"Bloodletting, Part 2" - A John Carter Story Rated R
Roberts
Author/pseudonym: Cathy Roberts
Email address: hunter...@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Status: Part 2 of 6, completed
Character: John Carter
Date: October 31, 2000
Archive: No
Category: "E.R." "
Disclaimer: "ER" and all its characters belong to Warner
Bros No infringement of their copyright is intended. This
story was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere,
and may be downloaded for your own pleasure.
Summary: An AU story set in late August of 2000. Does not
contain spoilers for Season 7. John Carter takes a detour
on his way home from Atlanta. As usual, my eternal thanks
to Melissa, my editor, who keeps me on my toes and had to
work quickly to get this edited in time for posting on
Halloween. I owe you one, Melissa, thank you. When a song
lyric challenge was issued on the ER FanFiction Critique
Corner list, the idea for this story was born. It quickly
evolved into something bigger than a single chapter and has
been months in the making. I hope that you have as much
enjoyment reading it as I did writing it. I encourage you
to search out information on New Orleans and at least give
yourselves the chance to visit the city electronically.
"Bloodletting, Part 2"
By Cathy Roberts
As he let himself through the gate of the B&B, John noticed
that a path curved off to the right of the house. It most
likely led to the garden that was below his room, so he
followed it, enjoying the smells of the flowers that were
planted abundantly along the pathway. Sure enough, as he
rounded the back of the house, John found himself in the
garden itself. He eased himself down into one of the
wrought iron chairs, stretching his legs out in front of him
and closed his eyes. The sound of the water cascading down
in the fountain was calming and a soft breeze was blowing
through the trees, cooling the area even more. He could get
used to living like this, John thought.
A new scent assailed his senses. A perfume, but not the
same one he had smelled earlier. This one was musky.
Opening his eyes, he saw that he was no longer alone in the
garden.
Rising to his feet, John smiled. "Mrs. De la Farcy?"
The woman smiled back and extended her hand in greeting.
"Guilty as charged, Doctor Carter. Perault said he saw you
walking along the path, so I thought I would come out here
to visit with you. I have to leave for work in an hour, but
I did so want a chance to meet you."
John shook her hand, then found himself reluctant to let
go. It wasn't just that she was a beautiful woman, although
he couldn't ignore the red-gold hair that would have hung
past her shoulders if not for the fact that it was caught up
in a bun at the back of her head. Nor could he ignore her
auburn eyes or porcelain skin. Like Perault, her accent was
southern with a hint of something else underneath. No, it
wasn't her voice that held him in place. It was something
that he couldn't describe. Something that grabbed at him,
rendering him vulnerable to all of her charms.
"Please sit. Perault is bringing us out some bourbon laced
lemonade."
"Oh, thank you, but I can't drink that." John said as he
sat down. A tingle ran up his spine as she sat down in the
chair next to his.
"You don't drink lemonade? Or is it the bourbon you avoid?"
she asked with a small smile on her lips.
"The bourbon." While it was true that John had never before
had a problem with holding his alcohol, since being in rehab
he had decided that it would be best right now to avoid it.
He didn't want to let alcohol replace painkillers as an
anesthetic for his physical and emotional pain.
"I should have asked first. I apologize, Doctor Carter, for
causing you any inconvenience." She looked past John.
"Perault, could you bring a plain lemonade out for Doctor
Carter?"
John turned his head to see that Perault was headed their
way, balancing a tray that held two iced glasses and a
pitcher of lemonade.
"Of course." Perault placed the tray on the table between
the chairs, then went back into the house, quickly returning
with a glass of lemonade for John.
"Thank you," John said. He took a sip and found the
beverage to be just the way he liked it, not too tart and
not too sweet.
He looked up over the rim of the glass to see that his
hostess was intently watching him. She smiled as she caught
his glance.
"Is everything to your satisfaction, Doctor Carter?"
"Yes. Everything is fine."
"May I ask what your specialty is, or would that be too
personal a question?" She smiled as she put her drink on the
table between them, then licked the residue of the alcohol
from her lips.
"It's not too personal. I work in Emergency Medicine.
Trauma."
She nodded. "Like the show on cable, 'Life and Death in the
ER', or something like that?"
"That's right. Perault mentioned that this house has been
in your family since the early 1800's."
She nodded. "It's never left our bloodline in all that
time."
"It must be nice; getting to meet so many different people."
"I enjoy the variety. My husband died before the house
became a glorified hotel."
"I'm sorry." John didn't think she looked old enough to be
a widow.
"Don't be. Death is one thing that no one can stop. As a
doctor, you should know that."
John found himself thinking about Lucy and he nodded. "All
too well, Mrs. De la Farcy."
She smiled warmly at him. "You can call me Marguerite,
Doctor Carter."
"Thank you. My name is John." They drank in silence. John
was enjoying the quiet of the backyard garden. Now that
night was closing in, the air felt cool and he could smell
the luscious scents of the evening flowers. "It's really
lovely here."
"New Orleans is quite a city, John. I'm sure you'll like it
here."
"I've enjoyed myself so far, not that I've seen much. I was
thinking of hitting some of the jazz clubs on Bourbon
Street, but not tonight. I think the humidity is catching
up to me." He stifled a yawn.
"It does take some getting used to. The 'seasoning' is what
they called it back in the old days. Becoming accustomed to
the weather. I need to be on my way to work, but please,
stay out here and enjoy the garden. I did add some lighting
out here and other guests have said it looks most soothing
after dark."
As she stood John got to his feet. "Thank you for the
lemonade and your company."
"It was a pleasure to meet you, John," she said. Then she
went back into the house.
John sat back down just as Perault returned to remove the
pitcher and the empty glass. "Would you care for another
lemonade, Doctor Carter?"
"Yes, that would be nice. Thank you." He handed the glass
to Perault, then watched the man walk away. John wasn't
sure what to make of the man, or of his hostess. Marguerite
De la Farcy was certainly different from any other women he
had met before. A young widow, making a good living from
turning her house into a Bed & Breakfast, but working
nights? And having a butler? It just didn't add up to him.
Perault returned with a glass full of lemonade and as John
took it he noticed that it was a clean glass. His hostess
apparently didn't care about how much water was used to wash
dishes. Then John remembered breakfast, and the fact that
he needed to let Perault know when he wanted to eat.
"Perault?"
"Sir?" The man had begun to go inside, but he turned when
John called him.
"I think that nine will be good for breakfast; if that's not
too much trouble for you?"
"No, sir. Nine will be fine. If you wish more lemonade,
there's a pitcher on the counter in the kitchen. If you
need anything else and can't find it, just call for me."
"I will. Thank you."
"Enjoy your evening, sir."
Perault went back into the house and John returned to his
quiet contemplation. His mind went from his mysterious
hostess to the equally mysterious child who had given him
the gris-gris. A good luck charm? He needed that back in
February, but certainly not now. John still thought the
child had mistaken him for someone else, but he couldn't
deny how comfortable he felt while wearing the charm. He
fingered it through the fabric of his shirt, reassured by
its presence. John took a long drink of the lemonade, then
laid his head back and closed his eyes for a brief rest,
listening to the sounds of the city as it came to life for
the night.
When he opened his eyes, John was surprised to see that it
had become dark enough for the lighting that Marguerite had
mentioned had now come on. A light from inside the fountain
shone upward, illuminating the water and casting the
statuette on the top into shadows. Strategically placed
lights around the back yard created a dappling effect,
turning some places into a haven and others into a dark
hole. Very interesting. Not that much different really
than what it looked like around the pool at his
grandparents' estate.
John yawned, then looked at his watch to see if it was too
early to turn in for the night. It was only ten, but he was
tired and decided to go on up to bed. He left his empty
glass in the kitchen, then went upstairs. The overhead
light wasn't on in the hallway, but accent lamps lit the way
and John found his way with no trouble. He was just about
to go into his room when he saw something out of the corner
of his eye. He turned, but not quickly enough to catch
anything. Or anyone. He could hear a creaking sound
though, and he walked to the end of the hallway, where a
rocking chair sat. It was still moving, making the creaking
sound. He reached out and stopped it, noting that the seat
was still warm. Someone had been sitting there. Who?
Marguerite had left for work and he was the only guest. If
Perault had been sitting there, then he would have said
something to him, wouldn't he? John shook his head, then
headed back the way he had come. He found himself pausing
outside the door of the room he had seen earlier, the one
with the broken mirror and bloodstained quilt. The door had
been open then, but it was closed now.
John hesitated a moment, then opened the door. The room
should have been dark, but it wasn't. An oil lamp burned on
the dresser and the reflected light helped to further
illuminate the room. The quilt was turned down, as if to
receive a guest. John stepped into the room, wondering if
someone had checked in after he had left for dinner. He
spun around as he heard the door close. He hadn't heard
anyone else out in the hallway, he thought as he reached for
the door knob. It was freezing to his touch and refused to
turn.
"Great. Just great. Why is it my bad luck to get caught
sneaking around?" He was about to bang on the door when he
heard soft feminine laughter from behind him. He turned
slowly and looked over at the dresser, surprised to see two
women in front of it. One sat in a chair, a smile on her
face as she spoke with the other woman who was busy putting
up her hair. The women didn't seem to be aware of his
presence, so John took a few steps toward them.
They were speaking French, and even though it had been a
long time since he had spoken the language, he was able to
understand what they were saying. They were talking about
an upcoming ball and who would be there. That was when John
noticed that they were dressed in old clothing. Well, not
really old as in aged, but old as in clothing that hadn't
been worn in New Orleans since the 1800's. He shivered as
he thought that maybe he was in the presence of a pair of
ghosts, but he couldn't keep from taking another step toward
them.
As one, the women looked into the mirror, which was now
unbroken. John met their eyes, but he didn't feel any fear
as they smiled at him. The hairdresser spoke to him then,
in French. "We need your help, John." Her brown eyes
seemed to plead with him through the glass. "I sent you a
gris-gris to keep you safe in this house. Never take it
off."
The other woman nodded, then handed a brush to her hair
dresser. "Listen to Marie, John. She can tell you what to
do to help us. You will help us, won't you?"
John licked his lips, not sure what to say. How did one
respond when two ghosts asked for help? "I don't know what
I can do," he finally said.
They smiled at him again, and the one identified as Marie
nodded. "I'll tell you all you need to know. Trust me. Do
not believe..."
The door behind John opened and the women and the lamps all
disappeared. Even as Perault asked him if he was all right,
John noticed that the mirror once more was cracked and the
bed was made once more. Had he imagined seeing all that?
"Excuse me?" he said to Perault.
"I didn't know you spoke French, Doctor Carter," Perault
said.
"Sorry." John hadn't realized that had spoken to the man in
French. "I thought I heard someone in here, but it must
have been my imagination."
"Old houses often have strange noises, sir. The sounds that
a house makes as it continues to settle can often be
unnerving."
"Yes, they can."
Perault walked with John to his room, then lingered there as
John opened the door.
"Good night, Doctor Carter," Perault said.
"Good night. See you in the morning." John flipped on the
switch for the overhead light, then shut the door. He
waited until he heard Perault's footsteps, then locked the
door. Not that it would really do any good if Perault were
up to no good. The man probably had keys to every room in
the house.
John walked out onto his balcony, pleased to see that the
lights were still on in the garden. From up here, the small
area looked even more magical than it had when he was
sitting in it. As he relaxed, he couldn't keep his mind off
the scene he had witnessed. He knew that he had not been
imagining things when he saw those two women. They were too
real for that. And they had spoken to him. In French of
all things, but then, at one time, New Orleans had been
under French rule. And before that, under Spanish control.
Who were those women? The dark haired beauty with the pale
skin had to have been the lady of the house. Was she an
ancestor of his current hostess? And who was the hair
dresser, Marie? She obviously had some African blood, but
she didn't behave as if she was a slave. Had there been a
lot of free Blacks in New Orleans before the Civil War? He
didn't know, but he knew there were places he could go to
find out. The library was one place. And there were a lot
of museums around the city. Tomorrow was Sunday and he
wasn't sure if the library would be open. He supposed he
could ask Perault in the morning.
Sighing, John went back into his room, carefully shutting
the doors so that the precious cool air wouldn't escape into
the night. After turning on the bedside lamp and cutting
off the overhead one, he got ready for bed. Luckily, he had
his own bathroom, so he didn't have to go back out into the
hallway. There was no telling who or what he might run into
as the night progressed.
As he slipped in between the sheets, John touched the
gris-gris, comforted by it. He made a mental note to find
out what he could about them as well. Marie had said she
had given it to him and that he should never take it off.
He didn't see any reason right now to not do as she
suggested. No reason at all.
He closed his eyes and let the worries of the day and
evening slip away, falling into a deep sleep within minutes.
*********************
There's a rocking chair by the window
Down the hall.
I hear something there in the shadow
Down the hall.
O you were a vampire and now I am
Nothing at all.
O you were a vampire and now I am
Nothing at all.
*********************************
Rays from the morning sun slipped through the windows of
John's room, softly awakening him. He stretched carefully,
making sure he didn't hurt his back. He had expected it to
be aching after all the walking he had done the day before,
but as he sat up in bed, he was pleased to find that wasn't
the case. Smiling, he grabbed his toiletries and headed for
the bathroom to shower before breakfast. There was a lot he
wanted to check out today, the library, museums, and even
some historical sites. He wanted to find out who the woman
had been in the room with Marie last night. Needed to find
out who they both were and when they had lived in New
Orleans.
After getting his shower and dressing, John was about to
head out when he noticed that the door to his room wasn't
shut all the way. It was still locked though. He paused,
his hand on the door knob, as he struggled to remember if he
had actually pushed the door closed all the way last night.
He remembered standing there and listening for sounds that
Perault had walked away. He didn't want to be rude and lock
the door while the man was standing there, even if the
butler or whatever he was, was beginning to give him the
creeps. John was sure he had shut the door all the way.
And it wasn't shut now. Someone had come into his room,
either last night or while he was in the shower. He had
taken off the gris-gris while showering, not sure if it
would be harmed if he got it wet. His hand strayed to his
chest and he touched it through his shirt. Marie had said
to never take it off. From now on, he thought, he would
heed her words, even in the shower.
John was almost out the door when he remembered the tourist
guide books that were on the night stand. He could read
through them while eating breakfast without appearing to be
rude. It wasn't as if he would have company. He grabbed
the magazines, then headed downstairs.
"Good morning, Doctor Carter," Perault greeted him at the
foot of the stairs. "You're up early. Your breakfast isn't
ready."
"That's okay, take your time. I'll just go outside and wait
in the garden, if that's all right?"
Perault nodded. "That would be fine. I'll come to get you
when your breakfast is ready. I trust you slept well?"
John smiled. "Yes, I did, thank you."
As John headed out the back door, he could feel Perault's
eyes upon him. Suppressing a shiver, John sat down in the
same chair he had sat in last night. It wasn't hot yet, but
he could feel the humidity already. While it was
comfortable in the garden at the moment, John knew that
would change within the next few hours.
He opened one of the magazines and began to thumb though the
pages, looking for ads for the places he wanted. By the
time Perault came to get him for breakfast, John had decided
to go to the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum since it
opened at ten. After that he would try the library, which
didn't open until one. Between the two places, he might be
able to find answers to some of his questions. The library
had a genealogical section, so he could try to find out more
about the house itself while there. He was interested in
finding out about the "legend" that surrounded the house.
Maybe the women he saw were connected to that in some way.
Breakfast was good and filling, and John thanked Perault for
it, then went to brush his teeth before leaving for the
museum. He was tempted to ask Perault for directions, but
he had a map of the area and thought he would be able to
find it on his own. John didn't want to think about the
fact that he simply didn't want Perault to know where he was
going.
"Going sightseeing again, Doctor Carter?" Perault asked as
John was opening the front door.
"I thought I'd walk around a bit before it gets too hot.
Any suggestions?"
"Everything in New Orleans is worth seeing, sir. You might
find the services at St. Louis Cathedral to be interesting.
It's a very old church."
"I'm not much of a church goer, but I do like old
buildings. Thanks."
"Have fun, sir."
When John turned around to close the gate, he saw that
Perault was still standing in the open doorway, watching
him. John forced himself to smile as he waved. Perault
didn't wave back but he did close the door.
"Strange guy," John muttered to himself. Then he headed for
the museum.
****************************************
The directions for the museum had been pretty clear so John
had no trouble finding it. He paid the entrance fee and
stepped inside, already happy to be out of the growing
humidity of the day.
"Welcome to the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum," said
the smiling man who greeted John a few steps inside the
entrance.
"Thank you. This is a pretty big place." Even though he
hadn't seen it all yet, John could easily see that he was in
a fairly big building.
"We house a lot of historic artifacts here. Here, take one
of our floor maps. We do have tours through the museum if
you'd like a guided tour, or you can walk through on your
own. Our staff is available to answer any questions you
might have."
"I think I'll walk around on my own." John took the map.
"Thanks."
John glanced down at the map, then asked, "Do you have
information here on gris-gris?" He hoped he was pronouncing
it correctly. Lord knows, I don't have any idea how to
spell it, he thought.
"Yes, we do. A lot of people ask about them. They can be
used as charms for good or for evil. It all depends on the
intent of the person who made it. They are excellent
protection," he added.
"But they can be made for other purposes, right?"
The man nodded. "Of course. Good health, prosperity,
financial ruin, even death. But protection was, and is,
often a popular usage."
"Can you look at one and tell what it was made for?"
The man shook his head. "No. As I said, the power is
determined by the intent of the creator. If it's for good,
then it's juju. If bad, then it's mojo. Not to be confused
with the 'mojo' being bantered about in the Austin Powers
movies," he said with a smile.
John laughed at that, and the man continued, "The power of
the juju, or, gris-gris. Take your time looking around.
Since you seem to be so interested in the gris-gris, you
should check out our section on the life of Marie Laveau.
She was the self-styled 'Pope of Voodoo', but her
contemporaries and the later historians referred to her as
'The Voodoo Queen of New Orleans'. A most fascinating
woman. We have a lot of her belongings here. The making of
gris-gris was one of her specialties."
"Thank you. I'll check that out first." For some reason,
John's skin had tingled when the man had said the name
"Marie Laveau". Could that be the Marie who spoke to him?
Of course, in a town where French had been the primary
language for such a long time, the name of Marie had to be a
fairly common one. Still, as John searched out the room on
the map and headed in that direction, he couldn't ignore the
fact that his heart was racing.
The minute John entered the exhibit area, his attention was
centered on the painting on the far wall. It was of a woman
of mixed ancestry, a beautiful woman who carried her head
high. A woman whose eyes seemed to look into his soul from
the canvas. Marie Laveau. Marie the hairdresser. Marie
the woman who had given him the gris-gris. Marie Laveau, a
woman who had been born in either 1794 or 1796 and who had
died in 1881.
John slowly approached the portrait, ignoring the rest of
the painting as he concentrated on the image of Marie. It
had captured her perfectly, he thought, except for the age.
The woman he had spoken with last night had been much
younger. Of course, she had been a ghost, or a figment of
his imagination, so why should her age be in sync with
portrait?
He reached up and touched her cheek, feeling the smooth
canvas under his fingertips. "Marie," he breathed.
"Compelling, isn't she?" A female voice asked him.
John jerked his hand away and turned to look at the
speaker. She was African-American, dressed in clothes
similar to what Marie was wearing in the portrait. "Yes,
she is."
"I'm Alkanyah." She held out her hand and he grasped it
firmly.
"John Carter. Do you work here?"
"Not here. I like to come here to visit with Marie. I have
my own voodoo temple; one based on voodoo as the way it was
practiced here in Marie's time."
"I wasn't aware that it was still so popular," John said.
"It's very popular, and not just amongst the
African-Americans. It can also be of benefit to the
Anglos. I see that you wear a gris-gris."
John fought down the urge to touch it through his shirt to
make sure it was safe. He could feel it against his skin
and that was enough. It had to be enough, he thought as
Marie's warning echoed through his mind. "It was a gift."
Alkanyah smiled. "Then it is surely strong. Someone must
think highly of you, John Carter."
He nodded. "I'm not sure about that. I don't know the
woman who gave it to me. But, she warned me to never remove
it."
Alkanyah's smile faded away as she heard him say that. "You
must be in some danger then."
John shrugged. "Not that I know about. I'm just a tourist
here."
"I see. Which hotel are you staying in?"
"I'm at a bed and breakfast. It's called 'The Chastain
House'. Have you heard of it?"
Alkanyah slowly nodded. "Everyone involved in voodoo has
heard of that place. It is well that you have protection
while staying there. I would advise you to move to a
hotel."
"That bad, huh? I read that there's some legend associated
with the house, but I haven't found what that legend
entails. You know what it is, don't you?"
"I don't like to speak ill of the living, John Carter. I
really must be going. Keep the gris-gris on you at all
times and heed my advice."
She turned away from him and left. John frowned, then
dismissed her from his mind as he turned back around to look
at Marie's image. He wouldn't be able to see Marie again if
he was staying in a hotel and he had a feeling that it was
important that he be in a place where he could hear and see
her.
End of Part 2