Before midnight, we took a taxi to Charity Hospital on Tulane, leaving Eddie’s car in a parking space near Bertram’s. The area known as the Hospital District was alive with fluorescent light and physical activity. Charity was different, only the howl of a stray dog in the distance, and the melancholy whistle of a tanker passing on the river breaking the night’s stillness. A uniformed security guard was waiting for us at the locked gate. We were the first to arrive.
“Are you part of the group going into the hospital?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I don’t know who arranged this for you, but they have some stroke with the State of Louisiana.”
“How so?”
“We’ve had a crew in there all afternoon installing auxiliary lights. You’ll still have plenty of shadows, but at least it won’t be pitch black.”
“That’s great,” Eddie said. “We didn’t even bring a flashlight.”
“Who says?” I asked, showing him the little flashlight I always carried. “I don’t go anywhere without this.”
The guard scratched his stubbly chin. “Wouldn’t help you much in there. Except for light beaming through a few grates, it’s dark inside even during daylight hours.”
He laughed when Eddie said, “Are you one of the permanent guards?”
“There are no permanent guards. The hospital is locked up tight though homeless people sometimes find a way in and out. They don’t stay long cause it’s like an oven inside during summer months. You’re lucky it’s December.”
“You think it’s safe?” Jason asked.
“Like I said, there was a crew inside all day long. They didn’t see anyone.”
“You coming in with us?”
“My orders are to wait outside.”
“Fine,” Eddie said. “Let's exchange cell phone numbers in case we need you.”
Another taxi arrived, Mama, Carla, and Lilly exiting the back door still dressed in their party clothes. They were all laughing, though Carla’s smile turned to a frown, and then tears as she stared up at the dark building.
“What are you doing here?” Mama said, glaring at Eddie. “Carla and I don’t want you anywhere near us.”
“Mama, I’m sorry. I’ve tried to explain three times. You just keep hanging up on me.”
“That’s right, and your two-dozen roses mean nothing coming from a scoundrel like you.”
Eddie had to smile at being called a scoundrel. It was contagious, and Mama’s glare softened.
“Please forgive me,” he said, getting down on one knee. “Even though I do my best, I’m not a perfect person.”
“Okay. I can only speak for myself. I just hope it’s not you that’s making her cry, or I may change my mind,” she said, turning her attention to a sobbing Carla.
She and Lilly were locked in an embrace. When Mama joined the show, Lilly looked at me and Eddie for introductions.
“Lilly Bliss meet Eddie ‘the scoundrel’ Toledo.”
Lilly shook his hand. “Scoundrels are my favorite people. How did you get such a reputation?”
“Believe me, it wasn’t easy. I’ve had to work at it my entire life.”
Since Eddie hadn’t acknowledged Jason’s presence, and I had yet to have a chance to, Mama extended her hand to him.
“I guess no one is going to introduce us. I’m Mama Mulate.”
Jason’s mouth opened. Taking her hand, he squeezed it, not letting go.
“The hell you say. I’ve been trying to meet you and almost succeeded earlier today. I’m Jason Fasempaur.”
Mama’s expression changed from stoic to looking slightly stunned.
“You don’t mean the real Jason Fasempaur, do you?”
“The one and only.”
“I love you and all the books you’ve written. I’m your biggest fan. Wyatt, how dare you fail to tell me you were bringing the world’s greatest expert on jazz.”
“At this point, you know more about Jason than I do. We just met. Tony brought him by Bertram’s.”
“Oh my God! You were with Tony when he invited me for coffee, weren’t you?”
Jason nodded. “The offer still stands.”
“I’d rather go with you on a visit to every jazz club in New Orleans.”
“If you love jazz as much as I do, it would be a pleasure. Who are these other two lovely ladies?”
“I’m Lillie Bliss, and this is Carla Manetti.”
“I know you. We met at a book signing a few years ago. I asked you for a drink. You had an appointment with another gentleman.”
“That was then, this is now. I’m all in for a jazz club crawl.”
Carla was still crying and barely looked up when she shook Jason’s hand.
“Folks,” the guard said. “The gate is open, the auxiliary lights turned on. If you need me, you have my number. I’ll be in the car.”
While Lilly and Eddie exchanged pleasantries, I joined Mama to find out why Carla was crying.
“Baby, what’s the matter?” Mama asked.
Carla finally calmed down enough to speak. “This is the first time I’ve been here since Katrina.”
“You were at Charity during Katrina?” Mama said.
Carla nodded. “I often do charitable work on my days off from the library. I was here when Katrina hit.”
“At this hospital, during Katrina?” Jason said. “Poor darling.”
Carla nodded again. “When the water began rising, we prepared the patients for evacuation. You can’t imagine how desperate we felt. We waited, but no one came. A day passed, then two, and then three. We were all in shock, not believing the world had forgotten us.”
“Jesus!” I said. “You were at Charity for four days?
“We had no electricity, no food, and no water. Some patients were on ventilators. We had to take turns working the hand pumps. The hospital morgue flooded. Bodies were floating, forcing us to retrieve them. We had to stack them in the stairwells.”
“Oh my God!” Lilly said.
Eddie, feeling slighted because of lack of attention, joined us.
Carla glanced up, acknowledging his presence without speaking to him. When Eddie took her hand and began massaging it, she didn’t pull away.
“The patients had no one except us. We were their only hope.”
“You never told me this,” I said.
“I’ve managed to block it from my thoughts, at least until now.”
“It’s okay, baby,” Mama said. “It’s over now.”
“You can’t go back in there,” Eddie said. “I’ll call a cab.”
For the first time, Carla pushed Eddie’s hand away.
“I’m here, and this was my idea. You want to see ghosts. I’ve already seen them. I just want to make them go away.”
Eddie started to say something, but Mama shushed him.
“Sometimes it’s best for PTSD sufferers to face their demons.”
When Lilly shot me a quizzical glance, I said, “There are probably more people in New Orleans suffering from PTSD than those that aren’t.”
“I’ll second that,” Jason said.
Carla’s tears had finally dried, and she started for the unlocked gate to the tall fence encircling the hospital. The rest of us followed.
“I’ll go first,” she said. “I may want to forget this place, but I know it better than anyone here.”
Eddie caught up with her, clutching her hand again. Something more painful than her fight with Eddie was drawing her toward the old hospital, and she wasn’t protesting.
As the guard had said, dim lighting cast shadows on the walls as we entered the building, odor of mold and mildew accosting our senses. It reminded me the hospital’s first floor was underwater during Katrina. Broken chairs, patient files, and medical equipment littered the floor. Nothing had moved since the flood.
“We’ll have to walk up,” Carla said. “The elevators won’t work.”
“I don’t think I’d get on one even if they did,” Eddie said.
“That’s a fact,” Mama said, following them into the dark stairwell.
The center part of the M-shaped building was twenty stories tall, once the second tallest building in New Orleans. The flanking floors reached thirteen stories.
“Where do we go?” Lilly said.
Eddie just shook his head. “Does it matter? This place gives me the creeps.”
“Keep climbing,” Mama said. “There’s something up ahead. I feel it.”
“What’s that sound?” Lilly asked.
“I hear it,” Eddie said.
“Me too,” Mama said.
Carla halted, holding up a hand.
“Sounds like children singing,” Mama said.
As we listened, the choir sang, “I need you, you need me...”
Carla began to weep. “I don’t think I can take this.”
“What are we hearing?” Lilly asked.
“One of the nurses taught the children a hymn to help them cope with the situation.”
“But they didn’t die here,” Lilly said.
“Intense trauma often leaves a permanent imprint on the place where it occurred,” Mama said. “It’s okay. Let’s keep going.”
We started up the stairs, ignoring humidity, and the sad hymn. The choir had grown dimmer when Mama grabbed my arm and yanked.
“There’s something on this floor.”
“Charity was a teaching hospital. The amphitheater where interns watched surgeries is on this floor.”
Carla led us through the door to the top tier of the surgery amphitheater. A single operating table occupied the center of the O.R. below us. Syringes, scalpels, and medical devices littered the floor, and dim light seemed to emanate upward from the circular room to the funnel-shaped tiers above it. As we looked down into the O.R., we saw vague shapes of nurses and surgeons working on a shadowy body sprawled on the operating table. Unable to speak, Lilly tapped my shoulder.
“Spirits,” I said in a whisper.
Doctors and nurses weren’t the only ghosts in the amphitheater. Shadows of spirits floated above us and around us, some of them in wheelchairs, or on crutches, flashes of color lighting their translucent bodies like pulsating bulbs on a Christmas tree. The chorus of children continued to grow ever louder.
“Is this real?” Eddie asked.
A flying apparition passed through his body, answering his question.
“Ectoplasm,” Mama said, touching the gunk left on his shirt.
“Holy crap!” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Seen enough?” I asked, touching Lilly’s arm.
“Not till I get some pictures,” she said, snapping away with her cell phone camera.
When Carla, Eddie, Jason, and Mama started for the door, I had to grab her shoulders and shake her.
“We have to go,” I said. “Now!”
Mama took her hand, tugging her forward, and I gently nudged her shoulders. The choir stopped when the door closed behind us. Our experience with ghosts had yet to finish, our exit blocked as we reached the bottom floor. Even Mama jumped when it raised its outstretched hands. It was Zacharie Patenaude.
“Set me free, Courtmanche. Do not make me wander forever like the lost souls that inhabit this building. Set me free.”
“How can I do that?”
“End your curse.”
Patenaude’s specter disappeared, and the door leading to the bottom floor opened. I was suddenly aware that moisture on the back of my arms and neck had chilled, as had the temperature in the stairwell. I wasn’t the only one to notice, and we were all running when we passed through the high fence surrounding Charity Hospital.
###
We piled into a cab for the ride back to Bertram’s. Already approaching three in the morning, the customers were gone, the place dim. Bertram was sitting at the bar, sipping a shot of Cuervo. I pulled up a stool beside him.
“Whatever you do, don’t say you look like you just seen a ghost.”
“Did you?” he asked as everyone crowded around him.
“We all did,” Lilly said, rubbing his shoulders. “If you had been with us, I wouldn’t have been so frightened.”
Bertram was purring as he languished in Lilly’s gentle massage.
“Eddie boy, I can’t move right now. If you mix the drinks, they’s on the house.”
“I hear that.”
Eddie didn’t need Bertram to ask him twice. Vaulting the bar, he began pouring liquor.
Lilly continued rubbing Bertram’s shoulders as Eddie dispensed drinks.
“Miss Lilly,” Bertram said. “I’m giving you just twenty-four hours to stop rubbing my shoulders.”
“Or what?” she asked.
“Or I’ll have to give you another twenty-four.”
With everyone still too upset to laugh, Bertram and Lilly’s repartee earned them only a titter. Lilly put her arms around him and squeezed.
“I took pictures. Want to see?” Lilly pulled out her phone.
Bertram craned his neck to see the screen on Lilly’s phone. Seeing no ghost pictures, she continued scrolling.
“Oh my God! There’s nothing here but bare walls.”
“They were there,” Mama said. “We all saw them, and I don’t think one drink will be enough.”
“Then break out the shots,” Bertram said. “Can you handle it, Eddie?”
“Still on you?”
“Pour 'em, big boy. You’re drinking on Big Daddy tonight.”
The fact that Lilly was nibbling Bertram’s earlobe had lots to do with his suddenly mellow mood. It didn’t matter. Eddie was up to the task, pouring tequila for everyone and a jigger of lemonade for me.
“Bottoms up!” he said.
No one needed any goading, killing their shots, and then slamming the glasses against the counter.
“Keep 'em coming, Eddie. I think I’m in love,” Bertram said.
“I think you’re just a horny Cajun,” Lilly said. “It’s all right. I don’t want to sleep tonight alone either.”
“Then don’t get me too drunk,” he said.
“That ain’t possible,” Eddie said.
Carla stopped staring at the floor and glanced up at Eddie. “I’m better,” she said. “And I just remembered why I’m so mad at you.”
“Uncle,” he said, raising his arms. “Wasn’t I there for you tonight?”
“Yes you were,” she said, grabbing his hand across the counter. “A good thing too, because I was going to have Wyatt punch you in the nose.”
“That weenie? Fat chance of that,” Eddie said.
“Hey, I helped you and Tony work out your differences, didn’t I?”
“Where the hell was you all, anyway?” Bertram asked.
“Charity Hospital,” Lilly said. “Even though Carla suggested we might experience some ghosts, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.”
“How’d you manage to get in the place?” Bertram asked. “They got a twelve-foot fence around it.”
“Carla has connections,” I said.
“Good going, Miss Carla,” Bertram said. “So you seen a ghost?”
“Why do you think we’re all drinking like fishes?” Eddie said. “My poor Catholic mother would have had a heart attack. Hell, I almost did.”
“Then pour us some more shots, Eddie boy,” Bertram said. “Booze cures all ills. Except for Wyatt, that is.”
There were still drunks on the sidewalk outside the bar, many still calling the hogs or yelling ‘hook 'em Horns.’ Old rivalries never die, and this one was far from dead. When someone rattled the front door, Bertram didn’t bother turning around. Lilly continued rubbing his shoulders. Even with all the booze she’d consumed, she hadn’t forgotten our encounter with the ghost of Zacharie Patenaude.
“I’m mystified by the apparition we encountered before leaving the stairwell. You were both speaking French.”
“Impossible. I don’t speak French, except for a little Cajun, maybe.”
Jason edged closer to Mama. “Trust me. It was French.”
“We all heard you,” Eddie said.
“I told you, I’m haunted by a ghost from a past life. Mama, can you help me on this?”
“Maybe,” she said. “First, I’ll need a dirty martini and another tequila chaser.”
“Coming right up,” Eddie said, already mixing and pouring.
“You’re pretty handy with those bottles,” Bertram said. “Where’d you learn bartending?”
“How do you think I paid for law school?”
“Waiting bar?” Bertram asked.
“Can’t you tell?”
“Well, now I know who to call when I need a day off,” Bertram said, still wallowing in Lilly’s attention.
“From the looks of things, it may be tomorrow,” Eddie said. “I don’t work cheap.”
“How much we talking here?”
“No money, just free drinks for a month.”
“You kidding me?” Bertram said. “You’d drink me out of house and home. We got to figure something else out.”
“Suit yourself. My offer doesn’t last forever,” Eddie said.
Jason was still interested in what Mama had to say about my ghost.
“Seems I’m the only one that’s not in on the story of Wyatt’s ghost. What’s the deal?”
“Wyatt’s haunted,” Mama said.
“Guess that accounts for what they said.”
“I don’t speak French,” Lilly said. “Tell us.”
“He called Wyatt Matthieu, and asked him to remove the curse he’d placed on him. Wyatt told him it was something he would do willingly if he only knew how.”
“This is all too creepy for me,” Lilly said. “No one will believe this if I put it in the screenplay. I was there, and I’m not sure I understand it myself.”
“What we all saw was a glimpse into the spirit realm,” Mama said. “They are all trapped in Charity Hospital because of some traumatic end to their lives.”
“A rare glimpse,” Lilly said.
Mama sipped her martini before speaking. “Maybe not so unusual. There are probably more displaced spirits in this city than there are living beings.”