Last Night
by
Charlene Donaghy
by
Charlene Donaghy
CONTEST
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At midnight, the streets of the French Quarter were just beginning to come alive, as Lizzie
stumbled out of Preservation Hall and into the tropical humidity. Bourbon Street was
crowded with a mixture of conventioneers and college kids, all drinking while some flashed
their breasts in return for infamous New Orleans beads. Lizzie weaved her way through the
tourists and ambled down Bourbon to Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar. Stepping over the threshold,
she welcomed the murkiness of its interior.
She had spent many nights over the past month assembling research materials around Lafitte’
s decrepit wooden tables. Tonight, after reading over her notes one last time, she sensed that
something was missing, something she needed to find. If she abandoned herself to the night
one last time, would that missing element emerge?
“What’ll it be, chere?” Asked the gap toothed bartender who stood behind a bar worn and
scraped by years of thirsty patrons.
“I’ll have a Hurricane, please,” Lizzie whispered.
Lafitte’s is the type of place that elicits whispers from its patrons. There is a reverence for
the darkness here, and the whispers pay homage to that mood. The bar’s only source of
illumination is the dim amber glow of votive candles melted into tiny wrought iron urns. The
floors are large wooden planks which dip and rise like the undulating deck of a pirate’s ship.
And, if vampires did exist, one would certainly find them lurking in the shadows of Lafitte’s
with a warm goblet of blood being slowly swirled between long, bone white fingers.
Lizzie took a seat in the outer courtyard of the bar, surrounded by tendrils of bougainvillea
climbing the brick walls. She relaxed into the chair as the Hurricane made its way through
her bloodstream. Her head dropped back, eyes only slightly open upon a starlit night. The
lights of the city skittered along the edge of her vision, giving the inky upper reaches of the
atmosphere an unearthly glow.
“I see you like our tropical night sky.” A voice came out of the darkness. Lizzie dropped her
head forward, staring off into the far corner of the courtyard trying to see the figure seated
there.
“I’ve never seen a sky quite this color before – it seems almost enchanted.”
“Yes, it does have a way of bewitching you,” his speech was formal yet melodic like low
wails of a saxophone, “New Orleans has that way about her also, gripping you in her
irresistible embrace and not letting you go, does she not?”
“I suppose it does.”
“So, do you really want to see the true magic of my city?” His inquiry startled her.
“No, yes, I…I….maybe I should just call it a night.” Her words lacked conviction.
“And end your research too soon Elizabeth? Is there not something missing?” He stood at her
side before she knew he had moved.
“My research? But how? Did I talk to you this month? Did you fill out one of my
questionnaires?”
She had come to New Orleans four weeks earlier to work on a research paper about the
sociological phenomenon of the modern vampire subcultures. Her professor had, at first,
questioned her choice of topic but Lizzie was able to assure him of her convictions.
However, her objectivity on the subject began to fade with many midnight hours spent
pouring over books, journals, and websites. Her work haunted her long before she set foot in
Louisiana, but something about the mysticism of New Orleans began to turn her research into
an obsession.
Lizzie had interviewed individuals who embraced a vampire lifestyle and her explorations had
proven fascinating. Enveloped in velvet and lace, they held a seductive allure, radiating beauty
and sensuality in their desire to savor a touch of evil. There was exquisiteness to their
shameless pursuit of their beliefs and many nights Lizzie fought to remain an observer and not
a participant. Tonight, after a month of interviews the time had come for her to reluctantly
return to Chicago’s Loyola University to assemble her research into a final presentation.
Being unable to shake the sense that her explorations were incomplete, Lizzie was determined
to spend one last evening in New Orleans spellbinding embrace. Was this stranger making
her an offer to surrender to the night? Did she dare accept?
He laughed, deep and sultry, “No, my dear, I have not answered any of your questions, not
yet anyway. But, tonight we will talk, and much more. You will, no doubt, find me very,
very real and, dare I say, a true lifelong citizen of my Nouvelle Orléans. Now, here, I have
another drink for you, something special.” He whispered into her ear as he floated down into
the chair beside her, offering her a silver vial.
The candlelight did little to illuminate his features, but she could not mistake his eyes. They
were yellow, like small globes of gold dancing across an onyx backdrop. He penetrated her
with those eyes, locking her to his gaze, and she felt as though he looked into her soul.
“No, I think, well, perhaps I’ve maybe had enough.” Lizzie shivered as she felt an
overpowering sense that this stranger could make the night last forever.
“Just a sip,” He offered.
The vial drifted to her as if propelled by air alone, and she could do nothing to stop her lips
from parting as she stared into those yellow eyes.
“Yes, that’s it; just a taste for now.” His voice, seductive, seeped into her head.
The warm, salty, thick liquid flowed past her lips, wrapped around her tongue, and then
tumbled down her throat. Blood. This golden-eyed stranger had pushed her over the abyss.
She found the blood delicious. Caught in his gaze she hungrily lapped up the last drop which
trickled from the vial.
“I knew you would like it. I’ve known all month that you would like it. Yes, my dear, I’ve
been watching you play your games with those imitators. Did you think I would let you get
away with their synthetic versions of my life? Of course I could not. Yet, your fascination
with them amused me enough to keep vigil over your adventures. And, tonight, I think you
shall have the greatest adventure of all. I promise that you will find me beautiful, sensual, and
perhaps just a bit evil.” She never saw him move out of his chair yet there he was, so close
that his lips were almost touching hers.
He smiled. Lizzie saw his fangs - long, spiked, brilliantly white like precious deadly pearls.
Her body vibrated with the desire to feel his bite and all of the weeks of trying to push her
cravings aside melted away from her.
“Come to me Elizabeth.” He wrapped her into his embrace as his lips met hers before trailing
down her throat. Hovering for a moment he plunged his incisors deep into her pliant flesh.
The bite was exquisite with an ecstasy that can only be felt in the welcoming intensity of
pleasurable pain. She surrendered to it and as her body shuddered under his ministrations she
could have sworn she saw the streets of the French Quarter fading away beneath them.
(1196 words)
stumbled out of Preservation Hall and into the tropical humidity. Bourbon Street was
crowded with a mixture of conventioneers and college kids, all drinking while some flashed
their breasts in return for infamous New Orleans beads. Lizzie weaved her way through the
tourists and ambled down Bourbon to Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar. Stepping over the threshold,
she welcomed the murkiness of its interior.
She had spent many nights over the past month assembling research materials around Lafitte’
s decrepit wooden tables. Tonight, after reading over her notes one last time, she sensed that
something was missing, something she needed to find. If she abandoned herself to the night
one last time, would that missing element emerge?
“What’ll it be, chere?” Asked the gap toothed bartender who stood behind a bar worn and
scraped by years of thirsty patrons.
“I’ll have a Hurricane, please,” Lizzie whispered.
Lafitte’s is the type of place that elicits whispers from its patrons. There is a reverence for
the darkness here, and the whispers pay homage to that mood. The bar’s only source of
illumination is the dim amber glow of votive candles melted into tiny wrought iron urns. The
floors are large wooden planks which dip and rise like the undulating deck of a pirate’s ship.
And, if vampires did exist, one would certainly find them lurking in the shadows of Lafitte’s
with a warm goblet of blood being slowly swirled between long, bone white fingers.
Lizzie took a seat in the outer courtyard of the bar, surrounded by tendrils of bougainvillea
climbing the brick walls. She relaxed into the chair as the Hurricane made its way through
her bloodstream. Her head dropped back, eyes only slightly open upon a starlit night. The
lights of the city skittered along the edge of her vision, giving the inky upper reaches of the
atmosphere an unearthly glow.
“I see you like our tropical night sky.” A voice came out of the darkness. Lizzie dropped her
head forward, staring off into the far corner of the courtyard trying to see the figure seated
there.
“I’ve never seen a sky quite this color before – it seems almost enchanted.”
“Yes, it does have a way of bewitching you,” his speech was formal yet melodic like low
wails of a saxophone, “New Orleans has that way about her also, gripping you in her
irresistible embrace and not letting you go, does she not?”
“I suppose it does.”
“So, do you really want to see the true magic of my city?” His inquiry startled her.
“No, yes, I…I….maybe I should just call it a night.” Her words lacked conviction.
“And end your research too soon Elizabeth? Is there not something missing?” He stood at her
side before she knew he had moved.
“My research? But how? Did I talk to you this month? Did you fill out one of my
questionnaires?”
She had come to New Orleans four weeks earlier to work on a research paper about the
sociological phenomenon of the modern vampire subcultures. Her professor had, at first,
questioned her choice of topic but Lizzie was able to assure him of her convictions.
However, her objectivity on the subject began to fade with many midnight hours spent
pouring over books, journals, and websites. Her work haunted her long before she set foot in
Louisiana, but something about the mysticism of New Orleans began to turn her research into
an obsession.
Lizzie had interviewed individuals who embraced a vampire lifestyle and her explorations had
proven fascinating. Enveloped in velvet and lace, they held a seductive allure, radiating beauty
and sensuality in their desire to savor a touch of evil. There was exquisiteness to their
shameless pursuit of their beliefs and many nights Lizzie fought to remain an observer and not
a participant. Tonight, after a month of interviews the time had come for her to reluctantly
return to Chicago’s Loyola University to assemble her research into a final presentation.
Being unable to shake the sense that her explorations were incomplete, Lizzie was determined
to spend one last evening in New Orleans spellbinding embrace. Was this stranger making
her an offer to surrender to the night? Did she dare accept?
He laughed, deep and sultry, “No, my dear, I have not answered any of your questions, not
yet anyway. But, tonight we will talk, and much more. You will, no doubt, find me very,
very real and, dare I say, a true lifelong citizen of my Nouvelle Orléans. Now, here, I have
another drink for you, something special.” He whispered into her ear as he floated down into
the chair beside her, offering her a silver vial.
The candlelight did little to illuminate his features, but she could not mistake his eyes. They
were yellow, like small globes of gold dancing across an onyx backdrop. He penetrated her
with those eyes, locking her to his gaze, and she felt as though he looked into her soul.
“No, I think, well, perhaps I’ve maybe had enough.” Lizzie shivered as she felt an
overpowering sense that this stranger could make the night last forever.
“Just a sip,” He offered.
The vial drifted to her as if propelled by air alone, and she could do nothing to stop her lips
from parting as she stared into those yellow eyes.
“Yes, that’s it; just a taste for now.” His voice, seductive, seeped into her head.
The warm, salty, thick liquid flowed past her lips, wrapped around her tongue, and then
tumbled down her throat. Blood. This golden-eyed stranger had pushed her over the abyss.
She found the blood delicious. Caught in his gaze she hungrily lapped up the last drop which
trickled from the vial.
“I knew you would like it. I’ve known all month that you would like it. Yes, my dear, I’ve
been watching you play your games with those imitators. Did you think I would let you get
away with their synthetic versions of my life? Of course I could not. Yet, your fascination
with them amused me enough to keep vigil over your adventures. And, tonight, I think you
shall have the greatest adventure of all. I promise that you will find me beautiful, sensual, and
perhaps just a bit evil.” She never saw him move out of his chair yet there he was, so close
that his lips were almost touching hers.
He smiled. Lizzie saw his fangs - long, spiked, brilliantly white like precious deadly pearls.
Her body vibrated with the desire to feel his bite and all of the weeks of trying to push her
cravings aside melted away from her.
“Come to me Elizabeth.” He wrapped her into his embrace as his lips met hers before trailing
down her throat. Hovering for a moment he plunged his incisors deep into her pliant flesh.
The bite was exquisite with an ecstasy that can only be felt in the welcoming intensity of
pleasurable pain. She surrendered to it and as her body shuddered under his ministrations she
could have sworn she saw the streets of the French Quarter fading away beneath them.
(1196 words)