Page 115 of The House on Prytania
I tried to scream his name again, but I couldn’t breathe, the pressure on my back crushing my lungs. Tiny spots of light danced around my peripheral vision. I watched in paralyzed horror as Beau’s other foot slid to the edge. “Adele,” I managed to choke out. “Please. Beau... needs... you.” The dancing lights behind my eyelids grew bigger, obscuring my vision until I could no longer force my eyes to stay open.
I awoke to the smell of pipe smoke drifting past my face, and I sat up with a start, noticing that the pressure on my back had gone. The temperature in the attic was just as low, but the wind had diminished to a strong breeze. I saw the wet footprints first, my gaze following them to the spot where Beau had been before I’d passed out.
Beyond that point, water spots tinged with pink marked Beau’s path to the far wall, where he now stood with both hands gripping the hand railings. Blood dripped down his face, and a flash of whiteappeared as I approached. “Thank God you’re alive. Because if you weren’t I’d kill you with my bare hands for scaring me like that.”
My own smile wobbled. “Sorry.”
The house groaned, the wind picking up again but at a greatly diminished force, like an injured dragon saving its energy for one last attack.
Beau wiped blood from his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Just leave, Nola. Please leave. He’s still here.”
“So is your grandfather. And your mother.”
“I know. They’re the reason we’re not dead.” He looked up toward the roof. “Jeanne is here, too. To forgive him. He just needs to ask.”
I looked toward the door leading to safety, then back at Beau. The tobacco smoke was stronger now, and I could hear the slow tread of wet feet against wood coming up from behind us. “Good—so there’s five against one. I like those kinds of odds.” I swallowed. “I’m not leaving until this is done.”
He gritted his teeth. “You’re a slow learner, aren’t you?” Then, throwing back his head, he shouted up to the rafters. “Killing another person isn’t going to make things easier for you, Antoine. You will need to admit your sins if you ever want to find peace. You are no longer needed here in the place you loved in life but made miserable for so many others, including your own family. Including your daughter, Jeanne.”
The breeze billowed drunkenly, blowing away the pipe smoke and replacing it with the putrid stench of rot and dead things. I fought the urge to vomit, knowing that his energy would feed on any show of fear or weakness.
Beau’s head dropped as his chest rose and fell and his hands, which gripped the railing, turned white as he fought for consciousness. He lifted his head and rested it against the wall behind him. “Of all your sins, killing your own daughter is the most unforgivable. We all know what you did—what your brother did. You chose to protect a rapist over the life of your own daughter.”
Beau’s legs flipped out from under him, landing him on his back. I heard the crack of his head as it hit the wood. I pushed past my paralyzing fear and crawled toward him, touching his foot. “Beau?”
He held up his hand, either to show me that he was okay or to command me to leave—or both—then slowly pulled himself up, bracing himself against the rail.
His chest rose and fell as he struggled to catch his breath. He was losing this battle, and Antoine knew it. The wind and the reek of decay intensified, and I could only hope that this show of force was hiding a dying energy, and that Beau had a reserve hidden somewhere in his stubborn body.
“Jeanne forgives you, Antoine. Sheforgivesyou. You don’t have to release your guilt and self-loathing on the world anymore. The world has left you behind, and your daughter is showing you the path toward a better place. She’s offering you peace.”
The wind skittered with rotating bursts of energy and stillness, as if we were on a sailboat heading toward the doldrums. With his last reserve, Beau pulled his head back and shouted, “Go. Now. Follow Jeanne into the light. Find the forgiveness and penance you seek. It is all waiting for you on the other side.”
A doorway of brilliant light opened near the ceiling, and a young woman with a bouffant hairdo stood in the center of it, with rays of luminosity spilling from behind and around her. I recognized Jeanne, with the same dazzling smile from the old black-and-white photo I’d seen, as she extended both hands toward her father.
The wind stopped abruptly as the rancid stench was overtaken by the sweet and earthy scent of pipe tobacco. The bulb in the camping light flickered twice before shutting off, the glow from the dining room and the ethereal door casting everything in a diffuse radiance. The house rumbled softly, as if settling in for sleep, as a dark shadow crept out from a high corner of the attic before morphing into the familiar shape of a man with thick white hair.
Jeanne smiled at her father and opened her arms in welcome. With only a brief hesitation, Antoine Broussard walked into his daughter’sarms and into the light until all that was left of it was a tiny glowing pinprick that shone brightly for several seconds before extinguishing itself.
I turned to Beau, my shout of excitement dying in my throat as I watched his knees buckle and his body slide to the walkway, to be positioned half on and half off, with his legs dangling over the edge.
Lurching forward, I grabbed his forearms just as gravity pulled the lower half of his body over the side. His hands loosely gripped my arms, weak with exhaustion. I felt him slipping from my grasp, my hands now holding on to his wrists. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep my hold on him.
“Beau—wake up! You need to hang on.”
He only groaned, his eyes slowly drifting open before closing again.
“Help!” I screamed as a last resort, hoping someone in the kitchen or outside could hear me. Or one of the two spirits I knew had been there but had apparently depleted their own energy. I wasn’t going to let go. I couldn’t.
The door at the end of the walkway slammed open, followed by heavy footsteps. “Keep holding on to him,” Cooper said calmly. “I’m going to step around you and pull him up by his belt. I’ll let you know when you can let go.”
Cooper knelt beside me, reached over with one hand, and tightly gripped Beau’s belt before doing the same with the other. After adjusting his balance, he said, “Situate yourself so you can use your upper body. Give it all you’ve got but pull gently. If you do it too fast, he’s liable to slip. Ready?”
I nodded, and very carefully, inch by inch, we gradually managed to pull Beau to safety. We placed him faceup on the walkway, with Cooper on one end and me at Beau’s feet. I took Beau’s wrist, almost crying when I felt the thready beat of his pulse. Cooper was already on his phone calling 9-1-1.
The entire time we waited for the ambulance, I kept my hand on Beau’s wrist, relaxing only once I heard the police sirens. It was thenthat I took a good look at Cooper, questioning his sudden appearance. “Thank you, by the way. But how did you know where to find us? Did you hear me scream?”
“No. It was a woman who came to me outside, in the garden, and led me to the hidden stairs. She told me I needed to hurry because you were in trouble.”
