Chapter 9 [Several Hours Later]

As a result of Henry and Lucas' respective discoveries in the morgue, the situation quickly resolved itself. Cathers and Davenport found themselves processed and on their way to separate cells within the hour. Richards found himself released after agreeing to seek help over his drinking issues. Jo pressed herself to get the reports written up and back to Reece for processing.

All in all, a great day overall.

And more was yet to come….

[Abe's Antiques]

Henry stood at the window and observed the scene on the street with interest. He saw the passersby milling up and down the asphalt way in their daily activities. Cars passed on their way to their next destinations. A stiff wind blew stray wrappers and papers about the area in front of the shop. Dark clouds blotted out Nocturne's stellar archipelago above.

He noted that a light snow began to cascade downward, dotting the scene with its first gentle flakes before the forecasted storm proper swept in off of the Sound. And so nature asserts herself against the human masses. We cannot stand in her wake be we mortal or immortal…. Another sip reminded him of how arrogant Cathers and Davenport had been and how their schemes had been unwound by his efforts.

Hubris was a weak master at that….

He turned from the window and headed back toward the counter. Abe wouldn't be back from an art show for a couple of hours at least. His mind stewed over Cathers' arrogant attempt to strong arm Reece and Jo trying to intimidate them in front of the squad. It never stops, does it? He considered an antique brown tome on the desk in front of him. He'd brought it up from the sanctum after getting home but couldn't bring himself to open it…

…to face the account of his last day in New Orleans over a century and a half earlier….

The rich and powerful rewrite accounts as they see fit. Pity they don't understand the damage they cause in the process. Henry finished his tea grimly and shook his head. Perhaps once Abe had returned, he'd talk to him about it.

Some things did need to be purged after all….

I wish more could've been done for Miss Richeleu. To be trapped by that monster in a loveless marriage, that is Hell itself! He brooded on that last point and nodded in appreciation for his own fortunes.

Perhaps Fortuna had consigned him to walk the immortal path yet she had granted him two of the most wonderful women in the universe as his companions for a time…

…first Abigail…

…and now Jo….

His heart uncharacteristically skipped a beat at the thought of them. He felt his own personal doubt washing away. His soul dropped its mournful baggage if only for a minute. He turned toward the door and smiled broadly.

Jo rapped on the glass outside. She waved and admittedly shivered in the wintry wind.

He hustled toward the door and opened it for her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you wait."

She smiled at him. "I just got here. We'll let it slide this time, Henry." She embraced him while placing her lips on top of his in a long kiss. She felt warm and safe in the harbor of his arms. She felt the energy flowing back and forth between their hungry mouths.

For once, Henry felt his own inhibitions give way on her account. He definitely loved this wonderful woman. He was accepting that Abigail had willed he move on with her. Like her, he felt the energy and imbibed his senses in its wonder.

Both allowed Amor to recharge their senses and push them closer together.

Then she broke off the contact and stepped back. "Sorry. It was the moment."

"It's all right. I enjoyed it actually," he assured her.

She nodded in approval. "Glad to see that. I wanted you to know that it's okay for us to be open. When you're ready to talk about that duel, I'll be glad to listen."

He glanced in surprise at her. "How? I never…."

She shrugged with a frown. "You didn't." She held up the manila envelope. "Our resident stalker did. Henry, what possessed you to take that creep on like that?"

He sighed heavily. His mind skittered back and forth between the book and the necklace downstairs. He really wanted to talk about anything but that….

She rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. "Henry, it's okay. It's in the past. We're here now…."

"Michel Dijon was very similar to Cathers. In that case, the whole sordid affair happened because his fiancée was ill. I brought her in off the street and tended to her without a witness. One of his associates watched us walk into my office and fetched Dijon. Dijon ransacked my office, beat me and then challenged me to the duel in question. All because he wanted to save face." Henry shook his head. "These fools play at honor. They have no idea."

She smiled at him. "You went through with it just like today, right? You faced Cathers with the proof. You put him away. You protected Reece and me. At least you did it, right?" Her lips brushed his cheek. "I knew you'd be there, Henry. I have faith in you whether you realize it or not."

"It does things easier to bear around us. I appreciate your wanting to work with me…to be with me," he expressed. "I saw the doubt in your eyes. For a split second, I had to seem like I waivered. It was all a feint in that verbal duel to draw Cathers in. Then I finished him and handed him over to you ladies for the arrest. Case closed. It's amazing what Experience does teach you, isn't it?"

"Yeah it is. That's why you amaze, Henry. Just don't let it go to your head," she complimented half-seriously. "But I do need to know what happened between Dijon and you. Just for my own experience."

He exhaled deeply not wanting to open that door again. However, for her sake, he had to. "All right," he conceded before starting the account again. "It was a chill morning very similar to today in that cemetery…."

[New Orleans—Morning after Dijon's incursion into Henry's Office]

Having been unable to sleep, Henry sat in his office all night putting his affairs in order. He knew Dijon was a crack shot with the revolver having witnessed several demonstrations at the latter's plantation. Consequently he understood the odds were stacked against him.

Lying on the table beside his left hand, a cleaned and polished antique revolver, a small cloth sack and a equally small wooden box sat ready for their service.

In the fireplace, the flames consumed the notes about his condition. Some of his more personal effects lay beneath them in their ashen state.

A pity really! Not only will I have to leave. I have to destroy everything too. Will people like Dijon not understand what they do? He stood and stoked the flames a couple of times with the iron fork by the hearth morosely. I can redo those notes when I get to my next place.

The old grandfather clock wheezed and bonged five times in the corner.

It is time. Alas, gentle practice, I knew you not well enough! He stood and retrieved the items from the table stuffing them into his pockets. Then he pulled on his suitcoat and sucked in a heavy breath. While he considered dueling a barbaric practice, he understood and treasured the concept of honor….

…even if ingrates like Dijon manipulated it to their own ends….

Henry lived to stand up to such bullies and manipulative bastards.

He marched out of the office and out the door. He locked the outer portal with a single twist of his metallic key before dropping it in his pocket.

Above the stars still twinkled and danced in Nocturne's backdrop blissfully unaware of what was about to happen below.

He suppressed a shudder and cleared his throat. "Face it like a man, Henry. You can do this." He descended the steps toward the board sidewalk and turned right toward the graveyard.

"Dr. Morgan, wait please!" Sister Marie called while rushing toward him out of the darkness.

"Sister Marie, you are certainly here early," he noted in surprise.

"Almost late apparently. Thankfully the Lord allowed me to catch up to you, Doctor," she corrected him gently. "I cannot believe that insane fool has challenged you like this. It is not for us to presume judgment in such affairs." She followed him as he briskly walked toward St. Louis' necropolis.

"Dijon feels it is apparently," he disagreed.

"Dijon will account for his sins as will we all," she countered as they turned the corner. "I have prayed for you, Dr. Morgan."

As they reached the cemetery's gate, they found the cast-iron portal strangely unlocked.

"Please go back, Sister. I do not wish you to witness what is to come. Please remember me fondly," he requested of his companion.

"As your assistant and friend, Doctor, I shall proceed. Besides you do not have what they call a second, do you? I shall serve as much and then ask God to forgive me later," the nun replied frankly. "I know you. You did not dishonor Miss Richeleu. I have faith that things will work out as they should."

He shrugged. If only I did! He led them down a single cobblestone path through the ancient gravestones in that part of the cemetery. Already his skin perspired from the predawn humidity and his own nerves. His eyes skittered this way and that across the rows of granite and sandstone.

Then he saw a silhouetted figure in a top hat waving a torch to signal him from thirty yards away.

"He, I presume, is signaling to us," he deduced.

"Dr. Morgan, I beseech you to go to the constable over this matter. A trial will clear you," she urged.

"It should except that Dijon's money and influence will manipulate those jurors. No. This is the only way." He stood straight and tall. "I will face this for Ms. Richeleu and myself." He proceeded toward the torch to find Denis waiting for him. "Good morrow, Sir. I trust your master is waiting."

Denis rolled his eyes. "Monsieur Dijon is waiting for you, Morgan. I trust you've put your affairs in order?" He saw Sister Marie. "And you've brought her? This was supposed to be a private affair."

"A demonic affair you mean," she denounced. "This should be settled in a court not out here."

"This is an affair of honor. Leave it for a woman especially one such as you not to understand such things," Denis scoffed before leading them around the cypress tree and a stone mausoleum.

There four torches had been lit and placed in strategic places around the open yellowed grass patch. Dijon spoke to another man dressed in a dark coat and a top hat. Off to the side Ms. Richeleu shuddered fearfully. A nasty bruise had formed on her cheek from where her fiancé had presumably struck her.

"Savage!" Sister Marie scowled angrily. She crossed herself furiously.

"Dijon only did what was necessary. Much as he will do in a few minutes' time, you stupid nun," Denis pointed out.

"Certainly not a gentleman's act despite what he believes," Henry rebutted.

"She paid for her indiscretion as will you, Morgan. What you believe is immaterial," Morgan retorted brusquely. He strode toward the two newcomers. "Where is your second? Certainly you wouldn't face me alone, would you?"

"He is not alone in this time, Michel Dijon! You should know that!" Sister Marie lectured sharply.

"Certainly you would not have asked a nun to serve as your second, Morgan?" Dijon chuckled sarcastically. "Nobody else would stand with you?"

"I asked no one, Michel, because I would not drag them into this sordid affair. I would ask that you reconsider before it's too late. Apologize to Ms. Richeleu and I will consider the matter closed between us. Misunderstandings and such…." Henry proposed.

"You owe me the apology. Such arrogance!" Dijon spat in Henry's face.

"Money does not entitle you to rewrite the rules of honor. Very well. I tried," Henry pointed out not giving an inch. "Let's hope the other there has the common sense not to let this go as far as it might." He marched toward the officiator.

"At least he faces Death like a man. I have to give that damned Brit that," Dijon conceded.

"As you hope you can if there is any justice, Michel Dijon," Sister Marie rebutted. " Pardonnez moi!" She stormed off after Henry.

Dijon shook his head. Then he heard a branch snap behind himself on the ground. "Quoi c'est?" He spun with his torch to find a hulking brute with long raven hair tied back in a pony tail and dark eyes glowering at him. "Oncle Bertrand, what are you doing here?"

Bertrand scowled at his descendant. "You are a fool, Boy. Already you meddle in matters greater than your petty understanding. Morgan is not to be touched by the likes of you. Nicolas will be most displeased by this scene of yours."

"Again with this Nicolas?" Dijon recalled his uncle's stories of the traitorous liegeman from northern France. "And given what happened in the Vendee, I would think you'd support me."

"I do not need your petulant displays. Nor do I care what Nicolas thinks. I will avenge your aunt in my own time." He grabbed the younger man and stared intensely into the other's eyes. "You will not go any farther with the matter. Do you understand?"

Dijon fought the other man's powerful grasp. His mind wandered and seemed to go blank for a minute before snapping back to reality. "Stop that! Maybe you do that to others but you've never been able to do that to me!"

The mysterious uncle pushed his descendant away. "Very well, Michel. Do as you will. I will mourn you." With that he melted away into the predawn shadows once more.

"Ingrate! I avenge our family's honor and he acts as such!" Dijon wheeled around on his heel and stomped toward where the others awaited him.

"Are you finally ready, Michel, to proceed? We have been waiting for you," the officiator, a portly man with spectacles and streaks of white in his brown hair, chastised.

"Forgive me. We had an uninvited guest on Morgan's behalf. I dealt with him. I am ready," Dijon apologized.

"Very well. Gentleman, you are here to settle a matter of honor between yourselves. I do not need to remind you that this duel is technically illegal in the state of Louisiana. As officiator, I ask both parties to reconsider their positions. An apology is always preferable to blood being spilled," the officiator stated.

"I have offered my terms to Michel, Sirrah," Henry noted primly. "If he calls this affair off and apologizes to Miss Richeleu for striking her, I shall consider the matter forgotten."

Dijon scoffed sarcastically while recalling his uncle's words to him from moments before.

"A worthy proposal," the officiator declared albeit anxiously. He knew Dijon would only play by the rules as far as it suited him to do so. "And you, Monsieur Dijon, will you accept Dr. Morgan's gracious proposal?"

"I will not." Dijon spat in Henry's face. "That is what I think of your proposal! Prepare yourself, Coward!"

"Very well. Gentlemen, go with your seconds and prepare yourselves. I will call you back when it is time to duel," the officiator noted reluctantly. He glanced around the darkened graveyard for signs of the authorities.

Henry walked over to where Sister Marie and Miss Richeleu sat watching the affair develop. "It is almost time. Are you all right, Miss Richeleu?"

"I will survive, Doctor. I'm sorry for what is about to happen. I…never intended…this…." She coughed sharply and shivered in the icy morning air. Her eyes watered in shame.

"I know." Henry smiled reassuringly at the victim. "Just live as righteously as you can. Same to you, Sister Marie, keep your faith."

"I would ask you to do the same, Dr. Morgan." Sister Marie sighed. "I have prayed for you. And so I shall again…."

"Then that is all I can ask," Henry replied courteously. "If this goes awry, remember me well." He knew of course that he would come back. However he wondered how he'd deal with the exposure if he couldn't get out of there in time. That will be some sight, I'm sure!

"Gentlemen! It is time!" the officiator called.

"Go with God, Dr. Morgan," Sister Marie advised sagely.

Henry squeezed the nun's and victim's hands in turn before heading back toward the officiator, Dijon and Denis. In his right hand, he held the revolver aloft ready for its intended purpose. "I am ready."

"As am I," Dijon stated.

"All right, Gentlemen. Here are the rules. You are to stand back to back. When I give the word, you start walking away from each other. You will do so in accordance with my count which will be to five. When I give the word, you turn and fire. If the first to fire does not kill his opponent, the second shall have his shot at the first. The first will stand there and honorably receive the wound. Remember this is not necessarily a battle to the death. The spilling of blood in itself can be considered satisfaction by the ancient laws. A breech of such rules will result in immediate cessation of activities and victory for the other party. Am I clear?"

"Oui," Dijon concurred.

"Certainly," Henry relented reluctantly still trying to plan out how to slip away should he get "fatally" shot. He muddled through the affair as he stood with Dijon back to back.

"Are you ready to meet your Maker, Morgan? It is a fine morning to die," Dijon derided.

"Let us get on with it," Henry retorted not giving an inch to the miscreant.

"Gentlemen, pistols raised! March! One! Two!" the officiator started.

Henry marched in step with the officiator's count. His boots crushed the grass underfoot. His heart pounded in his chest.

"THREE!"

Henry took another step. He tried to calm his nerves and keep that Stiff Upper British Lip for himself.

"FOUR!"

One more count! Please make my shot count!

"FIVE!"

He tightened his grip on the weapon's handle readying himself.

Before the officiator gave word however, Dijon whirled about and fired his weapon straight at Henry's back.

The bullet struck the doctor in his lower right back somehow missing his spine. Henry staggered and dropped his weapon, gasping from the impact.

"DOCTOR!" Sister Marie exclaimed in horror. She rushed toward him.

"NON! NO! I…I need air." Henry staggered toward the mausoleum's cover. He felt the familiar cold creeping across his limbs and tightening his muscles. Blood spilled from the sides of his mouth. His brain screamed at him. He could almost smell Death's spoor.

"Coward!" Dijon bellowed. "COME BACK HERE!"

"You, Monsieur, are the coward!" the officiator denounced. "Dr. Morgan is the winner. Apologize to your fiancée."

"Non. She knows her place. Know yours. Bah! Let Morgan die like the dog he is!" Dijon scoffed while grabbing Miss Richeleu and dragging her away from the scene into the dawning sky. "My slaves prepare my breakfast."

Sister Marie meanwhile rushed off in pursuit of Henry not knowing what she'd find….

Henry hustled as quickly as his dying body would allow. His lungs now burned. His legs buckled just behind the large Cypress tree and he slumped there.

"DOCTOR! DOCTOR, COME OUT!" Sister Marie's plea reached his ears.

"Can't…allow her to see me….like this." Henry reached into his coat pocket gingerly. Slowly he produced a small dagger of humble design. He pointed the blade at his chest and buried it deep into his heart. He gasped as the transition process accelerated.

Then he found himself sliding down the kaleidoscopic tunnel of memory once more knowing nothing else…..

Sister Marie followed the blood trail around the mausoleum. She knew Henry couldn't have made it far in his present state. She looked around furiously. Then she saw an unbelievable sight.

In the torchlight, Henry's blood shimmered and disappeared from the grass right before her eyes.

"Sacre Bleu!" She rushed over to the cypress and looked about it. She saw no blood yet discovered Henry's clothes and the dagger in question lying discarded at the tree's base. She collapsed to her knees and looked into the brightening sky before praying on her prayer beads.

And so another phase of Henry's life ended…..

[Modern Day]

Jo stared at Henry incredulously. "I can't believe you actually went through with that! What were you thinking?"

"I had to. I couldn't stay in the city if I'd been dishonored. Dijon knew that so he did what he did. He didn't get to enjoy his triumph very long however," Henry noted. "Miss Richeleu at least didn't have to deal with him from what I understand."

"Really? How'd that miracle work out?" she queried expectantly. "I thought that women of that era were supposed to suffer in silence like good little slaves."

"You'd be surprised how strong those women were, Jo. They knew how to carve out their own authority," he clarified for her benefit. "Nora did throw me in the asylum against my wishes." He bowed his head in sadness.

"Nora?" she wondered not understanding. "Was she your wife before Abigail?"

"My first wife back in the nineteenth century. I tried to explain how I survived my ordeal at sea. She had me committed to the asylum," he explained. "Women could and did do such things despite the modern historical perception that they were helpless in that era."

"Oh." Jo squirmed in discomfort at having made him relive a painful memory from his past in addition to those from the duel. "I'm sorry, Henry."

"It's all right. You didn't know." He smiled at her and kissed her on the forehead. "Besides there is the rest of the story."

"Which is?" she asked; her curiosity needed to be satiated.

"Dijon disappeared from his manor house three days after our duel. One of the slaves found him in the cotton fields with his throat torn out. Miss Richeleu met another gentleman, married him and had a wonderful life with him. Meantime I moved on with some assistance," Henry declared.

"Assistance?" she wondered.

"Yes from a most humble source," he noted as his mind flashed back again….

[Mississippi River's Mouth at the Gulf of Mexico 1856]

Henry surfaced from the clear waters amidst the lightening landscape. He lamented the loss of his practice in the city. However he knew he couldn't return to New Orleans lest his secret be exposed. Best to move onto another place close by. He swam as quickly as he could toward the coast just beyond. As he did so, he kept a wary eye for fishing boats and other unwelcome eyes tracking his progress. He staggered onto the muddy shore. His skin dimpled from the chill. His toes squished in the wet sand and dirt underneath themselves. "I need clothes," he realized while ducking behind a bush.

"Come out, Monsieur! I know you are there! It is all right!" a female voice called out in French.

"Pardonnez moi, Madame!" Henry called out. "I am not decent! I would not scandalize you!"

"I have seen men before, Monsieur Morgan. Oui. I know who you are," the voice declared.

On cue, something hit the brush in front of Henry. He glanced up to see a pair of brown breeches, a cotton shirt and a coat lying there. He peered at the female rescuers of sorts and stared.

The woman in question wore a nun's habit and the long dark dress of her order. Her eyes intently observed his actions as well. For some reason, she seemed in discomfort from something around herself and bits of smoke rose from her shoulders as well. "My coach awaits, Doctor. I will see you there." She ducked back into the cover of the carriage and shut the door.

Henry pulled on the clothes and hustled over to the rescuing transport. His mind screamed questions as to her strange nature. Besides he didn't understand how a nun who supposedly should have been an austere woman rode around in an aristocratic carriage with the shades drawn behind four stout steeds and a well-dressed coachman. "Sirrah?"

"Climb inside, Monsieur. She only wishes to aid you," the coachman advised tersely while glancing at him for a mere second.

Henry guardedly opened the door and climbed inside. He sank into the cushions and quickly shut the door. In the dim oil lamps, he could see the nun cutting up an apple and setting the pieces beside some cheese pieces. Admittedly his stomach gurgled in hunger. "Pardon."

"You have had quite the ordeal, Doctor," she declared while switching to English for his benefit. "Forgive me. I know who you are but you do not know me. I am Sister Clarise, a fellow passerby on the trail so to speak. My master sent me to assist you in your time of need."

"Merci beaucoup," Henry expressed while taking a bite of fruit and then one of cheese. "I needed breakfast. I appreciate it."

"Of course." She took a staff and tapped on the roof signaling for her coachman to pull away. "The sooner we are away from here, the better. Non?"

"Indeed. Where are we going?" he queried.

"I have business in Williamsburg. You may travel with me as far as that if you wish," she invited. She sipped on a glass of rouge wine. "When the ways of immortals turn at a crossroads, we must move on. That is inevitable. You will learn this." She shrugged. "It is inevitable….."

[Modern Day]

"You really were rescued by a nun at the riverside?" Jo coughed in disbelief.

"Yes she and I traveled together for two months. Sister Clarise was quite a fascinating woman. Still she was not you, Jo. The important thing is that she pulled me out of a potentially bad situation," he explained cryptically. There were other things he knew about the mysterious nun. However he was not about to reveal those things to Jo….

…at least not yet…..

"But enough of the past. There is something I did have for you since it is Valentine's Day," he insisted. He smiled while telling her, "Close your eyes. I have something for you."

"Henry!"

"It's all right. I have planned this surprise for a time now. Please close your eyes," he begged.

She smiled and went along with his wishes. Then she felt something smooth yet firm being pressed into her hands.

"All right. You can open them."

She opened her eyes to see the small jewelry case in her hands. "Henry, is this what I think it is?"

"Open it and see. I do believe you will be quite pleased with my handiwork in your regard," he assured her.

She chuckled while popping the top open to find the necklace inside. "Oh, Henry! It's beautiful!" She smiled at him while letting her eyes shine into his. "Thank you. Can you put it on me?" She pulled her hair up exposing her neck for the purpose.

"Of course. I'd be delighted," he agreed while taking the necklace from her free hand. He slid the bauble around her neck and clasped it in the back. Then he gazed over her shoulder into the mirror to see it sparkling on her. "I wanted you to have another necklace."

She smiled. "Ramon's okay with it, I'm sure. If not, Abigail's chewing him out. I love it, Henry." She turned to face him. "And you. Thank you for being you." She kissed him in appreciation.

He grinned at her feeling relieved she'd accepted his expression of love to her. "Then in that case, would you be open for dinner at the Cote d'Jeur? I hear the Lamb Ronceval is to die for."

She nodded back at him. "You're on. I'm a sucker for good lamb as you know. You'd better impress me, Henry."

"Oh I shall. Trust me. Lead on," he agreed while motioning her out of the shop and locking the door behind them.

Perhaps the case and those memories were behind them but good food was never out of order. Combined with companionship such as hers, he knew it would be a night to remember.

And so they pressed on toward their own celebration…a well-deserved one at that…..