#introsolo

Written by @DarksDestiny

Written by @Novo_SASBDB on 121/31/2019.

“There is a house in New Orleans, they call the Rising Sun. It’s been the ruin of many a poor boy and God, I know I’m one.”

A smile spreads over my lips as I look out at the crowd, pausing to let the music play for a bit as I scanned the faces for the one I came to this little bar for. This wasn’t my usual scene and neither was karaoke, or singing in general. Going to bars to find /supposedly/ non-existent supernatural beings wasn’t something I listed on my resume or hung next to my framed PhD. In fact, I was supposed to be home with a fever and suffering the horrible consequences of catching the flu. However, if I was going to find the world New Orleans hid in plain sight and so well, proving that there were more than humans living on Earth, this needed to be done.

My smile grows as my gaze falls on the young man who specialized in medicinal herbs and remedies that did a little more healing than they were qualified for and much faster than was normal. It was a shame really; all those wasted lies he told thinking that I wouldn’t notice how his eyes lowered every time he told a small fib. Tonight, we were going to have a little heart to heart chat. Talking to people was my specialty and, sometimes, I added in another specialty of mine. The guy who worked part time in the local voodoo shop was due for a special session with me where I’d show him those specialties.

“My mother was a tailor. She sewed my new blue jeans. My father was a gamblin’ man….Down in New Orleans.”

I kept my eyes on his face, giving him a wink as I continued the song, the rest of the crowd whistling and cheering as I danced while I sang. What some didn’t know is that I took a few drama classes throughout my life so any part I needed to play, I could do it and do it well. Tonight my roll was a flirtatious doctor who had a crush on a possible witch, or something more, and might possibly be a little tipsy. I step away from the mic stand, taking the microphone with me as I sang the next verse, coaxing more cheering and even impressing voodoo boy I was doing this for.

“Now the only thing a gambler needs is a suitcase and trunk. And the only time he’s satisfied is when he’s on a drunk.”

I make my way over to his table and lean down, kissing his cheek before I dance my way back to the stage, rolling my eyes while I have my back turned towards everyone. I was going to be exhausted tomorrow but at least it would make it more convincing that I was recovering from the flu. Everything that had happened in my life led me to this moment and finding any supernatural beings that I could find; my sister’s death being the first stepping stone. She had died when I was still a teenager, just shy of 15 years old, and her death was ruled as an animal attack but the animal they said it was didn’t live in our area. It was impossible and none of the evidence added up or made sense.

“Oh mother, tell your children, not to do what I have done. Spend your lives in sin and misery in the House of the Rising Sun.”

Ever since then, I was set on finding what killed her, already guessing the motive. After all, two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. My sister just knew too much. At first I went along with it, even finding that I had a love for psychology. I was always interested in figuring out how things worked and the human mind was very complex. No matter how long it took or how hard I needed to work, I would figure out what made people tick; especially people like me who didn’t run from the darkness that losing a loved one created. No. We let the darkness in and used it as a guide.

“Well, I got one foot on the platform; the other foot on the train. I’m goin’ back to New Orleans to wear that ball and chain.”

So here I was in what I was always led to believe to be Supernatural Paradise; New Orleans, Louisiana. I made this my home once I started going to school to earn my PhD. It truly was a lovely place and had a lot to offer even for someone who didn’t have secret motives. It wasn’t until recently that my dying interest for something more was peaked as people started to go missing. They were tourists mostly and people that anyone who wasn’t paying attention wouldn’t miss. But I paid close attention, noticing the smallest details around me.

I walk back onto the stage and place the microphone back onto its stand as I finish up the song that I always had an obsession with. It fit my mood a majority of the time and really was an inspiration for nights like this one.

“There is a house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun. And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy and God, I know I’m one.”

I step away from the mic and bow before walking off the stage. Heading straight for the table, I hold out my one hand and pick up my purse with the other, a small but kind smile on my lips as I speak.

“I’ve had enough singing and bars for one night. What do you say to getting out of here?”

He nods and takes my hand, getting up and leading me out of the bar. Just as he goes to turn towards his place, I tug on his hand and shake my head.

“I’d rather go to my place. We can have a chat there and some drinks.”

“You got it.”

My smile widens and I lead him towards my house, taking the quickest route instead of my usual scenic route. Getting to my front door, I pull my keys out of my purse, slipping a small syringe filled with a mild sedative into the sleeve of my dress before I unlock my door. I push it open and step aside to allow him in and shut the door behind us, locking the door as he glances around.

“Nice place.”

“Thank you. I’m quite fond of my home. It took a while to get it perfect. Maybe I’ll give you a tour some time.”

“Why not give me the tour now?”

I hold back the laugh that threatened to slip through my lips as I walked up behind him and took the cap off of the needle, trying to be as discreet about it as I could. This probably wasn’t necessary but it was a safety precaution and the best way I knew how to get him to talk.

“Because you’re about to take a nap before our chat.”

Just as he turns, I reach up and stick the needle into his neck, emptying the syringe before he can react, and the confusion on his face turning to realization. I tilted my head and watched as he stumbled a little, his hand coming up to rest on the wall for a second before he fell to the floor. It was only going to take me a few minutes to get him where I needed him and then it was time to see how he ticked. It wouldn’t be too hard since getting people to talk and let me inside their head was what I did for a living. This was just the first time I was sure what I brought home was more than a simple human. He was the next step to finding the world I had been seeking for so long.

"Jenny? Jenny, where are you?!" The distorted, panicked bellow crackling through her hand radio stirred her from her stupor. Slowly, her foggy surroundings gathered into focus, the static in her vision dissipating around the starch white walls of the padded cell. "That bitch..." She groaned, slender fingers tucking her honeyed locks behind her hair as she grouped around for her security cap. The glint of blood on her fingertips matched the spotted trail that lead through the cracked open cell door. "Jenny! We need you! They're out! They're all out! Rabid, Iris-- Oh, God! Jane Doe! Jane Do-" "I know, Max." She wheezed into the radio, "She got me." As a string of concerned question chimed over the static and audible discord of the situation at hand, Officer Jenny Morales began to pick herself from the floor. "Max, I'm fine." She interrupted her coworker's frantic pleas, "I'm on my way." She paused, allowing the white noise to soothe the throbbing of her head for a moment before declaring in a venomous, vengeful hiss, "Jane Doe is /mine/." She clicked the radio off, clipping it to her belt as she began gathering her scattered possessions; a nightstick, her taser, her- Her gun was missing. "Great." She clicked her tongue, catching her reflecting in the mirror that overtook one of the walls of the Skin Thief's cell. She prodded at the dark circles beneath her weary, emerald eyes. How long has she been surrounded by maniacs and psychopaths? How long until she could truly escape these walls? A distant thunderclap of gunfire pierced through the muffled silence of the padded walls, snapping Jenny from her somber thoughts and into action. Her nightstick held tight in a white-knuckled grip, she blitzed through the door, immediately assaulted by the animalistic howls and anguished cries of both security and inmates alike. A merciless clash, orchestrated by cracking bone and maniacal battle cries waged between the armed, outfitted guards and the desperate inmates. Order colliding against Chaos. Men and women, who only wanted to maintain peace, losing ground to rabid prisoners with nothing to lose. Jenny lunched forward, smashing the blunt of her billy club across the stitched, greasy face of a female inmate who called herself "Ragdoll". The inmate flopped backwards bonelessly from the force of the blow, only to slither her torso between her own legs, a cracked, asymmetrical smile carved into her patchwork face. Jenny wasted no time in seizing her taser, electrified prongs jabbing into the contorted psychopath just as she lunged towards the officer. Ragdoll screeched, gangly limbs flailing wilding as the surge jolted through her body, forcing an accurate illustration of her moniker. A quick, sadistic smile begin to pull up Jenny's rosy brims just as a breathy, dove-like whisper curled against the shell of her ear, "...My... What lovely /eyes/ you have..." An icy flush of panic curled down her spine: Iris. The split second of thought between actions slowed into a tunneled trickle, the icy razor pressed to the Officer's cheek slashed its mark just as she twisted her arm backwards, elbow cracking across the thin, brunette's sunken cheek, the audible dislocation of the lunatics jaw reverberating amidst the chaos. Once a Champion kick boxer, she continued to beat down her attacker, precision punches jabbed into the frail frame of the inmate in a string of consecutive blows and snaps. As the shattered murderess slumped beside her still convulsing counterpart, Jenny took a moment to breath. She just needed a moment. Just a- The deep, guttural cry of a felled guard broke her trance; thick trickles of blood streaked across his chubby, stubbled face as the female juggernaught known as Rabid slashed at him from arms length. "Shit! Max!" The skin stripped from her fingertips, exposed bone sharpened into claws, she ripped effortlessly at the pristine blue suit of her coworker, carving through flesh and sinew as if it were tissue paper. Jenny lurched forward, flattening her palms against the sanguine blotched concrete as she thrust a mighty donkey-like kick straight into the woman's manic, toothy grin. As the lunatic tumbled across the floor, hyenaesque cackles melding into agonized screeches, she summersaulted to her feet, adrenaline fueling a spinning whip of her leg, just narrowly missing the back of Rabid's matted head of ebony locks. "I can smell you, Thief!" the predator cackled, jaw snapping forward to clamp into the officer's arm. Jenny didn't even feel the jagged teeth rend through her flesh as she brought her opposing elbow into the woman's skull, the sickening crunch of bone connecting to bone ricocheting through the halls. A flattened palm jutted into the pig-nose of the wild inmate, small bones fracturing and crumbling within the soft tissue of her face. "Jenny... You..." Max heaved in labored breaths, nursing the spill of crimson staining his suit. A flash of a bloodied, skinless inmate disappeared at the end of the hall.