Chapter Thirty Three
That Saturday night after hours of scheming, Ophelia texted Mateo.
Ophelia: Hey. Sorry about last night. I think I was just in shock about the statue. I’ve been thinking about it more. I do want to see it, and I’m honestly flattered that you even considered me a muse. Wanna meet up tomorrow at your studio?
Mateo: I’m so glad you texted. Of course. You’re my muse, wild one. I’m shocked you didn’t think you were. I just feel like we have this undeniable connection, ya know?
Mateo sent her an address for a warehouse studio out past the Lower Ninth Ward in Arabi, close to a thirty-minute drive from her house.
They planned to meet up at five in the afternoon on Sunday.
Ophelia barely slept that night, even though she and Jolie had pumped their bloodstreams with gin.
Jolie slept over and snored the entire night, clearly impervious to nerves.
They were going to take down a mass manipulator, an exploiter of women’s bodies and literal souls. How could Jolie sleep?
The day passed slowly as Ophelia tried to occupy herself with laundry, grocery shopping, running, anything to keep herself moving and her mind off of their scheme.
Thankfully, the afternoon came and Ophelia readied herself in a slinky halter top, tight hip-hugging jeans, and strappy sandals.
This would be a performance, and her outfit was her costume.
Her role, to pretend like she was still interested in him. Gag.
Ophelia and Jolie drove together to the warehouse.
Once they crossed over the Claiborne Avenue basin, Ophelia could feel the decline in the earth as the ground beneath them leveled with the sea.
She couldn’t see the Mississippi from the road, but she knew if she could, it would be even with the pavement, perhaps even higher.
No one talked much about the Lower Ninth except in relation to Hurricane Katrina.
Decades later and the neighborhood still felt empty, vacant plots of land with overgrown grass sat stagnant where family homes once stood. The city did the neighborhood dirty.
They turned into Arabi where warehouses and homes lined the pot-holed streets. Ophelia parked in front of a gray, nondescript warehouse. Ophelia and Jolie exchanged glances. They didn’t have to say anything. The place felt off immediately. The sun was about to set, nightfall wasn’t far off.
“Should we do this?” asked Ophelia. “It’s going to get dark soon.”
“Babe, this is your decision. Only you can decide if you want to confront him.”
Ophelia inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “I need to do this. I need to see this through.”
Jolie nodded. “I’ll wait for your call.”
Ophelia got out of the car and walked to the side of the warehouse, and knocked on two large metal doors. “Just a minute,” she heard Mateo yell through the door. The lock started to turn, and the door creaked open.
“My wild one,” he greeted her smoothly with a grin.
“So glad you came.” He was just as he had always been, so beautiful, and his face seemed so earnest. It was hard to imagine that he was evil.
Mateo opened the door and gestured for her to walk inside.
As soon as the door fully opened, that same rank smell consumed her.
It was stronger than it had ever been, and she started coughing.
“Oh, sorry about that. It’s the plaster I use. It can cause some people to cough. You’ll get used to it. Let me get you some water.”
The door slammed behind her. She was still coughing, trying to get her bearings. She didn’t know if she could do this. The smell almost got her last time. What if it did again? Ophelia started to tell him that she needed to step outside, and then she saw it.
An exact replica of Ophelia stood in the middle of his studio, fluorescent lights shining on the milky white stone.
Her statue’s head was turned, and the lifelike hair fell in front of her face.
She looked like she had whipped her head away in disgust. Her arms were stiff at her side, palms relaxed.
Her entire front was bare, and it looked like she wanted to run from the viewer’s unwanted stare.
Mateo walked up beside her and handed her a glass of water. “What do you think?”
“It’s…” She was at a loss for words. Even her statue didn’t want to be a statue. Ophelia coughed again. “Sorry. It’s stunning.”
“I figured you’d come around,” said Mateo with a smirk. Ophelia was struggling with the smell and his allure. She pulled on her magic like a mental string inside her chest. She grounded herself and thought of her protector. She could do this. She needed to know.
“So why do you sculpt women?” she asked curiously.
“Why have men throughout history sculpted women?” he retorted. “Because they’re beautiful, of course.”
Ophelia looked around the room and noted many human-like figures covered in dust sheets.
“Can I see more of them? I assume that’s what’s under the sheets?” She smiled.
Mateo briefly narrowed his eyes and smoothly transitioned. “Why don’t you come see them all on Thursday? I’d rather spend more time with you.” Mateo stepped into her space and grabbed her hand.
“Oh no, I won’t be at the show on Thursday. I have a work function. But at least you can show off your work to me now.”
Ophelia boldly walked to a figure and pulled the sheet down, revealing a curvy woman with wild curls. She was mid-scream, clutching her breasts. It was shocking and disturbing. She did not want to be captured.
“Wow,” said Ophelia. She reached out to touch the woman’s shoulder, and she was suddenly hit with anguish, fear, desperation. So many feelings consumed her. She turned to Mateo. “How do you make them so lifelike?”
“Skill, I suppose,” said Mateo, inching closer to Ophelia again.
Ophelia hummed. “You must get to know your subjects very well.”
“Are you jealous, wild one?”
She smirked. “Maybe.” Ophelia boldly moved into his embrace, and he placed his hands on her hips.
“I think I should be the only muse from now on,” she whispered in his ear.
She kept the string on her magic taut. It was the only reason she was able to get this close to him without losing herself.
Mateo pulled her hips flush to his and ground into her.
She could feel how turned on he was. Gross.
She snaked one hand from his chest down to his front, teasing him, as she placed the other on his shoulder.
“Tell me you want me,” she said through hooded eyes.
“You know I do, wild one.”
Ophelia hummed. She unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans.
The smell he was emitting barely allowed her to breathe, but she was centered.
She could feel her tiger’s presence, protecting her.
Ophelia gripped Mateo’s shoulder with one hand and hooked a finger in his belt loop with the other.
All those self-defense classes in New York were finally coming to use.
Without warning, she kneed him in the groin with all her force.
He doubled over, wailing in agony. She quickly circled behind him and kicked the back of his knees in, forcing him further into his squat.
In a flash, she had her right arm wrapped around the front of his neck, and her left behind him, squeezing tightly in a chokehold.
She started counting to sixty. Mateo began scratching at her forearms in an attempt to get her off.
Thirty. Thirty-one. Ophelia already had the advantage from the debilitating kick to his groin.
Forty-six. The bastard’s body went limp in her arms as she lowered him to the ground.
She could have stopped at forty-seven, but she counted all the way to sixty for good measure.
Ophelia left his body passed out on the floor and began ripping the sheets off each statue.
They were all the same. Various women, nude, likely sculpted without their consent.
She touched another statue and felt the same rush of anguish and fear.
She knew he took their souls. She could feel them inside the statues.
Ophelia reached into her purse and hit “call” on Jolie’s number.
Thirty seconds later, Jolie sauntered in.
“He did it. Just like we thought,” said Ophelia and nodded to Mateo sprawled out on the floor.
“Pig,” Jolie said with a sniff.
“Do you mind waking him up?” asked Ophelia.
“My pleasure.” Jolie pulled a taser from her purse and aimed the gun right at his groin.
“Fucking hell, Jo,” said Ophelia as Jolie pulled the trigger. Mateo’s deafening cries lasted about five seconds till he curled up in the fetal position and began moaning.
“He’s a molester, rapist, soul-stealing sonovabitch. Don’t get all soft on me now.”
“Fair.” Ophelia shrugged, and Jolie held her ground with the taser pointed at Mateo in case he made any sudden movements.
Mateo groaned. “Fuck you.”
“Shut up,” Ophelia told him. “Tell us. How many women have you sculpted? How many women have you conned?” Mateo was still rocking on the ground. “It sure is pathetic that you have to use your magic to get women to fuck you. Is that how this all started? Tell me.”
“What…what are you talking about?” he sputtered.
“Oh, you have no idea? Then it won’t matter if I just push one of these over, will it?” Ophelia leaned into a statue, gearing up for a shove.
“No, stop, stop! Please.” Mateo attempted to get up but quickly resumed his fetal position when he saw Jolie adjust the taser. “Just don’t touch my statues. What do you want?”
“The truth. Why and how are you doing this?”
“I need them, Ophelia. You don’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“I…” he started and then stopped, clearly at a loss to explain himself. Ophelia started to push on the statue of the woman with the wild curls.
“Start talking, Mateo. I’m getting antsy.”
“Fine. I’m a pathokinesis, and my gift was starting to wear off. I don’t know why, but it was. It has been for a while. And…and I started feeding off the souls of magical women. They boosted my abilities so I could become stronger.”
“How did you do it?”
“I seduced them. There’s a beautiful moment when a woman orgasms, and she lets herself go…
” Mateo looked wistful. “It’s in that moment that the soul is so easy to take, so easy to feed off of and transfer to my sculptures.
I’m really that talented, though. These sculptures were done by me.
I am a true artist.” He said the last part proudly.
“Rightttt,” said Jolie, rolling her eyes.
“How did you know these women were magical?” Ophelia pressed.
He stayed silent, but with another shove from Ophelia, the statue swayed. “I have a necklace that tells me,” he said quickly. “It’s ugly as sin, though. I keep it in my wallet.”
“Give me your wallet,” Ophelia demanded.
“What is the point of this, Ophelia? You can’t tell anyone. They’d think you’re insane, and you know it. Let’s make a deal. I’ll destroy your statue and let you go. No harm done.”
“Give it to me!” she yelled and placed both hands on the statue.
He grabbed his wallet out of his front pocket, wincing in pain as he moved to a seated position. He took out the cross necklace and threw it at her. Ophelia picked it up, examining the medieval design. Her eyes rounded in shock.
It was the exact same cross that her attacker in New York wore. The exact.
“Where did you get this?” she demanded.
“I bought it on the black market,” he said, as if it was obvious.
Ophelia scoffed. “Are you for real?”
“Yeah?”
“God, you’re such a fake. You know, I wondered at times if you were the Cutthroat Killer, but I haven’t been able to piece it together.
You have this cross, which is pretty damning.
You also have this whole soul-sucking operation going on, which makes me think you are likely capable of killing someone.
But it doesn’t add up. You have a type. Magical women of a certain age and attractiveness.
The Cutthroat Killer’s victims are all over the place. ”
“Really?” he asked in disgust. “The Cutthroat Killer? Me?”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I’m pretty fucking busy doing this shit.” He threw his hands up in exasperation.
“You were in the Quarter the night Lauren Cash was killed. She was young and pretty. Perhaps things didn’t go your way, and you turned her into a different kind of victim.”
“I was out partying that night. After I saw you, I knew I needed to play the long game, so I fucked her that night instead,” he said, nodding to a statue in the far right of the room.
“Either way, I guess it doesn’t really matter. Does it, Jo?”
“Nope, he’s gotta go regardless.”
Mateo’s eyes bounced between the two Oubre sisters. “There’s nothing you can do. Let’s just move on. I’ll destroy Ophelia’s statue right now. You can watch me do it.” He started to stand.
“Sit back down before I tase your asshole next,” said Jolie.
He sat.
“He’s right, Jo, we can’t do anything about it. He took…” Ophelia counted the statues quietly. “Eleven women’s souls. Likely raped or molested each one to do it too, and we can’t do a thing about it.”
“I’ll stop, I swear. I know it’s wrong,” said Mateo desperately.
“Ophelia, I have a brilliant idea,” said Jolie as if she were just coming up with it. “What if fuckface over here is turned into a statue? A little taste of his own medicine.”
Mateo got up swiftly and ran toward the exit. He wouldn’t get far though. Jolie had popped the tires of his car while Ophelia was inside, plus Jolie was a fast runner. Even faster than Ophelia. Jo caught up with him within a second, and as soon as she grabbed his shoulder, he turned to stone.
Ophelia couldn’t believe her eyes, and neither could Jolie. This was their plan all along, but Ophelia had never seen Jolie turn something, and Jolie had never turned a living being before.
“I guess it works,” Jolie said in wonder.