CHAPTER FOUR

"Who's our mystery woman?" asked Gaspar.

"I'm not sure," said Wilson. "She's got no ID on her. We haven't found any abandoned vehicles, and there doesn't appear to be any missing persons matching her description. The tech boys are working their magic trying to get a facial recognition. She's dehydrated, mostly, it appears, from crying. The bump on her head isn't severe, but she's damn sure going to have a raging headache."

"Okay. We'll want to speak with her when she wakes up."

"Where is Marcel?" asked Wilson.

"He's changing," said Nine.

"Changing? Again?"

"No, not like that. He's putting on modern clothing. Turns out he and Alec are the same size," smirked Nine.

"Fuck you," said Alec. "Exactly the same size. I gave him some shorts, t-shirts, running shoes, all that. I'll order some more things for him. Catch y'all later."

"I do not like these undergarments," said Marcel, pulling on his balls. "They are confining and tight, and they make me hot." The three men smirked at him.

"You can choose to not wear them," said Nine. "Just be aware that you have to be careful to not expose yourself to anyone."

"This is torture!" he growled. "I'll be back." He disappeared into the bathroom again, then came back out a moment later.

"Better?" smirked Wilson.

"Much. I do enjoy the t-shirt. It's quite comfortable. And these shoes, running shoes, they are amazing. So much cushion and bounce. It's remarkable."

"We'll get you some things of your own," said Gaspar, "but for now, that will do."

"What if I don't stay this way?" he frowned.

"I'm not sure what to say," said Nine. "I don't know that anyone knows what will happen with you, but we'll be here for you either way. Have you ever seen the woman before?"

"Never," said Marcel. "She is lovely, though, don't you think?"

"She is lovely," smiled Gaspar. "I need to know why she wanted to kill herself and how she found her way into our bayou."

"I know the answer to that," said Code, walking toward them down the hallway. "Amy Fontenot, thirty-one years old. She's a fundraiser for the Prometheus Foundation."

"The non-profit?" scowled Nine.

"Yes. She's been highly successful, well thought of, then yesterday they called her into the office and told her she needs to get a lawyer. Two million from a Mardi Gras fundraiser was transferred into an account with her name, then transferred out again to a ghost account that no one can seem to find."

"This sounds familiar," growled Gaspar.

"Too familiar. I think it's the same people who tried to take from our accounts. They're going to file charges against her, Nine. That woman hasn't done a damn thing wrong, but they'll drag her through the mud, and when I tell you she deserves none of that, I mean not one lick of it. That young woman hasn't even had a parking ticket. She is a good person with no skeletons, or I would have seen them."

"Get Kari and Kat on this," said Nine.

"Already called them. They're working with Prometheus to get all the information and work with their attorneys. I've got our team working on the banking to prove it wasn't anything that she did. We should be able to clear it up, but I'm not sure that's going to help her. I spoke to Mr. Sheffield, her boss, and he says that the board wants to replace her. They feel this will create a stain on her reputation and theirs."

"She's innocent," said Marcel. Code turned, nodding at the man.

"I know, big guy, but they don't seem to care about that. She's got a stellar record and reputation. This really sucks for her."

"Hey, guys," said Ajei, poking her head into the hallway, "our mystery lady is awake."

The four men walked into the room, Marcel standing closest to the bed. He reached out, the need to feel her flesh stronger than ever, taking her hand in his own.

"You walked on water," she whispered. Marcel turned to the others, unsure of what to say.

"Maybe you weren't thinking clearly," said Nine, smiling at the young woman. "Marcel swam out to save you."

"Marcel. That's a beautiful name," she smiled. As quickly as it appeared, it disappeared, replaced by tears. "You should have let me die. I won't stain my family's name. I didn't steal anything."

"Do you remember your name?" asked Ajei.

"Amy. Amy Fontenot."

"And what day is it?" she asked the woman.

"Wednesday."

"Good. I'll be back in a few minutes just to check on you again. You're going to be just fine, and these men are going to help you."

"Amy, you work for the Prometheus Foundation, right?" asked Gaspar.

She nodded, wiping her tears on the sheet. On impulse, Marcel reached for a tissue, shocked at the feeling of the strange object between his fingers. He rubbed it gently, the others clearing their throats. He nodded, handing it to her.

"I do. I did. I'm not sure," she cried.

"Amy, our team found out what happened and spoke to our attorneys who have found out some additional information. We're working with your employer to clear your name, and we believe we can. A similar incident happened recently to a foundation that we run."

"You can clear my name? That's wonderful! I can go back to work," she smiled.

"Honey, I'm sorry, but they may not allow you to return to work," said Nine. "We're still working on that."

"Why? I'm innocent. I didn't take anything. I didn't steal anything. All I've ever done is try to help raise money for Prometheus. I've dedicated my entire career to them."

"I know, sweetie," said Gaspar. "We're going to figure this out, I promise."

The others noticed that Marcel was decidedly quiet. He still held Amy's hand in his own, rubbing his thumb along the back of the flesh of her hand. They weren't sure if it was his need to feel human touch again or something else.

"I have a terrible headache," she said. "Did I shoot myself?"

"No," smiled Ajei, walking back into the room. "Thank goodness you didn't do that. You did faint, apparently, when you saw Marcel. You hit your head pretty good." The attractive woman looked up at him with a weak smile.

"Thank you. I haven't been very gracious, but thank you. I do appreciate you saving me."

"It was my honor," he said.

"You look familiar," she smiled. "I mean, beyond the fact that you saved me, you look familiar to me. Have we met before?"

"I doubt that," he said with a smile. "I've spent my entire life on this property."

"I feel certain I've seen you before. Well, it doesn't matter. I'm grateful that you were there. What do I do now? I have to go home at some point," she said, slowly shaking her head.

"We might suggest that you stay out here for a while, just until things die down," said Nine. "Do you even know where you are?"

"No. I rented a pirogue at Gus's Bait Shack and just drove around for a while, then ran out of gas. That's why I was floating this way. I'm sorry if I was trespassing."

"Don't worry about that," smiled Gaspar. "We stopped shooting trespassers about ten years ago. My mother was getting angry with us." Gaspar was graced with a smile as he winked at the young woman. What he noticed, however, was the look of death coming his way from Marcel. He cleared his throat, nodding at his relative.

"You're pretty far south from New Orleans. We're a private security and investigation firm, but we have a gated community for all of our family and employees. No one can get on the property without our knowing about it. We're happy to provide a place for you to reset and be available for our attorneys."

"Are you sure? That's a lot for a stranger who tried to kill herself in your bayou," she said, frowning.

"We're sure. Besides, I think our friend Marcel has developed an attachment to you," smiled Nine. Marcel said nothing, still holding her hand and staring at her.

"Marcel," she whispered. He leaned forward as if to hear her speak his name again. "Marcel Robicheaux."

The room froze as they stared at the woman, then at Marcel.

"You must be a relative. That's how I know your name. Marcel Robicheaux was a man who lived in this area a very long time ago, some two hundred years or more. He was transporting goods from Europe, and his ship was attacked during a terrible storm. His family found part of the gold he was transporting and founded Prometheus. It's been up and down for decades, sold by board members, broken apart, but it was always intended to provide help for the community with the funds that your ancestor brought back."

"You know this how?" asked Gaspar.

"There's a painting of him in our offices. I mean, not him, but a man that looks like him. It was one of the few original items not sold when the company was bought and sold over and over again. It's truly remarkable. Maybe that's why I fainted. You are identical."

"This portrait," said Marcel, clearing his throat, "was it painted by Henry Thomas Sullivan?"

"Yes!" she smiled. "You do know of it."

"Yes. Yes, I know of it. In fact, I – it was painted right here at Belle Fleur, our family land. The artist was very good and my, I mean, Robicheaux's mother wanted a portrait of her son to remember him by since he was sailing so frequently."

Amy stared at him, tilting her head to the side. He'd said ‘I' or ‘my' several times. She wondered if perhaps he had a head injury as well.

"Do you know of him? Your ancestor?" she asked.

"Some," smiled Marcel. "He would be Gaspar's ancestor as well. We are - we are cousins."

"You look alike," she smiled. "I can see his good looks in your own. I don't believe he ever married, which seems unfathomable to me."

"Why?" asked Marcel.

"Well, he was strikingly good-looking, wealthy, from a wonderful family, but more than that, at least to me, what's more than that is he cared about his fellow man. He refused to use his ships for slaves or slave trading. He refused to entertain traditional prostitutes, instead accepting favors from women in need and helping them. It sounds weird, but to me, at least, he was helping women left alone. And for every load of goods he brought back from Europe, he made sure a portion of it went to those less fortunate. You have very good genetics."

There was utter silence in the room as Marcel stood pacing across the room toward the door. Gaspar watched the man, then looked at Amy, the concern evident on her face.

"He's alright," he smiled. "We've been trying to find information about his, I mean, our family for a while."

"I see," she said quietly. "Well, if you'd like some help, it's something I do in my spare time. I love genealogy."

"Are you from this area?" asked Code.

"All my life," she grinned. "The Fontenot family has lived in this part of the state for about as long as your family. In fact, I was told that my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, Arturo Babin, was on the ship that sank."

"Arturo," whispered Marcel, rubbing his beard. Amy looked at him, his perplexed features confusing to her. "Excuse me."

Marcel left the room, Nine following him, giving a smile and nod to Amy. Code and Gaspar sat down to speak with her further.

"Marcel? Are you alright?" asked Nine.

"What magic is this?" asked the ghost, or once ghost.

"I'm not sure, Marcel. I'm never sure when it comes to the strangeness and magic of this place. But something is happening for sure. Did you know her ancestor?"

"Very well. He was a good first mate, a good friend. When we were rammed, he was trapped below, and I went down to free him. He was able to get out, but I was not. She favors him. Her large dark eyes and curly hair. Much prettier, of course."

"Of course," smiled Nine. "Listen, Marcel, I don't know what the fuck is going on here, but while you're here, use this time to experience the world. If you want to do something, go somewhere, eat something, just let us know. We'll make it happen."

"I wish to know her," he said quietly. He turned to look at Nine. "I cannot explain it. It's not just that I wish to touch a woman again, feel her beneath me, but I wish to get to know that woman. Is that selfish of me?"

"I don't think it's ever selfish for a man to want to know a woman that appeals to him. If you ask me, you were in that spot for a reason, and it was to save that young woman. Or maybe she was put there to save you," grinned Nine. "What do you say we find out?"

"I think I would like that very much."