James

James slammed his phone down on the bedside table, pulled back the covers, and planted his feet on the floor. Smoothing back his hair, he made to stand, but the hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Where are you going, mister? I thought we were taking a break before round two.”

The urge to crawl back under the covers was strong, but his servitude pulled him. Turning to look at Bethany, he reached out and placed a hand on her face. He could feel himself stirring again as she placed her cheek against his palm before grabbing it and putting it on her breast. “You’re not making this easy,” he sighed.

“It’s our night off,” Bethany pouted.

James stood and picked his clothes off the floor and dressed quickly. “You should know that time off doesn’t really exist in our world.”

“What does she have you doing now?”

“I need to go pick up some stuff at that Irish pub we were at earlier. It seems Madame has taken a shine to that lass.”

Bethany sat up in bed, worry lines forming across her brow. “What did she say?”

“It looks like Catriona will be coming back to New Orleans with us tomorrow.”

“Permanently? What does that mean for me? You don’t think she would…”

James slipped on his jacket and climbed onto the bed. “Relax. The Irish girl is just another one of her playthings; plus, you know I’d never let anything bad happen to you.”

Bethany smiled demurely. “Looks like I have a bodyguard, too. Make sure you come back to bed as soon as you finish. I’ll be waiting.”

Planting a kiss on her forehead, James got up and headed for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The doors to the private penthouse elevator slid closed, the reflection from the polished steel making it look as though James stood in front of a funhouse mirror. He checked his watch, tapping the face nervously as the seconds ticked away. As soon as the doors slid open, James bounded out and strode purposefully across the lobby, blowing wordlessly past the smiling hostess at the entrance to the hotel lounge.

He arrived at the booth with less than a minute to spare, trying to look casual even though his heart was hammering. “Good evening, Madame, Miss,” James said, bowing ever so slightly as he spoke.

Marina raised a finger as she finished reading a passage from the journal, and the Irish girl swayed as though touched by a gentle breeze. James scanned the bar while he waited and thought about dropping a wad of bills in the pianist’s tip jar and requesting that he shut the fuck up.

Grinding his thumb against his temple, he tried to push down the anger that he could feel rising to the surface. A short fuse was an issue that has plagued him from his teenage years. James had mostly been able to keep it in check, but it all came undone one fateful night when he had walked in on his stepfather abusing his mother. A red mist had descended, years of bottled anger coming uncorked in a brutal beating. A pair of options were all he had left after that night: spend time in jail or sign up for the military. He chose the latter.

The army proved to be the perfect decision. Initially, James had struggled with being told what to do, but he soon found that discipline and a strict routine were what he needed to thrive and become a functioning adult. The anger never left, but it was now easier to keep in check. Plus, his boss seemed to take joy in the moments when he uncaged that fury in his role as protector.

He would have remained in the military for life had it not been for a chance meeting with his now boss. During a weekend on leave in New Orleans, he had taken a trip to the French Quarter, choosing to leave his friends behind to visit an upscale jazz club. The place was packed, and while the crowd focused on the band, he could not take his eyes off the redhead in the corner. When she caught him looking and flashed a smile, the rush of blood to his head had thrummed in his ears and blocked out the sound of the music.

James never believed in hypnosis until that moment, and when a fight broke out, and the drunken combatants had begun to stumble in her direction, he had felt his body move before his brain registered the potential for violence. He had taken the men down as though in a dream, swearing he could hear her voice in his head, urging him to hurt them. When it was all over, and the club had settled back into its normal groove, she had invited him to sit with her and act as her bodyguard for the night.

That one night had turned into a decade of service, his place in the military mysteriously ending when he received an honorable discharge that he had neither requested nor deserved. Even when James had learned of his new job description, he felt compelled to stay by her side and make sure to meet her every need, no matter the cruelty involved.

James now had more money than he could ever have dreamed of, as well as a nice home in New Orleans. Most of his time, though, was spent at the MacCarthy estate, acting as a bodyguard, caretaker, and provider of what the Madame referred to as treats.

Most days, James enjoyed his work, grim as it was, but there were times when he resented being on constant call. He had never expected to fall for Bethany, but he had, and he hated when their moments alone together were interrupted. He was well aware that he was sharing her with his boss, which was beginning to gnaw at his insides the more he thought about it.

“Earth to James,” Marina said, snapping her fingers.

Breaking out of his thoughts, James gave his head a little shake. “Sorry, Madame. I’m still trying to wake up.”

“I’m surprised Bethany allows you to sleep at all. She’s quite ferocious once she gets started,” Marina said with a smirk.

James ignored the barb and maintained a professional air, even as his stomach churned. “You have a task for me?”

Marina pouted like a child that had just been refused a treat. “Always so serious.” She slid a silver key and a folded check across the table. “The entrance to her place is at the back of the bar. In and out with as little drama as possible. Message me as soon as you are done.”

Scooping the items off the table, James said, “Anything else, Madame?”

“Not unless you and Bethany care to join me upon your return.”

James felt the heat rising in his face, a mixture of embarrassment and anger, the latter emotion coming as a surprise. “I won’t be long,” he said as he turned away from the booth, his boss’ laughter ringing in his ears.

***

His knuckles turned white, the bones threatening to break the skin as he gripped the steering wheel and looked for a place to park on Main Steet. After a few round trips, he eventually spied one, pulling in quickly, ignoring the blinker of the car coming from the opposite direction.

By the time James stepped out of his car, the other vehicle’s driver had pulled level, his window down. The man appeared as though he was about to let loose a torrent of abuse, but one look at James’ build and angry expression made him think better of it. He hit the gas and sped off down the street and out of sight.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, James headed in the direction of the stairs that led down to the riverfront area. It was going on midnight, but the streets were still bustling. He watched as a group headed towards him, led by a cloaked figure carrying an old lantern. As they brushed by, he heard the group leader talk about ghosts in an overly theatrical spooky voice, his audience looking on wide-eyed as he regaled them with tales of the supernatural.

James smiled as he watched them go, wondering what they would think of the story he had to tell. The same people who believed in disembodied spirits rattling chains and walking through walls would likely have a hard time swallowing the tale of a woman who looked half her age because she bathed in the blood from bodies that he happily provided.

After a few more minutes, he found the stairs and headed down, coming out in the alley that was home to the curiosity shop they had visited earlier. The store sat in darkness now, giving the items in the window a creepy authenticity that they lacked in the glare of daylight. As he passed, he tried to avoid the stare of a male doll dressed in Victorian wear, it’s small glass eyes twinkling despite the lack of light. The doll seemed to follow his progress as he passed, an illusion that sent a shiver down his spine.

James exhaled as he reached the end of the alley, where a man leaned against the wall, vomiting loudly. Stepping over a snaking river of bile, James turned the corner and found some relief in the lights that lined the street. He was annoyed at himself for feeling spooked, but he took a moment to regain his composure before moving on and stepping into the Irish pub.

The bar was filled to brimming, a band in the corner belting out an Irish tune that the crowd sang along with in an off-key cacophony. James put his head down and pushed his way through the throng, heading to the battered brown door marked “Employees Only” at the rear end of the bar. With a quick glance around, he pulled a key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock.

“Oy, what are you up to?” a gruff voice called out.

James turned in time to see the bar owner stride in his direction, a crowbar clenched in his chubby fist. “I’m here to collect Catriona’s stuff.”

“Oh. And who the fuck might you be?”

Glaring down at the man, who barely reached chest level, James took a step forward, knocking him off balance. It was the slightest contact, but enough to make the man step back, a look of fear on his face as he tripped over the outstretched legs of a patron. As he pinwheeled his arms for balance, James reached out and plucked the crowbar out of his grasp with his left hand before deftly tossing it into his right.

The man hit the ground hard, a grunt escaping as his tailbone contacted the hardwood floor. Going down on his haunches, James gripped the man by his tie and pulled him in close. “You, I assume, are George, correct?”

The bar owner tried to push himself away, but James turned his wrist and wrapped the tie around his hand, watching as George’s face flushed the shade of beetroot. James saw a man at a nearby table stand and begin to move towards him from the corner of his eye. Without taking his eyes off George, he pointed the crowbar at the advancing customer and said, “Sit back down and mind your fucking business.”

He hoisted George to his feet, released the tie, and gave the bar owner a couple of light taps on the cheek. “Here’s the deal, Georgie boy. Catriona is giving her notice as of right this second. I am going to collect her stuff and be out of your thinning fucking hair in a couple of minutes. You can allow that to happen, or you can allow shit to go horribly wrong. What’s your choice?”

The bar owner nervously adjusted his tie before wiping the seat of his threadbare pants. “Where are you taking her? I promised her dad I would look after her.”

“None of your business, but you can let her old man know that she has made a life for herself, far away from you. Can you do that?”

George nodded, drops of sweat falling from his forehead onto his shirt.

“Good man. Now, pour me a pint of lager and wait right here for me.”

James turned and opened the door without waiting for a response, flicking on a light switch that revealed a set of rickety wooden stairs. He bounded up them two at a time and opened another door at the top, revealing a spartan living space. Pulling the string on the overhead light, James shuddered as cockroaches fled along the floorboards and in behind a rusted stove.

The room looked more like a prison cell than a place to call home. An oak dresser, its handles missing, stood in the corner, the drawers all partially opened, pieces of clothing peeking out. A pair of suitcases sat beside the dresser, wedged between the furniture and the cracked plaster wall. James pulled them out, dropped them on the sagging mattress in the middle of the room, and flipped them open. He then pulled out the drawers and dumped the meager contents into the first suitcase, which he zipped closed.

An alarm clock and a few ornaments sat on top of the dresser. He grabbed those, wrapped them in a blanket that sat on the mattress, and laid them gently inside the other suitcase. Scanning the room, he noticed some more pieces of clothing draped across a clothes rack that sat beside a moldy shower stall. James snatched them up and folded them over his arm as he went around the room and pulled off photographs pinned to the wall, taking care not to damage them more than they already were.

With both suitcases filled, he headed back to the stairs, stopping to take one more look around the space. Satisfied that he had everything, James headed back down to the bar, where he dropped the suitcases and closed the door behind him, dropping the key back into his pants pocket.

George stood in the same spot where he had fallen just a few moments earlier. He gripped a pint of beer in his hand, his other hand sitting underneath the glass in an attempt to hold it steady.

Snatching the beer, James downed it in one and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “That’s not a bad pint, George. Thank you for your cooperation.” James reached inside his jacket and pulled out a check, which was folded in half. “You can take the price of the beer out of that,” he said, flipping the slip of paper at George. “I think you’ll find it’s more than enough.”

George flapped at the check, finally snatching it out of the air at the third attempt. His eyes went wide when he opened it and saw the amount.

“Like I said, more than enough.” James picked up the suitcases and brushed past the bar owner, pausing for a moment on the way past to say, “I was never here.”

Weaving through the crowd, arms held aloft to avoid hitting anyone with the suitcases, James made it back to the street and jogged around the corner and into the alley. The vomiting man now lay on the ground, steam rising from his crotch area, the smell of piss and vomit hanging heavy in the air. James puffed out his cheeks and held his breath as he made for the stairs back up to the main thoroughfare, turning his head away from the shop window as he blew past.

Minutes later, with the suitcases safely in the back of the SUV, James leaned against the vehicle and sent a text to his boss, letting her know he had Catriona’s stuff. The response was quick, “Good. We shall leave tomorrow at noon. I need you and Bethany in my suite at 9 a.m.”

James got behind the wheel of the car and sat for a moment, looking back down the street the way he had come. A creeping sense of unease shimmered through his body. He was ready to hit the road now and leave Savannah in the rearview. It was a place similar to New Orleans in many ways, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were taking something rotten back home. Whether that was the Irish girl or the journal remained to be seen, but he vowed to keep an eye on both as he pulled a U-turn and headed back to the hotel.

Watson’s House of Horrors

Serial Novella: Slave to Blood Chapter 6