Excerpt from my new book - Secret Sins

June 1986, South New Orleans
“Take your slimy coonass hands off me!” He straightened his shoulders, wiping an imaginary speck of dirt off his lapel.

“Dieu, don’t force me to turn my man on you. Il n’a pas rien il va pas faire.”

He couldn’t catch everything said, because of the rapid Cajun dialect. But the look that passed between the men was unmistakable. Leaning down, he rested his palms on the desktop, “Listen,” he hissed. “I’ll have your goddamn money. Here’s ten thousand.” He slapped the envelope on the desk.

The man picked it up not bothering to look inside. His black eyes drilled into those across from him. “Mon ami,” the words were softly spoken. “Don’t play games. If you want to live a prosperous life, you’ll get the rest.” The man’s thin lips stretched taut across teeth stained from too many smokes, “Foute ton quant d’ici.”

Monroe, La.
In the cabin Felita stood gazing at her reflection in the gilt-edged mirror. Her eyes lighted on the image beyond her own likeness, to that of the gown spread upon the bed. She had designed the garment for tonight’s festivities, her fourteenth wedding anniversary. Her heart didn’t feel like celebrating. When had his love to hate? She sensed his rage toward her in everything he said. Her hand tightened around the scrap of silk she held. Her green eyes looked haunted as she gazed at herself. She knew he was involved with another woman. She held the proof in her hand. Behind her, the cabin door begins to open. The wild look in his brown eyes frightens her. The silk panty slips from nerveless fingers.

Three months later
The patient’s large dark rimmed eyes tried to focus on the face of the doctor as he leaned over her. “Well, have you decided to come back to the living?” The doctor placed a cold metal stethoscope on her chest.

Sucking in a breath, she tried to speak. The words stuck in a dry throat.

“Easy does it,” the doctor said in soothing tones.
He poured some water in a glass adding a straw before holding it up to her lips. She clutched his hand. Like a dry desert trying to slurp juice from a dying cactus, she guzzled the water until he pulled the glass from her reach. “Slow down.”

She fell back against the pillows, exhausted. 

The doctor set the glass on the table beside the bed. “Hang in there, the nurse will give you something for pain.”

From across the room a woman’s voice inquired, “Is she going to be okay? Do you think she’ll remember what happened?” 

“We’ll see. Our patient is the only one who can answer that question.” Turning back toward her, he asked, “Do you know where you are?”

Her head hurt. Her throat felt scratchy, like sandpaper.  She tried to move her parched lips. Finally she forced out, “Whe…?”

“It may be difficult to talk for a couple of days, but you’ll get your voice back soon. Why don’t you blink your eyes once for no, and twice for yes?”

She blinked twice.

“Good. Now do you remember your name?”

She blinked twice.
“Very good. Are you experiencing any pain around your temporal area?”

Again she blinked for yes.

“That’s to be expected with this type of injury. Do you remember what happened?”

Her eyes darted about the room, and then settled on the doctor. Instead of blinking, she vehemently shook her head. Moaning, she closed her eyes.
“Rest for a while, Ms. Howard. That’s all we’ll try for now.”

Margo followed the doctor out of the room. “Doctor, she’ll be all right, won’t she?”  Nervously she twisted her hands together.

“Mrs. Harrison it’s too soon to say whether or not Ms. Howard will regain all her memory. She’s barely conscious. Give her time to heal. Give her brain time to function properly again.” He placed a comforting hand on Margo’s shoulder and squeezed. “I hope they find the person who did this to her. Well, I’ve other patients that need attention. Why don’t you come back later this afternoon, after the sedative wears off?”

Margo nodded in agreement. She stuck her head around the door to peek at her cousin.  Felita was fast asleep. Margo could see the bruises on her face had healed but the wound to her head would take longer. She let the door close softly.

Her husband waited patiently in the lobby while she sat with Felita. She went to join him there. He rose when she stepped out of the elevator and opened his arms. “Honey, how is she? Any change?”

She went limp in his arms. “Oh God, Brent. She’s awake.” The tears flowed as he held her close. Smoothing his hand up and down her back, he whispered comforting words in her ear.

One year later, south of New Orleans
Air swooshed through his lungs when once again a fist pummeled his stomach. He wondered how much more he could take before it killed him. If he were lucky, it’d be soon. Two men held him up while the third and largest continued to pound away at his bruised body. He could feel the warmth of his blood as it oozed from open abrasions. Its metallic taste filled his mouth as his teeth were forced down on his tongue by the fist ramming his jaw. From beneath a swollen lid, he watched the larger of the men prepare a final strike. He knew this was it. The force of this punch should snap his neck. Much to his surprise, his cotton-filled brain heard a siren. The hands holding him loosened.

“C’est assez. Allons.”

“Damn it.” The largest man, who appeared to be the leader, spoke more slur words in his native tongue. He spat a wad of tobacco juice toward the inert body. “Throw him in the bayou”.