The Black Jester (Episode One, Kings of New Orleans Series)

by Emily Ford

Four days after the abduction, Rose is up late in the fully furnished rental house. When Michael told her about the immediately available house she was excited by the turn in her luck. The owner asked only for a deposit and the first month’s rent payment, which alleviated some of her worry, because she would never have passed a credit or background check under her new identity.

  The only thing she doesn’t like about this house is all the windows. Even the doors have too many windows on them. Too many windows, and no curtains save for those in the bedroom. The house is older and has no air conditioning, and she has no choice but to leave some of the windows open to let in air. This night’s warm, sticky breeze flows through the house.

  Rose glances at the television as the news blares. “The so-called Black Jester is the primary suspect in the recent murders of over a dozen businessmen here in New Orleans. News Team Five’s Ruth Vega has more.”

  She clicks the power button on the television remote, her nerves too fried to watch anymore. The pictures and video footage of the Black Jester are everywhere, and she worries it’s only a matter of time before the police figure out it’s her in the video leaving the scene of the crime.

  Rose reaches up into the top cabinet of the kitchen in an attempt to retrieve a lone drinking glass. The house is fully furnished but it has no dishes or silverware, though she discovered one glass while searching the cabinets. She’s out of the bottled water Michael had picked up for her and doesn’t feel like going to the store. She doesn’t want to burden him by asking him to do anything else for her.

  Her broken ribs betray her stretch and a searing bolt of pain strikes her. She gasps and grabs her side, holding it while more waves of pain tear through her. Her body doesn’t seem to be healing as fast as she thinks it should. It’s either that, or the extent of the beating the now-dead goon gave her was a lot worse than she wanted to admit to herself.

  Doubled over, Rose stumbles to the kitchen table and slides a wooden chair out to sit on. She lowers herself down into the chair, grunting. Letting out a heavy sign, she feels overwhelmed, and tears well in her eyes. She slumps over the table and buries her head in her arms.

  She rests at the table and begins to drift to sleep. A half hour later, a faint noise in the kitchen brings her back to awareness.

  Rose twists in her chair until she can see the source of the noise behind her. Sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter is the Black Jester, holding the glass she strained to reach. Rose jumps to her feet, momentarily forgetting her pain. Her heart pounds in her chest.

  “Oh, my God!” she cries. “You!”

  The Black Jester’s white eyes stare at her through his mask. He has the drinking glass in his hand, and is slowly twisting it around. Rose’s eyes dart around the kitchen and out the windows. “How did you find me?” she asks, her voice tight with fear. “If you can find me, then so can he …” She nervously strides to the kitchen door and peers into the darkness. Seeing nothing, she turns her attention back to the silent intruder.

  The Black Jester hasn’t moved. He studies her without speaking and continues to twist the drinking glass in his hand.

  “The police are looking for you. Your picture is all over the place,” she says nervously. Rose watches him watch her, her uneasiness growing. “You don’t talk much.” She waits for him to answer, but he doesn’t. “Who are you? Why were you in that van?”

  “Because I wanted to be,” he finally answers. His voice is low and hushed.

  “You wanted to be? Why?”

  “Who are you?” The Black Jester asks.

  “I’m Rose White.”

  “Rose,” he repeats. “Like the flower.”

  Silent moments pass. The Black Jester hops off the kitchen counter. He is taller than she remembers from the incident in the van. Taller than her by nearly a foot. He takes a single step towards her and stops when she backpedals. He looks down at her bare feet. To her surprise, he holds the glass out for her to take. She stares at it uncertainly, before accepting it.

  From the news reports, he’s a serial killer who’s likely to kill her. Yet her experience with him is the opposite, and she can’t quite grasp why he’s here.

  “Thank you,” she says cautiously. She fiddles with the glass while he studies her in silence, until she can take it no more. She sets the glass down on the kitchen table. “How did you find me? You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

  The Black Jester steps towards her again, closing the distance between them. She is afraid of him, but at the same time darkly curious about what this costumed terror wants with her. If he wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have saved her from the goons.

  “Why are you here?”

  He ignores her. “What is your involvement with Antonio Strong?”

  The question makes her more uncomfortable than the Black Jester’s presence. She fidgets and looks away from him, searching for the right words. She’s ashamed of herself for wanting to tell this psychotic costumed man her story. But, he did save her.

  “I’m his wife.” Her own words disgust her, and she senses that even the Black Jester is surprised. “Ex-wife, if I ever make it to court.” She looks up at him expecting more questions, or at least another reaction, but he remains still and staring. She clears her throat. “I left him and he’s not happy about it.”

  The Black Jester takes the final step towards her.

  Maybe he’ll rip my head off, or murder me quickly like he did those men, she thinks to herself. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe it would put me out of my misery.

  Instead, he reaches his hand towards her and touches the bruising around her black eye.

  She flinches. “I guess I should thank you for helping me,” she manages to mumble. The urge to bolt out of the house is growing in intensity. She steps backwards.

  “No,” he says flatly.

  She’s confused. “No? I shouldn’t thank you?”

  He glances down at her bare feet. “Tell me.”

  “Uh, tell you what?”

  “Did you know his occupation, and did you help him? Are you in involved in his business?” He clenches his teeth, the twitch in his muscular jaws visible even beneath the white face paint. In his other hand, the Black Jester is holding a knife.

  Rose sees it now. Her heart skips a beat, causing her pulse to pound in her ears. She looks from the knife to his white eyes and back to the knife. “I didn’t know who he really was until it was too late.” She gasps as he brings the knife to her throat and holds her in place by the back of her neck with his other hand. “Please, I wasn’t involved with his work. I just couldn’t get away from him soon enough.” She starts to cry. “Because I was afraid of him.”

  He studies her, judging whether or not she’s being honest. “Do you see this?” He asks, referring to the way he holds his knife to her throat.

  She considers kicking him, as Michael had shown her, but the presence of the knife scares her too much. “What?”

  He releases his hold on her neck and grabs her hand. He flips the knife around and puts the handle in her hand, closing her fingers around it.

  Paralyzed with fear and puzzlement, she stares down at her hand and tries to comprehend what he’s doing and why he just gave her his knife.

  “This is what you do to monsters,” he states and he wraps his hand around hers. He brings it to his own throat and mimics a cutting movement.

  “No! I could never hurt anyone!” She cries, her voice raspy as she fights back tears. “I would never!” She tries to withdraw her hand but he grips it firm.

  He repeats the throat slicing motion.

  “Why are you showing me this? Who are you?” she whispers hoarsely.

  Just then, the reflection of the Black Jester’s mask in the large window of the kitchen door draws his eyes upwards. There he sees himself, the white eyes staring back at him and the horror that his costumed image conveys. He cringes and releases her hand, his face contorting in anger beneath the mask.
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  “Rose,” he groans.

  Alarmed by his reaction, by how he says her name, she goes rigid. The Black Jester releases her and storms past her, nearly crashing through the kitchen door as he exits. She spins and watches him leave, a flurry of emotions swirling inside her. She slams and locks the door behind him. Her heart pounding, she releases the breath she was holding and finally starts breathing normally. She opens her hand and stares at the knife, then drops it onto the kitchen table as if it were an insect that just bit her.

  “What the hell was that?” she asks herself.

  She spends the next hour nervously staring at the door through which the Black Jester so savagely exited. She tries to process this second encounter with the mysterious psycho killer, as the news describes him, but ultimately feels more confused. The only conclusion she can make is that he doesn’t seem to want to hurt her. Well, at least, after he decided to lower his knife and give it to her. To the contrary, he almost seems concerned for her.

  Stir crazy and edgy, and irritated by the warm sticky air inside the house, Rose paces, wanting to get out of there before she goes completely insane. She’s tired of being in pain and of being afraid. Her emotions swing violently between fear of Antonio and confusion about the murderous Black Jester’s visit. Should she call the Detective? Michael? No, she doesn’t want to bother him. He probably thinks she’s crazy already.

  Rose goes into her bathroom and rinses her face, patting it dry with a towel. “Am I out of my mind?” she asks her reflection. When it doesn’t answer, she sighs. “I need a drink.” She laughs at herself. “A psycho ex-husband and a psycho killer in a costume are both after you. What is wrong with you?”

  Determined to drown her sorrows in alcohol, she leaves out the back door of the house and wanders towards Bourbon Street, hoping the crowd will offer her some protection and distract her from her nightmare. An extra pill has taken the edge off the pain, enabling her to venture out. She doesn’t like the party scene, but she’s desperate to be around people and life. The pungent smells of alcohol, heavy cigar smoke, garbage, and vomit swirl in the air, and she nearly gags several times. She’s ready to dull her senses and decides to pop in to a bar.

  The Copper Monkey is busy but not overfull, and there are enough people in it to make her feel comfortable going in.

  “What’ll it be, hun?” the female bartender shouts over the loud music. Dressed in Gothic clothing and speckled with round silver facial piercings, she flashes a kind smile that fades when she notices the bruises on Rose’s face. “Uh, are you all right?”

  Rose climbs onto a tall stool and rests her elbows on the bar. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can you give me something that will just numb everything?” she asks. “Something really strong.”

  The bartender raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Did you get that shiner from a boyfriend or something?”

  “Ex-husband,” Rose says. “Sort of… long story.”

  “Ah-ha.” The bartender chuckles. “I’ve got just the thing for you.” She combines several different alcohols into a glass and plops down the bright green concoction in front of Rose. “It’s called the Jester,” she says with a grin.

  Rose’s heart skips a beat at the word jester. “Um… is it good?”

  “It’s the world’s strongest drink. And it’s really hot right now with this Black Jester guy all over the news.”

  Rose cringes at his name and her eyes dart around the bar.

  “If this doesn’t straighten your shit out, nothing will,” the bartender adds with a wink.

  Rose grasps the glass and brings it to her nose, as if smelling it will tell her what’s in it. “Thank you,” she says.

  “No problem.” The bartender watches Rose as she takes a small sip.

  Rose nods. “It’s good. Thanks.”

  A mere two Jester drinks later, the bartender cuts Rose off. “Okay princess, that’s enough for tonight. Time for you to go home. You want me to call you a cab?”

  Her senses numb and dulled, Rose giggles. “No. I’ll walk,” she slurs. “I live here. Well, not here, I live down the road…somewhere.” She nearly falls off the bar stool, but a man steadies her and helps her back on. She looks up at the stranger helping her. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I bump into you?” She trails off when she recognizes the man.

  Johnny’s face is a mix of concern and curiosity. “Hi Rose,” he says. “Are you okay?” He appears shocked to see the cuts and bruises on her face, but he doesn’t mention them.

  “Hi… hi Officer Johnny. Oh yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” she says in the most sober voice she can muster. “I just decided to come here tonight. You know. For fun.”

  “Are you having fun?” He’s still holding her up.

  She shakes her head. “Not really.”

  He laughs. “So do you come here a lot?”

  “Oh, no. See, I don’t really drink, so I don’t know what…” she trails off. “Um, do you come here? Like, are you here a lot too?”

  He smiles, amused by her slurred words. “No, I was just out with some friends. I’m usually the DW… the designated walker,” he says with a chuckle. “Um, listen do you want me to help you get home? You seem pretty… Jestered-up.”

  “I what? Oh yeah, the drinks, yeah… um no, I’m okay, really.” She attempts to stand again and wobbles on her feet. He catches her and steadies her. “This is kind of embarrassing, you know, because I don’t drink and apparently I can’t hold my drink either.” She ends with a giggle.

  “Let me help you get home. I won’t have it any other way, all right?”

  “Okay, yeah thanks.”

  Johnny holds her up with one arm around her waist and slowly walks her through the streets towards her house. Her level of intoxication is high enough to erase her pain and drown out all her other senses. Mission accomplished. She doesn’t notice the foul smells in the street this time, nor does she realize that Johnny had been in the bar almost the entire time, watching her get drunk.

  Rose starts to nod off while walking and trips. Johnny pulls her back to her feet. She gazes up at his face but her blurred vision and the darkness of the night prevent her from fully seeing his features. Her inebriated mind plays tricks on her and she panics. For a moment she thinks she sees Antonio.

  “Antonio? No!” she screams. She beats at Johnny’s chest with her fists but she has no strength or coordination, and he easily pins her hands against him.

  “It’s ok, Rose,” Johnny says. “It’s Officer Johnny, remember? I’m just walking you home.”

  Rose squints her eyes in an effort to see him but her eyes are too heavy and her vision too blurred. “I’m sorry… I thought it was him… I must be losing my mind,” she says, trailing off.

  “You know, you’re really bad at lying,” Johnny replies.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why didn’t you come to us after you were abducted? And apparently beaten up,” he says as he visually examines the bruises on her face.

  “What?”

  “We have surveillance video of a woman leaving the scene of a crime with the Black Jester. We think it’s you.”

  “Um … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the best time, but I want you to know that you’re going to have to talk to us. We need to know what’s going on. It’s the only way the police department can protect you. You’ve got to help us, okay?”

  She’s still able to feel guilty despite being drunk. “I didn’t do anything,” she mumbles.

  “Was that you in the van with him?”

  “Yeah,” she answers. “But the Black Jester saved me. They beat me up and kidnapped me … he was already in the van … he saved my life.”

  “The Black Jester was in the van before you were?” Johnny appears puzzled.

  “I don’t remember anything else,” she lies, feeling that she’s already said too much.

  Both Rose and Johnny are silent during the rest of the walk to her house. He help
s her to the front door and waits patiently while she fishes in her handbag for the keys. She fumbles with them and drops them, but he picks them up for her to try again. She finally manages to unlock the door and she steps inside, turning towards him.

  “Thank you for helping me get home,” she says deliberately annunciating to avoid sounding too much more like a drunkard.

  “You’re welcome. I want to make sure you are safe.” He turns to walk away.

  “Johnny? Can I ask you something?”

  Johnny turns back to her.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Rose, I’m not going to lie. You might be. But you need to let us help you.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” she says. “I promise I didn’t do anything.”

  Johnny sighs. “Look. You’re in no shape for this right now. Get some rest. I’m going to come back tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Goodnight, Rose.” He says.