The Choice (3 page)

“I’ve sat by the sidelines for too long, Marcie. As one of your Granny’s oldest friends and your teacher, I’m going to speak.” Marcie glanced upward for help while hurrying toward the ticket counter.

“Sally let me call you back in a few hours.” Some lines she wouldn’t cross. And one would be to disrespect Sally and hang-up.

“No girl, you listen to me. You don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re crossing over to something dark that’s going to kill you. There are dark entities around you, and I’ve been fighting for over a year to keep them away. But you keep letting them in. Walk away from him, whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re going, don’t do it girl. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep saving you. Come home, back to Las Seta. Let me finish teaching you. You’ve only just started.”

She stopped at a bench before the ticket agent, blew out a breath, scooped back her hair and then rested the backpack on the cushioned seat. She could almost picture Sally, the short, plump white haired and very English good little witch with her wheezy voice standing in front of her. Instead of a cat, she had a fluffy, golden retriever. Instead of a black cape, she wore a white or cream sweater, dangled over her shoulders. “You mean Dan, that fantastic man? The one I’ve been asking for my entire life? I think you’re confused Sally. I’m just going on a trip. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” She knew she let the old woman down. She could feel her hurt in the soft sigh on the other end of the phone.

“Marcie girl, I love you. You don’t know what that guy is. You can’t believe anything he tells you. You know you’ve never healed from that cesspool into which you were born. Your Granny, my best friend, yanked you from your no good parents when you were twelve. But you’re still a magnet for that abuse. You’ve been snared good, caught in a trap. You don’t understand. This guy’s a wizard. He came into this world with dark entities attached to him. His karma came with him. He knows how to get past your weak aura. You’re vulnerable, and you see him how he wants you to. Not how he really is. Please, I’m begging you. If you go and do what I think you’re doing for him, I may not be able to help you.”

The last call for her flight was announced. “Shit, I got to go, Sally. I promise I’ll call you.” Marcie hung up and slid her cellphone in the front pocket of her backpack. “I’m sorry Sally, please forgive me.” For a second, uncertainty made her pause. After all, Sally was the wisest woman she knew. She’d always been brutally honest—she’d always been right with whatever she shared with Marcie. And she never spoke lightly. In fact, Sally didn’t go out on a limb like this, unless there was dire need. That stoked a chill up Marcie’s spine. But just as quickly, an image of Dan flashed in her mind. So did the ultimate love she felt for him. “She doesn’t know him like I do. She doesn’t understand how badly he’s been hurt. She’s wrong this time.” She whispered under her breath, convincing herself the nagging hesitation was merely Sally’s doubt. She shrugged the nylon backpack over her shoulder, well aware what she carried, if caught, could put her in prison for years to come. But she wouldn’t get caught. Dan promised her how the bud had been packaged, would never be detected by security. And right now, she needed to trust and believe in her reddish haired prince with the dreamy hazel eyes. So she ran. Stuffing the burning confliction away, to the hidden place where she buried the heartache and rejection of growing up with an alcoholic mother who drowned her sorrows, was drunk by noon, and a father who flaunted his every dirty secret, including how much he liked his girls young.

Marcie trailed the other passengers off flight 918 into the main terminal of the New Orleans airport. Her eyes lowered, shutting out everyone around her; striding at a steady clip dressed in her favorite Levi’s. The jeans she knew attracted a man’s eye to her rounded bottom. Her tan blouse shimmered over her pert shapely breasts, the size a guy could fit nicely into the palm of his hands. She rubbed her forehead, reminding herself she had no need to paint her face as other ladies chose. Marcie rarely shed the healthy glow from her days spent outdoors. But that’s where her comfort ended. She claimed a spot in the middle of the pack, behind a wide lady sporting a navy suit, doing her damnedest to blend in.

How low have you sunk?
Marcie cut off the cruel persistent voice, prodding her conscience. During the cramped four hour flight from Seattle, her face heated each time her toe touched the backpack she’d stuffed under the seat in front of her. She’d refused a drink. But her tightly wound nerves could have used a stiff shot. Instead, she’d suffered in misery, wondering how she’d made it this far. Dan told her it’d be easy—so far so good.

She needed to shake off her anxiety to enjoy her first visit to this vibrant city. One she’d dreamed of experiencing for years. New Orleans, famous for its mouthwatering cuisine, jazz musicians and Creole culture. Marcie was more than a little intrigued with the voodoo legends that sparked the imaginations of many a writer with unexplained chills, and auras dwelling in graveyards and buildings; making this the most spellbinding haunted city. Marcie remained determined to experience all of it firsthand.

How much farther?
The drop off had to be close.

Heaviness weighed down her heart when Dan’s face entered her thoughts again. If only he’d come, this trip would be perfect. She knew he’d share her excitement for the gifts and mysterious secrets New Orleans was famous for. But he didn’t come. And this wasn’t the first, or even second, time he’d gone off and left her alone.

This roller coaster of emotions she experienced only with him. And it left her now on the downswing,
as usual
when distanced from Dan. She shook her stubborn head to get him out of her thoughts. He wasn’t here. But he had a way of slipping in, to disrupt her peace of mind, at least twenty or thirty times a day. An addiction which consumed her, making her want to do anything for him, and she did. Except give him Granny’s place on Las Seta. That she wouldn’t do.

Her days shifted down a steady slope of turmoil, just to have him in her life. This was crazy.

Nevertheless, there were boundaries. And right now, she knew deep down on another level, she needed to establish them. She could no longer ignore the volatility of this relationship nor how she willingly got on the plane for him. “Let it go, let it go.” She kept her head down, whispering under her breath while walking with the other passengers through the terminal.

Her heart pounded in excitement when she rounded the bend. She could see the silver luggage conveyance contraption and back wall of baggage claim. Was anyone watching? She needed to look closer but feared being too obvious. 
Think of something else. Emeril’s Restaurant!
She gestured a discreet high five and that’s when a weight lifted inside. For the first time since leaving Seattle, she felt lighter. Should she call Dan?
No
. Why did he continue to slip into her head?

Almost done
. Peace, blessed peace, blossomed in her heart. Marcie offered thanks to her angels for guiding her safely through.

Marcie glanced at a magical jazz mural exploding with vibrant color. It drew her into the rhythm and music that pulsed to life in the vivacity of the art. Marcie loved art, but then she grew up around artists that sojourned on Las Seta.

Overhead a saucy Cajun lilt announced incoming and outgoing flights, and it melted the tension in her tummy a little more.

Then everything went into slow motion. One moment she clutched the black and red knapsack over one shoulder. The next she felt a cut, snag and pull, at the same time a large, rough hand shoved her. Unable to stop the momentum and regain footing, she went down in a hazy blur. Her ears roared. Her blood pounded through her veins. She felt nothing when she smacked her head on the hard concrete floor.

Her ears rang and vision blurred. She struggled to focus on the maze of faces wreaking havoc on her overloaded senses. But she couldn’t think. As she pushed herself up, she started to sway to some indistinguishable hum buzzing in her head. She shifted her bottom on the cool floor and balanced on a shaky arm to keep from tipping over.

What happened?
She couldn’t think. The downy hairs on the back of her neck spiked with icy unease, adding to her discomfort. Something remained vaguely out of reach, an ache—and wow, when it hit it became a ripe sting burning the side of her head. She couldn’t understand what she was looking at—her hand, and it was streaked with blood.

Voices, sounds, chaos existed in slow motion. Like a puzzle in her brain. A strong hand grabbed her shoulder. Another touched the side of her face. At first, she gazed unseeing, and then blinked. A crowd gathered close behind the rough, unshaven face of a stranger who resembled a fallen angel. He peered into her eyes. His full, firm lips moved. But she couldn’t make sense of the rumbling sound. He turned away. This time she heard his smooth smoky voice shout out to the crowd of bodies behind him.

What was it about this man with his shabby light hair? Even his intense blue eyes appeared tired, with lines of life that deepened his god-like appearance. Did she know him? There was something familiar about him. She wanted to trust him.

“Ouch.” She flinched when he touched her head. Her brain blanked out. “There’s blood on my hand.” She didn’t mean to speak. But her voice cleared away the fog and piercing ring buzzing in her ears.

“Your head’s bleeding. You’ve got a big gash. It’s going to need some stitches. What’s your name, sugar?”

She liked the honey richness in his voice. Except something worried her, and she didn’t know why. “Marcie, ah … what happened?”

“Don’t you remember?” He watched her again in a way that made her want to reach out and touch him. He seemed nice. She liked him. Maybe it was his husky southern drawl, or maybe the concern this good-looking stranger showered over her.

Marcie reached up to touch her head. The stranger quickly grabbed her hand.

“No Marcie, don’t touch.”

“Oh.” He pressed something against her head, bringing on a wave of dizziness. She wanted to lie down and close her eyes. But when the room tilted out of control, she grabbed his shirt instead.

Sam Carre pressed a napkin to the oozing cut on Marcie’s forehead. Her face turned a pasty white, and she grabbed his shirt. He knew that look. She was about to pass out.

“Marcie, sweet thing, take a breath and look at me. You going to be sick?” She said nothing. Her arms shook as she held tight. “Marcie, come on. How you doing? I need you to answer me.”

Slowly, her cornflower blue eyes met his. They appeared dazed, confused and for a moment unseeing.

“I’m dizzy.”

He pushed back her long curly locks. Each strand was like silk against his fingers and all that full, wavy hair, enhanced the plump roundness of her cheeks. He looked around to see if someone claimed her. No one stepped forward.

He lifted the soaked napkin and studied the gash on the left side of her forehead. Blood seeped and dripped in a steady stream over her brow. Sam glanced up when an elderly woman dangled a linen scarf in front of him.

A large mocha skinned, out of shape security guard pushed through the crowd.

His name tag said “Stoffer”, Sam saw when the guard leaned into his space. “Wow, that’s a gusher. She sure knocked it good. So what happened here?”

His colorful manners snapped Sam back like a time warp.

“Snatch and grab. Kid took off, got her bag and sent her for a tumble. Did anyone call an ambulance?”

“Hmm, ambulance is coming,” Stoffer replied roughly. He squinted dark eyes to get a better look and then shook his head. Grimacing he glanced at Sam and leaned closer with his hands balanced on his knees. “She with you?”

“Nope, just on my way home.”

“Lucky guy.” He patted Sam on the shoulder and then stepped back to reach for the radio fastened to his belt. He uttered something incoherent into it and wandered off behind Sam.

Sam forgot his own misery when he focused on Marcie. And it felt good in this whole convoluted mess called life, to help someone else. When had he last done that?

“My name’s Sam. Where’d you come from Marcie?”

Her face shifted through a mirage of emotions, as if struggling with the simple question. Long dark lashes and pale eyelids blinked when she glanced up to the left over his shoulder.

Sam followed her dreamy gaze but saw nothing except a bunch of gawkers with luggage passing by. Marcie stiffened; her eyes widened and color infused her cheeks. Did she know someone? Should he jump up and ask the crowd if anyone knew her? Before he could, her arms trembled again. “Are you looking for someone? Is there someone with you?”

Her eyes leapt to his, startled like a deer. He’d seen that wild-eyed plea, many times on victim’s faces. Maybe she knew her attacker. This was a complication. One he didn’t need in his screwed up life.

A gurney squeaked behind him.

“Move aside.” Stoffer waved his hands shooing back the crowd.

The pretty lady tightened her hold on his cotton shirt. Sam held her shoulders. “Calm down. It’s going to be all right.”

She was such a small woman with curves in all the right places. A body the right man could scoop up with one arm and protect from whatever frightened her. Her mouth gaped wide. She tried to speak. She gasped for breath, once, twice, until her sweet, clear voice pulled him further to her plight. “I don’t know… I can’t remember.”