This is a bit morbid for a post-holiday season, pre-New Year's celebration time period. But I had to write it. I began writing it as I listened to Igor Stravinsky's Le Sacre de Printemps (The Rite of Spring), and finished listening to Camille Saint-Saëns' Danse macabre. In between, there was a bit of Mozart's Requiem.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, nor do I own the characters from the series that are mentioned/used in this story. All characters from the Twilight series are property of Stephenie Meyer/Little, Brown Books for Young Readers.

It was a Monday, a bit too early in the week to be at the speakeasy, but he had business to conduct. He leaned back against the bar, sipping his drink down as he scanned the crowded room. He was a stranger to this town, had only been around for a year or so. Yet, the people of this small, xenophobic community accepted him, if only for his hoarse southern drawl, broad figure, and old-fashioned ways, endearing him to the older people who ran this town.

He didn't mean to stay so long, but he hadn't found the right person yet. He wanted someone supple, soft and breakable, but not too easy to subdue. Close to a famed tourist attraction, people streamed through the community easily, always keeping their distance from the locals. But everyone convened at the speakeasy, with cheap booze and good music. The singer's husky voice permeated throughout the room, providing ample distraction from the illicit business discussions.

"And he'll be big and strong, the man I love, (1)" she crooned, grasping onto the microphone. A young girl sat nearby, nursing a glass of homemade wine as she gazed wistfully at the dancers on the floor. He had seen her several times before, and decided that she was the one. His attention fixed on her, he set his drink down and slowly made his way towards her. He towered over most of the people as he moved around the dance floor, and once he reached her, he held out his hand.

"Care to dance?" His rough southern drawl captured her attention; she had never thought a man so tall or wide, so wonderfully attractive, would pay attention to her. Nodding her accepting, she allowed him to pull her to the floor. He held her close, an enchanting image of young love, as they twirled about the dance floor.

"What's your name?" He bent down, murmuring softly into her ear. Some of the other patrons smiled at them, a lovely pair of sweethearts. Perhaps they would get married someday, perhaps not. But they looked wonderful together. And yet, others ignored them completely, intent on pursuing their drinks so coveted during this day and age.

"Emilia." Her voice was quiet, her manner timid and shy; she had never been good with people, preferring her books and music to conversation. But she longed for a companion, someone to share her thoughts with, someone who would take care of her. "What's your name?"

"Call me Jazz." He winked, and she nearly swooned, unable to resist his intoxicating scent, the way his arms felt around her. She felt so safe, like she truly belonged there, and she hoped that she would never leave his arms. A hopeless romantic, she could imagine sleeping in his arms, waking up to him, even dying in his warm embrace. But this was neither the time nor the place for such dangerous contemplations.

"I need to go soon; my parents are expecting me home. Thank you for the dance." She quickly moved away from him, unsure if she could handle being so close to him. And her parents were sure to be greatly disappointed if she failed to return home. She smiled softly, daring to whisper, "Perhaps we'll see one another soon."

"I'll walk you home." He grabbed her hand and placed it on his arm, escorting her from the dance floor to the door. She felt as if she were floating, perhaps someone would finally pay attention to her, a little mousey, unattractive girl like her. He was such a gentleman, helping her with her coat, holding the door open for her… He was so perfect. Perhaps they could meet often.

They didn't find her body until the next Tuesday. Her body had washed up ashore, several miles away from the little coast town she lived in. Mangled and bruised, her neck had been snapped and her arms twisted into an unnatural position. Her skin was pale and her lips were blue, her eyes open and horrified. There were bite marks all over, shocking all as her lifeless body crashed upon the beach.

He remembered the event with pleasure; the terrified look in her eyes, the way she broke so easily, like a little china doll. The taste of her sweet, sweet blood, filling him with contentment, he smiled grimly as he left the town. He remembered the way the blood had spilled across her clothes, only to be washed off by the rough ocean waters. He had tried so hard to savor this luxury, but he knew that he had to move. He was sure they would not find him, not when he had disguised himself so well. And he had chosen the perfect spot to leave her body.

Local teen Emilia Moretti was found dead yesterday, after her parents reported her missing last Tuesday. Her body was found on the beach during the early morning. She was last seen in the company of a Mr. Jasper Whitlock, whose body has not been found. Local authorities believe that both parties drowned while walking along the shore, although some speculate that Mr. Whitlock murdered Ms. Moretti, although no probable reason has been found.

(1) The lyrics are from the song The Man I Love by George Gershwin, with lyrics by Ira Gershwin.

Originally this was going to be about Edward seducing and eventually killing one of his victims, but my friend is a great fan of Jasper, and I decided to use Jasper instead. After all, he's from the south, and I'm sure people found that sexy. The location is undisclosed, because I have no idea where this is set. I based this around the Prohibition Era (1919-1933), where in the United States production and consumption of alcohol was illegal, to greatly simplify things. Hopefully I haven't gotten things wrong, but if I have, please tell me. I tried to be a bit general about the time period, because I wasn't too sure about the specifics. I read a bit about the time period, at the least, but I'm sure I've gotten some things wrong. Thanks.