CHAPTER THREE
1199 Words
CHAPTER THREE
Camille stepped into Director Milton's dimly lit office just shy of five o' clock in the morning. He was the only person there, sitting behind his desk and he looked perfectly awake and alert. She often wondered if the man ever slept.
"Thanks for coming in so early," Milton said. He nodded to the chairs across from his desk. "Have a seat."
She did as he asked, trying to get a gauge on him. He didn't seem worried, but there was an underlying sense of urgency to his posture and the way he looked at her. His hazel eyes were always searching as if trying to read the mind of the person he was speaking with. His brown hair, going slightly gray along the temples, was ruffled and out of sorts, meaning he had been running his hands through it compulsively—something he did when he was nervous.
"I'm not going to lie," Camille said. "When you didn't send any details with the text to come in, I assumed this one was a little murky."
"I wouldn't say 'murky.' But there's a case down in New Orleans that has some dark tinges to it."
"New Orleans?" Even the thought of the city and the surrounding areas made her guts clench up.
"I know it's where you grew up and the memories aren't all the best. But your familiarity with the area and some of the culture would be a huge help."
"Which type of culture?" she asked. She meant that flippantly, almost sarcastically, but Milton's face remained solid and serious.
"Creole." He sighed, shrugged, and added, "Maybe voodoo."
The chills that ran through her were a surprise. The idea of voodoo practices had always unnerved her, mainly because she’d lived nearby several communities that had practiced it. She wasn’t sure if there was actual power in it, but the idea of it alone was enough to keep her on edge, feeling uncertain and uneasy.
"What's the case?" she asked, trying to push that bit of fear away.
"At least two murders that we know of. Maybe more. I'd really like for you to be on the road within the hour."
Camille sighed too, but for different reasons. Her heart was racing at the mere thought of returning to the place where she'd grown up.
"I don't know how much use I'll be," she said quietly.
"You'll be working with another agent once you get down there. An agent out of the New Orleans field office. Just new to the area, I think."
"Doesn't matter. I just don't think it's a good fit."
"Why's that?" There was an edge of irritation to his voice, one she'd heard many times but never directed at her.
She wasn't sure how to explain it, especially to someone like Milton. He was used to being surrounded by agents who jumped through even the highest of hoops he set out for them. She'd always been among their numbers, too, but this was different.
"I don't do New Orleans anymore," she said. "And I don't do voodoo."
"Then a little field trip to your childhood home will be just the thing to get you back on track. You're from a small town just outside of New Orleans, right? Upping?"
"Right. I just don't know if..."
She stopped here, trailing off.
"I understand your hesitation," Milton said.
"I don't think you do." But then she thought of Declan and the time she'd wasted with him, of her childhood and how she'd let the horrors she'd experienced define her. Those horrors, though far in her past, were still real enough to her to creep up as she sat in Milton’s office. She saw her father’s dark, expressionless eyes looking down on her. The splatters of blood on his hands. Her dream came rushing back quickly, as if it had followed her from the apartment and into this office.
"Daddy, I'm sorry. I couldn't do it. Please forgive me."
"No, Camille. I forgive you. I know what you are now...what you've become. I miss you so much. I miss our games. You were my best little girl."
"Daddy, I miss you too."
"Oh, Camille. My little girl. Why did you have to be so good?"
To hell with all of that. She was done running from her past.
She got to her feet a bit more confidently than she'd intended. "Fine. I’ll do it. Can you send me the details?"
Milton nodded appreciatively from behind his desk. "You'll have them by the time you get on the plane."
“Plane? It’s not that far, sir? I can drive.”
“No. This one feels urgent. If the press gets wind of it before it’s solved, there’s going to be a circus down there. I’ll have my assistant book your flight. I’ve already checked. The first one departs for New Orleans in just under two hours.”
What this implied but went unsaid was: There’s no time to waste. Move your a*s.
So that’s exactly what she did.
She hurried out of his office, leaving Declan and her present behind while her past waited just a plane ride away.
***
Milton was true to his word. As she waited to board her plane, she was emailed the specifics of the case. She started reading them over but was interrupted when she was called to board. With a single overnight bag packed and tossed over her shoulder (a spare she kept in her small office back at the field office), she boarded the plane, reading over the case details. Two bodies, discovered in the woods, just gruesome and staged enough to appear as if they had been used in some sort of occult ritual.
The victims so far had both been women in their twenties. And the latest had a been a singer for a jazz band.
Just like her sister. Just like the sister that had gone missing almost eight years ago and had been presumed dead ever since.
Jesus, how was she supposed to get through this. She hated to think such a thing but the similarities were too much; it made her feel like Upping, Louisiana, and the very large, gloomy shadow of New Orleans was calling her back home. Worse than that, Milton was allowing it and actually sending her there.
She settled into her seat, looking out to the slowly approaching dawn across the tarmac. An image of Nanette's face popped into her head. Nannette, her sister, who had always been able to belt out any note needed to nail a performance. Nanette, who had always been the true apple of their father's eye.
Nanette was gone now, and Camille could accept it on most days. But this morning, as she looked out of the plane window and to the gathering light of a new day, her sister's face remained constant in her mind.
It made her even more aware that in driving out to Louisiana, she was not only refusing to run away from her past any longer. No, she was driving headfirst into an army of ghosts and wretched memories that she'd fooled herself into believing she'd been able to escape.
- Writer
