Chapter Text
Ta-tap. Tap.
[Terentile, if a man, white or otherwise, starts asking of you. Run to the edge of the Bayou right past the tree with two faces.
Trust the one that opens the door for you.
It will save you.]
The white man's steps echoed behind her. His legs are much longer and his stride much larger than hers.
Fireflies greeted her as she skidded past the two-faced tree and straight into the Bayou.
Yells sounded from behind her. Slurs and words she knew were bad, but she didn’t quite have the context for why.
Her Maman was strong, but she was not white and the men following her looked strong; and if mother fought and won the system would hurt her more. She was not white.
[The Bayou has a mist, keep your eyes on the ground.
The bone collector leaves a trail for those who know how to look.]
The ground was uneven and very slick and slippery. Moss coating what the swamp did not. Slowly, a fog grew and just as she had been told, so did a trail of bones.
The shouts grew in volume behind her. She could see the flickering of the man' s lantern shining deep grooves of shadow into the ground from the trees in front of her. Monsters of the Bayou she hoped. Perhaps, if she were lucky, they would eat the beast like the Gators of the swamp ate fish. Quick and leaving nothing behind.
She tripped. The curling roots of the mangroves catching her off guard.
A huff sounded behind her.
She shivered.
Her coat had been torn off in the beginning along with a good portion of her sleeve. The white man was asking of her. His eyes held sin, and his mouth spoke lies.
As if a wolf saw a meal and couldn't help but lick its lips in anticipation.
Maman said the world of white was evil. Even if they didn’t want to be. They know of kindness only with servitude. They know of charity out of pride and cause.
They know of superiority.
[A noose hung low.
Low enough for her to touch.]
Her father's body had already been taken away to be prepared. To be presentable enough to mourn.
The white man held the end of a rope. It swings loose in his hand as he grins at her. She knows him. He knows her. It hurts all more because of that.
He drinks at night.
Her father does not.
[Be cautious]
Mother said.
[Be smart]
Mother warned.
[But not too smart]
They are as powerful as they are fragile.
Maman says to be kind, they have been raised this way.
[Her father's body hangs.]
The man responsible laughs.
Perhaps it is human nature to hate. Terentile can’t help but hate the beast dressed in a fur and skin of white, as if the purity of the shell can say anything about what is encased within... The beast that goes to church, to mass. The beast that picks up his young daughter and makes her laugh.
The beast that is chasing her down, a dark look in his eyes that could not fully be attributed to violence.
A sound comes from in front of her.
Shadows cover the area.
Dark brown eyes look down.
The Bone Collector.
Tears fill her eyes. A sob causes her throat to close.
Her hands hurt from her fall. Her knees feel bruised. Her dress, already damaged, is now irreparably dirty. Not hurt physically, but most certainly psychologically.
Then, slowly, with a grace that Terentile has always envied The Bone Collector steps forward. He is as pristine as always.
With a break her beast comes crashing through the foliage. His blonde hair is a mess, his white (so white in light of the lantern] skin flushed. Light blue eyes look at her, as if she is all he can see in the night. Perhaps this is why she now hates the sky of perfect days.
“Ah” He breathes an Oh how she hates that he can. “Tilly! Looks like I’ve finally caught up with you. Your Mother is worried.”
Fire burns through her blood, but nothing comes out. Not words, not screams. Her throat is sealed.
Not with fear.
With fury.
He opens his mouth once more (to spew more filth no doubt) if not for that the lantern flickers just right to illuminate the other man standing with them.
The Beast straightens. The darkening of his eyes lighting up like an actor on the stage. Fake. Fake. Fake.
Wolf in sheep's clothing.
Fake.
Fake.
“Oh, hello there. I was looking for young Tilly here. Her mother is a maid of our household and was worried when she did not come home. as. instructed.”
His words curl at the end. She hated that he used her mother's nickname for her. Tainting it. It sounded foul in the air.
His truth filled the fog.
She did not come home as instructed. If being instructed to come was orders of nudity and force. Hands grasping far too hard and little legs kicking for all they were worth.
She focused on the perfectly ironed suit of the man in front of her. Her eyes met his, burning hot with suppressed rage and a deep, deep fear.
“Of course, most understandable.” The Bone Collector spoke clearly, accent perfect, polished and clearly passing enough for the Beast.
“The name is Alastor; it is a pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure.”
Her neighbor always did have the best of manners.
“Now how about I invite you to dinner?”
Terentile was only six years old and even she knew that beasts that couldn’t be controlled, needed to be put down.
Her father's beast would not be seen again; and her neighbor would report it on the radio.
The most interesting part about the New Orleans serial killer was that no one knew that there was one.
Well, no one law enforcement considered important anyway.