Heartless in New Orleans
Helen’s three days met their end. The feeble ticking of her heart slowed further, and she clenched her teeth, willing it to continue its clockwork beat. She looked through the rusty, wrought iron bars of Holt Cemetery, longing for the key which lay on the other side. The key to her freedom.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she wiped her palms on her black trousers. She pushed a loose tendril of her auburn hair under the tweed cap of her disguise. Any passerby might be fooled into thinking a boy rather than a woman stood before the graveyard fence. But it was unlikely that anyone would come. She could hear the continued revel of festivities on Bourbon Street, even though several blocks separated her from the crowd. The clock tower struck midnight. Continue Reading…

