Echoes On The Bayou

At a very young age, I realized I could pick up sound ranges like having the hearing of a canine, so I got the nickname Echo. My friends would tease me, but I knew I could use it for good someday. Army Ranger school was no joke, but I did it, one of a handful of women earning my commission and an assignment in the Military Police. After several tours of duty and over a hundred missions, I returned home and started the "Echo" LeBlanc Private Detective Agency.

The transition from military to civilian life was tough, but starting my agency gave me a sense of purpose and control I craved. I may have left the rangers, but my commitment to justice and protecting others remains as strong as ever. To my chagrin now, I find myself taking on cases to uncover infidelity for divorcees and assisting the Houma Police with minor investigations. I honed my special operations skills in Afghanistan, leveraging my unique extra-auditory perception. My hearing was my gift and my curse. Let's just say I've heard things I wished I hadn't.

I pulled the mail from the box and went inside my office, tearing open the envelope. The invitation fell out at my feet. It was from him. I read it out loud to speak his name: Join Jackson "Bayou" Guidry for an evening of dinner, dancing, and casino games. Like Jackson, the invitation to "Summer Under The Stars at Twelve Oaks" was over the top. The attire is black tie, and the proceeds will benefit "The Bayou Preservation Foundation." The hand-painted magnolias seemed to dance off the page, their delicate petals swaying in the sunlight. The 24-karat golden letters shimmered and glowed, looking expensive because it was. I dropped it like a hot potato onto my desktop and plopped in my chair, dreading it. I had to go; everybody in town would be there, and I needed to stay relevant to keep working in this backwater bayou. 

The memory of Jackson, or Bayou as everyone fondly calls him, still lingers in my heart even after so much time apart. He was a true child of Louisiana waters' thriving in sportsman's paradise, running the South's largest fishery processing company. Our lives intertwined from childhood like the mossy tendrils wrapping around the three-hundred-year-old oaks. Jackson always said we were destined to be together until I decided to go off half-cocked to join the army, which he could never forgive. Despite the time and distance, my love for him remains true. Six years away from home have only deepened the ache of longing inside me for what once was.

******

Twelve Oaks Plantation 

In the distance, the melodic strains of "La Vie en Rose" wafted through the air, accompanied by the rhythmic clinking of glasses and murmurs of laughter. Each note resounded in vibration, evoking memories of joy and happiness that seemed to dance on the edge of my perception. Standing on the lawn in front of the servant's entrance, I felt like I was hovering on the outskirts of society.

The rumble of approaching vehicles shattered the pictures in my mind, their growl growing louder with each passing second. The sharp click of heels on the pavement echoed in the narrow alley behind me, signaling the approach of an unknown figure. The soft rustle of fabric and the faint jingle of keys hinted at the stranger's purpose as they furtively made their way through the shadows of dusk and oak trees. Who could it be? What were they up to? The questions swirled in my mind, fueling my curiosity.

Overhead, a conversation drifted through the open window above, the words blending in a hushed symphony of secrets. The subtle creak of a floorboard betrayed the presence of an unseen companion, their breath held in anticipation as they strained to catch every whispered syllable. 

The woman's voice carried a deadly message and a Cajun accent. "Be ready after dinner during his speech. Bayou won't be able to stop us when he's six feet under."

Her companion, a man, responded with a chilling calmness, "I'm ready. It will only take a second for me to take him out."

The words hung in the air, their implications sinking in. Who were these people? What was their connection to Jackson? And most importantly, what were they planning? What an inconvenient time to be dressed in a gown with a train of sequined silk fabric and no gun. I sprang into action after their footsteps tapped the wooden floor, retreating from above in the window, and started after them. 

I entered the alleyway and slipped inside the door leading to a staircase used for servants who needed to be invisible behind the scenes. I ascended, my heels clacking on the marble, so I kicked them off, lifted my skirt, and bolted up them. The room was bare, with nobody in sight as I approached the open window, scanning for any trace of the man and woman's voices. The grassy lawn under Twelve Oaks was complete, with fifty tables of ten set up for dinner. Guests were milling around, sipping champagne, laughing, and dancing. 

I would need to find Jackson and warn him. As I surveyed the crowd, my gaze settled on his glossy black hair, glistening in the moonlight. His laughter resonated through the air, sending a quiver through my heart. Amidst the cacophony of voices, I waved to catch his eye, but he was consumed in a crowd, starving for his attention. It overwhelmed my senses with five hundred voices drowning out each other's conversations as they overlapped chaotically.

Determined, I made my way to the lawn, picking up my pace as I approached Jackson, who was standing near the arbor arches, which painted the veranda in Greek mythical light. He suddenly froze, his eyes widening in surprise, and a devilish smile slowly spread across his handsome face.

"Well, do my eyes deceive me, or is Delilia Echo LeBlanc here at my humble fais do-do?" Jackson said, grabbing my hand and spinning me around to take a look at me.

"How are you, Jackson?" I said, taking him in and loving what I saw.

Jackson leaned in and kissed my cheek, "Je vais bien, Echo, which means I'm well, in case you forgot. You look as beautiful as ever."

I whispered in his ear, "Jackson, this sounds nuts, but I overheard a couple planning to hurt you tonight during your speech. They are seeking redemption against you for some perceived wrong."

Jackson looked into my eyes, confused. "Redemption?" He asked, "What do you mean, Delilia?" 

"I was hoping you could shed some light on it. Can we find somewhere private to talk?"

"Sure, let's go inside and catch up; follow me," he said, grabbing my hand and guiding me through the gathering. 

I stepped into the library, the quiet moment calming my racing thoughts and fears. Standing face to face with Jackson, I felt a surge of hope and potential. The weight of my past decisions bore down heavily on me, and I often found myself haunted by the regret of leaving. The moment I was shot in Kandahar, the fear of never seeing Jackson again pierced through me, leaving a void in my heart more profound than the physical wound on my shoulder. Tonight, I had to protect him at all costs, or I knew I would never find happiness.

"Tell me what you plan on saying tonight during your speech after dinner. That's what I suspect they're trying to stop."

Jackson replied, "At ten o'clock, I plan to wade into the Bayou in my tuxedo and announce that the preservation society is filing an injunction against a Casino Riverboat from being built on this very spot. It would destroy the natural landscape and pollute the area. You know I can't let them ruin our home with another useless gambling establishment."

"Who's behind the development of the project?" I asked, my mind racing with strategies for stopping them.

"It's Riverboat Gaming Corporation, owned by Marcy Mason, who took over after her dad retired last year. She is aggressively seeking to destroy pristine parts of the Bayou country with her monstrosities. She's here tonight, the brunette in the red dress seated with her table mates and friends."

I asked, formulating my plan, "How much private security do you have here tonight? And I'm going to need a gun."

Jackson said, "Six guards, two at the entrance and four on the lawn. What's the plan?"

"You'll do your speech an hour early and throw them off the timetable. They will have to react; I'll hear because the crowd will be hushed. And your guards will all be stationed on the lawn at intervals. I'll call the Houma police to stake out the shoreline and woods. If I were doing this mission, I would be up in an Oak tree with a sniper rifle."

"I can't believe you're here with me, and this is our reunion. Someone is trying to kill me. Your instincts have always been your gift, as well as the extra bit of hearing like your dog Liberty," he said with a nervous laugh.

"It feels like a lifetime ago since I left," I said, reaching out and touching his cheek. I've thought about you every day since then. I can't imagine a world without you."

"Me too. I never stopped thinking about you," he said, leaning in and kissing me, brushing his lips hungrily against mine. 

I asked, "Do you ever wonder what could have been if things had been different?"

Jackson said, "Delilia, I've never stopped loving you if that's what you're asking. I'm not the one who left. Now let's kick some ass like the good old days."

Tension was palpable in the oppressive weight of the humidity as my watch clicked to nine o'clock on the grand Twelve Oaks lawn. The guests partied, exchanging boisterous conversation, unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows. If the assailants dared to make a move, they would be met with a swift and decisive response. The security guards were ready to act, and the authorities stood by, prepared to swoop in immediately.

Little did they know we had meticulously crafted a daring plan to disrupt the evening's agenda. Jackson was ready to deliver his speech earlier than expected, throwing the entire event into disarray. His charm distracted the crowd as he dramatically waded into the water, their attention held captive, and he began to speak. Standing in ankle-deep water in a custom tuxedo, he looked calm and collected. 

Zooming in on and isolating sounds from hundreds of yards away, I heard the sudden unmistakable Wirrrrrrrrrrrrrr….click of the safety unlocking the firing pin and releasing the hammer. I saw the targeted red dot appear on Jackson's chest against the white of his tuxedo shirt. I was on the edge of the water a few feet from him, and I jumped up high, hurling my body in front of his and knocking him into the muddy embankment of the Bayou.

I felt the searing into my right side and flesh tearing from my rib with the supersonic speed of hot metal. Blood started to pool in the water around us, and people were screaming in panicked fits of fear and horror. Then, sudden pops of three rounds of gunfire rang in the distance, silencing the hysteria surrounding us. The oak tree branches cracked, splintering with the hard thud of a body and bones breaking as it tumbled to the marshy grass below. That was the last thing I heard, and then Jackson's arms wrapped around me, lifting me out of the water and laying me on the grass. My vision went narrow until it faded to darkness. 

I awoke in the hospital, groggy from the pain medicine. I smiled, listening to the quiet Zzzz of snoring, and Jackson was asleep in the chair by my bedside. My God, he is beautiful and here with me. I felt a rush of emotions - relief, gratitude, and overwhelming love. I had once hallucinated that he was there in Kandahar that day when I woke up after being shot the first time. Now it was real - he's flesh and blood and said he still loves me. I felt a profound sense of belonging here. I'm never going to let him go again.