Written for QLFC Round 11
Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: dialogue: "But I don't wanna be a serial killer.", story must start and end with the same word
Additional Prompts: 1. (dialogue): "I'm bored. Play with me!", 8. (word): bounce
Words: 2918
Thank you to Rose for suggesting plot, and to Carmen, Liza, and Rachel for betaing!
Sirius stood in front of his mark's house. White, with sensible dark windowpanes and a red door, the house did not stand out in this suburban neighborhood. He looked down at the file in his hands and opened it. Below a photograph was a short description.
Remus J. Lupin, 6'1'', 24 years old, single, likes chocolate.
"Remus J. Lupin, 6'1'', 24 years old, single, likes chocolate" walked out of the front door. The minimal information Sirius had been given was not added onto. Dressed in khaki trousers, a white button-down shirt, and a cardigan, he looked like a very plain man. Sandy hair, just a bit longer than an 'alright' length, curled out from under a sunhat, and Sirius noted the garden supplies he was carrying.
It was an interesting first impression; "Remus J. Lupin, 6'1'', 24 years old, single, likes chocolate" looked like a teacher, behaved like a gardener, and—as Sirius had been told—was a serial killer.
Not only that, he was the best serial killer that Sirius's employer had ever heard of.
And so, he, Sirius, had been hired to dispose of him.
Sirius watched from the safety of the tree he was sitting in as the man began to tend a rose bush. Several minutes later, a postman ambled up the path, looking at his letters and humming something. He looked like he hadn't a care in the world, and his expression didn't change when he tripped on an uneven stone on the path. He fell backwards with a gasp of surprise, silenced when his back made contact with an upturned garden rake.
Sirius had seen enough death to know that the man would not get up again.
Judging by the reaction of the man he was observing, Lupin knew it, too.
Sirius watched as he, unflinching, looked over the body before carrying it indoors.
Sirius looked at the file again. His employer, a man whose name Sirius did not know, had wanted him to end Lupin's life. But Sirius had seen the man in action—the clever trap, the beginning of a disposal.
"Remus J. Lupin, 6'1'', 24 years old, single, likes chocolate" would not do anyone any good if he was dead. (Besides, he was gorgeous as hell, and it seemed a sin to just get rid of him).
.oOo.
A quick call to his employer had given Sirius his freedom to deal with Lupin as he liked, even to let the man live.
Several calls to real estate agencies later, Sirius was now Sirius Black, owner of the house across the street from Lupin's.
He set up the house easily. Several bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, an office, kitchen, and living room downstairs. Sirius installed cameras to look over across the street to his neighbor's house, set up computers to monitor the data, and drifted off to a happy sleep.
He woke up the next morning ready to face the day. As he popped a tray of brownies into the oven, he decided on his outfit and took a shower. When he'd gotten ready, he sat down at his computer to review the footage.
It showed nothing.
A quick check of his cameras proved them to be broken. They had been state-of-the-art!—Lupin was good. He'd even made it look like the rain and wind of the previous day had been responsible for the breakage.
But Sirius was better, and he was determined to prove it.
There could only be one murderer in his hometown, and it would not be Lupin.
.oOo.
Holding the tray of brownies in one hand, Sirius rung the doorbell. Lupin soon answered, an open, inviting smile on his face. He was dressed similarly to the day before, just in a different cardigan.
"Hello." He looked like he wanted to offer a hand in greeting, then spotted Sirius's tray and stopped.
"Hello," Sirius replied courteously, just as he'd been taught by his late parents. "I'm Sirius, your new neighbor. I live right over there, and I just thought I'd bring over some brownies, introduce myself, say hello."
But Remus hadn't been paying attention since the word 'brownies', and ushered Sirius inside, making small talk as he led the way
Once the brownies had been divided onto plates, Lupin spoke. "My name's Remus."
"Pleasure." Sirius reached across the table and shook his hand.
"Would you like some tea?" Remus asked. "You've brought over these lovely brownies, and it's just about the right time for a snack."
"Yes, please." Sirius watched as Remus made his way to the kettle and put it on. "So you like chocolate? You've eaten so much already; it seems I hit the spot. Got lucky there, didn't I?"
Remus replied that yes, he did like chocolate, but Sirius was more focused on his steps around the kitchen. He was obviously searching for something, and Sirius heard the word 'sugar'. Just when he was about to offer some help, Remus's eyes lit up and he rummaged for something on the bottom a cabinet. He emerged a victor.
"Do you take sugar?"
"Yes, please."
Remus mixed the sugar into one of the cups, and set it in front of him, then went to put the sugar—which he'd left on the counter out of Sirius's sight—away.
Had Sirius not been watching his every move, he would have missed the flash of words on the sugar packet as Remus moved it—rat poison.
.oOo.
Sirius dropped down onto his bed that night, breathing deeply at the memory of eating with Remus. He'd been seconds away from death, had he actually drunk his tea. It was disconcerting, to say the least; Sirius was the killer, not the kill-ee.
He thought of how cleverly he'd avoided drinking the tea, spilling it onto the floor and declining the offer for more.
He fell into an uneasy sleep, then, thinking of tea kettles and cups, bouncing around and telling him to drink them.
Having barely slept, Sirius woke up to his alarm clock with a yelp, tumbling out of bed, still half-asleep.
"Wha'time's'it?" he mumbled to himself, tongue limp and barely moving. He lifted his head to look at the clock and turn it off, but was cut off by a loud crash.
The shock of the noise sent him hiding under the bed, but when he was sure it wasn't coming back, he climbed out. The room was clear, save for a broken window and the pile of wires and plastic that his alarm clock used to be.
A rock—the same loose rock from Remus's footpath that had tripped the postman—was lying on the wreckage.
.oOo.
Evening saw Sirius again at Remus's house.
Remus was dressed the same as the previous day, again only having changed his cardigan. He was busy setting up a table for dinner, telling Sirius to sit and watch, since he was the guest.
After the previous incident, Sirius was more than a bit nervous; poison was not how he wanted to go.
Thankfully, Remus had allowed him to bring several dishes of his own, and Sirius made every precaution to make sure that they wouldn't be touched.
"I'm afraid I only have water," Remus said apologetically, turning from the table and facing him. "To drink, I mean."
"That's fine." Sirius waved the concern away. "Can I get the glasses? Plates? Dish out the food? Anything?"
"I . . ." Remus looked around at the fully-set table. "Oh, cutlery! Of course. Second drawer to your right."
Sirius nodded and went to get the things as told. The drawer was mostly empty, but he found two forks and two knives, setting the dull one next to Remus's plate and sitting down with a practiced innocent expression.
"I think we're all set," he said, looking over the table and nodding. Remus seemed to agree, as well, and sat across from Sirius.
Sirius took off the top of his tupperware containers to reveal a one-course meal. He'd brought two steaks, garnished with lemon and several kinds of spices, with potatoes on the side. It was a simple meal, and he—unlike some people who shall not be named—had not poisoned it.
Remus smiled at him, taking the first steak and three potatoes. Sirius was glad that his cooking was met with approval; he hadn't known what Remus liked, but steaks were a safe guess for most people.
"Dig in," Sirius invited after taking his own portion.
Remus didn't need to be told twice, and, holding his knife like an expert, started cutting his potatoes. They were soft, so even the dull knife went through them easily. When he got to his steak, however, he seemed to have some trouble, until, eventually, the knife ripped it apart and sent lemon juice flying.
"Ow!" Sirius dropped his utensils and grabbed at his right eye, feeling it burn, and running to the sink on the far side of the kitchen.
He could hear Remus following him, but he didn't care.
He needed to wash his eye out—damn their over-sensitivity!—and not even the possibility of Remus pushing him and drowning him could stop Sirius.
Sure enough, just when Sirius was about to straighten out, Remus barreled into his back, sending his face into the sink, under the water that hadn't yet gone down the drain. He struggled, holding onto the sides of the sink to try and get some leverage to come back up. Just when he was losing the last of his breath, Sirius felt himself being dragged back up again.
He lay on the ground for a good minute, coughing up water and trying to gather enough strength. Just when he managed to breathe normally, Remus started helping him sit up, his hands gentle but strong.
Sirius wheezed. "Remus—"
"Oh, god, I'm so sorry . . ." Remus's hands traced his wet shirt and hair, fussing and trying to help.
But Sirius wasn't having any of it. "Remus, you just tried to kill me!"
"I know!" Remus wailed, his hands now covering his face. "It's all I can manage to do, but I—"
"You've killed a lot of people." Sirius stared at the shock on Remus's face. "I know, Remus. And there can only be one serial killer in this town. So I challenge you to a murder-off."
Remus stared back. "A what?"
"A murder-off."
"No . . ." Remus shook his head. "You have me mixed up with someone else. I never did any of that on purpose!"
"I saw you kill the postman!"
"He tripped." Remus seemed at the end of his chain, his voice desperate and his breathing rapid with fear. "And he fell, and I never meant to leave the rake there! And how was I supposed to know that old lady O'Grady was behind the door when I opened it? Or that constable Graham was behind my car? Or that—"
"You mean you're not a badass serial killer?" Sirius's mouth popped opened in surprise as Remus listed off his previous victims, and he didn't know if he was more shocked at Remus for accidentally killing so many people or at himself for not figuring it out. "But . . . you were so normal when you were dumping the body! And you tried to kill me! With rat poison!"
"I'm farsighted!"
"What?"
"It means that I can't see very well up close. Forgot my glasses, misread the label, and accidentally gave you rat poison instead of sugar." He looked away sheepishly. "Guess I shouldn't keep them so close together, huh?"
"And the rock in the window?" Sirius demanded. "You can't tell me that it threw itself there by itself!"
"The reason it was stuck up was because it was on a sheet of metal. I don't know how it got there, but I stepped on it when I was leaving the house, and the rock went flying, and I just . . ." Remus fiddled with his hands. "I know how to dispose of bodies because I have to do it so often. People keep dying around me. Because of—because of things I do."
Sirius, having figured out for himself that the lemon juice in the eye had been an accident and that Remus had slipped into him on the way to the sink, smiled. "If it helps, they do the same around me."
"What?"
"I'm a serial killer."
"What?"
"I work for a man who has me kill people who've done wrong," Sirius explained.
"Aren't you a hitman, then?" Remus furrowed his eyebrows. "I mean, if you kill people for hire, you're a hitman, not a serial killer."
"I prefer the term." Sirius gave his best predatory smile. "But, anyway, you were next on my list, but I called in about ten favors—mostly because I thought you were pretty and wanted to see if we could get along—and convinced him to let you live."
"So you're a serial killer with morals?"
"My boss is." Sirius played with his sleeve to occupy his hands. "I just kill people when I'm in between jobs. Which technically makes me a serial killer, but that's beside the point. So . . . wanna work with me?"
"But . . . I don't wanna be a serial killer."
"You are a serial killer," Sirius pointed out for the second time.
"They were accidents!" Remus defended.
"Honey, once is an accident, twice is unfortunate, but thirteen times?" He scoffed. "That's murder. Plain and simple."
"Oh."
"You okay?"
"No."
"Oh."
"So can I go back to my normal life and pretend like you didn't just ask me to work with you as
an assassin?" Remus laughed nervously, avoiding Sirius's eyes. "And just hope that I don't kill any more people?"
Sirius tried to hide his disappointment. "I suppose so."
"Will I see you again?" Remus laughed. "It's just . . . that's how it usually is. An ultimatum, you know? And I'm guessing that the part about you being my neighbor was temporary?"
"That's how it is," Sirius confirmed. "I'm not exactly a wanted man, but red flags follow me around. I was just here to kill you. But I didn't want to kill you. I stayed because I thought this town wasn't big enough for two serial killers, even if I don't actually live here. Then I stayed because, like I said, you're very attractive, and I wanted to see if this could be a partnership, not a rivalry. Now I'm staying here, for this conversation, to see if you want to work with me. Or, you know . . . be something more?"
"Oh." Remus thought for a minute. "And if I agreed?"
"Then we'd be together forever." Sirius grinned. "I'd kill for fun, you'd kill by accident, and we'd kill on order sometimes."
"'Till death do us part?"
"Not our death."
"How long do I have to think about it?"
"Until tomorrow, I guess." Sirius stood up, declining Remus's offer to help. "I'll be packed tomorrow—I have an assignment in Greece, and two are better than one, but I need to be there regardless—and I'll come here."
He saw himself out, leaving Remus on the floor, thinking.
.oOo.
Standing on Remus's porch and having just rung the doorbell, Sirius told himself that he was not nervous. Of course he wasn't!
He wasn't half in love with a man he'd only known for a few days, and he wasn't hoping, with all of his heart, that Remus would agree to come with him.
Remus still hadn't answered the door, and that only gave Sirius more time to think. He looked away from the door in an attempt to calm his racing heart and to distract his mind with something else.
He looked around, spotting two children playing on the street and focusing on them instead of on his questions. One was reading a book, the other was running around, stopping to whine, "I'm bored, play with me!"
Just when he'd been about to make a comment, the door was thrown open.
Sirius stared as if he hadn't expected it. "Remus!"
Remus, nervous, didn't look at Sirius. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Uh." Remus rubbed his hands together, then tugged at the sleeve of the day's cardigan. "Is the, uh, is the offer still standing?"
"The offer?"
"To come with you." Remus started pulling at a thread. "It's fine if it's not, I mean, we've only known each other for a few days, and you said that this is a 'till death do us part thing, and I totally understand if . . . Sirius?"
He was smiling widely. "You want to come."
"Yes."
"Then let's go."
Remus smiled and bent down to take the suitcase he had packed. He took Sirius's hand and led them out of his house, turning off the lights and taking only what he needed.
(Sirius would later discover that the suitcase contained only his cardigans, toothbrush, razor, and glasses. And that the cardigans were the single most important things in it).
.oOo.
Several days later, lounging around in their hotel bed in Greece, Sirius and Remus read a news report about a gas fire in a suburban home that had killed the several middle-aged people who'd been in it. He grinned as Remus, who was cuddled into the crook of his arm, remembered that he hadn't shut off the gas in his kitchen.
Remus, after a moment of doubt, grinned back at Sirius.