Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller Read online

  The meal done, Jeff raises his glass in toast to the chef, yet as he raises his glass he freezes. Seated behind Eve is Casey, raising his glass; smiling directly at Jeff. Someone walks past and he’s gone. Eve quickly looks around, to see who’s captured Jeff’s attention, but there’s only an empty table.

  “Are you alright?” Jeff looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

  “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Eve’s not convinced. “You turned white.”

  “I think I just need some fresh air.” Jeff can’t think straight. “That’s all.”

  “It’s a bit stuffy in here, shall we?”

  “Yeah.” Jeff’s enthusiasm covers his confusion. “Let’s hit the strip.”

  Jeff calls for the check. Before walking out he looks back one last time; fearing that Casey's apparition may follow them. Stepping outside, the air is cool. Its bite helps shake off his experience. His irrational thoughts are left behind at the restaurant.

  Along the neon-lit sidewalks, half hidden in the shadows, are many unfortunate ragged souls who keep Jeff on guard. Eve’s oblivious, and fascinated. The sidewalk is one throbbing mass of people, dressed in all manner of bling and attire. Girls in short skirts struggle with high heels on the uneven surface; jubilant faces reflect the neon lights surrounding them. All walks of life have come here to let their hair down; the drinks and party spill out onto the street along with the smell of great food. This carnival of sights and sounds surrounds historic restaurants, jazz joints, upscale lounges and more: at every turn, gentlemen's clubs have strippers at the doors trying to entice them in.

  “I’m sorry, Eve.” Jeff loves the sights, but he’s no fool. “I didn’t realize it would be so raucous.”

  “Don’t worry.” The seedier side of life fascinates Eve. “Anyway, it’s interesting to watch.”

  “Really?” Jeff sounds too enthusiastic for Eve’s liking. “Don’t get your hopes up! We’re not going in.”

  “I wouldn’t want us to.” Jeff senses that he’s walking on eggshells.

  “Of course you wouldn’t. Come on, let’s go back to the motel.”

  The party never ends on Bourbon Street. Yet the enticement of music, clubs, food and people-watching is no match for love. Both Jeff and Eve have waited all night, longed to be in this moment, back at the Pink Lady Hotel. In this room, on this bed, and alone, shielded from humanity. To hold, love and touch each other once again. Jeff’s lips gently touch Eve’s neck as she whispers, “I want you.”

  The gentle caress of his tongue stirs violent passions. His breath invokes powers that makes oceans tremble and autumn leaves blush. Eve gasps at the touch of his fingers sliding with a gentle sensual weave through hair, enjoys the sweetness of his hard lips. His tongue slips through hers with a wanton thirst. With each touch of skin on skin, with each kiss, they savor desire, before it inevitably overpowers them. Eve’s legs quiver; her nipples stand proud.

  “Devour me.”

  She whispers; fingers trace. She feels heat against her, aching to be touched. Taking his hand she draws him to her. Fingers slide across flesh, yearning, unfolding anticipation. Silky lace, moist with the heat of desire. Hearts beat faster. Wild breaths, frantic passionate deep kisses. The spring beneath Jeff's fingers flows into rivers and lakes. Eve arches; his hand plunges into pure soft want. Tears rise from his back, a whip driving him harder. Countless breaths; the heat of fire. Fists clench, inner flesh surges: every drop spills. Release. Eve feels the pulse of love beat inside her.

  “I love you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The freshness of the morning breeze, along with the sweetness of New Orleans, slowly begins to sour, becomes choking. Jazz turns to ghetto beats, with side street hustlers, pimps, hookers, motherfuckers with blank stares. Grass pushes through scarred pavements; graffiti silently screams.

  “You can feel the despair, can’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Jeff’s always been a humanitarian; sadly, he states, “These people wake up every morning on the wrong side of democracy.”

  “It’s inexcusable.” Eve looks out of the window, scorning the world. “It’s wrong.”

  “It keeps you in work.”

  “Me?” Taken aback by this suggestion, she states, “I’d rather have empty prisons than society feeding me desperate individuals.”

  “They’ve always been bastards.”

  “Who?”

  “The elite.”

  “Oh them.” Eve sighs. “Aren’t they always?”

  “Yeah.” Jeff pauses for a moment’s reflection. “Would you believe this all started back in 1663?”

  “I always loved that about you.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a lecturer.” Eve sarcastically flutters her eyelashes towards him, smiling a sweet smile.

  “Do you want to hear this?” His serious tone of voice cracks, and he smiles; Eve’s playful nature wins him over.

  “Go on.” Pleased with herself, she settles in to yet another of his talks.

  “It was the year that divide and rule took its first breath. Before then it was commonplace for black and white children to be seen running through and playing in the tobacco fields together.”

  “Really?”

  “A historical fact. It wasn’t only Africans but white Europeans, the Irish, who were enslaved by the English, and then transported here.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “History is hidden by the ideology of the day.” Jeff decides to keep this simple; he doesn’t wish to bore Eve. “The divide started in Gloucester County, Virginia. A secret meeting took place between black and white slaves. They were angry with the harsh working conditions they were forced to endure, and devised a plan. They were heard beating a drum, as they marched up to the plantation mansion, carrying makeshift weapons.”

  “What happened?”

  “The revolt was put down. But as brothers-in-arms they had bonded; together they became a powerful threat to the establishment. After the uprising, landowners bred racial contempt, giving whites privileges and denying them for blacks. Racism was encouraged, and used, to separate, divide and control the slaves.”

  “Their anger was diverted away from the landowners.” Eve’s appalled. “And towards each other.”

  “It was the perfect solution.”

  “But look at the damage they’ve done.”

  “I didn’t say it was right. You should know that in all probability, it was a cold, calculating individual, with a grandiose sense of self-worth, instigating the ideology.” Jeff pauses choosing his words carefully. “Combine this with a lack of remorse, or empathy for his fellow human beings, and what are we left with?”

  “A psychopath.”

  “Exactly.”

  Jeff’s pleased that he’s give Eve food for thought. Even after all the years that have passed since that day back in Gloucester County, Jeff can still feel the tension that was created back then as they drive through a black neighborhood.

  “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “I’m not lost, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing.” Eve knows no man admits to being off-course. “I was merely asking.”

  Jeff has a feeling of familiarity driving through the streets. Although he’s never stepped foot in New Orleans before, it has the intimacy of home. Instinctively he turns left, and the street name confirms that his intuition is correct. Before him is a reality that shakes his convictions. The old wooden townhouse he saw in his dream, painted in the Italianate palette of browns, greys and blues, stands before him. As with all the other houses on the block, it's decaying just like autumn leaves.

  “You feeling okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” Eve’s concerned; Jeff doesn’t look well.

  “What did I just say?” Even as the words roll off his tongue, he feels guilt for his attitude.

  “I was only asking.”

  “I
’m sorry.” He sighs. “I didn’t mean to be snappy.”

  “Don’t worry.” There’s something wrong, she knows, but for now she’ll ignore it. “Which house is it?”

  “This one.”

  A young boy around the age of nine, dressed in blue jeans, an over-sized black t-shirt, and a baseball cap sits tapping the back of his shoes on the brick wall, watching as the white folks step out onto the sidewalk. Jeff’s concerned about the rented car, and for peace of mind decides to approach the child. The boy realizes with interest that Jeff’s walking towards him, and slips off the wall.

  “Hi. Would you like to earn five dollars?”

  “Maybe.” This boy’s earned the right to be wary of strangers.

  “Would you watch my car?”

  “You gonna be long?”

  “We shouldn’t be.” Jeff senses mistrust. “We’ll be in that house.”

  “Aimee’s.”

  “You know her?”

  “Yeah.” The boys guard drops. “She’s a nice lady.”

  “Okay. Any problems and you’ll come and get me?”

  “Sure.”

  The small path leads up to the house, and the old timber steps strain underfoot. Jeff’s already seen this before in his dream, except he stood alone. Reaching out he pulls the door knocker back, rapping three times; it’s an old door, but the thud is solid.

  “Do you think she’s in?”

  “Who knows? It would have been easier if the phone line wasn’t still down.”

  Jeff reaches out to knock again, but hears movement behind the door. The bolt is drawn back and the rattle of a chain precedes the door opening. A specter steps out, a specter with white curly hair, a black shawl and gold rimmed spectacles, the look of Casey and that all-knowing smile. Jeff’s speechless, unable to find any words. Realizing something’s wrong, Eve takes the helm.

  “Hi, we’re sorry to trouble you. Mrs. Jones?”

  “Yes.” Her voice holds the lilt of New Orleans.

  “Casey’s mom?”

  “Casey. Oh I’m sorry, he’s not here.”

  “We understand that, Mrs. Jones. It’s you we’d like to speak to.”

  “Are you the cops?” Her voice is guarded now, suspicious.

  “No. We’re acting on behalf of Casey. I’m his psychiatrist. We would like to ask you a few questions regarding his gift.”

  “I see. Can you help him?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Then you’d best come in, but please, your identification first.”

  “Of course.”

  Once satisfied that Jeff and Eve are who they claim to be, Mrs. Jones turns around and walks back into the house, beckoning them to follow Eve turns to Jeff and whispers.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  Inside they are greeted with a humble yet immaculately clean living room. The walls have a soothing floral pattern, and the black cast iron fireplace proudly takes center stage. A polished French dresser sits on the wood-stained floor, holding freshly cut flowers beside photographs of people, and memories. A large wooden engraved cross hangs on the wall, beside a framed photograph of Casey. He smiles in the picture, watching over the proceedings, the ghost of a lost and loving son.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “We had one just half an hour ago.” Eve’s first impression is that Aimee is friendly. “But thank you for offering.”

  “Please sit down.”

  They sit on the sofa. Jeff looks around; the room is nothing like that of his dream. But he's sitting opposite his premonition come to life.

  “Mrs. Jones.” She looks to Jeff; he sees Casey in her eyes. “My name is Dr. Davies and this is my colleague Dr. Brown. But please call us Jeff and Eve.”

  “I’m Aimee.”

  “Aimee. That’s a pretty name.” Eve says.

  “Thank you.”

  Jeff realizes it would be wise for him to simply relax and let Eve, being a psychiatrist and a woman, do the talking.

  “I know it must be difficult for you to discuss Casey with us, Aimee, but we do have his best interests at heart.”

  “I sense that you do.” Aimee nods her head firmly.

  I presume you’re aware of Casey’s incarceration, and his defense in court?”

  “Of course.” Aimee finds this question patronizing. “I’m his mother.”

  “Then you understand just how unique he is?”

  “I do.” Aimee smiles to herself; they mean no harm.

  “His defense rests solely on his psychic gifts.”

  “It does.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Yes.” Aimee looks at them both. “But I can see that you don’t.”

  “We do.” Eve tries her best to look convincing. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

  “Then how do you prove a knowing in a court of law?”

  “With evidence.” In her mind, Eve’s willing Aimee to open up.

  “Hmm. Where would you like me to start?”

  “From the beginning.” Jeff’s relieved. Eve’s got her talking. “When did you realize Casey was special?”

  “My mother- his grandma - was psychic. I remember the day as if it were yesterday; it was Thanksgiving and the house was full. Uncle Lavelle and Aunt Chika, even Father Ulysses stopped by. I’m the last in the family line, apart from Casey.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright. They’re all in God’s hands now. We had dinner; my mother made the most wonderful cornbread dressing you’ve ever tasted, and mama’s apple pie, well, they always wanted second and third helpings. Later on Uncle Lavelle played his guitar, while we sat outside on the porch. Mama called it the Devil’s music; must’ve sold his soul to play so well. I remember the steps being hot to the touch and warm to sit on. Street was quiet, most folks still inside with their families. She turned to me and said,

  'Aimee.'

  'Yes Mama.'

  'Casey’s one very special little boy.'

  'He is, and he’s all mine.'

  'I know, honey, but he’s more than special; he’s a gifted child.'

  'A gifted child? What are you trying to tell me?'

  'Don’t be afraid dear, he was born with a gift, and sees what others can’t.'

  'Like you, Mama?'

  'Yes, honey, just like me.'

  “She went on to tell me about a chat they’d had together. He’d asked her about events, friends and family, questioned our history and the past. She told me I had to guide him, and that he must never doubt himself or fear his abilities.”

  “Can you give us any examples of his gifts?”

  “He woke one morning with tears in his eyes, he came to me with his head bowed, clasping his hands out in front of him. I said 'whatever’s up, baby'? He said 'I’m sorry Mom. Grandma’s gone to heaven'. I ran all the way to her house. I found her on the porch. I can still see her sitting motionless in that rocking chair; I moved a strand of hair that had fallen onto her face and tucked it behind her ear. She must have known it was time; she was holding a small crucifix with the chain wrapped around her hand. It’s the one I wear around my neck. A gift, you see, can also be a curse.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Aimee.” Eve has a puzzled expression, then asks, “But how did Casey know?”

  “He said she came to him as he slept, and told him not to worry, she was with God now. He said she looked like an Angel, and she left a message for me.”

  “What did she say?”

  “'Faith is the light in your heart and not the darkness that surrounds you'. Her words have kept me going all these years.”

  “Beautiful words.”

  “What have we without faith? Casey foresaw, births, marriages, situations and deaths. It’s not the dying that people fear; it’s what’s on the other side.”

  “Death might be one of our greatest blessings.” Eve murmured.

  “Are you a religious woman, Eve?”

  “I want to believe.” />
  “You will. Part of the truth you seek is here. I knew you would be coming today.”

  “You knew we were coming?”

  “Yes. Please follow me; I have something to show you.”

  Aimee leads them into the hallway and to a cellar door beneath the stairs.

  “This is where you start to believe.”

  Jeff, Aimee and Eve walk down the rickety steps. A single bulb illuminates the dark cellar at the bottom of the stairs; musty smells permeate the air. Without warning, a loose board gives way with a splintering crack beneath Jeff’s foot. He grabs the handrail, managing to save himself.

  “Are you alright?” Eve’s concerned for Jeff.

  “Yes. Be careful on that step.”

  Casey’s parting words, 'Watch your step.' spring to Eve’s mind as Jeff safely reaches the hard dirt floor. He holds his hand out for Aimee; she smiles, thinking to herself that they seem to be good folks. The cellar itself is empty; for a moment they stand motionless next to the light bulb.

  “I’m sorry, I should have warned you about the step. Casey always said he would fix that one day.”

  “No harm done.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it. Sometimes all we have to do is look into the light to find our answers.”

  Aimee’s hand points up to a date carved on a thick supporting beam, just above their heads and perfectly lit by the bulb.

  “Jeff.” Eve’s flustered. “That’s today's date!”

  “I know.” Jeff’s brain cannot take in the reality of the situation.

  “Casey carved this ten years ago. He told me that on this day, white folks will come; they will ask about me, and you must show them this.”

  Back upstairs Aimee hands them both a cup of tea; they need a drink.

  “How did he know we were going to come here all those years ago?”

  “You’ll have to ask him when you see him.”

  “Did he say anything else to you?” Eve pleads to Aimee. “Anything at all?”

  “No.” Aimee can see the desperation and confusion on both their faces. “He just said I was to show you the date, and that you would know.”

  A loud knock at the door interrupts the conversation; Jeff’s too confused to even consider that it may concern the car.