Part 6 (1/2)

”Most of the groups make you take a test to prove you know the history and can tell the stories.” ”Oh, I know history. And I can spin a good yarn. Give me my check, so you can get out of here.” He smiled broadly. ”You need a ride anywhere?”

”Oh ... I ... uh ...” she stammered. He was pleasant enough, but she knew better than to accept a ride with a stranger.

”Never mind-bad question,” he told her. He took his check from her fingers and gave her some money. ”I'll be seeing you,” he told her.

”Thanks,” she said.

He started walking away. She realized how much money he had given her. She turned to thank him.

He was already gone. As if he'd disappeared into thin air.

Twice that day she'd gotten lucky with men.

Or so she thought.

When she stepped outside, the streets were still busy. It was New Orleans. The streets were always busy.

Jazz always played.

She loved that about New Orleans.

The problem was, of course, that she had a bit of a long trek home.

She had a car, an old-very old-Chevy Nova. Bought for a mere one hundred dollars, it was good for the few miles a week she drove between the college and the French Quarter.

She had to park it outside of the Quarter because s.p.a.ce inside was so very dear. She couldn't begin to afford a garage. And so she left the bustling tourist area of the old sector each day for streets beyond that weren't considered at all safe. During the daytime, they were all right.

But at night...

Today her car was almost all the way down by the cemeteries. They didn't usually freak her out. In fact, she loved the history of the place.

Not that Pennsylvania didn't offer history-it certainly did. But New Orleans was just so unique. The different accents, the different cultures, the weird, aboveground vaults ...

So haunting in the moonlight.

Moonlight that played with shadow.

There were clouds overhead. Every now and then the streets were pitched into darkness.

She was halfway toward her car when she first heard the footsteps.

Not her own. She had been listening to that swift, rhythmic echo since she had started out.

She clutched her purse tightly to her chest. Great. She was going to get mugged the first day she'd made real big bucks working. Both the solo guys-the one first thing in the morning and then her last customer of the evening- had been generous to a fault. The first guy had put down a twenty to pay for a cup of coffee!

After working all day and running herself ragged, she had about a hundred bucks. Good, necessary money for her.

Clip, clip. She swung around, trying to see who was following her.

Your life is worth more than any amount of money!

She could almost hear her mother saying the words. She bit into her lower lip. They were true words. She had never realized how true until this very moment.

She quickened her pace.

She heard the footsteps again. She spun around.

Spun back.

There . . .

Behind her! Black shadow.

No! There-in front of her! Shadow, flying. No, the moonlight, haunting, teasing ...

Then again ...

Clip. Clip... The sound of footsteps. Furtive. Menacing.

”Hey!” she cried out suddenly. ”I carry pepper spray!”

Pepper spray? What kind of an idiot was she?

”Pepper spray-and a fifty-seven Magnum!” she shouted.

Laughter ...

Did she hear laughter, or was it a haunting echo in her own mind?

She looked and looked....

Spun around.

There was no one, no one ...

Shadows, laughter, footsteps ...

She began to run.

And the clip . . . clip . . . clip came faster and faster, too. The shadow... it flew, rose like a giant black bird. It swept into a canopy above her head.

The moon, the glorious moon, covered by shadow, darkness falling ...

And then ...

The touch.

She began to scream.