Chapter One:

Home Is Where the Abyss Is

     Wave after wave of impossibly humid heat roiled up from the floorboards of the old bungalow and pressed in from the cracked and peeling walls.  The thickness of the air made breathing difficult, and the temperature wrung all the moisture out of a human body as if it were a wet rag.  Louisiana in the summer never struck anyone as a nice place to be, but in the old house in the downtown of the capital city, Louisiana summer came as close to hell on earth as any worldly place ever had.  The decrepit bungalow crossed boundaries into a place that God had forsaken.
     All of the windows in the bungalow were nailed shut, and the ones easily accessible to humans had been boarded up.  Heavy blankets and curtains were fastened over all of the windows so that it was impossible to look into the house from the outside.  The windows were covered so thoroughly that no light could penetrate through in either direction.  The house was pitch black in the middle of the day, and at night it looked black as space, even if there were lights burning inside.  The owner suffered from bouts of intense paranoia, and preferred to keep his presence in the house a secret. 
     With all of the windows nailed shut, boarded up or smothered in fabric, no fresh air ever penetrated into the house.  In a normal residence air conditioning would have served to make the air more breathable, but the bungalow didn’t have air conditioning.  In the heat of the summer the temperatures in the house rose well above one hundred degrees on a daily basis.
     The front and back doors of the bungalow were heavily fortified.  Large crossbars slid into hasps bolted through the frame of the house, with eight-inch bolts.  Only a concerted effort with axes and battering rams by several people would gain someone unauthorized entrance to the house.  Nobody would ever be able to casually kick in the doors while the owner was inside.  There were several attempts to do just that over the years, all of them unsuccessful.  The owner valued his security.
     In the summer of 2005 there was no electrical service to the house.  The lights were disconnected in the fall of 2004, and they were never reconnected.  The owner felt that he had more important uses for his money than keeping lights on in the bungalow.  Also, he hated the idea of a bill with his name on it showing up in the mailbox outside.  That would let people know he was there, and he definitely didn’t want that.  He survived by running an illegal extension cord to the garage of a neighboring house.  He buried the cord under leaves and debris, and disguised its presence in the garage.  So that the neighbors didn’t notice his consumption of their electricity, he never ran more than one or two lamps and a fan.  That made one, and only one, room of the house somewhat livable.  The rest of the house was like a blast furnace.
     The lack of utility service to the house did not stop at electricity.  There was no running water either.  The owner stole into the night with a five-gallon bucket when it became absolutely necessary to flush a toilet.  There were two bathrooms in the house, and he always used the one furthest from his bedroom.  The overwhelming stench of the fermenting waste could turn anyone’s stomach.  The owner stayed out of the rear of the house where the smell hung around, except to use the bathroom or exit out the back door, which was the only door he ever used.  When those short trips to the bathroom area made him vomit, he knew to fetch water.  He kept a couple of gallon jugs by his bedside to drink from, and for other purposes.  He did all of his bathing under a hose behind an office building a few blocks away.
     At one time the bungalow was filled from floor to ceiling with antiques and fine things.  Many nice things still lurked in the impenetrable darkness of the uninhabited rooms, but only because they were forgotten.  Piles of newspaper, dirty clothes and random debris covered most of the floors in every room.  Rats established a stronghold in the kitchen, and that room sported huge piles of gnawed trash.  The rodents were steadily gaining ground towards the front of the house.  The owner didn’t like to think about the rats.  He spent a lot of time putting them out of his mind.
     The inside of the bungalow closely resembled a description of hell in that it was unbearably hot and smelled awful.  That was just the physical aspect of the place, however.  There was a part of the bungalow that went unseen, and that part hosted the human suffering.  That place was in the mind of the owner of the house.  Not a single day went by without the man torturing himself over the decisions he made and the way he lived.  Most of the time he wished he had never been born.
     A man named Louis Comeaux owned the house.  Louis was almost six feet tall.  He had dark brown hair and brown eyes.  Over the course of his life his complexion ranged from light olive to deep bronze.  At the time he hadn’t been in the sun for months, so he was extremely pale.  A small mole marked his cheekbone on the left side of his face, and he was strikingly handsome.  The young man appeared skinny to the point of starvation, however, and it detracted from his good looks.
     Louis was twenty-seven years old, and he was so addicted to drugs he couldn’t see daylight.  Louis’ life only turned into a nightmare after his twenty-fifth birthday; before that he lived a rather pleasant life.  Terrible tragedy struck Louis’ life without warning, and he responded by destroying all traces of light and goodness.  Louis Comeaux took up heroin to ease his emotional pain.  Heroin in turn took him by the hand and led him down into the abyss.

     The oldest neighborhood in Baton Rouge was called Spanish Town, because it came into existence during the Spanish rule of the territory.  A few of the neighborhood’s original homes and mansions survived from the eighteenth century, but most of the historic structures were constructed in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.  The bungalow at the corner of Seventh Street and University Walk fit into that category.  John Fisher built the home in the summer of 1912.  Because it had neither burned down nor crumbled to the ground it was regarded as a piece of history, and one of the many homes that gave Spanish Town a delicious flavor of antiquity.
     John Fisher died in 1916, a mere five years after he constructed his home.  His wife Mary survived him alone, as they never had any children.  Mary Fisher perpetually grieved for the husband she had loved so much.  The idea of replacing him with another man struck her as impossible, so she spent the rest of her life alone.  She outlived all of her relatives and close friends, and that made her life one of great sadness.  When she passed away in 1952 there was nobody in line to inherit the old bungalow, and the Fisher house fell into neglect and disrepair.
     Frank Comeaux purchased the bungalow from the East Baton Rouge Parish Tax Collector’s Office in October of 1964, for the tidy sum of three thousand dollars.  At the time neighbors considered the house an eyesore.  The advertisement for the property read, “… a deluxe fixer-upper opportunity.”  Frank didn’t see the aesthetic and structural problems when he looked at the old house.  He saw potential and a bright future, but mostly he saw dollar signs.
     Mr. Comeaux led a charmed life.  Everything he touched turned into a good investment.  There may have been something mystical about the phenomena, but the truth was that Frank saw the inherent value of things, and made good decisions.  His judgment was so rarely incorrect that he earned a reputation among the merchants and traders who knew him.  A lot of them called him “Four Leaf Frank,” but they never said those things in front of him.
     By June of 1970 the bungalow on University Walk looked better than it had in decades.  Frank Comeaux started a trend with the restoration of the old house.  Real estate investors snapped up most of the other ramshackle residences in Spanish Town.  They set about restoring the houses to their original splendor.  The area became a popular place to live again, and the property values went through the ceiling.  Frank was well pleased.
     In the spring of 1978 Frank married a woman named Isabelle Mouton.  They had been seeing each other for three years, but Isabelle finally got pregnant.  Of course they didn’t tell anyone about that until after the wedding.  Isabelle gave birth to an enormous, ten-pound baby boy.  They named the child Louis, and they both loved him dearly.  The marriage didn’t work out, however, and when Louis was two his parents divorced.
     Children of divorced parents were a rarity when Frank and Isabelle were young, but it was no big deal by the time Louis came along.  Louis grew up under relatively normal circumstances.  He made good grades, and both of his parents were immensely proud of him.  Louis eventually graduated from high school and went to LSU, where he majored in liberal arts.  In 2003 he was struggling to find a career in his field when something terrible happened.
     Louis’ parents, Frank and Isabelle, decided to get together for dinner and a couple of drinks.  Louis could not understand how that happened in the first place; he only knew that it had.  The former couple decided to go to a small Italian restaurant in one of the bohemian neighborhoods south of the university.  The place was empty of customers when they got there.  They went out early, which made their meeting seem all the more unusual, and which also explained the emptiness of the restaurant while they dined.
     Two men entered the restaurant not long after Frank and Isabelle ordered.  They walked toward the rear of the establishment, and were met by the solitary waiter on duty before they got to the kitchen.  The two men drew guns and gunned down the waiter, who recognized them and was reaching for his own gun.  Frank and Isabelle were shot next because they were witnesses.  None of those victims were the intended target of the shooters.  They were looking for the owner.   Even as the two gunmen burst into the kitchen shooting, the owner opened fire with a fully automatic machine pistol.  All three men went down bleeding heavily.  The shoot-out left no survivors.
     Exactly what happened in the restaurant never came to light.  The police had a lot of ideas about the massacre, but they never found out the truth.  The owner of the restaurant was Italian, but he had no ties to the Mafia.  The shooters were both New Orleans Irishmen, cousins in fact, and the waiter was a black man.  The two dead customers were mixed breed Cajuns.  The blood bath was a virtual melting pot, and that fueled a lot of wild speculation.  The truth was really quite simple. 
     The owner of the restaurant liked younger women, and he went out of his way to get what he wanted.  He picked up a sixteen year old girl in the French Quarter shortly before the massacre.  He impressed her with his money.  In all fairness to the restaurateur, she did tell him she was nineteen, and she looked every bit of it.  The two partied together, but the restaurateur got a little too rough.  He left some bruises on the young girl’s neck.
     When the young lady's brother saw the bruises the next day he demanded an answer.  Her reluctance to respond led the young Irishman to believe that there was something he needed to know about, and he set about extracting the information from the reluctant girl.  The knowledge drove her brother into an insane rage.  He called up his cousin, and they drove to Baton Rouge to confront the restaurant owner.
     The restaurateur had no idea he had done anything wrong until the two young Irishmen confronted him in his restaurant.  They demanded an apology, but they didn’t get the response they wanted.  They vowed to return and kill everyone in the restaurant.  The owner and the waiter believed them, and armed themselves in preparation.  The Irishmen carried out their threat while Frank and Isabelle were drinking Chianti and sharing lasagna.  The cops never knew that, because the young lady never came forward.  The police report concluded the shooting was “drug related.”
     Louis grandparents had all died while he was a child.  Both of Louis’ parents were relatively advanced in age before he was born.  Frank, Isabelle and Louis comprised the entirety of the Comeaux family.  When his parents were taken from him, Louis found himself at a total loss.  Nothing could have prepared him for the event.  The brutal reality washed over him in waves, and all of the oxygen went out of his body.  He collapsed when he was told the news.  The homicide detectives who told him cursed and called for an ambulance.  They hated having to tell loved ones about murders.
     Louis was devastated by the news of his parents’ murder.  He had lots and lots of grief, and no one to turn to for comfort.  Louis had a few close friends, but in the face of the despair those friendships seemed meaningless.  He isolated himself from the world, and divorced himself from reality.
     He went through the motions of burying his parents like a machine.  Frank and Isabelle both had lots of friends and acquaintances, and the funeral was a major event.  Every single one of those people tried to comfort Louis, until he wanted to scream and vomit and obliterate everything from the face of the earth.
     Louis didn’t wait for the funeral to be over to get wasted.  He went ahead and drank himself into oblivion while the pastor prayed over the dead bodies.  He drifted in and out of consciousness in the limousine on the way to the cemetery, and afterward he had no recollection of the actual burials.  Frank and Isabelle were buried side by side, both because they had never remarried, and because it was easier for Louis to do it that way.  He totally did not care what anyone thought or felt about that. 
     A few days after the funeral Louis found out he didn’t make it to the burial ceremony.  His friends thought it best to leave him in the limousine, as he was drunk beyond the lines of reason.  He imagined some of his parents’ friends had a low opinion of him after that, and he wished he knew which ones so he could call them up.  Louis was not in a good place at the time, and the places he was going were even worse.
     When the Comeauxs were murdered on May 7th, 2003, Louis lived in an apartment not far from LSU.  The first thing he did after the tragedy was move back into the bungalow in Spanish Town, primarily so that nobody could break in and steal everything.  The second thing he did was move everything out of his mother’s Garden District home and into the Seventh Street bungalow, also for security reasons.  As soon as those two major feats were accomplished, Louis settled down with drugs and alcohol to do some serious grieving.  He decided to quit his job and live off of his inheritance for a while, which would leave him free to kill brain cells as often as he liked.
     In the middle of June Louis lost all faith in the power of whiskey and marijuana.  He woke up with splitting headaches every morning, and more often than not spent hours puking his guts out.  Louis reasoned to himself that there had to be a better way.  He put the word out with a couple of his shadier acquaintances that he was in the market for heavier drugs.  Louis didn’t have much experience with drug addicts or drug dealers, so there was no way for him to know how fast he would get a response.  Within twenty-four hours he had a substantial amount of heroin at his disposal, and “friends” lined up around the block to do it with.
     The first time Louis did heroin he got violently ill, and spent most of the evening in the bathroom.  Louis thought the uncontrollable vomiting was the most pleasurable thing he had ever experienced, and he hoped it would last forever.  He was delighted to find that after his body acclimatized he could experience all of the pleasure without all of the nausea.  The intensity of the physical high shocked him, but it wasn’t the physical pleasure that lured Louis into the depths of hopeless addiction.  The wonderful dreamy way he no longer cared about anything appealed to him more than life itself.  Louis wanted to be anesthetized to the world permanently, and heroin did that job very well.  All he had to do was spend huge amounts of money so as not to run out.  As long as he did that, he didn’t think or feel anything.
     A year went by like nothing.  Louis’ small inheritance was gone, and he had sold off most of the valuable contents of the bungalow.  That was when Louis experienced withdrawal for the first time.  After a year of heavy usage the withdrawal was a lot like being beaten, cast into a freezer, pulled out and placed in a boiling cauldron, and then beaten and frozen again.  Louis did not handle it well.  Nobody could have handled it.  On top of the overwhelming physical discomfort was the ever-present awareness that he had thrown away everything his parents accumulated in the course of their lifetimes.  Louis decided that no matter what he had to do, the withdrawal had to be stopped, and drying out never seemed like an option.
     Louis became an expert shoplifter.  He would hit the Dumpsters behind big retail stores late at night in search of cash receipts.  The next morning he would shoplift the items on the receipts.  After shift change at the stores he would return his shoplifted items for cash.  At large department stores such a thing could go unnoticed for a long time, if not forever.  Louis managed to stay loaded for months off of the proceeds from his criminal activities.
     In November of 2004 things began to unravel for Louis Comeaux.  All of his drug-addicted associates abandoned him as soon as he ran out of money to share drugs.  His older, law-abiding friends quit spending time with him early on, when it became apparent that Louis intended to destroy himself at all costs.  Louis was genuinely and totally alone.
     The lights and water to the bungalow got cut off.  Louis found that he didn’t care the least bit.  He did take the step of running an illegal extension cord.  His theft of electricity led him to darken all of his windows, lest someone become suspicious of the source of the power.  It was during that period that Louis also gave up on cleaning up the house, or leading any sort of sane existence.
     One time Louis got caught shoplifting at a bookstore on the eastern edge of the city.  Louis was always intensely aware of the video cameras in stores when he stole things, but one morning he made a mistake.  He had a cash receipt for a seventy-dollar book, but the book was enormous.  He managed to get the book into his pants before he realized that he was going to get caught attempting to walk out with the monstrosity.  While he was pulling the volume out of his pants to return it to the shelf, Louis’ actions were caught by a video camera.  The video camera happened to be manned by an on-duty Baton Rouge Police Officer, who saw enough to know what had happened.
     Shoplifting was considered a relatively minor offense, and Louis expressed remorse for his actions.  The policeman decided to issue Louis a citation rather than drag him all the way to the Parish Prison.  Louis had a clean record prior to the incident, but the cop let him go because it was less of a hassle than driving all the way to the jail.  The cop decided to take a coffee break after he issued the summons.  Seeing good kids strung out on drugs and committing crimes always got him depressed.  He doubted Louis would learn his lesson, but then it would be someone else’s problem.
     Louis thanked his lucky stars he could get into his car and drive away.  He jetted down the street to another bookstore, walked in with a big shopping bag and walked out with the book he failed to secure the first time.  Rather than slow him down, the shoplifting summons caused him to be more brazen with his criminal behavior.  After all, he had finally gotten caught, and the experience was no big deal.  Heroin could turn a genius into a mentally handicapped child, and it had done that to Louis.  Always in the forefront of his awareness was the knowledge that he had to come up with close to one hundred dollars that day.  If not, then withdrawal would set in, and the depths of hell would come roiling to the surface of reality.
     On any given day, after Louis secured the necessary funds, he made a beeline for his heroin dealer in North Baton Rouge.  Louis lost all of his friends because of his self-destructive behavior, but he was pretty sure his drug dealers would always stand by him.  He had the most loyal friends money could buy, as long as he had the money.
     A nondescript two-story house in Old Fairfields served as a central meeting point for the largest ring of opiate dealers and addicts in the city.  Everyone who went there called it “the big house.”  Every opiate dealer in Baton Rouge eventually crossed the threshold.  Baton Rouge was strange in that respect.  In a city with a quarter of a million people, everybody still knew everybody.
     The gravel driveway to the house led under two gnarly live oaks.  Two well-dressed black men stood under the limbs of the tree closest to the house.  They were there to screen visitors, and to keep watch for the police.  They would raise the alarm if anyone suspicious approached the house.  The dealers who spent time there knew better than to be caught with their pants down.  The police raided the house on a regular basis, but arrests at the location were rare.  Practical experience had taught everyone involved how to get away with his or her vices.
     Louis immediately recognized the two guys under the tree.  The house belonged to a crippled black woman in her late sixties.  Her name was Bessie Jackson, and she was the most powerful person in the Baton Rouge opiate underground.  One of the men standing watch by the driveway was her oldest son, James Jackson, and next to him was Bessie’s oldest grandson, Latrelle Jackson.  They nodded at Louis when he got out of his car.
     “Back again, Louis?  You need to take a few days off.  Get you something to eat for a change,” James told him politely.  Since James first met Louis, the young white man had lost fifty pounds or more.  Louis looked a lot like a concentration camp survivor, and the sight of him made the Jackson men wince.
     “I eat plenty, James.  I’m just active,” Louis replied.
     Latrelle almost fell out laughing.  “James was trying to be polite, white boy.  I bet you couldn’t run fifty yards without falling down.  You look bad, Louis.  You look really bad,” Latrelle observed, all traces of humor leaving his voice.
     “I’m okay, man.  I’m out of shape, but I’m okay,” Louis put up defensively.
     “We’re just trying to help you, Louis.  You’re a good guy.  I like you.  You won’t be any good to anyone dead, though, man.  Try to take better care of yourself,” James told him kindly.  “Go on in.  I’m sure Bessie knew you would be coming through.”
     Louis didn’t say anything else as he plodded heavily across the yard to the front porch of the house.  The door opened before he could knock on it.  Bessie saw him drive up.  The old black woman gave him an appraising look before she let him enter.  Neither one of them said anything while she closed the door behind him.
     Bessie wore a white dress with black polka dots that might as well have been pulled out of a time capsule from the 1950’s.  Her hair was always styled into a medium sized hive on top of her head, and her nails always showed a fresh manicure.  She looked like a respectable church going grandmother, and she was.  That she made a living selling heroin and coordinating a large drug ring seemed like something out of the twilight zone.  The implausible nature of the truth went far to concealing the depth of her criminal actions.
     The interior of the house was dark and cold.  Down the front hall Louis could see a light shining in the living room.  Dozens of family photographs hung on the walls of the hallway.  Generations of the Jackson family stared at him amiably from behind the glass of the picture frames.
     “Come on in here, Louis.  I need to talk to you.”  Bessie motioned for him to go down the hall.
     “How are you today, Bessie?”  Louis asked nervously.
     “I don’t want to talk about me, Louis.  You know damned well I’m doing fine, same as yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.  I want to talk about you, Louis.”
     The two entered the small living room, the walls of which were lined with an array of comfortable chairs and sofas.  Louis was startled by the sight of a beautiful young white woman relaxing in a recliner next to the room’s only window.  The woman looked at him with slight interest before she turned her head to look out the window.  Louis couldn’t take his eyes off of her for a second, until Bessie’s voice brought him back to reality.
     “I’m cutting you off, Louis.  You’re about as close to death as anyone I’ve every seen before.  I won’t have your death on my conscience.  I’ll hook you up for today, but it’s the last time until you get your shit together,” Bessie informed him matter-of-factly.
     Panic welled up inside of him.  Louis knew of no other place to go to get what he needed.  He had met lots of dealers at Bessie’s house, but he knew that without her okay he wouldn’t be able to get anything from any of them.  He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him, but only for a moment.  He became very irritated.
     “What do you mean you’re cutting me off?  You can’t do that.  You run a business, and I’m one of the customers,” Louis objected loudly.
     “Don’t you ever tell me what I can and can’t do.  You keep a respectful tone with me, or I’ll cut you off without giving you anything.  If you stop and think for a second, then you’ll see that what I’m doing is for your own good.  I’m not in the business of killing people, Louis.  God knows I do a lot of things that are wrong, but I don’t intentionally kill people.  If I let you keep going you’re as good as dead.  Today is the last day you’ll get anything from this house,” vowed Bessie.
     Louis took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.  He hoped that the old lady would listen to reason.  “You know what will happen to me if I stop cold turkey, Bessie.  I haven’t gone two days without it in over a year.  I’ll get so sick I might die anyway.  Please don’t do that to me.”
     Bessie reached into her pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper.  There was a phone number written on it.  She extended the piece of paper to Louis.  He took it gently from her hand, unable to conceal his curiosity.
     “That’s not a number for a drug dealer, if that’s what you’re thinking.  It’s the front desk at the methadone clinic.  Make an appointment immediately, Louis.  Methadone won’t solve your problems, but it will keep you from getting deathly ill,” Bessie offered sympathetically.
     “What do they do there?  I mean, they won’t try to put me away or something, will they?”
     “No, sugar.  The receptionist will schedule you to see a doctor.  The doctor will give you a blood test and a physical examination.  All they do is help serious opiate addicts.  They’ll give you the kind of help you need.”
     Louis decided Bessie was right.  He never thought that his drug connection would intervene in his addiction.  He suddenly realized that Bessie was the closest friend he had left.  The fact that she cared so much touched a place inside of him that he forgot existed.  A couple of tears streamed down his cheeks.
     “Oh, no.  I am not about to let you get all weepy here in my living room.  Dry your tears, young man.  I’m glad to see you’re still human in there, but I have better things to do than watch you get emotional,” Bessie admonished him in a lighthearted tone.
     Louis laughed nervously and wiped the tears from his cheeks.  “I’m sorry about that.  You caught me off guard here this morning.  Well, one last time then…” he trailed off nervously with a glance in the direction of the girl by the window.
     “Don’t worry about her, Louis.  Allow me to introduce you two.  Louis, this is Paula.  Paula, this is the guy I was telling you about,” Bessie said with a twinkle in her eye.
     Paula extended her hand to him from the recliner, and Louis took a couple of steps over to shake it delicately.  Once again he was struck by the intensity of her beauty.  He studied her more closely after releasing her hand.  Paula had long, straight hair that was a deep, lustrous red.  She had bright green eyes that gleamed with intelligence, but betrayed no hint of her emotions.  She studied him just as closely at the same time. 
     They smiled at each other.  Louis felt awkward.  He hadn’t been with a woman since he got strung out on heroin.  He was too busy wallowing in despair and self-loathing to clean up his act for a woman.  He had also reasoned that any woman who would be interested in a heroin addict probably wouldn’t appeal to him.  Looking at Paula he knew that she was the kind of woman he would change his entire life for.
     “I’m very pleased to meet you, Louis.  Bessie told me a lot of things about you,” Paula said sweetly. 
     The sound of Paula’s voice touched Louis’ ears like the soft music of angels, and for a moment he couldn’t respond.  The sound of Bessie quietly shuffling out of the room behind him broke the spell.  “It’s nice to meet you too, Paula.”  Louis berated himself silently.  His own voice struck him as weak and insecure.
     “Won’t you sit down so I can talk to you, Louis?  Like I said, I’ve heard a lot about you.  I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
     Louis sat down next to her and attempted to act nonchalant.  He instantly wanted to know more about her, but he didn’t want to seem overeager.  “I feel that I am at a disadvantage, Paula.  You seem to know things about me, but I don’t know anything about you.  How do you know Bessie?”  It was a loaded question.
     “I’m not one of her customers, if that’s what you want to know.  But don’t worry.  I am not a judgmental person.  To answer your question, Bessie looked after me when I was a child.  She used to work for my family, a long time ago.  I come and visit her quite often.  Bessie means a lot to me, despite the things she has gotten involved in.  Do you know how she came to be in the position she’s in now?”
     “No.  I guess I’ve been too self centered to ever wonder about it.”
     “Well, it’s not my place to gossip about her life.  You won’t find out from me, but you should know that Bessie Jackson is a good woman, Louis.  The fact that she cares more about you than your money should clue you in to that.”
     “I was quite touched by her concern.  I just don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.  I’m a mess,” Louis admitted.  It was the first time he ever openly discussed his drug problem.  In the past he had gone to extreme lengths to avoid the discussion.  Something about Paula made him feel he could talk to her, though, and he relaxed into his chair.
     “I heard about what happened to your parents.  I can’t imagine how hard that must have been, but destroying your own life only compounds the tragedy, Louis.  There’s a lot to live for.  You may have lost your parents, but at least they were there for you while you were growing up.  A lot of people don’t have that luxury,” Paula remarked critically.
     “The problem is that I have already ruined my life.  I went through my entire inheritance.  My house is trashed, and basically unlivable.  I’m soon to have a criminal record.  My life is totally screwed.”
     “You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself.  I don’t even know you, but I think I could like you if you crawled out of the hole you’ve dug for yourself.  As long as you’re alive there’s still time to change.  Snap out of it, Louis.  Rejoin the world of the living.  It’s not so bad from where I’m sitting.”
     “Will you go out with me if I can get my life straight?”  Louis asked her pointedly.  He couldn’t believe he had the courage to ask her out.  The sound of the words surprised him.
     Paula looked at him for a long time before she answered, and when she did she used her words very carefully.  “If you can kick the habit, get your house in order, put on twenty pounds of muscle mass and get a job, then yes.  If you do those things, then I will go out with you.”
     “There’s something to live for after all.  Give me your number.  I will call you when I have fulfilled your list of requirements.”
     “Are you serious, or are you making light of the things I said?”
     “I’m more serious about seeing you than I have ever been about anything before.  You are like a vision, Paula.  I think I could do anything to be with you.”
     “Thank you.  That’s very nice of you to say, Louis.  I knew you were a sweet boy underneath that famous self-pity,” she said, the sweetness returning to her voice.
     She reached down next to the recliner and came up with her purse.  She dug for a couple of seconds before producing a pen and a tiny notepad.  She wrote down her name and number, and handed the paper to Louis.
     “Louis, I have one thing to say.”
     “What’s that?”
     “Don’t call me if you can’t get off of drugs.  I don’t want any junkies in my life.  The only reason I’m going to give you the tiniest chance is because I think you had a good excuse for getting strung out originally.  I don’t care about that, though.  I don’t want to have anything to do with you until you get straight.  Is that clear?”
     “I understand completely.  I’m shocked you even gave me your number.  I promise I won’t waste your time,” Louis said with reverent sincerity.
     “I must be crazy.  I’ve always been a sucker for a cute guy.  Don’t make me regret talking to you,” Paula warned him sternly one last time.  Her eyes told a different story, though.  Somehow she looked predatory as her glances roamed over his body.
     Bessie reentered the room as if she had been waiting for their conversation to end.  She carried a small paper packet in her right hand.  She shuffled over to where Louis sat and handed it to him.  He took it from her, and pulled his money out of his pocket.
     “Keep your money, Louis.  You’re going to need it to get through the next few days.  After all the thousands of dollars you have spent with me, I won’t miss this last little bit.”
     “Thank you, Ms. Jackson.  I won’t forget this.”
     “I bet you won’t.  Now get the hell out of here.  You scare away all my regular people.”
     He reached out his hand and touched Paula on the knee.  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Paula.  I’ll be in touch.”
     “Just remember what I said, Louis,” Paula emphasized one last time.
     “Close the front door behind you,” Bessie hollered at his back as he made his way down the hall.
     One step out into the sunlight from the dark interior of the house may as well have been a trip through a dimensional portal.  Outside the harshness of reality impressed itself upon Louis’ awareness from every direction.  He found himself alone in a drug trafficking area, carrying a packet of heroin given to him by a drug dealer who wouldn’t sell to him anymore.  The sound of sirens careened down the street toward him, but they didn’t have anything to do with Louis’ situation.  The sirens merely reminded him of all the world’s random dangers.
     James and Latrelle had moved off to the side of the front yard.  They didn’t return his feeble wave as he got into his car to drive away.  Louis couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.  The more he thought about it the worse the feeling got.  By the time he pulled out into the street everything felt wrong.  The weight of the world crashed down upon his shoulders, and Louis knew he didn’t have the strength to bear the weight.  He squeezed the packet tight in his palm and sped toward his sweltering rat nest to make himself feel well again.
    
     The memory of Paula’s eyes lingered in Louis’ mind as he fixed up the heroin he got from Bessie.  He felt totally unsure of his own will.  He experienced a brief surge of confidence in his power to quit while he was with Paula.  That confidence totally vanished after he was alone in the Spanish Town bungalow.  He decided he would deal with his problem after he used up all of the tar.
     Once the needle was loaded Louis took off his belt and tied off his arm.  Sometimes it took him upward of a dozen attempts to hit a vein.  The long months of abuse had left most of his veins either collapsed or callused.  He stabbed the needle into his arm repeatedly, searching for the telltale sign of blood that indicated a hit.  Finally, after what felt like eons of self-mutilation, Louis got the drug into his bloodstream.  He leaned back onto his bed to enjoy the throbbing rush of wellness.
     The dimly lit room darkened even more, and softened as Louis’ pupils contracted down to pinpoints.  Louis enjoyed the effect heroin had on his vision immensely.  It was like all of the room’s rough edges had been smoothed out.  He sighed as a brief wave of nausea passed through his stomach, leaving the feeling of a fresh orgasm behind in its wake.  Louis burrowed into the mattress and moved his limbs languidly across the fabric of his dirty sheets.  It felt like he was caressing the clouds of heaven.
     Somewhere in a hidden corner of Louis’ brain a sickening black lump of evil began burrowing through to his throat in an attempt to escape into the world.  By the time he became aware of the evil its tentacles were already squiggling out between his teeth.  Louis gagged as the lump dragged itself out of his throat and through his mouth.  He writhed and flailed on the bed while the black, viscous mass oozed down his chin, until finally the gelatinous substance vacated his body entirely. 
     Louis heaved his guts out onto the floor again and again, cursing Bessie in his certainty that she had given him a hotshot.  He could still taste the dark oily substance, and the horror of the taste threatened to rend the last shreds of sanity from his mind.  When the taste of vomit finally overpowered the residue in Louis’ throat and mouth, his stomach calmed and the uncontrollable spasms subsided.  He suspected that he might live through the experience.  He wondered what Bessie put in his dope.
     The desire to inspect whatever it was that had come out of him overrode his desire to remain quivering in the fetal position.  He rolled over onto his side and gazed in the direction of the substance he had heaved out onto the floor.  What he saw there caused him to scrabble backwards across his bed and rise shakily to his feet. 
     The lump of evil lay right there on the floor where it escaped from Louis body.  It glowed with the color of rotting flesh, and it was getting bigger.  The small tentacles it used to pry itself out of Louis’ throat lengthened and changed shape slowly.  The rest of the black mass throbbed and shuddered with increasing violence as it expanded into an almost recognizable shape.
     A strangled scream wrenched itself out of Louis’ vocal cords.  He lost control of his legs and crashed to the floor.  He dragged himself backward to lean against the wall behind him, trying desperately to get his breathing under control.  Louis decided he was hallucinating, and calmed himself with the knowledge that everything would return to normal eventually.  He could not have been more mistaken.
     The glowing black lump on the floor began to take on the shape of a person.  As the features became more distinctly human the violent throbbing and shuddering decreased in intensity.  The rotten flesh colored glow vanished moments later.  The shape on the floor had become a beautiful obsidian man.  The man was so devoid of color he could never have been mistaken for a normal human being.  The obsidian being sat up and looked around the room.  His eyes were blood red, and he smiled when he saw Louis.  His teeth, oddly enough, were sparkling white.
     Louis put his hands over his face and sobbed.  The afternoon wasn’t going as planned, and he didn’t like the hallucination one little bit.  He peeked out through his fingers to see the ebony man stand up and stretch.  The man was still looking right at him and smiling.
     “So you’re name is Louis Comeaux, right?”  The black humanoid punctuated the question by bending over to touch his toes.  Louis gurgled incoherently in response.  The creature of darkness laughed and reiterated, “C’mon, champ, are you Louis Comeaux or not?”
     “Yes, I am.  Who are you?  I mean, you’re not real… are you?”
     “Oh, I’m real,” the demon said, holding up one of his own hands and examining it, “and my name is Sirius, like the satellite radio, champ, although I’m fairly serious as well.”
     “What the hell is going on?  Did I die?”
     “Do you mind if I make myself a little more presentable before we talk?”  Sirius gave a little sneer and swiveled his hips abruptly.  His enormous black penis swung from side to side obscenely.  He snapped his fingers, and suddenly he was dressed in a fine Armani suit, but his penis was still exposed, hanging out of the fly.  He looked down with a little chuckle and said, “Silly me.  Let me just put this away.  There.  That’s better.”
     Louis choked and began hyperventilating again, muttering, “Oh, God.  Oh, God.  Oh, God.”
     “No, champ.  I told you.  My name is Sirius.  God sent me here, though.  Well, not just Yahweh.  The powers that be had a big powwow about you, and a few other people.  All the heavy hitters sat in on the meeting: Odin, Lucifer, Athena, Ishtar, and a bunch of the other big name deities.  It seems your case has made quite an impression in the divine realm.”
     “Oh, shit.  I’ve lost my mind.  This is just great.  Like I wasn’t screwed enough already,” Louis giggled to himself maniacally.
     Sirius walked over to Louis and slapped him hard across the face.  The pain brought Louis back to his senses.  He tasted blood in the corner of his mouth.  Sirius looked at him closely, as if to determine whether a second slap would be necessary, but must have decided against it.  Sirius relaxed his stance and straightened his suit.
     “I’m sorry about that, Louis, but you need to get a grip on yourself.  This is extremely serious, or the powers that be would have sent someone else, pun intended.”
     “Okay, so you’re real.  I’ll try to deal with that.  Can you help me off of the floor?  I’m not feeling too secure down here at crotch level.” Louis extended his right hand, and Sirius helped him to his feet.
     “We don’t have a lot of time, Louis, so I’ll try to make this as short and simple as I can.”
     “Won’t you please sit down?”  Louis asked as he plopped down in a straight-backed chair himself.  The question sounded ludicrous, but then nothing about the situation made sense.
     “If it will make you feel more comfortable,” Sirius responded as he sat down in the only other chair.  “Now, then, let’s get down to business.  I don’t get these kinds of missions very often, so I’m a little rusty on the briefing.  Bear with me.
     “This bungalow we’re sitting in was constructed on a location of power.  Several lay lines intersect at this location, well, under your kitchen to be exact.  I can see you have no idea what I’m talking about.  Let me start over.
     “I was sent here by Yahweh and his council to take you to another dimension.  It seems you were on the brink of obliterating your soul for all eternity.  Gods don’t like that sort of thing.  You’re soul is supposed to go to either a heaven or a hell.  When a soul is completely destroyed everybody loses:  you… good… evil… everybody.  Now normally the gods would have intervened to either save you or take your life before something like that happens, but in your case that was impossible.  A number of extenuating factors prevented divine intervention, and one of those was the house.
     “The guy who built this house, John Fisher, was a man of enormous mystical power.  Not only was he a freemason and a warlock, he was also a shaman.  Few people knew those things about him.  He told his pretty little wife, though.  Boy was she a tasty number,” Sirius got a far away look in his eyes as he spoke, like he was remembering scenes once forgotten.
     “I don’t mean to interrupt you, uh, Sirius, but you’re evil, aren’t you?”  Louis had deep misgivings about the obsidian entity.
     “Technically speaking, yes, I am.”
     “So why should I listen to you, or believe anything you say?  Shouldn’t I run out into the street screaming for help?”  Louis felt they were sensible questions.
     “I’ll answer those questions, but please don’t interrupt me again after this.  You have to listen to me.  I’m vastly stronger than you are, and I’m not giving you the option of blowing me off or running or screaming.  As for believing me, well, that’s you’re decision, champ.  You should know that my brand of evil doesn’t hinge on telling lies and spreading deceit.  I’m more from the sadistic, soul-eating school of evil.  That’s why they sent me, you see.  If you fail, then your soul belongs to me.  It will eliminate the middle man.”
     “What are you talking about?  Fail at what?”  Louis was becoming genuinely confused.
     “Please let me finish.  Anyway, when John Fisher built this bungalow he incorporated a number of high level wards and mystical barriers in the construction.  Because of that and your reclusive nature (since you set off down the road to destroying your soul), none of the lesser gods have been able to change your fate.  Only after Yahweh gave his approval at the council meeting was it agreed that I would be sent in to extract you.”
     “I’m trying to understand.  Really, I am.  So you are here to take me somewhere.  Why?”
     Sirius appeared irritated that he had been interrupted again, and his answer sounded compelled.  “You only had about another five minutes to live, Louis.  Ms. Jackson acted in your best interest one visit too late.  Bessie didn’t put anything in the heroin, but you did one shot too many.  You killed yourself, or you would have if I hadn’t been sent in.  But it wouldn’t have been a simple death.  Like I said, you almost totally obliterated your soul.”
     “Why does God care what I do?”
     “Haven’t you heard?  You’re one of his children, and Yahweh loves his children.  Anyway, you got lucky in this situation.  I’ve been trying to explain this to you.  The magic bungalow bothered a lot of deities.  All of the goody-goodies upstairs considered your case a tearjerker.  The found it incredibly sad, the way you lost your parents.  Then, when you decided to throw your life away, they couldn’t help you because of the house.  They didn’t think it was fair.  Us bad guys pointed out that we couldn’t influence you negatively either, but we lost the debate.  Yahweh sided with good, like He always does.  So I’ve been sent here to give you one last chance.”
     Louis rubbed his eyes for a second.  He didn’t want to keep them open, but the vivid hallucination had slapped him.  In fact, he was beginning to think he wasn’t hallucinating at all.  He looked at Sirius again and asked him tiredly, “You said you were sent here to extract me.  Extract me to where?”
     “Well, you were such a bad boy that Yahweh decided not to give you a free pass.  I mean, you’re an incorrigible thief.  You defiled your body on a daily basis, and your body is your temple,” Sirius said with pure contempt.  “The only time you’ve thought about quitting heroin since you started was when you were overpowered by lust this morning, at the sight of that woman Paula.  You’ve been a bad boy.”
     “Extract me to where, Sirius?”
     “This is my favorite part.  I’m really enjoying the expression on your face.  I live for these moments.  Well, not exactly, but I do enjoy them,” Sirius put in smugly.  He continued with the bad news, “The gods decided to send you to a place called Discordia.  You aren’t permanently sentenced there, yet, but you’re going.  You will never find your way out, unless you can complete a quest the gods lined up.”
     “Are you serious?  What’s Discordia?  What kind of quest?” Louis was alarmed at the latest tidbit of information, and his series of questions betrayed his panic-stricken state of mind.
     “The only reason I am answering your questions and explaining these things is because I have absolutely no choice in the matter.  My instructions from the council of deities were very clear.  I have to tell you.  It’s not because I want to,” Sirius betrayed his irritation with the rules.  He spoke more to the heavens, in way of a futile protest, than to Louis.
     “The dimension called Discordia is a savage, primitive place.  It will look a lot like the dimension you live in now, but it won’t be the same place at all.  God installed checks and balances here in normal reality, to make the place livable for regular human beings.  For example, while magic exists in this dimension it has been severely limited.  In Discordia there are no limitations on the power of magic.  Discordia is different in a lot of other ways, but you will find out all about those things on your own.
     “In this dimension God often makes His presence felt.  There are things of great beauty, and terrible things, but the presence of God make this dimension a wonderful, awe-inspiring place.  God doesn’t bother making his presence felt in Discordia.  God has turned his back on the place.  You’ll be totally on your own there.  Once you know what that feels like, you will want to come back here.  You only get one last chance.  If you blow it, then God will keep his back turned to you forever.”  Sirius grinned.  The image frightened Louis.
     “I assume I don’t have any choice in the matter,” Louis quipped bitterly.
     “Oh, you still have free will, even now.  I will restart the clock here, if that’s what you prefer.  You will die within a minute or two, and your soul will disintegrate.”
     “In that light my choice seems clear.  How do I get to Discordia, and, more importantly, how do I get back here?”
     “If you have chosen to undertake the quest in Discordia, rather than die and lose your eternal soul, then I will open a portal here in your bedroom.  Once you step through you’ll be there.”
     “And how do I get back?”
     “You have to find true love.  God was very clear about that.  If you don’t find true love, you’re damned, champ.”
     “That’s it?  That’s all I have to do?  What a relief.  I was worried this was going to be difficult.”
     “Obviously you don’t know anything about Discordia.  You’ll find out when you get there.  Are you ready?”
     “I can’t say that I am, but I think it might beat the alternative.”
     “So be it,” said Sirius.
     Sirius stood up and began tracing symbols in the air, while at the same time chanting in a language Louis had never heard before.  Sirius raised his voice until the chant became a strange combination of singing and shouting.  He raised his arms to the sky, and electricity crackled from his fingertips down the lengths of his arms.  A huge clap of thunder shook the foundations of the bungalow.
     Louis could see a small swirling patch of red light directly in front of the black demon.  The area grew in size until Louis could see vague shapes on the other side, and it definitely wasn’t the other side of the bedroom.  The house began to shake, and Sirius’ chanting took on a life of its own.  Louis thought it sounded familiar, as if he knew the words but they wouldn’t come to him.  Suddenly all of the noise and rumbling stopped, and the silence that followed it was palpable.  A large red hole in reality turned clockwise in the air in front of the black demon.
     “The portal lies open for you to step through,” Sirius said guardedly. 
     Louis noticed the demon’s brusque demeanor.  He wondered if Sirius hid any helpful information from him.  He sat there thinking for a minute.  Because the demon didn’t rush him he knew that there was more information to be had.  There was something Sirius didn’t have to tell him, but that he could ask about.
     “Can I take anything with me?”
     Sirius looked to be on the brink of rage, but he answered, “Yes.  You can take whatever you like through to the other side, but you can’t venture beyond the sight of the portal, now that it is open.”  The demon’s smug look indicated that Louis lost certain advantages by not asking more questions before the portal opened.
     Louis sprang up out of the chair and said, “Luckily I keep everything useful in this room, where I can find it.”
     Sirius concealed his irritation by saying, “You know, you should have kept your electricity on, Louis.  It’s crazy hot in here.”
     Louis ignored him.  He grabbed his flashlight, his Swiss Army knife, a rain poncho, a couple of lighters and a bottle of insect repellent, being careful to skirt the area of the portal as he collected the items.  He snatched up his backpack and shoved the items inside.  He paused to think for a second, and then he gathered a change of clothes.  Hydrogen peroxide and rubbing alcohol were the last things he added to the backpack, which was just as well since the pack was full.  He sighed and turned to face Sirius.
     “Are you ready now, champ?”  Sirius asked him impatiently.
     “Not quite.  Is there anything else you can tell me?”
     “I have told you everything I was required to tell you,” Sirius replied evasively.
     Louis knew he was missing something, but he couldn’t think of anything else to ask the demon.  Reluctantly he stepped forward and indicated that he was ready.  Sirius grabbed him by the shoulders.  Evidently the demon planned to shove him through bodily.  Just as Sirius pushed him, Louis thought of a question.
     “Wait.  You said there were others…”
     “Too late,” Sirius laughed as Louis tumbled through the portal.
     Louis experienced the sensation of falling, and the colors of the world seemed to turn inside out.  Far in the distance the image of his bedroom faded into nothingness.  He wondered why it took so long to cross to the other side, considering he thought he could see Discordia before he started.  The answer wouldn’t have made any sense to him. Reality twisted back into right side out.  Louis’ stomach convulsed, and he started dry heaving once more.   All of a sudden he fell to his knees, for whatever had held him aloft ceased to exist.  Behind him a sucking sound followed by a loud clap signaled the dissolution of the portal.  An overwhelming dizziness spun around in Louis’ head for long moments, and then subsided.  The trip to Discordia was finished.
     Louis felt grass beneath his knees.  He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but they were.  When he opened them he saw that he was under an odd looking tree, and looking around he knew exactly where he was.  He was in the park by Capital Lake, but nothing was quite the same.  He noticed the State Capital was nowhere to be seen, and then he noticed that Capital Lake looked very small.  That observation shook him, but not so much as the sight of the man looking at him from under the next closest tree.  Louis hoped he wasn’t in any danger, because he wasn’t sure he could stand up.
     The man approached him purposefully, and Louis’ could hear his heart beating in his ears.  He had never experienced such fright before in his life.  The man stopped a few feet from him and squatted down.  He looked normal enough, but Louis said a quick prayer anyway.
     “You must be Louis.  I’ve been waiting for you,” the man said in a kindly tone. “Let’s get you someplace a little more comfortable.”
   

Chapter Two:

The Lady Needs a Man

     In a cheap motel room in North Baton Rouge, a man and a woman were engaged in sexual intercourse under the flickering light of a filmy fluorescent bulb.  A meager stream of cold air flowed out of a tiny air conditioner in the window, but it barely served to lessen the impact of the deliriously hot Louisiana summer night.  The room looked dangerously unclean.  Stains covered every inch of the carpet.  A close inspection of the dark recesses and corners of the room would reveal thriving communities of ants, fleas, roaches and spiders.  The occupants didn’t care about the condition of the room.  They only intended to use it for thirty minutes, because after that the man would have to pay for more time.
     The woman worried enough about the unsanitary condition of the bed to insist that the man take her bent over the top of the small table by the bathroom.  She couldn’t afford to get crabs, so she gritted her teeth against the pain as the man slammed her midsection into the unforgiving wood of the table again and again.  She did her best to aid in the man’s pleasure, thrusting back against him and moaning like she enjoyed it.  She wanted it to end as soon as possible, and labored to make that happen.
     The man was in his mid forties, and overweight to the point of obesity.  Within a minute sweat dripped from every part of his body as he gasped for breath, a portrait of cardiac arrest waiting to happen.  The man didn’t last more than five minutes, even though he wanted it to go on forever.  For a man who depended on prostitutes for sexual pleasure, the woman was the most attractive sexual partner he had been with in twenty years.  After he climaxed he leaned over and hugged her tight, unable to see the look of disgust on her face.
     The woman marveled at the man’s stupidity, and for a moment she fantasized about pounding his midsection into the wooden table.  Still, she waited just a second before she tapped him on the shoulder to signal him to get off of her.  She figured there was no reason to be rude just because he was clueless.  When she found a possible repeat customer she tried not to offend him.
     The used condom fell to the floor with an audible squishing sound, apparently quite full to capacity, while the man pulled up his pants and made himself decent to leave.  The woman shuddered at the thought of the condom bursting inside her.  She forced herself to think about something else.  She slipped her sundress back over her head, and checked herself out in the mirror.  She pulled a hairbrush from her purse by the sink and set to work improving her appearance.
     The man behind her counted out forty dollars from his wallet and placed it on the sweat slick table.  When she quoted him the price beforehand, he expressed extreme skepticism that she would be worth the steep figure.  She assured him he would be satisfied, and even gave him a money back guarantee.  It turned out she told him the truth.  She was worth every penny.
     “Thank you so much, beautiful.  If I was a rich man I would give you more,” he said to her as he turned and walked out the door.
     “You know where to find me,” she called over her shoulder without looking back. 
     She reapplied her lipstick with a keen attention to detail.  There was a reason she could charge extra for her services.  She was petite and she had blonde hair, and her hair color was one hundred percent natural.  Her ample breasts defied gravity no matter the situation, and she always wore clothes that attracted men’s eyes to her best features.  The woman was stunning, but she equated that to little more than an extra twenty bucks per trick.  She could have been a model, but instead she lived the only way she knew how.
     As soon as she was satisfied with her appearance, she gathered up her little pile of cosmetics and shoved them into her purse on her way out the door.  The steamy night air settled onto her skin, almost like a spent lover giving in to sleep on top of her.  She decided the odd thought originated in her own desire to rest, and that reminded her that she needed to score a little boost.
     She set off across the gravel parking lot of the motel with purpose in her steps.  She always parked her car in an old neighborhood off the highway, two blocks away.  An old man she met at a bar owned a house not far from where the prostitutes congregated, and he told her it would be okay for her to park there.  All he asked in return was that she look in on him once in a while, maybe have dinner with him from time to time.  His days of debauchery were long passed.
     She was on the highway, a block away from her car, when a BRPD unit saw her and motioned her to the side.  She looked inside the vehicle, and cursed when she didn’t see a familiar face inside.  The policemen who recognized her usually left her alone.  If they stopped her on the street, it meant they just wanted to talk to her for a little while.  A lot of the guys on the force turned a blind eye to crimes of consent.  She just hoped that the new face in the car didn’t belong to a self-righteous rookie out to change the world.
     “Can I see some identification, ma’am?” 
     The police officer got out of the car.  He kept his hand on his gun while he waited for her to respond.  The woman was glad to see that he was good looking.  At least she wouldn’t have to put on too much of an act if she needed to come onto him.
     “Well, of course, officer.  I have it right here,” she pulled a Louisiana driver’s license out of her small purse and handed it to him.  She could tell he was a rookie from the nervous manner in which he took it.  She batted her eyelashes at him and asked, “Is there a problem?”
     “If all this information is correct, then your name is Lena Smiley, you’re twenty-four years old, and you live in Sherwood Forest.  Is that right?”
     “Yes, sir.  All of my information is up to date,” Lena told him resignedly.  He hadn’t so much as looked at her yet.  She braced herself for an unpleasant experience, but it didn’t happen.
     The cop finally ran his eyes all over her body, and obviously liked what he saw.  A mischievous sparkle crept into Lena’s eyes.  She knew his type.  The rookie cop wanted a little action in return for keeping her safe from the bad guys.  Lena loved handcuffs, but only when she knew it was safe.  That was one of the reasons she liked her big, strong policemen.  They always looked out for a girl.
     “One of my buddies down at the Second District told me to keep an eye out for you.  He said you were a real nice girl,” the clean-cut young man told her cautiously.  “You may know him.  His name is Officer Putnam.”
     Lena believed the young cop blushed, and she thought that was too cute for words.  “Oh, yes.  I know Officer Putnam very well.  And your name is?”
     “I’m Shipley… Tom… uh, Officer Tom Shipley.”
     “I’m pleased to meet you Shipley Tom Officer Tom Shipley.  Is there something I can do for you?”  She made it easy for him by pointedly examining his crotch and licking her ruby red lips.
     Officer Shipley looked up and down the street in both directions.  Earlier that night there had been more than a dozen prostitutes in the area, and heavy foot traffic from the poor neighborhoods on either side of the highway.  By the time Shipley stopped to check Lena out, it was three o’clock in the morning.  There was no one in sight anywhere.  The night shift had ended for the working girls.  He relaxed and smiled at her, and then he voiced the question that had been echoing in his mind all along.  “Is there some place we can be alone for about fifteen minutes?”
     Lena was about to tell him she still had a motel room for the next ten minutes, but a rapidly approaching sound distracted her.  It was the sound of a Kawasaki Ninja doing one hundred miles an hour down the city street they were standing on.  Officer Shipley ran towards the road, intent on either flagging down the motorcycle or reading the license plate number.  Lena backed up at least ten feet.  She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
     When the motorcycle came into sight it became apparent that it wasn’t the only vehicle coming toward them at a high rate of speed.  A black Monte Carlo SS was chasing the motorcycle.  Officer Shipley changed his mind about standing in the street when he got a better look at the approaching vehicles.  The sound of automatic weapons fire sent him scrambling into his cruiser.  Lena could hear him barking into the dash mounted police radio.
     The motorcycle whizzed past Lena and the police car so fast it looked like a blur.  Right on its tail followed the Monte Carlo.  Somebody in the car was paying attention, and didn’t want to risk being chased by the police.  A passenger in the back seat of the Monte Carlo riddled the police cruiser with bullets.  The Teflon coated rounds flattened both of the driver’s side tires, which faced out to the street.  The flat tires would prove to be totally unnecessary.  One of the stray bullets shattered the rear windshield, and the Plexiglas dividing the front and back seats, and then lodged in Officer Shipley’s head.  The young police officer slumped over the steering wheel of his car, and his face pressed down on the horn.  The sound struck Lena as very sad.
     Lena knew enough about the law to know that she needed to be somewhere else when a bunch of other cops arrived.  Nothing would be okay when they discovered that a police officer had been shot.  She saw her driver’s license on the ground a few feet away, carelessly dropped by the handsome Officer Shipley.  She snatched it up and sprinted away, crying and praying to God to allow her to make it to her car safely.  Distant sirens signaled that the cavalry was on the way.  Lena hoped that Officer Shipley was all right, but she had enough to worry about without adding that nightmare to her list.
     Time slowed down to a standstill as she ran down the street, and for a moment her car looked farther away than when she started.  Then she was at the door, fumbling with her keys and hyperventilating.  She wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing by running away, but she was already committed to her choice.  Lena flung open the door of the small Honda and jumped in.  The messy interior suddenly aggravated her intensely, and she pounded the dashboard and screamed.  She regained control of her frayed emotions out of necessity and started the car.  The engine sputtered to life, and she whipped the Honda out of the driveway.
     Lena couldn’t believe something bad had happened to her again.  She figured she must have the worst luck of any woman alive.  She was sexually molested for years while she was growing up, first by one of her uncles and then by her mother’s boyfriend.  She left home with an eighteen-year-old boy named Bobby when she was fifteen, certain that he was her ticket from hell to happiness.
     Within two years she knew how jealous and controlling a man could be.  Bobby beat her on a regular basis, sometimes if he even thought she looked at another man.  She got drunk and stabbed Bobby about fifty times one night.  He had beaten her one too many times, and then made her do one too many things she hated to do.
     The homicide detectives didn’t listen to a thing she said.  They told Lena about how Bobby was an upstanding member of the community, and how upset his parents were that she killed him.  She showed them the bruises that he left all over her body, but it was like the detectives were blind.  At the time Lena wondered if maybe they couldn’t see the bruises because they felt guilty about things that they had also done.  The State of Louisiana charged her with second-degree murder.  The detectives told her it was because Bobby was asleep, and she could have run away or something.
     The Baton Rouge District Attorney’s Office assigned one of their brightest attorneys to prosecute her case.  The attorney took one look at the evidence and knew that Lena did not deserve to go to prison for life.  Lena was offered a manslaughter plea.  The agreement meant she would spend two years in a juvenile facility. 
     A public defender was appointed to represent Lena in her criminal case.  Her free lawyer told her to accept the deal.  Lena was told the alternative could mean twenty years in an adult facility.   Lena didn’t think she had done anything wrong, but she accepted the deal.
     Lena often thought it was strange that the first place she had ever done drugs was in the custody of the authorities.  A big black girl named Carol Anne looked out for her while she was locked up, in exchange for her affection.  Lena liked Carol Anne, and didn’t mind giving her what she wanted.  Lena knew that she would always need men in her life when she was free.  With no men anywhere around, Carol Anne was okay to be with.  She remembered how Carol Anne often smoked weed with her, and how every now and then they got cocaine.  Lena loved cocaine.  As soon as she walked out of the house of detention she went and got some.
     When Lena was released from juvenile prison, life took one disturbing turn after another.  She became hopelessly addicted to crack.  She turned to prostitution when she was still only nineteen years old.  She got raped twice in one year when she was twenty.  She spent ninety days in jail on a possession charge the first time she was caught, and almost a year the second time. 
     Lena got beaten up often in the adult jail.  She had a smart mouth and she wouldn’t take shit from any woman, no matter how big she was.  Lena’s life was not a bowl full of cherries.  Sometimes she cried because she felt bad about herself.  She never seemed to learn her lesson about men, or drugs, or anything else.
     She had a car because one of her black customers gave it to her.  His name was Leon, and he was a drug dealer.  Lena got butterflies when she thought about Leon.  He called her his snow angel, on account of how pale she was.  She knew deep down that he was no different than any of the other men, but at least he had given her a car.  She always wanted a car, and she figured that was the happiest day of her life.
     Leon never told Lena the car was stolen.  He gave it to her knowing how she would express her appreciation.  He figured she would get caught in it, and a few weeks in the Parish Prison would put some weight on her and help her figure.  He was astonished when Lena drove it proudly all over the city and never got pulled over.
     Lena was flying down Winbourne Avenue while she thought about how much she liked Leon.  She knew he didn’t love her, but he showed a lot of appreciation for the things that she did for him.  The traffic light at North Foster was green, and she didn’t slow down the least bit on her way through it.  The blinking light on the dashboard clock took forever between blinks, and Lena wondered, “What the hell is going on now?”
     The black motorcycle from earlier whizzed past the front of her car, and Lena marveled at how it went by like freeze frame photography.  The sound of its engine penetrated into her Honda as if it came from the bottom of a well.  The Honda inched out into the intersection.  Lena knew that something was wrong, because she was doing about forty miles an hour and her Honda wasn’t supposed to be inching.  That’s when she saw the Monte Carlo, directly before it slammed into the passenger side of her car. 
     The high-speed chase had doubled back, and Lena drove right into the middle of it.  The dissonance of the crash ripped through the still night air.  The sound of wrenching metal and shattering glass bounced off of the walls of an abandoned body shop and a condemned housing project.  Any people close enough to hear it went in the opposite direction.  A car crash meant police, and nobody out that time of night wanted to see the police.
     The impact of the collision caved in the entire passenger side of the car, and flung the Honda at a forty-five degree angle in the direction of the path of the Monte Carlo.  Lena forgot to put on her seat belt when she got in the car.  That may have been the only thing that prevented her from being killed instantly.  She was ejected from the vehicle during the initial impact.  Had she been strapped into the driver’s seat, she would have been crushed when the Honda flipped upside down and plowed into a light pole on the far side of the intersection.  There was almost nothing left of the small Japanese import.
     Lena looked up at the sky from the small patch of grass she landed on.  She couldn’t feel her arms or her legs.  Before she lost consciousness she cursed God for all the terrible things that happened to her.  She was pretty sure it wasn’t fair at all.
      The Monte Carlo turned sideways and skidded off the side of the road.  The front tire caught on a storm drain as it jumped the curb, and the car flipped onto its side in the roadside ditch.  The car was carrying two people in the front and one in the back.  The man in the back got partially ejected from the driver’s side as the car flipped over, and was torn in half across his midsection.  The driver didn’t have a seat belt on either.  He busted his head wide open on the steering wheel, and would have been ejected through the windshield if he hadn’t pulled the seat up a little too far.  His legs held him in the vehicle through the initial impact, but it wouldn’t save his life.  When the car turned over on its side he flopped into the open driver’s side window as it contacted the ground.  Most of his scalp and face was scraped off. 
     Only the front seat passenger survived the collision.  He was banged up and bruised, but still breathing.  His seat belt saved his life, but the impact caused him to lose consciousness.  He hung limply in the straps, separated from the ground by three feet of air and the body of the driver.  For a moment the only sound was the spinning of the right side tires and the dripping of blood and gasoline.
     The racing motorcycle rolled slowly back onto the scene and pulled to a stop on the road beside the overturned Monte Carlo.  The rider got off of the bike and pulled off his helmet, revealing handsome Hispanic features.  His eyes were gray with a slightly green tint, but they almost glinted red as he walked around the car and looked inside.  He saw that the passenger was alive, and then climbed halfway through the shattered windshield.  He unfastened the passenger’s seat belt and pulled the unconscious man out of the car in one fluid motion.
     He placed the passenger on the ground beside the car, and then attempted to revive the traumatized man.  He shook the guy and slapped him gently a few times, until the passenger opened his eyes.  The biker smiled when he saw that the man was awake.
     “Did you really think that you were going to be able to hunt me down and kill me?  I was sent here to kill you.  I’m not sure how you got that turned around,” the motorcycle rider cooed down at the accident victim.
     “Jesus?  Is that you?  I’m having a hard time focusing right now,” the man on the ground wheezed out, and a small amount of blood spluttered between his lips when he spoke.
     “Yeah, it’s me, Alex.  Look, I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to.  I looked into your background, and I found out you’re a good man.  That’s what makes it so hard to understand why you would make a deal with Baphomet.  That was idiotic.  I found every indication that people consider you an intelligent person, but then you reneged on the idiotic deal you made with Baphomet.  That totally mystifies me.  Listen to me, Alex.  Nobody screws over Baphomet.  He’s not one of those candy ass lesser devils.  He’s the real deal.”
     “It’s not my fault that the deal went bad.  I didn’t understand the terms when I made the deal.  I can’t give Baphomet what he wants,” Alex objected desperately.  He lifted his hands before him pleadingly.
     “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong.  You can and will give Baphomet what you agreed to.  You didn’t help yourself at all by trying to kill me, and on top of that one of your buddies killed an officer of the law.  This whole episode served only to fan the flames.  You’re in big trouble.  I just want to apologize in advance for what I’m about to do.  You deserved better than this,” said the Hispanic man in a melancholy tone.
     “Mendoza, wait.  You don’t have to do this, do you?  I mean, why do you have to do this?  Can’t we work something out?”
     Jesus Mendoza pulled a Colt 1911 A1 out of his jacket and chambered a round.  The man called Alex attempted to scrabble backwards across the pavement, but he was still too shaken up to move very quickly.  Jesus stepped forward and placed the barrel of the gun against Alex’s head.  Alex wailed and blubbered like a little girl.  Jesus turned to look the other way, and pulled the trigger.  He hated to see a grown man cry, and he also hated to get blood in his eyes.  Jesus walked away without ever looking at the body.  His contract had been satisfied, and that was all he really cared about.
     The lack of pedestrian and vehicular traffic through the scene owed to a low level protection spell Jesus cast over himself before returning to check out the accident.  The power of magic in normal reality was so limited that it could only be used sparingly at irregular intervals.  The spell began to wear off, and Jesus thought he heard sirens once more.  He made haste to depart the dimension.
     Jesus traced a large pentagram in the street and cleared his mind to begin the chant that would open the portal.  At that moment he saw Lena’s body out of the corner of his eye.  He could tell that she was still alive, but also that she suffered incredible pain.  He probed her mind with his, and the things he witnessed there caused him to pull back in horror.  Jesus sighed.  He couldn’t leave her there to die in the state she was in.  She would most certainly be damned, and he couldn’t have that on his conscience.  He searched his own thoughts for a plan of action.
     He jogged over to Lena, and dragged her limp form into the center of the pentagram.  He began the chant to open the dimensional portal, but he threw in a variation that would summon a major deity.  He traced the proper symbols in the air and raised his arms up to the heavens.  A circle of red light appeared and grew in size.  When Jesus finished, the portal was large enough to allow him to cross over with the girl in his arms.
     Jesus was accustomed to dimensional travel, but he never called up a deity unless it was a supreme emergency.  The woman’s suffering had touched a cord inside of him that he thought no longer existed.  He felt genuinely sorry for her, but he was also attracted to her.  He gathered her up and stepped through into the emptiness between realities.  An adolescent Grecian boy waited there for him.
     The opening to the mortal realm winked shut behind Jesus and Lena.  The boy looked at the two humans with an expression of boredom and contempt.  Jesus waited for the deity to speak.  After an uncomfortable silence it became apparent that the deity wanted an explanation.  Jesus cursed silently that the deity who had responded to his summons was Pan.  Jesus had hoped to find an agent of goodness when he stepped through.  He knew that he had to choose his words carefully.
     “Great Pan, I have called upon you for the purpose of requesting a favor,” Jesus said with as much reverence as he could muster.
     “Oh, please, Jesus.  We both know you didn’t call on me specifically,” Pan told him impatiently.  “Now what is it that you want?”
     “Will you save this woman’s life?”
     “Why would you want me to save the woman’s life?”  Pan asked him suspiciously.
     Jesus had anticipated the need for an explanation.  Pan was aligned with chaotic evil.  Jesus knew he couldn’t tell the deity that he wanted to save the woman’s soul.  He appealed to Pan’s appreciation of lust instead.
     “My years of servitude have made me famished for the pleasures of the flesh,” Jesus spread it on thickly.  “I desire to make this woman my pet.  If you delve into her mind, then you will find that she devoted her life to the satisfaction of lust.  Since without my intervention she would have been dead and damned, I hope that the gods will find my request a reasonable one.  I’m not snatching her from an ascent to heaven, nor am I giving her a complete reprieve from hell.  I can think of many imaginative ways to make her service less than enjoyable.”
     “You know that it is not in my power to grant this favor on my own.  Bide here a moment while I consult with some of my more powerful brethren,” commanded Pan as his image flickered and disappeared.
     Jesus breathed a sigh of relief.  If he had told the truth, that he wanted to save her because he felt sorry for her, then Pan would have laughed in his face.  The wicked little pervert had fallen for his lie.  Jesus always thanked Yahweh for denying the power of omniscience to any divine being but Him.
     It wasn’t long at all before Pan returned to the place between dimensions where Jesus waited.  The Greek had a smile on his face, and Jesus didn’t like that at all.  “Nobody ever tells old Pan anything.  It seems intrigue is afoot, and you’re to play a role in it, Jesus.  The gods have agreed to heal the woman for you, but you’ll have to agree to something in return.”
     “What is it that the gods ask of me?”  Jesus voice betrayed his trepidation.
     “A man has crossed over into Discordia on a quest set for him by Yahweh Himself.  The man’s name is Louis Comeaux.  The gods want you to protect him from harm.  If you succeed in the mission, then your debt will be cleared.  I think these terms are extremely generous.  Do you agree?”
     Jesus knew that Pan’s eagerness to execute the agreement betrayed hidden conditions.  There were almost always hidden conditions.  Jesus countered, “I need more information before I can agree.  Who came up with the conditions?  Was it the good guys or the bad guys?”
     “I’ve heard about you, Jesus.  They say you always want to win, no matter how outclassed you are.  Wasn’t it your arrogance that led to your current predicament in the first place?  And why do you insist on using such shallow and degrading labels as ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys,’ Jesus?”  The adolescent sneered at the Hispanic with utter loathing.
     “I can’t agree unless I know who I’m working for.  It might jeopardize an existing agreement, Honorable Pan.  It’s my responsibility to find out which side I am agreeing to help,” Jesus spoke to Pan condescendingly, as if the god were a child that needed complicated things explained for him.  Pan became furious.
     “You dare to patronize me?  I should strike you down where you stand!”  Pan boomed out his displeasure in a thunderous voice.
     Jesus couldn’t take it anymore.  He burst out laughing, but only for a couple of seconds.  He had business to attend to.  “Look, Pan, I apologize about that, but we both know Yahweh doesn’t allow you ancient gods the power to smite humans anymore.  The only way you can destroy a human is to turn their free will against them.  The rules say that you have to answer all of my questions, because to keep me ignorant is to deprive me of my free will.  I’ve heard that trickery is the time bomb of the gods, and I have come too far to watch everything go up in smoke.  So who presented the terms of the agreement?”
     Pan calmed down while Jesus spoke.  It was considered ungodly to throw temper tantrums, and the ancient god felt slightly embarrassed by his outburst.  “It was the entirety of the council of deities, both good and evil.  Both sides agreed to the arrangement,” Pan reddened and turned away.  “I was supposed to tell you all about it on my own.  It just gets so frustrating not being able to wreak the havoc I could in the olden days.”
     “I can’t say I feel for you, Pan.  Since you admitted your intent to deceive me, I am assuming that there was more to the agreement than you put before me.  So tell me.  What do I have to do to save the life of one human girl?”  Jesus looked down at Lena with undisguised compassion.  It no longer mattered what Pan thought about his intentions with regard to the woman.  The entire council of deities watched the proceedings.
     Pan squirmed with impotent rage.  He was compelled to tell the truth.  “The quest presented to Louis Comeaux could affect the balance of power on Discordia.  Gods and devils are interested in the outcome of his quest.  The stakes are high for both sides.  No matter what happens, someone is going to walk away an awfully sore loser.
     “I guess I wasn’t clear enough the first time.  There are going to be thousands of evil men out to kill Louis Comeaux.  Agree to protect him, and the girl lives.  Succeed in your task, and you’re a free man.  The young man faces overwhelming odds against completing his quest, but I still think the terms are generous.”
     Jesus’ breath caught in his throat.  He could be free.  After two thousand years of servitude to the higher powers he could be free.  He could age and die.  He could father children, and care for a family.  “Free!” he shouted joyfully in his mind, and then his good judgment returned.  He reminded himself that there was always a catch.
     “What happens if I fail to protect this Louis Comeaux?”
     “If Comeaux fails then you will burn in Hell, with him and everyone else you’ve sent there in your life.”
     “The reward is great, but the penalty for losing sounds mighty harsh.  What happens if I refuse to accept the terms?”
     “You’re usual clients quit sending you business.  Your debt never gets paid off.  You remain in servitude for the next ten thousand years or so, a permanent resident of Discordia,” Pan said with an evil grin, “if you can survive that long.”
     Jesus didn’t have to think about it long.  “I have decided to accept the offer.  I do have one more question, however.  What’s so important about Louis Comeaux?”  Jesus failed to conceal his burning curiosity.
     “That’s none of your business,” Pan said gleefully.  The ancient god took joy in denying Jesus at least that bit of information.
     “So heal the woman.  I have work to do,” Jesus said gruffly.
     Pan passed his hand through the air above Lena, and she coughed.  The deity disappeared, and the two humans were sucked through the other side of the portal.  They were deposited roughly on the ground.  The portal winked out above and behind them with a sucking sound and a loud clap.  Jesus looked around with alarm, remembering that he set up the portal in a particularly dangerous place.  North Baton Rouge wasn’t especially safe in normal reality.  In Discordia the area belonged to evil worshippers.  Jesus had brought them across behind enemy lines.
     “I hope you are an intelligent woman.  If you aren’t, then we’re both probably doomed,” Jesus thought to himself. 
     Lena stared at the unfamiliar sights around her in wide-eyed astonishment.  She studied Jesus for a long time.  It was obvious that she was having a hard time getting her thoughts together.  She stood up and smoothed out her dress, and examined herself closely.  Finally she said, “Oh, shoot.  I broke a nail.  Don’t that beat all?”
     Jesus made peace with his immortal soul, certain that all was lost.  He allowed his emotions to interfere with his better judgment, and picked up a huge liability for his efforts.   Sitting in a gravel road deep in evil territory with a beautiful but ignorant prostitute, Jesus suspected he made a huge mistake.  As the reality of his situation settled in, he realized that he didn’t ask enough questions.  He had no idea where to find Louis Comeaux.  He knew the ways of the gods too well to think that he could get any assistance after he accepted their offer.  Somewhere in the heavens gods were watching every move he made.  He had no doubt that many of them were delighted with the mistakes he made right out of the starting gate.  If the odds were as impossible as Pan made them out to be, then he didn’t have room to make any more mistakes.
     Jesus stood up and dusted himself off.  Lena, still slightly disoriented, turned her attention to the man beside her.  His appearance greatly impressed her.  He was over six feet tall, and he looked extremely athletic beneath the thin blue silk shirt he wore.  He had striking features, with jet black hair and a thin goatee on his chin.  He was obviously Hispanic, but his eyes were a gray the color of winter fog.  Lena had strange memories floating around in her head, and she wondered if he was an angel.  He quickly dispelled any such illusion.
     Jesus didn’t mince words when he addressed her, “If you want to live, then you need to do everything I say.  Now, what’s your name?”
     “You just hold on, mister.  I don’t know who you are, or what’s going on, but you have no right to threaten me.  And you don’t scare me.  If you’re going to kill me, then just go ahead and do it now.”
     “You don’t understand.  I’m on your side.  I saved your life, and I’m going to try to keep you alive. Look around you.  Do you know where you are?”
     Lena looked around her again, and the alien feel of the place made her shiver noticeably.  “No, I don’t know where I am,” she admitted.
     “You’re in a very bad place, honey.  Now what’s your name?”
     “My name is Lena.”
     “I am glad to meet you, Lena.  My name is Jesus Mendoza.  I promise I will explain everything to you as soon as we’re safe, but right now we need to get out of here.  Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
     “Yes, but where am I?”
     “I’ll explain when we’re safe.  Is everything clear?”
     “Yes.”
     “Okay.  Stay behind me, and try to keep up,” Jesus told her.  He turned and jogged into the night without any further discussion.  Lena took one more look at the sinister surroundings and jogged after him, thankful that she gave up heels in favor of tennis shoes.
     Even in the darkness Lena knew that she was far from home.  There were streetlights, but they didn’t seem to be halogen, or even electrical.  She could see buildings set back off the gravel road, and wicked looking barbed fences surrounded most of them.  The windows in the buildings were narrow slits, and the lights that shined through the slits varied from dark red to fluorescent green.  It certainly didn’t look like the Baton Rouge she knew.  Lena picked up her pace and closed with the Hispanic man in front of her.  It looked like a very good place to stand by her man.