Setup: Catherine Mans has just learned that her real name is Catherine Abigail Blanchard, and the parents who had raised her are not her real parents. Now she's on the run, one step ahead of the FBI and an unstable psychic who is destroying her life and killing anyone and everyone close to her.
New Orleans was a fascinating place and under other circumstances she would have loved to explore the local shops, visited the tomb of Marie Levaeu, and sampled the local cuisine. This was where she was born. These were her people. She wanted to learn everything there was about them. She wanted for the first time in her life to feel at home somewhere. Like she really belonged.
" Fantom nan mache."
Catherine turned toward the voice, heart pounding. She didn't know what was being said, but she understood the tone. The eyes that met hers were huge, expressing fear and something else, perhaps awe or admiration. But why would this old man be afraid of her? Or admire her?
"I'm sorry, I don't speak French." Catherine stated, turning back to car and tossing in her packages.
"Ou se pitit fi manman ou lan."
Catherine turned back to him, taking out a few dollars. He clearly was very poor. "I'm sorry, I really can't understand what you're saying. Please take this."
A young woman stepped up beside the old man, reaching out to take the money. "It isn't French. It's Haitian Creole, and Grandpa said, 'The ghost walks' and 'You are your mother's daughter'."
"Ou vin. Rete avèk nou. Satan an pa jwenn ou."
"Non papa." The young girl took his arm, attempting to pull him away.
"Silans. Li te vin."
"Grandpa says you're to come with us. That way the devil can't find you. But I want you to say no, because if you come the devil will find us, and it will kill us."
Catherine could see that people were starting to gather, paying attention to the conversation. She couldn't afford that attention. She needed to end this without upsetting the old man too much.
"Please, tell your grandfather he has me confused with someone else. I'm not from here."
"Li di I 'ou te mele avèk yon lòt moun."
The old man shook his head, pointing to Catherine's eyes. "Pa gen erè. Ou se pitit fi ki mouri a Abigail Blanchard."
The girl looked at her more closely, a new respect showing in her eyes. "Grandpa says there's no mistake. You are the dead daughter of Abigail Blanchard."