About Bayou Whispers:
Bayou Whispers, the latest thriller from horror writer R.B. Wood is the story of no-nonsense New Orleans native, Jeannine LaRue, the sole survivor of her family after the devastation brought on by Hurricane Katrina. In the aftermath of the storm, she believed she'd been saved, but soon found herself held hostage and sexually exploited, rescued months later by sheriff’s deputy Curtis Jones.
Twelve years after Katrina, Jeannine is a new attorney who returns to New Orleans to save her old friend Curtis Jones—now a local thief and trafficker of stolen goods—after he is arrested for the murder of Jeannine’s captors, whose bodies have recently been found. But Jeannine discovers more than she bargained for when she uncovers a family history of dark voodoo magic and an unholy alliance with an ancient evil Haitian god.
Excerpt:
BAYOU WHISPERS Prologue
31 October 2005
Orleans Parish, Louisiana
On Halloween night that year, no little ghosts or goblins wandered the streets in search of candy. No laughter rang out in what was left of the Lower 9th Ward neighborhood. Two months after Katrina had ravaged this place, it still resembled a war zone, covered in debris and stagnant pools of foul-smelling water from the levee breach.
As midnight approached, a young teenager—naked, dirty, covered in mosquito bites, and with a nasty leg wound wrapped in crusted-over grey rags—stumbled from a copse of trees. She was thin, so very thin, weighing barely eighty pounds.
The muddy and cracked streets before her sat dark and empty; human detritus littered the roads and yards, and the skeletons of ruined homes bore unintelligible spray paint that looked more like the desperate scratching of a fluorescent wild beast than symbols from a nameless insurance company or traumatized recovery workers.
It was a city of the dead, a city of the damned.
Right foot, left foot drag. One step at a time. The pain didn’t matter. It can’t matter.
Jeannine had been walking for what felt like forever, almost in a trance, placing one bloody foot in front of the other. Moving forward was the only thing that mattered.
Keep moving. Those white guys might be following. Keep moving.
Right foot, left foot drag.
She walked through glass and rusted nails, around junked appliances and damp, moldy couches. A dog barked once in the distance.
A patrol car sat watch at the end of the street, engine idling. Jeannine approached, fear causing each step to hesitate. The light of a burning cigarette brightened as the occupant of the vehicle, still in shadow, took a long drag.
“Help,” croaked Jeannine. Her voice strained, rough. Insects chirped. Frogs called to their mates. No one heard her.
Right foot, left foot drag.
The person in the car took another pull, a dot of orange light flaring, then fading.
“Help!” she called, louder this time. The insects and the frogs stopped. The patrol car’s dome light winked on as the door opened.
Jeannine screamed.
She screamed as the cop ran toward her. She screamed as the cop took off his own shirt to wrap around her. She screamed as the cop carried her to the car.
“Jesus H. Christ! Randy, call for an ambulance!” yelled the cop.
The cop’s partner, still inside the car, got on the radio.
Jeannine continued to scream until her vocal cords tore. She tasted blood.
“You’re safe, honey,” said the cop for the seventh time. Jeannine finally heard him.
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About R.B. Wood:
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