Chasing Shadow Demons Read online

  I feared this Mexican jail, rusty bars, bad food, and smelly guards was my new home for the next few years.

  Chapter Two:

  Sarah’s House

  Finally, after two more hours of suspense, two policemen escorted Tom and me to the fat captain’s office again, their feet shuffling as they walked. “We have decided to let you go. But we have your names. If you come back to Mexico, it had better be as tourists.”

  Our plane landed at the Louis Armstrong International Airport and taxied to the terminal. I loved returning to New Orleans, jazz music booming from speakers throughout the terminal and the smell of red beans and rice from the food shops. There just isn’t another place on earth like this. I almost got on my knees and kissed the ground, I was so happy to be back in the good ole USA, and New Orleans to boot.

  Our ordeal in Mexico had worn us both out completely. Sleep was next on my agenda, the adrenaline rush from landing safely at home fading. Tom and I were dealing with our Mexican experience differently. He didn’t seem perturbed at all, but I, on the other hand, was not sure I’d put myself at risk like that again.

  The ringing of my cell phone woke us. Charlotte, I thought. Why was she calling me this early? My God, what time was it? We’d overslept. Guess it was a form of jet lag.

  “Hi, Charlotte. What’s up?”

  “Did you and Tom make it home from your vacation in Mexico, OK?” she asked.

  “Yes, yes, we did. What time is it?”

  “I didn’t wake you, did I? It’s 8:30 a.m.,” she said.

  “Holy shit. I can’t remember the last time I slept this late,” I said. “Thanks for waking me. I have so much to do.”

  “Really? ’Cause I was hoping you could hang with me today,” Charlotte said, halfway whining.

  “Charlotte, I’d love to, but I have already planned to go to the shelter today. They have moved into Sarah’s House, and I want to spend some time with Susan McAllister, the director.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Today is Thursday. How about tomorrow? I’ll take the day off. I would love to spend the day in the French Quarter with you. I hardly see you anymore since I introduced you to Tom.”

  I paused for a minute to collect my thoughts. Tom had to work today and tomorrow. What the hell, Charlotte was a hoot, and we always had fun together.

  “Sure, Charlotte, I’d love to spend the day in the Quarter with you tomorrow. What time would you like to meet?”

  “Let’s say ten o’clock Friday morning at Café du Monde,” she said. “That should give you and Tom plenty of time to get caught up on your backlog of things to do. To do to each other,” she added with a little chuckle.

  We both giggled like schoolgirls. Tom rolled over and smiled at me because he’d heard Charlotte’s comment. He was ready to make another memory, and so we did, murmuring endearments to each other in Spanish, just for a change. He even tasted a little spicy.

  Sated on love for the moment, we sat at my kitchen table drinking coffee and easing back into our lives. He asked about my blog and all of the young women reported missing. He couldn’t believe there were so many missing young women in the United States.

  “How can people disappear without a trace in this day and age?” he asked. “The police have the technology to track cell phones. There are cameras everywhere. How is it even possible to disappear?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. Cameras aren’t everywhere. Cell phones can be disabled. It wasn’t the how, but the why and the consequences for those left behind that really disturbed me. How many families were torn apart by their children mysteriously disappearing?

  Tom headed to work and I jumped in the shower. I was very excited to see the new center for battered women. I had donated the house I inherited from Sarah to them. The center’s new name was Sarah’s House for Battered Women, and I loved spending time with the residents. These were broken families going through the worst days of their lives. Reassuring them that their lives could get better gave me such energy.

  I made it to Sarah’s House by ten. Susan greeted me with her characteristic hug and kiss. She always gave me the biggest smile when I saw her. Susan was the perfect mix of fairy godmother and ringmaster, and she loved taking care of the hodgepodge of residents that came through the center. I knew the house well, having spent many hours with Sarah there. I missed her, but I could feel her spirit as Susan and I poured our coffee and headed to her office.

  “How are things working out here, Susan?” I asked.

  “Alexandra, this house is amazing. The whole place seems to be filled with Sarah’s love. Even the residents who never met Sarah comment on the positive vibe that comes from the walls. This home will change lives, save lives,” Susan said.

  “How are the finances working out?” I asked.

  “So far, so good. We can talk another time about efforts to raise money. Right now I want to know about you. How you’ve been?” she asked.

  I gave her the cleaned-up overview of my blog and PR career. I saw no need to go into my environmental activist activities with ROLL or the fact that I’d spent the night in a Mexican jail. She had too much on her plate already with all the problems the residents carried with them into the center.

  “Would you like to meet some of our residents?” she asked.

  “You know I would,” I said, unable to hide my enthusiasm.

  “Let’s go outside to the patio. The children are enjoying the playground equipment we purchased.”

  We walked through the French doors onto the patio. Sarah had furnished the house inside and out with gorgeous yet practical furniture: leather couches and chairs, breakable items beyond the children’s reach, and sturdy lamps casting warm light in every room. The ladies sat together on wicker chairs, drinking sweet tea and chatting about their lives and futures. Some were hopeful. Some were not.

  Susan introduced me to the group. A young lady spouted, “Oh my God! You are Alexandra from Alex’s Daily Planet blog.”

  The entire group of seven women began clapping as if I were a celebrity. Susan just smiled, watching the scene unfold. As my face reddened, I wanted to shrink back into the house, embarrassed by being the center of attention.

  “Yes, I am. But how do you know that?” I asked.

  “We all read your blog. We loved it when you put Bart Rogan in jail. He was a bad man. My name is Joan Fontenot, and I am a huge fan,” she said.

  “Well thank you. I had no idea you read my blog.”

  Carol Guidry, another resident, spoke up. “Oh, you better believe we do. Alexandra, most of us have nowhere to go. We read about the horrible serial killers roaming the streets. They scare us. We already fear our husbands and boyfriends. If we end up on the streets, we have to watch out for these guys too. We worry for ourselves and our kids.”

  Joan added, “I read about all of those missing girls. My sister went missing from a mall in Houma, Louisiana, two years ago. We haven’t heard a word from her since. She never went more than a few hours without checking in with one of us in the family. She always carried her purse with her makeup and her cell phone. Both were found abandoned in her car parked at the mall. The police said she probably ran away with someone she met. No way!”

  Each resident knew of some young girl from her community who’d disappeared without a trace, and they took turns sharing the details of the cases. I was taken aback by the lack of police action, each case going cold.

  After they finished their stories, Susan took me to a bedroom where a young girl, no more than seventeen, sat in a rocking chair holding an eight-month-old baby boy.

  “Karen, I’d like you to meet Alexandra,” Susan said.

  “Hi, Karen, I’m so pleased to meet you,” I said.

  “I’m sorry I can’t get up. My baby has a fever.”

  “Why don’t you take him to a doctor?” I asked.

  “I don’t have
any money. The wait at Charity Hospital is too long, and I have no way to get there anyway. I am also afraid that my boyfriend will be watching for me there,” she said.

  I wanted to cry. This poor child, caring for a child, with nowhere to go and no way to get there. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. Karen’s facial expressions betrayed her attempt to conceal her disgust with herself. She was ashamed of the choices she’d made and felt guilty for the circumstances she and her infant were in. She was helpless to provide for the baby she’d brought into this world.

  “How long has your baby had a fever?”

  “Two days,” she answered.

  “You’re coming with me,” I said.

  I scooped her up and put her and her child in my car, the city whizzing by as we headed to the Tulane Medical Center emergency room. The doctors working at Tulane were always so kind to the center’s residents. They examined the child, diagnosed an ear infection, and wrote a prescription for eardrops, discharging Karen and her baby. I took both of them straight to a pharmacy and filled the prescription, the child sleeping in her arms.

  “Thank you, Alexandra,” she said. “I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know how to care for my baby. No one in my family took the time to teach me much of anything. They kicked me out of the house because they hated my boyfriend. When I get a job and get back on my feet, I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, Karen. I’ve been lucky, and I am grateful to have the chance to do something nice for others.”

  There are so many vulnerable people in the world. Who takes care of them? What happens to them? Do they suffer and die? I didn’t like the answers to these rhetorical questions I’d asked myself. So many lives fell through the cracks. I remembered the opulence of the Rex Mardi Gras ball I attended where the wealthy krewe members spent tens of thousands of dollars on costumes for one night’s frivolity. How could so many, with so much, do so little for those with nothing? I decided to change that situation right then and there.

  I took Karen back to Sarah’s House. Karen’s exhaustion got the better of her. She fell asleep sitting up with her child in her arms. I took her baby from her and rocked the child to sleep before I put Karen in her bedroom and her child in the crib next to her.

  I latched onto Susan and walked her to her office. I closed the door.

  “Who provides medical care to the residents and their children?” I asked.

  Susan looked down, avoiding eye contact, and said, “Sadly, no one. We have a few doctors who volunteer to stitch girls up from time to time. But, we don’t have anything set up for regular medical care. Most of our residents are poor. They can’t afford doctors or prescriptions. You know our financial situation; we can’t afford to pay their medical bills.”

  “What happens if they really need medical care?” I asked.

  “Charity Hospital was closed after Hurricane Katrina. The state has no plans to reopen it. The Interim LSU Hospital takes care of indigent patients now, but they are very busy and the waiting times are long. As you know, I can’t stay with the girls and wait for the doctors to see them. I drop them off and return when I can. They are all frightened their boyfriends or husbands might find them and hurt them,” Susan said.

  “We have to do better,” I said. “I have an idea. It’ll take some effort, but I think I can make it work.”

  Susan and I spent the remainder of the day playing with the children. I learned I really sucked at video games, but the kids didn’t seem to care. They were happy to have someone show them some attention.

  These were destroyed families. The hopes and dreams that fairy tales promised them were gone, their road in life having turned into a never-ending slog of despair. I left Sarah’s House thinking how rough life was for those poor women. Tomorrow I pledged to work to help them get some medical help. I’d committed to shopping with Charlotte in the French Quarter. She was part of my plan.

  I walked into my condo and sat at my computer. My blog had become popular with people searching for lost young girls. Many of the posts provided photos of the missing girls. Most were very young. Many were last seen at shopping malls, which I guess it made sense in a weird sort of way. Young girls spent a great deal of their time at malls. Food courts were a prime meeting place. Teens gathered to hang out with each other and talk about who was dating whom.

  Some of the girls came from distressed backgrounds. Maybe they only claimed they were heading to the mall and just ran away. Even if they did voluntarily leave their homes, how did they survive? Did they live on the streets? It wasn’t like they had great street survival skills when they left their homes. They seemed so vulnerable. I blogged back and forth with several of the parents, learning some the details of the missings’ disappearances and sightings. It must have been frustrating for them to know their children needed their help, without having any way to give it to them.

  Tom texted me to tell me that he was picking up a Fresh Market baked chicken and some vegetables. Wow, what a wonderful man. The two of us had it made. We both had good jobs, financial security, and each other, making me feel a little guilty since the women in Sarah’s House had nothing but troubles.

  I met Tom at the door gave him a huge kiss, like the ones soldiers got from their wives upon returning from wars overseas. He didn’t fight it. He’d learned to just go with it. When our kiss broke he stepped back a little, out of breath. His mouth curved in a smile.

  “I’ll have to go to Fresh Market more often. Didn’t know you liked it that much,” he said.

  “Don’t be silly. I’m just glad to see you. We are lucky to have each other,” I said.

  Tom knew I’d gone to Sarah’s House that day. He knew me well enough to conclude I felt sorry for the women in the shelter and was thankful for what we had. Tom was good like that. So tuned in to me. Our chemistry was unmatchable.

  Tom served the food, sat across from me, and asked, “How was your day at the shelter?”

  “It was very emotional,” I said. “Did you know the women and children at the shelter have no medical care? They are all too destitute to have medical insurance. When their children are sick they can’t help them.”

  “Doesn’t Obamacare provide for them?” Tom asked.

  “Not really. They’re too poor. Obama’s plan for people like them was to expand Medicaid and pay for most of it with federal dollars. But Louisiana refused to accept the money for political reasons. When the Charity Hospital was destroyed by Katrina, the state decided not to reopen it. Instead, they shifted care for the indigent to the LSU Hospital System. Budget cuts in state government have affected care for the poor more than anyone else. As a practical matter, they have no way of getting proper care,” I said.

  “Alexandra, I know that look. What are you planning to do?”

  “I am going to put together financial donors and medical professionals willing to donate their time and money to help them,” I said, giving him a determined look.

  Tom met my eyes, but his were shadowed. “You’re already spread too thin. You have committed to chasing serial killers, both individual and corporate. That work is very important. When you stop a corporation from poisoning people, you save many more lives than helping a handful at the center.”

  “Maybe that’s true, Tom Sanders. But today I held a sick baby in my arms. His mother was a seventeen-year-old with no money, no insurance, and no hope. I cannot turn my back on her or anyone like her. You can either help me or get out of the way ’cause I’m doing this no matter what it takes.”

  I surprised myself at how passionate I’d become about helping these women. Tom wasn’t being insensitive. He was thinking about what was practical. How was I going to do everything I wanted to do? We couldn’t save the world. I didn’t know how I was going to accomplish any of it at that moment. I just knew I was going to.

  “Look, Tom, I know you feel strongly ab
out the damage done by large corporate polluters, and I am with you. But I can’t let these families, whom I have already committed to help by housing them at the center, suffer for lack of medical care. Do you understand how I feel?”

  He looked at me with faithful eyes, like a dog you’d raised from a pup looks at you when you get home, and said, “If you are committed to this then so am I.”

  “I love you,” I said.

  He hugged me and replied, “Now can we go to bed?”

  I kissed him on the cheek and shook my head yes. I needed to sleep because I was emotionally exhausted. Besides, tomorrow I was going shopping in the French Quarter with Charlotte.

  Tomorrow was going to be a great day!

  Chapter Three:

  Charlotte’s Web

  Charlotte and I always had fun together. We both loved watching The Walking Dead television show or, really, zombie anything. Spending the day in the French Quarter with Charlotte promised to be a delight.

  I met her at the Café du Monde precisely at ten o’clock, and I was proud of my new habit of being on time. Charlotte was all smiles as she hugged me and we stood in the line to get our café au lait. We both passed on the beignets, which would have been unthinkable a few months ago, but summer was upon us and bikinis were displayed in the stores. I was actually looking forward to wearing a bikini for the first time in my life, having lost twenty-five pounds by cutting way down on sugar and starch and discovered I wasn’t big-boned after all. I was just a corn-fed, plus-sized, Midwestern girl making better food choices, and I loved the results. Passing on the beignets was a small price to pay for a healthy body.

  It was a sunny day, and we were both dressed comfortably wearing our serious walking and shopping Nikes. Today she wanted to shop the antique and art stores in the Quarter, and I loved browsing them as well. The Café du Monde was always crowded because it was that rare place tourists and locals both loved. We grabbed a table outside under the green and white canopy, positioned to see the café’s usual odd mixture of people. One man stood out because he was so strikingly handsome, and he checked me out as he walked by our table. What the hell? He was checking me out, not Charlotte. That never happened. She was the train stopping beautiful one. He had broad shoulders and piercing green eyes. His dark gray sports coat had a green handkerchief placed in the pocket, accenting those emerald green eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man that handsome, I thought. Maybe they are making another movie in town. I’m going to see it if he’s the star. He must be gay if he’s looking at me instead of Charlotte. Gay men loved my big boobs. I guess they looked like fun.