Whispers of the Grave

[Katelyn]

- - - The Players - - -




Esmeralda (Esme) Vontif - 28

Having grown up on the busy, tainted streets of New Orleans, Esme learned at an early age to fend for herself, to press into places she wasn't allowed and to feel a sense of personal acceptance and awareness no matter the situation or circumstance. She was raised with seven brothers in a poverty stricken family, but one that was known in the community as "gifted" as well as a last resort in time of need. She and her brothers started to pull their resources together in their mid-teen years and by the time she was in her early twenties, they'd manage to buy most of the french quarter mom and pop shops, her mother having a few of her own sprinkled here and there.

Knowing that it would be imperative to gain power in her rise to the top of life, she began to financially assist the varying shelters and orphanages in the center of the city, gaining the attention of the city council and being invited to sit on its seat of power. Having accomplished most of what she set out to do, her secret remaining carefully hidden from those that might use it against her, she began to relax and that's when the murders began - some part of her tied to each of them.

She was questioned and investigated, but the police could come up with nothing substantial that might hold up in a court of law. The city council pushed the case away from her and she played the part of the innocent as she truly believed she was, but at the core of the truth was uncertainty. Blacking out from time to time had been perfectly concurrent with the murders and where blood never appeared on her hands, it showed up occasionally under her perfectly painted nails.

[Haymaker]

Detective John Taylor, 23

Detective John Taylor was certainly not the youngest man to make detective in the New Orleans PD, but he came pretty close. On the surface he seemed like a typical NOPD detective with his cheap suit, cheaper cologne and his winning courteous smile, as fake as pro wrestling. But with a bit of careful study, his hazel eyes betrayed a hint of constant awareness. He rarely took out his notepad, but he was always taking notes. Watching, learning, remembering - all of it to play suspect against suspect and even fellow cop against cop. Ambitious would've been the wrong word to describe him. He didn't want to win the game - he just loved playing it. As for what his motives were, even he wasn't sure of the answer to that.



He drove a '96 Impala SS, as black as his hair, a relic from a time when he still listened to cassette tapes of ABBA and danced around in his underwear. Alone, of course... most of the time. He could've used one of the department issued unmarked cars, but he preferred to use his own, since it didn't perpetually stink of week-old donuts. And while he would've liked a new car, he couldn't afford one worth buying. Not on his salary.

He'd never been in it for the pay, anyway.

[Katelyn]

“This just isn’t good for business, Esme. I don’t care how you look at it. It’s going to come back to us eventually. I mean, for fuck’s sake, you knew every victim on that list.” His voice was painfully high as it always was when he was agitated.

Her long pale fingers slipped through silky strands of her midnight hair as she looked around to smile into a face that was so very familiar and yet held secrets that even she’d not been able to unlock all these years. She stood from her desk and walked languidly toward him, her eyes moving across his handsome face with apathetic indifference pressed into her well-constructed facade.

“I don't believe for one minute that I will not hear about these murders, Marcus. They will end up at our door and I will be brought to trial when all of the evidence is laid before the good men that are looking to pin this on someone, but the questions isn’t about whether I’ll be tried and convicted, but whether I did it or not.” She smiled softly as she pressed her hand to his chest and smoothed his tailor-made black jacket.

He swatted her away and scoffed, moving past her and making a variety of sounds in his angst, his discomfort, his worry.

“This isn’t something to play with, sister. These murders are violent, they are disgusting.” He turned and looked at her. “Esme, they are horrid. Do not tease that you could do such a thing. I know your ways are different and I know that you can raise..” He stopped mid-sentence as she slid into a nearby chair, her hazel orbs scanning his face as his thoughts were more than transparent by the worry etched into his handsome features.

Esmeralda crossed her long alabaster legs, her hands resting in her lap as she shook her head at him. “I have already thought of that, but to raise the dead is not small feat, Marcus and these men have already been marked in the record books as deceased. The only purpose in doing so now would be to see if any of them could recollect what happened to them in the moments that preceded their ending. Though, violent spirits are birthed from violent deaths.”

He shook his head, “It’s worth a fucking try. You don’t seem to understand what will happen when you are charged. They know that you are different, gifted even. How in the hell…” She cut him off with her hand as she stood, her eyes darkening as she walked toward him with the gait of a predator.

“I will take care of this like I take care of everything. Where I appreciate your concern, I’ll not have you speaking to me as if I’m anything less than cunning enough to ensure my life doesn’t end before my designated time. This conversation is over.” She growled as she moved past him and walked out into the afternoon breeze, the sun on the far side of the sky.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, the scent of something new… no, someone new on the horizon. She smiled as a vision of him locked into place. He was handsome, smart, willing to go as far as needed to solve this case. She opened her eyes with a bit of clarity. The new detective would be bait and she would be snuggled up next to him when the murderer came calling.

Oh this would be so very lovely. Her vision pressed into the future and her breath caught in her chest at the events to come as she stepped into the present.

“There is change in the air, of that I am most afraid.”

[Haymaker]

So... here I am. All dressed up, going to talk to the local superstar about all the people she most likely killed. Maybe if I ask real nice, she'll just confess and I can be back home by dinner time.

His hands gave the steering wheel an annoyed squeeze before switching gears. Where was she staying at, again? He could hardly remember punching the location into the GPS, his mind had been and still was elsewhere. He snuck a quick peek at the GPS to make sure he was at least heading in the correct general direction. The car speakers were blasting "Misfit" by Curiosity Killed The Cat. Seemed fitting, and John was a big fan of the 80's. He still wasn't sure about how he'd approach Esme, but he knew he'd find a way with a bit of improvising. He always did.

Why are they sending me? What're they hoping this will accomplish? I know if anyone can piss her off enough to make a move on some live bait, it's me, but do they really think she'll try to kill a detective investigating her? I think the Commander's read one too many Agatha Christie novels. Or not enough. And hell, what if she does take the bait? Heh. Wonder if they'll call it 'entrapment' after they're done pulling her off my corpse. What're the kids calling her these days? The Bayou Witch? Maybe she'll sprinkle fairy dust on me and turn me into a pumpkin. And then, perhaps, bake me into a pie and eat me. Anything's possible.

Perhaps it was an elaborate plan to simply get him killed - he wouldn't have been surprised. Truth be told, before this little errand, John had never really concerned himself with Esmeralda's story. He'd joined Homicide long after most of her alleged murders had taken place and he hadn't seen a point in poking around what seemed like cold cases. Sure, he'd 'helped' with them, but he'd been phoning it in for the most part - he never took a personal interest. His personal interests, however, ended up getting him in a fair bit of trouble with the New Orleans crime family. Following that, he spent a few months just being paranoid, barely sleeping and checking his car every morning for an IED since apparently the mob was somewhat untouchable in Louisiana.

That's what you get for humiliating and cracking down on the local Goodfellas when your Commander's being paid off by them. Instead of being the case that immortalized me, it turned out to be the case that might just kill me. The Commander could easily serve me up to them on a silver platter and that's something they've made very clear to me. So El Jefe gets to pay for his Gucci knockoffs with mafia blood money and sleep snugly at night, knowing that he's got both the PD and the mafia on his side. Or rather, he's just an expendable errand boy with a badge on THEIR side, but I reckon he's having a hard time seeing it that way from behind the piles of money the mob's showering him in. God knows who else is on their payroll.

And so, now I'm forced to paint a target on my chest while desperately shielding the target on my back from mob hitmen. Well... truthfully, they shouldn't be a problem. As long as the young hotshot detective keeps making a loud noise while cracking down on everyone but them, I probably won't end up fed to gators in some shithole of a swamp. Probably. Bottom line: I need to solve this case and I need to do it quick, while the media is still interested in it. Just... get it over with, since the Commander seems to think I'm perfect for this. I'll break it wide open, be the hero, everybody'll forget about my mafia-related stunts and then maybe I won't have to check under my car for a bomb every day. If unorthodox tactics are what it takes, then that's what I'll be doing.

Guilty or not, Miss Vontif - here I come.

[Katelyn]

Esme walked back into the house, an apology on her tongue for her brother. She’d been quite forward with him and regretted nothing expect when it came to him. She’d live many times over and over and feared not the ideal of death. It would be a welcome reprieve to rest in the arms of darkness and be seduced by the fires of hell that were sure to be her eternity. She stopped at the door as the sound of a large black crow called from atop a large oak tree, beckoning the witch to pay its cry heed.

Looking up at it, one would think it was an ordinary bird, a predator looking for a noonday meal, but Esme knew the evil they lay in the extraordinary places that none would think to search for and this bird… was no bird at all. A smile lifted the side of her full pink lips as her eyes the color of grass moved across the animal, seeking a marking that would identify what dwelt within. The wind blew hard and the sun was coated in the sticky remnants of dark thunder clouds as a storm blew in from the north, the smell of rain hanging above her head.

“I’m not interested in a deal. I’ve not seen what you see and until I am convinced this will turn out another way than I believe, I’ll not be needing your services. Be gone with you.” She waved her long, slender arm in the air, her black colored fingernails laced with glitter, the hindrance of the sun not picking up the intended effects. The spinner of evil often looked for ways to ensnare the innocent, to pull them into his web and weave a new reality around them, but it was not them he was most interested in, but the epicenter of magic itself – witches.

“Marcus… I’m sorry for my..” she stopped midsentence as she found the house quiet, bare. Her brother had slipped out in an effort to make her feel exactly as she was feeling in that moment. “Bravo, love. Bravo.”

She slipped into long black slacks and a tight crimson shirt, adoring herself with a few jewels and grabbing her briefcase. She’d be meeting with a few clients tonight, one being Nathaniel DeMarcus, chief of police. He needed her help and she needed his intel. Together they might make headway on this case, but apart they’d end up pointing an accusatory finger at the other. The funny part of it all was she herself wasn’t convinced of her innocence and they was the most complex piece of the preponderance that hung heavier than the dense clouds in the darkening sky.

She wondered if this new detective was working for Nate... Fancy the thought.

[Haymaker]

John parked his car a minute's walk away from the house and strolled towards it, his hands in his pockets and a fake smile on his face. Parking his slick black G-manmobile up front and marching up all gung-ho might've left an impression, but it would've been the wrong impression. Angry detectives who had all the answers were a dime a dozen in the NOPD and she had probably already met every single one of them.

This calls for a subtle approach. I wonder if she's a drinking girl.

He spent a lot of time working on his cases off-duty, mixing it up with the local wildlife, mingling, making friends and even getting shitfaced once or twice. All a ploy, of course. He was never off-duty. And he didn't even like getting drunk. It messed with his mojo and it really didn't look too good on his reports if he had to mention the four Jägerbombs he'd had before a shootout broke out.

So he played with the rules a little to 'win'. Sometimes evidence appeared out of nowhere. Other times, suspects were simply goaded into a firefight. Big deal. He liked winning. And who, other than the suspects who he knew for sure were guilty, truly had a problem with it? He solved cases, put bad guys away, made shit happen - made things better for the little people who lived in New Orleans and they loved him for it. When he was positive that his suspects were guilty, he'd take them down however he could.

When John reached the door of Esme's house, he briefly checked himself out before knocking. Charcoal suit, white dress shirt, fancy brown shoes, no tie. Just informal enough to not look like the typical "I have a badge and a big black stick, give me the answers!" sort of guy, but official enough to come off like he still kind of meant business. Kind of. John gave the door a brisk three knocks and put on his winning smile.

[Katelyn]

Esme opened the door to see the young detective from her vision just a bit earlier that day, a smile touching her full red lips. "Yes... what can I do for you? As you can see, I'm on my way out, so make it quick."

She didn't invite him in, but walked out onto the front porch with him and turned to lock the door, waiting on a response from him. She couldn't be late in meeting Nate as the old boy always became so sensitive about everything. She checked her watch and looked up at the detective, her eyes moving across him slowly as if trying to memorize every line within the contours of his handsome face.

The FBI believed she was their number one suspect regardless of the fact that she always produced an alias for the time and date of the crimes and they never found her fingerprints on anything. Simply because they'd found some of her belongings, varying in object, at the scene of all the murders, because she knew each other the men, this put her as their only lead on the case. She'd been in more interrogation rooms that she cared to remember in the last four months alone and listened to more incompetent cops stutter through their questions, all the same, never getting anywhere.

She brushed a strand of her long black hair behind her ear, her eyes piercing into the cocky detective in front of her as she awaited her turn to respond to his questions and give a rebuttal of sorts.

[Haymaker]

John hadn't expected her to smile at him, let alone in a way as if she'd recognized him from somewhere. Perhaps he looked too young to give off that nasty detective vibe - fancy suit or not. More importantly, though, he also hadn't expected to catch her on her way out. That complicated things a bit. First impressions were everything, so he swiftly came up with a sharp and witty retort, something that would delay her, dazzle her and display his limitless intelligence all in one ingenious move. "Don't worry, ma'am - I always make it quick."

Wait... what?

After pausing for a second to yank his foot out of his mouth, John cleared his throat awkwardly and fished his badge out of his suit pocket. He was thankful that, at the very least, he managed to not screw up displaying it to her. "Ahem... Detective Taylor, NOPD," he said with an official ring to his tone that he originally hadn't intended to use - somehow he knew she was going to be a handful, the moment he met her. Call it a gut feeling. He still kept on half-smiling, though, as if he was perpetually hearing someone tell him a joke. He was determined to salvage this. "I was actually hoping to have an hour or so of your time to ask you a few questions regarding the uh... cases I'm working on."

Just one case, really - you, Miss Vontif.

He quickly added, "But if you gotta head out right the heck now, maybe I could give you a ride there." It was not the best plan John had ever had, but it was something. She was leaving and he couldn't exactly handcuff her to the door and grill her like a chicken breast - but he was also not going to wait for her at her house like some sort of chump. There was nothing stopping her from staying at a friend's place for a few days just to spite him. Wouldn't have been the first time. "My car's parked right around the corner and we could get most of this question and answer thing out of your hair on our way to and perhaps even at... Where are you headed, anyway?"

Please God, don't let it be anything embarrassing. Like... tampon shopping. Or even regular shopping. Ugh.

[Katelyn]

She smiled not at his antics as she found herself running out of time to meet Nate and not be tardy - which the chief of police abhorred. She glanced at his badge and then back at him, wanting to push at him to leave, but she knew his type and persistence was written all over her handsome face. She nodded and walked toward his car, leaving him behind her as she moved.

"Yes... I'll take the ride as my brother left in a hurry and I hate driving at night." She stopped beside her side of the car and peered over the top of it at him. "You do realize that I've answered at least two hundred questions from various officers over the last few years and they've found nothing to pin me to these murders? I'm at a loss for why you think you'll find something that doesn't exist, but if my cooperation helps in getting the true killer, I'm happy to."

She slid into the car next to him and buckled herself in. "I need to go downtown to Vincent's. I'm meeting the chief of policy to talk about... wait for it..." She paused for dramatic effect and rolled down her window as he pulled away from her house, the large black crow she'd seen earlier perched above her bedroom window, its back turned to her while it peered in at her intimate space. The very thought made her stomach hurt. "... this case."

She turned her body just a bit to look at the younger man, her eyes moving across the strong planes of his chest and up to his face as she pondered why they would send someone so young and seemingly innocent to work on such a horrid case. The details of the murderers alone scared her and she lived in the world of the dark arts. What was it about this man beside her that they saw enough of to send him into the boundaries of hell? Or was it something he lacked - such as fear?

[Haymaker]

John tried to read her, get into her head, but he knew he couldn't do it as Detective McLongArm of The Law. She felt like a Chinese finger trap - he'd have to ease his way in and get real close to get something out of her. Brute force was... tempting, but it wasn't going to help. So the questions were, of course, a farce. His foot in the door. If he'd felt like a smartass, he would've just found a way to phrase "Are you the killer?" in fifty different ways.

She'll likely pepper each of her vague answers with "I'm not guilty" anyway, so why not?

"Just doing my job, ma'am. And you can't really blame me for being thorough - in my experience, a lot of things tend to not exist until I've found them," John retorted, savoring the irony. "Don't worry. I'll try to keep the amount o' questions under two hundred."

John simply nodded and focused on his driving when she mentioned where she was headed. He was too low in the cop food chain to really know the Chief, so he was a wild card. It was a sure bet that the guy was going to be an asshole, though. You practically had to be born one to get that far in any police force. John's initial plan to get more alone time with her by heading towards the traffic jam he'd passed earlier was going to have to be shelved. A meteor could strike his car and he'd still be reprimanded for his pretty little passenger being late. He didn't need the attention.

He didn't mind having hers, though, oddly invasive as it seemed. Was she the one reading him? He hoped he hadn't been left open on any incriminating pages. "So... what're you seeing the Chief about, specifically?" he asked her at a red light, making a show of turning his gaze to her. "If you don't mind me asking. I just can't imagine how your case would interest the guy, personally."

Nathaniel What's-His-Face. That's just dandy. Couldn't have picked a worse time to visit her.