One step at a time, that’s how it happened, one touch, then another, a gradual, unsuspecting immersion, just like one drink led to another, an occasional glass led to a bottle, once a week led to every day, to every two hours until you never left the stupor and you cared for nothing but the fuzzy abyss and wet slosh of more liquid in your mouth.
Maybe Sara was different.
Maybe he shouldn’t test that irrational theory based on nothing but hope.
Yet when she went to pack her bag and he went to collect the cat accoutrements, he felt only a defiant satisfaction and anticipation for more time with Sara.
LADY KILLER!
January 10, 1850—There was more entertainment in the courtroom today in the case of accused murderer Jonathon Thiroux, as one Molly Faye took the stand. A working girl in the House of Rest for Weary Men, where Anne Donovan was murdered in her sleep, Molly Faye confessed to the room at large that she, like Miss Donovan before her, had entered into an illicit business understanding with the defendant after the death of Miss Donovan.While this was arguably in poor taste on the part of Mr. Thiroux, it was not a CRIME to move so quickly from one lewd woman to another, but the prosecutor maintains that this illuminates unpleasant aspects of Mr. Thiroux’s character. But before one could even truly form an opinion as to any implications of Miss Faye’s ardent testimony, yet another unfortunate, Sally Swanson, took the stand. Miss Swanson likewise described HER relationship with Mr. Thiroux in such salacious detail that Judge Henry stopped the proceedings and ordered all women and children under the age of eighteen from the courtroom before allowing Miss Swanson to continue.
A dance hall enthusiast, and fond of the sound of her own voice, Miss Swanson spun a tale of devotion and tawdry pleasures of the flesh worthy of the infamous Marquess de Sade, and unfit for description in this newspaper. Yet while most in attendance were either shocked into silence, or simply silent in the raucous, immoral hope of hearing more spill forth from the cherry red lips of Miss Swanson, there was one who could not maintain quiet. Miss Faye, outraged at Miss Swanson’s timeline of her affair with Mr. Thiroux (which invariably overlapped Miss Faye’s own), interrupted most vehemently in protest of Miss Swanson’s “no-good pack o’lies!”
What followed was scarcely to be believed. Miss Swanson calmly stated that Miss Faye was in no uncertain terms a word unprintable in this paper and, frankly, one which is best left on the docks. To which Miss Faye rushed the witness stand and soundly slapped the pretty cheek of her romantic opponent. Such tussling, such pulling and slapping and tearing of hair and cheek and dress, as I have never seen in Judge Henry’s courtroom erupted, and it took three bailiffs a solid two minutes to separate the bawdy hellcats. As the women were being escorted from the bench, Miss Faye wrenched free of her captor and flung herself at the feet of Mr. Thiroux, wrapping arms around his legs and appealing for him to tell the truth, to tell everyone “that he loved her and only her!”
Mr. Jackson has maintained throughout the course of the trial that Mr. Thiroux took knife to flesh and killed Miss Donovan after the “intemperate use of spirits.”
This reporter has to admit that if Mr. Thiroux is constantly subjected to such disgusting displays as what we saw in the courtroom yesterday from both women, then it is not at all shocking the man has descended into the bottle. In fact, if he has such an effect on women as to find them wrapped around his kneecaps on a regular basis, it is simply astonishing that he hasn’t yet taken a knife to his own flesh to remove himself from such ludicrous feminine hysterics.
Mrs. Jane Gallier
117 Esplanade Avenue
New Orleans, Louisiana
Mr. Jonathon Thiroux
34 Royal Street
New Orleans, Louisiana
10 January, 1850
Mr. Thiroux,
After reading, with much dismay and disgust, of the events in the courtroom yesterday at your rather unfortunatetrial, I must confess myself horrified and betrayed.Yes, betrayed. I had thought, sir, that while you are of a passionate nature (as is true with all men of your artistic ilk), those inclinations were contained to your canvases and myself. Imagine the distress, the humiliation, the devastation, I felt upon reading in print for all to see the company with which you have been consorting.
If you have such little respect and regard for me, then I think it is best if we no longer see one another. To that purpose, I will have my butler deny you entrance when I am at home, and I am also returning the lock of hair that I snipped from your head as you slept. I cannot bear the sight of its angelic strands one minute longer, as it only amplifies my weeping, and contributes to the shattering of my generous heart.
One day I hope you will live to regret that which you have lost.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Jane Gallier
Mrs. Jane Gallier
117 Esplanade Avenue
New Orleans, Louisiana
Mr. Jonathon Thiroux
34 Royal Street
New Orleans, Louisiana
11 January, 1850
My Dearest John,
Please disregard my irrational letter you received yesterday.I do not know what came over me, and I have regrettedmy action every minute since the vile missive left my possession. Pray tell me you’ll forgive me, and visit me today, as I am devastatingly lonely for you. As an olive branch, I have procured your favorite vintage for your enjoyment.
Please say you’ll be over, and that you forgive me. I cannot bear the thought of never seeing you again, and I wait most anxiously for your arrival, and hope that when you are back in my presence, allowing me to make amends for my harsh words, you will return the lock of hair to me that I so impudently returned.
Please, John, dearest, please make haste and come to me today.
Your ever loving and most ardently devoted,
Jane
Sara was looking better. There was color in her cheeks and her back was straight, head high. In fact, Gabriel would almost argue it was the best he’d ever seen her look, calm and animated. As if after seeing the photos, hitting the bottom of the barrel and almost drowning in the dregs of her fear, she had climbed out with a whole new determination to not live her life that way.
Gabriel had thought she would want to be distracted, to ignore the two murder cases for awhile. He had been prepared to suggest a walk to the river, a late lunch, maybe even a movie. But when they’d arrived back at his apartment, Sara had dropped her bag in the living room, put Angel’s cat food away in his pantry, and then sat down on the couch in his office and asked him to outline the physical evidence they had from the Donovan case that had the potential to be tested for DNA.
“Are you sure you want to do this right now?” he asked. He had taken a peek at the crime scene photos she’d received when she was packing. They were gruesome, and it was her mother. She had to be devastated.