Bloodletting
Part Three
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.
A few hours later John was drenched with sweat as he stood in front of Marie Laveau's
tomb. John had joined a cemetery tour, which included a visit to her grave. He
scowled as he looked at it, taking in the peeling paint and the crosses marked in chalk on
the surface of the tomb. People who had come to Marie for help had even left gifts
to her and these were piled at the base of the tomb. Even dead, Marie held a great
fascination for believers of voodoo.
"We're ready to go to the next gravesite, are you ready?" the tour guide asked
John. The woman had noticed that John was limping and didn't want to rush him.
"I think I'll quit the tour."
"We don't give refunds, sir," she informed him.
John smiled at her, "That's okay. I've seen what I wanted to see."
The tour guide looked from him to the tomb and nodded. "Marie's grave is the
highlight of the tour. Well, thank you for taking the tour and I wish you the best
for the rest of your vacation."
"Thank you." John didn't even bother watching her leave, he kept his gaze
on the tomb. He really didn't know why he had felt it important to come out here,
but he had. Maybe he needed to see some physical sign that Marie was really dead.
That he had seen and spoken to a ghost -- to two ghosts, last night.
He stepped up to the edifice and placed his hand against it, spreading his fingers wide as
they touched the stone. He felt nothing but the texture of the stone against his
skin. No hint of Marie at all. Even in her ghost form, he had been able to pick up
on her presence last night. She was...compelling, exotic even. And very much
dead. He read the inscription, noting her supposed age at the time she died.
She had been old, very old. But the woman last night had not been old at all.
With a sigh John turned away from the tomb, looking for a shady spot where he could sit
down and rest. He still wanted to pay a visit to the library, but he wasn't sure he
should go there with his clothing soaked from the humidity. He would need to go back to
the B&B and change, but he wasn't sure if he was up to walking back there right now.
Maybe if he rested a bit, he would feel more up to the task. John settled himself in
the shade of a tree and leaned back against the trunk. As long as he sat still the
heat and humidity didn't seem to be as bad. His eyes felt heavy and he quickly gave
up on the fight to keep them open.
When John awoke, he discovered that the temperature had gone down quite a bit. A
cool wind was blowing and the smell of rain was heavy in the air. He looked up and
was surprised to see storm clouds massing in the sky above the cemetery. The forecast had
not called for rain and now he found himself hoping that he could get back to the Bed
& Breakfast without getting soaked to the skin.
John got to his feet and headed for the walkway, only to find that it had changed in the
short time he had been asleep. Instead of a concrete sidewalk, there was now a
gravel pathway. The sounds of loud crying caught his attention and he slowly made a
360 degree turn until he spotted the funeral party that just several lots over. He
knew that it was wrong to intrude on the grief of others, but he found himself walking
over that way. As he neared the group, he saw that they were dressed oddly.
Just as the scene he had witnessed in the bedroom, John knew he was looking at
something from the past.
He paused directly behind a line of people and listened. As before the people were
speaking in French, but he understood what they said. He realized that he was
standing behind slaves, some of whom had been owned by the deceased. They were
whispering about how quickly it had been for Mistress Charlotte to die after she became
ill. Another slave mentioned that there were strange things happening in the house,
but the others, who told him that it was best to not give voice to such things, hushed
him.
Intrigued, John pushed past them, not that they noticed him. As he neared the grave,
he stopped up short. There was a man standing near the priest. A man who was
in obvious mourning over this "Mistress Charlotte". But it wasn't the
man's sadness that made John stop in his tracks. He stopped because he was looking at a
mirror image of himself. John could feel the love emanating from that man, and the
sadness he was feeling over Charlotte's death. The woman standing next to him
touched the man on the arm, then she looked up, staring straight at John. Under her
thin dark veil he could feel her eyes boring into him. And John knew that he was
looking at Marguerite De la Farcy, the woman who had shared lemonade with him last night.
Or was he looking at one of her ancestors?
"It is her."
John spun around as he heard a familiar voice and he found himself once more face to face
with Marie Laveau.
"It can't be. Mrs. De la Farcy is a young widow."
Marie smiled and cocked her head to one side. "She certainly is. Ageless
beauty does have its charm, does it not?" Then Marie walked away from him.
John spared one look back at the funeral service before following Marie. As he fell
into step beside her on the path, he tried to narrow his million questions down to one.
"What's going on here?"
"Here? Why, a funeral of course. A funeral for a good and kind woman who
was struck down as she was preparing for one of the most happiest days of her life.
Charlotte Chastain was getting married. All the plans had been made and it
was plain to all of us that she and Etienne De la Farcy were already deeply in love.
Plain to all of us except for Marguerite Chastain."
"Sisters?"
Marie nodded. "Not that the link of blood kept Marguerite from plotting with
evil to get what she wanted, which was to be the wife of Etienne. Driven nearly mad
from the desire to have what was not hers led Marguerite to seek out the most undesirable
beings in New Orleans. Not that any of them would openly deal with a woman.
But one would. A vampire."
John snorted. "A vampire. Right."
"You would scoff at that while walking with me in a graveyard in 1828?"
John chewed on his lower lip as he considered her question. Then he nodded.
"You're right. I'll try to keep an open mind. There's always the
chance that this is just a dream anyway."
Marie smiled again and she shook her head. "Believe what you will right now,
John Carter. But in the end, you will believe." She stopped and looked
around. "This is a fine site for a tomb, wouldn't you agree?"
John looked around the open area and nodded. "It's peace enough."
Then he spotted a few familiar trees, including the one he had fallen asleep under.
"You already know that this is where you're buried."
There was a soft smile on Marie's lips. "Am I buried here?" Then she
shrugged. "Whether I am or not doesn't take away from the beauty of the site,
does it? Getting back to the story, a vampire heard Marguerite's questions and he
followed her, offering his services. Marguerite took him up on the offer. He
slowly bled Charlotte, bringing about her death and leaving the way open for Marguerite to
have Etienne. Not that Etienne wanted her. But she found a way around that.
Women like her often do."
"Charlotte was the woman I saw last night, wasn't she?"
"Yes."
"And Perault is the vampire?"
"Right again. That is why it is most important for you to never remove your
gris-gris. It will keep him from you."
"But I see him in the daytime. I thought that vampires couldn't go out into the
light."
"That phrase, 'go into the light', can mean many things, John. It can mean that
they cannot go into the light of day. It can mean that they cannot go into a church,
or any other place of 'light'. They can both go into the daylight, but you often
won't find Marguerite there."
"She said that she works at night."
"And indeed she does. Indeed she does. Tread carefully around her, John,
for she has grown even more dangerous and mad over the years. She looks at you and
sees Etienne. She looks at you and wonders if she can keep him this time. She
will not easily let you go."
"I belong to no woman, Marie." John had often wanted to belong to someone,
but while there had many who claimed to love him, in the end he had always been left
behind.
"You will one day, John. Don't close your heart to love. Marguerite will
attempt to seduce you, just as she did Etienne. In our day, Etienne did the
gentlemanly thing and he married her. It didn't take long for him to discover that
he had been deceived and misled. He moved into another room of the house and mourned
for Charlotte. Marguerite was enraged that Charlotte could still have a hold on him
while dead and she attacked him, accidentally killing him, but killing him all the
same."
"It happened in the same bedroom where I saw you and Charlotte," John said.
"That's where the blood stain on the quilt is from. And the crack in the
mirror?"
"Marguerite throws things when she's angry," Marie simply replied. She
reached out and placed her hand on his chest, covering the gris-gris with her palm.
"I have more protection to give you, John Carter, but not here. There is
a place called Congo Square. Every Sunday afternoon the slaves and free people of
color gather there to dance to the voodoo drums." Marie paused, as if she were
considering something. "We need you free us, John. Marguerite wasn't
content to just be a vampire, she wanted more. More life, more power. She is a
witch and she captures souls, holding them in the house. I can feel that you are the
one who can break the spell that holds us there and let us finally have the rest we
deserve. If you agree to help us, then go to Congo Square this afternoon.
Don't be afraid of what you see. Just know that I will be there with
you." She pulled away from him and then disappeared.
John looked around, seeing that he was back in modern times. He placed his own hand
over the gris-gris and could feel that it was still warm from Marie's touch -- as was his
own skin. "Congo Square? How am I going to find a place that probably
doesn't exist any longer?" he asked himself as he left the cemetery. As he was
leaving, a tour group from the Voodoo Museum was arriving and John knew that the people at
the museum could help him find Congo Square. If they didn't know where it was, then
no one else would either.
The late afternoon found him sitting in Louis Armstrong Park, an area that now encompassed
what used to be called Congo Square. Once he had the directions from the museum, it
wasn't too difficult to find. Of course they knew where he meant, and he also passed
the time by finding out more information about Marie Laveau. Aside from being a
voodoo priestess, Marie had also been a devout Catholic, never failing to attend Mass.
She volunteered in the hospitals every year when the cholera and yellow fever
epidemics struck the city. There was some dispute about when she died and where she
was buried. Some believed that it was her daughter, a voodoo priestess also named
Marie, who was buried in the tomb that so many people visited. Marie had indicated
to him that it was her daughter who had been put to rest there.
John knew he had failed miserably when it had come to keeping Lucy safe in the ER.
He had ignored her concerns and she had died for it. His therapist at the
clinic had told him often enough that he wasn't totally to blame for what happened, but he
knew the truth. If he had listened harder to Lucy, if he had not let himself be
distracted by Abby's patient, then maybe we would have seen that Paul Sobriki was on the
point of breaking. The man was ill, not evil, and he needed help. John had not
seen that and Lucy had paid for it with her life. Paul Sobriki had also paid for it
with his life, as there was no way he would ever be released from the state facility where
he was now living. His wife would never have him at her side again, his child would grow
up without a father. And John was to blame for that. And now he had a bunch of
souls thinking that he was some kind of hero who could save them from limbo. Hell,
he was obviously anxious to believe them or else he wouldn't be here, right? He
needed to see if he could do something good. Do something right. Begin to
atone for all of his mistakes. Marie believed in him. Charlotte believed in
him. And who knew how many other souls were trapped there with them? If they
believed he could save them, he could at least try his best to believe in himself.
He didn't want to let down the spirits the same way he had let down the living.
As the promised coolness of the coming evening slowly became a reality, John wondered if
all of this was really just some bizarre dream. There was no way that anyone back in
Chicago would believe him if he told them what he had seen and experienced since his
arrival in New Orleans. They certainly wouldn't believe in vampires or ghosts, or
voodoo queens and spells. He wasn't entirely sure that he believed in all of that,
even though he had seen things with his own eyes. Or had he? Maybe he was
still in Atlanta and experiencing hallucinations brought on by drug withdrawal? That
thought was quickly tossed aside because as a doctor he knew that his addiction to the
painkillers wouldn't have caused this.
The steady pulsing of drums broke his reverie. It began softly, then grew louder and
as it did so, the park around him disappeared and he found himself sitting against a
sturdy tree and watching the gathering of free blacks and slaves in the square. The
drums were loud, almost painfully so, but John didn't flinch away from the noise. He
had a reason to be here, he told himself. And he wasn't the only white person there,
either. He saw a few others standing about, hovering around the fringe of the area.
All dressed in period clothing. It had happened to him again.
John slowly got to his feet and walked closer, knowing that he had to look for Marie.
A circle had formed and people were dancing to the steady pounding. Many of
them cried out names that he now recognized after spending time at the Voodoo Museum
--names of spirits to guide them. Spirits that they would channel. The dancing
and the drums became more insistent and the sight mesmerized John. He inched closer
until he was within that circle and then he saw Marie. Her skin glistened with sweat
and her hair was no longer covered with the colorful scarf she had worn earlier. It
hung curly and loose around her shoulders, sometimes covering her body, which was a good
thing since the amount of clothing she was wearing was a lot less than before. Then
John noticed that in the heat of the evening, many of the dancers were shedding their
clothes.
"Dance with me, John Carter." Marie pulled him into the middle of the
circle, her hips swaying, her breasts jutting out toward him. Her hands were all
over him, unbuttoning his shirt. His head whirling, John let her, only dimly aware
that other hands were now upon his body and working to undress him. Finally he stood
naked in their midst, wearing only the gris-gris. Marie danced around him, teasing
him with her movements as she wailed in a language he couldn't understand. His heart
skipped a beat or two and then began to pound in time with the drums. Caught up in
the rhythm, he danced with Marie, warm hands upon his skin. Warm bodies rubbing up
against his own flushed skin. Male, female, it didn't matter here. Female
spirits possessed some of the men and the male ones possessed some of the females.
He knew that Marie was channeling the most powerful spirit of them all. He
could feel the power every time she touched him, her fingers burning his skin.
Closer to the fire they danced and the circle closed in around them. One second John
was upright and looking into Marie's eyes and the next he was on his back on the ground,
Marie hovering above him. He knew he was hard, God, how could he not be hard?
And she was excited as well, that much he could tell from the way she moved.
She teased him again, almost lowering herself on him and then moving away, time
after time. Hands were reaching out to stroke his body, voices whispering to him.
And then she was suddenly impaled upon him, sending a jolt of electricity through
his body. Hands hoisted them into the air, supporting his body while Marie rode him
mercilessly, bringing him to the brink over and over again. All around him people
were coupling and those drums just kept on beating, over and over, the same rhythm that
governed his heartbeat and the timing of Marie's movements. The last thing he
remembered was screaming as he came, but his scream wasn't loud enough to cover the sound
of a multitude of voices chanting the same words over and over.
When John opened his eyes, he was laying on his stomach on the ground. It was dark
and the grass was damp against his face. He rolled over and sat up, shocked to see
that he was still naked. His clothes were in a small pile by his side and he reached
for them, hoping he could get dressed before being seen by anyone. He didn't think
that getting himself arrested for public nudity would go very well at work or with his
family. His body was sore as he pulled on his clothes, but he managed to quickly
dress. He stumbled out of the park, knowing that he wasn't exactly in a good part of
town. They had warned him about that at the Museum. Even though he passed a few
people, his walk back to the B&B was uneventful. He let himself in the front
door with the key that he had been provided and he hurried to his room, hoping that he
wouldn't run into either Perault or Marguerite.
Once inside his room, he locked the door and leaned back against it, somehow knowing that
he was protected for the night. Marie had accomplished that much. He let his
eyes adjust to the dark and then walked to the doors that led to the small balcony,
thinking that he was hearing music from the garden. He quietly stepped outside and
looking down in wonder. There were people down there, women and men, dancing to a
tune being played by someone that he couldn't see. They were all naked and he didn't
see a black person among them. Was he once again looking into the past or was this
something happening in the year 2000? It had to be the present because the garden
lights were illuminating the dancers down below.
As he watched, he couldn't keep from making comparisons between this dance and the one he
had participated in earlier. While that one had been wild, it had been done for the
sake of good. All he could feel from this one was evil. The dancers here were
also surrounding a prone figure and as the dancers swayed to the eerie music, he could see
the face of the man. It was Max Rosher. The woman riding Max looked up and her
eyes met John's. It was Marguerite and her pale body shone in the soft garden lights as
she beckoned to him to join her. Shaking his head, he retreated into his room,
locking the doors to the balcony and closing the curtains over them, as well as closing
the curtains on his window. He couldn't go into that garden tonight, it would
certainly be the death of him. God, if Max Rosher was here in New Orleans, then did
that mean that Anna was also here? Had she been one of the dancers down there and he
just didn't recognize her?
Suppressing a shiver, John lay down on the bed, trying his best to shut out what he had
just witnessed. He was too tired to think about it tonight. Determined to do
all he could to find out if Anna had accompanied Max to New Orleans, John closed his eyes,
conjuring up the images of the dancers in Congo Square and once more hearing the drums.
He moaned out loud as it hit him that he actually engaged in sexual intercourse
with a ghost. And in front of a lot of other ghosts, no less. While he had
never been shy about being naked in front of someone, John had never felt the urge to
expose his body to fifty or more people at one time. And the soreness of his body
made him wonder if Marie had been the only ghost that he had been with earlier. He
didn't remember anything that happened after he reached his orgasm. With thoughts of
Marie and Anna racing around his head, John fell into a fitful sleep.
They used to dance in the garden in the
Middle of the night
They used to dance in the garden in the
middle of the night
They were naked as the day they were
Born skin all bone-china white
O you were a vampire
And I may never see the light.
End of Part 3
