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Chapter Text

' 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧' – 𝟐𝟕.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

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❝ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 :

Description Gore & Violence. 

♤ ° ┄──────╮

You were, by no means; patient. Much less of an understanding nature; empathetic, sure — most claimed it'd end your life, one day. Yet; patience, it was a spectacle you held your deep-seated temperment.

' Unladylike' as it was; it suited you. 

  It'd been a week; an entirety of seven days having marked last you saw of.. him, of Alastor Laurier — you aimed to maintain the streak for an extended duration of time, too. Charming as he was; Laurier proved a hefty distraction as he did annoyance. You couldn't afford slip; can't afford the inconvenience of letting ones' guard down. You'd worked too fuckin' hard to get here; like hell, you'd willingly waste the efforts for the opposing sex. — For merely a 'pretty' face and alluring voice; you were stronger than that.

    Precariously; with a shaken hand and skeptical gaze, your 'un'official porcelain coffee mug was over-compensated - your temple resting atop the cold, chilling surface of a lone table; better judgement of gazes would've eyed you with concern. Subconsciously, your mindset was muddled, soiled with doubts.

  Another carcass; dead and abandoned beneath the water-tower, north of New Orleans - estimated around a total of four legitimate hours between its' location and from local law enforcement.

  And.. Another - and Another, and..

   Guilt consumed you; a sense of selfishness shown it's hideous scalp mere days ago, upon your outing with Louisiana's one and upmost bachelor - It'd only been a day; a singular day and yet,

    It must've taken the culprit a milestone of two weeks, estimated, to pull this off; these past fourteen days of calm, radio - pun intended - silence..

  A count of five corpses had been scattered about the outskirts of Natchitoches, Louisiana. The kicker; each identify of the victims were found to of once inhabited locally the activities of New Orleans, Louisiana. 

It was sloppy, gruesome and by gods' forgiveness, disturbing. An aroma of repulsion coated the former freshest air of spring season; remains found in body-bags, tossed about loosely within two miles of each other. - You'd vomited that exact amount today, so far. Twice. - It was estimated to of occurred roughly at noon, merely seven (hah, what irony.) days ago; approximately the timing of when you'd scurry within the outer-fields' lake of the Bayou with - You guessed it, Alastor Laurier.

Whichever of the two culprits this was - if it had even been either of the two; they were branching out, covering a territory that of which a foreign act. 

One thing was for certain; at least, that's what you'd dubbed it, ' Alastor wasn't responsible for this display of cruelty,' - whether that marked him as innocent; was an entirely differing story.

    Various, crinkled letters of distraught loved ones swam atop the cluttered desktop; whilst separately, the written words pleaded for help, the incident mocked you — children, wives, daughters and sisters; all five slaughtered.

     Oh, had you forgotten to note? — Silly you; of course you suspected it to be one of your two culprits. After all, each identity of the victims were of female anatomy.

Red string hung to and fro; your tether of sanity dwindling as your iries flitted, darting between each substantial factor as the resurfacing sound of a closed fist pounded abroad your doorframe - loud and insistent in it's 'request' entry.

You winced at the disruption; a shrill voice piercing through the hickory-closed door. 

The brass handle jiggle - the wooden barricade opening astray as a familar recollection of the rookie-officer rendered you wordless, momentarily.

   Unwavered; you glimpsed at Clare Daneli, your hand (albiet, a tremor) strove to nonverbally list a series of important factors on a worksheet. Caffeine stained the prestige whitened paper; you, undeterred, contuined to write — fearful any majorly needed notes be subconsciously forgotten, had you fret over the spilt and energetic beverage.

      " What is it, Daneli?" You grunted, the listed notes growing elongated per millisecond.

    Whilst tasked in the obligation of fleeting, written determination; Daneli shuffled, uncomfortable as his frown presented a vast burden of knowledge — as you glanced at his confliction, you knew; ' ..this isn't going to be good, is it?'

   You sighed, tiresome. " Spit it out, Daneli." Demanded you, anticipating an update; as Daneli had been assigned to work beneath your status. Repeatedly, you inquired; " What is it?" 

   As the words; the mere affirmation of news spilt past his quivered lips, your heartrate plummeted — Daneli's lackluster of hopeful positivity, an unusual lackluster currently; now made.. all the more sense, you feared.

  " Mr. Huggins was found dead, ma'am." Fatigued; Daneli confirmed. It'd been the first suspect the case acquired; dead and now, by default, proven not guilty — at least, not in these gruesome displays.

    It'd been the first victim you, as well as Clare Daneli, knew personally.

    " Where?" Blatantly, you asked.

  Daneli gulped, uncertain and; rightfully so - as he was the youngest among the stations' recruits & members - fearful. " ..Corner of Esplanade Avenu; behind 'Tuer la joie'." 

   You scrambled; hurridly scurrying to gather the importance of a streetcars' scheduling-sheet. " 's called what again, Daneli?" — You reiterated, assuring a proper direction in quickened timing.  " It means ' Kill glee', Miss l/n." Commented Daneli; likely, having only answered due to a state of stilled shock. " It's.. a boutique? : Quite popular, actually–" 

     " ..' Kill glee'?" You reiterated; soon with peaked intrest as you repeated the statement, more confidently.. " ' KILL GLEE'.. — 'Killjoy', Kill glee–!" 

   Daneli blinked, perplexed. " ..wha?" 

  " Kill joy — Kill 'glee'!" You laughed; cackled, even — earning a wince from the opposing officer. He appeared ghastly; paler than usual which, wasn't too out of the ordinary — if it wasn't for Daneli's experience with former occurences in the case. This, however, you found uncommonly perplexing.

  A perturbed grunt, Daneli gave. You sighed, " Don't you get it, Clare?" Inquired you, vauge and cryptic. Daneli frowned, " ..Don't you get it, ma'am?" 

  Quizzically, you raised a brow; " ..huh?" A pause as your hand found purchase atop the frail door-handle, limp and mid-twist. 

   " ..We have no more leads, l/n." Daneli shrunk, ashamed; ' Ah, so that's it.' You deduced; remorseful for the younger rookie-officer.

    He felt guilty; as if this was the fault of law enforcement — of him.

   Daneli averted his gaze, self-consciously.

  " ..He's dead, 'cuz we got it all wrong." Meekly, stated Daneli; his shoulders risen and tense as his lip pulled taunt into a quivering pout. " We got it wrong again." — You pitied this man, you really did.

   For a moment, silence remained; you, mulling over this confession of guilt. Had it been from whom you wanted it? — No. God, no; even earlier, you recognized this sensation of consciousness Daneli spoke of. Why? — Well, that much was obvious; given how you, yourself, experienced it before this.. yes, rather tragic, news. 

   " ..'s not our fault." 

  Daneli jolted; and for the first time, you'd seen him angry — viewed the scene as he'd lost his temperment, shouting exceedingly loud; " Yes, it is!" 

  " It is our fault!" Excalimed the onyx-gazed young man; " 'Cuz of us, another slaughter occured!" 

   Gruffly, you huffed, bothersome; " Daneli, Huggins wasn't a good man..–" 

  " That doesn't matter, l/n!" Insisted Daneli, inconsolable as he gripped his tussled hair; distraught. " It was a human. life. — Gone, killed by a murderer and by extension; us..!" 

    With a frustrated groan; you raised your vocals' volume as you shouted, " We didn't kill him. 'Killjoy' did; which is why, Daneli," Slowly, you released the doorknob; striding towards the shaken officer as he tremble. " You're goin' to give me a proper address," Cautiously approaching, you stated, dutifully instructing. " — You're to take me there; you'll be a 'good boy' and standby, then, afterwards?" 

   To symbolize your verbally spoken demand; you'd grasped the note you'd jostled written factors atop, mindful as to not harm but (forcefully) shove the thinned paper against Daneli's torso — he stumbled, faintly flailing to grip the smudged worksheet; you failed to noticed his inky-black gaze lidded, clouded — as his pale features flushed, presumably from the close proximity. Daneli's knees; rather elongated and steady, jello'ed into a weakened state, a subtle whine evident, erupting from his queasy lungs as you spat instructions of demand; unknowing of his psyches' muddled reaction.

   " Afterwards, you can fuck off," You muttered, somewhat bitter. " If this is so damn hard for you to stomach." 

    You'd turnt 180° to exit the small, encapsulating officer; Daneli prematurely blinking as he yelped, awoken by his clouded mindscape. " Wait, l/n— I mean, erm.. ma'am..!" Hissed Daneli, tightly cradling the written notes as he sprinted; following closely behind your fleeting departure.

   Shame; that's what consumed Daneli — He didn't care for Huggins, his death wasn't the cause of Clare's negativity.

  Reluctantly, he'd caught wind of your.. 'outing' with Alastor Laurier; Daneli was the one to of documented your encountering with Vector Huggins. In every substance of interaction — Daneli was to know of it, willingly or not. Clare Daneli felt shame, humiliation and repulsion for himself; he shouldn't feel this way, not for you.. not for his legitimate superiority in the station — his 'second-hand' boss, of a sort. 

  The glare he'd sent that rueful display of a bouquet weeks ago lingered; the crumbled corners of the 'Huggins' report remained — ' Ungrateful bastard',  Rudely, he internally cursed; ' Pretty red dress and what's he do?' 

    A lot; given when Daneli had writtenly reported in 'Huggins' file.

  As for Laurier; he'd vanished, ceased his consistent visits within the law station — all for, supposently, discussing matters of particular cases with l/n. 

  ' Maybe Mccormick was right..' Daneli concluded. Not about the racially racism of his views; moreso, the.. 'oddball' that Laurier often proved to be. — ' Gah, stop thinking..!' Interally, scolded the officer.

  Let it be known; oh, how you loathed crowded spaces. The bustling bodies of individuals, the rambles of meaningless conversation; the amount of times you'd be halted, pestered to answer questions you needn't concern yourself with..–!

   " Miss l/n! — Miss l/n, please, wait!" A spokesman requested; jolting to sprint after you. 

   It'd been mere seconds upon entering the scene of the crime and yet; you were bombarded, trampled with inquiry that the public's fascination thrived on.

   " Ma'am! — Miss l/n, what do you..–!" One called out, a feminine voice as another chimed, deeper of the two; 

  " Ma'am, should we be concerned? — Are you aware of..–?" 

    Daneli grumbled beneath his breath, tugging the cap of his uniforms' badged hat downward; obscuring his onyx-gaze. " What kinda question is that?" — You snorted, amused as Clare contuined. " 'Should we be concerned?' — No shit, moron." 

   Beneath watchful eyes and hungered gazes for a juicing story; you nudged Daneli, humored. 

     It appeared Daneli readied himself to quip; to murmer a response — before, abruptly, a voice that resembled 'nails on a chalkboard' addressed you; rather improperly, may you add.

   " Y/n, sweetness; good to see you~!" 

  A woman called - her manicure hand - (Vermillion, you noted,) - persistent as she beamed; a toothy-grin of awareness.

  Rather trashy; if someone asked you. Three of her nails, collectively counting all ten-digits, were missing. You cringed, her cuticles misshapen and filthy. 

   The tall intruder allowed the pavement to clack in displeasure, her heels, the culprit; unwillingly permitting the Hollywood blonde entry - the recognition of such an introductory clicked; reminding you just who had so, unwarrantedly, entered the stations' small office of an on-shift detective.

   " Katherine Velcher," you stood upright; your knees protesting as you, reluctantly, held out a palm for Katherine to shake in gesture of politeness. " What brings you, ma'am?"

   Arrogantly; the, what you'd assumed fake, blonde eyed your outstretched grasp with contempt - her index finger and thumb lightly grazing the stiff tissue of muscle, forcing her wrist to manuver up-and-down in mock greeting. Hastily; she'd removed her faint touch, once the deed was done - not-so-subtly, Katie wiped her hand abroad her slick dress-skirt; the gesture causing you to poorly hide your dismayed scowl.

' Fuck you too, then.' - You would've said; had you not been on-shift.

   " Curiousity; sweetheart, I smell some big news on the horizon!" - Exclaimed the famed journalist; her glee for such a revolting crime leaving you to smolder in repulsed judgment. " Beckett tells me, you, my lively little bug - have an interesting story to tell, hm?" 

    You sneered; Daneli shuffled, uncomfortable as he was annoyed. " No," you answered, bluntly. " I don't, Miss Velcher." 

  " Ah, ah, ah..!" Tutted the journalist; her ignorance radiating a sense of mockery. " 'Mrs.' Velcher, sweetie!" 

  You sighed, " Yes, apologies; Mrs. Velcher." - Your shoulders slumped, irritated.

  Katie grinned; a toothy-smile far wider than necessary as she hadn't bothered to decline her chin - gawking at you as if an insect, small and inconvenient, below her burgundy heels. 

   You frowned, feigning disinterest in an attempt to fall astray to her nagging questionnaire.

     A disdained display; Katherine clicked her tounge and, as you'd begun to walk away — to dissect the crime scene of the late Vector Huggins, Katherine followed in-tow; " Oh, y/n — what harm would it do? Sharin' a lil ole secret," 

   Katherine leant down, her tall posture bent as she whispered into Daneli's earlobe; " With lil ole me..~?" — Daneli shuddered, revolted as he quickened his pace. 

    You, however, rolled your eyes; gilded as, unabashed, you showcased your credentials to an unknown officer — gaining access to the tampered crime scene. Daneli followed suit; the unfamiliar law enforcement having, rather harshly, ceased Katherine's interference — stating she needn't enter, as if a renowned bouncer at 'Madame Seated'.

    As your departure fleeted; you heard an array of colorful language from Katherine Velcher — a pleased, victorious smirk occupied. ' Fuck, that's a relief..' you sighed, calmly.

   If you'd been subjected to her nagging; her consistent wedging, this would take far longer than necessary.

    " Cause of death?" You inquired; pausing to kneel beside the carcass of a, albiet successful, pimp.

   Daneli huffed, " Blunt force trauma; a case of internal bleeding within the frontal lobe." — You nodded, unsuprised. This was, granted, a gnarly murder; even so, it was rushed. 

   Haphazard; a liable slip. At least, on the slaughter's end.

   " Time of death?" 

  Again, you asked; an open palm awaiting as another nameless participant settled a set of rubber gloves within your designated grasp. Effortlessly; you tugged them on, a *wack!* resurfaced of sound — indicating the glove securely worn.

   You began poking, probing and jabbing at the corpse; signs of rigor mortis settling as Daneli answered, repulsion coated, " ..Three in the mornin', Ma'am." — You blinked, perplexed.

  " ..When was he found?" — " Eight AM, according to the report." 

   This made you pause, conflicted. ' ..Only a five hour time-frame?' — Odd, given how amplified the crowded streets were; at least, on Esplanade Avenu, no less. 

     As you searched the scene of the crime; the first familar face, Paul Mccormick, had strode over — mumbled sorts of conversion to Clare Daneli whilst you, utterly distracted, busied yourself.

   Daneli swallowed the bile, perturbed. " ..Ma'am?" 

    You sighed, " Daneli?" 

     Mccormick patted Daneli on the shoulder; a mockery of reassurance as he stood, idly by — his burly arms behind his straightened spine.

     You peered over your shoulder; and oddly enough, for some strange reason, you feared what pertained to the subjected topic — and, by the looks of the rookie-officer's expression, dreadful information.

  A moment of silence reverberated off bricked walls of the alleyway; crumbling, antagonizingly as Daneli asked, timidly; " ..We've got a suspect." 

𓈀⋅ ♤𓄹𓂃