserved it,” Clarice whispered.

‘Vangeline opened her arms, her own tears starting to flow. “Though it may have been deserved, it brought me no peace. I am so lonely without my Samuel. I am as devastated as you are,” she said quietly, tears streaming down her face.

Clarice rushed into her arms and together they cried, holding onto one another until neither had tears left.

“Are you happy here, child?” ‘Vangeline finally asked her.

“I’m at ease here. There is no happiness for me. But I’m left to my own devices here. And the prayers give me a chance to pray for Samuel always.”

‘Vangeline nodded. ‘I understand that,” she said. I’ve not known happiness since that day myself.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. ‘Vangeline. It’s all my fault,” Clarice said, beginning to sniffle again.

“Nonsense, child. You gave my son the most happiness he’s ever had. None of this was your fault.”

“My father…” Clarice started.

“Is not you,” ‘Vangeline finished with a firm tone.

Clarice nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Good. Now, I have something for you.” ‘Vangeline said, holding out her hand with the cameo resting in her palm. Clarice picked it up and looked questioningly at ‘Vangeline.

“It’s for you. Samuel bought it for you. It was to be your wedding ring. He wasn’t able to buy it before you married, but he was planning to give it to you when you joined him the night…”

Clarice clasped the ring to her chest. “The night my father had him killed,” she rushed out.

“Yes,” ‘Vangeline confirmed.

Clarice held the precious ring out to admire again, then slipped the cameo on her forefinger. “I will never take it off. The other sisters will not like it, but I don’t care. My father’s estate — my estate, makes regular payments to the church specifically earmarked for this convent and its upkeep. They’ll not make too much of a fuss. I’ll wear it always.”

‘Vangeline smiled. “I like seeing it where it belongs.”

“I do, too. I feel closer to him with it on. It’s almost like I can feel him,” Clarice said, clutching her closed fist with the ring on her forefinger to her breast.

“Will you come with me to visit him?” ‘Vangeline asked.

“You know where he is?!” Clarice asked, surprised that ‘Vangeline knew where his body was. She’d not heard anything of a funeral, and she’d waited a long time before she finally gave up and decided that her father must have hidden Samuel away to hide any evidence of his involvement.

“He’s in your family crypt.”

Clarice looked off out of the window, her eyes unseeing as her mind worked. “That’s why no one could find his body when I reported his death to the police. My father buried him in our crypt knowing no one would look there.”

‘Vangeline shook her head. “No, he didn’t.”

Clarice’s gaze returned to ‘Vangeline. “I don’t understand.”

‘Vangeline tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. She shook her head then answered Clarice’s question. “Your father dumped Samuel’s still live, beaten, broken body in the crypt to die alone.”

Clarice’s tears started again. It was several moments before she was able to get control of herself once more. Then she nodded. “Yes. I’ll go to him. I only wish I could have gone to him when he was alive. I wish there was some way to let him know I still love him, that I was coming to meet him when my father intercepted me.”

“You know of me, Clarice?”

Clarice looked down at her hands, then up into the soft brown face and gentle eyes of one of the most powerful women in New Orleans. “Yes, ma’am. Samuel told me there was nothing to fear. So I never have. I trust you.”

“This may be hard for you to understand, but you need to know. He is no longer alive, but he is not gone. He is trapped in your family tomb; he’s been bound there for eternity, or until I can find a way to free him. He can’t leave the land the crypt is on. And honestly, I don’t even know if you can see him as I do. But he’s there, and he’ll be able to see you.”

“I don’t understand,” Clarice answered, shaking her head in confusion.

“He sent up a prayer for your protection the night he was dying. It was answered by someone with abilities not unlike mine. In his desperation to protect you, he made a bargain. A bargain which has left him earthbound eternally, watching over you from the confines of the cemetery.”

“I want to speak with him! I want to see him!” Clarice said, rushing toward ‘Vangeline so quickly she almost bumped into her.

“He sent me to find you. He sent a message for you. He wants you to find peace, to find a way to find peace and live your life.”

“Is there not a way for me to join him?” Clarice demanded. “I want to be with him!”

“NO! There is not. There is no guarantee that you would be allowed to remain with him even if you tried. He can never move on — you doubtlessly would. You would still not be together. Do not lose faith. I’m not giving up. I will find a way to free him. Unfortunately, until then, he is held a prisoner of that crypt.”

Clarice nodded, looking sadly down at the ring on her finger. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, if you’re ready. I don’t know if you’ll be able to see him, but even if you can’t see or feel him, he can see you, and hear your voice.”

“I understand. I’m ready.”

~~~~~

Clarice walked beside ‘Vangeline, their hands clasped tightly together as they moved toward the imposing, white, marble crypt at the end of the path in Lafayette Cemetery No. 1.

“Are you sure he’s here?” Clarice asked.

“I am,” ‘Vangeline answered.

As they got closer, Clarice clung more and more tightly to ‘Vangeline’s hand.

‘Vangeline began to call out to her son. “Samuel? We are here. I’ve done as I promised. I found Clarice. She is safe, Samuel, and she’s come to visit with you.”

Samuel rushed from the crypt to the fence enclosing it. “Maman!”

‘Vangeline’s expression softened, and she smiled as she always did at the sight of him. “Hello, my Samuel. Look, I’ve brought Clarice.”

Samuel stood spellbound, watching his love approach with his mother. The pale white of her skin, the bright blue of her eyes were a balm to his soul, having so long suffered without her. “Clarice! I’ve missed you so. I worried when we couldn’t find you. Are you well? Are you safe?”

‘Vangeline smiled. “Give her a moment, my son. She can’t hear you. I’ll have to ask her for you.”

“Where is he?” Clarice asked, straining to see anything at all other than the crypt.

“There, right at the gate. He wants to know if you are safe, if you are well.”

“I am safe, Samuel. I am healthy. Well is questionable. I will never be well without you.”

“Nor I without you, my Clarice.”

“Why are you dressed like that? I can’t see the beautiful blonde of your hair tucked away like that. Did you…?” he started to ask, then stopped, realizing as she pulled the cloak from her head and shoulders that she was dressed in the traditional garb of a Catholic nun. “You joined the nunnery,” he whispered.

“He is realizing that you joined the convent,” ‘Vangeline explained.

“The only way to extricate myself from the marriage my father had arranged was to join the convent. And quite honestly, it was the best thing for me, as it has been for other widows before me. I will never have any husband but you. I will always hold true to my marriage vows. I did not take my final vows of commitment to the order, but instead dedicated myself to the order. The fact that my estate makes regular donations to the convent helps the other nuns remain tolerant of my presence though I am not fully one of them. So, joining the order was not a huge sacrifice for me.”

“I’m so sorry, Clarice,” he said. “We should be on a beach, beneath the palm trees watching our babies play in the sand.”

‘Vangeline pressed her lips together, and blinked her eyes to keep the tears from falling.

“He says he’s sorry things ended this way. He says you should be together on a beach living your lives and building a family.”

Clarice’s face skewered up and she began to cry, but glancing up at ‘Vangeline she saw the unshed tears in her eyes, and knew the woman was remaining strong for her son. Clarice did the same. She lifted her hands and wiped away the tears.

“But I’m here now, and I’ll be here as much as I can now that I know where you are.”

They spent the afternoon, speaking and communicating through ‘Vangeline. The happiness she saw on her son’s face was more than worth the effort to help them reunite.

As the sun started setting, ‘Vangeline finally spoke of having to leave. “It is time for us to go, Samuel. We should be on our way.”

He understood. “I know. I don’t want either of you out after dark on the streets alone.”

‘Vangeline laughed. “You forget who your Maman is, my boy.”

“Will you come see me again sometime, let me know that you are well?” Samuel asked Clarice.

“He wants to know if you will come to visit him again sometime so that he can know you are well.”

“Of course I will. I already promised to come as often as I can. I meant that promise. I won’t ever be far away for long.”

‘Vangeline stepped closer to the gate and extended her hand and arm over the threshold for Samuel to touch. She could just feel a slight warmth where he grasped her hand.

“What are you doing?” Clarice asked.

“He can’t cross the threshold of the land the crypt lies on. If he does, his soul will be lost. So I reach across the threshold so that he can touch me and say goodbye.”

Immediately Clarice stepped up to the gate, pressing her entire body against the wrought-iron bars, she extended her hand as far across the threshold as she could. “Until the next visit, my love.”

Samuel grasped her hand in his and pressed his lips to the cameo she now wore on her hand. “Maman, please tell her that I love that she is wearing my ring. Tell her I’ve kissed it as a seal of my vow of love to her.”

“He says that he’s kissed your wedding ring, sealing his vow of love.”

Clarice pulled her hand back and mimicked his actions, kissing the ring as well. “I’ll see you soon. Will you be well until I return?”

“Assure her, Maman, please. I do not want her coming here every single day. She needs to live her life.”

“He wants you to live your life, Clarice. You should not come here every day.”

“I will come here whenever necessary. I need to know that he is here, that I will come to visit my husband each time I can stand it no longer.”

Samuel stood there with the only bit of relief ‘Vangeline had seen on his face since he’d been trapped there. “I will be waiting,” he promised.

Chapter 4

Clarice's visits became a regular thing. Every few days, Samuel would look up from his perch atop the roof of the crypt, or his spot leaning against the doorway, and there she’d be, singing to herself as she made her way through the other tombs in the cemetery to reach his. Most days she’d bring a lunch with her and spend the entire day with him. Sometimes she’d come alone, other times she came with ‘Vangeline. On the days she came alone, she’d tell him all about the things she’d done. The books she’d read, the new foods she’d tried, the songs she’d sung and the gossip of the city. She’d pause as though he were answering before going on with her story. When she got tired, she’d lean her back against the fence surrounding the crypt and rest for a while.

He’d rest against the other side of the fence, and they were content to just be together. Nothing was hurried, and there was no angst. This was just as they were and as of now, there was no way to change them. They still loved each other, and that was all that mattered.

~~~~~

One fall morning Clarice followed the path to the crypt that held her love. The fog and mists were heavy in the air giving everything a hazy appearance that day. Clarice smiled when she saw ‘Vangeline standing at the gate, speaking softly.

She approached quietly, not wanting to interrupt ‘Vangeline as she spoke with Samuel.

‘Vangeline turned her head and glanced her way. “Good morning, Clarice,” she greeted.

“Good morning, ‘Vangeline. How are you and Samuel today?” Clarice asked.

“We are well.”

As Clarice got closer and closer as she followed the path between the decorative crypts in the cemetery, the smile fell from her face, and she stumbled to a stop. “Oh, my God!” she said breathlessly.

‘Vangeline turned and looked at Clarice again, not sure what had caused her to exclaim as she had. “Is everything alright?” ‘Vangeline asked.

“I can see him,” Clarice whispered.

Samuel stood at the gate, resting his hands against the inside of the gate, careful not to extend a finger beyond its boundaries. He smiled at her just like he used to when he’d see her hurrying toward him for one of their clandestine meetings.

“Samuel! I can see you!” she shouted, breaking into a run as her heart leapt with joy.

‘Vangeline looked back at her, then at Samuel. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” she cried. “He’s there, right there! I can see his outline in the mists. Oh, Samuel, I can see you! You are just as I remember — so beautiful!”

She held her arm out, over the threshold and gasped when she felt the warmth of his touch on her wrist. “I can feel you! I always wondered if it was my imagination, but it’s not. I can see the outline of your hand on my wrist and feel the warmth!”

Clarice climbed up on the base of the gate and leaned over toward him, puckering her lips for him to kiss.

Samuel clasped her beautiful face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.

Clarice closed her eyes as the warmth and love he felt for her enveloped her. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, my Clarice. So much,” he said.

“He says he loves you, too,” ‘Vangeline told Clarice.

“I’ve brought lunch, and a book of poetry. Won’t you share my lunch?” Clarice asked ‘Vangeline.

“Thank you, Clarice, but no. I only came by for a brief visit. I’ve much to do today.”

“If you’re sure,” Clarice said, setting her picnic basket on the cement walkway beside the crypt.

“I am sure. You stay here and enjoy your time with Samuel,” ‘Vangeline said, pausing to glance over at Samuel.

Clarice knew that Samuel was speaking to ‘Vangeline. She could see his lips moving, outlined by the mists the way they were, she just couldn’t hear his voice.

“He says you should read him some of your poetry book. He loves to hear your voice. And tell him of your days since you were here last,” ‘Vangeline said.

“I will do both,” Clarice said happily, gazing at her husband. “I still can’t believe I can actually see him today!” she said happily.

‘Vangeline smiled sadly for Clarice. “He is happy that you can see him, too.” ‘Vangeline put her bonnet back on her head and tied the ribbons beneath her chin, then she slipped her gloves back on. “I’ll be on my way now. You take care, Clarice,” she said hugging the girl.

“I will, ‘Vangeline.”

‘Vangeline kissed her gloved fingertips then slipped them through the gate, where Samuel pressed his cheek to her fingertips. “I love you, Samuel. I shall return soon.”

Clarice watched as ‘Vangeline made her way out of the cemetery. She didn’t look back at the young star-crossed couple, she just kept to her path and quickly disappeared from view.

Clarice turned back to Samuel, still visible if she moved just so to get the full effect of his person moving through the mists. “Shall I read?” she asked.

Samuel gave her a brilliant smile and nodded his head dramatically so she’d see him respond.

Clarice settled in front of the crypt, mindless of the mists and fogs dampening the walkway, and by default, her skirt. She opened her book of poetry, and began to read to Samuel. They passed a lovely afternoon, chatting, reading, and just reveling in being near one another.

After that day, Clarice always made a special effort to visit Samuel each time there was heavy fog or mists in the area. And each time she was treated to the vision of her love, waiting for her, a smile on his lips. Years passed this way, but Clarice never stopped coming to spend time with Samuel.

Then came the day Clarice arrived to find ‘Vangeline standing beside the crypt, quietly weeping. Her heart thudded in her chest and she ran to ‘Vangeline, shouting out her concern before she was even close enough to speak to her. “What’s wrong? Is he gone?”

‘Vangeline looked up to see Clarice running toward her down the path that led to the crypt Samuel had been bound to. “No. He’s not gone,” she said, lifting her hands palm up, her face filled with desperation. “But I’ve tried everything. I cannot release him,” ‘Vangeline said, weeping quietly. “I can’t find a way to free him. I’ve consulted everyone I know, offered rewards that I cannot even pay to anyone that can help me free my son. And I’ve had no one even come forth with a suggestion. I don’t know what to do next, but I refuse to give up!” she finished up on a cough so forcefully that she had to hold onto the gate to keep herself upright.

“It’s alright, Maman. It is what it is, and at least I can see you both, hear your voices. I’m not alone,” Samuel said, trying to comfort his mother.

“It is not alright, Samuel. I may not always be here. What will happen to you then? I need to find a way to release you from your bargain.” ‘Vangeline was wracked with a soul-shaking cough again. “There is always a way out, we just have to find it!” she insisted.

“Maman, you should not be here. Please, go home and take care of yourself. That cough sounds bad, Maman. I will still be here when you are better,” Samuel urged.

“What if I don’t make it back, Samuel. I need to free you soon,” ‘Vangeline lamented.

“’Vangeline, you are not well,” Clarice said quietly. She’d been watching ‘Vangeline speaking to Samuel. She couldn’t hear Samuel’s side, but she could guess the meaning of what he’d said from her responses. “You should go home and take care of yourself so that you will be able to free him as soon as we find the secret to releasing him.

“I know you are right, but I don’t want to leave here. What if…” ‘Vangeline said.

“You are so strong, ‘Vangeline. You can cure yourself. Take the time to rest and cure your cough. I’ll be here with Samuel every day, so you won’t have to worry about it. You take the time you need and we’ll find a way to release him when you are healthy again,” Clarice encouraged.

“Perhaps you’re right,” ‘Vangeline said. She reached through the rungs of the gate, extending her arms so that Samuel could touch her and she him. “I love you, Samuel. I will find a way.”

“I know, Maman. Go rest. Be well, then, I will see you again.”

~~~~~

Clarice kept her promise to visit Samuel every day for the first week or so, then gradually, he realized it had been a while since she’d been to see him. He’d learned how to count the days as they passed, though they no longer affected him one way or another, so it was easy for him to know if Clarice missed a day.

He was becoming worried. Neither Clarice nor his mother had come to see him in weeks. He paced his prison. He shouted his frustration. He stood on top of the crypt and screamed their names to the sky, but no one saw him, and no one heard him.

Then, finally, one day a crew of several men arrived. They unlocked the gate around his crypt, opened the sealed inner sanctum of the crypt and removed Clarice's father’s remains from it. Then they sealed it again. He was confused, wondering what had caused the man’s remains to be removed from his own crypt. He was glad the man’s body was gone, but left in a state of wondering.

Samuel spent much of that day confused and apprehensive. He knew something had changed, something was wrong. Later that afternoon, he saw a familiar figure making her way down the path to him. “Clarice!” he called out, jumping up from the ground where he leaned against the side of the crypt.

He watched her walking toward him, almost as though she didn’t want to arrive at his crypt. Her anxious behavior only made him more concerned. “Clarice,” he said softly. “Whatever it is, please, just hurry and tell me,” he begged.

But of course Clarice couldn’t hear him. She walked slowly, gathering her thoughts about her, hating the pain she was about to cause him. Bolstering her courage, she lifted her head the last few feet of the walk, and approached the gate that kept him in. “Are you here, my Samuel?” she asked softly.

She extended her hand through the gate and waited. When he stroked the skin of her arm, she smiled at the very slight, almost non-existent tingles she thought she felt. “There you are,” she whispered. Then her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long, but it couldn’t be helped.”

She felt him stroke her arm again and smiled sadly. “I’m so sorry, Samuel, but I have some very sad news. I’ve been caring for your mother. She cried out for you, and I was the only one who could soothe her. She was very ill, Samuel,” she said, pausing to swipe at her tears with her fingertips. Clarice took a deep breath and sniffled. “She passed last night. She had tuberculosis, Samuel. There was nothing to be done. Not her own medications, nor the doctor’s made any difference.”

Samuel cried out, letting go of Clarice’s arm to fall upon the ground.

“I’m so sorry, Samuel. I tried to take care of her the best I could. I tried so hard. But nothing made her better.”

Clarice let her arm drop knowing that he no longer touched her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She sat down and leaned against the gate, resting the side of her face against one of the bars of the wrought iron fence, gazing into the small plot of ground that made up her family’s crypt. While she knew he was there, unless it was misty or foggy, she couldn’t see him. And she’d never be able to talk to him again now that Maman ‘Vangeline was gone. So, she just sat there, knowing that he knew she was with him, even if she couldn’t hear him or see him at the moment.

Samuel collapsed when he’d heard of his mother’s death. He lay there, sobbing and raging at fate and the cruelness of what had become his life. And now the stress of it all had weakened his mother to the point that she’d become ill and died. He cursed anything and anyone he could think of to curse. Except Clarice. Because each time he threw his gaze in the direction of the gate at the front of the crypt, she was still there, sitting quietly, being there for him, despite the fact she couldn’t see him.

Once Samuel had cried and raged himself to a point of acceptance, he moved closer to Clarice. He sat on the ground right beside her, and leaned against the gate just opposite her. He needed to find a way to let her know he was there. He tried to pick up leaves and twigs to toss her way, but it didn’t work. He tried to pluck at the black fabric of her habit where it poked through the wrought iron bars, but that didn’t work anyway.

He huffed out a breath in frustration, and happened to see the single strand of hair that had fallen from her habit, jostle in response. Samuel focused on that strand of hair, and blew at it again. The strand of hair moved again. Excited that he was able to make her hair move, he sat there, blowing and blowing and blowing, until finally Clarice reached up to the side of her face to swat away whatever was tickling her face.

Samuel seized that moment to blow on her hand.

Clarice froze and looked into the small bit of ground surrounding the crypt, but of course she saw nothing.

Samuel blew on her hand and her hair again and Clarice sat up straight, then glanced around the trees and shrubbery along the perimeter of the cemetery itself. There was no breeze blowing the trees this day.

“That was you, wasn't it?” she asked, holding her hand out again.

Samuel blew against her hand, then blew at the stray wisp of hair, causing it to tickle her cheek again.

Clarice smiled. “There you are,” she said, still somewhat subdued, but very happy that he’d managed to communicate with her.

“I’ll always be here for you, Samuel. Never doubt that,” she promised.

Samuel blew a warm breeze of air across her face in answer and she smiled.

“I have a letter for you, from your mother. I promised her I’d read it to you if she wasn’t able to recover.” Clarice sat beside the crypt, her eyes staring off into the distance. “I never believed she wouldn’t survive,” she said.

After a little while, Clarice finally reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter. “Your mother wrote this letter for you when she began to believe that she’d not recover. I’ll read it for you. Blow on my face if it’s too much and you want me to stop, alright?” she asked.

Clarice opened the letter and began to read aloud,

“My dearest, Samuel.

I fear that I will not recover from this sickness that has taken hold of my lungs. I cannot breathe without coughing, and I have weakened so drastically that I am unable to visit you as I wish to. I know there is a way to break this bargain you were tricked into. Please do not give up hope, my son. Remember the words the girl said to me, “Only a fool can be freed from the ground he keeps. Otherwise, should he cross the threshold, his soul will be given up for the next in line to live its life.” There will come a day those words will have meaning. Do not hesitate, when they do. Rush through the threshold without pause. I hope to see you on the other side when you finally find the answers that have eluded us. I shall leave this world with your face in my mind, your name on my lips, and love for you in my heart. Know that you have been my every happiness, Samuel.

All my love,

Your Maman, Evangeline.”

Samuel sat opposite Clarice on his side of the fence, sobbing as she read his mother’s letter to him.

Clarice sat quietly with him after she’d finished reading ‘Vangeline’s letter until she felt like a suitable amount of time had passed. Then she began speaking to him. “I’ve had my father’s remains removed from this crypt. I am ashamed to say that I didn’t think of it sooner. I am very sorry that you had to share this space with him. But, no more. He’s been moved to Potter’s Field. I have another crew scheduled to come this afternoon. They will change the name on the crypt to Dupont. I have arranged for your mother to be interred here as well. I hope that is acceptable to you.”

“Thank you, Clarice. Thank you,” he said over and over again, though he knew she couldn’t hear him.

After a while, Clarice stood, and Samuel got to his feet with her. She extended her arm through the bars of the gate so he could touch her if he wanted to. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow for your mother’s service. And I’ll keep visiting afterward. Do not fear, Samuel. I will never leave you alone.”

Samuel caressed her arm like he always did, hoping she could feel his touch. But she pulled away and walked away from him, her head hanging low as she went, her sadness at the loss of his mother easily read in her mannerisms.

Chapter 5

The next morning ‘Vangeline Dupont was interred in the magnificent white marble crypt now bearing her family name. No other but Clarice knew that it also was home to Samuel Dupont.

Clarice walked just behind the priest that led the procession of followers, friends, and believers to the crypt. After the service was done, and Maman was interred, her fellow practitioners performed their own service to celebrate the life of Maman ‘Vangeline. They played music and burned incense. They left little gifts and offerings in her memory, and thanked Clarice for providing such a nice crypt for their priestess.

Clarice watched everything they did very respectfully, and remained beside the gate enclosing the crypt itself. From time to time she’d feel a slight breeze across her cheek and turned toward it with a smile. “I love you, Samuel,” she’d whisper. Then she’d receive another breeze across her cheek, letting her know he loved her, too.

Once everyone had said their goodbyes, Clarice stayed behind with Samuel. And there she sat until dusk, when she finally had to go.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised.

Samuel stood inside his gated prison, watching his love who was once a beautiful, young girl, with life ahead of her, wander away from him as a solitary, stoic, Catholic nun. His heart was broken anew for two reasons now: his mother had left this world for the next, leaving him behind, and his beloved Clarice was wasting her life away as she mourned what could have been with him.

~~~~~

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. Twice a week, without fail, Clarice came to visit Samuel. Some days she’d sit and read to him, others she’d clear away the offerings left behind by those faithful to Maman ‘Vangeline even in death. They left little gifts for her and prayers for whatever it was they desired scribbled onto little scraps of paper.

Clarice didn’t throw them away. She organized them and placed them inside the gate where she hoped Samuel enjoyed them as well as the visits from his mother’s followers.

Their time went on like this, and eventually Samuel began to notice a change in his Clarice. Her face was aging. Her hair, where it peeked from beneath her habit, was beginning to show wisps of silver. She was growing old. He thought her more beautiful than ever, and on the days filled with fog and mists made sure to say the words slowly, so she could read his lips as they moved. ‘I love you,’ and ‘So beautiful.’

Clarice would blush and lower her lashes as she shyly glanced at the ground as a result of his compliments.

Then, eventually, the day came that she did not visit. Then another and another.

Until finally, the men arrived at the crypt to open it for another’s interment. Samuel watched as they respectfully moved his mother’s remains to the side, just to the right of the main dais inside the crypt, then cleaned the dais for whomever they thought to place inside it next.

The next day, when they carried in Clarice’s coffin with their priest leading the funerary procession, and her sister nuns gathered and sang their prayers in celebration of her life, he wept tears of heartbreak. Not for himself, but for the world, because they’d lost such a beauteous and selfless creature as his Clarice. Samuel mourned alone, silently screaming his suffering to the winds.

His existence was no longer needed, and as he contemplated just walking out of the gate enclosing the hallowed ground he was bound to, Clarice’s fellow sisters approached the gate and caught his attention in a way he never expected.

“Sister Clarice had one last request. That we read her last letter aloud to her beloved late husband. It is the simplest request and so, these are her words.”

“Dearest Samuel,

If you are hearing this, I am now with you. I have loved you all the days of my life and will continue to love you ever after. I will pray for the day our eyes will once again gaze upon one another, and we will have the lifetime of love that was stolen from us. I wear my wedding ring as I rest now, waiting for our next life together. Come to me soon, husband. I grow weary of waiting, but as your Maman said, you will know when the time is right. Maman ‘Vangeline said so eloquently,‘I shall leave this world with your face in my mind, your name on my lips, and love for you in my heart.’ So will I, my love. Know that you have been my every happiness, Samuel.

Until we meet again,

All my love — your wife, Clarice.”

“Go on,” one of the sisters said.

“I feel foolish,” the reader responded.

“It was her last wish. You’ve already read the letter, what’s a little more?”

“Because reading a letter aloud is a little different than speaking to a spirit.”

“It is a last wish and who could it possibly hurt?”

“Very well,” the nun said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but Clarice made me promise, so, here goes. Samuel? Clarice has made arrangements to have the crypt cared for and maintained indefinitely. Her estate is to be split between the convent and caring for this crypt. She said that I should stand here and say that aloud. And to let you know there was no pain at the end, only peace and joy, knowing that she’d soon be with you.”

Samuel watched from his place on the ground where he’d collapsed and sat weeping once he realized that Clarice was gone. He heard every word, but the ones that were most important were that she didn’t suffer at the end.

After the sisters left, he rose and dragged himself into the crypt. He usually spent all his time outside so he could see Clarice when she entered the cemetery and started on her way down the path to his crypt. But, now, he sat for days on end inside the crypt, whispering of his love to his beloved Clarice, who was now at rest in the crypt beside his Maman.

Eventually he ventured outside, where he’d watch the faithful, year after year continue to leave offerings for his Maman. And at some point the care of the crypt fell to the wayside — the only thing keeping it standing was that it was made of marble. The wrought-iron fencing and gate marking its territory became rusty, the black paint peeling away. The marble became stained, and the weeds grew up its sides.

But it mattered not. Samuel had no way to do anything about it, and the only two people he’d ever loved were no more. A few more years passed, and he grew bored. So bored his very sanity was threatened. He began to try to communicate with the believers who still visited his Maman’s resting place. He was not able to speak with them, but he found he could flick little pebbles at them, causing them to run screeching from his home — his prison. He could lift the notes begging for favors and throw them back at the people leaving them there.

And then best of all, he found that he could grasp the iron gate, shaking it violently to cause a deafening rattle. He entertained himself with these things until one day, a young girl wandered into his field of vision. She walked right up to his gate, smiling brightly. “What a lonely gravesite, Mother! Can we restore this one?”

Her mother walked up beside her, looking at the marble structure behind him. “It is a grand one,” she said, seeing beneath the damage the ages and the worshipers had done to it, “or at least it once was.”

“I like it. Can we make this one our project?”

“We can ask. Let’s find the caretaker and see if he’ll give us permission.”

Ten minutes later the little girl, her mother and a burly gentleman in work clothes approached Samuel’s crypt again.

“You sure you want to clean this one up, lady? It’s looking kind’a rough. And this is the one all the rumors swirl about. Those damn heathens won’t leave it alone — always spray painting symbols and words on it. Leaving offerings, they call it.”

“Why are they leaving offerings,” the girl’s mother asked, concerned.

“Dupont is the family name of one of the most famous voodoo queens of New Orleans. She’s buried in there. Maman ‘Vangeline they called her. Those that still believe in such things sneak in and leave their requests on cards and scraps of paper, along with little offerings as payment. Those I don’t mind so much, truth be told. It’s the ones that paint on the crypt and dirty it up that get me — they don’t have no respect at all.”

“Well, that’s why it needs us to clean it,” the little girl said.

“Word is it’s haunted, too. Rocks getting thrown at people, the gate rattling at all hours. Most people steer clear of it.”

“Claire, maybe we should look for another for you to restore, so you can earn your service hours for school. One that’s not such a challenge,” her mother said.

Claire looked at the large, imposing crypt behind her, now covered in spray-painted graffiti, Voodoo dolls, handwritten notes and small gris-gris bags littering its grasses and weeds, where they grew up sparsely within the confines of its fencing. She stepped forward, wrapping her small, light-brown hand around one of the rusted wrought-iron bars. “No. I want this one. It needs me, Mom. I can feel it, can’t you?”

Samuel squatted down to really look at the little girl — Claire — her mother had called her. She was no more than 11 or 12 years of age. She was wearing a bright blue shirt with happy, smiling, yellow creatures all over it. Some had one large eye, others wore a pair of goggles. They all wore blue overalls and had large black eyes with silly smiles. Her hair was curly and black, parted and braided into dozens and dozens of braids, with small, brightly-colored barrettes holding the braids secure at each end. She had skin much the same color as his, but her eyes — her eyes were not the luminescent green his were. They were the same bright blue of his Clarice.

“Can you hear me?” she said.

Samuel’s brow furrowed — it couldn’t be, he thought.

“I’m going to make your home pretty again, so you won’t have to be angry or sad anymore.”

Samuel canted his head to the side, trying to see more deeply into her soul. He hesitantly touched her fingers with his, and gently curled them around her small hands where they clung to the rusted gate post.

Right away she lit up, smiling and looking at her hand. Her eyes scanned the area within the burial plot, but didn’t register him. Instead she nodded and spoke aloud again. “I’ll be back in a little bit. We have to go get some stuff to start cleaning with. But you can depend on me — I won’t let you down.”

“Let’s hurry, Mom, I want to get started today,” she said as she turned and followed her mother down the path, stopping to turn back and wave at him.

Samuel couldn’t believe it. She’d waved at him!

He paced the ground restlessly until he heard her angelic laugh as she and her mother returned.

She skipped along beside her mother, the both of them carrying bags of cleaning supplies, and her mother pulled a small red wagon behind them with even more needed tools.

And Samuel watched spellbound as she talked about how happy cleaning the crypt would make the man who lived in it.

Having gotten permission, and been given keys for access to the tomb, they unlocked the gate and spent the afternoon scrubbing the sides of the crypt, pulling weeds, and gathering up the gris-gris bags and the other offerings left behind every night by those who still believed that Maman ‘Vangeline could grant their wishes from beyond the grave. They didn’t dispose of the offerings and notes. Instead they enlisted the help of the cemetery caretaker and erected a small wooden stand with a tray on top similar to a shallow three sided box which would allow any who wished to leave favors and offerings in the small wooden tray next to the crypt. It was inside the fenced in area of the family crypt and they’d have to lean over the fence to do it, but the hope was it would keep the site a little neater and cleaner. Claire and her mother respectfully gathered all the offerings scattered about the crypt and placed them inside the small tray atop the stand they’d erected. They used a gas-operated weedeater to cut down the small patch of grass and to edge around the crypt.

It was late afternoon when they finally took a break. Claire and her mother stood back, surveying their work.

“Looks good, Claire-bear,” her mother said.

“Yes, it does. But still, we have more to do.”

“We can come back next weekend if you want to.”

“Really?!” Claire asked excitedly.

“Really. We can make it a regular thing if you like.”

Claire rushed over to her mother. “Thanks, Mom! I’d really like that.”

Later that evening as the nightly visitors began to silently slip into the cemetery, making their way to the Dupont crypt to leave their gifts and make their wishes known, Samuel sat quietly, watching them, listening to their pleas for intercession from Maman ‘Vangeline. They respectfully placed their wishes and gifts in the new tray provided. And the anger he usually felt, the frustration that he took out on those that dared to deface the resting place of his mother and his beautiful Clarice, was not there.

He thought of the little girl — Claire — and her need to make the crypt beautiful again. Of his feeling of connection to her, and he smiled. Maybe, his Clarice was closer than he thought, and maybe, just maybe, she was not resting in this old crumbling crypt behind him. Maybe she’d been given a second chance, and her heart had brought her back to the one place her soul always knew she could find him.

Chapter 6

Months went by, and every week Claire and her mother would come to visit him. In actuality, they weren’t visiting him, they were taking care of the crypt, but still, he was there, so he liked to pretend they were visiting him. He’d begun to look forward to their arrival, expected them even. They’d spend the whole afternoon, cleaning and beautifying the crypt, even hanging decorations for whatever holiday was next on the gate — wreaths of green and red for Christmas, orange and brown for Thanksgiving, green for St. Patrick's day, and green, gold and purple beads and masks hung on all the posts of his fence for Mardi Gras.

As the seasons changed and passed, the girl grew up, but always she came for her visits. Eventually, she came alone, having grown old enough to bring herself. Claire had grown into a beautiful young woman, and if ever he had doubts of her being Clarice, they were long gone. There were afternoons that she’d not do any more than pick up the litter and gifts strewn about the ground. Then, she’d take a seat on the ground, leaning against the gate as Clarice had always done. She’d ask, “Would you like me to read you a story?” Then she’d read aloud from books of her favorite sonnets. It was on one such day that she’d read for almost an hour, finally tiring and closing the book while clutching it to her chest. She sighed and said aloud, “I love coming here. I always feel so peaceful when I’m here.”

Samuel used the tricks he’d learned over the decades spent alone to gently tug at her hair, where it curled over the collar of the sweater she wore, poking through the gate she leaned against. She turned quickly, her eyes searching the area. Her eyes rounded, her mouth dropped open, and she looked right at him.

Samuel smiled softly for her, wondering if it was his imagination or if she could see him.

Slowly a smile curved her lips. “I can see you,” she whispered.

His smile grew, and he lifted his hand in a wave, then extended it just a bit.

Without pause, Claire reached out, putting her hand right through his. He grinned, then adjusted his hand, using both his hands to hold hers.

She watched — his hands and his face outlined by the mists floating in the air. It was late February, the temperature in New Orleans sporadic at best, cool, cold, warm and muggy all in the same day, causing misty, gray days and damp, cold nights. As he enveloped her hands in his own misty ones, she gasped. “I can feel you!”

He leaned forward and kissed her hand.

“Can I do anything for you?” she asked.

Samuel shook his head, then took a seat cross-legged on the ground and gestured toward her book. He wanted her to know he enjoyed her visits and loved to hear her voice reading to him. Her voice was Clarice’s. When she spoke, he knew it was her. When she was still long enough for him to look into her eyes, he knew it was her. And now that she’d seen him in the mists — their eyes locking, their hearts open, he could feel her. His Clarice had been given a second chance. His own mind swirled as Claire sat down to read him another story. Maybe this was the beginning of his second chance as well. He hadn’t thought of it in years, the phrase his mother had made him memorize. Something about a fool walking free. He’d have to try to remember it and see if he could figure it out.

Only several blocks away from the cemetery…

The crash inside the house was easily heard from the street.

“Stop it! What is wrong with you? They’ll put you out again!” the woman screamed at the young man tossing the cushions of the sofa around the room. “Do you want to be living on the streets again?”

“Like that matters,” he muttered, as he continued to search for any coins he could find beneath the cushions.

“What are you looking for?” the old lady screeched, while he made his way around the room tearing apart first one piece of furniture then another.

“Money, old woman.”

“How about you get a job? You’ve only got two weeks left here, then you’re on your own. This is juvie, it’s to give you a chance to redeem yourself. Next time, it won’t be a halfway house after juvie detention — it’ll be jail.”

“How ‘bout you get off my back!”

“I’m trying to help you!”

He stopped, his chest heaving, the words of teachers, policemen, judges even, ringing in his ears. ‘Soulless.’ That’s what they all called him. Said his eyes were soulless.

He’d stopped ripping through the furniture, so the house-mother saw it as an opportunity to try to speak to him again. He was good, down deep inside, she could sense it, but he was always wandering, always lost, always searching for… something. “Please tell me what I can do to help you. You always seem so lost. What is it you are always searching for?”

The beautiful young man turned to her. He was tall, strong, fierce in his stance, his bright blue eyes and blonde hair giving him an angelic appearance in spite of his intimidating presence, but so heartbreakingly alone and sad. He’d never done anything violent, just petty crimes, but they’d added up, landing him in a juvenile halfway house. And lately, it seemed he was near to bursting, like a fire long kindled, ready to explode and take out all in his path. He had so much potential, and she just couldn’t stop trying to save him.

He faced her, “You can’t help me. No one can. Everybody I’ve ever met has said that I’m cold, heartless.” He pinned her with a stare, “soulless. There’s nothing to save. So do yourself a favor and just walk away.”

“I don’t believe that.”

He shoved past her, pushing the door open and stomping down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“To find some money!” he shouted at her over his shoulder.

“Do not do anything to jeopardize your residency here! Your time is almost finished!”

“Lady, get off my ass! I’ll do whatever the hell I want!” He took off at a full run, and as she watched in the glow of the streetlight, he disappeared around the corner.

He ran. He ran until the burning of the muscles in his legs made him stop. He paused outside the front gates of Lafayette Cemetery No. 1. This is the place he always came to when he felt like he was ready to explode. And tonight was worse than it’d been in a while. The house-mother wanted him to talk to her. How could he explain what he didn’t understand? He never felt anything but frustration, anger, and emptiness. It was like a part of himself was missing. He’d always been like this, from his earliest memories of life in the orphanage to this very moment in time.

He’d always felt the drive to search, search, search. But for what? Fuck if he knew. But the frustration of never finding satisfaction or whatever nameless thing he was always driven to search for was maddening. It made him angry, and the anger made him act out. He remembered the faces of the many who’d readily dismissed him as useless, unable to be rehabilitated. “Fuck ‘em,” he said to himself, as he walked around the outside perimeter of the cemetery to the opposite side, then scaled the wall, landing on his feet inside. He walked quietly between the graves, breathing deep, taking in the calmness of the night. This was the only place he ever felt like he could breathe easy.

~~~~~

Samuel paced the inside perimeter of his prison again. He was not happy. Claire had been coming to see him less and less. And today when she’d come, she’d only been there for a short while before a dark-haired young man had come for her.

“Hello!” she called out as she approached the crypt.

He’d been waiting for her. She usually came on Sundays, and he’d been ready, even though she’d missed several Sundays of late. He rushed to the front gate. “Claire!” he’d said, though he knew she couldn’t hear him.

“I can’t see you, today. It’s only misty days that I can see your smile, but I know you’re here.”

“I am,” he answered. “Always.”

“Sorry I haven’t been here as much lately. Life happens, ya know?” she said, giving a half-hearted laugh.

She stood there, her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I met someone. His name is Preston. He’s really handsome. And he’s popular at school. All the girls in my dorm like him, but he likes me. Can you believe it? Me!”

At first he was outraged, then he realized, he could never be the man in her life. Never take her places, never hold her, never protect her or provide for her, never even speak to her. She was doing what he’d asked Clarice to do all those centuries ago — living her life.

Samuel took a deep breath, letting it out and nodding his head. Yes, this was good. She deserved happy, and it had taken her two lifetimes to find it. No matter the personal pain, he wanted this for her.

“So, anyway, I just wanted you to know that while I won’t be here as much, I’ll still come by, and I’ll still take care of the place and come to say hello. I just didn’t want you to worry.” She stepped close to the gate, reaching her hands through it toward him.

Samuel stepped forward, holding her hands in his for what may be the last time.

She smiled, clearly feeling the contact. “I’ll come by when I can. I won’t forget.”

Then a young man had broken the moment. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just saying goodbye,” she said, her voice not its usual confident self.

“I told you it makes people think you’re weird, coming here to spend all your time with a bunch of dead bodies.”

“I know,” she shrugged. “I just got attached to the place when I started taking care of it when I was younger.”

“Well, now you have me to take care of. So come on, hurry the hell up. I have things to do.”

Claire nodded and hurried to catch up to the young man who was sauntering away. She reached to take his hand as he walked cockily down the path and away from Samuel’s crypt. Preston shook her hand off and reached into his pocket, taking out a device of some sort and whisking his fingers across the glass front of it.

Claire looked back over her shoulder, as though she was hoping her ghostly friend didn’t see Preston shrug off her attempt to hold his hand.

Samuel put all his strength into it — he forced every ounce of himself into the thought that his appearance should shimmer. And it did, just enough for her to see it in the sunlight. There he stood, glaring at the young man, who had so negatively impacted his Claire.

Claire’s eyes grew wide as she saw him standing there briefly, before fading away. A tiny part of her heart tried to pull her back to the crypt. But she hung her head and followed Preston out of the cemetery. Her ghost could never be her boyfriend. And Preston, the man she was following out of the place that had given her peace since she was child, could be. She was tired of being lonely — and he liked her.

“Hurry up. You’ve made me late now by making me stop here.”

“I am. I’m coming,” she answered. She did not look back over her shoulder. If she could still see her ghost watching her, it would break her heart, so she didn’t let herself look again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 1, 2019 — April Fools Day

Samuel paced as he always did, back and forth in the small 12’ x 14’ wrought iron fence and gate-enclosed square of land he’d been relegated to, as he struggled to tolerate his existence. He couldn’t leave here. Would never cross the threshold to the other side of the old rusted, peeling wrought-iron fence — though salvation may possibly wait on the other side. He looked over his shoulder, the vague outline of his once corporeal body not even catching his own attention as his mournful eyes searched for her. He looked first down one well-worn pathway, then the other. No, she still wasn’t coming.

It had been weeks since she’d been here. He worried. She used to come every Sunday. Then less often, but at least every couple of weeks. Now though, he’d not seen her in more than three weeks, and he was worried. The man that had called her away the last time she was here was not the sort he’d trust with her. Samuel was afraid that she needed him, but he couldn’t go look for her. If he did, he’d vanish into nothingness. And that was unacceptable — at least here he could see her when she came to visit. Watch her smile, hear her voice as she hummed a tune while cleaning away the centuries old crumblings of his home, his prison, his tomb. Irritated, frustrated and anxious, he threw himself through the walls into the once magnificent tomb at his back. He lay there, on the stone floor, allowing his mind to wander to another time, another place, another life.

His memories of Clarice — Claire — were all that kept him sane these days. He lay there dreaming of her.

~~~~~

Claire hurried down the well-worn path that she knew every step of by heart. She gathered her light jacket around her shoulders tightly and wrapped her arms around herself. Her hair was hanging loosely around her face, kinky curls, unkempt and tangled as was not her usual style. She didn’t look up as she went straight for the Dupont crypt. Her heart hurt, her mind hurt, her face and her body hurt. She didn’t stop until she was actually leaning against the front gate of the crypt. She pressed her face against the wrought iron and sobbed, finally letting the tears flow freely down her face.

Chapter 7

Samuel was inside the crypt, losing himself in his memories when he heard sobbing. He lifted his head, paying closer attention. Yes, he could hear it clearly. A woman was crying. He lifted himself from the floor and allowed his body to move through the wall to see who was near enough to his own personal hell for him to be able to hear her anguish. Maybe someone else had lost a loved one, and they are laying them to rest in a neighboring crypt, he thought to himself.

But as soon as he was outside, his heart knew otherwise.

There she was, his Claire, and she was leaning against the gate crying. He hurried to her, using the tips of his fingers to stroke her hair where it fell through bars of the gate.

Claire lifted her head, her hair falling back from her face, and his anger surged, making him easily seen for just one brief moment. She reached her hand toward him, and he took it, resting his face against her palm. “Who did this?” he asked, his heart breaking at the sight of her.

“I didn’t know where else to go. I’m sorry I haven’t been here in a while,” she said around sniffles still lingering from her crying.

“Who?” he asked, looking at the bruises on her cheekbones, the cut on her lip.

She couldn’t see him anymore, couldn’t hear him, but she could still feel the warmth of his touch on her hand.

“I wish I could just be in there with you,” she whispered, laying her head against the gate again.

“No,” he answered. “But you need to be away from whoever did this.”

“I know you’re there, even though I can’t hear you. Do you even understand me?” she said, looking for the place his image was just moments before. “I wish I could hear you. I wish we could talk.” She wiped the tears from her bruised face. “So, how about like old days? I’ll talk and you listen?” she offered a small, sad smile.

She paused, looking down at her hands, now being wrung nervously at waist level on her side of the gate. “I’m afraid of Preston. When he gets angry, he hits me. Calls me names. But I can’t leave him. He said if I do, he’ll hunt me down. I’m not even enrolled in classes this semester. He said I don’t need classes. I just need to stay home and take care of him.”

She lifted a hand to wipe away a tear and just barely saw Samuel standing right on the other side of the gate, gesturing wildly. His face was distorted as though he was shouting at something behind her. And just as she turned to see what he was so upset about, a hand came down, slapping her across the face, reopening the split in her lip.

“I told you to keep your ass at home. And where do I find you? Communing with the fucking dead — again! Like a fucking freak!” Preston shouted in her face.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to go for a walk,” she offered, clearly terrified.

“Can’t even trust you to do what the hell you’re supposed to. That’s why you keep your ass at home where I know exactly what you’re doing, when you’re doing it and who you’re doing it with. Now get your ass back there. NOW!” he screamed at her, grabbing her by the shoulder and swinging her around toward the path. He shoved her hard in the direction they’d come, causing her to lose her balance.

“God damn it!” he said exasperatedly, snatching her up off the ground. “Can’t you even walk on your own two feet? Get up off the ground, woman. People are gonna wonder what the hell I see in you. Stop embarrassing me!” he hissed at her, shoving her forward again.

Samuel was losing all control, pacing back and forth, banging on the crypt itself, throwing anything he could get his hands on inside the small space he was relegated to. Screaming for the man to keep his hands off Claire, threatening him with untold tortures. Finally, in frustration, he grabbed hold of the gate and shook it so hard it fell off its hinges, crashing to the ground on the outside of the perimeter he was imprisoned within.

He stood back, looking at the opening. He raised his eyes to the last place he’d been able to see Claire and the man abusing her before they’d left his sight. His chest heaved. “So be it,” he whispered, before stepping over the threshold separating his crypt from the rest of the cemetery. He looked down at himself and found that he was no different than he was when sequestered on the other side — there, but not. If his soul was now lost, so be it. He’d gladly give it for Claire’s safety.

He set foot on the path Claire had been forced down, on a mission to save her from the man who was supposed to protect her, value her — not hurt her.

~~~~~

“Can’t you walk any faster?” Preston snapped.

“I’m trying. I’m hurrying,” Claire said, arms wrapped around herself as she walked the six blocks, taking care not to trip on the uneven sidewalks on the way back to their tiny apartment behind Verret’s Lounge on Baronne Street.

Each time she’d pause to step around one of the raised edges to avoid tripping, Preston, following right on her heels, would shove her from behind. “Stop wasting time!” he’d shout at her.

The ghostly man following Preston would shove him in a like manner. The first time Samuel had shoved Preston, his hands had passed right through him. But with each subsequent shove, the effect was stronger and stronger. The last shove had almost thrown Preston to the ground.

He’d regained his footing and jerked his head around to see who’d shoved him, but there’d been no one there. Claire’s footsteps echoing behind Preston had reminded him that he’d been in the process of taking her back home where she belonged and with one more suspicious glare at nothing at all, decided that he must have tripped over the very broken piece of cement that Claire had been trying to avoid. Quickly, Preston had spun back around to follow her, not knowing that he himself was being followed just as closely.

Finally they reached their apartment. Preston unlocked the door and shoved Claire inside before stalking inside himself, slamming the door and locking it behind them.

Samuel had no problem following Claire inside and was standing in front of her, facing Preston.

Preston stalked toward Claire. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“I told you, I was going for a walk. I was upset after last night and just wanted some fresh air.”

Preston reached out and shoved her shoulder, making her take a step backwards to catch her balance. “Last night was your fault! If you would learn how to do what you’re told, your life would be a lot less miserable.”

“I did. I made you dinner.”

“Yeah, and then you let it get cold. And you didn’t make enough for my friends,” he screamed at her. “You embarrassed me!”

“You didn’t give me enough money for more food. I didn’t know you were going to bring friends home, and I didn’t know you would be so late. I fell asleep waiting. I’m sorry.”

“Not my fucking problem!” Preston yelled at her, pulling back his hand to swing a closed fist at her.

Claire closed her eyes and turned her face away to deflect the punch, but the punch didn’t come. Instead she heard gasping sounds. Cautiously she opened her eyes to see what was happening. Her eyes rounded, and she started trembling at what she saw.

Preston was being held up in the air, his feet off the floor. He was gasping for air, his hands trying desperately to claw at the hand that held his throat in a tight grip. And that hand was attached to a man. A familiar man, a man she never thought to see alive and breathing as he was. Her ghost had come to save her. He was clearly visible, his words clearly heard, as he spoke. “Do not touch her. You are not enough to even step in the dirt that falls from her shoes.”

Preston was turning blue, his breath completely cut off by the hand gripping and crushing everything in his neck.

“He can’t breathe,” Claire whispered.

Samuel didn’t turn to look at Claire. His eyes were locked with Preston’s, and he continued steadily increasing the pressure on Preston’s neck. “Do you care?” he asked her quietly.

Preston’s eyes flashed to hers, begging for her to intercede.

She thought of all the beatings she’d endured at his hands, the verbal and emotional abuse he’d spat at her, of him refusing to allow her to finish school, him locking her away from all she loved and the misery he’d made of her life. “No. I don’t care,” she answered.

Samuel squeezed harder and held Preston aloft in the air until long after he stopped struggling. Once he was sure Preston was no more, he dropped him to the floor.

Then he turned to face Claire. “I’ve waited centuries to protect you. I failed the first time, but not this time.”

“How are you here?”

“You needed me. So I came.”

“Who are you? I don’t even know your name,” she said wondrously, tears still wet on her face, looking at the corporeal version of the face she’d glimpsed in the mists at the cemetery from time-to-time over the years.

“My name is Samuel. I am yours.”

“But, I don’t even know you.”

“You did once. We have always loved each other, but were never free to be together. Time took you from me, but then your heart brought you back to me as a young girl. And it brought you back again when you needed me. I’ve always been there for you. Watching, waiting, just for a chance to see you smile.”

“Why didn’t you ever speak to me before?”

“I couldn’t leave my prison without losing my soul. It was the penalty for leaving my resting place.”

A panicked look crossed Claire’s face. “But you left it! You can’t give up your soul for me!

Samuel smiled. “I’d give up everything for you. And have, more than once,” he said sincerely, without resentment of any type. “You’re safe now, Claire. It was worth it, a thousand times over. It was worth it.”

“No! Can’t you just hurry back? Go back to the cemetery before anyone realizes you’re gone. Please!” she rushed forward, reaching out for the man, the ghost she’d grown to love over the years. She’d always been drawn to him in one form or another all her life. “I don’t want you to be lost. Please, just go back to the crypt before it’s too late!”

When her hands passed through him, she sobbed. “No! This is all my fault!”

“It’s alright. You’re safe now,” he said, his image becoming more translucent.

Claire’s voice shook when she spoke again. “Please don’t go,” she begged. “I’ve only just found you.”

“Remember me, Claire. As long as you remember me, a part of me will always be here. Remember me,” he said, as he faded away, first into a mist, then into nothing at all.

“No!” she screamed, falling to her knees and crying, reaching out to the space he was no longer standing in.

~~~~~

Claire lay on the floor, crying for hours. When she finally cried herself out, she got to her knees, took Preston’s phone out of his pocket and dialed the police.

She didn’t bother to clean or adjust anything at all and left Preston’s body lying just where it had fallen. She was sitting in a rocking chair, staring off into nothingness when a knock on the door got her attention. Claire rose from her chair and opened the door.

“Ma’am? We got a report of a murder,” an NOPD officer said, his eyes taking in her bruises, cuts and tears.

“Yes, sir. He’s over there,” she said on a sob, moving aside for the policeman to enter the apartment.

“Do you know who did it, ma’am?” the second officer asked as the first went to Preston’s body and felt for a pulse.

“No, sir. I came home from a walk. I could hear fighting from outside before I ever opened the door. When I did, a man was strangling my boyfriend. I tried to make him stop, but…” she gestured at her face with the bruises and split lip. “I don’t know how long I lay on the floor, but when I woke up, Preston was gone. I found his phone and called ya’ll,” she said, ending on a fresh supply of tears and sobbing.

“It’s alright, ma’am. We’ll just need you to give us a description, then make a formal statement, but first we’ll take you to the hospital and get you checked out.”

Clarie nodded, and watched several more people pass her and the officer speaking to her, and go right into her apartment. She watched as they lifted Preston’s body onto a stretcher, covered it with a sheet, and rolled it away. She allowed herself to be guided to another ambulance where the paramedics checked her out, then drove her to the hospital. And the next day when she was picked up from the hospital and taken to the police station to give her statement, she gave the description of her ghost. There was no way he’d ever be arrested for murdering Preston, so there was no harm in giving his description.

A few hours later an officer dropped her off at her apartment and she wandered numbly into the living room. She allowed herself to collapse into the rocking chair, and she let the tears come again. She wasn’t mourning Preston. She didn’t care about Preston, he’d proven one too many times what kind of man he was. She was mourning her ghost. He’d been a part of her life since she was a child, and now he was gone, because he’d sacrificed himself for her. Claire reached for the old blanket draped over the arm of the chair and cuddled into it. She wanted to go to her ghost, but he wasn’t there anymore. She was lost, and had no desire to do anything but sit here.

Chapter 8

Days later Claire stood outside the freshly repaired wrought-iron gate that enclosed the crypt she’d always taken care of. She lifted a hand and ran her fingers over the smooth surface.

“It’s a nice new one. We went ahead and replaced the whole fence. Maybe it’ll keep the damn kids out of it now. They always want to paint symbols on the walls and leave offerings for the Voodoo Queen buried inside.”

“What?” Claire asked the caretaker, Mr. Deeks. He was the same cemetery employee that had given her and her mother permission to restore the crypt when she was a child. He was much older now, and a whole lot rounder, but he still made his rounds on his little golf cart, checking all the crypts each day after all the tourists left. He’d seen Claire here many times since she was a girl. She’d always tried to keep the crypt nice, so even after she’d grown up, and her mom had stopped bringing her, he’d still given her access.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know? All these years and you never knew the legend of the Voodoo Queen, Maman ‘Vangeline?”

She ran her fingers over the gate again, searching in vain for her ghost, her Samuel, to be looking back at her. “Well, yes, a little, but no more than the average person. Is there anyone else in there with her?”

“Rumor is that when they opened the crypt in the 1940’s to put the last occupant inside, they found the skeleton of a man off in the corner to one side. I’m sure he was there for a long, long time, though. The way we bury our dead down here in communal family crypts, it’s not unusual to have several sets of remains in a crypt at any one time. Some say he was the son of the Voodoo Queen that went missing back in the 1800’s. Others say he was the secret lover of the last soul laid to rest here, and he was murdered for loving a nun.”

“A nun?” Claire asked, surprised.

“Yep. See? Right here, Clarice LeChassaise Dupont. Sister of the Ursuline Convent. It was her they were laying to rest when they found the man’s skeleton.”

“What did they do with his remains?”

He shrugged. “Left them there. He was already interred, so they just left him there.” He waddled back over to his golf cart. “You gonna be long? I was thinking to get home a little early today. Easter, you know. The grand-younguns going to be hunting for eggs.”

“Just a little while longer. If you don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll be around for about an hour more.”

“Thank you, Mr. Deeks.”

Claire waited quietly until Mr. Deeks was out of earshot. As soon as she was alone again, she called out to her ghost. “Samuel? Are you here?”

She got no reply.

“Samuel!”

There was still no reply.

“If you can hear me, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to lose your soul.”

When she still got no reply, she began to cry silently and spoke to him anyway as though he was there. Her voice quivered as she forced the words from her throat. “I miss you. I know it was usually me talking, and you just listening, but I miss you so much.”

She reached into her purse, pulling out the sticky pad she always carried and a pen. She quickly wrote a note, then rolled it up and tossed it inside the gate, up against the side of the white marble crypt. She closed her eyes and sent up a quick prayer. When she was done she just stood there, her head down, holding onto the gate.

“I’m not sure who he was, Maman. But I love him. He saved me.” Claire’s voice cracked, and she paused to swallow a few times before continuing. “I’ve never asked for anything in all the years I’ve cared for your resting place. But now I do. If you do grant wishes, and I’m really hoping you do, please, make sure he’s at peace. Make sure he’s not wandering somewhere between this world and the next, unable to rest.”

Claire’s hair lifted on a breeze. Then again. She raised her head and startled when she found a beautiful Mulatto woman standing before her, her image wavering in the sunshine. She was striking in her presence, very proud in her stance, and she had the same luminescent green eyes Samuel did. She was laughing.

Claire was stunned and simply watched her until she decided to speak.

“It was April Fools! He was trapped here on April Fools and could only walk free on the same day. Only fools can walk free! That’s what it meant!” Maman said, laughing. When finally her laughter died away, she continued on with her explanation. “Even so, his soul wasn’t lost. It was merely passed on to the man he would be today.”

“I don’t understand,” Claire whispered.

“He was cursed, a riddle the only clue to break the curse. But we were wrong. His soul wouldn’t have been lost, it was merely passed on to the man he’d eventually become — reborn again, not taken from him.”

Claire’s brain locked onto only one thing. “He’s not lost?” she asked, afraid to hope.

Maman shook her head and smiled, holding her hand out to Claire. Her fingers were closed, hiding something from view. Maman raised her hand a bit, indicating Claire should reach forward.

Claire reached her hand out, and Maman dropped an antique cameo ring into her palm.

Maman smiled at her kindly. “He’s not lost, child. He’s walking this earth again, as are you. He’s searching. He’s been searching for so long and has no idea what it is he’s looking for. But now you’ve released the man he once was, and his soul has found its home in him. His struggles are almost over. Put this back where it belongs, child. When he sees it, he’ll know you for his.”

“Where does it belong?” Claire asked.

Maman chuckled delightedly. “On your finger, of course!”

Claire was confused, but she did as Maman told her, slipping it on first one finger, then another until it fit snugly enough that there was no danger of losing it. It fit nicely on her index finger so she left it there.

She felt a tingle on her face and looked up from the ring on her finger to find Maman stroking her cheek. “Go to him, child. He needs you.”

Claire watched as Maman faded away with a contented smile on her face. Claire stood there for a moment longer, realizing that she had no clue of where to go to find him, or if she’d even recognize him.

“I don’t even know where to look! Where is he? Does he look the same?” she cried.

But there was no answer from Maman ‘Vangeline and no trace of her.

Claire shook her head, reeling as if she’d just woken from a dream. Surely that’s all it was. She stumbled a few steps away from the crypt that had always called to her, then stopped, looking down at the ring on her finger.

“Couldn’t have been a dream,” Claire mumbled. She looked around at all the people milling about the cemetery. She glanced at the trees that were hanging low over the walls built to keep the public from meandering through the graves whenever they wanted, and was suddenly overtaken with an intense need to get away from the place she’d always been drawn to. She began to run down the path leading from the crypt as quickly as she could. She needed to hurry, she needed to get outside these walls so she could breathe again.

She didn’t turn back, but if she had, she’d have seen a faint outline of Maman ‘Vangeline perched atop the crypt that bore her name, watching Claire rushing off to meet her destiny. “Love him well, sweet girl,” Maman said with a smile on her lips as she faded away.

Claire shouted so many apologies as she ran through the throngs of tourists lingering after their tour of the historic cemetery that she lost count. She was running at the same time she was looking back over her shoulder to shout another apology, and bounced off someone so hard she almost fell on her bottom, but strong arms reached out to catch her. “I’m so sorry! I should have been watching where I was going!” she rushed out as she righted herself and picked up her purse from the ground.

A handsome young man, with Nordic-like pale skin, blonde hair, and luminescent green eyes stood with his face to the sun, a completely new outlook on life. He didn’t know what had happened. He’d fallen asleep in the cemetery again last night, and when he’d awakened, all the emptiness was gone. He often slept in the cemetery — he’d been drawn here all his life. Even when he’d been younger back in the halfway house in juvie-detention, he’d run away most nights to sleep here. It was the only bit of peace he’d ever been able to find. But now, this morning, without any explanation at all, the anger, the sense of angst he’d lived with all his life was gone. He still had the niggling feeling that he needed to search for something, but his anger was gone. He took a deep breath and marveled at the difference down deep in his soul. He grinned — yeah, he knew without a doubt, he had a soul. All those idiots that had said he was worthless, he was soulless — they’d been wrong. No one could feel this at peace, this good, without one.

When he’d awakened this morning, he’d been exhilarated and rushed from the cemetery to the small halfway house he’d spent the last few years of his youth in. He’d knocked on the door, hoping the old woman who’d tried tirelessly to save him was still there. When she opened the door and squinted at him, he broke out into a bright smile.

“Thank you!” he’d shouted as he lifted her off her feet and swirled her around in a circle before putting her down again. “Thank you for believing in me when I wasn’t able to.”

She recognized him at once and hugged him to her, her hands old and wrinkled where they gripped his biceps. “You’re well, then?” she’d asked.

“I am. I’ll be just fine.”

“But your eyes! They’re green!”

“What?” he asked, glancing at his reflection in the mirrored glass on her front door. “I hadn’t noticed. Maybe they turned as I matured?”

“They were such a beautiful blue, but the green, wow!” the old woman said. “The green is so bright it practically glows!”

He took the woman’s hands in his. “I likely wouldn’t be here without you fighting for me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’re very welcome,” she said, smiling at him proudly.

But after he’d made things right with the only person who’d ever given him any effort at all, he knew there was one more thing he needed to do. And now he was back at the cemetery, on his way to thank Maman ‘Vangeline. He didn’t know how she’d done it, but she had.

He’d visited her grave regularly, asking her to help him find his way. And somehow she’d decided it was his turn and reached from her resting place to make it happen. So, he had to go thank her, too.

He turned down the path that led to her crypt and started walking. He wasn’t paying attention, his hands were tucked in his pockets, face turned up to the sky, enjoying the sun on his face as he made his way to Maman ‘Vangeline’s crypt when suddenly he was shoved backwards. He caught himself, and instinct had his hands flying out to also catch the woman that had bumped into him at a full run.

“Hey! You alright?” he asked, steadying her where she stood.

“I’m so sorry! I should have been watching where I was going!” she said, as she leaned over, picking up her purse.

“No problem. I wasn’t watching either.”

The woman finally looked up at him and froze, her eyes looking into his very soul.

He was lost in her eyes as well. They lured him in. “Hi,” he said, looking down at her

She smiled as she got to her feet. “Hi.”

“You come here often?” he asked, mentally chiding himself for the bar pickup line his brain had supplied him with to begin a conversation with her. He watched her, taking in her soft-brown skin, her long black lashes, her full, pouty lips, and the contrast of her bright blue eyes. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

She laughed lightly. “Actually, yes, I do. I was,” she pointed over her shoulder and looked at the crypt behind her before meeting his eyes again. “I, um…”

He raised his eyebrows, “Maman ‘Vangeline?” he asked, with a smirk on his face.

She seemed to deflate a little. “Well, yes. Actually, I was asking for a favor.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I was coming to thank her for one.”

Claire’s lips parted slightly in a surprised expression and she grinned. “Well, don’t let me stop you.” She stood to the side to allow him to pass on the path.

He inclined his head and walked by her. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll just be a minute.” He walked right up to the crypt some fifteen feet away and laid his hands on the gate. He closed his eyes and his lips started moving as he murmured a private message to Maman.

Though reluctant to leave this man’s presence, Claire felt like she was intruding on this private moment, so she turned and headed out of the cemetery. She decided that he’d have to leave through the front gate, so she’d just wait for him there. She had no choice. She had to wait for him — everything in her told her to wait for him.

No sooner had her foot hit the sidewalk outside the main entrance than she heard someone calling out. “Hey! Hey, hold up!”

Claire turned and was thrilled to see the man running after her. She paused to give him a chance to catch up.

“Hey, where’d you go?”

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You weren’t. I was just saying a quick thank you.”

He looked around at the cars parked along the street. “You meeting someone? You have a ride?”

Claire shook her head. “Nope. Just me. Was going to get some lunch somewhere and figure out my next move.”

“How about lunch with me? Share a burger with me?”

Claire looked at the man closely, staring right into his eyes, and she had no doubt who he was. She’d looked into those eyes every time it was misty out since she was a child, and she’d stared into them not even a week ago after he’d protected her in her own apartment. “Can I ask what you were thanking Maman for?”

He canted his head to the side. “You first.”

Claire smiled. “I was asking her to watch over someone, protect the soul of someone I loved very much.”

The man smiled at her. “I was thanking her for helping me find mine.”

Claire nodded, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

He reached out, touching her shoulder gently. “It’s alright. Don’t cry. I’m sure she’ll watch over your loved one, make sure he gets where he’s supposed to.”

Claire smiled as she tried to stop her tears. “I’m sure she already has.”

“No more tears then, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said.

Claire shook her head. “You didn’t. I just wasn’t sure if I was headed in the right direction, but it seems I am.” She raised her hand and laid it on top of his where it rested on her shoulder.

The cameo on her finger caught his attention. His brow wrinkled, his eyes focusing on it while flashes of partial memories bombarded him.

“Are you alright?” Claire asked him.

With effort he dragged his eyes from the ring on her finger to her face. The same eyes he’d seen in those memories were staring back at him. “Yeah. Just kind of got a feeling of deja vu.” He shook his head. “That ever happen to you?”

“Lately — yes!” she answered smiling.

He grinned. “You just seem so familiar.”

“So do you,” she said.

He seemed to shake it off, and smiled again. “So, how about lunch?”

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling.

“Yeah,” she answered.

Gently he turned her toward the direction of his favorite burger spot, Bud’s Broiler. “So, what’s your name?”

“I’m Claire,” she answered.

He smiled down at her where she walked beside him. “That’s always been my favorite name.”

He took her hand — the one wearing the cameo ring — in his and was pleased that she held his hand as snugly as he held hers.

When she smiled up at him, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, he’d found exactly what he’d been searching for all his life. His soul was finally at peace. His heart was full, and he was standing next to the person who made everything feel just right. He smiled at her again. “I’m happy to meet you, Claire. I’m Sam.”

From The Author

Thank you for purchasing this book. I hope that my stories make you smile and give you a small escape from the daily same ole/same ole. I write for me, simply for the joy of it, but if someone else also smiles as a result, even better. Your support is greatly appreciated. If you liked this story, please remember to leave a review wherever you bought it, so that more people can find my books. Each review is important, no matter how short or long it may be.

See you in the pages of the next one!

Sandra R Neeley

Other books by this author:

Avaleigh’s Boys series

I’m Not A Dragon’s Mate!, Book 1

Bane’s Heart, Book 2

Kaid’s Queen, Book 3

Maverik’s Ashes, Book 4

Bam’s Ever, Book 5

Vince’s Place, Book 6

Whispers From the Bayou series

Carnage, Book 1

Destroy, Book 2

Enthrall, Book 3

Lore, Book 4

Murder, Book 5

Haven series

Haven 1: Ascend

Haven 2: Redemption

Riley’s Pride series

Riley’s Pride, Book 1

Richie’s Promise, Book 2

Short Stories

CAT, A Science Fiction Romance Short

Stand Alone Novels

WINGS

Safe On Base, a Howls romance, coming in August 2020

About the Author

 My name is Sandra R Neeley. I write Paranormal, SciFi and Fantasy Romances. Why, you may ask? Romance, because who doesn’t love a good romance, and the lack of reality in the story lines — because, well, normal is highly overrated, so Paranormal it is.  I’m 56, I have two kids, one 34 and one 14 (yes, God does have a sense of humor), one grandchild, one husband, and a menagerie of animals. I love to cook, and I am a voracious reader, though since I started writing, I don’t get as much time to read as I once did. I am a homebody and prefer my writing/reading time to a crowd. I have had stories and fictional characters wandering around in my head for as long as I can remember. I’m a Self-Published Author, and I like it that way because I can decide what and when to write. I am by no means a formal, polished, properly structured individual and neither are my stories. But people seem to love the easy emotion and passion that naturally flow from them. A bit of a warning though, there are some “triggers” in them that certain people should avoid.  I’m a firm believer that you cannot have light without the dark. You cannot fully embrace the joy and elation that my people eventually find if you do not bear witness to their darkest hours as well. So please read the warnings supplied with each of the synopses about my books before you buy them. I’ve got four series published at this time, Avaleigh’s Boys — PNR, Whispers From the Bayou — Fantasy PNR, Haven — SciFi Romance, and this one, Riley’s Pride — PNR, with several more series in process. I’m always glad to hear from my readers, so feel free to look me up and say hello.

You can find me at any of these places:

authorsandrarneeley@gmail.com

https://www.sneeleywrites.com

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