The Murderess of New Orleans

CW: Contains themes and/or references to violence and sexual content.

I remember being human. The fragility, the hopefulness, the excitement- all of those things seemed so foreign to me now. Blood dripped from fingers and splattered on the concrete below. The blood-curdling screams of the young man slumped on the wall in front of me had ceased, leaving behind a blanket of silence. A single finger entered my mouth as the scent of iron filled my nostrils. I moaned. Hearing approaching footsteps, I quickly grabbed my victim and threw him onto the opposite side of the corridor, behind a large dumpster. My caution, however, was unneeded. The mass of people that I had heard roaming down the French Quarter were speaking boisterously and swaying in the wind as they passed the alley. I fucking love New Orleans, I thought with a smirk on my face.

My black high heels clicked behind me as I made my way back to Victor’s Cafe. As I entered, the stench of cigarette smoke and whiskey wafted behind me. The restaurant itself was a respectable establishment. Or rather- it was. Small circular tables, dark red draping, black wallpaper, and glass chandeliers gave off an impression of decadence and mystery that was typical of this area of the city. Men and women tipped their heads toward me as I sauntered to a dark corner table. Both genders took in my appearance with lustful and curious gazes. I gestured for the young man behind the bar to prepare my favorite drink- a Ramos Gin Fizz. As I waited for my beverage, a young woman caught my eye. She was staring at me through large rounded glasses that took up most of her face. Her bangs were trimmed just above her eyebrows, and her curly, light brown hair cascaded down to the base of her shoulders. Smiling, I took a slow drag of my cigarette. I made sure to sustain eye contact with the stranger the entire time. A familiar thirst bubbled inside my throat. It began as a numb ache- but crescendoed into an agonizing burn with each passing second.

My drink arrived at my table within a few more moments. I slipped the waiter a five dollar bill as she muttered, “Thank you, Ms. Williams.” I licked my lips. However, the sweet and complex flavors of my cocktail did nothing to ease the pain in my throat. The young woman was still gawking at me from across the room. She looked to be in her early 20s, an innocent and oblivious grin plastered on her face. A flicker of something akin to guilt crossed through my eyes. I hate taking advantage of the gullible ones, I mused. However, I masked the inner tension and beckoned the woman over with my finger. She moved like a mouse caught in the allure of a trap. She slid into the booth and sat directly beside me. It took everything in my considerable willpower to resist feasting on her then and there. “Aren’t you Blanche Truman? The famous writer?” she inquired, her eyes wide. Her voice was soft and light. It traveled through the air like a wisp of smoke. I inhaled her scent- a mix of vanilla and bourbon. To answer her question, I gave a slight nod and tilted my head. “In the flesh, baby doll. What’s your name?” The young woman giggled as her curls bounced up and down on her shoulders. She blushed and bit her lip. I dug my nails into the tender skin of my hand. Usually, I did not play with my food. Sex with a victim was detestable. However, the way the young woman’s body was reacting to mine gave me some wicked ideas.

“Working on anything interesting right now?” she asked as I sipped my drink. Her voice was pure heroin. I groaned and rubbed my thighs together. “Not particularly.” I breathed. “This trip is more for pleasure than business. I am visiting my sister and her husband.” The young woman hummed. She sized me up with hungry eyes. I guess I’m not the only one having a hard time sitting still, I thought, taking a longer gulp of my cocktail. The stinging in my throat rose in ferocity. “Is this your first time in New Orleans?” the woman asked. I shook my head and placed a gentle hand on her upper thigh. Her eyes fluttered closed as I squeezed. “You haven’t told me your name yet, baby doll.” The predatory clip of my tone was hard to miss. “Amelia.” she gasped. I rewarded her compliance by trailing my hand up and down her leg. The young woman began to whimper faintly. “That’s a good girl,” I praised. He eyes shot open as another blush crept onto her cheeks. “Now, darling. Order yourself a drink as we get to know each other.” An amused smirk contorted my face. Sex could wait for a little while longer. Depending on the beverage of choice, the elixir would make the blood taste even sweeter.

The young woman ordered a Brandy Alexander. Mm, delicious, I thought. We sat in silence for a few moments. I teased her by moving my hand lower and cupping her pussy. She squirmed, which only heightened my desire. I rubbed it gently- eliciting a moan from my next meal. The waiter brought over Amelia’s drink. We both tried to mask our playful actions through politeness. However, the waiter’s uncomfortable posture signaled that we were doing a bad job. “Tell me about yourself.” I commanded the young woman, removing my hand and combing it through my hair. Amelia paused, her expression souring. She pouted like a cat who lost their favorite toy. Don’t worry, baby doll- there’s more where that came from, I promised silently. I smiled, revealing the power I already held over my victim. “I’m a student at SUNO. I’m studying theater.” Amelia said. A pang of a familiar emotion sparked in my stomach. I distracted my body by scooting closer to the young woman. Our legs touched as I took her chin in my hand. “How interesting.” I muttered. “My father used to work in the theater. He wrote a lot of scripts for movies and plays and the like.” Amelia’s eyebrow quirked. She leaned in so that our our foreheads were touching. A laugh rumbled in my chest. My confident little mouse, I thought. “You're a pretty good scribe yourself, Ms. Truman. Was he the person who inspired you to become a writer?” I gave her a nonchalant nod as I moved away from her. I took a sip of my drink as she did the same.

“He was a cook and an alcoholic. He might have been brilliant, but that’s all I can really say about the man.” I explained. I never liked delving into my past, especially with a potential kill, but this woman was persistent. I also needed her to trust me. I absently drank my cocktail as the young woman tilted her head. Staring at my tits, her eyes grew dark. I returned to our previous position and cupped her cheek with my hand. “You look divine. Finish up that drink so we can get out of here.” Amelia trembled. My thirst roared with new life as my patience crumbled. At this point, I doubted if I would make it out of this restaurant. The primal need for sustenance and flaring arousal made it difficult to form coherent thoughts. I usually never lose control like this, I groaned silently. Amelia’s next action caused my entire precarious will to shatter like a glass figurine. She leaned in to my touch and placed a chaste kiss on my wrist. The little minx even used a little teeth. A growl erupted from my throat as I grabbed Amelia’s face and pulled her lips onto mine. The young woman yelped in surprise. I pushed past her tongue to enter fully. She moaned quietly as her arms wrapped around my neck. I released her and panted, “Let’s get out of here.” Our drinks completely forgotten, I threw a twenty on the table and escorted my little mouse out of Victor’s Cafe.