The Lady Killer

The Lady Killer
by Brandon J. Perkins


Father Johannes walked down the long hallway that led into the heart of the asylum. He had dedicated himself to helping these poor lost souls, doing what he could to save them. But it was not an easy task. Each morning, as the carriage dropped him off and he collected his bags and walked inside, he felt a mixture of fear and elation. Who knew what the coming day would bring? But today would be a day he would not, could not forget.
The guard was ahead of him, the keys attached to his pants jingling with every step. He held a candle-holder, with a plump white candle on top of it. The hallways leading down the asylum were always dark, even in the daytime, as there were no windows. The guard stopped in front of one of many rusting metal doors, number 776, and unlocked it. Father Johannes felt the nervousness within him rising. Today his patient was a very special one. Today his patient was the Lady Killer, one of the most notorious men Austria had ever seen. He had been found a few months ago, at the scene of his final murder, cradling the body. The guard opened the door, and Father Johannes entered the room. The guard closed and locked the door behind him. Father Johannes looked down at his patient, lying on a small cot on the floor. He was a lean, young man of about twenty, with a handsome face. A ladykiller in both senses of the word, Johannes thought. The man was dressed in white garments provided by the asylum, although he still had his powdered wig. He was still a man of some power. The man looked up.
"Hello, Father," he said.
"Hello my son," Father Johannes replied, "What is your name?"
"I am Anatole Denadre, son of the late Lord Denadre." Father Johannes suppressed a gasp of surprise. This man was not a lesser lord, as he had assumed, but was the son of one of the most powerful men in all Vienna. My God, Father Johanness thought. The man had enough money to buy the asylum he was in, as well as all the land for ten miles around it. Not that it would do him any good now, of course.
"So tell me, my son," Father Johannes asked, "they tell me you requested an audience with me. Why?"
Anatole looked up at him. "I need a knife to free myself, father."
Father Johannes looked at him incredulously, thinking it some sort of jest.
"Well... my son, you know I can't do that," he said.
Anatole gave a slight chuckle. "Forgive me father, you misunderstand."
"Do you wish to explain it to me?"
"Of course," Anatole replied, "but to do that, I will need to explain my crimes from the very beginning."
Father Johannes tensed. Incredible. He was going to hear the whole story of this madman from his perspective. Perhaps then he could begin to save him. "I have as much time as you need, my son," he said.
Anatole looked up, thoughtfully. "Let me start from the beginning."

"My mother died when I was very young, and my father died when I was eighteen years old. I was born here in Vienna, but my father came here with his parents when he was five years old, in 1702. I was born on November 6th, 1729. It was back in 1746 when I first met Annabelle."
"Annabelle?" Johannes echoed.
"Yes, Annbelle, the love of my life."
"I see," Johannes said, "and is she waiting for you outside these walls?" Anatole gazed out the window.
"Yes," he said, "yes she is. But back to my story. As you may know, the goal of any noble is to squirm as far up the social ladder as he can. It's a game, a deadly game that you are born into. The higher up the ladder you are, the more enemies you have. You must always be on your guard or they will bring about your downfall, or worse, your death."
"So why play this game?"
"Because if you do not, then you are expendable. The secret to playing the political game is to find the right way to play. If you do not try hard enough, you will get nowhere, which will lead to your downfall, but if you overestimate yourself, you will find too late that you are being stabbed in the back, sometimes literally."
"How do you know this?" Johannes asked.
"It's common knowledge among the aristocracy. When it happens, everyone knows why, but no one says so. Also, I might add... I've done it. But it began to get to the point where that wasn't enough. I wanted to kill more, but this game is politic. If you go around killing all the time, the collective aristocracy will realize it's you and bring you down in no time. So, I turned to another form of killing, another game. Killing young women."
"Why young women?" the shocked Father Johannes asked.
"Why should I go after young men? Young men are strong, and can surprise you with their strength. Not to mention, they often carry knives or pistols, to protect their loves. Remember, overestimating yourself will lead to your downfall."
"Why don't you tell me about the killings, Anatole," Johannes said, "did you seduce these young ladies and then murder them? Did you... dessecrate their bodies?"
"Absolutely not!" Anatole said loudly. "Forgive my outburst, father. I would never do such a thing. I admit that I seduced quite a few of them before murdered them, but nothing else."
"Forgive my asking, Anatole, but how is it you can claim to love Annabelle, when you make love to other women?"
"Well you see father, sex is part of the game. I felt nothing for any of the women I seduced, but sometimes it has to be done. Annabelle doesn't know. She doesn't go to balls or concerts. She prefers the company of simpler people who won't betray her. That's why I love her. Because I know I can trust her, and my love for her could never be diminished."
"Of course. Please continue," Johannes replied.
"Well, when I first decided to begin killing was at a masquerade ball. Everyone was wearing masks, as was I. I realized I would not be noticed. So I found a young woman alone in the back rooms of the house, away from the party. I stabbed her to death, then cleaned up, and changed into another jacket that I had found in the closet of one of the rooms. It looked basically like the one I had come in with. No one would be suspicious, and the man who owned it had a thousand more. He'd never even notice it was missing. I tossed my jacket into the fireplace. Then I returned to the galla and charmed everyone by playing romantic songs on the harpsichord. I'm well known in the aristocratic circles as being an excellent harpsichordist. So, of course, the murder became big news following the days after it was discovered. The idea that one of the guests had seduced and deflowered a beautiful young woman, then murdered her and returned to the party, mingling among them... and that they didn't know who it was... inrigued them greatly. It also gave me my nickname, The Lady Killer. But that was not until later, after I had commited several more murders.
"The aristocrats could have stopped throwing masquerade parties, but they did not. In fact, they were overflowing with people. Everyone wanted to say they had been at a ball where the notorious Lady Killer had struck. Soon, women would not leave sight of the ball without a man to chaperone them. A few times I would kill their man, and then chase them down and kill them. But most of the time, I would invite a woman out for a walk, saying 'Tis not safe to be out and about with such a beast as the Lady Killer lurking out there,' wherein I would proceed to kill them, once we were alone, and sneak back in to the party, at which point I would associate with everyone, mainly old women who were standing in groups talking about that horrible brute, the Lady Killer, and how awful it was. I think though that they were all fantasizing to some extent, about this vigorous young man chasing them down and making savage love to them, conveniently forgetting about the fact that the Lady Killer also killed his victims. At this point they would say something to the extent of 'oh dear I hope he never comes after me,' as if I would want to seduce them, to which I would say something like 'Beast though he may be, I doubt that even he should wish to deprive the world of such radiant beauty' and kiss their hand. They would giggle and blush and thank me for being such a gentleman, even though what I was saying was an out and out lie. But they didn't know this, and after all, that's how the game is played. Surely such a polite young man couldn't do something so ghastly.
"One thing is for sure though. All of them respected the man who was doing this, for who could play their game, and another, even more dangerous one as well? Well, now they know, and even though they will say what a monster I am, they are in awe of me as well. I started to become more vicious in my killings as well. Once you've become adept at something, you've got to up the ante, or you'll become stagnant. I would cut off their heads, or gut them, or nail them to a wall, or even all of the above. The worse it was, the more notorious I became. Some of the lords and ladies wanted the masquerades to stop, but most of them did not. They wanted an opportunity to catch the killer, become the hero, or deduce who it was, and go after them silently. Some of them were just morbidly curious. Not to mention the aristocratic world was abuzz with conversation about it. They had more to talk about now than just the latest opera.
"Were your killings ever motivated by the politics in which you played a part?" Father Johaness asked.
"Yes, indeed they were. Once in a while I would have the opportunity to use a murder to my advantage. For instance, once, I had taken a young lady to a bedroom, and made love to her. In short order she was pinned to the wall, dead, the details of which I shall spare you, Father. Unfortunately, a longtime enemy of mine, a pompous ass by the name of Marquis de Leffeur, a French nobleman who had resided here for some years, heard the sounds of a struggle, and came to investigate. He opened the door, and reigned in his shock quite gracefully, before smiling at me.
'Well, well,' he said, 'if it isn't Lord Denedre, the Lady Killer.' I stared up at him in unmitigated shock, my clothes covered in blood. He chuckled. 'See you tomorrow at the opera, Anatole,' he said. I realized then that he was going to destroy me politically, as he knew that he most likely couldn't take me on in a hand-to-hand fight. Not only that, but he would also be declared a hero. Unfortunately for him, he did not consider the options that I had. He assumed I would wait until tomorrow to challenge him. Instead, as soon as he turned his back to me, I grabbed him and threw him into the room, where he landed in the pool of blood worming it's way across the floor, and locked the door, and took the key. Then I went to another section of the house, and changed clothes. He spent the night in that room, the huge oak door muffling his shouts. When he was found, about thirty hours later, he was sitting in a corner, disheveled, covered in blood, and mumbling. He looked quite the part of the madman. So, it was easily assumed that he was the Lady Killer. He was sent off to an asylum, and everyone, thinking the killing was over, celebrated with reckless abandon. Of course, I struck again. They realized the Marquis was innocent, but he was also permanently insane. So, he was left in the asylum, effectively removed from the political game.
"Also one of my enemies is Lord Valantine, an extremely powerful man, who had been a friend of my father's. He acted as a friend to me, but it was all a ruse. Once, I spent a night at his residence. He had one of his servants, a young boy sneak into my bed as I lie sleeping. Then he burst in the door and raised a commotion, to which other powerful lords and ladies bore witness. It is political suicide to be homosexual, of which I am not, so I was quite upset with these charges. I angrily confronted the poor boy, who broke down crying, and confessed the Lord Valantine had put him up to it. Lord Valantine was horrified, as he had not expected the boy to confess. Naturally the lords and ladies present were quite shocked, or at least pretended to be, though I imagine they would have done the same thing in Lord Valantine's position. However, Lord Valantine is also a very cruel man. A few days later, before he could be questioned further, the young boy was trampled to death in an... unfortunate accident. I vowed my revenge on Lord Valantine. Then, not that long ago, who did I spy in a lonely bedroom with her lover? None other than Lord Valantine's lovely daughter. One of my most vicious murders, I think. I believe Lord Valantine suspected that one of his enemies was the Lady Killer at this point. But he had enemies, so many enemies. How could he know which one it was? After I was imprisoned here he knew however, and bribed corrupt guards to rape me, but his plan backfired when I took a bite out of the guard's neck, and watched his lifeblood spill onto the floor. Now I'm left alone for the most part. But back to my story."

Here Anatole leaned forward, his voice taking on dead seriousness.

"At this point I had killed dozens of people. I would go on to kill only one more. I went to a masquerade ball. This one was a huge celebration, a St. Valentine's Day ball. There were many people there, more than I had ever seen. I performed music for them for hours, then went out and danced with the ladies. At one point I turned to see a beautiful young woman beckoning me. I went to her. She was by herself at the other end of the ballroom. She ran away giggling, and I followed her, albeit for a different reason than she was thinking. We ran out into the courtyard, into the hedge maze. At the center of the hedge maze, she stopped, and I ran up to her. She smiled coquettishly at me. I smiled back at her, even as my hand went to my knife. She rushed into my arms, and it was then that stabbed her in the side, many times. She fell to the ground, her long hair flowing down around her like blood, staring at me in wide-eyed horror. I took off my mask, and stared into her eyes, grinning like a madman. Her eyes went wide as she saw me. Then she died. I kneeled down, and took off her mask..."
Here Anatole began to cry.
"What's wrong my son?" Father Johannes said concernedly.
Anatole looked up at him, as if seeking sanctuary, his eyes bleeding tears.

"It was Annabelle, the love of my life."

"My God," Father Johannes said, crossing himself.
"I killed her, Father!" Anatole sobbed, "The last thing she saw was my face!" He collapsed into Father Johaness' arms, wracked with sobs. Father Johanes held him tightly.
"I'm sorry my son," he said. After a few moments Anatole spoke.
"I never believed in God," he said, "until that moment. It was then that I knew that God was showing me what I had done by using it against me." He smiled, a broken-hearted smile. "I guess God wins the game," he said, "so you see Father, this is what I mean. Let me go to the waiting arms of my Annabelle... give me a knife. Let me set myself free."
It was then that Father Johannes knew what Anatole wanted. He withdrew from his robe a hunting knife, and gave it to Anatole. Then he pounded on the door and called for the guard. The guard opened the door and let him out, then closed and locked it. Father Johannes walked down the hall until he was out of the guards' earshot. Then he broke down in heaving sobs.

"I'll see you soon, Annabelle, my love," Anatole said tearfully as Father Johaness' footsteps faded. Then he took the dagger and put it to his wrist.

* * *

Epilogue

Anatole sat in his room, silently holding the dagger. After a few moments he jumped up, and ran to the window, where he began using the kinife to pry open the metal bars that ran across it. Finally it was free. He pulled it off, and set it on the floor, then gazed out his window at the huge lake below.
"I love men of God!" he laughed, "so easily swayed are they!" Then he took a running jump out of his window, and went sailing downward into the lake. He surfaced, and looked around. His manor was only a few miles from here. He would be there in no time.
"I do believe in God, Father Johannes," he said softly, "but I believe in the devil as well." Then he swam towards shore. "I wonder what Italy is like this time of year," he said to himself. Then he laughed.

In his room was a piece of paper, stabbed to the wall with a knife. It was addressed to Father Johannes. Inside it read:

Father,

They respected me for being a lord. They respected me more when they found out I was a lord and a killer. Think how much they will respect me now that I've escaped. This is the way the game is played.

Sincerely,
V. Anatole Denadre, Esq.


That night, Lord Valantine's house was set on fire. In the confusion Lord Valantine's guards lost track of him. He was found a few hours later in a field. His genitals and head had been cut off. An arrow was through his heart. On it was a note addressed to the most powerful lords in Vienna that said simply:

I win the game.

Fondly,
V. Anatole Denedre, Esq.
The Lady Killer


Vienna stopped throwing masquerade balls. But when they started back up again, who knew if Anatole would be there waiting for the next young girl? Only The Lady Killer knew. And he wasn't telling anyone.


THE END