With that, we flash back to the original tour guide, giving the old speech in the living room about how Delphine was right up there with Jack the Ripper, Ed Gein, and Jeffrey Dahmer. Looking up at Delphine's dire portrait on the wall, one guest turns to the woman next to her to whisper, "She even looks like a monster." The woman she's speaking to is of course Delphine herself, wearing sunglasses and a headscarf inside the house so that nobody will recognize her from her portrait (little danger of that, sorry to say, prop department). Up in the attic, the guide informs the guests that Delphine supposedly murdered upwards of 150 slaves, often while there were parties going on right downstairs. Delphine quietly scoffs to another visitor that nobody would miss a party for that. "It beggars belief."
After the guide sees this group of visitors out downstairs, she turns and finds Delphine still standing in the front room, innocently claiming that she forgot her pocketbook upstairs. This is an obvious ruse to get the guide back up into the attic, and I have to say that the New Orleans Historical Society was greatly remiss in failing to warn its employees of the danger of their subjects coming back to life with murderous intent. That's the only explanation for how the guide agrees to go up with Delphine and have a look. Once there, Delphine drops her cover and says there weren't 150 slaves killed up here. "It was 62. I kept a ledger." The real guide is pretty slow on the uptake, as Delphine removes her disguise and asks for her money back over all the inaccuracies. Except that what bothers the guide most is how Delphine is stroking an animal claw hanging from a support pillar, so she asks her to leave for touching the display items. "My own house?" Delphine asks in mock-offense, taking a hammer down off the same column and thunking the sharp end of it into the tour guide's forehead. The blood spatters Delphine's face, but she's only too happy to lick some it off. As you do.
Back in the present but still in the attic, Delphine is perched on the small cage where she apparently stashed the guide, who is still alive but barely. Queenie urges Delphine to let the woman go. She's offering Delphine a second chance, saying she'll take her to the local Urban League office to try to make it up in some small part to "the descendants of the people you brutalized." I'm sure Marie Laveau would appreciate that. Delphine laughs openly at Queenie and her offer of redemption, because she knows all about what that means in this century, from seeing it on "the magic box." Cut to a montage of Delphine in her room at the academy, contemptuously watching TV news stories about the likes of Paula Deen, Anthony Weiner, and Eliot Spitzer, and how it's all crap. Who hooked up Delphine with the 24-hour Public Humiliation channel in the first place, is what I'd like to know. "You think a man jack among them was well and truly sorry?" she asks Queenie. "Not a one. Sorry they got caught is all." Delphine insists she's not sorry, and when Queenie reminds her how she was getting through to her, Delphine admits that Queenie did make her cry -- but for the state of the country. "To tell a colored man that he can be equal to a white man? There's the real cruelty." And she's saying this the week of MLK Day, too. Queenie's had enough, and sinks a handy knife deep into Delphine's chest. Delphine goes bug-eyed in shock and pain, telling Queenie that she's immortal. "Wrong," Queenie says coldly. Delphine whines, "I don't want to die!" Which isn't actually a surprise; as much as Delphine used to bitch about being trapped on this mortal plane during quiet moments, she had a pretty well-developed sense of self-preservation when shit started going down. Which it now has, for her, for the last time. Queenie responds, "Tough shit. Who does?" Pulling the knife out, she lets Delphine flop on her back onto the cage. Moments later, Delphine's face is covered with the thick, blackish blood geysering out of her chest. So much for that makeover.