Chapter Text
Prologue
For one fleeting moment, everything was going exactly the way it was supposed to.
Her back against the wall, body pinned beneath hers, sharp edge of a knife pressed against the slender column of her throat This was the end, and she couldn’t have written it better.
Only, she couldn’t bring herself to meet her gaze, eyes fixed instead on her own knuckles, white from the strain of the grip she had on the knife’s handle, immobilized by the way her chest brushed her arm with each uneven rise and fall.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
“Go on, then,” she enticed, voice low and velvety as her fingers wrapped around the blade, drawing it tighter against her throat. “What are you waiting for? This is your big moment, isn’t it?” She watched, mesmerized as the blade split her skin, merlot rivulets of blood trailing down her neck.
“How are you not scared?” she managed to grit out, body thrumming with that vague, urgent need that she was dying to give into. Still, for whatever reason, she couldn’t move.
“Why would I be scared of you, hm? You can’t even look at me,” she hummed, shoulders shifting against the wall. She could practically feel her gaze tearing into her as she waited, hands still resting on the blade of the knife, a silent dare. “Come on, Victoria, there’s no reason to be bashful now!”
She took a moment to steel herself before finally looking up, breath catching in her lungs. The flickering light of the candles shifted the amber of her irises to a shade closer to crimson, eyes heavy lidded, a small, smug smile tugging at her crooked mouth. She couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling that she was something other than human, a beautiful monster dripping in finely embroidered fabrics and someone else’s blood. She impatiently tapped her foot against her ankle, gaze never leaving hers.
“Well?”
And the knife slipped from Victoria’s fingers, clattering to the floor. Alice’s eyes flashed with amusement as she looked from the discarded knife to Victoria’s slowly retreating figure. “Oh, delightful. I knew you couldn’t do it!”
“I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“A bit late for that now, isn’t it?” she mused, voice dripping with faux sympathy, kneeling to retrieve the knife. As her deft fingers wrapped around the handle, there was a shift in the atmosphere, air humming with the faint sound of sputtering static, Victoria’s vision blurring. Her heart picked up speed in her chest, floor tilting below her feet as Alice took a step towards her, knife glinting in the dancing flames. She smiled at her almost sweetly, head tilting to the side, shadows distorting around her. When she spoke, her voice was fuzzy and crackling, but it was also the clearest thing Victoria had ever heard.
“Run.”
Before I'm Brought to Ash
There was a voice coming from the radio. This, on its own, was not unusual. Radios were notorious for broadcasting voices- that’s sort of their whole thing. What the voice was saying was also nothing of note.
“You are not alone.”
A sweet sentiment, really. Something a late night DJ might announce before playing a sappy lovesong. Under normal circumstances, this would be background noise and nothing more. But these were hardly normal circumstances- one only needed to briefly scan the room to understand that much. For one thing, there was the state of the walls- Alice had tried her best to keep the blood spattering to a minimum this go around, but alas, she’d always had a bit of a tendency to get carried away. Stranger than blood trailing down old cabin walls, than ravaged corpses strewn over plastic tarps, than blouses that surely needed replacing now (what a bother), was that this radio was dialed into a station that usually only picked up static. Despite this, the voice emanated, distorted and crackling though it might be. Only that final word cut through crisp and clean, trilling in a pleasant sing-songy cadence.
“Y o u a R e n o-ot aloooonnee!”
And maybe that would be enough to send some other weaker person running. Or, at the very least, be enough to prompt them to make their way across the creaky cabin floor and unplug the machine. Instead, Alice rested her knife on the plastic tarp underfoot, smiling up at the radio politely- she had put a lot of work into obtaining this visit, and she wasn’t about to squander it with a bad attitude, even if the hairs along the back of her neck were standing on end. The pitfalls of being made of flesh. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t scared, the entity’s presence never failed to send a shiver down her spine, flooding her with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. The milk-stained pair of eyes staring dully up at her did nothing to ease this tension.
“Finally done ignoring me, hm?” she teased, courteously stepping over the body, trailing down a path of flickering candles as she made her way to the chair by the radio. She rested her chin on her palm, the relaxed posture of a girl gossiping on the phone with a long distance friend. In a way, wasn’t that exactly what this was?
“Please, dear, you know I’ll always come back for you. You're my favorite little pet- just don’t let the others know I said that,” the demon laughed. Her voice was still distorted by a veneer of static, though she had at least managed to properly tune into the signal now, losing some of that jilted choppiness. Alice rolled her eyes, poking the radio with a crimson-tipped index finger.
“You’ve been dodging me for some time now, I was starting to grow worried. Especially seeing as I do so much for you,” she appealed, gesturing to the blood spattered room with the well-earned pride of an alley cat touting a mangled bird in its jaws.
“Ha! Oh, ya never fail to make me laugh, darling. We both know you’ll take any old excuse to get your hands dirty. Don’t try putting the blame on me. Where’s the fun in that?” Alice pursed her lips, sparing a glance down at her blood-stained hands.
“You have a point!” Still, it did nothing to quell her annoyance.
“So, what’s the news? What’s got ya barkin’ up my tree again?”
“Maybe I just missed the sound of your voice. Is that so wrong?” Alice teased, figuring it didn’t hurt to butter her up a little. Her mistress wasn’t cruel in any of the obvious ways, but she knew she took pleasure in watching her struggle. Alice was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.
“Aw, Al, you sly little charmer, you. And here I thought you were a curious cat. C’mon, ya really not going to pick my brain about our new little friend?” Alice stiffened, lips pursing. Of course she knew.
“Fiiine, fine, if you insist, I suppose we can talk about that sloppy little idiot,” she tsk-tsked, cutting a sly glance at the radio. “What do you know of our ‘little friend?’” She did really need more details- she could hardly allow someone else to hunt on her property. Two bodies found in the span of so many weeks- and big names, too. Whoever this killer might be, he wasn’t even trying to hide. Now, every officer in town was on edge, staring a little too closely at every passerby, noting anything even a hair out of the ordinary with narrowed eyes, their calloused hands resting on their silly batons. Annoying. The last thing she needed was to get caught because some other little show off needed attention.
“I know that I don’t know them!” Rosie cheered, which was a bit of a nothing statement, but at least served to clear up some details. They weren’t one of hers. That was comforting, at least.
“Anything else?” She was trying very hard not to sound impatient, brows skewering as she waited for a response.
More static.
Great.
Something else snagged her attention- she had been assuming this new person was a man, just by the merit of, well, most people who kill people are men. But Rosie had specifically said ‘them’. Vague.
“Is this person a man or a woman? Surely you can tell me that at least, can’t you, darling?”
“I can tell you that I think the two of you would be very good friends. You already know that you have something in common!”
Alice fought back a frown, idly sucking the blood off of one of her fingers as she contemplated her words. The coppery taste of it helped ground her. She knew that she was being purposefully unhelpful- not that she had been expecting much from this conversation anyway, but she had to start somewhere.
“Are they a local, or a transplant?”
“This one seems to be a bit of a free spirit.” So, they travelled often. That was helpful, even though she had already suspected it.
“Part of that flighty troupe of elitists that’s taken over Bourbon Street?” Both of the victims had been part of the cast and crew of the ridiculous movie that was being filmed downtown- if the killer took out the rest of them, then perhaps they could be friends after all. Those clowns were really screwing with her morning commute.
“You already know the answer to that, don’t you, Al? You’ve always been such an astute little whippersnapper. You don’t need my help,” she oozed, and Alice felt her lips thin into a terse line. “I think this is good for you. Get out there! Go find them yourself. Make a friend that you don’t have to commit sacrificial murder to communicate with- though, you know I do love our little talks.”
“We’ll have all of the time in the world to talk once I’m in hell, I suppose,” she mused, arching a brow at the radio. So, she had gained at least one sliver of knowledge: whoever this asshole was, they were part of the movie. And, based on Rosie’s insistence that she befriend them, it would almost certainly be someone she would despise. That hardly narrowed it down, but…it was a start, at least.
“We sure will!” she cheered, and Alice felt a familiar pressure against her shoulder, the weight of a hand that wasn’t really there, invisible fingers pressing against her flesh. She shuddered, eyes flickering shut, entire body flooded with pinpricks of static. The speakers gasped out one last distorted burble before the feeling evaporated.
“uNTiiill nEXT tiime!”
There was a sharp pop of relief, like water being cleared from an ear, and Alice finally relaxed, contemplating the corpse with a small smile. She hadn’t given her much, but she’d made meals out of less crumbs. It was time to get to work.
. . .
Three Months Prior
The fifties were a peaceful era, a time of resettling after years of warfare and poverty (or whatever it was that normal people had been going through in the forties.) Men returning to reclaim their old factory line jobs from their wives, wives returning to pumping out babies and experimenting with tranquilizers, politicians doing boring political stuff like signing peace treaties and smuggling Nazis across the border to do more science experiments, but for the good guys this time. Whatever. All that really mattered was that Hollywood was THRIVING, and so was Victoria Whitman.
Everything about her was undeniably perfect- her mansion, nestled in the Hollywood hills, her spotless career lined with stellar roles and more themed merchandise than even the most dedicated fan could keep track of, her obedient inner circle of beautifully wilting starlets and filthy rich socialites. Everybody loved her. She truly couldn’t ask for more.
She lived her life by a strict regimen, awaking every day at 5am, SHARP, no excuses. Feet on the ground immediately, no time to wallow under her warm comforter. The first thing she felt was plush carpet crushed underfoot. Deep indigo, of course- she’d never been one for blushing pastels. Her first hour was spent in solitude, even the servants ducking from view. This was her only true alone time (aside from the time spent sleeping, which hardly counted). She took advantage of it, reclining in her in her shiny kitchen, skimming over the newspaper as she sipped her first cup of coffee for the day- two spoonfulls of sugar, a dash of cinnamon, enough cream to color it a rich shade of caramel. She’d always had a sweet tooth.
From there, back to her bedroom for wardrobe, hair, and makeup. Her stylist knew what she liked, but he still always asked her opinion, even when she snapped at him about it. She secretly appreciated that about him- she didn’t need her employees making assumptions about her. She liked feeling unpredictable, even if she was committed to her branding. She wanted to look sharp- tailored pantsuits, knife-edged eyeliner, cheeks and lips left bare aside from dabs of concealer to correct any discoloration. She may not have the soft, rounded beauty that her girls possessed, but she knew she was striking, and that was far more important in her line of work. She certainly always left an impression.
After she was coiffed and curled and preened to perfection, it was on to the day’s activities- gathering her girls, making sure everyone got where they were supposed to, monitoring movie sets, managing managing managing. At night, her talk show (though it was the off season right now, so that gave her a bit of a break), and then she showed her face at whatever party or gathering was being hosted that night. It didn’t matter if she was tired- it would be uncouth not to at least pop by. The people needed her, and she needed them to keep needing her. It was an uphill battle, yet she persisted. That’s just show biz, baby.
. . .
It was yet another idyllic, sun-kissed day when the executive head of her production company paid her a visit. This visit, of course, was planned- she would never entertain someone dropping by unannounced. She was a busy woman, after all. She had received his phone call a week prior, and had spent the morning setting the scene. Her girls in classy, perfectly tailored swimsuits, lounging about the pool, cocktails coordinated to match their pre-assigned color schemes held in perfectly manicured hands. Her mansion was a movie set, and she was the director. And this morning, everything looked perfect, except for one glaring error. Her mismatched eyes narrowed into slits as she made her way over to correct this mistake.
“Bellamy!” she scolded, swatting the back of his head. Bellamy was a man, but he was also one of her girls- being one of Victoria’s ‘girls’ was not really about being a girl at all. It was a title for a highly desirable career. As a job listing, it would read ‘Are you conventionally attractive, desperate, and willing to uproot your entire life? Do you contain even an iota of talent when it comes to acting or singing? Do you desire becoming set-dressing for a very successful star’s ginormous mansion? Well, pack your bags, sweetheart, you’re going to Hollywood!’ She found them at castings or stand-up gigs or beauty pageants, and swept them away. They devoted their lives to her (naturally, who wouldn’t?) and in exchange, they got a roof over their heads and a little help booking actual jobs. She had gained a bit of a reputation for having a good eye when it came to these things, and by now, nearly every casting director was eating directly from her hands. It felt good to be on top.
“What did I do wrong?” Bellamy whined, turning to glare at her over his tanned shoulder.
“I thought I’d paired you with Elaine,” she frowned, squatting down to his level to glare at him more efficiently, “Why are you alone?” He and Elaine made a striking couple, what with his raven hair and oil spill eyes and her striking platinum locks and petite figure. Sure, they might hate each other, but they’re actors- they could make it work for the public eye. And then, a few years down the line, they would have a tragic breakup, and they would sell MILLIONS of headlines about it. Romance and its foils were easy money.
“Elaine is sick,” Bellamy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Again.”
“I’m sorry, what?’” Victoria huffed, tossing her face up to the cloudless blue heavens.
“She said she was-”
“No, no, let me get this straight. She’s too sick to SIT BY THE POOL and cuddle with an attractive man for an hour? What does she have? And if it’s anything less than fucking tuberculosis, she’s finding a new place to live.”
Bellamy smirked, leaning back on his palms. “‘Throat sniffles,’ she said.”
Victoria’s eye twitched. “Fucking… ‘throat sniffles?’ THROAT SNIFFLES? What. The. FUCK! Are THROAT SNIFFLES?” she snatched the mojito from his hand, throwing it across the patio with a muffled scream. Her girls were watching her with varied expressions- this was not an uncommon display. Some looked worried, some angry on her behalf, Bellamy looked like he was trying really hard not to laugh. “How does a throat even sniffle? That’s not a thing. Dumb bitch, couldn’t even make up something real. I hope she enjoys sleeping in, because when she wakes up…” Victoria took a deep inhale, steadying herself before fixing Bellamy with a charming grin. “Good news, Bellamy! You get a brand new girlfriend! I might even let you pick this time. Fucking ‘throat sniffles’...she was never going to make it in this industry, anyway.”
“Can my new girlfriend be Louise?” he asked, a bit flippantly. Ann was already shoving a new mint green mojito into his waiting hand, the other Anne frantically sweeping the broken glass from the deck.
“Ew, no,” Victoria sniffed, shooting a glare at Louise, who immediately deflated, averting her gaze. “The two of you look like siblings- people will HATE that. Incest is only hot when royalty does it.”
Someone tapped her shoulder, and she shot a cool look back, finding Ann (or was it Anne? She could never tell them apart), watching her with wide eyes. “What do you want?”
“Bob’s here,” she squeaked nervously. Perfect. Just perfect.
“Aaand, we’re rolling! Places, everyone,” she clapped, leaning closer to Ann(e), “Make yourself scarce, dear. Rich people don’t like seeing the help.” Ann(e) hiccupped nervously before darting away. She appraised the deck one last time, satisfied to find that everyone was where she wanted them to be (except for Fucking Elaine. Ugh.) She made her way to the cabana, gesturing Janet over.
“Be a dear and go escort our guest to the patio?” she demanded, and Janet rolled her lovely eyes, propping a hand on her scarlet swathed hip.
“Why does it always have to be me? What if I’d rather stay here with you for once, did you ever think about that?”
“Always with the attitude,” Victoria chided fondly, glancing around the patio before reaching out to twirl her closer. What could she say? She’d always had a soft spot for the defiant ones. “Have I not been giving you enough attention lately, is that it?” she purred, and Janet pouted, brows lowering.
“I was supposed to be FAMOUS by now, but all you’ve managed to do is land me a few nothing roles. I mean, Waitress Number Two, Victoria, REALLY? Do you want me to be a star, or do you want me to be your unpaid hostess?”
Victoria frowned, pushing a stray hair behind Janet’s ear. Making her famous was a bit more of a challenge than expected. She was a knockout for sure, and by far the most talented of her lineup, but she was…unrefined. Difficult. And a bit pointier than the current look called for, which was hardly her fault. Personally, Victoria liked a woman with angular features (not that she was biased or anything).
“You remind me of myself when I was first starting out. And look at me now!” she cheered, squeezing her shoulder. If looks could kill, Victoria would be a smoking pile of ash. “Aw, c’mon, don’t give me that look, Jan. You just have to keep climbing, baby, you’ll get there. And maybe learn to smile a bit more. Can you give me a smile?” The twisted grimace Janet gave her was nasty enough to rend skin from bone. Victoria pinched her cheek, grinning down at her. “We’ll work on it! Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll be famous in no time. And depending on how this meeting with Bob goes-”
“So he IS here to pitch a movie, hm?”
“Of course, why else would he be here? We were hardly going to play cards,” she scoffed, and Janet arched an elegant brow, crossing her golden arms over her chest, scowl melting away as she considered her. “So, I need you to be on your best behavior. Do what I say, smile that rare charming smile, and maybe, if everything goes well today, you’ll land a role that’s actually worthy of your talent,” another searching glance over the patio, but no one was watching them. Good. She grabbed her hips, leaning down to murmur close to her ear. “And maybe I could find a little extra time, just for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She didn’t even have to see her face to know that she had her, she could feel the tension melting from her body under her hands.
“Fine,” she relented, pulling away from her, “I’ll behave. But you’re making it up to me later.” And she grinned at her in a way that at least looked genuine, light dancing in her eyes, shoulders rolling back into place.
“That’s what I like to hear!” Victoria cheered, lightly shoving her towards the door. “Now, go grab Bob. Let’s get this meeting over with!”
Show time!
. . .
“I’m sorry, you want me to move where?”
The meeting with Bob had been going swimmingly. He pitched his movie- a Film Noir ‘whodunit’ kinda pic about a small-town detective. Janet was an easy pitch for the femme-fatale- all of the things that made her hard to cast as a naive girl-next-door lent themselves easily to a more seductive role. Done. And everything was perfect!
…Until he announced that they were going to be filming on location.
“Not MOVING, Miss Whitman, cut the dramatics,” he scolded, and her jaw tensed. She hated being called ‘miss’. And being told what to do. And the four little silver hairs growing above Bob’s upper lip. Just looking at them pissed her off. “Just three to four months, you’ll be back in time for the next season of your show! And I know you love to travel.”
“New Orleans, Bob, really? You know I loathe the south.”
“But New Orleans is classy! Very French. You’ll love it!”
“I also loathe the French.” This was true, but admittedly, she was more put off by the wet heat of the south than she was the potential of encountering croissants (or whatever it was they had in New Orleans). Her hair was going to be a nightmare to maintain in that humidity.
“C’mon, Miss Whitman, having your name tied to a film like this would be groundbreaking. It’s prime Oscar-bait. You haven’t been involved in anything this promising since-”
“Watch it!” she snapped, crossing her arms, “I’m still in my prime, Bob. Don’t make me out to be some washed-up has been.”
“I know, I know,” he assured her, grinning easily, “Of course I know. Why else would I come to you?” he let out a low whistle as he skimmed the patio, swirling his gin and tonic with a thin straw. “You really have been killing it lately. Whatdya say we keep the ball rolling? Produce the biggest film of the year?”
She cast a wary glance at Janet, who’s hands were folded under her chin, expression all gooey and pleading. “This could be my break out role. What’s a few months in the south?” she appealed, and Victoria pursed her lips, considering it.
“I’d need something more private than a hotel room. A condo, at least. And…fuck! I have to bring my son, he’d die if I left him that long. I don’t trust anyone else to watch him.”
“Your…son?”
“YEAH! My son. Dusky?” when Bob still looked confused, she rolled her eyes, gesturing to the privacy fence marked with a very obvious, ‘Private Property: BEWARE OF DOG’ sign.
“Your…dog? I mean, that should hardly be a problem. What is he, a chihuahua? Pomeranian?”
She felt the little vein in her forehead pulse. “What about me makes you think I would own a fucking chihuahua? He’s a Cane Corso, Bob, have some respect. For me, and for Dusky.”
“A…Cane…Corso,” he strained, eyes bugging out of his head, “You want to bring a Cane Corso to a rental property?”
“Uh, yeah, Bob. He’s very well trained. He only bites when he’s told to,” she snapped, the last sentence slipping out as a threatening growl. She wasn’t caving on this one.
“We’ll make it happen!” he cheered, a bit warily. “Anything else?”
“A/C. I need A/C. None of that ‘open a door and a window’ bullshit.”
“Got it,” he cheered, pushing to his feet. “Well, if that’s all-”
“I’m assuming legal will be by with the contracts by the end of the week?”
“By tomorrow,” he assured her.
“Stunning,” she sighed, waving him away, “I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”
“I’m sure you will.”
After he was gone, she glanced back at Janet, who was practically wiggling with excitement.
“YOU DID IT!”
“No, darling, we did it,” she cheered, toasting her. “And the only con is that we have to go to New Orleans.”
“I think it’ll be fun!”
“Totally.”
So, so much fun.