New Orleans - 1850

  “Alcide Brimstone, you best not sleep the day away! Afeard of the work, are ye?”

  Alcide raised his head from the dusty scratched wooden counter-top, his matted strands of darkened brown hair crimping over his eyebrows, and a sour expression across his face, inside the dingy little shop of medicines and other proclivities. The store room held furs, trappings, and other items of need, a general store, no less, but some items were procured with greater intent.

  Alcide scrambled to hide a small revolver that was sitting out atop the counter, and shuffled it into a crate beneath him, kicking it further under the counter, obscuring it.

  A beautiful young woman strode across the room to the young man, her rag like attire matching his own, but not detracting from her beauty.

  “My Father won’t be pleased none,” she snapped, her knotted brown locks swinging down past her neck. “Don't let him lay eyes upon those again,” she motioned to the revolver that had been whisked away. “For paying customer only...the ones who know...that be.”

  She sighed, eyeing over the defeated looking young man. “You was out all night with that French boy, weren’t ya?” The woman lamented.

  “Céleste,” Alcide moaned, “he’s Belgian.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “No difference none, that Perry’s unwell, got something dark...unclean...ominous ways about him.”

  “He’s ideas. We both have,” Alcide stood, cracking his neck. “I can’t be a betty for your father all my life,” he muttered.”

  “This be proud and humble work. You’re eighteen years now.” Céleste held her stomach, a little bump protruding. She touched it tenderly. “A man did this,” she continued, “you did this...now...” she motioned around the store, “do this.”

  Alcide clenched his teeth, looking back down towards the revolver peeking out of the crate. “You’ll be grateful for what I do some do. As will our family. My legacy.”

  ***********************************

  Perry idled in the fields, trying not to dirty his fancy ruffled clothes as he tiptoed along the tight rope that was a small wall of stone, chucking rocks in the direction of dehydrated slaves that tilled the lands under the hot evening sun. Behind him stood a grand white estate, looming powerfully over the cotton fields before them. Towering Oak trees guarded the long promenade to the house, with Spanish moss occasionally shielding the brilliant facade, but rarely, if ever.

  “Aha,” Perry giggled at his own contemptuousness, as the thin and lanky middle aged slave, wiped his darkened brow under the beating wave of heat, while trying to resume his work. A routine that occurred quite frequently, though one of minor consequence when compared to the boy's devilishly brutal father and the cackling fiendish madness of the mother.

  “Perry!” Alcide ran up, excitedly, near tumbling in the tall grass as he wove through from a distance.

  Perry grinned, a malicious look under his blackened curls, as the sun bounced off his almost ghostly white face.

  “I’ve decided upon it,” Alcide said, coming to a stop, huffing profusely as he caught his breath. “I brought the provisions from the store, as you requested.” Alcide removed a tiny hide skin wrapped with twine that was hidden within the waist of his person. Unwrapping it, he unveiled the revolver to his bedeviled friend.

  Perry smiled, a wide and evil grin, as he looked upon the weapon, his hands almost instantly stretching out to clasp it in his spindly fingers, wanting for something more than he ever had at that point, but knowing something even greater lay in store if he waited just a little bit longer.

  Alcide looked back with a peculiar grin. “Show me this god of yours.”