Where the Past Follows

Once I told my husband what I had agreed to do, he didn’t fight me on it. Anthony never was the kind of man to raise his voice or try to command my steps. If anything, the only worry he carried was for our daughter, little Marceline, and whether tendin’ to two babies at once would wear me down. He paced a little, rubbed the back of his neck the way he does when somethin’ troubles him, but he calmed once I reassured him that Mr. Claude said it would be alright for me to bring Marceline along whenever I came to care for Mrs. Liora’s baby. I could see he didn’t like the idea, not one bit, but Anthony accepted it after watchin’ how little it changed our days.

Truth be told, it wasn’t any hardship for me to tend to both babies. Marceline and Charles were still under five months old, so their little worlds were simple: eatin’, sleepin’, fussin’ a bit, and messin’ up their cloth diapers. They were sweet, easy babies, both of them. And I think the way I held Charles, the way I rocked him and whispered to him, eased somethin’ in Mr. Claude’s heart. He no longer walked around the house with that heavy look in his eyes. If anything, my presence seemed to open up room for him to spoil Liora even more.

And spoiled her he did.

He took her out to fancy dinner parties, drove her on long road trips just to see the countryside, bought her dresses and jewelry and whatever else she pointed at. Whatever Liora wanted, Mr. Claude was right there to place it in her hands, just to make sure she smiled and laugh for him. That man truly loved her. Loved her with a devotion that made my chest ache for him. And she ate it up like cream and sugar.

But behind Claude’s back, Liora had lovers comin’ in and out of that house like it was some secret hotel. She stole things from Claude such as little trinkets or expensive items and sold them off just because she felt like it. I could see the game she was playin’, clear as day. And though I wanted to help him, wanted to warn him, I knew there wasn’t a thing I could do. Claude was a sweet man, but he was still a white man. And what white man would believe a Black woman over the wife he married? So, I kept my mouth shut and focused on the babies.

I didn’t want Marceline in that house, but I couldn’t take little Charles out of it. And I didn’t want to leave my baby with family every single day either. What truly scared me was the way Liora reacted when she saw Marceline for the first time. She didn’t look at my baby the way she looked at Charles. No. The moment her eyes fell on Marceline, I saw somethin’ shift in her. Somethin’ soft, somethin’ familiar, somethin’ I hadn’t seen in her since she was a little girl.

Behind my back, when I was busy foldin’ clothes or helping out around the house, I caught her gently strokin’ Marceline’s curls. She went out and bought my baby dresses, pretty little things, and small toys. She did things she refused to do for her own child. It was mind‑bogglin’, but the voice in my head told me why. Marceline looked just like me. Same shade, same soft curls, Anthony’s light brown eyes. A pretty little thing.

And that’s when I finally understood somethin’ I should’ve seen long ago: Liora hated men with a fever that burned hotter than her hatred for women. Women she loathed because they had no power, no voice, no ability to get what they wanted in life. But she never went out of her way to kill women. Men, though, men she killed with abandon, with no hesitation, with no remorse.

It reminded me of her childhood. How Mr. Louis used to dress Liora in those expensive little gowns, then parade her around the men he did business with, like she was somethin’ to be admired, somethin’ to be appraised. Just like those women he forced to work in his gentlemen’s clubs. How those men used to touch her, leave kisses on her cheeks, even with Mr. Louis standin’ right there. There were plenty of reasons for Liora to hate her daddy, and that was one of the reasons I never blamed her for that part. The other things she did, those I could lay at her feet, but her hatred of that man, that I understood.

Her havin’ a son with a man she had no respect for… I could see why she refused every part of motherhood when it came to Charles. Sometimes I wondered if she’d have been gentler had she birthed a girl.

As I turned to place Charles’s little clothes away in the armoire, a sudden chill crawled up the back of my neck. I knew what it was before I even turned around. I closed the armoire door softly and faced the room.

There stood the spirit of Mr. Louis.

“You shouldn’t remain here, Mr. Louis,” I whispered, careful not to wake the babies sleepin’ in their cribs.

The spirits in the house could roam wherever they pleased. They weren’t stuck where they died. Mr. Louis looked exactly as he had the night he passed. Same clothes with the same bloodstain over his heart where Liora stabbed him clean through.

There were plenty of reasons for him to linger in that house, but I always suspected he was waitin’ for Liora to die. Just like all the other men, he had some twisted fantasy of her, and even in death he seemed fixated on her. Then again, she did kill him, but I don’t think he stayed out of revenge, not like the others.

I stared at Mr. Louis’s ghost, standin’ there in the dim nursery light like he had every right to be in that room with those babies sleepin’ behind me. I didn’t feel pity for that man; not a drop. All the years I spent watchin’ him tear through people’s lives like they were nothin’, all the harm he laid at Liora’s feet, all the wickedness he let happen under his roof… no, pity was somethin’ he’d never earn from me.

“Stay or go, Mr. Louis,” I said, keepin’ my voice low so I wouldn’t wake the little ones. “Makes no difference to me. We both know where you gon’ end up, and it sure won’t be no nice place. You played with too many people’s lives. And what you did to Liora, what you let happen to her, there ain’t no comin’ back from that.”

His ghost didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stood there with that same blank look he had in life whenever he thought he owned the room.

“She is what you and Mama made her to be,” I went on, feelin’ that old heat rise in my chest. “You broke her long before she even knew what a childhood was. And now you linger here, watchin’ her like you still got some claim on her. But hear me. There’s a man downstairs who got a place ready for you, and one day soon he gon’ come collect. Same way he did when Mama died.”

For a moment, Mr. Louis’s ghost just stared at me, his eyes hollow, his shirt still stained with the blood from where Liora stabbed him. Then, without a sound, he vanished, slippin’ back into whatever void held him, leavin’ the air cold and still behind him.

I let out a slow breath, steadyin’ myself, and turned back toward the babies. The house felt quieter without him, but I knew he hasn’t gone far.

Spirits like Mr. Louis never left until they got what they came for.