17. Leonor

17

LEONOR

I smile as I hear a familiar noise coming down the hall of the third floor. It’s loud, it’s fast, and it’s definitely on a mission.

Normally I’d panic at that, whether I recognize the footsteps or not and considering I blacked out because of something similar last week, I think I’m doing pretty good by just smiling.

Granted, it’s Justine racing toward me ready for the gossip because I’ve been checking in but any real updates she’s gotten have been from one of the boys. I know my mama tiger is going to want the details from me.

“Girl,” Justine whisper-shouts, still at least two feet away from the door of the master bedroom. “I have fifteen minutes before Collinsworth is picking me up for some investor meeting so you better be ready to talk!”

I turn on my stool and grin just as she blows into the room, Justine slamming the door behind her even though I’m using a shit ton of chemicals right now.

“Did you want us to get high while I tell you everything you want to know?”

She waves me off as she grabs a two hundred year old arm chair and drags it over, plopping down with a huff before Justine starts fixing her skirt.

“We are not going to get high ,” she says as I arch a brow. “The window is open, Leonor.”

“Yeah, ok.” I chuckle and shake my head as I get to my feet and open the French doors. “As hilarious as I’m sure you are when you’re stoned out of your mind, these are not the fun kind of substances.”

“Ok, sweetheart. Tell me everything.”

Sitting down slowly, I blink a few times at the expectant look on Justine’s face, the way her legs are crossed at the knee with her foot bouncing away in her sparkly flip flops. She’s resting her chin on her hand, staring at me with the biggest grin I have ever seen, and the entire scene before me is just so cute I could burst.

But I start giggling instead.

“Leonor Allan, so help me if you waste my”—she checks her watch—“twelve and a half minutes by sitting here doing nothing but giggling like a goofball?—“

“ Goofball ?” I snort. “Who even are you right now?”

Justine sits a little taller but starts giggling too. “Your mama, that’s who! And I’ve been waiting a million years for you to get with those boys, so you better tell me everything as fast as you can so I don’t have to show up at your apartment and ask them myself.”

They’d tell her, too.

With way, way too many details, but Lucky and Pete would spill everything to Justine with one stink eye from her. Then she’d know that Lucky came inside me right before I passed Pete’s cum from my mouth to his then watched as he tongued it into my pussy. Even though that might be the hottest thing to happen to me so far, I don’t really want my mama to know that.

“ Oh this is going to be good. Look how red you’re getting!”

I glance down at my chest to see it is in fact as red as a tomato, then laugh nervously as if Justine will be able to start hearing my thoughts. I wouldn’t put it past her, not this woman, so I should probably switch to thinking about our last holiday with Mark’s grandma instead. The one when her boob fell out of her nightgown while she got into a walker fight with her roommate at the nursing home. But, I just rip the bandaid off and tell her what she wants to hear. “You know I’m with both of them, right?”

She nods like a bobble head. “Mmhmm. So spicy.”

“ Justine! ” I snort again. “How do you know anything about spicy stuff?”

“I read! I love those romance books, the ones where she has more than one man. Only if they… what do they call it? Cross streams or something?”

Oh my god. My face has to be on fire right now.

But I love Justine to death and don’t want her telling someone else she has a urine fetish when she probably means something pretty different.

Hopefully.

It’s either that or she assumes everyone is a Ghostbuster, which is also incorrect if I’m following her line of thinking.

I don’t care what anyone else is into and won’t ever shame someone for it, but I don’t ever need to know if Justine and Pierre are into golden showers or Egon and Venkman role play.

“Crossing swords, Justine. You like that.”

I cover my face with my hands while I laugh uncontrollably, Justine clapping her hands together then pointing at me. “That’s it, I like when the men do that. But I read everything. Paranormal, fantasy, MF and MM. I read one recently where it was an all female group. Very spicy. I love all that stuff.”

How did I not know this about her?

My pseudo-mama is into all the things, and I had no idea.

Not that I really wanted to know that, I might need to increase my therapy because of this chat actually but at least I don’t have to worry about any negativity when it comes to my relationships.

“Not to mention…” Justine arches a thin brow at me. “Pierre is French, in case you’ve forgotten. It’s not just his kisses I’m sweet on, your daddy is a very passionate, talented man, and he has a huge?—“

“Stop!” I shriek as I cover my ears.

Blood related or not, I do not need these kinds of details about the couple who all but legally adopted me over fifteen years ago.

Now I’m going to need more therapy.

It’s also cute that she’s gone back to referring to her and Pierre as my mama and daddy again. Justine hasn’t done that since… well, since before I died. I had no idea how much I missed it until right now.

“Ok, ok.” Justine rolls her eyes with a smile. “I won’t gross you out anymore, just know it’s perfectly normal and acceptable to still have wild passionate sex in your fifties.” I act like I’m gagging and she cracks up. “We’re supposed to be talking about your love life anyway, and now I only have”—another check of her watch—“seven minutes and fifteen seconds to do it.”

Ugh . “What do you want to know? I just told you I’m with Pete and Lucky now, and outside of that I’m not sure what to share.”

“We know Lucius can use those pretty lips, so, Peter’s a good kisser?”

I nod, trying like hell not to look crazy while I smile like an idiot.

“They’re both so tall, all of your boys are really, so I’m assuming that the two you’ve seen naked are blessed ?”

“Oh my god, are we really talking about this?”

Justine purses her lips and gives me a curt nod.

“ Yes , ok? I already knew that for the most part, three tours and there’s very little mystery left.” I smile as Mark’s words play through my mind. “Rest assured, I’m well taken care of.”

“You were before, they’ve always taken good care of you, but now it’s different and I want to make sure?—“

“Don’t even say it.” I giggle as I hold up a hand. “Last night was the first time, and I was. Multiple times.”

Justine smiles proudly then continues her interrogation. “Everyone exchanged I love yous ?”

I nod.

“ Everyone , Leonor?”

“Yes! Oh my gosh, you’re terrible. Lucky and Pete told me they were in love with me, I told both of them the same, then we all had a bunch of orgasms, ok?”

She gasps and clutches her pearls as if that was the most inappropriate thing we’ve said so far for a parent-child conversation. “You don’t have to be so crass, girl. Climax or release would have been fine.”

“Orgasm offends you?”

Justine shivers like she’s absolutely disgusted. “The act is wonderful and life changing, the word is just plain gross. It sounds too much like organ.”

Wow.

I think she’s rendered me speechless.

“Now we just have to get Markus and Norman on board, then you can work on making me a grandmama a bunch of times over.”

I stand corrected.

And why does everything have to come back to babies?

Probably because Justine doesn’t know there’s a very slim chance I can ever have any, and like any other parent, she wants to become a grandparent. She’s also told me multiple times about how much her and Pierre wish they would have found me when I was a baby. So, grandkids are the next best thing apparently.

Too bad I’m more than likely going to burst that bubble at some point.

Then what she said really sinks in and I frown. “What do you mean about Norm and Mark?”

“ Ugh , Leonor you are so much smarter than that,” Justine huffs as she gets to her feet. “The five of you, absolute perfection. On and off stage.” But before I can drill her on what that means and how I totally agree even if I don’t understand, she checks her watch at the same time her phone starts ringing. “My car is here. I’ve got to run, don’t stay too late. Dirt Sack Danny is going to be milling around, so don’t worry if you hear all kinds of things outside. You know how he is.”

“Ok.” I smile as she kisses my cheek, appreciating her even more than I did before.

That last comment was all mama tiger.

“I love you, Leonor, and I am so happy we have you back.”

“Love you, too.”

Then she’s gone in a blur of color and sparkle.

Stretching my arms above my head then rolling my stiff neck, I look down at my phone with a grin.

LUCKY: When are you coming home? Pete’s super grumpy and I think it means we need to see you naked.

PETE: I’m not grumpy.

PETE: But we do need to see you naked.

PETE: After dinner.

LUCKY: Yeah, you need to eat. More than dick.

LUCKY: And the boys are coming over, so probably after that too. Unfortunately.

You two are ridiculous. I’m finishing up now, I’ll be on my way soon. Do I need to stop for anything?

I start putting away my brushes, my phone buzzing away on the drafting table while I do.

It’s nice to be needed again.

As stupid as that is, especially after self-isolating, it’s really nice to feel like people want to see me at all, let alone naked.

Which also feels pretty good, even if the two who want to see me naked are also kind of needy dorks who love me.

LUCKY: No stopping.

PETE: Just come home.

LUCKY: Mark is cooking, Norm is bringing dessert, we already bought beer.

LUCKY: Is Justine still there?

I roll my eyes because they’re definitely being ridiculous.

I’ve been coming here almost every day for the last six months without incident so there’s no reason for them to worry.

Mostly .

I glance over to the bed where my backpack is, my stomach twisting a little as I think about the latest thing I found waiting for me on my windshield.

It was a doll head.

One of those that have the eyes that open and close when you move them around but it was just the head. The eyes were popped out and the sockets were filled with black paint. At least I hope it’s black paint. I don’t know what else it would be but I also don’t want to find out.

And underneath the doll head, was a note.

One written in black charcoal, and all it said was see me .

Instead of running back inside or pitching that shit off the parking structure, I shoved it in my backpack as quickly as I could in case one of the boys showed up or something. I know I shouldn’t be keeping it from them but I don’t want to go down that road again. It’ll only scare them.

It sure as fuck scares me .

But I’m not going to be that girl anymore.

So, I finish up with my station, making sure to be extra careful with the portrait of Mr. Bissonnette himself— dick— then fire off a quick message to my… boyfriends? That just seems weird but I don’t really know what to call them, set my phone down then dispose of the water and chemicals I was using and shut it down for the day.

I don’t need this job, not financially, but it’s been good for me.

Not that I’ll ever admit that, but it has. I think it’s why I finally snapped last week. Coming here every day, having a reason to get out of bed, having someone kick my ass into gear if I don’t. I think that’s all why I got keyed up enough to call Lucky, why I started feeling anything but hollow, and now I don’t dread it quite as much as I used to.

Even when I have two very sexy, very blessed men I’d rather be with waiting for me to come home.

Art has always been a pretty big part of my life in one way or another, and I find the restoration work relaxing. I wasn’t particularly great at painting but I know my way around oils, and after I got emancipated I worked my ass off to get into art school. Did I end up homeless and living out of my shitty car because of it? Yes, but I needed to be around like minded people because years in foster care with this unscratchable itch to create was driving me crazy.

Every penny I earned went to paying for school, solely because I needed to do it. I honed my skills, I learned to play every instrument imaginable, I started reading and writing music, and I trained harder than ever to use my voice in a way that empowered me instead of staying quiet. And I dove deeper into painting and art history as filler.

Which is why Justine got me this job.

Well, it’s part of why she did.

A creative soul needs an outlet, Leonor, and you’re suffocating without it.

She said that to me after basically breaking into my apartment and sending me into a panic attack, but her intentions were good, and she wasn’t wrong.

I’d accepted my life for what it was, accepted that when I died everything inside me did as well, regardless of surviving, and I was just waiting for the end. I was done, and I didn’t care what happened to me.

I still journaled, I wrote almost daily after the last time I tried to kill myself but that wasn’t enough to bring me back. And Justine knew that.

So, she dragged me kicking and screaming to the mansion, set up all of my shit with HR, then made sure I showed up every single day. I’ll never be able to repay her for still believing in me the way she did, for having faith despite not having any myself, and now I have this incredible new chapter starting complete with endless possibilities I haven’t entertained in years.

Justine might not have carried me for nine months but she truly is my mother. She’s the reason for my rebirth, and that makes it ironclad in my eyes.

With a smile, I close the window and French doors then hit the lights before locking up.

We lock up every room with a door in addition to the front, back and side of the mansion because the stuff in this house is worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, regardless of where it came from.

Personally, I wouldn’t care if the fucker burned to the ground.

Monsieur Bissonnette was a gigantic bag of soggy, limp dicks, and he did absolutely horrible things to the people he employed as well as his wife and children. I understand the historical value of the property—it was a Civil War hospital and a TB Ward on top of originally being a plantation that produced a huge amount of this parish’s goods, which boosted the economy at the time—but I’ll never understand all the trouble we’re going to when you could easily throw up ropes, designate a path, and make it a museum as is.

It feels like we’re immortalizing a racist, bigoted, sexist, tyrannical murderer, and I can’t see the value in that .

Plus, it gives me wicked heebie jeebies.

But, it’s not my place to say anything, and it means a lot to Justine to have the property taken care of. Apparently her father traced their family line back to the Bissonnette Plantation after he’d been working here for decades, and she’s had a weird connection to it ever since.

I glance back at the grand staircase before walking out, checking to make sure I turned out all of the lights, then shudder as my eyes linger over the third floor banister.

That’s where Mrs. Bissonnette allegedly hung herself.

Allegedly.

But you do enough digging and you’ll find reports that allude to her husband losing his shit when he found out she was cheating, so he wrapped a rope around her neck, dragged her through the house by it, and tried to hang her himself. But the banister broke, the rope got caught and she didn’t die, so he threw her from the third floor. She landed on a decorative table, broke it under the force, and one of the legs went through her stomach. Her neck broke on impact, so hopefully she didn’t feel it.

Which is just one of the many reasons I don’t like coming here no matter how good for me it might be. True or not, that is a grizzly story, and it adds to the overall creep factor.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I stare at the original rug, still sporting a stain that no one will confirm is blood, then shake it off and quickly walk outside.

No ghosts for me today, thanks.

I rush down the stairs, holding the straps of my backpack tight but when I realize I’m basically running from a house, I start to laugh.

“Get a grip, Leonor. God.” I roll my eyes as I slow my pace, taking a deep breath while I count backwards from ten.

This place isn’t so bad during the day, it doesn’t give off as ominous vibes anyway but when the sun starts to set like it is now, that’s when it’s harder to keep from getting all kinds of paranoid. And since I already have a predisposition to paranoia, it takes a lot more for me to stay calm.

My heart starts to pick up speed as I trek my way toward the carriage house. I don’t know why I stayed so late tonight, I didn’t even want to come to work to begin with but I was so in the zone once I got here that I lost track of time. I’m known for that already but after last night, my mood has been spectacular, and I’ve been in la la land most of the day.

“Excuse me.”

I jump and nearly scream as a hand lands on my shoulder, swinging my backpack around like a bag of bricks at the ready. My heart is pounding, my pulse is through the roof and when my vision clears enough to see Lurch—that new security guard—standing there with wide, green eyes and a surprised look, I blow out a ragged breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

He drops his hand and nods with an embarrassed smile. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

“I’m about to go to lunch. Swing shift today.”

“Ah,” I say as I try to calm myself down and act like a normal human. “Collinsworth got you working all by yourself…”

My brow raises in question and Lurch immediately sticks out his hand. “Chase. Chase Hartley.”

“Leo.” I force myself to shake his big mit, noting how huge it is compared to mine. “Allan. I’m restoring the?—“

“Paintings, and you used to front The Ravens.” When I awkwardly pull my hand away, my unease over his response clear, Chase quickly adds, “I was briefed on everyone who works here. And I might have seen one or two of your shows a long time ago.”

Which is perfectly normal and understandable, especially if he’s from New Orleans. It’s where we started after all, so it isn’t weird to run into someone who’s heard of the band or knows who I am. I need to keep reminding myself of that, it’s just hard to do after not talking to anyone but Justine or Pierre for so long.

“And I’m not.”

I frown. “Not what?”

“Working by myself.” Chase checks his watch then gives me a nod. “Mr. Collinsworth hired three of us from Wroughton Shield Protection. It’s a branch of this huge company, All Out, that provides basically any and every service someone with money might need. Caters to a lot of celebrities, you know, actors and musicians, people like that but if you have the cash, Karissa will work with anyone. Elias, he’s out of Colorado but he owns WSP, sent Sal from California, Boris from New York, and me. I’m local.”

I arch a brow as my nose scrunches. “Cool…” That was a lot of random information I didn’t exactly need. Weird. “I haven’t seen?—”

“Sal or Boris? You probably won’t, not this time of day. You come in shortly before I leave, then leave after I come back. I’m here the most because I’m local but we rotate days, and one of those guys usually comes in overnight with me. Tonight it’s Sal. And the other?—”

“Does the swing shift?” Why is he telling me all of this? This is literally the second time I’ve seen this dude and after the first, I didn’t think he regularly spoke so many words to anyone. Chase struck me as the strong silent type, not like Pete, more like, well, Lurch, but here he is, chatting my ear off when I’m trying to go home.

He smiles, his light eyes dancing. “Exactly. It’s a good system but we end up like ghosts to some people.”

Gripping the straps of my backpack tightly, I glance back toward the direction of the carriage house. “It was really nice meeting you, Chase, but I should probably… get going…”

“Right, and I should take my lunch while I still have some of it left.”

“Probably a good idea.”

I watch as he turns toward the mansion, taking a few steps before he quickly turns my way again. “Oh, you dropped these.”

With a frown, I watch Chase reach into his pocket and pull out my AirPods, tossing the royal purple, definitely mine, case my way.

“Thanks,” I say as I catch them. “I didn’t even realize I dropped them.”

He gives me a small salute as he walks backward, smiling brightly before he spins on his heel and jogs out of sight.

What a weird interaction.

I mean, I feel better knowing security was here. I can’t stand Collinsworth but this was a good idea, and it makes my paranoia seem even sillier than it did before. Especially when my phone buzzes from inside my backpack and I jump again.

LUCKY: Where are yoooouuuuuu

Giggling a little because I can actually hear that text message, I fire off a quick reply, drop the iPhone and my keys in my bag then light a cigarette as I head to my car.

My god, I will never understand how I went so long without those kinds of texts making me crazy every day. Never again will I allow that to happen. Never.

I smile to myself as I think about the same thing I’ve been thinking about since I woke up, the men in my life quickly filling it with purpose again, but I can feel it fade a little when Mark pops into my head.

He’s been kind of weird the last few times we were together, almost… sad, I guess? I don’t know, maybe not, but something has been off with my teddy bear boy and I really want to know what it is. And since he’s coming over to cook dinner, hopefully I’ll be able to find out.

I wonder if Norm found that ice cream.

God, I could go for…

I frown as I hit the quarter mile marker on my walk, my car coming into view way down in the lot but what has me making a face and deciding to search for my phone is what I swear I just saw.

“No…” I say, trying to reassure myself as I shake my head. “You’re being stupid, Leonor.”

Except… What if I’m not?

I have been receiving some fucked up gifts lately, about five months of them actually, so it’s not completely out of the realm of possibility that I just saw a black shadow dart toward my Prius. I also have PTSD, paranoid tendency, and terrible anxiety, so I could definitely be making it up as well.

My mind plays tricks on me so easily, and being out here alone after already having a scare, yeah, I’m sure that’s it.

“Right.” With a firm nod to no one, I start walking again, rather slowly, while I swing my backpack around and pull out my keys before fishing for my phone. “It’s all in your head. Everything is fine.”

A loud electrical clicking sound comes out of nowhere, followed by several more, and I damn near jump out of my skin and drop my bag as the huge construction spotlights turn on one after the other. I swallow hard as I frantically look around at the eerie as fuck lights that now dot the property, the buzzing and humming of their bulbs causing them to flicker occasionally.

My pulse is through the roof, my heart pounding in my ears as I cautiously bend to grab my shit while trying to keep an eye on my surroundings. But I freeze when I see that black blobby shadow move around to the back of my car. I know I saw it this time.

Which is exactly why I take off in the opposite direction and right into the overgrown field.

A stupid move I’ll think about later since Chase is at the mansion and that’s really where I should go, but it’s locked up and he was going on lunch. There’s no guarantee he’d be there to help me.

Or believe me when I came flying up the driveway screaming.

The pinging of metal on metal has my feet moving faster and when the unmistakable sound of someone chasing me through the goddamn dead crop follows a few seconds later, I swear my heart is going to explode.

Whoever the fuck it was that thought planting corn all over this goddamn property just so it could die and become a nightmare straight out of a horror movie, deserves to be kicked in face.

I start zig zagging as I run, the dried out stalks ripping into my bare arms, smacking me in the face, crunching under my boots as I push myself to go faster. I can hear someone behind me, the same sounds but muffled coming closer and almost in sync with mine.

It’s getting darker by the second and I briefly curse my inability to keep track of time because I stayed so fucking late, late enough to lose so much sunlight so quickly, but even still, this isn’t my fault.

Not if someone is really chasing me.

Judging by the panting I periodically hear, someone is.

And they are gaining on me.

I veer right toward one of the paths carved out by the crew, one laid down so they could start mapping out the sunflower field, following it for a minute or two before I switch to another then cut left. The noises behind me stop when I do, so I crouch down and turn, trying to see anything at all through the darkness.

But I don’t.

I can’t see anything and I’m not sure if that’s scarier than being chased or not.

A small crunching sound has me flinching and I slowly start to back away, hoping I can sneak through all this shit and get back out into the main property without them noticing, but I should have known better.

As soon as I turn to run, I trip over a goddamn rock, twisting my ankle before I land on my hands and knees. I quickly flip myself over, my palms on fire, my ankle throbbing. I’m breathing so hard I might hyperventilate, my chest pumping while my eyes widen, desperately trying to see anything at all. And that’s when I see the monster that’s been chasing me.

Just above the stalks, a black hood stops short of where I’m laying, less than maybe two feet away from the toe of my boots, and I have to cover my mouth so I don’t scream.

The hood shifts back and forth slowly, no face or form underneath, and I know I need to move.

It’s a matter of seconds before this black mass sees me, and I’m a fucking sitting duck for when it does.

As quietly as possible, I start scooting away, ignoring the pain radiating through my limbs so I can try to escape, and making another goddamn mistake as soon as I get to my feet.

With a yelp I can’t control, I put too much pressure on my ankle but I ignore it as soon as the hooded shadow’s head whips in my direction, and I run. Limping, hobbling, moving at any possible speed, I race toward the spotlights in hopes that someone else is around.

Someone without a murderous agenda, anyway, because this shit happening twice in one lifetime isn’t exactly on my bucket list.

I can see the back of the mansion from here, the over the top garden, the big beams of light hitting the columns on the back porch like a sign to safety.

They aren’t though, because I’m a moron and not only dropped my backpack with a fucking gun inside it, I dropped my keys and I can’t get into the house without them.

It doesn’t matter.

I have to get there, I have to at the very least get to the mansion, then I can start screaming for help and maybe Chase or Dan will hear me. That should be enough time to get back to the front where I left all my stuff. Then I can just run to my car and go home.

Home .

The boys flash through my mind at that, all four of them waiting for me, making that empty crypt feel like home for the first time in forever, and I push myself even harder.

My ankle is on fire but every step I take, every time the sole of my boot hits the ground brings me closer to them, and it puts that much more distance between me and the boogeyman behind me.

Running like my life depends on it—because it fucking does—I go parallel with the crop line and head toward the closest spotlight, coming closer to the side of the house instead of the back and when I hear a frustrated fuck grunted behind me, I make another knee jerk decision.

I dart left a few paces then jolt right, bursting through the dead and crunchy stalks, and slam right into a body.

“Leo, what the hell?” Dirt Sack Danny yells as he grabs onto me so I don’t fall. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

I grip his forearms tightly as I try to catch my breath, gasping like crazy while drawing in lungfuls of air. “I… I stayed late…”

He frowns as I meet his eyes, his surprised stare moving all over my face and arms before dropping to where I can’t put weight on my ankle. “And what, went for a jog in the field?”

“Something like that.”

“What happened? Why are you breathing so hard? What?—“

“Can you help me to my car? I’m pretty sure I sprained my ankle and I need to get home.”

Dirt Sack gives me a skeptical look before he nods then repositions so he can loop my arm over his shoulders and wrap his other around my waist. “You want me to call Justine?”

“No!” I shriek before getting myself in check. “No, that’s ok. She’ll just worry about me, and I’m fine.”

“But what about your ankle? How are you going to drive home?”

He starts walking us toward the front and I breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s my left one, I’ll manage. I’ve driven with worse shit wrong with me. I’m an old pro.”

“Ok…” Dirt Sack says. “Promise you’ll get it looked at though, that kind of injury is no joke.”

I nod as we move slowly and for some inexplicable reason, I succumb to the need to see if I’m still being followed.

And looking back over my shoulder, I see nothing.

Nothing but a bunch of broken stalks where I broke through the field like the KoolAid man, and whatever planks of wood Dirt Sack Danny was carrying when I crashed into him.

Jesus, I must really be losing it.

But as we get closer to my car, I know I’m not.

Because there on the windshield, fluttering in the breeze under one of the wipers, is another envelope.