Leola Marceaux's Questionnaire

When I was young, I used to live on the outskirts of New Orleans, but now I'm always on the road. Coast to coast, gulf to border. I don't like staying in one place for too long, it makes me feel bogged down, sinking into the mud. I always need to be hauling cargo. If I sit still, it almost feels like withdrawal. Hands shakin, head throbbin, and I get so jumpy, like I need to run or get to fightin at any given second. Some days it gets so bad I need to get drivin the minute I get up, no time for coffee or breakfast. At least my truck is nice. She's old, but I aint have any trouble with her before. Try and keep her clean, even though the floorboard tells ya otherwise.

Why the hell're you askin? I dun already told yas I was a trucker. I move cargo for a livin. Before that I worked ferries, docks, busses and taxies. I even spent a stint workin for Uhaul. But all of them had me in the same few places. It would help the shakes, but it didnt cure em. And the longer I stayed, the worse I got. Feeling like somethin was just over my shoulder, and it wasn't just the little ghosties runnin around in my backseat. Almost Like death itself is chasing me, reminding me that I escaped all them years ago...

"She says she wishes to guide. This true.
"But not whole truth."

"Her desire to escort is borne from her fear. She is running from... something. We know not what it may be, but this woman who is unshakable in the worst of times fears this fate worse than death."

"Miss Marceaux talks in her sleep sometimes. She wants everyone to get home safe. But it's us who worry about her. She is living, and we are not. We have all the time in the world to be able to move on."

"And this dude knows this. But she keeps on going, mad respect to her. But its gonna kill her one of these days. Gonna burn out and run off the road."

"Ah, you wanna know about that huh. It's not a pretty story, you sure you wanna hear it?"

"Alright then. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"It took place when I was young, just learning to drive. I was with my mam, and we were practicing my night drivin. I swear I was goin slow and had my headlights on. The other driver was drunk as all hell, and we rounded a bend, and he slammed into my car, knockin us both into the bog. My vision was blackened, and I couldn't move. Or breathe. Or feel anything. It felt like forever, in that endless nothing, like being carried by a bayou. Until I feel hands, dozen of them grabbing and pushing me against the stream. After that, I could feel, really feel myself puking up pond scum and bog water. Apparently my mam had managed to get me out of the car and restart my heart after I drowned. Things were never the same after that. Breath never stopped smelling like fetid peat, no matter how much I brushed my teeth, thats why I started smoking. To cover up the stench. Not to mention I still cough some up at times. The bog still has a grasp on me, I think."

"Mam said I acted different after too. Like I werent afraid of death. Not cocky, just unafraid. Started with rougher crowds, getting into trouble. I scared people. And I couldn't have cared less."