Shadow of New Orleans II - CAN BE READ ON IT'S OWN, without the first part!
Continuation of the Alastor radio station backstory ???? A witchy themed love story, with each chapter symbolizing a Tarot card from the major arcana.?
The story's first p...
It's been months. Months and nothing changed, life passed on like usual, even though everything has been upside down since that night. You just cannot "get over it" as so many tell you, you just cannot let go. Even Chrissy tells you, how hard it was for her to get over Vincent, but she did it. It's not the same, she just doesn't understand. You barely talk to her now, barely speak to anyone for that matter.
It's impossible for you to accept it, to forget about him. He was everything you wanted and now, just like that... gone.
NO, it's unacceptable that you won't ever see him again, you won't accept it. If there is a God, he cannot be so cruel as to erase someone like that. If there is a God, maybe there has to be more. More afterlife, so just maybe, maybe... You HAD to hold out hope, it was the only thing keeping you going throughout all the grief. The hope, that he is in a better place now, that he is happy somewhere else. Therefore, he IS somewhere, and perhaps you can talk to him. You have to try to make contact, to know he is out there.
Sitting up in bed abruptly, you feel a cruel amount of hopefulness.
Even though it's not morning you spent the day in bed having nothing better to do on a weekend. However, these ideas are giving you a new sense of purpose, and drawing you out of your apartment. After quickly throwing on some clothing mindlessly, you head out to the local library to see if they have anything about the afterlife, some proof, or some solution...
Spending the day buried in books, you don't find much, but there is a lot to go through - compared to how unknown the topic is, it seems like authors have a lot to say about it.
Researching swallows your time, you spend every waking moment in the library after work and on weekends. But even after weeks, and visiting every library in the city, you turn out with nothing more than more questions and philosophical ramblings. No, this is not it, you need more. Turning your attention to alternative ways, you start to dive into spiritualism and the occult. Reading anything and everything you can get your hands on about the afterlife and contacting people after their death, you search relentlessly.
Your curiousness turns into obsession, crossing every limit a Christian girl is forbidden from. Reading about necromancy, spells, and rituals, you truly don't leave any stone unturned. And yet, you again come up with nothing. More and more deadness, hoaxes. New Orleans being as spiritual as it is, all you can find are tourist attractions and hanky-panky for those amused with the topic.
One day as you are walking home after another fruitless day of research, it starts pouring down, lighting breaking through the night sky again and again. You haven't been caught in such a storm since... Shying away from finishing your thought, you do remember something. The shop you visited that day for fun and giggles, oh how long has it been? You even got a book... how foolish, you searched absolutely everywhere for an answer, except your own bookshelf! Hurrying home, not because getting soaked bothers you, but because you are patienteless to look up the book, you take the stairs double up to your apartment.
Once inside, looking everywhere on the bookshelf and cabinet - it's not there. Rummaging through all your old stuff, making a mess, you still finish with empty hands. Where could it be, you clearly remember buying it and having it in your hands while standing in the rain. And then... right. You left it at his apartment, and he never gave it back. Probably he just forgot about it completely, or he threw it away. That was the most probable, but there was a chance it was still somewhere in his place.
Since that night, you haven't been back to his place, or the cabin. You left all your stuff and replaced it, you simply could not bear to face his memory that intense. But now, you finally had a good enough reason to visit back.
Just imagining it made your breath come shallow and a fresh wave of pain wash over you. But you had to try, you couldn't ignore being back at his place forever.
Maybe that book has the solution, you couldn't ignore the possibility even if it was slim. You decided you would go tomorrow, bracing yourself ahead of time.
The next morning you get the small box out with all his things in it and rummage through to find the keys. Trying to not think about what you are about to do, you head straight to his apartment after work. Going there was already difficult, but it was nothing compared to turning the key in the door and stepping inside.
His scent all over
Everything left the way he did before you two headed to the cabin
His favourite cup is in the sink
His jacket on the arm-rack
Apart from the layer of dust that accumulated, everything looked as if he just stepped out.
Taking a shaky breath you try to calm yourself, the memory of him getting overwhelming. With unsteady hands you close the door behind you, leaning to it for support for a moment. After you get yourself relatively together, you then go inside, taking in the familiar place you have seen so long ago. With a heavy heart you start to look through his stuff; letters, scrabbles and even his journal resurfaces, but it takes a while until you can find what you were looking for. He buried the book deep into his cabinet, placing it in a wooden box under some knick-knacks.
Now that you finally have what you came for, you allow yourself to check all the other things you found. Reading through your old letters, and peaking into his journal, you can feel the tears choking you, and soon you struggle to breathe at all.
In your mind all the time you spent together keeps playing back, how he laughed how he held you.
And now he is gone...
Having a full-on meltdown on the floor of his apartment, you cry yourself to sleep, holding onto his clothes, inhaling his fragrance - like sweet poison - into your lungs.
Alastor's POV
At first, he was feeling somewhat intimidated and out of place in the hellhole he now called his home. All the different creatures, all with their own vices - it was fascinating in a way. Despite his initial inexperience, he tried his best to push those unsure feelings aside, always wearing a smile to maintain a confident and unbothered exterior. He had to realise that he was in some kind of Hell now, and he needed to adapt and survive in this new unstable and seemingly dangerous environment.
It's not that he never thought of you - despite his best efforts, he still did. But it was his resolve to grow more powerful, to learn and use his abilities to their full extent. After all, it would benefit no one if he perished, so he has to rid his heart of those meaningless feelings and focus on what's really important. Influence and power - he couldn't afford to be weak. He may be dead and in Hell, but he's not going to let that stop him.
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