In the heart of 1920s New Orleans, a malevolent force prowls the moonlit streets, claiming lives and feasting on flesh. His reign of terror was destined to be brief, a mere footnote in the city's dark history, but something unexpected happened that...
Authors Note: Unlike my other stories, I do not have the full timeline worked out beforehand on this one. There will be heavy editing in this book as I go along and potential changes along the way as well. The series is in its infancy, so I may eventually go back and tweak things as the series reveals more secrets to us. So, be patient and just enjoy the ride. As always, if you have ANY triggers, avoid this story. It will not be for the faint-hearted.
The first few chapters are setting the stage, so they will be short. Bear with me.
A few days later...
Two days later Lena stepped out into the early morning haze of the French Quarter. The air clung to her skin, thick with the mingling scents of jasmine, sweat, and yesterday's spilled whiskey.
Her worn shoes clicked on the uneven cobblestones as she followed the breezeway toward the laundry where she worked. The morning sun peeked through the gaps in the buildings, casting long shadows. The Quarter was quickly stirring to life, just as it did every day: street vendors hawking beignets, the clatter of streetcars, and the distant wail of a saxophone.
Lena's heart felt light with the knowledge she'd saved a man's life. She let her fingers brush across the top of a nearby iron railing as she hummed softly to herself.
Just as she rounded a corner, the proprietor of a small kiosk stand was holding out papers yelling, "Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Grizzly murder at the Crescent Inn! Entire staff and guests slain! Get your copy here!"
Lena's blood froze in her veins and she stopped mid-step, her face paling at the man selling papers. That was the same place she'd left the man she'd helped. Surely this couldn't be related, right?
With trembling hands, she dug two cents out of the pocket of her work dress and timidly approached the newspaper salesman. "I'll take one, sir," she said with a soft voice. He handed her the paper without a word and snatched the money from her hand.
Biting her lip nervously, she quickly read the newspaper article, ignoring the warm black ink as it stained her fingers. The article read:
"A grisly scene unfolded at the Crescent Inn, a modest lodging tucked away on Ursuline Avenue in the heart of the French Quarter. The once-quiet inn now stands as a haunting testament to violence and unspeakable horror.
Housekeeper Nettie Compass arrived early yesterday morning to clean the inn's rooms. What she discovered would forever stain her memory: Just inside the lobby, the bodies of innkeeper Robert DuPont and handyman Silas Boudreaux were found. Upon further inspection by authorities, the bodies of two guests were found, Louis and Odette LeBlanc.
All of the bodies appeared horribly mauled. According to the coroner's examination, the killer employed a sharp weapon to end their lives. Shockingly, it is suspected that the same killer then cannibalized their remains using human teeth. The motive remains unclear, but the gruesome details have left the Crescent Inn forever tainted.
As the French Quarter grapples with this horrifying murder, questions linger: Who wielded the blade? What drove the killer to such brutality? And what dark secrets lie now buried within the Crescent Inn's walls?"
Bile burned its way up Lena's throat and with a jerk she released the paper, as if it had burned her. It fluttered to the ground as she fled to the nearest cluttered alleyway, away from the prying eyes of those who might somehow see her shameful truth. The cobblestone at her feet blurred from sight as tears filled her eyes. She dropped to the ground and touched the weathered stones to gain some sort of grip on the world around her. It was then that she remembered something the man she'd saved had said:
"My dear, my soul rightfully dances on death's doorstep. It's too late for me."
Lena's stomach twisted into knots, and she crumpled against the rough brick wall near where she'd fallen. The weight of her actions bore down on her—she'd unwittingly spared a killer, and now more innocent lives lay shattered because of it.
In that dim alley, Lena faced a crossroads. She could march to the authorities, spill the truth, and hope justice prevailed. But the reality gnawed at her: her own salvation would very likely unravel. As a woman of lower class and mixed color, she knew the world wouldn't see her as a savior; instead, she'd be branded a criminal.
Tears blurred her vision. The right path was clear, yet the cost was steep. Lena's heart clenched—a choice between justice and self-preservation, between the right thing and the safe thing.
Despite her compassion and remorseful heart, in the end her own fear got the best of her. The identity of the killer would remain a secret, and Lena would have no choice but to carry on in silence with the blood of a mad man's victims on her hands.
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