“Like you did at your house on your wedding day,” Isaiah said.
I ran my fingers through Emma’s hair before looking up. “Yes.” I nodded to Leon. “Come take her.”
“Stop,” Isaiah yelled. “I don’t trust you.”
“Let her go,” I repeated. “She doesn’t deserve to be hurt anymore.”
“By you. You’re the one who did this.”
I nodded. “You’re right. I wanted her in New Orleans.”
“Not because you love her.”
“I didn’t when I had her brought here. I lured her here. I admit it. But now” —I turned back to Emma— “I love her.”
Isaiah aimed his gun.
The next few seconds happened too quickly to think.
He spoke, “She can’t live either and if you really love her, then you can watch her die.”
I rushed toward Isaiah.
His gun fired.
The room echoed with the deafening explosions as other guns fired.
Isaiah was down, wounded but alive.
Kicking his gun away, I ran toward Emma as blood began to pool near her chair.
My men had entered. Leon now had a gun on the old man. If others of Isaiah’s people were present, I wasn’t sure where. I didn’t care as I rushed to my wife.
“I’m sorry, Emma.” I sent prayers to the God my mother loved, to her, and even to Miss Guidry’s spirits. There was no reason for any of them to listen to me. I was the self-proclaimed devil, and yet I begged them all for another chance to show Emma that I did love her. That in itself was a miracle. I asked for one more.
Please let her be alive.
Kneeling, I rushed to untie her hands.
Her wedding rings were gone.
The realizations probably happened in less than a second, consecutive thoughts that reached an unbelievable conclusion. Such as watching a string of numbers being assembled on a computer screen as digit after digit made sense, that was my process.
I walked around to the front of my wife.
“Leon,” I screamed.
He hurried to my side, reached down, and held the unconscious body, his hands covering with her blood.
With her head on his shoulder, he looked up at me. His dark eyes opened wide as he stared at me. “Where’s Mrs. Ramses?”
Emma
The shop, somewhere in the middle of the French Quarter, boasted futures told and palms read. The front of the store had shelves lined with jars filled with all sorts of things. There were candles and incense, oils, and books. There was a room with a crystal ball and another with sofas and soft chairs. Edmée and I had been dropped off at the back door and were currently in what was simply a break room with a microwave, coffee pot, refrigerator, and table. Compared to the rest of the shop, it was benign.
I poured myself another cup of coffee as I looked up at the clock. “Edmée, I have to get to Rett.”
“Child, be patient.”