Case 25: The Ghost of Grimsborough

A few heads turned to the desks where laughs were coming from and saw David trying to get up and his younger lover pulling him back into his lap, both of them laughing lightly at the light wrestling match.

"Jones! Jensen!" Both of them froze, Jones nearly falling over from where he was half up and both of them had a hint of 'dear in the headlights' about them as they moved and walked into the Chief's office.

They were greeted with a stern expression lit by amusement.

"Care to explain why two of my best detectives are acting like children?" They blushed slightly but never actually looked repentant. "Lieutenant, Lead Inspector." Both of them looked, their eyes going slightly wide. "Congratulations but unfortunately that's not the only reason I called you in."

"What do we have this time sir?" David asked, though smiling a little pleased.

"Ramirez called to report the death of one Wilhelm Moss, but, he says that because the room was locked that it must have been a ghost. You must go and talk some sense into him." King spoke and didn't notice as his Lieutenant stiffened.

"A ghost! Really! Well that's a new one. Maybe we should consider giving him a few days off Sir." David chuckled.

"Maybe so…" The office door slammed and JJ was gone and his partner suddenly swore, taking the address from his superior before quickly following his lover, just managing to corner him against the side of the SUV.

The red-head clenched his jaw and looked to the side, arms crossed over his impressive chest as David pressed his hands either side of his partner, internally sighing. He'd royally bollocksed that up.

"Babe, I'm sorry." He watched as the others jaw ticked and blue eyes turned sad. New Orleans, as good as the home of ghosts and the supernatural, filled with witches and voodoo priests. "I was an ass and I'm sorry. I know to you its all real but Babe. I was raised to believe there's always a logical explanation and that things like magic aren't real." The almost desperate note in his voice made green eyes turn to him and he almost flinched how cold they were.

He brought his hand up, cupping the other's strong jaw, running his thumb over the perfect cheekbones, brushing bronzed skin.

"That wasn't fair to you and I'm sorry, I know there's more in the world than just science and that magic exists. Meeting you and just that week in New Orleans proved that to me but it's a natural reaction Babe, you have to bare with me." He looked at JJ imploringly and watched as he softened and let out a happy sigh as soft lips caught his own, strong hands gently curling around his wrists, brushing fading bruises.

"I'm sorry Doll, I over reacted. It's just hard sometimes when people are so close minded out here and, I didn't expect you to go with it." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, looking sheepish.

"I'll forgive you." David teased with a grin, kissing him deeply for a moment before turning away and getting into the drivers side.


At the workshop Ramirez was in hysterics talking about the ghost, telling them not to look it in the eyes and David calmed him down and sent him back to the station with another officer.

Once inside though they couldn't blame him when they saw the wide terrified eyes of the victim and the dark stare of the painting that seemed to glare at them, even the morgue team looked unsettled.

They found a book with the painting which had a message reading 'I have heard you intend to do what cannot be done. You might find this book helpful, oh, brave soul.' David suggested they speak with the author Monty Washington.

A torn up card that JJ would have to patch together and a letter with a trace of something on it. David grabbed a sample before bagging the letter and reading it.

"'You will die, Moss. You shall perish for disturbing my eternal slumber!' Signed The Pilgrim. That's the painting." David said with a confused look, starting to think maybe a ghost wasn't so far out.

"Wait and see Doll, wait and see, it could just be an ordinary murder as it were." JJ grinned, green eyes sparkling.

JJ drifted closer to the window and saw a wire net and shards of thin glass. He collected both and turned back to his lover, ready to leave.


After piecing together the card together they went to the address on it. 15 Lincoln Street..

It was a dingy building with the Victorian style that could have easily slid into a gothic novel. They knocked on the door but got no answer so decided to look around the garden, which included a freshly dug section of earth and they looked under it to find a book. An accounting book to be specific that showed lots of transactions between the owner of the book, Patrick Rufio, and their victim.

"Who are you?" An aged man with well kept white hair and dressed in an impressive and ostentatious silk suit. "And what are you doing on my property?" He braked at them.

"Detectives Lead Inspector Jones and my partner Lieutenant Jensen, your address was found next to the dead body of Wilhelm Moss." He explained and the man before them lost none of his composure.

"A tragedy but my address is unsurprising, I have done a lot of work with Wilhelm." He explained, looking high and mighty.

"And your accounting book is buried in the garden, why?" JJ asked.

"I have no idea."

"Of course." His tone showed he didn't believe him as the drawl spread out. "Did you by any chance order a rendition of the Mad Pilgrim?"

"In fact I did, is that an issue?" He glared down weakly at him, intimidated by the two young and fit men.

"Not at all sir, thank you for your time." JJ smiled but managed to put that perfect predatory edge on it.

They left with and went to see the author of the book that had been beside the victim and was all to happy to tell the tale.

The Pilgrim had once been a wealthy man who ruled over all of Grimsborough but was cruel and spiteful, treating the peasants with an iron fist.

The smallest of crimes were punishable with death and torture was the norm, with bodies being strung from chains and cages, flesh torn and bones broken.

But as with most tyrants the peasantry revolted, the most humble of foes in the way of a simple hand maiden that could poison the Pilgrim and let the masses into the mans home.

The Pilgrim was cut up into four pieces screaming all the while before his body was buried at the four corners of the town and his spirit has been restless ever since.

Whenever someone should attempt to paint the Pilgrim they shall die in the most unusual circumstance, forever unexplained, the dark eyes glaring out at whomever shall see it.

JJ had heard of and seen ghosts haunting people for far less but he got the distinct impression that was a load of crap.

Brining himself out of his thoughts he rose an eyebrow when he realised that they weren't going back to the station.

When they got there they found a smashed tape and no owner so slipped back to the station where it was pieced together and given to Alex.


The case overall was rather easy and was done out of simple greed. Patrick Rufio had used a neurotoxin that would induce hallucinations and causing the victims death.

The man had been growing poorer by the day and knew that a finished painting that had killed its painter would be worth a fortune so took Moss' life, making it appear like the supposed Pilgrim.

"Do you think that the Pilgrim could be real? I mean the legend, not the person?" David asked as he walked forward in his boxer briefs, a child beer in his hand.

JJ grabbed his hand, pulling him forward until he was straddling the jean clad red-heads lap. David traced over his lovers scars with his free hand, while JJ's rubbed circles into his hips.

"Maybe. If he was killed the way the story says then yes but, there would have to be a reason for him to act through a painting." JJ told him, taking a swig of his beer, swallowing deeply before he kissed the other for a single intense moment that took David's breath away.

"Tell me a true New Orleans ghost story." JJ rose an eyebrow at the request, smirking darkly, sending a shiver down the others spine.

The smooth southern drawl spoke with a light, confident and decidedly dark edge and seemed to wrap around the elder man, making him tremble as the story progressed.

"The story takes place on 1140 Royal Street in the early eighteen hundreds. A seemingly humble if large house from its outward appearance with typical twisted iron but inside was a house of delight and extravagance that was unmatched.

The house was owned by the Lalauries, the well respected doctor Louis Lelaurie and his socialite wife Delphine Lalaurie and their daughters.

Delphine Lalaurie was a beautiful woman who often held great events and parties and like most southern household of the time the work was preformed by the household slaves.

Though nothing seemed out of place one day the quarter was disturbed by the sound of screams. A neighbour turned to see a young slave girl running away from Madame Delphine who wielded a whip. The young girl ran to her death, falling from the upper stories and was then buried beneath the trees.

Though slaves were still seen as a mans property in New Orleans it was illegal to miss treat them, much like a pet you could say, and the rest of the slaves were taken away and sold to others but the Madame was not so easily stopped. She had family buy them back for her.

The Madame was no longer the revered Creole socialite she had once been and many were weary of her and the home. She was spurned time and again by being rejected from the rest of polite society and the suspicion of what took place within her home.

One night a great fire roared through the home and many suspected that it was set by the cook, a slave woman that was kept chained to the stove, a lighter fate than many of the others.

While the fire was extinguished the firemen walked the house and discovered the bodies within the attic. They lay on operating tables, chained to the walls and forced into cages meant for dogs.

For those that had been found alive they begged for death, their limbs removed or broken and reshapen. The bodies had mouths pinned together and their hands sewn to their bodies, each one tortured in the most vial of ways. Men had parts removed and women had their intestines draped around their waists like skirts.

A great mob gathered around the home as the family escaped before it invaded the now emptied home, ransacking and destroying what remained, truly leaving only the outside intact.

Over the years the house has become many things but stories of hauntings have often taken place. Phantom whips chasing young children. A naked slave man attacking someone and disappearing into thin air, a mysterious woman bent over a child's crypt."

JJ trailed off with a dark smile, his eyes shining with a dark mirth as he looked over the goosebumps that had covered toned flesh and he could see the fear and fascination mingling in bright blues.

"You chose the scariest story you could didn't you?" David accused lightly, curling into his lover, feeling a blanket being thrown around his shoulders.

"I chose the most well known Doll, plus we are the haunting capital of the US." He pressed a kiss to the elders temple and then his lips. "This is our history, not just a ghost story and New Orleans holds its history close like anywhere else, we just have more of it." JJ shrugged and David chuckled, pulling himself up.

"Well then, you've scared me." He tossed the blanket away with a devious smile. "Now make forget."

Green eyes lit up and he moved forward, kissing his lover deeply, move than happy to comply.

A/N: This is a true story from New Orleans from what I've read and I hope I told it well and you enjoyed.