Bloodletting
Part Four
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.



John opened his eyes and saw the ceiling of his room.  It was light enough in there for him to know that it was really morning, but he still checked the clock to make sure.   It was just after seven.

He slowly sat up, his body still aching from the previous night's activities.  He made sure that his door was still locked and then he gathered up clean clothes and headed into the bathroom.  Stepping into the hot spray of the shower, he closed his eyes and let the heat and steam work on his muscles.  He stood there for a few minutes, not caring if he ran up Mrs. De la Farcy's water bill.  A witch and vampire all rolled into one.  A murderous vixen who had lusted after her sister's fiancé, only to kill him once she had him. Well, John might look like the dead Etienne De le Farcy, but he had no intention of meeting the same fate.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his body, steeling himself for seeing his scars.   He blinked with surprise as he saw what appeared to be paint covering parts of his body -- a pattern that he couldn't quite make out by looking at it upside down.  It must have been done last night at Congo Square.  He soaped up the washcloth and was about to try to scrub it off when he paused.  What if the design itself was some kind of protection for him?  He still washed his body, but he avoided the painted areas.   Then he washed his hair and rinsed, lingering once more in the hot spray.

Once he was shaved and dressed, he began to wonder how he would find out if Anna had come to New Orleans with Max.  He supposed he could call every hotel in the city, looking for her.  But who knew how long that would take?

John carefully turned the lock on the door, almost expecting to find Perault waiting on the other side.  But the hallway was empty.  The house was quiet.  There wasn't even the smell of breakfast cooking as there had been yesterday. John headed down the hallway, stopping outside of Etienne's room.  The door was still closed, but not locked, and John opened it and stepped inside.  He was hoping to see Marie and Charlotte once more, and his heart began to beat faster when he saw a woman sitting in the corner chair.  Then he caught scent of her perfume and he knew that it was Marguerite.

"I'm sorry," he put his hand back on the door knob, reading to leave.   "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You aren't disturbing me, John.  I was waiting for you."

"Here?"

"You always come back to this room, Etienne."

John swallowed heavily, trying to decide how to react to hearing that name.  Should he let her know that he knew the truth?  Or should he play dumb?  He opted for the latter. "My name is John, not Etienne."

"You are Etienne Jean De la Farcy."

"No.  I'm John Truman Carter.  If you'll excuse me, I need to get going.   I want to see some sites before it gets too hot today."

"I believe it's supposed to rain today."  She stood and quickly walked over to him.  She was dressed in black, and the dress accentuated all the curves of her body.  The neckline was a low cut 'V', exposing the rise of her ample breasts.   "Why don't you stay inside?  I'm sure we can find something to occupy your time, Etienne...John."

"I don't mind walking in the rain, thank you just the same."  John pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway, away from her.  And right into Perault.  The man grabbed him and pushed John back into the room.  He was a lot stronger than he looked and John put that down to the fact that Perault was one of the living dead.  He let go of John when he was once more standing in front of Marguerite.

"Close the door, Perault," she ordered.  She grasped John's face with both hands, holding his head still as she closed the narrow gap between their bodies.   John heard the door close and the distinct sound of the lock being turned.  So Perault was going to witness whatever it was she had planned for me? He thought.   'Hell, why not?  I had already been stripped in front of a ton of strangers, what was one more?'

John tried to pull away, but Marguerite's grip was strong and he was sure that he was going to have bruises along his jaw line thanks to her.  She leaned in close, her lips slightly ajar as she prepared to kiss him.  Her body touched John's and then she screamed out, jumping back from him and cursing in French.

Perault grabbed John by the arm and swung him around.  "What have you done to her?"

"Nothing.  I didn't touch her, she was the one touching me," John explained.  But he was very glad that he had not washed off the body paint.

"He's protected," she hissed, the beauty totally absent from her face.   John knew he was looking at pure evil and total madness and it made him shiver.

"Protected?  How?" Perault asked.  He reached out and ripped open John's shirt, exposing his painted body and the gris-gris.  "Voodoo," Perault practically spat out the word.

Marguerite laughed, then called out to the room in general. "You think you're so clever, Marie Laveau, but don't forget who has you imprisoned.  I will have him this time, mark my words."  She walked to the door, then turned around and eyed John coldly.

"Tie him to the bed and leave him here.  We need time to figure out how to counter Marie's spells."

"In here?  Marguerite, you know that she..."

"I said in here, Perault.  Don't forget who's the master and who's the servant here."  Then she stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

John looked at Perault, feeling apprehensive.  Obviously the man knew that Marie could appear in this room.  Was maybe even afraid of it happening.  "You can just let me go. There's nothing she can do to you."

Perault stared at John for a few moments, then shoved him onto the bed.  John fought, but the vampire was too strong and John soon found himself bound hand and foot to the bed. Then Perault left, locking the door behind him.

John lay there, not feeling too much like a hero at that moment.  How was he going to find Anna, save Marie and the others, and get home to Chicago if he was tied spread eagle to the bed?

He closed his eyes, trying to think of a way to get out of this mess.  Then he heard a familiar voice call his name and he opened his eyes to see Anna standing by the bed.

"Anna?"

"It's really me, Carter."  She reached down and began to undo the strips of fabric that secured him to the bed.  "You need to leave here, now."

John shook his head.  "Not without you."

"I can't leave here, Carter."  Anna sad, her eyes sad.

"Of course you can.  They've already done something to Max, but there's still a chance for you to get away."  John grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the door.   Then he saw Marie standing by the window, shaking her head.

"Anna can't leave here anymore than I can.  Marguerite wanted to feed off of her soul, just as she feeds off of ours.  She had other uses for Max."

As the words sank in, John's heart fell.  Anna was dead. Then he remembered something that Perault had said when he checked in on Saturday.  "You and Max were the couple from Philadelphia?"

Anna nodded.  "She's turned Max into a vampire, Carter."

"And killed you."  John let go of her wrist, then realized that she had form.  "If you're dead, then how can I touch you?"

"I'm newly dead and with the help of the others can be solid for a short time.   It's much more difficult for the ones who have been dead longer to gain solid form.   The little boy who gave you the gris-gris, he's one of us, too, Carter."

John remembered the child.  It sickened him to think that no one was immune from Marguerite's evil.

"Okay, how do I free you?" John asked, looking past Anna to Marie.

"You must hunt her down and destroy her.  Perault as well, and the other vampires who reside in this house.  There are many, John.  You saw a few of them last night as they danced in the garden.  You have enough protection to keep you safe from their evil."

"And once they're dead you're free?"

Marie shook her head.  "You will have to destroy the house. Burn it to the ground.  It is old and should readily catch fire.  But you won't be able to do that if Marguerite and her vampires are here to stop you.  Most of them didn't ask to be made into the living dead, John.  Be merciful with them."

"Please?" Anna asked him.

John's heart broke once more for Anna as he saw how desperately she wanted him to bring a true death to Max.

"I need to find out how to take out a vampire," John said. "I don't want to mess up the job.  Maybe they'll know at the voodoo museum."

Marie shook her head. "They will not know.  Vampires are not a part of voodoo.   If they had been, then maybe I would have been able to stop Marguerite before she had Charlotte killed.  I certainly would have been able to stop her from capturing my spirit and trapping it here.  For this, John, you will need the help of the church.   Go the St. Louis Cathedral.  You will find help there."

Marie disappeared and John was alone once more with Anna. "I'll free you, Anna.   I promise you that."

"I know you will.  Be careful, Carter."  She smiled at him and then disappeared as well, leaving him alone in the room.

John unlocked the door, made sure the hallway was empty and then shut the door again, making sure it was locked from the inside.  Maybe that would slow down Marguerite and Perault. John made his way quietly through the house, first to his room to get a new shirt and then outside.  As he headed down Royal Street he regretted the thought that he had to leave his tour guide behind, but he had passed by the Cathedral earlier and knew he could find his way back there.  He just wasn't sure who he was supposed to speak with once he got there, but he supposed that he was going to have to wait until he got there to figure it out.

It was quiet, a reverent quiet that was associated with churches and court rooms.  It was a reverence that John didn't want to dirty by asking about how to kill someone -- or, rather, something.  There were some people near the altar, but John didn't want to bother them.  He wandered around the sanctuary, turning down offers of guided tours and content to just look at the statues of the saints and trying to figure out the stories depicted in the stained glass windows.

At one point John found himself standing in front of a statue of Our Lady of Prompt Succor.  A small plaque informed him that she was the patron saint of New Orleans and the entire state of Louisiana.  He sat down on the end of a pew, gazing up at the statue.  If he were a Catholic, then he could pray to her for assistance.  But, he was a good Episcopalian, which, while it had a lot of Catholic overtones, was definitely not Catholic.  John grinned as he remembered one time that he and Anna had been discussing religion and when she heard he was Episcopalian, joked that it was "Junior Varsity Catholic".  His smile quickly faded when he remembered that Anna was dead.  It had been one thing to have her leave Chicago with Max Rosher.   John could always dream that one day she'd come back.  Now that he knew she was dead, there was no possibility of that ever
happening.  And she had died as Rosher's wife.

A raw pain swept through his body.  It reminded him of how he felt when he heard that Lucy had died.  Anna was dead and gone.  Closing his eyes against the threatening tears, John silently prayed for God to help him free Anna's soul and all the other souls that Marguerite had imprisoned in her house.

A soft voice, asking him something in French, made him open his eyes.  John blinked up at the man in black who stood in front of him, looking concerned.  He was obviously a priest, although John didn't think that priests dressed in robes any more.   Then John saw that the church was lit by candles and lanterns and not by electricity.  He had slipped back in time once again.

"Excuse me?" John asked in French.  "I didn't hear what you said."

"Are you all right?  Is there something I can do for you? Hear your confession perhaps?"

While John felt he had a lot to atone for, he wasn't sure that he would stay here long enough for the priest to hear his confessions and what John had to say about witches and vampires and trapped souls.

"I'm Pere Xavier Chappelle."  The priest sat down in the pew behind John.

"John Carter."

The priest smiled.  "A member of the congregation mentioned that you might come here for help."

"Marie?" John asked, feeling even more puzzled.

Pere Xavier shook his head.  "No, it was Charlotte Chastain.  She mentioned that you were related to her fiancé, Etienne De la Farcy, but Carter is not a French name, is it?"

"No, it's not."

"You're an American."  It was a statement.

"Yes.  I'm just visiting here."

"And yet, you're troubled."

"Yes.  Pere, do you believe in vampires?"

The priest raised his eyebrows in surprise.  "Why do you ask that?"

"I need to know how to destroy one."

"And you are sure that this person is a vampire?"

John nodded.  "This is something best handled by the Church."

"Please tell me how.  I promise that I won't act on it here."  John figured that he wasn't lying since he was back in time.

"There are many ways, John.  A stake straight through the heart is the most widely used, but the stake must be driven in with one thrust.  Burning the body of a vampire will destroy it.  Separating the head from the body is supposed to work as well."

"I see."  None of those sounded like things he could easily do, John thought.  He remembered how strong Perault had been when he grabbed him and John didn't think he could manage to cut off the vampire's head without a fight.

"What about a witch?"

"Never suffer a witch to live," the priest replied.  "You've run into a witch here?"

John shrugged.  "Maybe.  I think she's trying to steal souls."

The priest crossed himself, then fell to his knees to pray. After a few minutes, he looked at John.  "I have prayed for your safety.  A witch should be burned.   Tell me who she is."

"I can't."  John got to his feet.  "Thank you for your help, Pere."  He walked away quickly, not looking back.  When he stepped through the doors, he found himself looking out on modern day Jackson Square.

"Burning them," he muttered as he stood in the sunlight. "That means burning the house down."  Just as Marie had said.

John walked away, not sure where to go or what to do now. He was a doctor, vowed to save lives, not take them. Vampires might be called the 'undead', but the two he had already met felt all too alive.

Struggling with his problem, John kept walking.  When he finally stopped, he saw he was in front of Marie's tomb.  Or supposed tomb, he thought as he laid his hand against the edifice.  The stone beneath his hand was marked with white "X's", crosses left over from where people had come here to pray to the Voodoo Queen for help.

"I need your help, Marie," John said.  He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the stone.

"I'm here, John."

John opened his eyes and turned around, smiling when he saw Marie.  "Thank you for showing up."

She smiled back.  "I promised to keep you safe.  They tried to attack you, no?"

John nodded.  "The protection you gave me worked.  Marie, in order to destroy them, I'll have to burn down the house." He looked away for a brief moment, then right back at her. "Where are your bodies?"

"Buried under the house, or in the garden."

John shook his head.  "How...I don't understand how she got away with all of that."

"She used witchcraft."  Marie shrugged.  "Pere Chappelle came around asking questions not long after Charlotte died. Marguerite killed him, too.

"Pere Xavier Chappelle?" John asked.  "I just spoke with him."

John sat down on the ground, feeling completely overwhelmed. "I can't do this, Marie.   I can't take another life."

"They are not alive, John.  They've died once already.  All you need to do is destroy them.  It's the only way to free us.  It's the only way to keep them from doing this to others.  And there will be others.  Marguerite thrives on the power she draws from our souls.  Soon, those of us who have been here the longest will be depleted.  I want to put my soul to rest, John.  After all this time, I deserve the peace."

Marie knelt down and gently cradled his face in her hands. "We all deserve to find peace, John.  Me, Charlotte, Pere Chappelle...you, too."

"Me?"

Marie nodded.  "You're troubled still by what happened to you.  Helping us will let you help yourself."

John leaned back out of her reach and scrambled to his feet.  "I don't know if I can do it, Marie."  He turned to look at her.  "I know that you want to rest, that you deserve it.  I just don't know if I can take a life, no matter how evil that life seems to be."

Marie looked away from him, then she shrugged.  "All I can do is ask, and I've done that.  I've given you protection and as much help as I can.  You have to look into your heart, John Carter, and see the truth there of what you can and cannot do."

And then she was gone once more.

"Damn," John muttered.  He felt extremely conflicted as the faces of those souls he had met flashed through his mind. Marie.  Charlotte.  The little boy.   Pere Chappelle.  Anna. Most of all Anna.  And Marie.  One a woman he once loved, the other a woman he wished he could love.

And his damn conscience telling him he couldn't kill, not even to help them.  John rubbed his temples, trying to will away the headache that was starting.  He couldn't bear the thought of letting them all down, but he also couldn't bear the thought of being a killer.  But he had to find an answer because Marie was right about one thing: Marguerite would keep doing this until she was stopped.



End of Part 4