Inspiration 15

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It is said the Phoenix is reborn from the ashes on the one the died. What about love? Can love be born out of tragedy, out of the evil that men do?

Today and tomorrow we will look and new love and first love--all born out of tragedy and evil that men do.

New love:

After the death of a spouse, many people give up on life. But what if the spirit of your departed love urged you toward a new love? What would you do?

1

A Shot in the Dark

Eau Boueuse, Louisiana

June 3, 2028

Laughing, Christine Gautier and her daughter, Trista, walked out of the strip mall, loaded with shopping bags. The sun hovered just on the horizon, casting darkening shadows across the parking lot. When they got to the brand new, small Honda SUV, Chris fumbled in her purse. "Here!" She tossed the car keys to her daughter who had just received her learner's permit that afternoon.

Running to the driver's side, Trista squealed and jumped up and down, accidentally hitting the panic button.

For a moment wreathed in a huge smile, Chris's face took on a shocked expression as she mumbled, "Raif."

"Neely, what do you want in a man?"

"Well, I'd like for him to look good."

"How superficial!"

"Hey! Wylie looks good."

"Yeah, he does. Go on."

"Well, I'd like for him to be well-grounded, but have a sense of humor. He must be intelligent. I couldn't tolerate a dimwit." She ate a bite of her pastry as a group of loud women walked by them to leave. After the chattering subsided, she finished her thought. "He has to have faith, but not be judgmental. And he has to know how to love."

"Do you mean make love?"

"That's pretty important, too, but I mean love from the depths of his soul."

"That's a tall order, honey."

Neely laughed and looked into space. She said reticently, "I actually met the perfect man once."

"And, oh, my God!" She splayed fingers on both hands in the air. "He looked so good. He was about six feet, a hundred eighty-five pounds. He had charcoal black hair with a little gray at his temples, and a fleck here and there." Neely touched her temples and wiggled her fingers in the air across her head. "And he had the most gorgeous sparkling blue eyes. They looked as if God had taken two little pinches of sky and planted them in his face. His teeth were perfectly straight and white, and his dimples could've been a work of art. And his body, ooh, was rock hard."

Esther interjected, "Are you talking about his body or a body part, honey?"

"Esther!" Neely stuck her tongue out just like a naughty child. "I didn't see that. How would I know? His body was to die for—a six pack, pecs, perfectly chiseled, and arms that made you want to beg him to hold you." Neely breathed deeply and exhaled long and loud. "Oh, he was absolutely perfect.

"Now, the cop was just as good looking, but he had all those scars." She wrinkled her nose. "No, this man was just flawless."

"How old is this guy?" asked Esther.

Neely shrugged. "Mid-forties at the time."

"Isn't he a little old for you, baby?"

Neely shook her head. "Not to be my fantasy, and not if I could ever actually have him. There was nothing old about Raiford Gautier."

"You even remember his name. How odd!"

Neely laughed. "It would be hard to forget a set of identical twins that were both named Raiford because they were adopted by two different families who chose the same name."

A youthful smile from Neely preceded the rest of her story. "Raif looked and looked for a tattoo to honor his wife, too. He wanted so much to find something perfect. He finally chose the unicorn that I designed. You know—the one with a mane that spells a name. He got that for his Christine.

"We talked about how a tattoo should say something about a person. When they left, I remember saying that I hoped someday I would meet somebody to love me the way they loved their wives. He told me I would because I was as beautiful and full of life as my rose tattoo." She looked longingly at her left arm with its full-sleeve tattoo of a bloomed crimson rose.

With arched eyebrows, Esther looked over the top of her coffee cup. She set it down. "Neely, honey, you need to meet a man. You're absolutely in love with a fantasy."

7

Open for Business

The two business owners on either side of Timeless Tattoos could not believe when they saw the "OPEN" sign turned on in the window of Neely Rivers's business. On one side was an actual voodoo supply shop called Voodoo You Do. The other side was a small café, specializing in crawfish, called Amile's Crawfish Emporium. Colleen DuPin, the elderly owner of the voodoo shop, walked into the tattoo parlor and said in shock, "Neely, chile, you really plannin' to open up again?"

"I am. Those bastards didn't kill me. I won't let them kill my spirit either. I used the life insurance money Daddy left me to fix the place up, and I've decided to do caricatures and paintings, too."

"Well, you've got spunk! Why don't you give yourself a voodoo symbol of protection tattooed over your heart?"

"No, Colleen. I own a tattoo parlor, but I don't want to have tattoos all over me." She glanced up. "However, if you have a symbol I can hang above my door, I'll take it."

"That I do, dear, and it's free of charge to you."

"You can pick out any tattoo in trade."

"Your daddy done gave me all the tattoos I want, chile. Maybe you could paint me somethin' real purty for my winda."

"It's a deal." She planted a kiss on the old woman's cheek.

"They've disappeared. It's been three months, and there hasn't been another attack," Neely went on. "Since there had been so many in succession, it seems my attack was meant to be the last. It was supposed to have served some purpose." She scooped food onto her Styrofoam plate.

"Maybe it's because you were able to provide some identification," Amile said. "Could be they're keeping a low profile."

"This isn't fact, but just my intuition," Neely explained.

"That's scary, Neely," Amile said, handing Colleen a plate. "I guess I can see where you're coming from."

"You have to admit that the FBI agent being killed before he could come back and see me was more than strange."

"That is was, chile," observed Colleen. "You know, there was another FBI agent killed in Baton Rouge a few months back, and a cop in Eau Boueuse before that. All killed the same way. It's as spooky as when all them women, thirteen if I recall, were killed in Eau Boueuse twenty years now."

Amile nodded. "Yeah, some crazy woman trying to summon a demon with virgin sacrifices." He shook his head. "Lots of nut jobs in this world."

"Thirteen? Agent Journey told me I was the thirteenth." She shivered.

Colleen put her hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "You okay, sweet girl?"

"Yeah. It's just I don't remember much about that time. I was just a kid," confessed Neely. Her brow creased and gooseflesh covered her skin. Eau Boueuse brought back the fleeting thought of Raiford Gautier. She gave a soft grunt. Nobody will want me now—especially not someone like him. She shook off her melancholy and broke the head off a crawfish with unnecessary force.

As the three friends sat around the low table enjoying the food Amile had brought, the bell on Neely's door jingled. An attractive young man entered. He had eyes that reminded Neely of a nearly forgotten fantasy.

"May I help you?" she asked as she washed her hands in the sink behind the counter.

The young man replied, "Yes, I'd like to get a Celtic cross on my shoulder blade. Is Neely here?"

"I'm Neely."

"My dad told me to ask for you if I really had to get a tattoo."

"Who's your dad?"

"Raiford Gautier."

The young woman almost dropped the bar of soap she had at the mention of the name. I just thought about him. "Really?" she said aloud.

"Yes. He got a couple of tattoos here."

"I remember." Neely's mind wandered back and she smiled at the memory and then swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "How are he and his brother?"

"Dad's hanging in there. He's had a rough time since Mom died."

"Your mother…died?" Neely felt distressed at the fact that Raif was suffering. She could feel her heart pounding and a knot developing in her stomach. Stop it, you ninny. He only remembers you are a great tattooist.

"Yes, she was murdered." The young man's words brought Neely back to the moment.

"I'm so sorry. Please, tell your dad my prayers are with him," she said.

"Thanks. I will"

"Was your mother the detective from Eau Boueuse?"

"Yes. Why?"

"We"—She dipped her head toward her friends—"were just discussing the whole situation with all these cops being shot. It's strange. Raif must be devastated."

"Dad's not the type to stay broken. He's overcome a lot of adversity. He just needs time. As for Uncle Ray"—The boy shrugged with a hint of smart-aleck attitude—"he's his normal self."

Two weeks later, Raif visited Chris's grave and put fresh flowers in the vase attached to the crypt. He talked to her. "Oh, baby, what do I do? I'm so tired, Chris. Some days I don't even want to get out of bed. Baby, I told Ray this has been the year from Hell.

"I lost you." He rubbed his face with his hands.

"Before I could turn around the firm was under investigation, and we were sued. I had to have several employees arrested for embezzling funds. Walter's doctor told him he had to cut some stress before he had a heart attack, so he retired. Patrick Swift and Steve Journey were murdered. Patrick, our son, went to Tulane and almost got expelled because his professor accused him of plagiarism. Larkin got him out of that. Maybe she has spread her guardian-angel wings my way a little. Lindsay broke her leg and pelvis in a car accident. And now…" He gusted a groan.

"Now, Trista is pregnant. I'm worn out. I'm not worried about being a grandfather, but she's my baby and too young to be having a baby. You would have handled that so much better than I did. I almost hit Townes Johnson—Yeah, he's the father. I am so broken and lost without you. Tell me what to do." He dropped his face into his hands and wept.

A long, quiet moment passed.

Something whispered to Raif's spirit. "Follow your feet. See where they will take you."

He looked around, expecting to see Chris standing there.

Raif left the cemetery, got in his car, and started driving.

9

Rambling Man

New Orleans, Louisiana

June 3, 2029

Neely Rivers had been closing every night at eight since she reopened for business. On this night she was running late because she had a last-minute customer, a college student. Ordinarily, she would have locked the door behind the exiting customer, but having dropped several items, she was picking things up before she could clean and sterilize the equipment. When the bell jingled, she almost jumped out of her skin. Holding a tattoo tube with needle inserted in her hand ready to stab anything or anyone who threatened her, she came around the screen that separated the tattoo chair and table from the rest of the shop. The man who had entered was studying the paintings on display.

"Raif?" Neely said in disbelief, her voice barely audible. She dropped her hand to her side.

Raiford Gautier turned around. "You actually remember me?"

"You're hard to forget."

He felt a burn in his face, but a smile flickered across his lips. "I'm flattered.

While Neely cooked chicken strips and macaroni and cheese and tossed a salad, Raif told her the story of Lucky Thirteen.

Placing the salad on the counter for them to eat sitting at the bar, Neely said, "I read that book, but I had no idea it was true. I just thought it was the first in the Rusty Rose collection."

"Every word of it. The names were changed to protect the innocent. It did give rise to the infamous Detective Rusty Rose. All the cases were based in some truth. Larkin did embellish a little in later books." He laughed lightly. "Latrice, aka Laramie in print, abducting and successfully sacrificing twelve women, trying for a thirteenth to summon a demon and using men with some form of mental illness to help her needed no embellishment." He exhaled long and loud. "I know." He tapped his temple, remembering how Latrice had used his supposed schizophrenia.

"It ended with Lydda and Rusty getting married."

"Yep. That was actually Larkin and Ray."

"And you're Russ."

He grinned. "Guilty, but not crazy."

"So much has happened since then. Larkin should write a sequel, all true."

"So, does that mean you'd like to know all about my life?"

"Yes, I would." She placed the rest of the meal on the bar that divided the kitchen from the small dining area. She was very informal in the way she served her guest. The plates, glasses, and cutlery did not match, but the food was good.

"Neely, how old are you?" Raif asked after swallowing a bite of pasta.

"I turned thirty-one May 13^th."

"You know, the inverse of thirteen is thirty-one."

"Does that mean I'm gonna get lucky again?" laughed Neely.

Feeling the now familiar tingle in his face as before when he thought about the double entendre of what Neely had just said, the woman's guest became quiet. Finally, he said, "I was fifty-one on January 13^th, but lately I've felt like a hundred fifty-one."

"You don't look a second older than the day you walked through that door out there to get your older brother and younger brother tattoos."

"Are you trying to make me feel good?"

"Is it working?" She smiled.

"A bit." Raif took his plate to the sink.

"What are you doing?" asked Neely.

"Helping you clean up."

"It's not necessary."

"I don't mind."

"All right, then. I'll wash. You dry." Neely slid off her stool and rounded the bar. Opening a drawer, she handed Raif a dishtowel.

It took about ten minutes to wash the few dishes they had dirtied. Neely asked, "Would you like a glass of wine?"

Raif replied, "I should probably be going."

"Why? Do you have some place you need to be, or am I offensive company?"

"Neither." He knitted his brow in a frown, and then smiled, causing his right dimple to crease deeper than his left. "Yes, I'd love a glass of wine."

"It's zinfandel."

"That's fine."

Neely poured two glasses of wine and led the way to the sitting area. Raif sat in the chair, and Neely flipped on a stereo system that was wired to play throughout the apartment before she sat on the ivory Naugahyde couch, kicked off her shoes, and curled her feet under her. A golden-oldies radio station played songs from the 1950s forward.

After a sip of wine, she asked, "So, other than losing your wife, what else has been so tough this year?"

"Wow!" He set his glass on the coffee table and looked at the scar in his palm where he had broken a wine glass on the day of his wife's memorial. A whole year. He put his hand to his head, looking as if he were having one of his brother's migraines.

"That much?" Neely tilted her head to the side and lifted curious eyebrows.

"There's been a bit." He ran his fingers through his still coal-black hair with a little more gray near the temples than when Neely had first met him. He repeated almost verbatim what he had said at Chris's grave. He retrieved his glass, collapsed against the back of the chair, and sipped the wine, feeling a great release from having said all the words aloud to a living, breathing person.

"That has been one hellacious year."

"You've had a rough year, too."

"True."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's hard for me." Neely pulled her knees into her chest.

"You said you were attacked and left for dead. Were you just beaten, or was there more? Are you the woman Steve Journey was going to see when he was shot?"

"You knew Agent Journey?"

Raif nodded. "Yes. He was Stanley in the book. He's one of the friends I mentioned. How bad was it, Neely? Have you ever talked about it?"

"No. I don't want to."

"It'll help you heal."

Her voice hitched. "You don't know what they did to me."

"Tell me," Raif gently coaxed.

She stared at the man she had fantasized about. What's the worst that can happen if I tell him? He'll bolt. I'll be no worse off. She took a deep breath. "You've already figured out that they raped me—all five of them. They hit and kicked me." She tensed all over. "Then, they used something—a glass shard."

Tears dripped down Neely's cheeks. Raif leaned forward and took her hand.

She said softly, "They did so much damage that the doctors say I will never be able to have children; it would be too risky to try and carry one to term, if the fertilized egg could even implant. You have no idea how much that hurts. A year ago, I joked with my friend, Esther, about her biological time clock ticking faster than mine because she's two years older and had just gotten married a little before that. Now mine has stopped. It's broken."

"I'm so sorry, Neely. Aren't we a pair?"

Neely sighed. "We've both survived some pretty bad things."

Raif closed his eyes. "Sometimes I think surviving is the hardest part. Lord! I just feel lost and broken—rambling—completely lost. I simply exist and go about the motions of life."

Impulsively, Neely stood in front of Raif. She ran her fingers through his hair. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. She whispered, "You're not lost any more. I found you." She leaned forward and kissed him. He reflexively returned her kiss. Then, he put his arms around her waist and laid his cheek against her abdomen. She stroked his hair before she took his hand and bade, "Come on."

He followed her to her bedroom. She kissed him again. His response was no longer reflexive, but intentional. Neely unbuttoned Raif's shirt and slid it off his arms. He tentatively laid her back on her bed. They made love gently and tenderly. Each felt they might be able to live again.

Sometime later as Raif and Neely lay in each other's arms, the old song by Meatloaf, "Two out of Three Ain't Bad," played softly on the radio. Neely looked up at Raif as he looked down at her. Their eyes locked. The words cut like a knife. She reached up and touched his cheek. "It's enough to be wanted and needed," she breathed. "I was afraid nobody would ever want me again."

Raif shook his head. "No, it's not enough. God help me, I did need you tonight. You are very desirable, but you deserve so much more. You deserve to be loved." He kissed her passionately. He pulled her closer and made love to her once more.

 10

To Live Again

Mid-morning found Raif and Neely still sleeping and someone pounding on the back entrance to Neely's apartment.

Raif squeezed her hand as she got out of bed.

"Company?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. That will be either Amile or Colleen," she assured.

"Who are they?"

 "Colleen is the elderly voodoo priestess next door on that side." She pointed left. "Amile owns the café on the other side. They worry about me."

Neely slipped into her bathrobe and answered her door. Colleen DuPin burst in. "Neely, chile, you all right? You ain't opened up yet." Colleen scrutinized the younger woman, crinkling the burnt-parchment-colored skin of her face even more than her aged wrinkles already did. "You got company?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

"Come back a little later. I'll be open soon." She made her way to stand in front of the bedroom door.

"Is that fine looking man I seen entering after you normally close still here?" Colleen stormed to the bedroom, pushing past Neely.

Neely shouted, "Colleen!"

Raif sat up in bed. "What the?"

"You trifling with this girl?" demanded Colleen, slapping a hand to her ample hip. "I'll put a curse on you so fast…"

"Whoa!" Raif exclaimed, lifting both hands as if in surrender. "No curses, please! I've had enough curses!"

"What about a love potion?" She jutted her chin toward him and opened her almost black eyes as wide as they would go. "What you got on under them covers?"

"Would you like me to show you?" he asked, trying to bluff the old woman.

The wizened old voodoo queen narrowed her eyes to slits. "Yeah, I would. I wanna see if it's enough to keep Neely happy."

"Colleen, stop it!" cried Neely, her face blazing hot and red. "Colleen, this is Raiford Gautier."

The old woman glowered at the man. "You purty little Patrick's daddy?"

"Yes, Colleen," Neely rushed to answer. "Raif, meet my protector, Colleen DuPin."

"Nice to meet you, Miss DuPin," said Raif, flashing Colleen his perfect smile.

"Don't try to butter me up!" snapped Colleen. "I don't care whose daddy you are. You break this girl's heart, and you'll be feeling pain in parts you didn't know existed." Colleen huffed from the room.

Neely followed her. "Colleen!"

"Somebody's gotta watch out for you. That man's too purty to be real." Colleen left.

Staring at Raif's back, Neely dried her own tears. She picked up her phone and called Esther.

Esther answered cheerfully, "Hey, Neely, honey. Tell me something good."

Neely said almost in a whisper, "You won't believe what happened."

"Do tell."

"My fantasy walked in my door last night. He just walked out."

"Are you serious?" Esther practically shouted. "Did you sleep with him, honey? He's a married man."

"No, he's not. He's a widower. His wife was the police detective that was killed in Eau Boueuse. Esther, I'm terrified."

"Why? He's available, and obviously interested. Did he tell you this was a one night stand, honey?"

"No, he actually said he'd be back. But what if he doesn't come back, Esther? I want to live again, but what if he can't love me?"

"Honey, then, he's a fool, and you're better off without him. But don't let that fear stop you from living again. If he actually comes back, go for it."

Raif walked in his door as Trista came down the stairs. Townes had left for boot camp, and she was staying in her room. She sounded like a parent as she demanded, "Dad, where have you been?"

"New Orleans."

"What were you doing there?"

"Feeling alive."

"What?"

"Trista, I want to live again. Can you understand that?"

"I think I can, Dad, but what's in New Orleans?"

"You'll know in time."

"Dad, should I ask, 'Who's in New Orleans?'"

"Maybe you should." He put his hand on the rounded top of the post at the end of the staircase banister and looked up at his daughter who stood a few steps above him. "I'm going to talk to Uncle Ray. I'll be home for dinner tonight." He turned around and left as quickly as he had walked in.

"Now, when I tell you the next part, don't think that I'm hearing voices again," Raif went on, "but while I was sitting there, I could have sworn Chris told me to follow my feet and see where they would take me. So, I listened. I got in my car and started driving. I had no idea where I was going."

"Where did you go?"

"New Orleans. Timeless Tattoos."

"Did you get another tattoo?" Ray leaned forward with his arms on his desk.

"No."

"What exactly did you do?"

"I spent the night with an amazing woman." He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Neely?" asked Ray. "The girl who owns the shop?"

Shaking his head, Raif said, "She's not a girl, Ray. She's timeless. She's extraordinary. She made me feel so alive."

"Sex, Raif? Is that what we're talking about?"

"No." He shook his head. "Yes, we did, but Ray"—He let out a long sad sigh—"she made me feel alive partly because she refused to die." He tightened his hands around the armrests on the chair. "I know that you saw the news about the attacks in New Orleans and you knew Journey was investigating them when he was killed. Neely is the one who lived—the thirteenth one, Ray—the one Steve was going to see when he was shot. We talked about all the bad things we've been through this year. Yes, we ended up in bed, and I'm not sorry.

"Ray, I don't want to hurt Neely. She's precious. I really want to get to know her, Ray. Tell me what you think."

"Wow!" Ray allowed his body to thud back against his chair. "Should you live again?" He gave a quick nod. "Absolutely. With Neely?" He shrugged. "That's something only you can decide, but if you want to give this relationship a chance to grow, do it."

He escorted her home. In her living room, Raif ran his fingers through Neely's long silky hair. I promised myself and my brother I won't sleep with this woman. The promise doesn't mean I can't kiss her, which he did deeply and passionately.

Neely took his hand and started to her bedroom. Raif pulled her back to him. "No," he whispered.

She looked at him with questions in her eyes. He entangled his fingers in her hair and said, "Neely, I think we could be each other's reason to live again, but until I can look you in the eye and say, 'I love you,' without reservation, I won't come to your bed. I have too much admiration and respect for you to make you feel badly about yourself for giving something so special."

"Can you hold me?"

"Only if we fall asleep on the sofa."

"The sofa it is."

"Oh, my!" Pierre declared. "Where have you been hiding this woman? She is truly an artist."

"She owns Timeless Tattoos."

"No, no, no!" Pierre screeched. "That will never do! She must have exposure. Her work must be seen. How many pieces can you get me?"

"Around fifty."

"Are you serious?" He hooded bitter-chocolate eyes.

"Yes."

"I'll have the invitations printed by noon tomorrow." Pierre held the unicorn piece at arms' length. Flamboyance taking a momentary back seat, he became all business. "We can do this next Saturday night. The paintings will remain on display for one month. You know I ask nothing less than a thousand. From what I see, her pieces will bring more. My commission is fifty percent. I have to pay my people. If she hits as big as I think she will, we can renegotiate the contract. I'll have it by noon tomorrow too. You say her name is Neely Rivers?"

"Yes, but she signs everything simply, 'Neely.'"

"Art by Neely or Simply Neely—that's better. It has a ring to it. Yes, yes. Simply Neely. So? What's your cut? You're a shrewd businessman, Raif." He lowered the painting.

"Her."

"Oh," Pierre said with a knowing wink. "You're in love again."

"I didn't say that," protested Raif.

Avril assured, "Well, I'm sure I can find something to make her even more beautiful than she already is. Come this way, dear. Raif, would you like her to model for you?"

"I would love for her to model for me."

Neely blushed and Avril took note. She gave her frequent patron a little smirk. Raif rolled his eyes at her.

Raif sat in a comfortable overstuffed chair as Avril took Neely behind a curtained area. After a dozen dresses, Raif chose a lavender, sequined, fitted dress with only a right sleeve to show off Neely's magnificent rose tattoo. The dress also had a slit to mid-thigh on the left side. Then he said, "We'll also take the white one, the green one, and the royal blue one."

"Why?" asked Neely, knowing each dress cost around a thousand dollars, maybe more.

"I anticipate your need of them." Raif turned to Avril with a slip of paper. "Have them sent to this address. And," he whispered to Avril, "choose some appropriate jewelry and shoes, size seven, for each one."

"In love again, are you?" asked Avril.

"I didn't say that," protested Raif sharply.

With a kiss to Raif's cheek, Avril said, "Actions speak louder than words."

Raif took Neely home. They sat quietly on the sofa for a while before Raif said, "Neely, I want you to sell this place and come to Eau Boueuse. It's too dangerous for you here. I'll take care of you."

"Where will I live?"

"With me."

"And be a kept woman?" Neely shook her head intensely. "I don't think so."

"You can live in the guest cottage if you feel that strongly. I just can't lose you, Neely. It would kill me."

"Why, Raif? Why would it kill you? Because you enjoy spoiling me? Or because you want and need a friend to spend time with? You have to love someone to feel that strongly. You don't love me, so why would it kill you?" Are you crazy, girl? You know he loves you. You might just have sent him packing.

Raif held Neely by the shoulders and put her at arms' length from him. He was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. The look in her eyes defied him to deny his feelings another second. He groaned, "Oh, my God! But I do. I love you so much it hurts." He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. He scooped her into his arms and took her to bed. There was no denial. Their actions did not speak louder than words—they screamed, "I love you!"

Cover by Christopher Chambers.

The characters as I see them: Chris, Raif, Neely, Colleen (Because she is Neely's tigress protector.)