Thelma & Louise Stories: Facing Ghosts Posted by: Aaron Stearns | 0 Comments
New Orleans was hot, sticky, the air thick like bisque as we stepped out of our hotel on Bienville in the French Quarter. Earlier in the day, The Hanged Man had stared back at me from the purple velvet covered card table. The Tarot reader in Jackson Square had said that I was at a crossroads, and that it may be time to let something go. “That’s the understatement of the year,” Susan had muttered as she blew smoke rings toward the river.
It had only been twenty-four hours since I found the texts on my future ex-husband’s phone.
A half hour later we were walking up Bourbon St., Hurricanes in hand. I was already silently letting the worry seep in about leaving without telling anyone. A thin line of incense wafted out of the open doorway of Marie Laveau’s, momentarily distracting me, when someone placed a neatly folded flier into the palm of my hand and then disappeared into the crowd. “Haunted French Quarter Tour,” it read. Out of nowhere I felt a surge of adrenaline. And I realized the Tarot reader was right. It was time to face ghosts.
Susan took a sip of her Hurricane. “You, the Chicken of the Sea, want to do a haunted tour?” Then a smile slowly spread across her face. Twenty-five years of friendship was not for nothing.
Seven-thirty we stood at the entrance of Pirate’s Alley as the rain pelted our umbrellas and the tour director’s voice bellowed over the group. Susan took my hand in hers and squeezed as we stepped together into the darkness.
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