Page 1 of Devil's Haunting
CHAPTER 1
LAIKEN
The moment I pull off the highway, the scenery around me changes. It no longer feels like I’m on a road which could be practically anywhere. Maybe it’s just me, but the long, flowing roads of the interstate don’t have any character or personality. It’s only the signs that tell me I’m somewhere worth knowing about.
But on the streets?
It’s where the charm of the city can be really felt. It’s where people flow and music can be heard. You can finally see the lights and understand the rhythm.
Every place I’ve ever visited had a natural rhythm to it. A sway. A movement. A heartbeat. It was as much a part of the place as the people and the color you find there. I think it’s one of the reasons I started to paint landscapes. I wanted to capture that movement, that intrinsic quality which is almost out ofreach and feels like it can’t be seized.
I’ve tried, and maybe I haven’t always been successful, but I like to believe I’ve created something worth looking at twice.
And if that isn’t a raving endorsement for my art, I’m not sure what is.
After all the places I’ve visited, and all the people I’ve met along the way, it feels strange to be driving into New Orleans and considering putting down roots. I’m not holding my breath, but this will be the first time I have a place to call my own, free and clear, which makes an enormous difference.
I’ve never even had the option of that before, except for when I lived with Adelaide, my grandmother, my Didi. She’s always given me a place to land, a place to belong. She’s the reason I am who I am today.
If she hadn’t seen a love for art in me and encouraged me to run it down until it became my life, I don’t know who I would be right now. Then she kept showing up for me and my passion. Hell, she bought the first piece of my art that was ever put into a gallery for a student show.
I tried to give it to her, but she refused. She squared her shoulders and huffed out, “No, I want to be able to track how much value it has because of the demand people start making for your work. The only way I can do that is if I buy it.” She leaned toward me then, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “We’ve never been women of charity and I’m not starting now, Laiken.”
She sure as hell wasn’t wrong. Even after I was basically dropped at her doorstep by her daughter, my mother who didn’t want me, nothing about the life we built together was about charity. It was about survival. It was about passion. It was about thriving in the little glimmers of life we could find, like a catfinding a sunray on the floor the minute the clouds break on a dreary day.
And thrive we fucking did.
Together.
Always together.
When I went off to art school, it was with the knowledge that I would find my way back to Didi and the love she always folded me in like my favorite throw blanket. What I had no idea about at the time was the years I would spend traveling and exploring. It was like the heartbeat of the Earth was calling to me and I had no choice but to find out what mattered with each thump, with each strike of the stick against the drum.
It took me years, but I did make it back to Didi and I had so many stories to tell her. I remember the day I pulled up to her house, one which used to be mine too. I hadn’t told her I was coming because I wanted it to be a surprise. Or perhaps I was afraid she would tell me not to come, even though it wouldn’t have happened.
I hadn’t even turned off the car yet, but there was Didi ripping through the front door like the woman wasn’t in her eighties and didn’t already have one hip replacement under her belt. She hugged me with everything she had the moment I got out and almost knocked me right back into my car.
“I knew you’d come home eventually,” she breathed without a hint of judgement or anger in her words. She pushed me away from her as I blinked at her a few times while taking in the huge smile on her face. “Now, you can tell me all about your travels and show me the art you’ve been creating.”
The warmth I had gone home in search of was blooming in my chest and flowing through my veins to give me life again. It had felt like my heart was becoming sluggish and the connection to who I am was becoming strung too tight. Going home was just what I needed.
I spent a few months with her, telling her about everything I saw and all the people I had met, but then I got the strangest phone call about a month ago. Since I didn’t recognize the number, I almost didn’t answer; but something told me not to ignore the call. After I greeted the caller, an eerie silence settled over me as the man on the other end of the line was all business.
“My name is Mr. Black. Am I speaking to Ms. Weber?”
I answered hesitantly, “Yes? Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Black?”
“I’m a lawyer in New Orleans,” he began. His words already threw me for a loop for a lot of reasons, but the man didn’t give me a chance to get my bearings. “While I understand this may come as a shock to you, I’m sorry to inform you of the death of Mrs. Marilyn Landry.”
My voice rose an octave, “The death of Mrs. Marilyn Landry?”
I sounded confused because I was. I had never heard of a Marilyn Landry, but when I looked up at Didi, she was standing across the room staring at me with wide, shock-filled eyes. I couldn’t tear my eyes off her as Mr. Black continued.
“Yes,” he insisted, “Mrs. Landry. She was your great aunt.” I was floored and my mouth dropped open in surprise while a look of sadness, and a little guilt, crossed Didi’s face. We never talked much about her side of the family, and I was starting to wonder why. I just didn’t wonder why soon enough, apparently. “There is the matter of her estate,” Mr. Black gently prodded me.
“Her estate?” My voice was shrill and far too high pitched to be considered normal.
Mr. Black tried to hide his chuckle, but I could still hear it, which only ramped up the weird feeling of being off kilter. “Yes,” he placated me, which had me clenching my jaw, “your great aunt Marilyn had quite the estate which she inherited from her husband’s side of the family. He was quite rich and there was a time when his family was very influential here in New Orleans. Of course, times change, and the storm changed a lot of things including the dynamics in the city. Still, Marilyn stayed here and tried to keep up with the house as best she could.”
