Microsoft Word - TheStormyLoveLifeofLauraCordelaisSusanCfinal Page 12

  Laura dissolved into weeping.

  Her dream changed. People flashed through her mind in a mad rush but faded before she could say their names. A man held a baby as he rocked back and forth in a black, wooden rocking chair. He hummed a song called, "New York. New York." He laughed as the baby cooed along with him. She had a tooth, just one, but that was enough and he was so proud. Scenes flipped over in her mind. The same man drove fast trying to get onto the causeway, trying to get to New Orleans. Then his car broke down. He slammed his fists onto the hood so many times they bled. She reached for him, desperate to find him. These memories grew dim and far away.

  A strange sound drew her attention--click, click, click--and she remembered.

  The night hummed with heat and humidity, and Laura at age six begged her mother to sleep on the balcony. Her poor, little body soaked the blue cotton nightgown 134

  with sweat. After changing her and tying a wreath of lavender to the balcony railing, Juliette pulled the small, rubber beach mattress outside and covered it with a sheet.

  Laura climbed out the window carrying her pillow and blanket.

  "Now remember, La-la, if it rains you come inside."

  "Yes, Mama."

  "If it gets too cold, you come inside."

  "Yes, Mama."

  "If you have a bad dream or hear strange noises, come inside."

  "Yes, Mama."

  Juliette kissed her tow-headed darling and went inside the house.

  Laura loved sleeping on the balcony. She heard the music from all the joints in the French Quarter. It made her heart feel like dancing.

  "Napoleon, ya stupeed mule. Most stupeed mule in all Nawl Leans," complained a carriage driver. Laura peered through the grate floor. The mule had simply refused to go further infuriating the driver. The couple in the back of the carriage took the opportunity for long, breathless kisses.

  Laura rolled over to the middle of the small mattress. How wonderful it must be to be in love. But even as she lingered on these thoughts, Brilla's sharp words of the afternoon came back to her.

  "Men are nothing but trouble."

  Sunlight streaked through the tall, overhanging trees. In the huge world, Laura felt very small and held her mother's hand as she sat beside her on the flat boat. Brilla was poling the boat through the bayou, humming as she went. Juliette Cordelais leaned 135

  over and collected plants from the water. Frogs hidden in the swamp clicked their disapproval.

  "Brilla, I want you to make a spell to bring Donovan home," said Juliette.

  "Oh, no, Child, you don't want that. When a man leaves, let him go. You wouldn't want me to hex him to force him to return. Would you want a man who doesn't want you?"

  "No." Juliette started to cry, and Laura hugged her mother.

  "Men are nothing but trouble. Forget him."

  Reclining on her mattress, Laura's small hands waved away the words of that memory like bothersome flies. She missed her father. Mama kept his picture on her dressing table. Laura looked at it, as her mother combed out the snarls in Laura's long, blonde hair.

  "When is Papa coming home?"

  Juliette would twist a curl in her own blonde tresses and reply, "Some day, La-la.

  Some day."

  Laura rolled over on her bed in the sky and closed her eyes. Even with the voices of the drunken singers down the street mixing with the mule's braying, she fell asleep and dreamed.

  The night was full of stars on Armstrong Park, over Lake Ponchatrain, and stretching like a ribbon of light out to the causeway. A beat up, blue Chevy pickup truck headed toward the city. Only yards from the causeway, the truck sputtered and rolled to the side of the road before shaking to a stop. A man in jeans and a T-shirt got out and yelled, shaking his fists to the sky.

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  It was Papa. He looked just like his picture except for the lines on his forehead.

  He looked awfully tired. After lifting the hood, he peered under it for a long time then slammed it shut. Papa cried.

  Laura cried too. The sky opened up, and the rain washed away the sweat of the day.

  "La-la!" Mama carried Laura inside the house. "I said to come in if it rained."

  The next day Laura helped in Brilla's store on Royale Street. The little girl was putting the new voodoo dolls on the shelf, when she casually said, "I saw him again."

  "Who is that, La-la?" Brilla hung the shrunken head with perfect teeth in its gaping mouth on a rack.

  "Papa. He was trying to come home again, but his truck broke down on the other side of the causeway. He keeps trying, but he can never get here."

  Brilla smiled as she patted Laura's head. "Remember, dear, don't tell your mother. It will only make her cry."

  Laura lifted a skull and examined its two pointy teeth. "Is it real, Brilla?"

  "The skull? Of course, it is."

  "No. I mean my dream. Is Papa really trying to come home?"

  Brilla sat in a chair and took Laura's small hands in hers. "Oh, La-la, I'm sorry.

  It's just your imagination. Sometimes all the wishing in the world won't make it true.

  Come now. Let's have tea."

  Laura followed the mambo into the other part of the house where she lived. "I'll read your tea leaves, Brilla."

  Brilla looked down at the child and laughed and laughed.

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  The scene washed away, and the light brightened on an emergency room. A man with shoulder-length hair lay unconscious on a hospital bed. An intravenous drip flowed into his right arm. Wires connected him to a monitor displaying his heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, etc. When Laura looked closer, she gasped. Papa. There were more lines on his face, his once brown hair now gray with silver strands peeking out.

  Laura walked up to the bed and took her father's hand. "Please, Papa, don't die.

  I love you." Large tears rolled down her face. Deep down, she had always believed that a tragedy befell him and prevented him from returning to New Orleans. Laura believed he wanted to come home. "Papa, don't die," she whispered. "Please."

  When Laura awoke, she wept. When Brilla called her for supper, she said she wasn't hungry. She lay in bed wondering. Was it real? Or had she wanted to see her father so badly that she dreamed of him?

  ***

  David sat by Donovan's hospital bed. It was nearly afternoon, but this little section of the ER had no windows to the outside and David was glad for that. He sat and dozed. From time to time, his mind ran over the events that had brought them there.

  Donovan opened his eyes and looked around. "Hey, man, what happened?"

  "We slid off the highway into a ditch."

  Donovan stared at David blankly.

  "Frogs covered the highway. Remember?"

  Donovan lifted his hand to rub his bandaged head. "Oh, yeah." Then like a light bulb suddenly going on, he lurched forward. "Now I remember. I saw Laura. She was here."

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  David looked confused. "What do you mean?"

  "She was holding my hand and crying. She begged me not to die. She was sitting where you are. You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

  "Not at all," David replied, and he meant it. He was happy that Laura had found a way to make contact.

  A tall, red-haired man in a white coat came in carrying a chart.

  "Nice to see you awake, Mr. Dupre. You are very lucky your son-in-law brought you in so quickly."

  Donovan lifted his right hand to his head. The doctor reached for his other hand, and it was only then that Donovan saw the bandaged arm.

  "A piece of metal sliced open your arm near the wrist. You could have bled to death, but your son-in-law wrapped his shirt around it and applied pressure. His actions bought you the time we needed to save your life. Though it is healing faster than usual, that's all to the good now."

  Donovan looked from David to the doctor. "My head?"

  "Only a slight concussion and a small cut. You'll be fine." The doctor looked at the chart again. "I was thinking of d
ischarging you after sundown tonight. The nurse will be giving you a list of symptoms to watch out for."

  "Such as?" asked David.

  "A headache that gets worse, weakness, numbness, or decreased coordination, repeated vomiting, if one pupil of the eye is larger than the other, convulsions, seizures, slurred speech, confusion or agitation, or if he can't be awakened. If any of these symptoms occur, it's imperative that he return to the emergency room." Turning to Donovan he said, "But right now, I'd like to keep you a little longer for observation."

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  "That's fine with me, Doc."

  "Oh, Mr. Hilliard, I've found a dark, safe place for you to sleep. Would you like to see it?"

  "Not just yet, thank you."

  "Well then, at your convenience." The doctor left the room, and Donovan threw David the strangest look.

  "What?"

  "Did you bite the doc?"

  "No. I mesmerized him. The human mind is very suggestible."

  "Did you bite me? The doc said I was healing faster than usual."

  David winced. "I promised I wouldn't bite you. You were bleeding too fast, so . . .

  I . . . introduced some of my saliva into the wound."

  "Urgh," complained Donovan. "Damn it, David . . . " He stopped. Through the glass, Donovan saw two police officers coming toward the ward. A nurse pointed them in David's direction.

  Then the officers came into the room. "Mr. Hilliard, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

  "Go ahead."

  "You realize it's illegal to leave the scene of an accident?"

  Suddenly the doctor arrived. "If Mr. Hilliard hadn't brought in his father-in-law immediately he would have died."

  David did a small gesture with his hand.

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  The two officers nodded to each other. One closed his notebook. "Of course, we understand completely. Thank you for your cooperation." Then they left. The doctor suddenly realizing he was not where he was supposed to be also left.

  "That was amazing." Donovan grinned. "By the way, what happened to my car?"

  David dreaded this part. "It was totaled. The front axle broke. The right side was crushed. Then it caught fire. I went back later when the fire department was putting the fire out. A wrecker driver said he'd pay me $300 for it, so I took the money." David handed it to Donovan.

  Donovan's smile grew broader. "Man, I'd always knew that car was going to die, and I never thought I'd make any money out of it. But now we have no car."

  "Yes, we do. It's a rental, and it's parked outside."

  "Great." Donovan tried to stretch but found that he ached everywhere. He gave the money back to David. "Hold this for me, will you? There's no pockets in this thing."

  "Sure." David laughed.

  A nurse came to collect Donovan for more tests.

  David summoned the doctor, who led him to a windowless room with a bed.

  After the man left, David stretched out. He covered himself with his coat and hugged Laura's to him. They were the only things besides Donovan he was able to rescue from the car. "Laura, I need you," he cried out but no one answered. It hurt so much to be without her. He covered his face with his arm. Begging sleep to take him, David dozed off.

  There was a soft knock at the door, and he rubbed his eyes. "What?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry to disturb you. I brought you something to drink." The doctor placed two bags of blood on the table beside the bed.

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  David sat up and frowned. "I did not ask you to bring me blood."

  "Oh," faltered the doctor. "A black woman told me to."

  David stood up. "What woman? Where is she now?"

  The doctor looked befuddled.

  "All right. What time is it?"

  "Seven."

  David put the coats over his arm and rushed the doctor into the hall. "Come on.

  Let's discharge my father-in-law."

  "What about the blood?"

  "Forget the blood."

  Quickly they had Donovan up and out into the car. David was relieved to be on the road again, moving closer to Laura. "Are you okay?" He looked over at his father-in-law, who dozed on and off.

  "Yeah, I'm feeling better. I didn't know you could drive."

  "Laura taught me."

  A mere three hours away from Miami, the hunger gnawed at him. More than once he looked over at Donovan, who was sleeping. If he had been anyone other than Laura's father, he might have been tempted to take a bite. David fought back the thirst that burned his throat by thinking of having his beautiful wife by his side. A song called

  "Here Without You" by Three Doors Down came on the radio. The lyrics tore at him, and he struggled to focus his full attention on the road. Donovan sat up, looked out the window, and hummed along with the radio.

  The signs for Miami were increasing. Donovan fell asleep again. It was probably the effects of the medication and the trauma of the accident. After taking the exit 142

  recommended by the hotel, they quickly arrived. David parked and gently shook Donovan. "We're here."

  When David gave his name at the front desk, the clerk left for a moment and returned with the manager, an older man, bald and pudgy.

  "My apologies, Mr. Hilliard. A mistake has been made with your reservation.

  We're completely booked."

  Even after his nap, Donovan looked exhausted.

  "Well, I guaranteed the reservation with my credit card, so what are you going to do?" David's eyes narrowed into a cold stare.

  The manager's eyes glazed over. "I understand completely, Mr. Hilliard. We'd like to offer you the Presidential Suite instead at the same price."

  David turned to Donovan. "What do you think?"

  "Oh, I think it will do."

  "Okay. We'll take it." And two gallons of cow's blood.

  The luxurious suite offered a living room, kitchen, two bathrooms and two bedrooms all decorated in bronze and burnished gold. David called room service and ordered dinner--a codfish dinner and two blood raw steaks. When someone knocked on the door, Donovan opened it.

  The hotel manager stood there with the cow's blood, his eyes glazed over. "Here are the refreshments you requested with the hotel's compliments, Mr. Hilliard. Thank you again for your understanding." David hurried past his father-in-law and accepted the jugs. He thanked the man and closed the door. Then he hurriedly poured himself a glass and put the rest in the refrigerator. David lifted the glass and drank deeply. It was so cold and good. The burn inside him dissipated.

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  "Starting to get a little edgy, were we?" Donovan stared at him.

  "Just a little."

  Then room service came and set up the table.

  As David was about to bite into his very rare steak, Donovan said, "I didn't think vampires could eat food."

  David put down his fork. "If a vampire is over a hundred years old, the body has adjusted to accommodate food. However, up until that point, vampires are limited to blood and the occasional taste of food, otherwise they'd get sick."

  "Good to know." Donovan cut up his steak. "By the way, thank you for getting me to the hospital but don't lick me again."

  David smirked and put a piece of bloody meat into his mouth.

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  Chapter 13

  "Laura, come out here."

  Though loathed to follow any command of Brilla's, the pulsing electricity in the air fascinated Laura and she emerged from her bedroom.

  Immediately, the man stood up. Power emanated from his flashing dark eyes.

  Wavy, black hair framed a finely chiseled face. He stood at least 6" 4", and even smartly dressed in a linen shirt and khaki pants, she could discern the sculpted muscles by their outline against the cloth. Ah, delectable and dangerous. No matter how powerful the allure, the danger aroused her curiosity. She went and sat in the chair opposite him, willing to confront this unknown.

  He sat on the sofa facing her. A broad, very sexy grin graced his face. "You are Laura?"
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  She narrowed her eyes. "And you are?"

  "Adam Cortez." He reached out extending his hand.

  Laura hesitated a moment. In the world of magic, touch was akin to control. Still one handshake should not matter. She reached over and accepted his hand. The instant they made contact, she felt a pulse race through her. Then it was gone.

  He wet his lips.

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  She forgot something important, the thought fleeing her like a windblown leaf leaving scratching noises in her memory.

  Brilla jumped up from her seat. "I'll go get refreshments." Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

  "I've been told that you're a great artist." He peered warmly right into her heart.

  She knew it, felt it, and she had to catch her breath.

  Laura shifted in her seat uncomfortably under his continuous gaze. "Do you like art?"

  "Art is one of my passions. I dabble in watercolors. Sometimes I sculpt in clay.

  Creating form with the hands, the caress, the pushing and pulling, the squeeze, can be very satisfying."

  Laura swallowed hard. "I wouldn't know that part." She flushed under his gaze.

  "I paint acrylics—night scenes of Manhattan." Just thinking of rain on the city's black asphalt released her from the image of him working in clay—hot, sweaty, sensual. Oh, God, I don't want to go there with him. "You are de magie." (You are of magic.) His smile arched at the corners of his mouth. "Ah, Telkhine, you have found me out."

  "You are a sorcerer."