Page 1 of Torment

1

Jolie

September 20th, 2018

New Orleans

‘Found you, little whore.’

I wrinkled my nose as I looked at the scrawled note I’d just found stuck under my windshield wipers.

“Barely nine and the shit is starting already,” I grumbled to myself, squinting back at the house.

It was a three-story Victorian-style mansion on St. Andrew Street with dark gray shingles, wraparound galleries, lacy wrought-iron balconies, and white curlicue gable ornaments along with spindly peak ornaments rising from the high points. Old, gorgeous, and mine for now.

Of course, it wasn’t all mine. The owners had renovated and converted the mansion into multiple small apartments. The exterior retained the same old-fashioned design it was built with two hundred years ago, but the interior was far more modern and cramped.

I was stationed up on the third floor, and across from my little apartment was the current object of my anger. The old man who lived there was constantly on my case about one thing or the other. Recently he’d been accusing me of stealing his Wi-Fi. I’d told him multiple times that I didn’t like the internet and barely used it, but he still yelled at me whenever he saw me and left me passive aggressive notes on the small bulletin board downstairs in the foyer.

All the damn time.

It was annoying, but I suppose I had to put up with it. It was either that or move out to get away from the old man, and I really didn’t want to do the latter. The building was gorgeous and the street was quiet and lined with beautiful oaks and begonias, making it the perfect place to live. I also got my apartment for an absolute steal.

According to the owners, they had trouble filling the apartments after the renovation because people claimed the old building was haunted. Several people moved in and out within a few months, and so the owners eventually admitted defeat and dropped the price for those who dared to live there.

I didn’t care if it was supposedly haunted or not. I’d experienced so much real, tangible horror in my life that my eyes would probably glaze over with boredom if a ten foot white specter with glowing purple eyes appeared in front of me in the hall. That had never happened, by the way. The building was about as haunted as a brand new McDonald’s.

I was about to get in the car when I had a better idea. Screw it. I didn’t have to put up with the man across the hall. I should assert myself.

I pulled a pen out of my bag and scribbled on the back of the note. For the last time, I didn’t steal your goddamned Wi-Fi. Leave me a note like this again and I’ll do a séance in my apartment to conjure up all the mansion ghosts just for you, Mr. Bennett.

I didn’t believe the place was haunted, but he sure did. He told me two months ago that he’d seen what he referred to as ‘shadow people’ in the night, creeping around the halls. He even said he saw one of them standing right outside my door. He seemed genuinely afraid when he mentioned it, ridiculous as it was, so hopefully this note would freak him out enough to make him stop leaving abusive notes everywhere. He needed to learn it wasn’t okay to call women whores.

I marched back into the building, headed upstairs, and stuck the note to his door using my pink chewing gum.

“Hope it’s hard to scrape off, asshole,” I muttered before giving the finger to the door and sashaying back down the hall.

As a result of my decision to assert myself, I was a little late for my breakfast meetup with Lauren on Harrison Avenue. She lived nearby in a neighborhood called Lakeshore, which had long been a playground for the nouveau riche.

Like me, Lauren had been lucky enough to find a decent little rental in the area for a bargain price. She liked the neighborhood because it was close to the University of New Orleans, where she was studying nursing, and she also loved the café strip along Harrison, where I was currently trying and failing to park. After getting my driver’s license at the rather late age of twenty-three a few years ago, I still wasn’t the best at it.

I finally stepped inside the designated café and saw Lauren sitting right at the back in a corner booth. She’d picked a nice spot. The walls were dark polished wood with recessed panels, and the air was filled with a musty, bookish smell which made the café seem like a cozy old library. I half-expected to see a fire burning in a hearth on one side along with several men in smoking jackets perched on wingback chairs.

Instead, the place was filled with hipster students and the air-conditioning was running on full blast. Even though it was fall, the outside world was basically a steam bath. New Orleans really seemed to keep its own seasonal calendar compared to the rest of the country.

“There you are!” Lauren’s face brightened as she spotted me.

“Sorry I’m late. Weird situation with my neighbor,” I said with a wry smile as I sat down.

“It’s okay, I’ve only been waiting a few minutes. I got us cinnamon buns and coffee,” she said, nodding to the table in front of us.

I spent the next hour or so listening to her talk animatedly about her studies. Little twinges of envy bit at my guts as she went on and on. It had been eight years since our rescue from New Eden, and she had adjusted to the world perfectly. She was in college, set decent goals for herself, and had a plan for life.

Me? Not so much.

The waiter came round to see if we needed anything else now that our cups were drained. Lauren ordered more coffee. I ordered a glass of white wine and another cinnamon bun.

When the waiter left, Lauren looked at me and pursed her lips. “It’s only ten,” she said. “You can’t seriously be starting already.”

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