Page 15 of Carnival
My hands curl around the mug, the warmth flowing through them. I taste it, humming as the liquid slides down my throat, the taste making me feel more awake than before. Once I set the mug down, Aria lowers the volume on the TV and turns to look at me.
“It went…’’ She searches for the right words, eyes narrowed slightly, a small frown on her face. “As good as expected,’’ she concludes with a deep sigh.
Meanwhile, I’m hoping she doesn’t notice that I’m being fidgety. I take the cup of coffee again, sipping on it painfully slowly, gripping it tightly in my hands. If I tightened my hold on it even a fraction more, I think I’d snap it to pieces.
“Yes?” I urge her to continue, watching her over the rim of the cup.
“Apparently, being a De Santis will let me in any place known to mankind, but it won’t give me the information I’m seeking,’’ she groans. “My main focus was finding out who even owns the carnival. I got different answers from different people. Some said it’s owned by foreigners; others swore up and downthat it had to be someone from the city. In the end, there was only one thing that they all agreed on.’’
I lift a brow. “Go on.’’
She looks at me, her blue eyes stern. “It’s unique to New Orleans. This carnival doesn’t travel as I originally thought. I mean, I suspected as much, given that there were no information on them anywhere on the Internet, but still… having it confirmed just rattles me.’’
A small sigh of disappointment slips from me, and I’m unable to hide it. I’d hoped she’d be able to find something — anything to make sense of this. These killings are anything but normal murders, not that a murder is normal on any scale, but given the nature of her family’s business, I’ve heard a lot of stories.
Nothing quite like this.
It’s unique.
And if I’ve seen anything, I’ve seen too many crime TV shows, and I know that this is their signature. Mutilating bodies beyond recognition, then ensuring everything of their victims is wiped clean off the face of the Earth. It’s bone-chilling, and the fact that I fucked a man who could possibly be working with them just makes me feel disgusted with myself.
“Did you manage to get any other information?”
Aria looks at me for a few seconds, internally debating whether to share. I give her a knowing look, and after another moment of silence passes between us, she relents and nods.
“I asked around about your family.’’
My brows skyrocket to my hairline. “And?”
“The place I visited was filled with people our age, early thirties at most. Even the staff, so since I didn’t know your parents’ names, I gave them your last name — Ashford. And, well, let’s just say that your parents' reputation was less than a stellar one. When I mentioned the surname to the bartender, he visibly gagged. As in, gagged.’’
“That’s just fantastic,’’ sarcasm coats my tongue, the cup resting between my fingers. The coffee’s getting colder and colder, yet I don’t mind it. In fact, as stupid as it sounds, the object in my hands is the only thing keeping me grounded and preventing me from going into an overthinking mode.
“I know,’’ she nods. “Apparently, Austin was known for being an asshole, and Kiersten was… well, a cunt, to quote the bartender.’’
My parents, Austin and Kiersten Ashford. Aside from the small, gold locket that I’ve had on me since they passed away and their names, I don’t know anything about them. Not their faces, not their past, nothing. Zilch, nada. And it used to bother me to the point I was losing sleep over trying to figure out what happened, how they died, and why I was sent to foster care instead of being taken in by any of my relatives; however, now that Aria’s managed to shed some light on their personalities, it seems like no one wanted to deal with the devil’s spawn.
“Other than that, did they mention any relatives?” I ask, a pang of hope fluttering in my chest. I’m unsure whether or not I’d ever go out of my way to meet them or know them, but curiosity is something that I’ve been suppressing for far too long. I just need to know if I have any family out there.
“The paternal side is long dead; it happened long before you were born. Maternal side, however, seemed to vanish.’’
A small frown attaches onto my face, and Aria takes it as an opportunity to continue. She straightens up, gently taking the cup out of my hands and putting it on the small coffee table, then grabbing my hands in hers.
“They aren’t dead,’’ she explains. “Not that I could find any records of them dying, anyway, but they aren’t in New Orleans. At least, not anymore.’’
“When did they leave?”
“Shortly after your parents died.’’
A small lump forms in my throat. If they vanished, I wouldn’t rule out being killed, either. If there’s nothing on them in any sort of record, it’s safe to assume they weren’t recognized and simply buried somewhere, with no gravestones or family to send them off into the afterlife. The thought causes my heart to swell, an unexplainable ache spreading through my chest.
“Basically,’’ I swallow a small knot that formed in my throat, ignoring the burning sensation. “We don’t know anything.’’
“We know that your parents weren’t well liked, that’s for sure. I’ll find out more, but for now, let’s eat and then rest. Tonight is the first night of the carnival, and we need to be prepared. Well, you, mainly. What are you going to do if you see him again?”
I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. If she sees through my facade, she doesn’t comment on it and instead turns back to the television after not getting a verbal response from me.
She can’t know that I fucked him last night. She can’t know that I fucked up majorly. And the question keeps repeating in my head. What will I do when I see him again?
