Bloodletting
Part Two
By Cathy Roberts
huntersglenn@yahoo.com

Rating: R
Archive:  No
Category: "E.R."

Disclaimer: "ER" and all its characters belong to Warner Bros  No infringement of their copyright is intended.  This story was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for your own pleasure.

Summary:  An AU story set in late August of 2000.  Does not contain spoilers for Season 7.  John Carter takes a detour on his way home from Atlanta.  As usual, my eternal thanks to Melissa, my editor, who keeps me on my toes and had to work quickly to get this edited in time for posting on Halloween.  I owe you one, Melissa, thank you.  When a song lyric challenge was issued on the ER FanFiction Critique Corner list, the idea for this story was born.  It quickly evolved into something bigger than a single chapter and has been months in the making.  I hope that you have as much enjoyment reading it as I did writing it.  I encourage you to search out information on New Orleans and at least give yourselves the chance to visit the city electronically.



As he let himself through the gate of the B&B, John noticed that a path curved off to the right of the house.  It most likely led to the garden that was below his room, so he followed it, enjoying the smells of the flowers that were planted abundantly along the pathway.  Sure enough, as he rounded the back of the house, John found himself in the garden itself.  He eased himself down into one of the wrought iron chairs, stretching his legs out in front of him and closed his eyes.  The sound of the water cascading down in the fountain was calming and a soft breeze was blowing through the trees, cooling the area even more.  He could get used to living like this, John thought.

A new scent assailed his senses.  A perfume, but not the same one he had smelled earlier.  This one was musky. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was no longer alone in the garden.

Rising to his feet, John smiled.  "Mrs. De la Farcy?"

The woman smiled back and extended her hand in greeting. "Guilty as charged, Doctor Carter.  Perault said he saw you walking along the path, so I thought I would come out here to visit with you.  I have to leave for work in an hour, but I did so want a chance to meet you."

John shook her hand, then found himself reluctant to let go.  It wasn't just that she was a beautiful woman, although he couldn't ignore the red-gold hair that would have hung past her shoulders if not for the fact that it was caught up in a bun at the back of her head.  Nor could he ignore her auburn eyes or porcelain skin.  Like Perault, her accent was southern with a hint of something else underneath.  No, it wasn't her voice that held him in place.  It was something that he couldn't describe.   Something that grabbed at him, rendering him vulnerable to all of her charms.

"Please sit.  Perault is bringing us out some bourbon laced lemonade."

"Oh, thank you, but I can't drink that."  John said as he sat down.  A tingle ran up his spine as she sat down in the chair next to his.

"You don't drink lemonade?  Or is it the bourbon you avoid?" she asked with a small smile on her lips.

"The bourbon."  While it was true that John had never before had a problem with holding his alcohol, since being in rehab he had decided that it would be best right now to avoid it. He didn't want to let alcohol replace painkillers as an anesthetic for his physical and emotional pain.

"I should have asked first.  I apologize, Doctor Carter, for causing you any inconvenience."  She looked past John. "Perault, could you bring a plain lemonade out for Doctor Carter?"

John turned his head to see that Perault was headed their way, balancing a tray that held two iced glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

"Of course."  Perault placed the tray on the table between the chairs, then went back into the house, quickly returning with a glass of lemonade for John.

"Thank you," John said.  He took a sip and found the beverage to be just the way he liked it, not too tart and not too sweet.

He looked up over the rim of the glass to see that his hostess was intently watching him.   She smiled as she caught his glance.

"Is everything to your satisfaction, Doctor Carter?"

"Yes.  Everything is fine."

"May I ask what your specialty is, or would that be too personal a question?" She smiled as she put her drink on the table between them, then licked the residue of the alcohol from her lips.

"It's not too personal.  I work in Emergency Medicine. Trauma."

She nodded.  "Like the show on cable, 'Life and Death in the ER', or something like that?"

"That's right.  Perault mentioned that this house has been in your family since the early 1800's."

She nodded.  "It's never left our bloodline in all that time."

"It must be nice; getting to meet so many different people."

"I enjoy the variety.  My husband died before the house became a glorified hotel."

"I'm sorry."  John didn't think she looked old enough to be a widow.

"Don't be.  Death is one thing that no one can stop.  As a doctor, you should know that."

John found himself thinking about Lucy and he nodded.  "All too well, Mrs. De la Farcy."

She smiled warmly at him.  "You can call me Marguerite, Doctor Carter."

"Thank you.  My name is John."  They drank in silence.  John was enjoying the quiet of the backyard garden.  Now that night was closing in, the air felt cool and he could smell the luscious scents of the evening flowers.  "It's really lovely here."

"New Orleans is quite a city, John.  I'm sure you'll like it here."

"I've enjoyed myself so far, not that I've seen much.  I was thinking of hitting some of the jazz clubs on Bourbon Street, but not tonight.  I think the humidity is catching up to me."  He stifled a yawn.

"It does take some getting used to.  The 'seasoning' is what they called it back in the old days.  Becoming accustomed to the weather.  I need to be on my way to work, but please, stay out here and enjoy the garden.  I did add some lighting out here and other guests have said it looks most soothing after dark."

As she stood John got to his feet.  "Thank you for the lemonade and your company."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, John," she said.  Then she went back into the house.

John sat back down just as Perault returned to remove the pitcher and the empty glass.   "Would you care for another lemonade, Doctor Carter?"

"Yes, that would be nice.  Thank you."  He handed the glass to Perault, then watched the man walk away.  John wasn't sure what to make of the man, or of his hostess.  Marguerite De la Farcy was certainly different from any other women he had met before.  A young widow, making a good living from turning her house into a Bed & Breakfast, but working nights?  And having a butler?  It just didn't add up to him.

Perault returned with a glass full of lemonade and as John took it he noticed that it was a clean glass.  His hostess apparently didn't care about how much water was used to wash dishes.  Then John remembered breakfast, and the fact that he needed to let Perault know when he wanted to eat.

"Perault?"

"Sir?"  The man had begun to go inside, but he turned when John called him.

"I think that nine will be good for breakfast; if that's not too much trouble for you?"

"No, sir.  Nine will be fine.  If you wish more lemonade, there's a pitcher on the counter in the kitchen.  If you need anything else and can't find it, just call for me."

"I will.  Thank you."

"Enjoy your evening, sir."

Perault went back into the house and John returned to his quiet contemplation.  His mind went from his mysterious hostess to the equally mysterious child who had given him the gris-gris.  A good luck charm?  He needed that back in February, but certainly not now.  John still thought the child had mistaken him for someone else, but he couldn't deny how comfortable he felt while wearing the charm.  He fingered it through the fabric of his shirt, reassured by its presence.  John took a long drink of the lemonade, then laid his head back and closed his eyes for a brief rest, listening to the sounds of the city as it came to life for the night.

When he opened his eyes, John was surprised to see that it had become dark enough for the lighting that Marguerite had mentioned had now come on.  A light from inside the fountain shone upward, illuminating the water and casting the statuette on the top into shadows.  Strategically placed lights around the back yard created a dappling effect, turning some places into a haven and others into a dark hole.  Very interesting.   Not that much different really than what it looked like around the pool at his grandparents' estate.

John yawned, then looked at his watch to see if it was too early to turn in for the night.   It was only ten, but he was tired and decided to go on up to bed.  He left his empty glass in the kitchen, then went upstairs.  The overhead light wasn't on in the hallway, but accent lamps lit the way and John found his way with no trouble.  He was just about to go into his room when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.   He turned, but not quickly enough to catch anything.  Or anyone.  He could hear a creaking sound though, and he walked to the end of the hallway, where a rocking chair sat.  It was still moving, making the creaking sound.  He reached out and stopped it, noting that the seat was still warm.  Someone had been sitting there.  Who? Marguerite had left for work and he was the only guest.  If Perault had been sitting there, then he would have said something to him, wouldn't he?  John shook his head, then headed back the way he had come.  He found himself pausing outside the door of the room he had seen earlier, the one with the broken mirror and bloodstained quilt.  The door had been open then, but it was closed now.

John hesitated a moment, then opened the door.  The room should have been dark, but it wasn't.  An oil lamp burned on the dresser and the reflected light helped to further illuminate the room.  The quilt was turned down, as if to receive a guest.   John stepped into the room, wondering if someone had checked in after he had left for dinner.  He spun around as he heard the door close.  He hadn't heard anyone else out in the hallway, he thought as he reached for the door knob.  It was freezing to his touch and refused to turn.

"Great.  Just great.  Why is it my bad luck to get caught sneaking around?"  He was about to bang on the door when he heard soft feminine laughter from behind him.  He turned slowly and looked over at the dresser, surprised to see two women in front of it.  One sat in a chair, a smile on her face as she spoke with the other woman who was busy putting up her hair.  The women didn't seem to be aware of his presence, so John took a few steps toward them.

They were speaking French, and even though it had been a long time since he had spoken the language, he was able to understand what they were saying.  They were talking about an upcoming ball and who would be there.  That was when John noticed that they were dressed in old clothing.  Well, not really old as in aged, but old as in clothing that hadn't been worn in New Orleans since the 1800's.  He shivered as he thought that maybe he was in the presence of a pair of ghosts, but he couldn't keep from taking another step toward them.

As one, the women looked into the mirror, which was now unbroken.  John met their eyes, but he didn't feel any fear as they smiled at him.  The hairdresser spoke to him then, in French.  "We need your help, John."  Her brown eyes seemed to plead with him through the glass.  "I sent you a gris-gris to keep you safe in this house.  Never take it off."

The other woman nodded, then handed a brush to her hair dresser.  "Listen to Marie, John.  She can tell you what to do to help us.  You will help us, won't you?"

John licked his lips, not sure what to say.  How did one respond when two ghosts asked for help?  "I don't know what I can do," he finally said.

They smiled at him again, and the one identified as Marie nodded.  "I'll tell you all you need to know.  Trust me.  Do not believe..."

The door behind John opened and the women and the lamps all disappeared.  Even as Perault asked him if he was all right, John noticed that the mirror once more was cracked and the bed was made once more.  Had he imagined seeing all that?

"Excuse me?" he said to Perault.

"I didn't know you spoke French, Doctor Carter," Perault said.

"Sorry."  John hadn't realized that had spoken to the man in French.   "I thought I heard someone in here, but it must have been my imagination."

"Old houses often have strange noises, sir.  The sounds that a house makes as it continues to settle can often be unnerving."

"Yes, they can."

Perault walked with John to his room, then lingered there as John opened the door.

"Good night, Doctor Carter," Perault said.

"Good night.  See you in the morning."  John flipped on the switch for the overhead light, then shut the door.  He waited until he heard Perault's footsteps, then locked the door.  Not that it would really do any good if Perault were up to no good.  The man probably had keys to every room in the house.

John walked out onto his balcony, pleased to see that the lights were still on in the garden.  From up here, the small area looked even more magical than it had when he was sitting in it.  As he relaxed, he couldn't keep his mind off the scene he had witnessed.  He knew that he had not been imagining things when he saw those two women.  They were too real for that.  And they had spoken to him.  In French of all things, but then, at one time, New Orleans had been under French rule.   And before that, under Spanish control. Who were those women?  The dark haired beauty with the pale skin had to have been the lady of the house.  Was she an ancestor of his current hostess?  And who was the hair dresser, Marie?  She obviously had some African blood, but she didn't behave as if she was a slave.  Had there been a lot of free Blacks in New Orleans before the Civil War?  He didn't know, but he knew there were places he could go to find out.  The library was one place.   And there were a lot of museums around the city.  Tomorrow was Sunday and he wasn't sure if the library would be open.  He supposed he could ask Perault in the morning.

Sighing, John went back into his room, carefully shutting the doors so that the precious cool air wouldn't escape into the night.  After turning on the bedside lamp and cutting off the overhead one, he got ready for bed.  Luckily, he had his own bathroom, so he didn't have to go back out into the hallway.  There was no telling who or what he might run into as the night progressed.

As he slipped in between the sheets, John touched the gris-gris, comforted by it.  He made a mental note to find out what he could about them as well.  Marie had said she had given it to him and that he should never take it off. He didn't see any reason right now to not do as she suggested.  No reason at all.

He closed his eyes and let the worries of the day and evening slip away, falling into a deep sleep within minutes.

There's a rocking chair by the window
Down the hall.
I hear something there in the shadow
Down the hall.
O you were a vampire and now I am
Nothing at all.
O you were a vampire and now I am
Nothing at all.

Rays from the morning sun slipped through the windows of John's room, softly awakening him.  He stretched carefully, making sure he didn't hurt his back.  He had expected it to be aching after all the walking he had done the day before, but as he sat up in bed, he was pleased to find that wasn't the case.  Smiling, he grabbed his toiletries and headed for the bathroom to shower before breakfast.  There was a lot he wanted to check out today, the library, museums, and even some historical sites.   He wanted to find out who the woman had been in the room with Marie last night.   Needed to find out who they both were and when they had lived in New Orleans.

After getting his shower and dressing, John was about to head out when he noticed that the door to his room wasn't shut all the way.  It was still locked though.  He paused, his hand on the door knob, as he struggled to remember if he had actually pushed the door closed all the way last night. He remembered standing there and listening for sounds that Perault had walked away.  He didn't want to be rude and lock the door while the man was standing there, even if the butler or whatever he was, was beginning to give him the creeps.  John was sure he had shut the door all the way. And it wasn't shut now.  Someone had come into his room, either last night or while he was in the shower.  He had taken off the gris-gris while showering, not sure if it would be harmed if he got it wet.  His hand strayed to his chest and he touched it through his shirt.  Marie had said to never take it off.  From now on, he thought, he would heed her words, even in the shower.

John was almost out the door when he remembered the tourist guide books that were on the night stand.  He could read through them while eating breakfast without appearing to be rude.  It wasn't as if he would have company.  He grabbed the magazines, then headed downstairs.

"Good morning, Doctor Carter," Perault greeted him at the foot of the stairs.   "You're up early.  Your breakfast isn't ready."

"That's okay, take your time.  I'll just go outside and wait in the garden, if that's all right?"

Perault nodded.  "That would be fine.  I'll come to get you when your breakfast is ready.  I trust you slept well?"

John smiled.  "Yes, I did, thank you."

As John headed out the back door, he could feel Perault's eyes upon him.  Suppressing a shiver, John sat down in the same chair he had sat in last night.  It wasn't hot yet, but he could feel the humidity already.  While it was comfortable in the garden at the moment, John knew that would change within the next few hours.

He opened one of the magazines and began to thumb though the pages, looking for ads for the places he wanted.  By the time Perault came to get him for breakfast, John had decided to go to the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum since it opened at ten.   After that he would try the library, which didn't open until one.  Between the two places, he might be able to find answers to some of his questions.  The library had a genealogical section, so he could try to find out more about the house itself while there.  He was interested in finding out about the "legend" that surrounded the house. Maybe the women he saw were connected to that in some way.

Breakfast was good and filling, and John thanked Perault for it, then went to brush his teeth before leaving for the museum.  He was tempted to ask Perault for directions, but he had a map of the area and thought he would be able to find it on his own.   John didn't want to think about the fact that he simply didn't want Perault to know where he was going.

"Going sightseeing again, Doctor Carter?" Perault asked as John was opening the front door.

"I thought I'd walk around a bit before it gets too hot. Any suggestions?"

"Everything in New Orleans is worth seeing, sir.  You might find the services at St. Louis Cathedral to be interesting. It's a very old church."

"I'm not much of a church goer, but I do like old buildings.  Thanks."

"Have fun, sir."

When John turned around to close the gate, he saw that Perault was still standing in the open doorway, watching him.  John forced himself to smile as he waved.  Perault didn't wave back but he did close the door.

"Strange guy," John muttered to himself.  Then he headed for the museum.



The directions for the museum had been pretty clear so John had no trouble finding it.   He paid the entrance fee and stepped inside, already happy to be out of the growing humidity of the day.

"Welcome to the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum," said the smiling man who greeted John a few steps inside the entrance.

"Thank you.  This is a pretty big place."  Even though he hadn't seen it all yet, John could easily see that he was in a fairly big building.

"We house a lot of historic artifacts here.  Here, take one of our floor maps.   We do have tours through the museum if you'd like a guided tour, or you can walk through on your own.  Our staff is available to answer any questions you might have."

"I think I'll walk around on my own."  John took the map. "Thanks."

John glanced down at the map, then asked, "Do you have information here on gris-gris?"  He hoped he was pronouncing it correctly.  Lord knows, I don't have any idea how to spell it, he thought.

"Yes, we do.  A lot of people ask about them.  They can be used as charms for good or for evil.  It all depends on the intent of the person who made it.   They are excellent protection," he added.

"But they can be made for other purposes, right?"

The man nodded.  "Of course.  Good health, prosperity, financial ruin, even death.  But protection was, and is, often a popular usage."

"Can you look at one and tell what it was made for?"

The man shook his head.  "No.  As I said, the power is determined by the intent of the creator.  If it's for good, then it's juju.  If bad, then it's mojo.  Not to be confused with the 'mojo' being bantered about in the Austin Powers movies," he said with a smile.

John laughed at that, and the man continued, "The power of the juju, or, gris-gris.   Take your time looking around. Since you seem to be so interested in the gris-gris, you should check out our section on the life of Marie Laveau. She was the self-styled 'Pope of Voodoo', but her contemporaries and the later historians referred to her as 'The Voodoo Queen of New Orleans'.  A most fascinating woman.  We have a lot of her belongings here.  The making of gris-gris was one of her specialties."

"Thank you.  I'll check that out first."  For some reason, John's skin had tingled when the man had said the name "Marie Laveau".  Could that be the Marie who spoke to him? Of course, in a town where French had been the primary language for such a long time, the name of Marie had to be a fairly common one.   Still, as John searched out the room on the map and headed in that direction, he couldn't ignore the fact that his heart was racing.

The minute John entered the exhibit area, his attention was centered on the painting on the far wall.  It was of a woman of mixed ancestry, a beautiful woman who carried her head high.  A woman whose eyes seemed to look into his soul from the canvas.   Marie Laveau.  Marie the hairdresser.  Marie the woman who had given him the gris-gris.  Marie Laveau, a woman who had been born in either 1794 or 1796 and who had died in 1881.

John slowly approached the portrait, ignoring the rest of the painting as he concentrated on the image of Marie.  It had captured her perfectly, he thought, except for the age. The woman he had spoken with last night had been much younger.  Of course, she had been a ghost, or a figment of his imagination, so why should her age be in sync with portrait?

He reached up and touched her cheek, feeling the smooth canvas under his fingertips.   "Marie," he breathed.

"Compelling, isn't she?"  A female voice asked him.

John jerked his hand away and turned to look at the speaker.  She was African-American, dressed in clothes similar to what Marie was wearing in the portrait.   "Yes, she is."

"I'm Alkanyah."  She held out her hand and he grasped it firmly.

"John Carter.  Do you work here?"

"Not here.  I like to come here to visit with Marie.  I have my own voodoo temple; one based on voodoo as the way it was practiced here in Marie's time."

"I wasn't aware that it was still so popular," John said.

"It's very popular, and not just amongst the African-Americans.  It can also be of benefit to the Anglos.  I see that you wear a gris-gris."

John fought down the urge to touch it through his shirt to make sure it was safe.  He could feel it against his skin and that was enough.  It had to be enough, he thought as Marie's warning echoed through his mind.  "It was a gift."

Alkanyah smiled.  "Then it is surely strong.  Someone must think highly of you, John Carter."

He nodded.  "I'm not sure about that.  I don't know the woman who gave it to me.  But, she warned me to never remove it."

Alkanyah's smile faded away as she heard him say that.  "You must be in some danger then."

John shrugged.  "Not that I know about.  I'm just a tourist here."

"I see.  Which hotel are you staying in?"

"I'm at a bed and breakfast.  It's called 'The Chastain House'.  Have you heard of it?"

Alkanyah slowly nodded.  "Everyone involved in voodoo has heard of that place.   It is well that you have protection while staying there.  I would advise you to move to a hotel."

"That bad, huh?  I read that there's some legend associated with the house, but I haven't found what that legend entails.  You know what it is, don't you?"

"I don't like to speak ill of the living, John Carter.  I really must be going.   Keep the gris-gris on you at all times and heed my advice."

She turned away from him and left.  John frowned, then dismissed her from his mind as he turned back around to look at Marie's image.  He wouldn't be able to see Marie again if he was staying in a hotel and he had a feeling that it was important that he be in a place where he could hear and see her.



End of Part 2