Page 26 of One Last Regret

She nods, and since I don’t know which question she’s answering, I ask again, “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head and wipes tears from her eyes. “I’m not hurt. I just got lost.”

"I know," I say as I embrace her. "I know, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Amelia." I push her to arm's length and ask, "Where's Gabriel?"

She sobs and says the words I most fear. “I don’t know. He left me. He said he had to go find the music.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I’m sorry!” Amelia cried. “I’m so sorry, Mary! You were right! This isn’t for kids. This is scary and stupid and dangerous, and I lost Gabriel, and I’m sorry!”

I am angry right now, but none of my anger is toward Amelia. I feel terrible that I ever thought it was her fault in any way. This was my mistake. I’m a fifty-two-year-old woman who knew better, and…

And the time for self-recrimination has not arrived. “Hush, Amelia. This wasn’t your fault. Where did you last see Gabriel?”

“He… we… we were together at the performance, and then he asked me if I heard something, and I was like, what, and he said, that, do you hear it, and I said you mean the dancers, and he said, no, that, it’s like Grandpa’s jazz piece, theVie Apres a la Mort, and I said, no, and he said he had to find the music, so he left, and I ran after him but I lost him and I couldn’t find him, and… and…”

She gives me that explanation in a single breath, then bursts into tears again. Strangely enough, my panic has subsided. I’m terrified, of course, but if I show it, then Amelia will completely lose her control, so for her sake, I keep myself under control.

“Where was he headed when you saw him last?”

She points up the street. “That way.”

I follow her gesture and realize that I recognize the street we’re on. In the distance, I can see the lights of the Midnight Melody. The club is hosting a Mardi Gras performance, and I have a feeling that the music Gabriel heard came from there.

I grab Amelia’s hand and say, “Come with me.”

She allows me to lead her out into the crowd, which has now grown stifling. People are packed into the street so tightly that if the crowd were not moving in the direction I want to travel,I would be forced the other way. Bodies soaked in sweat, beer, food and vomit press and rub against us. Not all of them are fully clothed. None of them seem to notice us or anyone else. During the brief instances my eyes move over their faces, their eyes appear glazed and out of focus. They laugh and cheer and leer, but their expressions are dead. Their souls are not their own, not tonight.

I pull Amelia in front of me and place both arms around her, protecting her as much as I can from the press. I let my eyes roam around the crowd as we move toward the club, just in case I see Gabriel. Twice, Amelia stumbles, the second time nearly pulling us both down with her. The crowd continues to move, and had I not managed to keep my feet, I am certain we would both have been trod to death.

If Gabriel has fallen…

No, I can’t think like that. He could still be alive. I have to hope he’s still alive.

In front of the club, the moving crowd on the street collides with a stationary crowd gathered outside of the club. Hundreds throng the door, and my glimpse inside the window tells me that there are thousands inside. Dozens of security try in vain to keep the throng organized. Perhaps the Midnight Melody is struggling as much as Etienne believes, but they are certainly making their money tonight.

Slowly but surely, Amelia and I reach the door. A burly man in a t-shirt with white block lettering that reads SECURITY stops us. “There’s a cover charge of twenty-five dollars,” he informs us.

“I’m looking for her brother,” I tell him.

“Please!” Amelia adds. “He’s missing!”

The guard appears utterly unmoved by her tears. “Twenty-five dollars.”

“This is Amelia Lacroix,” I tell him sternly. “The missing young man is Gabriel Lacroix. They are Josephine Lacroix’s grandchildren.”

“Mmhmm. Ma’am, I need you to step to the side so I can—”

“So help me, God,” I shriek, “If you don’t let me in this building right now, I will tell Josephine herself thatyouare responsible for her grandson’s death! Do you want to take that chance? Are youthatsure I’m lying so I can take a twelve-year-old girl into a Mardi Gras performance?”

The guard looks at Amelia, who is still weeping. He looks back at me and frowns. He mutters, “Ain’tmyfault these kids are out here.”

He steps aside, though, and Amelia and I enter the club. The crowd is even more tightly packed inside than outside, and to make matters worse, when I push through the crowd, people angrily tell me to stop cutting.

“We got here early,” a woman about my age wearing a revealing outfit that likely didn’t even look good on her thirty years ago snaps. “You can deal with it and stand in the back.”

“I’m looking for a missing boy,” I tell her.

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